Daphne, Starting Over
Daphne changed the locks on her house, but not before making sure Mitchell got the last of his clothes. She piled them all on the front lawn. “Feel free to come by and get them whenever you want,” she said to his voice mail. Maybe, if he was lucky, there’d still be some left by the time he got to the house. Hee hee.
She merged onto I-90 eastbound and watched as Seattle got increasingly smaller in her rearview mirror. “Goodbye and good riddance,” she muttered.
Not the city, just the last two men she’d found in it. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t seem to get this love thing figured out? She was nice. And attractive—men had been telling her that all her life. She was responsible, didn’t nag too much, and she never ate crackers in bed or complained when her man wanted to watch football, although she detested the sport. Surely that deserved better than she’d gotten so far. Why did she attract so many losers?
Oh, who cared? She was going to start a new life in Icicle Falls, help her mother run weddings and laugh behind the backs of all those delusional brides who paraded through Primrose Haus in their overpriced gowns on their way to happily-ever-after. Ha! There was no such thing. Sooner or later that Cinderella castle always crumbled. Disney should be sued.
On and on the bitter thoughts went as she drove up the mountain highway to Icicle Falls. It took seeing the Willkommen in Icicle Falls sign to pull her out of her funk. The town looked like something out of a movie back lot with its charming Bavarian shops, its town center with the gazebo and skating rink, which during summer would get used for everything from outdoor art fairs to folk dance festivals. Church spires pointed heavenward, reminding the faithful that there was a God who cared about their troubles. And above it all, the mountains in their snowy majesty stood guard over the residents of the little burg. Here was a welcoming place where she could start over with people she’d known all her life, people who’d be genuinely interested in her, who wouldn’t just pretend. So she’d be celibate forever. By the time a woman was in her fifties did she really need sex?
Except fifty was the new forty. And that put her at forty-three. A forty-three-year-old woman still needed sex. She frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go the rest of her life without physical intimacy.
You can do it, she told herself. Her mother had managed fine on her own.
She wasn’t her mother.
Okay, she’d be like Mitchell and have sex whenever she wanted with whomever she wanted. There were probably plenty of single men her age in Icicle Falls. Plenty of men, anyway, but her age? Hmm.
Well, then she’d find a boy toy. Or a lonely old geezer. Her frown deepened. She didn’t want to be like Mitchell and break hearts. That wasn’t kind, and she wouldn’t wish a romantic heart attack on anyone. With a sigh she concluded that she’d have to rise above her circumstances, look for the silver lining, cast her fortunes to the wind…know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em. Whatever. In short, she’d build a new and better life. She still had a lot of years left to carve out some happiness for herself and find fulfillment.
Without a man. She’d do it all without a man. And she’d never watch another romantic comedy again. Pandora selected a new song for her car radio and Barry Manilow began to croon, “When will I see you again?” She shut off the radio and shut Barry up. The next time she saw Mitchell it would be in divorce court.
Oh, how she wanted someone to love.
She had someone to love, she reminded herself when she walked into the Victorian on Primrose Street, carrying the surprise she’d picked up on her way home. She’d stopped at the local art gallery that also did framing. There was her mother, asleep in an armchair, one of her romance novels open on her lap. She looked…old. When had that happened?
Daphne had always thought of her mother as invincible, tireless. When she wasn’t working she’d been at church, tending to the flower beds, at a committee meeting or seated at the portable sewing machine she’d bought when Daphne was in first grade, putting together an elaborate Halloween costume for Daphne or making her a dress. Saturdays had been cleaning day and Mother had worked herself into a fever sweeping, dusting and scrubbing. She’d made sure Daphne did the same. Long after Daphne had had enough, her mother would still be going at it. Even on Sundays there was little rest. Starting in spring, Sunday afternoons were for weeding. Once the yard was in shape, it was time for Sunday dinner, which often meant company. And more work, because after the company left the dishes had to be done. Finally, when it was only the two of them and Bonanza on TV, the embroidery would come out.
