Dakota Home (30 page)

They'd gone out since, and she'd considered them a couple—although she'd drawn the line at necking. He'd protested, but seemed to accept her decision.

Then this morning, at school, Joe had told her he'd met a girl in Devils Lake. She was older, more mature, and he thought it was best if he and Calla started seeing other people. Calla wasn't an idiot; she knew what older and more mature meant. This other girl was prettier, probably more experienced—and more willing. Everything Calla wasn't.

From there, her day had gone steadily downhill.

Normally, Mrs. Sinclair was pretty cool about stuff that went on at school. Not today. She'd written a note, sealed it and asked Calla to take it home to her mother. Calla didn't need to be a psychic to figure out what her teacher had said. Preoccupied with her boyfriend, insufficient attention to school, blah, blah, blah. The minute her mother read it, she'd probably ground Calla. The way her luck was going, Sarah might even make her quit her job at The Pizza Parlor.

There were ways of handling situations like this. Calla figured if she brought the note into the store after school, her mother wasn't as likely to explode. Not in front of her little worker bees. And especially not in front of customers.

The post office was deserted when Calla entered. The box held a bunch of junk mail and one envelope. She glanced at it, saw what looked to be a bill addressed to her mother. Calla tucked it inside her backpack and started to leave. She stopped abruptly. A bill from someone named Susanne Sullivan, Attorney-at-Law.

Why in hell did her mother need an attorney? She hadn't said a word, not even one little word.

She couldn't resist taking the letter from her backpack and checking it out a second time. Holding it up to the light, all she could make out was a series of numbers. A billing statement? Her mother certainly hadn't said anything to Calla about seeking legal advice.

Curiosity got the better of her. She
had
to know. Had to. She was going to be grounded anyway, so she might as well make the time served worth her while. Instead of heading directly to her mother's store as she'd planned, she walked home. Once safe inside her bedroom, she carefully peeled open the envelope and removed the single sheet.

She'd been right. It was a billing statement. Frowning, Calla read over the typed lines, not sure what any of it meant. The charges were for fees paid to a process server, plus court filing fees. Not until she read the bottom line did everything click into place.

Her mother was divorcing her father.

Her parents had never gotten a divorce the way she'd always been led to believe. Every ugly thing she'd ever thought about her mother was true and Calla had the proof of it right here in her own hands.

Her mother disgusted her. All this time, she'd been cheating on Calla's father with Dennis Urlacher. Sneaking around at night, sleeping with him, lying to Calla and her grandfather, to everyone. There was only one reason she'd go through with the divorce now, especially since she'd waited all these years—she wanted to marry Dennis.

That thought repulsed her even more. She could imagine how dreadful her life would be if her mother did marry him. The two of them would be all lovey-dovey, which was
so
gross. Plus, Calla would feel like a total outsider in what was supposed to be her home. No one had ever said it to her, but she knew one of the reasons Dennis was dating other women was that he wanted a family. If he married her mother, there'd soon be other kids around. Their children. She'd be a stepkid, unwanted and unloved. A constant reminder of a time they both wanted to forget, a marriage her mother considered a mistake.

Lifting her mattress to get at her hiding place between it and the bedsprings, Calla carefully withdrew the letter she'd received from her father two months earlier. She'd reread it so often she almost knew it by heart.

Calla had written him back the same day his letter arrived. He'd said she could come visit him, and that was what she wanted to do. Her mother wouldn't pay for it, and her father hadn't said anything about sending her a ticket. But Calla had money of her own now. With her job as a waitress, she collected an hourly wage, and between that and her tips, she'd managed to put aside over two hundred bucks.

As carefully as she could, Calla resealed the statement from the attorney and set it on the kitchen counter. Maybe her mother would assume someone else had brought in the mail; she hoped so.

Putting on her coat, she walked over to Buffalo Valley Quilts, mentally braced herself, then stepped inside.

Her mother glanced up from a sewing machine, and a wary expression crossed her face. Unfortunately they were alone. Calla wondered irritably where the other two women were, the ones who were supposed to be working there.

“Hello, Calla,” her mother said.

“Mrs. Sinclair wrote you a note,” Calla said. She refused to return the greeting.

“About what?”

“It's sealed. How am I supposed to know?” she asked with a smirk. Sometimes her mother could be so dumb. She handed her the letter, folded her arms and waited for the shriek.

It never came. Instead her mother looked up from the letter and sighed.

“Aren't you going to yell at me?”

“No.”

Calla frowned. “What did Mrs. Sinclair write you?”

Her mother slowly refolded the note and inserted it in the envelope. Calla wanted to kick herself. She'd been clever enough to open that attorney's statement. While she was at it, she should have opened the note from Mrs. Sinclair, as well.

“You're having some personal trouble you want to talk about?” her mother asked, sounding concerned. “Apparently your grades have fallen in the last few weeks. She also says that today you seemed particularly…unhappy. Depressed.”

Mrs. Sinclair must have written about Joe. Calla thought she'd die. “She didn't have any right to tell you,” Calla shouted.

Sarah frowned. “Tell me what?”

