A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Roberta, Mother of the Year

I
t had taken a while after the last wedding mishap for mother-daughter relations to return to normal. Roberta had not reacted well when Daphne dropped the wedding cake; she’d be the first to admit it. But honestly, what grown woman tripped over her shoelace? Anyone would’ve reacted the way Roberta had.

Maybe not. Muriel Sterling, Daphne’s new guru, would’ve hugged her and kissed her frosted face, told her accidents happened. But Muriel Sterling wasn’t running a business where cake was a necessity. And Roberta thought she’d shown considerable restraint, all things considered. All she’d said was “Oh, Daphne.” All right, she’d also tagged on “For heaven’s sake!”

With one little phrase she’d hurt Daphne’s feelings. Again. It seemed she was always upsetting her daughter. But that same daughter kept her in a near-constant state of upset, as well. Years of worry over Daphne’s relationships and her future security had grown every gray hair on Roberta’s head.

If she didn’t accomplish anything else in this world, Roberta needed to get Daphne’s life sorted out. Then she could stop worrying.

Somewhere along the mother-daughter timeline, Daphne had turned from a well-loved child to an obsession. Obsessions were exhausting.

This day was going to require yet more emotional energy. Hank Hawkins would be arriving soon to put the fishpond in order and do some planting, and Roberta needed to find a way to get her daughter gone. It shouldn’t be too hard, since this was Daphne’s day off. Surely she’d want to go have a latte or something.

Roberta had already taken her morning walk, eaten her granola and was on her second cup of coffee when Daphne made her appearance in the kitchen, wearing a ratty old T-shirt, the circles under her eyes testifying to a poor night’s sleep. Even in her rumpled state she was a beautiful woman.

“You look tired,” Roberta greeted her.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Daphne said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I kept having these awful dreams. I was back with Mitchell and he wanted me to have a threesome with him and Betty White.”

“Betty White?” What was happening to her poor daughter’s subconscious?

“And Betty dragged me to Macy’s to shop for a black negligee for her. We couldn’t find one and Mitchell got mad and said he was leaving. But he came back and set the house on fire with me in it.” Daphne rubbed her forehead. “I hate him, Mother. I truly hate him.”

“Well, you’ll soon be rid of him,” Roberta said, hoping that was a comfort.

Daphne frowned into her coffee cup. “The sooner, the better.”

“Meanwhile, there’s nothing to take your mind off your troubles like a day of shopping.”

“I don’t feel like shopping. There isn’t anything I need.”

“Well, I need something.”

“Like what? I asked yesterday if you needed anything and you said no.”

“I forgot I’m almost out of Metamucil,” Roberta improvised, “and we could use some more double-A batteries. And maybe while you’re at the drugstore, you could pick up my prescription.” She was bound to have some prescription or other waiting. She always did. “Oh, and why don’t you get us a couple of lattes.”

Daphne was looking at her with a mixture of perplexity and irritation. “Anything else?”

Nothing Roberta could think of. She wished she’d sent something to the dry cleaner. “That should do it.” She hoped.

“All right,” Daphne said. “I’ll go as soon as I have breakfast.”

Her daughter took forever with breakfast, putting together an omelet and then sitting down to eat it while reading the copy of
People
she’d brought home the day before. Hank would be here any moment.

“You’re not done yet?” Roberta said, coming into the kitchen to check on Daphne’s progress for the third time.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I’d like to get my prescription as soon as possible.”

That worked. “I guess I’d better get dressed, then,” Daphne said, shutting the magazine.

“I’ll clean up.” Roberta took her plate. “You go get ready.”

Daphne had just left the house when Hank arrived. Whew, Roberta had gotten her daughter away from temptation in the nick of time.

And a good thing, too. Hank Hawkins was a fine specimen of manhood; he was also polite and hardworking. But he would never do. Being divorced made him a very poor risk, especially for Daphne. Honestly, at this stage any man would be a poor risk for Daphne.

She must have run her errands on winged feet because it seemed Hank had barely started working and she was back. With plants.