Once, when Daphne was in high school, she’d asked her mother, “Don’t you ever want to just sit back and do nothing?”
Mother had been disgusted by the very suggestion. “I have too much to do. I’ll rest when I’m old.”
Today she looked like a woman who was losing the race against Father Time, the wrinkles carving deeper into her face, her hands small and heavily veined. She looked vulnerable and the sight pulled at Daphne’s heartstrings.
Daphne leaned the present against the wall, then tiptoed over to where her mother slept. She was in the process of replacing the book with an afghan when Mother woke with a start.
“Daphne, you’re home.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was just resting my eyes.”
Of course, a woman always snored when she was resting her eyes. “You look tired,” Daphne said. And old. When did you grow old on me?
“I’m not,” Mother insisted. “What time is it?” She squinted in the direction of the cuckoo clock in the kitchen.
“A little after one.” Daphne walked toward the kitchen. “Have you had lunch?”
“Not yet.” Her mother began to get up.
“Stay put. I’ll make it.”
Of course Mother didn’t stay put. She joined Daphne in the kitchen and started taking bowls out of the cupboard. “We have chicken soup left over from the other night. Why don’t you heat that up?”
Sounded good to Daphne. Soup was perfect for a blustery day and she’d loved her mother’s homemade soup. Once Daphne became a teenager, Mother taught her to make it. Cut the carrots smaller, darling. Big carrots in soup are the sign of a lazy cook. You don’t need a lot of salt. A pinch of garlic. Basil. Well, let’s try it. Hmm. Very nice. I think you might have a flair for cooking. Who knows? Maybe you’ll have your own restaurant someday.
Daphne had not gone on to have her own restaurant. She’d preferred working in an office where she could have regular hours and get evenings and weekends off. Cooking was a hobby she’d enjoyed. She hadn’t wanted to take the fun out of it by doing it for a living.
Mother had been disappointed that she’d opted for such an ordinary life, but the life she’d chosen had suited her. She liked being an employee, liked being part of a team. She wasn’t sure where she got that—certainly not from her mother—but she was wired to be a helper.
Seeing her mother asleep in her chair had driven home to Daphne how much she wanted to help out here. Roberta Gilbert would never admit she was slowing down, even a little, and yet obviously she was. She needed her daughter.
“How did things go in Seattle?” Mother asked.
No way was Daphne telling anyone about this latest Mitchell escapade. Ever. Especially not Mother. She’d go into I-told-you-so mode, and Daphne wanted that about as much as she wanted adult acne. (Although adult acne might be preferable to hot flashes.) “I got what I needed out of the house and changed the locks.” Everything else she’d sell or give away. Or burn, she mentally added, thinking of the living room couch.
Mother nodded approvingly. “Good.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and studied Daphne. “You didn’t see him, did you?”
Define “see.” Daphne decided her mother meant in the sense of doing something dumb like going out with Mitchell. “No.” At least she hadn’t succumbed to that stupidity. She supposed she should be grateful for the episode in the bedroom.
The studying grew more intense. Daphne could feel her mother’s gaze on her as she heated the soup. “Are you all right?” Mother asked.
“I am now.” Daphne dug out a package of crackers and stuffed one in her mouth. Ah, carbs, a girl’s best friend.
“Daphne. What happened in Seattle?”
“Nothing,” Daphne lied even as her cheeks burned. Why was it that every time she and her mother discussed her love life, she felt fourteen? She loaded another cracker into her mouth and turned up the heat under the soup.
“What kind of nothing?”
Daphne’s tender feelings began to toughen up. Mother would’ve made a successful attorney. I’m not letting you off the stand until you crack. “No kind of nothing. Honestly, Mother. I’m a grown woman.” Who was back where she’d started, once again living at home. She set aside that humiliating fact. “Do we really need the third degree?” she demanded, infusing her words with as much wounded dignity as possible.
Roberta shook her head. “No. Not at all. It just seems…” She clamped her lips together, killing the sentence. “I only want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” Daphne assured both of them as she poured their soup. “I will be.”
