Condemn Me Not (5 page)

Claire
sank a hip to the counter and held onto the beveled edge.  Her thoughts
migrated from Mariah to Rebecca as she stared blankly out the window.  Nothing
but a sheet of white, the sky held no intrigue, no appeal.  No answers.  It was
nothing but another icy spring afternoon.

Unlike
Paris, where charm sprang eternal.  An allure Claire understood well.  Rebecca
was young and the City of Love called to the artist in her.  It beckoned her
creative spirit, her idealist nature, her thirst for adventure and excitement. 
Travel the world
?  The idea still hurt, but Claire could see why it drew
her.  And Mariah was no different.  Young and willful, independence streamed
through her veins, ran circles around thoughts of college and consumed her like
a dog on the hunt.  Once Mariah had a mind to do something, she was going to do
it.  It was an admirable quality, one that would get her far in life.

Only
Simone couldn’t see it.  Simone didn’t see value in anything, if it didn’t
conform to
her
opinion of how things should work.  Which irked Claire. 
There was more than one way to toss a salad, paint a picture, or craft a life. 
While she didn’t prefer that Mariah skip college, she would support her as the
girl tried her hand at business.  Amherst could wait.  Once accepted, always
accepted—or could be again.  Claire thought back to her own fork in the path
and decided that that was the way life played.  You had a plan and then life
changed it.  Happened to her.  Claire blew a heavy stream of breath.  And if
Simone wouldn’t support Mariah in her new venture, she would.

At
the sound of the car door slamming to a close, Claire moved to the hall
window.  She pushed aside the curtains and spied her brother Rob in the driveway,
a bulky paper bag in his arms.  The front door opened and closed.  “Claire!”

“In
the kitchen,” she called back and busied herself with the mess of grocery
bags.  Pulling packages of napkins and paper plates from the ripped bag, she
welcomed him with a smile.

“Hey,
sis.”  Rob Alexander strolled into the kitchen.  “I brought you some goodies.”

“Goodies
for me?”  She read the name on the outside and corrected, “You mean for the
boys.”

He
laughed.  Something her brother Rob did often.  The man was as easygoing as a
Labrador Retriever, his hair a mess of dark curls in need of a cut, his frame
sporting the soft edges of middle age much like her own.  The man never seemed
ruffled.  Living on the rural outskirts of town kept his pace slow and easy, yet
Rob made a special point to be a regular fixture at her place.  “Had a few
friends over last night and this is all that’s left.”  He set the bag of
barbeque on the counter next to her bag and kissed her cheek.  “How ya doing?”

“Not
good.”

He
glimpsed the torn bag as though he’d found the culprit.  “Bad day at the
grocer’s?”

Claire
wished.  Abandoning her attempt at organizing groceries, she leaned a hand onto
the counter.  “Rebecca’s not going to Rhode Island.”

His
demeanor abruptly tensed.  “What?”

She’s
going to Paris.”

“Paris?” 
He let out a low whistle.  “Well, what do you know...”

“I
know it’s the worst possible news.”

“Claire—”
 Rob reached out for her, but anticipating his move, she dodged his hand and
headed for the living room.  She’d deal with party supplies later.

Rob
sauntered in behind her.  “I take it this is bad news on the Atkins front?”

“Jim
doesn’t know yet.”

“Huh.”

Claire
walked toward the front door and then stopped.  What was she in here for again? 
Turning, she picked up a stack of mail on the foyer table and headed back
toward the kitchen.

“Hey,”
Rob said softly, reaching out to stop her.  “Wanna talk about it?”

“Why
is she doing this to me?”

“Doing
it to
you
?”

“Yes. 
We made plans for her to go to Rhode Island, but she’s enrolled herself in La
Sorbonne, instead.”  Her brother suppressed a smile, and she pulled her arm
away from him.  “It’s not funny, Rob.  This is serious.”

“I
know.”  He gave a quick nod.  “Here, come sit.”  Rob gently guided her toward
the sofa.  Dropping down to the cushion beside her, he said, “Why don’t you
tell me what’s happened.”