She handed Roberta her usual plain latte. “They didn’t have a prescription for you at Johnson’s.”

“I forgot—I already picked it up,” Roberta lied. “What’s this?” She pointed to the box of pansies Daphne had set on the kitchen table.

“I stopped by the nursery. They were on sale. We’ve got a few spots in the flower beds where they’ll fill in nicely.”

Roberta wasn’t sure if she was pleased or irritated that her daughter was making landscaping decisions for her.

She was still trying to decide when Daphne said, “Since Hank’s here he can get them in the ground for us right away.”

“I’ll do them later,” Roberta said.

“Mother, you don’t want to be out there on your hands and knees. That’s why you hired a gardener. Remember?”

Roberta wished she’d never confessed how tired she was of yard work.

“Don’t worry,” Daphne said. “I’m just going to take him these plants. I’m not going to ask him for a date.”

Roberta scowled at her daughter’s departing back. Really. When had Daphne become such a smart aleck?

And why had she returned home so quickly? Had she known that Hank was coming over? Roberta certainly hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t known he’d be coming by herself until the day before, when he’d called and told her he had to change his regular day due to a dental appointment. She’d automatically agreed to the change, forgetting that it would be Daphne’s day off.

She should’ve called him first thing in the morning and canceled. Or asked him to send someone else. All this forgetfulness. Perhaps she had a subconscious desire to match her daughter up, a longing for one of them to grab the romance brass ring.

No, no, no. Everything Daphne grabbed turned into something smelly. There would be no grabbing going on here at Primrose Haus, especially with a man who already had one strike against him. That made four strikes between the two of them—a very bad combination of numbers.

Roberta could hear voices outside the kitchen. She stole over to the back door and opened it a crack. Then she leaned in for a listen.

“Met any interesting lesbians yet?” Hank asked.

Roberta blinked and shook her head. She must have misheard. She pressed her ear closer to the door.

“I saw someone at Zelda’s who looked interesting,” said Daphne.

What?
Since when did Daphne decide she preferred women to men?

“Uh-huh,” Hank said. Even through the door Roberta could hear his skepticism.

“You know, I was where you were. Emotionally, I mean.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. After my wife told me I was too boring to bother with and left me for another man.”

“Your wife left you for another man?”

Daphne sounded shocked. So was Roberta. She’d always thought Hank was a nice man. How sad that his wife hadn’t appreciated him, and it was a pity he and Daphne hadn’t met earlier, before Mitchell the ogler came on the scene.

“Yep,” Hank was saying. “Some cowboy she hooked up with when she went to the Ellensberg rodeo with her girlfriends. I guess he gave her a wilder ride than I could.”

Daphne said something, but it was so soft Roberta couldn’t be sure what. It sounded like “I’m sorry.”

“I used to think it was all on me. Then I realized it wasn’t.”

“My husband left me for another woman. Well, more than one. He was a rat and I already know it had nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I picked him in the first place. When it comes to men, I’m not a good chooser.”

“What makes you think you’ll have any more success with women?”

Roberta shook her head again. Honestly, what kind of conversation
was
this?

“Okay, the truth is, I don’t want to be with anyone,” Daphne said. “I like being on my own.”

No, she didn’t. Poor Daphne. Cupid had given her a raw deal. She deserved better.

Maybe Hank Hawkins was better.

Oh, but a fourth husband? Was that even worth considering? Roberta was still mulling it over when the kitchen door opened suddenly, taking her by surprise and nearly toppling her onto the back porch.

“Mother! What are you doing?”

Roberta willed away the guilty flush on her cheeks. “It was hot in here. I was opening the door for a little fresh air.”

“You were eavesdropping,” Daphne said in disgust.

“I was not.”

Daphne crossed her arms. “Really, Mother.”

“I don’t know why you’re getting after me,” Roberta said, opting for wounded dignity. “I simply happened to be passing by the door. I must say, I didn’t know Hank’s wife left him for someone else.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Daphne said bitterly.

“It’s too bad you didn’t meet someone like him sooner.”