It seemed as though all the men she’d chosen had done nothing but make her feel bad about herself. She was through with that. She was through with men. Period. Even if fifty was the new forty, which meant she was only forty-three. She could go the rest of her life without sex, and if she wanted someone to love she could get a dog. She flashed on a sudden image of a big, woofy dog wandering around Primrose Haus, jumping on the guests. Okay, maybe a cat.
Her mother smiled faintly. “Well, good for you.”
Yes, good for her. Meanwhile… “I have something for you,” she said. She hurried to where she’d left her gift, then brought it back to the kitchen and presented it to her mother.
“Now what’s this?” Roberta asked, taking the wrapped picture-shaped package.
“Open it and see.”
She pulled off the wrapping and her eyes lit up in delight at the framed article from the Gazette. “Oh, Daphne, how thoughtful.”
“Do you like it?” Of course she did, but it was so nice to hear the pleasure in her mother’s voice, Daphne couldn’t help wanting to prolong the moment.
“I love it, darling. Let’s hang it here in the kitchen, where we can see it every day.”
As if Roberta Gilbert needed to be reminded of her success? But Daphne was happy to comply.
“Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do them,” Mother said after Daphne had hung the picture and was disposing of the wrapping paper.
Actually, she hadn’t been worried about the dishes at all. Naughty her.
Later that day her daughter, Marnie, called to check in.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Mom. You deserve better.”
Evidently not, but she appreciated her daughter’s support. “Thanks, honeybee.”
“I love that nickname,” Marnie said, a smile in her voice. “And I love you. I wish you’d come out for a visit.”
“I will soon,” Daphne promised. “I need to get my feet under me first, though.”
“Um, how’s that going, staying with Grandma?”
“It’s going fine.” Sort of.
“You can always move out here, you know.”
She knew. Marnie would have liked nothing more than to have her nearby. “You don’t need me underfoot. You’re busy with your own life.” And dealing with her father, who liked to invite himself to New York for a visit whenever he was drying out (which was rare) or wanted a cheap vacation (which was less rare).
“I’d never be too busy for you.”
“Thanks, honeybee. I appreciate that.” She wasn’t interested in moving to the East Coast. She liked it fine here on the western side of the States. But it was good to be wanted by someone, especially when that someone was her daughter.
* * *
“I brought everything you need,” Daphne said to her lawyer the next day.
Shirley Schneck nodded as she took the fat sheaf of papers. “Thanks. How are you doing, by the way?”
“I hate men,” Daphne informed her. “I’m going to become a lesbian.”
“You have no idea how many women have told me that,” Shirley said with a smile. “You’ll change your mind at some point, though, and be ready for another man.”
“I doubt it.” Daphne scowled. “I’m going to get a kitten.”
“Good idea,” Shirley said. “Keep the anger going for now. You’ll need it for the battle ahead.”
A battle. She was going to be battling her former best friend and lover. She could feel a little spring of tears bubbling up. Then she thought of Mitchell and his latest Stella and the spring went dry.
“You’ll get through this,” Shirley told her and proceeded to get down to business. The business of war.
War was exhausting. By the time Daphne left the office, she felt like a dish towel after a round with the washing machine agitator. Divorce was awful. After her second divorce she’d vowed to be careful, pick more wisely, never find herself in this position again. Yet here she was.
Okay, she needed chocolate. It was almost lunchtime anyway. Chocolate for lunch, maybe not the most nutritious choice, but, oh, well. Right now her soul was more in need than her body.
Five minutes later she walked into the gift shop of Sweet Dreams Chocolates, a veritable cornucopia of treats. Display racks and tables offered everything from various-size boxes of chocolates to snack items such as chocolate-dipped potato chips and caramel corn drizzled with white and dark chocolate. Lovely smells drifted over from the adjoining factory, making her mouth water.
Heidi Schwartz was working the counter as usual. She greeted Daphne with a friendly hello. “Anything special you’re in the mood for today?”