Claire
relayed the events from the morning.  Although the shock had worn off, the
disbelief remained.  “I don’t know what possessed her to go behind our backs.”

Rob
chuckled.  He tugged his jean pant leg up at the knee and crossed one leg over
the other.  “No sense upsetting you before it was a solid deal.”

She
frowned, the knife twisting deeper. Upsetting her.  As though
she
were
the problem here.  “I would have respected her decision to seek admission
elsewhere, if only she’d come to me first.”

He
raised a sardonic brow.  “Would you?”

Claire
didn’t appreciate the accusatory glint in his eye.  She was the parent here and
parents deserved a say on major decisions.  “I would have at least liked to be
included in the process.”

“So
you could talk her out of it before she ever got her hopes up?”

“I’m
not the bad guy, here.”

“And
neither is Rebecca.”

Stalemate.

Rob
peered at her, and a wave of unspoken emotion washed through his eyes.  He
reached over and loosened one of her hands.  He took it in his own, enveloping
her in a tender gaze.  “Is this about Sarah?”

The
stab to her heart was quick.  Claire fled the knowing look in his eye, seeking
refuge in a view of her back patio.  Empty, bleak, the bare metal furniture
looked cold and uninviting.  During the summer it was their gathering place, the
seats filled with friends and family, the stainless steel grill a key
ingredient to their enjoyment.  Jim would grill burgers that called to the
entire neighborhood, the boys would toss a football out in the yard, while she
and Rebecca would sit and read, sit and chat.  They did everything and
anything, but all of it was made better because they were together.

Claire
shut out the ideal mental pictures in her mind. 
Sarah
.  Her sister,
Sarah.  Tears of longing pricked her eyes as she hooked her gaze to Rob’s. 
Joined at the hip for their entire childhood, she and Sarah were closer than
two human beings could be.  They thought alike, dressed alike, even sounded
alike.  Only eighteen months separated the two of them, and Claire was
devastated when she left.  “Sarah and Rebecca are not the same,” she refuted. 
“It’s a different situation entirely.”

“Same
passion, same spirit.  Only difference I see is their mother.”

Resentment
burned through the tears.  “I’m a good mother, Rob.  Just because I care about
my daughter and want to keep her near does not make me a bad person.”

“I
never said it did.”  He squeezed her hand.  “But you two don’t look at life the
same way.  You’re pastures apart.  You’re not part of the same ranch.  Hell—you’re
not even trotting through the same valley!”

Rob’s
penchant for his horses pulled memories from her.  It was true.  She and her
mother were very different, especially when it came to their children.  Their
mother had them, raised them, then set them free.

“Think
of it as an opportunity to test her will against the world.  She wants to go
places and see things.  You don’t want to stand in her way, do you?  You don’t
want to be the reason she totes a saddle pack of regret ‘til her dying day? 
She wants to be free, Claire.  Let her.”

She
eyed her brother like a rat in the kitchen, about to be dispatched.  The word
“free” carried the weight of accusation.  It meant a mother trying to chain a daughter—a
daughter who was trying to escape.  Crumbling beneath his level gaze, she
murmured weakly, “I’m worried about her.”

Rob
placed a hand to her shoulder.  “I know you are and that’s okay.  It’s who you
are Claire.  You’d worry about her at Rhode Island, too.”  He tipped her chin
up to him.  “That’s what moms do.”

Not
their mom.  The indomitable Mrs. Alexander never worried about any of them. 
Sarah’s image floated into her mind.  Only Claire, the family worry wart.

“This
isn’t about you.”  Rob’s appeal was soft, sensitive.  It snuck in while her
defenses were down.  “It’s about Rebecca and what’s best for her.”

Claire
studied their hands, his masculine and meaty, dwarfing her pale and slender fingers. 
Rob was her brother, her friend, but she didn’t want to hear this from him.  It
felt like he was giving comfort and aid to the enemy—
the traitor
—which
was wholly ridiculous.  They were talking about her daughter, her sweet little
girl.

But
knowing she was being ridiculous didn’t keep her from wanting Rob on her side. 
She wanted him to say she was right in her concern, right in wanting to keep
Rebecca close to home.  But he wasn’t.  He was calling her for what she was—the
hovering helicopter mom who wanted to keep her daughter within range at all
times.

