Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
"Consider it done."
"You're a doll. So. Next up: my mother. What can I do about her, Claire?" Maddie asked humbly. "In her mind, Dan as much as murdered my dad. With time, she'll get over the beach episode. But it's obvious that she's never going to get over what Dan did in college."
"For that matter, George isn't too keen on him, either," Claire reminded her. "You Timmons folk have long memories."
"Is that why you're so accepting? Because you weren't there at the time?"
"That's part of it," Claire admitted, taking down a ceramic teapot and a tea tin from the glass-front cupboard. "But it's also that I knew your father so well. If he were alive now, I'm sure he'd be perfectly fine about Dan and you. Your father admired him, Maddie, despite the tragedy."
"How can you say that?"
Claire lifted the lid from the tea tin and began measuring scoops of loose
Darjeeling
into the pot. "I can say that, because he and I were watching CNN together once, and Dan came on with a
follow-up
about the breakup of
Yugoslavia
. When it was over your dad said to me, and I quote, 'He's a hell of a reporter. He cares about the people, not the politics. Good man.' "
"Oh, Claire—really? You're not making it up just to cheer me?"
"Not at all," she said in her serene way. "I related the same story to George when he came back up to bed—just before you ran off to the beach?—but he didn't want to hear it. I left it to him to tell your mother, but if I were you, I'd tell her myself."
Maddie sighed and said, "Assuming she ever talks to me again."
"She doesn't have to talk. She only has to listen."
"I suppose I'll have to kidnap her from
Sudbury
and bring her back down here somehow. I wonder if they sell handcuffs in town," Maddie said lightly, but she was at a loss about her next move.
She winced again at the thought of the scene earlier. "She's too old for this, Claire.
I'm
too old for this. I need all my strength to ride herd on Tracey. I can't go around throwing hysterical fits in the middle of the day. I never should have done it," she said with a sigh. "Teenage rebellions are best left to teenagers."
"Maybe that's your problem. Maybe you didn't rebel enough when you were young."
Maddie thought about it a moment, and then said, "You know, Dr. Ruth, you may have something there? My dad made sure I was a responsible citizen, and my mother made sure I was responsible, period. I voted and I volunteered; I sent handwritten thank-you notes, never cards, and I got my work done on time, come hell or high water. I was always doing things for extra credit. God. I was a complete failure as a teenager."
"You never ran with a wild crowd?"
"Never," Maddie said, running water into the pot of potatoes. "Dan Hawke was the one wild thing in my entire life. But my parents never knew it. No one did—except maybe the groundskeeper at
Lowell
College
. I wish now that they had
... especially my father. But I guess I was too afraid of my mother."
Claire said softly, "The way Tracey is, you mean?"
Surprised, Maddie looked up at her sister-in-law. "Tracey's not afraid of me. She's much too busy defying me."
Claire shrugged and poured the boiling water slowly into the teapot, then snugged a quilted floral cozy over it. Her silence was more eloquent than any argument could possibly be.
It had a direct, immediate impact on Maddie.
"I'm going out to talk to Tracey right now,"
she said sud
denly, wiping her hands on a towel. "And—Claire?"
"Hmm?"
"I hope you're wrong."
"You wouldn't be a mother if you didn't."
Maddie found her daughter in the most secret place of the yard: a small nook, tucked in the northwest corner behind an ancient clump of lilac, that Michael had paved with a few flagstones one summer. Tracey had liked to hide there when she was a little girl, and now that she was a bigger girl, she liked to hide there still.
She'd hung a miniature set of chimes from one of the lilac branches; they tinkled in a delicate, enchanting way at the slightest hint of a breeze.
But the
chimes were silent now, like Tracey.
She was sitting cross-legged in a twig chair that doubled as a scratching post for every cat in the neighborhood. One of the cats, the neighbor's calico, was curled up in her lap at the moment as she sat with an utterly blank look on her face.
"You look so sad," Maddie said as she lifted a branch and stepped inside the nook, sending the chimes caroling. "Do you mind if I visit a bit before supper?"
Tracey pressed her lips together and shrugged. Permission was neither denied nor granted.
Maddie repositioned the unused footstool and then sat down gingerly on it, hoping it wouldn't collapse underneath her and create an unwelcome diversion. Somehow, some way, she had to get through to her daughter, because the chasm between them had just widened again. Both of them knew that Maddie had Dan, but that Tracey wasn't being allowed to have Kevin.
"I
don't know what to do about us,
Tracey," Maddie said softly. "We used to be such great friends. But somehow I've gone from being your mom to being your jailer. And you know what? I'd rather go back to being your mom. Do you think I could do that?"
Tracey hadn't expected the question; that was obvious. Maddie could practically see the disk drives spinning inside her head as she searched for the right rebuttal. Finally she sighed rather violently and said, "I never said you couldn't."
"True."
Stroking the chin of the neighbor's cat, Tracey continued to look straight ahead at nothing at all. She looked exhausted; it was wrenching to see.
"Well, here's the thing," Maddie began. "I know that when your dad and I decided to—"
"Divorce."
"—divorce, it was hard on you."
"You
decided; not Dad."
"Whatever. And then when Grampa was
... was—"
"Murdered."
"It made it even harder for you to deal with your feelings. I know that, honey. I can't tell you how bad I feel that you were gypped of your childhood. It doesn't seem fair. And the fact that a lot of other kids are also gypped in the same way—as incredible as that may seem—doesn't make it any better. It's unfair, it's awful, I wish it could be some other way, but there it is. Nothing we can say or do will bring Grampa back... and nothing we can say or do will bring your father and me together again."