Sex. “What do you have that’s new?” Daphne asked.
“Our big seller is the dark chocolate–chipotle truffles. I can put some in a box for you.”
Daphne nodded. “Put in some of those white chocolate bonbons with the rose-flavored filling, too. And a couple of salted caramels.”
Heidi got to work. “I hear you’re back in town to stay. Are you going to help your mom with weddings?”
“That’s the plan.” Daphne supposed Heidi had also heard that she was getting divorced. News traveled fast in a small town. If Heidi saw the irony of a divorcée helping with weddings, she kindly didn’t say anything.
Daphne was getting out her charge card when Samantha and Cecily Sterling made an appearance, probably on their way to lunch. “Hi, Daphne,” Cecily said. “How are you doing?”
There was no need to ask what Cecily meant by that. “I’m fine, glad to be home.”
“Have you found a job yet?” Samantha asked.
Good grief. Was there anything anyone didn’t know about her? Oh, yes. One thing. No one knew she’d discovered her husband with yet another woman and attacked him with a toilet plunger. No one was ever going to know about that.
“Not yet,” Daphne said. “I only need something part-time. I’m going to be helping my mother with weddings.”
“Our mom’s been talking about hiring an assistant,” Cecily said. “I think you two would work well together.”
“Yeah?” Daphne liked Muriel Sterling. Well, who didn’t? Muriel was eternally sweet, perpetually positive. She’d make a great boss.
“You ought to go see her,” Samantha urged.
Maybe she would.
She stopped by Herman’s Hamburgers and treated herself to a fat Herman’s burger loaded with fried onions. Then she decided to swing by Muriel Sterling’s rented cottage and convince her that hiring an assistant would be an excellent idea.
She went there by way of Johnson’s Drugs, where she picked up some mints to disguise her onion breath. Not that Muriel would care. She’d known Daphne all her life. Still, if a woman was going to talk jobs, even with an old friend, she needed to be professional.
Hildy Johnson was on the cash register. She was as tall and homely as Daphne remembered, only she’d put on some weight. Her breasts now stood out like cannons.
“I’m sorry your third marriage didn’t work out,” she said as she rang up Daphne’s purchase.
Hildy, the soul of tact.
“It’s hard to find a good man, especially once you get older.”
Fifty is the new forty. “It’s hard to find a good man, period,” Daphne said and handed over a five-dollar bill.
Hildy nodded. “Yes, it is. But you’re still a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you.” Much good it did her.
“I’m sure you’ll have men lining up at your door. Or rather, your mother’s door. You’re living with your mother now, aren’t you?”
Hildy made it sound like the hallmark of failure. Okay, Daphne wasn’t exactly a success story so far, but her story wasn’t over yet.
“I’m helping her run Primrose Haus,” she said.
Hildy’s eyebrows went up at that.
“I may be getting divorced but I can still plan a wedding reception,” Daphne said, her Miss Congeniality smile disappearing.
“Oh, well, yes. Of course you can. It’s not like you’ve never had your own reception before.”
Three of them, but who’s counting?
Hildy must have realized what that implied because her cheeks suddenly flushed red. “Your mother must be happy to have you back. And everything will work out fine,” she added, handing over Daphne’s change along with her breath mints.
“Thank you,” Daphne murmured.
She left the drugstore, the memory of her romantic failures keeping her company. That was enough to depress even the most optimistic of women.
It was starting to drizzle and she drew her coat tight against the cold March air. Instead of popping a breath mint, she pulled out a dark chocolate–chipotle truffle from her Sweet Dreams candy box and gave her taste buds a treat. There. Life wasn’t all bad. It was darkest just before the storm and every cloud had a chocolate lining. And she was taking her new life one day at a time, one step at a time. And the next step was to convince Muriel that she needed an assistant.
Maybe, while she was helping Muriel, Muriel could help her.