She could have if she’d listened to Roberta and used one of those online dating services everyone was talking about. From what Roberta understood, you filled out a detailed questionnaire and then were given any number of perfect matches. But, as usual, Daphne had to do things her own way. And look where it got her.

Daphne frowned. “We’re not going to start talking about my horrible taste in men, are we?”

Roberta had no desire to go down that long and winding road. “I have no intention of talking about your past mistakes.”

“Good,” Daphne said with a nod, “because that’s a subject I’d rather not discuss if you don’t mind.” With that she picked up her latte and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Roberta feeling frustrated.

As usual. She’d made a verbal misstep somewhere in the conversation and now Daphne wasn’t happy with her.

Well, she wasn’t always happy with Daphne, either, but at least she cared, which was more than she could say for her own mother.

“I’m only doing this for your own good.”
The words came back to haunt her. Oh, yes, her mother had the right words for every occasion—not that learning her daughter was about to become an unwed mother was much of an occasion—but her actions spoke so much more loudly.

1961

“If you’re going to refuse to tell me who the father is, then I have no choice,” Roberta’s mother snapped. “Although I can guess, and that young man should be held accountable.”

“You can’t guess anything,” Roberta said, determined to be stubborn. There’d been that period of time she’d been with another boy. The baby could be his, couldn’t it? And just now, she wished it was. Any other boy would have done the right thing.

They were in the living room, the perfect living room with its crushed-velvet furniture and expensive drapes, the living room where her mother liked to entertain friends for coffee. (If you could call the rich, snobby women she cultivated
friends
.) Roberta huddled in a chair, her tummy churning. Her grandmother, who’d been summoned from her little house up on Tenth Avenue, perched on the couch, trying to calm Roberta’s mother with phrases like “These things happen” or “Helen, darling, please try to get hold of yourself.”

Nothing could calm her mother. She paced the room like a caged animal while Roberta sat in a wingback chair, her hands tightly clasped. If her father had been alive he might have tempered her mother’s wrath. He certainly would have hugged Roberta and told her he still loved her and that it would be all right. But Daddy had died when Roberta was ten. Her mother had played the brave, grieving widow to the hilt, although Roberta sometimes wondered if she even missed him. Had she ever really loved him? Did she know what it was to love someone? Did she know what it felt like to have your heart broken?

Not that Roberta loved Gerard anymore. She hated him for being so selfish, hated him for leaving her in this mess. She’d rather be alone the rest of her life than forced to marry such a selfish creep.

Of course, her single state made it oh-so-inconvenient for her mother, who worried more about what people would think than her own daughter’s broken heart.

“Well, you can’t keep it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The baby. If you won’t tell me who the father is, then you’ll have to give it up for adoption.”

Give up her baby?
She might have hated Gerard, but she already loved this little life growing inside her. How could she give it away? “No,” she protested.

“What are you planning to do?” her mother asked contemptuously. “Waddle around town with a big tummy, a walking advertisement for what not to do? Do you want people laughing behind your back? Do you want every respectable man to cross you off his list? Men don’t marry girls who get themselves into this kind of mess.”

“Then maybe I don’t want to get married,” Roberta shot back. Brave words but she did want to get married. She’d never imagined herself alone.

“Don’t talk foolishly,” her mother scolded.

“This is a short time in your life, dearest,” her grandmother put in. “I know it’s...awkward.”

Was that what you called this horrible feeling of rejection?

“But we can get past it,” Grandma finished.

“There’s a home outside Seattle, in Dunlap,” her mother said. “They take in girls who find themselves in this situation. Your father was from California. We’ll say you’ve gone to visit family down there. No one will be the wiser.”

“I don’t want to go to some...home and stay with strangers.”

“You can’t stay here, Roberta. How would it look?”

Roberta didn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m only doing this for your own good.”

They were going to turn her out, send her off to some jail for unwed mothers, hide her away like a leper. “I won’t go,” Roberta said stubbornly. “And you can’t make me.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” her mother said, pointing a finger at her. “You’ve gotten yourself into this mess and now you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”