"Don't you think I know that?" she said, becoming more rigid in her exhaustion.
"Yes," Maddie murmured. "You certainly do, after this afternoon. I'm sorry you heard everything that you did. I lost my temper and I said things that I never should have."
Tracey shrugged and, still staring somewhere past her mother, said, "I'm cool with it."
"Are you, honey? I don't see how you can be," Maddie admitted. "It's an awful lot for a kid to have to deal with. I guess what I'm saying is, I really, really want us to start over, beginning today, because Mr. Hawke is going to be a part of my life now.
..."
At the mention of his name, the look in Tracey's eyes became even more blank, if possible. She looked as if she'd been abducted into an alien cult.
Maddie had to force herself to stagger forward with the burden of her apology. "I loved him very much back when I was in college," she said softly, "and now I care for him again."
"Still, you mean!" Tracey said, flashing her mother a look of fury. But in a typical lightning shift of mood, she went back at once to being a zombie again.
"Okay, yes. Still," said Maddie, aware now that her daughter understood the distinction.
"Even though he did burn down
a
building," Tracey added venomously.
"He wasn't the one who started the fire," Maddie said, wondering when that bit of history had leaked out. She had a vague idea that her mother had shouted something about it during their argument, but the whole exchange was still a blur in her mind.
She said, "Mr. Hawke made a huge mistake in college, and he and I made a pretty dumb one last night. It just goes to show that you're never too old to use poor judgment. Anyway, I have a peace proposal. Would you like to hear it?"
Maddie saw a flicker of interest in Tracey as she turned her head a fractional amount in her direction.
"Okay, here
goes. You think that I was being too hard on Kevin, and I think that you're not very inclined to like Mr. Hawke. Am I right?"
No answer, just a resounding snort.
"I'll take that as a yes," Maddie said dryly. "Okay. Suppose I agree to put you and Kevin on probation. He—and his brother, and Julie, whatever—can come here, or I'll drive you all to a show or the mall or an event we agree on. I'll be able to look him over a little more thoroughly, and we'll take it from there. In return, all I ask is—"
She wanted to say, "That you please not spit in Mr. Hawke's face when he shows up here," but she confined herself to saying, ' 'That you give Mr. Hawke the same chance that I give Kevin."
She was surprised when Tracey didn't jump up and down with joy. This was
Kevin
they were talking about.
"This isn't something I have to do, honey," she prompted. "After all, I'm still bigger than you are, plus don't forget I've got the law on my side," she added lightly.
She waited and watched as
her daughter's gaze slowly re-
focused from the lilac bush to her bare feet.
"Well
... okay," Tracey said, raking her dusky blonde hair away from her face. "If that's—no!" she cried, her voice going from thoughtful to shrill in a heartbeat. "No, that's not what I want!"
"Not what you want?" asked Maddie, blinking. "What
do
you want?"
"I don't know! I don't know!"
Immediately Maddie felt guilty of bribery. Had she done the wrong thing? Had she dangled Kevin like a bone before her daughter, trying to distract her while she indulged her own wild yearnings?
"Tracey, I was trying to be fair, that's all," Maddie said.
She
was
trying to be fair, damn it! But maybe the whole point of being a parent was that you couldn't be fair, shouldn't be fair. She just didn't know anymore.
Upset though she was, Tracey glanced at her watch. The gesture puzzled Maddie. "Oh dear, am I wrecking your schedule?" she asked with mild irony.
"No! No, I was just sitting here anyway. Okay, I'll do what you
... what you said. I'll give Mr. Hawke a chance." She seemed to be reading from a script that only she could see.
"Well
... good," Maddie said, still puzzled. "And we're both going to be on our best behavior. Agreed?"
"Uh-huh."
The girl seemed curiously detached from the conversation.
"Tracey? Is something else bothering you?"
"No, nothing."
"Because now would be a really good time to talk about it. I'm in a negotiating mood," Maddie said with a smile.
The smile that she got in return seemed a little preoccupied, which was understandable. Maddie had thrown a curve ball that had sailed right past her daughter's bat. It was time to leave Tracey alone so that she could think about all that her mother had said.
Maddie stood up to leave, then impulsively bent over to give her daughter a quick hug, which she accepted with less than her usual squeamishness.
"Supper will be in half an hour," Maddie said, and then she left, sending the chimes on one last fling of merriment.
Back in the house, Claire had poured Maddie her tea and placed a saucer over the cup. "How'd it go?" she asked as Maddie sank into a chair across from her.
"Okay, I guess," Maddie said thoughtfully. "But somehow Tracey seemed to act, I don't know—guilty."
"She was just embarrassed."
"I suppose. Boy. That conversation would've been a heck of a lot easier ten years from now."
Claire laughed and said, "Ten years from now, you wouldn't have been guilty of a roll in the sand on the town beach."
"You're right," said Maddie, sipping her tea, now lukewarm. She decided to zap the brew in the microwave for a few seconds. "Actually," she said after she punched in the command, "you're not right. Ten years from now I could see us pulling the same stunt all over again."
"Maddie! Is it that serious between you?"
"Let me think about that," Maddie said with mock gravity as she pulled out her tea. "Uh-huh." She grinned and said, "Doesn't it show?"
The phone rang. Maddie looked around and said, "Who took the cordless?" and ended up answering the phone on the wall.
Dan's voice sounded sleep-filled and intimate and sent Maddie into an instant state of arousal. She felt her cheeks flush from the sheer pleasure of her reaction. "Hey-y," she said in a voice as low and intimate as his. "You're up."