Situated next to a vineyard, Muriel’s cottage was a Thomas Kinkade painting come to life. White with green shutters, the cottage was hugged by azaleas and rhododendrons. A dried-flower wreath hung on the front door in anticipation of spring.
Daphne’s heart rate picked up as she knocked on the door. The very thought of trying to convince a potential future employer that she was worthy of being hired stressed her out. Which was probably one reason she’d stayed at the same job all those years. That hadn’t gotten her very far, but when it came to moving up the ladder of success, she was afraid of heights. And all her mother’s nagging had only increased her fear. Performance anxiety, she supposed.
This was an old family friend, though; she didn’t need to be nervous.
Muriel opened the door and, at the sight of Daphne, broke into a delighted smile. “Daphne, what a nice surprise!”
Her delight was a balm to Daphne’s wounded spirit. “I should have called. Are you busy?”
“Just editing some pages. I’m happy for the distraction,” Muriel said. “Come in. How about a cup of chocolate mint tea?” she asked as she ushered Daphne into the small living room.
Mint…breath mints. She should’ve taken one before she got out of the car. Did her breath smell? “That would be great,” she said, taking care not to stand too close to Muriel.
“Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute,” Muriel said and disappeared into the kitchen.
Daphne settled on a floral love seat and dug out a mint. She popped it in her mouth as she looked around. The place was half the size of Muriel’s old house, but it was homey. In addition to the love seat, it held two matching chairs and an ornately carved coffee table. In the far corner, off the kitchen, sat a small mahogany dining table and four chairs. A vase filled with green carnations brought spring into the house and served as a reminder that Saint Patrick’s Day was right around the corner. A buffet stood against one wall, topped with a mantel clock. One large painting of a garden entrance blooming with wisteria hung over the love seat, and framed photographs of mountain scenes—her daughter Samantha’s work—occupied space on other walls. The house smelled faintly of lavender.
Now Muriel was back bearing a tray with a chintz teapot, cream and sugar and two china mugs, plus a small plate with finger sandwiches and one with some of her daughter Bailey’s famous lavender sugar cookies.
Daphne smelled something new, the enticing combination of chocolate and mint. “That tea smells delicious.”
“It is,” Muriel said with a smile. “Just the thing for a cold afternoon.”
“It’s sweet of you to feed me,” Daphne said, helping herself to a cookie.
“I was getting hungry. I thought you might be, too.” Muriel poured tea into a china mug and handed it to Daphne. “How are you settling in?”
“Pretty well. I’m glad to be back.” Even if the whole town did know she’d failed at love. Again.
Muriel nodded. “This is a good place to come and heal a broken heart.”
“I’m hoping it’s a good place to build a new life,” Daphne said.
“It is.”
It was now or never. Daphne took a sip of tea for courage. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ll be working with Mother at Primrose Haus, but I’m also looking for something I can do part-time to bring in a little extra money. Cecily said you might need an assistant. I have a lot of experience in that area.”
“I could certainly use the help,” Muriel said. “It seems that these days an author has to do so much more than simply write a book, and I do find mailings and organizing blog tours to be very taxing.”
Daphne knew what a blog was, but what on earth was a blog tour? Whatever it was, she was sure she could handle it. “I’m good with a computer and I’m very good at organizing.”
Muriel looked at her eagerly. “Even paperwork?”
“Especially paperwork.” She might not have inherited her mother’s cleaning gene but she could certainly file.
“Let me show you my office.”
Daphne followed her into a tiny bedroom that was serving as her office. It had a filing cabinet, several bookshelves crammed with books and a huge desk…piled high with papers. There was barely room for the computer. The filing cabinet was covered with more papers and so was the printer that sat on a little table next to the desk. A stack of books lay on the floor next to the desk, and in another corner a wicker basket overflowed with still more paperwork and magazines. Muriel Sterling definitely needed help. She’d written a book on simplifying your life. It obviously hadn’t included a chapter on simplifying your office space.
