A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) (11 page)

“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.

Chapter Eleven

Roberta, the Expert on Love

R
oberta suddenly had a headache. It happened a lot when dealing with her daughter. This time she couldn’t lay the blame at Daphne’s door, though. It belonged solely to her. In the space of a few short minutes, she’d managed to devalue Daphne’s new job and insinuate that she wanted her gone.

Truth be told, she did. Not far away, of course, but far enough so she wasn’t in such close proximity, constantly worrying and aggravating Roberta. Someplace like Seattle. Or even Wenatchee. Daphne had her own life to live, and she could make her own decisions, but when she made poor ones, Roberta had to grind her molars. Actually, if that was all she did, things would go so much better between them. But she never could settle for simple molar-grinding. She always had to say something.

Honestly, though, wasn’t it a mother’s job to give her daughter advice? And Daphne needed advice. On a regular basis. She did such impetuous things, and this job working for Muriel was the latest example. Roberta didn’t see how a part-time job was going to be of any benefit to Daphne’s bank account. Of course, at this point Primrose Haus could support both of them, particularly since Roberta owned the house free and clear. Not that Daphne had ever hinted at getting a paycheck from her. Roberta knew her daughter just wanted to help. But at the rate they were going, Roberta would be buying aspirin by the case.

She took one of the chocolates from the box Daphne had left behind. It was too bad Daphne’s marriage hadn’t worked out. Roberta had known it wouldn’t and tried to warn her. But would she listen? No. When it came to men, she was entirely too trusting. Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?

Ancient past, she told herself. Yet she could remember it all as though it was yesterday.

1961

Gerard was the best-looking boy in school. Everyone said so. He arrived the summer before their junior year and made an instant impression on the football coach. And from the very first day of school, he also made an impression on every girl in school, including Roberta. He dated enough of them, skimming the cream from the top of the social tier. That meant she didn’t have a chance. She was a straight-A student and on the debate team, but that didn’t carry the clout that being a cheerleader did. Come senior year, he was captain of the football team, which should have put him even more out of reach.

Remarkably, it hadn’t. He’d fallen for her after she’d tutored him in English. He thought she was wonderful. She was the only girl for him. He told her so every time they parked in some dark, deserted spot, his hands trying to sneak places they didn’t belong.

He was the only boy for her, more addictive than a hot-fudge sundae, more exciting than any of the boys she’d gone steady with her sophomore and junior years. All two of them. It wasn’t that she was homely. She was pretty, she knew that; the problem was that she was also smart, and that scared off a lot of boys. So, when it came to boyfriends, she’d been happy to take what she could get.

Andy the math genius had been shy—so shy, in fact, that he’d needed half a dozen dates to work up the nerve to kiss her. And that first kiss had been chaste and disappointing. The ones that followed weren’t much better. They were always tentative, just enough to stir up her teen-girl hormones, certainly not the kind of kisses she’d seen on the movie screen when she went to the matinee with her girlfriends. She’d seen a few of those scenes at the drive-in with Andy, too, but somehow they never seemed to inspire him to greatness. She wasn’t too upset when his father got a job transfer and the family moved to Maine.

Leonard wasn’t any more interesting. He preferred making model airplanes and going to comic book conventions to movies or dances, and they parted by mutual consent. She decided to spend the rest of her junior year concentrating on her studies. And loving Gerard Jones from afar.

What a thrill it was when she entered her English class September of her senior year and found him in it. And how perfect that the teacher stipulated on alphabetical seating. Gilbert before Jones. She wound up in the desk in front of him, which finally put her on his radar. He wasn’t intimidated by her smarts, probably because he had so much confidence in himself, and he loved playing with her long, dark hair when the teacher wasn’t looking. Then came the tutoring sessions at the library. He’d say things like “You smell so good I can’t concentrate” (this was thanks to Roberta getting into her mother’s Chanel No. 5) and “Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes?” (She did, actually, and it was about time he noticed.) Then one day, as they were leaving the library, he said, “There’s a new movie at the drive-in. Want to go?”

