Tara opened the door at Nikki’s knock and immediately enfolded her in a big, squishy, wonderful hug. Like the palm tree, it made Nikki feel guilty. She wasn’t here out of daughterly affection, she was here to ask for money. Money that her mother probably didn’t have to spare.
But Aunt Dee had her own issues, so was out as a source of cash, and none of Nikki’s friends could loan her five hundred dollars right now.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tara exclaimed, smelling of vanilla extract, butter and flour. “What a nice surprise. Good timing, too. I just pulled a tray of raspberry scones out of the oven.”
The house smelled wonderful as Nikki stepped inside, like a smaller version of Sweetheart’s, her mother’s bakery. The living-room walls were painted in a soft cinnamon color, airy olive curtains that Tara had made herself hung in the windows, and the love seat and matching chair were draped in striped-gold-and-olive slipcovers. Instead of throw pillows, there were cats on the furniture. Cats that blinked sleepily, yawned and stretched. Cats in every color: tabby, calico, orange, white and black.
Nikki wrinkled her nose as she caught the familiar ammonia stench that underlay the aroma of the fresh scones. With so many cats inside, it was simply impossible to disguise the presence of their by-products—especially since the dear kitties were partial to the dozens of potted plants and delicate fruit trees that filled the house.
The sunroom, in particular, was in constant disarray, since the cats chewed on the wicker furniture, used the cushions for sharpening their claws and gleefully dug the soil out of the plants, sending it flying, in order to make their deposits. Tara scolded them but it did no good.
Nikki followed her mother through the vanilla-painted dining room, where books and papers constantly covered the table since Tara had started taking classes part-time. Nikki’s childhood paintings of lopsided cakes and pies and cookies still hung framed on the walls in this room, though they embarrassed her and she’d begged her mother to take them down.
Tara had painted the kitchen a chocolate-brown with bright white trim. A tiny bistro table and two chairs occupied the nook by the window. Shiny copper bakeware hung in artistic arrangements here, along with framed magazine pictures of fantastic chocolate creations and elaborate gingerbread houses. A solid wall of colorful dessert cookbooks stood opposite the stove. This room, more than any other, defined her mother’s life.
“Would you like whipped cream on your scone?” Tara asked.
Nikki chuckled ruefully. “Sure, why not add another couple hundred calories to the four hundred in the scone.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand and got two delicate porcelain plates out of a cupboard. She loved to scour antiques shops for two sets of things like tea cups and saucers, plates and bowls. Then when she threw the occasional party, she’d mix and match them all to the delight of the guests.
“Coffee? Tea?”
“Do you have some leftover coffee from earlier? I’ll ice it.”
Tara nodded and then cast a shrewd glance in her direction as she plated a couple of the golden-brown scones. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Nothing,” said Nikki, but she knew she hadn’t fooled her mom.
“Hmm. I always walk around with a frown and a wrinkle in my forehead when nothing’s wrong, too.”
That brought a smile to Nikki’s face despite her mood. She mixed her iced coffee and the two sat at the table. One bite of fresh, hot raspberry scone with whipped cream did a lot for her spirits. A moan of pleasure escaped her and she scarfed down the rest of it in record time.
“All right,” said Tara. “What’s on your mind?”
Ugh. Okay, it was time to ’fess up. “Mom…I hate to ask you this. But could you possibly loan me five hundred dollars until I get my first paycheck in two weeks?”
There was the tiniest, most infinitesimal hesitation before Tara said, “Of course. No problem.”
Nikki squirmed. “I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t kind of desperate.”
“I know that. I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve ever asked me for money. When do you need it?”
“Um. By four-thirty today.”
Tara set down her coffee. “Are you in some kind of trouble, honeybun?”
“No, no. Of course not. It’s just that I had to borrow the money from someone who, um, unexpectedly needs it back right away.”
Her mother looked at the clock on the stove, which said 10:45 a.m. “Well, I was hoping we had more time to chat, but we’d better get to the bank right away. It closes at noon on Saturdays, and I can’t get that much money from my ATM card.”
Nikki nodded and inspected the crumbs on her plate, feeling terrible. Tara had her classes to pay for, plus the new part-time help at the bakery, not to mention the roof. The last time Nikki had been here when the weather was bad, she’d noticed the old lobster pot sitting on a towel in the hallway, collecting rain from a leak.
“I’ll get changed and we can go,” her mother said as she stood. Then, unexpectedly, she grabbed for the back of her chair and leaned on it, hard.
“Mom?” Nikki jumped up. “What’s wrong?”
Tara blinked and took a deep breath. “Nothing. I got up too fast and lost my balance, that’s all.”
“Are you dizzy?”
Tara shook her head, but she didn’t let go of the chair.
Nikki took her arm, guiding her back into the seat. “Has this ever happened before?” Her mother was only forty-seven—surely too young to be having health issues. Right? But fear coiled low in Nikki’s belly.
“N-no.”
The hesitation was the giveaway. “Mom, don’t lie to me. This
has
happened before, hasn’t it?”
“Only a couple of times. It’s nothing serious, so don’t fuss.”