Calla was too upset to hear her, not that she really cared. “I was sick of Joe, anyway.” Her voice seemed shrill and unnatural.

Whirling around, Calla ran out the door, taking time to slam it with all her might. She raced back to the house and slammed through the front door and went directly to her bedroom.

She was leaving Buffalo Valley. By now her father knew about the divorce. She'd heard that in cases like this, when the children were older, they could make their own decisions; they could choose which parent they wanted to live with. If so, Calla chose her father. He loved her. He cared about her.

Calla used to think she could trust her mother, but she'd learned otherwise. Her mother had been living a lie. All these years had been one big, fat lie. She'd thought she could trust Mrs. Sinclair, too, but obviously not.

Living in this hick town was no longer an option.

Calla wanted out, even if it meant running away. Only she'd be smart about it and choose her time carefully. Then she'd go find the father she'd never really known. The father who loved her and wanted her with him.

 

Maddy felt good about her conversation with Jeb. He'd surprised her with his thoughtfulness, and a fragile hope had started to form. The incident on the road had given her enough confidence to leave him a phone message after her ultrasound. She hadn't said much, just that she had pictures of the baby and he should let her know if he was interested in seeing them.

They were still uneasy with each other, a little defensive and a whole lot uncertain. But it was better, much better than it had been earlier.

Home from her doctor's appointment and after she'd left her phone message for Jeb, Maddy walked over to the new salon for a shampoo and cut. Joanie Wyatt was there getting her hair done, as she held nine-month-old Jason on her lap.

“Hello, Maddy,” Jean Hooper said cheerfully. “Take a seat. I'm almost finished here.”

“Would you like me to hold Jason for you?” Maddy asked, watching the infant struggle to break free of his mother's arms. Clearly he felt the world was meant to be explored and he wanted to start his adventures without delay.

“Please.” Joanie looked grateful. “He's a handful these days, and he hates sitting in his stroller for more than a few minutes at a time.”

Maddy took the baby in her arms and he gave her a wide smile, drool dampening his chin and the front of his shirt. She used a tissue to dry his face.

“He's teething,” Joanie explained.

“You're pregnant, aren't you?” Jean asked Maddy, twisting the curling iron around Joanie's thick brown hair.

“Due in August,” she answered. Jean and Carl Hooper, who managed the catalog outlet store, must have figured it out from the orders she'd placed—for a crib, a stroller and a change table. Either that, or they'd heard some gossip. And in a small town, what was a better source of gossip than a beauty parlor?

Jean's had been a godsend as far as the women in Buffalo Valley were concerned. From the first day she opened her doors, she'd been booked solid for weeks on end. It was more difficult to get into Jean's than to set up a doctor's appointment. She often joked that she worked longer hours in this community with its “slower pace” than she had in Grand Forks. But she loved it and felt she was providing a real service to the women of Buffalo Valley. The men, too, if they wanted to avail themselves of her services.

Sitting down, Maddy took Jason onto her lap and cooed softly to him. She looked up. “I got my ultrasound this morning,” she told the other women.

“Girl? Boy?” Joanie asked. She sighed. “You know, it's hard being a single parent. I did it for over a year and it was the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life.”

“I'm aware that it won't be easy,” Maddy said.

“Well, if you need any help or advice, let me know, okay? I'll save Jason's baby clothes for you—they'll do for either a girl or boy.”

Maddy thanked her, feeling a rush of pleasure and gratitude. She looked forward to being part of this new world, this unending circle of mothers and babies.

“Do you know what you're going to have?” Jean asked. “If you do and you don't mind me passing it along, I'm sure several of the ladies in town would love to hear.”

“I told the technician I didn't want to know.” Later, Maddie's own careful examination of the ultrasound printout had revealed nothing definite.

Jean finished Joanie's hair and Joanie took her son from Maddy. The baby clung to his mother's neck, and Maddy was struck by the confidence of Joanie's movements. Would she ever be that sure of herself with a baby?
Her
baby…She was a little frightened when she considered all the changes a child would bring to her life.

As Joanie left, she invited Maddy to visit and repeated her offer of baby clothes.

Half an hour later, Jean was just putting the finishing touches on Maddy's hair when Larry Loomis burst into the salon. “Sorry to bother you, Miss Washburn,” he said, red-faced and flustered. He glanced from Maddy to Jean and then back again, obviously feeling clumsy and out of place in this female domain.

“Something wrong?” Maddy asked him.

He glanced around. “You got a phone call from Mr. McKenna. Not Mr. Joshua, but Jeb.”

“Yes?” She hoped none of the pleasure or excitement she felt could be heard in her voice.

“He wanted me to tell you he's on his way into town. Sounded real urgent.”

“On his way?” She frowned. “You mean he's driving into town? Why?”

“He wants to see those pictures. I don't know what pictures he's talking about, but I thought I should tell you.”

“Thank you, Larry.” She peered down at the shirt she'd put on that morning and hoped there'd be enough time to freshen up before he arrived.

Jeb wasn't driving into town to see
her,
she realized, but she couldn't restrain her delight.