Of course she did.

At the drive-in he didn’t give her an insecure, short-lived kiss. Oh, no. It had been a full-on force-of-nature attack, an assault with his lips. And tongue.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, pushing him away.

He gaped at her. “You don’t know how to French-kiss?”

Obviously not. She felt like a fool.

“Never mind,” he said, pulling her back toward him. “I’ll teach you.”

And what a teacher he was. His kisses left her breathless, and as they became increasingly more intimate with each date, she had difficulty remembering her mother’s words of caution.
Never let a boy take liberties. He won’t respect you.
But Gerard seemed to respect her just fine. He always opened doors for her, and the corsage he bought her for the Christmas Ball was the most beautiful one she’d ever had.

Still, she did what all good girls did. She kept her legs crossed. After a while he got frustrated with her crossed-leg syndrome and broke up with her. He started seeing a cheerleader, and to show him she couldn’t care less, she started dating a boy on the debate team. But he was no Gerard, and by spring they were back together.

One evening, as the windows of his daddy’s Buick became more and more foggy, she let him take off her bra. When he unclasped those little hooks he pretty much undid the last of her resolution. The thrill of what he was doing with his mouth and hands was unlike anything she’d ever known. But what would her mother say if she saw Roberta with her skirt up to her waist and her top missing?

“Bobbi, I want you so bad,” he murmured against her neck.

“I can’t,” she moaned, but she didn’t remove his hand from her breast.

“I love you—you know that. That’s why I couldn’t stay away.”

She conveniently forgot that she’d been the one who’d gone crawling to him, hinting that she’d give him what he wanted.

“You love me, too, don’t you?”

Now his hand was someplace it had absolutely no business being. She tried to find her willpower. “My mother would kill me.”

“Who cares about your mother? She’s old. What does she know?”

He had a point.

“We’ve been going together all year.”

Except for that short time they’d been seeing other people. That had been a mistake. There was no one like Gerard and she didn’t want to lose him again.

“You’ve got my letterman’s jacket. I wouldn’t give that to just any girl.”

The cheerleader had worn it for three weeks.

But it was hers again now. Ooh, she was melting.

“If you loved me you’d let me.”

Of course she loved him. “I can’t,” she said, trying to squirm out of his arms. He knew good girls didn’t go all the way. Oh, but she wanted to.

He pulled back his hand and moved to the other side of the seat, leaving her feeling rejected and unsatisfied. “Fine. I guess you don’t love me, after all. I don’t know why I’m bothering to be with you if you don’t love me.”

His words were like some horrible magic wand, bringing tears to her eyes. “I do love you.”

“No, you don’t. You haven’t proved it.”

She knew what she had to do to prove it.

You shouldn’t do this.
The thought wasn’t strong enough to overcome her desire and the need to show Gerard that she did indeed love him. She slipped out of her panties and closed the distance between them. “Don’t stop, Gerard. Let’s not stop.”

So they didn’t. And from that night on, every date ended with a sexual encounter. They took precautions. Gerard got her some spermicide he said was guaranteed to prevent pregnancy and she believed him. It wasn’t until almost the end of the school year that she missed her period.

“I’m late,” she told him as they sat in a booth at the Dairy Queen with their burgers and shakes.

He looked momentarily confused. “What do you mean late?”

“My period,” she said, blushing.

His face turned as white as his vanilla shake. “Are you sure?”

Her periods had been as regular as clockwork since seventh grade. “I’m sure.”

Now his brows drew together and his mouth dipped in an angry scowl. “You’ll have to do something about it.”

What, exactly, did he want her to do? “What do you mean?”

“Get rid of it, Bobbi. I can’t get married. I have a scholarship to Stanford. Remember?”

“You can still go to school. I’ll work,” she offered.

“While you’re preggers? Use your head.”

This wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. She’d dreamed of him hugging her, telling her not to worry, it would be all right. He’d take care of her. She’d even hoped he’d say that he’d marry her, postpone school and get a job. Instead, look what he was asking her to do! She had no idea how to get rid of a baby and no desire to learn.