“Between my personal life and my writing life, I’m afraid it’s all kind of…overwhelming,” Muriel confessed as if reading Daphne’s mind. “I got rid of a lot when I moved, but managing my business is becoming too much for me. I think hiring an assistant would really bring some order to that part of my life.”
“I think you’re right,” Daphne agreed. “I’d love to help you,” she said. “And you’d be helping me, too.”
“It’s hard starting over, isn’t it?” Muriel said kindly.
Daphne’s eyes suddenly prickled with tears. “Yes, it is.”
“But it can be done.” Muriel opened the closet, revealing more clutter—shelving filled with everything from printer paper to sachets and soaps, candles and gift baskets. And more books. “When I do author events I always bring a basket full of goodies as a door prize,” she explained. “I love giving things away. And speaking of giving things away…” She selected a book from one of the many stacks. “You might find this helpful. I like to think it helped Bailey when she came home to make a new start.”
Daphne took in the book cover. It was simple and striking, with a single long-stemmed red rose against a blurred black-and-white garden. The title was gold embossed. “‘Starting Over,’” she read. “That’s me. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You’re going to make my life so much easier.”
Now, if Daphne could just find someone to make her life easier. Maybe a genie. Or a fairy godmother. Or a Jiminy Cricket to warn her every time she was about to make a dumb decision. No, never mind. She made dumb decisions only when it came to men, and since she was done with men she didn’t need old Jiminy.
She left Muriel’s place feeling far more positive about her life and her future. She could hardly wait to earn a paycheck again. She and Muriel had agreed on a fair salary for three mornings a week, and Daphne was going to start on Friday. That was fine with her. Cash flow was a good thing, and working only three days a week, she’d still have time to get her affairs in order, as well as take some of the load off her mother’s shoulders. And prove she was capable of doing so.
Daphne sighed. Maybe that would never happen. Her mother was a perfectionist and an overachiever. Not content with her job at the bank and having a pretty house, she’d started her own business and turned herself into one of the grande dames of Icicle Falls. In the past, Roberta Gilbert had chaired any number of committees, seeing to everything from town beautification to organizing the Oktoberfest parade. She still rode in it every year on the Primrose Haus float, along with any of the local brides who’d gotten married or held their receptions at the house that year. Oh, yes, she was a hard act to follow. Not to mention an exhausting one.
But Daphne was determined to do it.
This job was a hopeful beginning. Her mother might not have thought highly of her skills but Muriel Sterling obviously did, enough to hire her. Who knew where she might go from here? Today Muriel Sterling’s loyal assistant, tomorrow the organizer of some new Icicle Falls festival. She wouldn’t always be a loser.
She smiled. Once she was free of Mitchell and had money from the sale of the house, she’d be sitting pretty. Heck, she was sitting pretty now.
She was so busy thinking about how her life was going to improve, she almost didn’t see the dog darting into the street in front of her. She stomped on the brakes and just about throttled herself with her seat belt. The animal dodged out of the way, then romped back to the side of the road to give a huckleberry bush the sniff test.
“You are not going to last long if you do that,” she muttered.
The dog, some sort of yellow Lab mix, still seemed to be a puppy. She got out of the car and called, “Here, boy,” and the dog came bounding over, tail wagging.
The animal had on a flea collar but appeared to have slipped its dog collar. It looked well fed and happy, and she suspected, judging from the muddy paws and legs, it had dug out of someone’s yard. “We’d better take you to the animal shelter,” she said. She opened the back door of her car. “Wanna go for a ride?”
The dog happily jumped into the backseat. Her mother would have had a heart attack over the mess, but Daphne liked dogs, and she’d rather have a little mess to clean up than see this animal get hurt.
Dr. Wolfe, the town vet, was volunteering at the shelter. Although she hadn’t met him, she’d heard about him and knew he’d recently married one of the local women.
“Hello, there,” he greeted her as she came in with her new friend prancing by her side.
“I found this dog wandering loose. I think he got out of someone’s backyard.”
“That looks like Bandit.”
The dog confirmed the vet’s deduction with a tail wag.