“How do you know it’s nothing serious? Have you seen a doctor?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“You don’t really know that, now do you? I’d feel better if you’d see a doctor and get this checked out.”
Her mother’s mouth flattened mulishly. “You know my opinion of so-called Western medicine. It’s a racket. Take this pill, take that pill, have this outrageously expensive test, have that one. Do you know how many people’s lives are compromised by the giant pharmaceutical machine? They’d feel a lot better, most of them, if they’d stop taking three-quarters of their prescriptions. They should try acupuncture.”
Nikki sighed. “You still haven’t gotten health insurance, have you?”
“Oh, that again.” Eye roll. “I did look into it, honey, but I simply can’t afford those premiums right now. It’s a crazy amount of money, just to be able to go to a bunch of arrogant quacks intent on milking the system for every dime they can get. No, thank you.”
Tara was more than a little prejudiced against doctors, especially since her sister, Dee, had been disastrously married to one. She’d been what Tara called his “starter wife,” the one who’d supported him all through med school, residency and specialization programs. She’d had his children, too, only to be discarded when a hot young sales rep had caught his eye.
“Mom—”
“
Insane,
what they want monthly for a policy.” Her mother snorted. “How anyone can afford it is beyond me.”
“It has to be less than paying for a major operation on your own, like I’m having to do. And not all doctors are quacks. There are things that acupuncture and herbs can’t cure. What if
your
appendix ruptures? What if you find a lump in your breast? What if—”
Tara waved her hand dismissively about this, too, the same as she had about calories. “Nicole, enough. I get it. Okay?”
Nikki ignored her mother’s stern tone. “What about the university? Now that you’re taking classes, don’t you qualify for group insurance on the student plan?”
Tara shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I’m not a full-time student.”
“What if you did go full-time?”
“I’d have to sell the business. Unless maybe my daughter wanted to take it over.” Her mother shot her a sideways glance.
Take over Sweetheart’s? Nikki’s heart sank. She liked to bake occasionally, but to do it all day, every day? Never to leave the premises? The thought held little appeal. Sweetheart’s was her mother’s dream, not hers. The
Forbes
article she’d read in the clinic returned to her mind, along with the concept of a business that benefited single moms.
“Since you don’t seem to be jumping at the chance,” Tara said dryly, “I think I’ll keep my current means of making a living, and do school on the side.”
She hadn’t thought it possible, but Nikki now felt even worse about borrowing the money from her mother. Still, this wasn’t about her—somehow the subject had changed.
“Okay, fine, but you’re avoiding the topic. We were discussing the fact that you really need health insurance.”
“No, I believe you were. The subject is closed for me. I can’t afford it, unless I give up my annual vacation, and I refuse to do that. There’s nothing wrong with me that vitamins and exercise can’t cure.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Tara stood again, this time a little warily, but without incident. She exited the kitchen and walked toward her bedroom. “I’m
fine.
”
“Mom, you’re gambling with your life,” Nikki insisted, following her.
Tara sighed. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
“You
are.
”
“Well, it’s mine to gamble with.” Her mother sounded exasperated.
“Maybe so, but there are a lot of people who care about you, and you’re gambling with their love for you, too. What you’re doing—or not doing—it’s…it’s…” Nikki searched for a word to express her feelings. “It’s
irresponsible.
”
She shouldn’t have said it. She knew she’d gone too far as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but her excuse was worry, and this was backed by her own experience in what the lack of health insurance could do to someone financially. It was one thing to struggle to replace a roof. It was quite another to have to sell your whole house to pay off massive debt.
Tara turned on her heel and folded her arms across her body, her expression closed. “Irresponsible,” she repeated.
The worst word in the house. The one Nikki had grasped for unconsciously, instinctively, knowing that it would have impact.
“I’m sor—”
“Yes, well, I specialize in being irresponsible, don’t I, Nicole? I got knocked up without being married. Then I decided to have the baby. Worse, I was bullheaded enough to raise her myself instead of giving her up for adoption. I had no prospects, so I started a silly business making cupcakes out of my apartment and to everyone’s shock, it took off. My irresponsibility has always served me well. It’s paid for your upbringing and your college—”
“I’m sorry. I’m
sorry,
Mom. Please,” Nikki said, miserable. “That word shouldn’t have come out of my mouth. I’m just— I worry about you. I love you.”
Tara’s face softened immediately. “I love you, too. Now, let’s give this topic a rest and get to the bank before it closes. Okay?”
9
ON MONDAY, NIKKI AWOKE at 5:00 a.m., excited about starting her new job in the dean’s office at Palm Peninsula Medical School—even if her mother didn’t have much respect for the “quacks” who matriculated.
Being an administrative assistant wasn’t her lifelong dream, but she would have money to pay down her debt and she would have medical insurance while she brainstormed a plan for a viable business that helped single moms.
Nikki had worked to forget her weekend misadventures, even if she couldn’t quite ban the image of Adam Burke from her mind. Or her body, which had liked him far too much. Thank God she hadn’t lost her marbles and given him her phone number.
She’d commanded her spirit to overrule her mind and body when it came to Adam, had paid back Yvonne and on Sunday, had called to check on her mother, making her promise at least to see an acupuncturist if she had another disturbing dizzy spell.