Condemn Me Not (8 page)

His
mouth fell open.  Confusion swept all trace of apprehension from his features. 
“Paris?  What are you talking about?”

“She
told me this morning.”  Claire’s heart lodged in her throat.  “She’s been
accepted to the University of Paris.”

“I
don’t understand,” Jim said flatly, expecting her to clarify.

Claire
explained as much as she could, relaying the morning’s conversation, along with
the bits and pieces she picked up as the girls were leaving that afternoon. 
She hated to add to his burden, his stress.  It was her job to be his sounding
board, his source of refuge when he came home after a hard day at work, not
dump more onto his load.

Jim
lowered to a chair at the kitchen table.  Place settings were already arranged
for dinner, a woven basket situated neatly in the center, empty and awaiting
the corn bread.  Looking at nothing, her husband sat back, digesting,
absorbing, turning the news this way and that as was his custom.  When he decided
on a direction, he’d speak.

Claire
spotted the first bubbles rising from the bottom of her pot.  A few more
minutes and she could add the rice.  She turned back to him and saw the wheels of
his brain slow.  “She’s already been accepted, you say?”

“Yes,
and I don’t know how to dissuade her.  She seems so intent on it.”

He
looked at her, an odd speculation taking residence in his gaze.  “Why would you
dissuade her?”

“Because
we can’t afford college in Paris—it’s too far, it’s too much...”  Claire
grasped hold of the counter behind her.

“Do
you know how much it is?”

“Not
exactly, but I know it won’t be cheap.”

Jim
considered it for moment.  A long moment and Claire was chomping at the bit to
intercept his thoughts.  He couldn’t seriously be considering sending his
daughter to college in Paris, could he?  Was he insane?  Had her whole family
lost their minds?

“I
think we should discuss this, Claire.”

“But
Jim, how can we afford it?  We can barely manage the out-of-state tuition at
Rhode Island.”

He
swung a low gaze around the kitchen, his mind heavy with contemplation.  She
could feel him thinking it through, weighing the pros and cons, the prospect of
what it would mean to their finances, his business.  “It’ll be close,” he said,
“but I think we may be able to swing it.”  Concern mixed with excitement as he
added, “Becky may have to work part-time during the latter years, but I don’t
think she’ll mind, do you?”

Faintly,
Claire recognized the sound of boiling water as she absorbed the blow. 
Jim
wanted Rebecca to go to Paris
?

“If
it’s one of the best schools in the world and she’s been accepted...”  Pride
lit up his face with a grin as he misread her silence.  “Then I say we give her
every chance we can!”  He reached for his beer.

For
the second time in one day, Claire couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t move, her
body numbed by disbelief as she watched him drink.  He wasn’t kidding.  Jim was
willing to let Rebecca go.  Claire dropped her gaze as her mind raced with
objection.  What was he thinking?  How could he let her go?

“Claire?” 
Jim rose and walked toward her.  She registered the movement, knew she should
respond, but couldn’t.  “Are you okay?”

His
reaction wasn’t what she expected.  She had expected an ally, support.  She
expected him to refuse, and in no uncertain terms.  Claire glanced around the
stove, but refrained from grabbing the rice.  She was too shaky and would most
likely make a mess of it.  The thought of making Rebecca’s deception a key
factor gave Claire fleeting hope, but she couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

Jim
sounded so excited by the prospect.

He
cupped his hands around her cheeks.  “You look pale.”  He studied her face,
searched her eyes.  “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,”
she uttered, her insides tearing apart.  “I’m fine.”

“Are
you worried about the money?”

That
and few hundred other things
! Claire wanted to shout.

“We’re
good, honey.  Our finances are solid.  We’ve already saved up for most of her
tuition.  If we make a plan, I think we can manage the rest.”  His eyes darted
toward the stove, the pot of unattended water, spits of liquid shooting over its
rim, sizzling as they landed on the hot stove below.

Claire
looked at him, a slew of misgiving hurtling through her mind.  Granted business
had been good of late, what with everyone opting to salvage their old cars
versus buying new ones, but she knew deep down, Jim viewed every job as though
it were his last.  Business was fickle.  As the owner, he knew that better than
anyone.  To say he was conservative with a dollar was an understatement.  He
was downright tight to the nicked edge of a penny.

“Is
there something else?” he asked.

Claire
could feel the heat of the burners beside her, feel the urgency of rice that
needed to be added, chili that needed to be stirred.  The oven timer would
sound soon, calling her to remove the bread, serve the dinner.  But peering
into her husband’s eyes, she felt cornered, trapped by his enthusiasm, his
quick solution.  “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.  We really don’t know
anything about this school setup, where she’s going to live.”

“What
are you talking about?  You know very well it’s one of the best.  And if she
can get in, she deserves to go.  You considered it for yourself at one time.”

Tears
pricked at Claire’s eyes.  But the stakes were so high, the negatives, the
pitfalls...

Jim
leaned over and turned the burner down.  Giving his full attention to his wife,
he held her shoulders and asked, “What’s this really about, Claire?”

She
paused, then spewed, “It’s about my only daughter moving halfway around the
world to live in a foreign country all by herself.  I can’t believe you’re okay
with that.”

“I
don’t like the distance any more than you do, but I trust Becky’s judgment.  We
raised a fine young woman and we need to trust her.”

“But
she doesn’t know what lies ahead!”

“None
of us do.”

“She’s
too young,” Claire pushed back from his grasp.  “She’s only eighteen!”

He
nodded.  “True.  But technically, she’s an adult.”

“What
if she needs me?” she cried weakly.  “I won’t be there, can’t be there...”

Gathering
Claire into his arms, Jim pulled her close.  He caressed her face with a loving
gaze and replied softly, “She
has
you.  She can call you.  I’ll get her
one of those phone cards, with unlimited calling.  She’ll be able to call you
whenever she wants.  And we can fly her home from time to time.”