“Well, Bandit, you little sneak,” Dr. Wolfe said, squatting down to pet the animal. “I see you’ve made the great escape again.” He smiled up at Daphne. “I’ll make sure he gets back to Mrs. Little. She’s probably out searching for him.”
“Thanks,” Daphne said.
“No problem. Maybe this will finally convince Mrs. L. to get an invisible fence. By the way, I’m Ken Wolfe,” he said and smiled at her.
He seemed like a nice man. Too bad he was taken.
You’re not looking anymore, ever again, she reminded herself. Mitchell had seemed like a nice man when she first met him, too. She wasn’t going to waste any more time looking for nice men. If she wanted something to love, an animal was the best bet…the four-legged kind.
“I’m Daphne Gilbert,” she said, reverting to her maiden name.
“Roberta Gilbert’s daughter?” Daphne nodded and he said, “She’s great. My wife and I got married at Primrose Haus. It’s pretty impressive.”
“Yes, it is.” Daphne gave the dog a goodbye scratch behind the ears. How she’d love to have a dog, but she knew better than to even suggest it. She’d just turned to leave when, from out of nowhere, a small black cat trotted over to her and began rubbing against her legs. “Well, who’s this?” she asked, bending down to stroke its soft fur. She hadn’t had a cat since her sweet tabby died. And that was shortly before she’d married Mitchell. Mitchell had been allergic to cat dander, so no cats for Daphne. But Mitchell was gone now and Daphne wasn’t allergic to cat dander.
“That’s Milo. We got him a couple of days ago. His owners are getting divorced and neither one wanted him.”
Poor guy, she thought. I know how you feel, little fella. It’s awful not to be wanted. “He looks young.”
“He is, under a year, so he’s got energy to burn. But he’s been neutered and he’s had all his shots.”
Daphne picked up the cat and he began to chew on her hair. It made her giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.
She’d love to take Milo home with her. A cat wouldn’t be any bother. He’d probably run and hide when they had wedding guests. And if he wasn’t prone to hiding, she could always shut him in her room for a few hours. She had a comfy bed with a homemade quilt (another of her mother’s many talents), perfect for catnaps.
Except…she couldn’t simply bring a cat home any more than she could a dog. The house on Primrose Street had been her home growing up but it wasn’t now. In fact, it was more a business than a house—her mother’s business. It would be selfish and inconsiderate of Daphne to do such a thing, especially considering the fact that her mother wasn’t particularly fond of animals.
She sighed. “He’s awfully cute. I hope you find a home for him quickly.” Somewhere from the back of the building she heard a dog howl. Leaving without an animal…it felt wrong.
Never mind, she told herself as she drove away from the shelter. You won’t always be living with your mother. Down the road she’d get a little place of her own here in town, a place like Muriel Sterling’s that she could doll up with rustic furniture and gingham curtains. Then she’d get a pet. Or two.
She found her mother seated at the kitchen table, going over bills. “Where were you all this time?” Roberta asked.
“I had some errands to run.” Daphne set a box of the chocolates she’d bought on the kitchen table.
Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “Should you be spending money on chocolate?”
Daphne sat down opposite her and nudged the box in her direction. She couldn’t help smiling as Mother, unable to resist, selected a white chocolate truffle. “I think I can afford it. I got a job.”
Her announcement produced a smile of approval. “You did?”
Daphne nodded. “Starting Friday, I’m going to be working for Muriel Sterling three mornings a week. I’m going to get her organized.”
“That’s a great beginning. But it surely won’t be enough to live on.”
Daphne’s own smile curdled. Leave it to her mother to see the dark clouds instead of the rainbow. “If I’m working part-time I’ll still be able to help you here,” she pointed out.
Her mother’s expression changed from approving to…wary. Hard to believe only a few days ago she’d suggested Daphne help her. Now it looked as if she was having second thoughts. What a surprise.
“Something else might come up,” she said. “You don’t want to be tied down here.”