“Well, I can’t get rid of it. I won’t.”

He pushed away his shake. “Suit yourself.” Then he was scooting out of the booth. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

The ride back to her house was a silent one. “Are you mad?” she finally asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, I’m mad,” he snarled. “And I’m done. I want my letterman’s jacket back.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” No, this couldn’t be happening.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re a jerk,” she shot at him, hot tears stinging her cheeks.

“And I think you’re a slut.”

A slut. He’d called her a slut when he was the only boy she’d slept with? She hadn’t even known how to French-kiss when she first met him. “I’ll teach you,” he’d said. Oh, yes, he’d taught her a lot. But just about sex. He hadn’t taught her anything about love.

Of course, her mother hadn’t taught her much about love, either. Her grandma had been the only one who really cared about her, but Grandma had been helpless to turn Roberta’s mother from her plan once Roberta’s secret was out. “You can’t keep it. This is for the best,” she’d insisted. Whose best, she hadn’t specified.

* * *

No one could accuse Roberta of being like her mother. If anyone here had known the woman, which, thankfully, no one had. Roberta had actually cared. She’d loved Daphne with a passion, had wanted her beautiful little girl to have a successful and satisfying life. She’d done everything in her power to make that happen. Growing up, Daphne had it all—Girl Scouts, art lessons from a local artist, piano lessons, a lovely wedding, the kind Roberta herself had dreamed of. And then another. And another.

Through it all, Roberta had stoically stood by her daughter, watching her stumble from one romantic failure to the next, reminding herself that it was Daphne’s life and she was free to choose her own destiny...if you could call such a bumbling mess a destiny.

Where had she gone wrong? Unlike her mother, she’d been supportive, constantly trying to bring Daphne up to her full potential.

Roberta sighed. Mothers always wanted their daughters to be perfect, and their daughters always disappointed them. It never changed from one generation to the next. The only thing that changed was the expectations.

Enough wandering around in the unpleasant past, she told herself. She had a darned good present and that was what mattered. She put the teakettle on the stove to freshen her tea, and as she waited for the water to heat, she gazed out the kitchen window at the grounds.

The grass was getting shaggy. She needed to have Hank Hawkins come over and start getting the yard in shape for spring. She picked up the phone and punched in the number for Hawkins Lawn Service. Not surprisingly, it went to voice mail. Hank and his boys were already busy.

Hank had moved to Icicle Falls seven years ago, which meant he was still considered a newcomer. His arrival had coincided with Roberta’s knees getting tired of all the weeding she had to do. She’d hired him and been pleased, and he’d been working for her ever since. She’d recommended him to Pat York and Janice Lind and several other people, and now he was always in demand. Lucky for her she was a highly valued client.

“Hank, I think it’s time to start cleaning up for spring around here. When can you fit me in?”

It turned out that he couldn’t help her right away, even though she was a valued customer. “Sorry, Roberta, I can’t make it until Friday afternoon,” he said when he called her back.

She didn’t like having Hank or his men there on Fridays. She often had clients coming in on Friday afternoons or evenings, or events to set up for.

This weekend was clear, though. “I’ll take it,” she decided. Then, after that, they could get back on schedule and do midweek maintenance.

An unwelcome thought entered her mind after she ended the call. Daphne would be home Friday afternoon. This would not have been a problem if Daphne was happily married. But now...

Hank was a good-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, but divorced and a bad risk. Daphne was a beautiful woman, a
vulnerable
beautiful woman, with poor taste in men. Roberta could envision her daughter and her gardener encountering each other by the azaleas and falling madly, stupidly, in love.

She’d have to make sure she found some time-consuming errands for her daughter to run after work; that was all there was to it. Daphne fell in love as regularly as some people ordered coffee at Bavarian Brews.

There would be no ordering up of a certain tall drink of water here. No, sir. Not on Roberta’s watch.