“Let
her go, Claire.”

Rob
wasn’t talking about Europe.  He was talking about her stranglehold of love. 
Tears welled quick and hot. “But why does she have to go so far?”

“Rebecca
has big plans for her life.  She wants to go for it.”

“Why
can’t she wait until after college?”

“She’s
young and headstrong.”  He flashed a smile.  “And life is short, sis. 
Carpe
diem
.”

It
was a sentiment Claire couldn’t share.  Not the way he meant it.

SIMONE
AND MITCHELL

Simone
watched as her husband Mitchell chopped tomatoes.  He wielded the large knife
with the speed and skill of a samurai, his movements rapid, his blade
laser-sharp.  Leaning against the onyx granite counter of her kitchen, flecks
of blue and gray luminescent beneath the light spilling from the kitchen
chandelier, she marveled at how he never cut off a finger.  But he didn’t. 
Ever.  All ten digits remained intact, long, elegant and well-manicured.

Mitchell
brushed the diced tomato alongside the minced garlic and rolled a Vidalia onto
his bamboo cutting board.  He proceeded to slice the sweet onion into rings.

Normally,
Simone enjoyed watching him work his magic.  But not tonight.  “We have to do
something about it, Mitchell.  We can’t let her go through with this plan of
hers.”

“I
agree.  But this is your department.”

“Why
mine?” she snapped, aggravated that when it came to domestic issues, she was
suddenly in charge, as if she didn’t have demands pulling at her from all
angles, too.  She turned from him.  Child-rearing was a team sport; a joint
effort.  She shouldn’t have to be the one to play the bad guy all the time.  He
should have to share in that responsibility as well.

Using
the dull side of the blade, Mitchell pushed the cut onion into an awaiting bowl
and clarified, “You know what I mean.  I’ve got a general contractor on the
verge of mutiny and a city government breathing down my back for permits.”  He
lit the stove burner and glanced up at her, his hazel eyes glittering beneath
the bright light overhead.  A small shadow of hair formed across his jaw line. 
The buttons of his striped Oxford were opened to reveal the white undershirt
beneath.  “I don’t have time to mess with Mariah’s grand schemes right now.”

“And
I do?”

“More
than me,” he replied dully and reached for the olive oil.

“Doubtful,”
she muttered under her breath.  As Vice President of operations on the
investment side of Carlson Bank, she was moving up the ranks.  Once Len made it
official, she would deliver the news to Mitchell.  Simone cradled the
wide-mouthed Cabernet glass in her hands, the dark liquid shimmering in deep
hues of burgundy red as she stared into its bowl.  It was her time.  She’d
worked hard over the years and deserved this promotion.  To be awarded title of
President for Carlson’s Chicago’s bank was the feather in her cap, the pinnacle
of her career.  She had worked hard over the years and she would not miss this
opportunity.  It required a move, but it was her turn to shine.

“And
anyway,” he said, pouring a dollop of oil into the pan.  “It sounds like she’s
put some serious thought into this idea.  Why are you fighting it so hard?”

Simone
raised her head, satisfaction with her future mingling with her discontent over
Mariah’s.  “Selling recycle bags at Faneuil Hall? 
Please
...”

“Collecting
recycle materials from restaurants and businesses, then selling them to vendors
at a profit,” he corrected.  “Or have you forgotten that part?”

“Be
serious.  Logan is going to drive his truck around to restaurants and retailers
and collect their cardboard boxes. 
That’s his business plan
?”  She’d
heard the spiel.  Businesses had deliveries and deliveries came in boxes—boxes
he and Mariah were going to collect and in turn sell to recycling companies. 
As a side business, Mariah was going to customize recycle bags and sell them
for a profit.  As if recycle bags weren’t already expensive enough!  Add the
cost of gas, the cost of insurance, licenses, permits—the whole endeavor was a
joke.  Simone was so mad at Mariah, she wanted to spit.  “She may as well work
at the drive-thru and wait for some fairy to pick her up and drop her into a
pot of gold.  Her chance for success will amount to the same.”