“Or you don’t want me to be.”
“I didn’t say that,” her mother said stiffly.
She didn’t have to. Daphne had never had an aptitude for foreign languages, but she had no problem with body language, especially her mother’s. “I really am capable of helping you.”
“I know. Let’s not talk about that right now, though. Let’s talk about what you did with the rest of your day. Or have you been at Muriel’s all this time?”
“No. I also went by the animal shelter.”
Daphne got no further. “You brought home a dog?” Her mother’s horrified gaze roamed the room as if she was looking for a Saint Bernard to suddenly dash out from around the corner or behind the curtains.
“No. I didn’t think you’d want one here.”
“Certainly not. They make huge messes and they smell.”
Which was why, growing up, the only pets Daphne had were parakeets and goldfish. “Dogs are high maintenance. Cats not so much,” she ventured.
Mother didn’t seem any happier about the prospect of a cat. “Don’t tell me you got one.”
“I was strongly tempted. They had the cutest black cat there.”
“Cats may be cute, but they scratch furniture.”
“Not if you get a scratching post.”
“I suppose,” her mother said, and Daphne could almost hear her thinking, And where, among my antiques, would that go?
It was just as well she hadn’t adopted Milo. Daphne sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring one here. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She loved her mother dearly, but sometimes she wished the woman would loosen up a little.
“Darling, it’s not that I wouldn’t love you to have a cat. However, this place doesn’t really work for pets, not with all the receptions we host. Some people are allergic.”
“Of course,” Daphne agreed. “There’s something about pets, though. Animals love you unconditionally.” Sometimes she wasn’t sure she could say that about her mother.
“Down the road, when you get your own place…”
It was the same thing she’d told herself, but hearing her mother say it stung. “And I know you’re in a hurry for that to happen.”
Mother frowned. “I didn’t say that, and I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”
She didn’t have to say it. Daphne was nothing but a big inconvenience. What kind of mother wouldn’t be happy to have her daughter back with her? Everywhere Daphne turned these days, she found rejection.
That’s not true, said her brain. Your mother’s not rejecting you. She’s rejecting having a cat. And she’s probably assuming you’ll want your own place. Of course she was being oversensitive and unreasonable. Still, her wounded heart wouldn’t listen. She felt that prickle in her eyes again, signaling the arrival of tears. She pushed away from the table. “I’m going up to my room for a while. I need to check my email.”
“Daphne.” Her mother’s voice softened, taking on that pleading don’t-be-a-pill tone Daphne was all too familiar with.
“I’ll be down later,” she said, striving to keep the hurt from seeping into her words. She went upstairs to her old room and shut the door behind her, putting distance between them. Not too different from her teen years when they quarreled. Except she’d outgrown door slamming.
She settled on the bed with her old laptop and brought up her email. One of her neighbors in Seattle was inviting her to a party. Actually, she was on more of a fishing expedition. Are you two still together? I haven’t seen you around much. Or Mitchell. And what was with the sacks of clothes on the front lawn?
Daphne gave a snort of disgust. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
A friend had forwarded a collection of cute animal pictures with clever captions. Oh, she thought again, how she’d love to have a pet. She did need to get her own place. It was ridiculous living with her mother at her age.
Maybe it wouldn’t be if her mother could ever admit she needed her, if they could work together and help each other. But her mother didn’t want her help. Roberta Gilbert didn’t need anyone’s help.
Daphne shut the computer and looked out the window at Sleeping Lady Mountain. The view had always inspired her. Today it didn’t.
She reached for Muriel’s book and began to read. It was almost as good as actually being with Muriel, having a heart-to-heart talk.
Wherever you are right now, you’re there for a reason.
Daphne frowned. Yes, because I’m a failure at love.
And whatever choices or mistakes brought you to where you are, know that you’re in this place at this moment to learn something, to go somewhere new or to encourage someone else. The door is open. All you have to do is step out.
Easy for Muriel to say. She didn’t have Roberta Gilbert for a mother.