No,
Claire thought, arms entrenched by her sides, his warm, hard body secured around
her own.  Jim couldn’t be saying this.  He couldn’t mean it.

“There’s
no difference in her living on her own in a big city here in the states versus
Paris.”

“Of
course there is—she’d be closer.  I could drive to see her.”

He
cocked his head to one side and the lines across his forehead deepened.  “Is
this about you, or Becky?”

Claire
remained mute.

Tenderness
settled in as he peered down at her, loosening the knot of questions in his
eyes as he whispered, “We can’t hold her forever, Claire.”

We
can with a united front, she protested silently.

“She
has to move on at some point.”

Doesn’t
have to be thousands of miles from home.

Jim
hugged her tight.  Strong and protective, he wanted to comfort her, protect her,
Claire acknowledged—even if it was from herself.  He kissed the side of her
head and murmured into her hair, his breath warm and moist, “This is her life
were talking about, not yours.”

Hot
tears rolled down her cheeks.  Her body went limp against him.  How come it
didn’t feel that way to her?

SIMONE
AND MARIAH

“Stop!”
Mariah shrieked.  “Why do you feel the need to control every aspect of my
life?”  Wearing a path in the shiny, chocolate brown wood floors, Mariah stormed
from one end of the living room to the other.  She stopped and pounded a finger
to her chest.  “It’s
my
life.  I’m an adult now and you
can’t
make me do what you want!”

Mariah’s
screaming reverberated in Simone’s skull.  It trampled her nerves.  “Control?  I’m
trying to
help
you, not control you.”  An argument that was wearing
thin.  “Only you’re too self-centered and self-focused to see past your own
desire.”

Mariah
ran thumb and forefinger through her hair and yanked the overgrown bangs from
her face.  The veins in her neck bulged blue against her fair skin, nearly
matching the steel blue gray of her walls.  “You don’t get me at all.”  She frowned. 
“Dad will understand.  He gets it.”

“Oh,
I beg to differ.  I think I understand you better than you realize.”

Mariah
dropped her hand and challenged, “No, you don’t.  Because if you did, you’d
know that sometimes in life you have to take risks.  Dad says you
have
to take risks if you want to get ahead.”

Simone
ground her jaw.  She hated that Mitchell’s decisions undermined her position
with Mariah, especially annoying at the moment, as they were being thrust in
her face.  “He never advised you to start a business you know nothing about,
because in taking this risk you can lose it all.”

The
insinuation registered.  Mariah’s defiance stalled.  She knew the story of how
her father earned and lost a fortune—months before he and Simone were ever
married.  Speculating on real estate had made him a millionaire, but it was all
on paper.  Bank notes.  Nothing solid.  It was “assumed” wealth. 
Assuming
all went well,
assuming
everything went according to plan,
assuming
nothing untoward happened, Mitchell was a millionaire.  Then one of his biggest
tenants reneged on a deal, stopped paying his loan, and the effect was a rapid
cascade of dominoes that crashed quickly, leaving her husband bankrupt.  The
part Mariah didn’t know was how Simone had to sign for their first mortgage,
because no bank in town would accept the signature of one Mitchell Sheridan.

“Logan
and I have researched the recycling business.  We know there’s a market and we
know we can make money.  Dad thought it was a good idea.”

Simone
felt trapped, cornered between her daughter’s obstinacy and her husband’s entrepreneurial
mindset.  There had to be some way she could get through to her.  She had to
make Mariah understand.  The girl was about to make the biggest mistake of her
life, one that could cost her for years to come.  But staring into the piercing
green eyes of her only child, Simone felt at a sudden loss.  It was like
staring into Mitchell’s eyes, a gaze she had learned long ago would remain
hopeful, determined, resistant, despite all odds to the contrary.

He
would never give up on an idea, flimsy and precarious as it might appear to
those around him.  Mitchell believed in himself and, win or lose, that’s what
mattered most to him.  But Mariah wasn’t Mitchell.  “Starting your own business
is not the fairy-tale you’re painting,” Simone began.  “It’s hard.  It’s twenty
four-seven.  The stress of bills to pay will eat away at your mood, your
willpower, your relationship with Logan…  It will affect you in ways you can’t
even fathom right now.”

“I
understand it’s going to be hard,” Mariah returned.  “But like you always say,
the best things in life are often the hardest to come by.  You’ll never get
anywhere in this life without commitment.  Isn’t that why you spent so much
time away from the family?  Because you valued what you were doing, believed in
it enough to put in the long, hard hours to make it work?”

Clipped
by the concise comparison, Simone huffed, “I had a husband willing to support
me.  Somehow I don’t see Logan in that same role of support.”

“Logan
loves me and is willing to support me in anything I do.”  Mariah twisted her
expression into naked disbelief.  “He’s not a loser.  Why do you think we’re
going into business together?”

Because
he sees an easy mark.  Because he thinks you’re going to use your parents’ college
savings account to fund his venture.  “How much of his money are you using to
start this business?”  Simone cocked a brow.  “Or can I assume you’re the
silent partner pulling the purse strings.”

Mariah
stood by the marble mantle, charcoal veins and carved white edges appearing cold
beside her, the gilded-framed family portrait above seemingly out of place in
the chill of confrontation.  “Logan has money.”

“How
much?” Simone asked, suddenly curious.  His family wasn’t wealthy.  From what
she could gather, sending him to college would be a stretch.  Simone’s gaze
narrowed.  Which is why he needed Mariah.

“You
never liked Logan.”  Mariah spat the words, then spun away and stalked off to
the front corner of the room.  With her body pressed so near the second-story
window, Simone had the fleeting image of her daughter busting out in a
desperate jump to escape.