Owen's Daughter (36 page)

Mama was smiling. “It’s exactly right,” she said, pushing Skye toward the bathroom mirror. She took hold of the cuff of the left sleeve. “Those are called bishop’s sleeves,” she said, buttoning it so that the loose material overlapped in a generous way. “This design is called the ‘Dalia.’ Isn’t that just the sweetest name you ever heard? And it’s made by—”

“I know who made it, Double D Ranch,” Skye interrupted. “Even if I have no money, I do have good taste. I sure as hell know you paid full price for this dress. Three hundred dollars, Mama! Do you have any idea what three hundred dollars means to me? ” She stopped and took a breath, instead of telling her. Immediately the tears came.

“Hush,” her mother said, leading Skye to the couch and sitting her down. She was frowning. “I can’t undo the fact that I put my own needs before yours when I left Colorado. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. However, if we both agree to try, I think we can make the future better. I hope you’ll agree to wear the dress to the party, Skye. Just for tonight. Afterwards, if you hate it that much, you can throw it out.”

Skye sniffled. Throw it out? Hell, she’d sell it on Craigslist. “What brought about this change of heart?”

Her mother reached down to pet the dog. “Your father and I talked. He’s a good man, Skye. I wish I’d seen that earlier.”

“Daddy? What’s that mean? Are you getting another divorce?”

Her mother picked up a small bag and pulled a bottle of nail polish out of it. “Your father and I respect each other. The state of my marriage is none of your business.”

“You’re getting another divorce.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Now let me paint your nails.”

“Aw, Mama. I hate nail polish.”

“Then at least let me paint them with clear coat.”

All of her life, Mama had been bubbly and joking with everyone from the grocery store checkout person to strangers on the street. If she wasn’t out with friends, she was on the phone with them. But if Skye went to her crying about the playground bullies, Mama said, “Push back,” and that was the end of it. Skye figured once she turned into a teenager, she’d have a lot more in common with her mother, like shopping, prom dresses, girl stuff. But after Daddy left, Mama devoted all her time to finding and marrying rich, powerful men. Love was never part of it. Skye watched her deftly wield the polish brush. The feel of her fingers against Skye’s hand, the dress, maybe this
was
affection to Mama. The closest they’d ever get to a hug.

Of course Mama insisted on coming to the gala. When they arrived at the stable, a few cars were already being parked by a valet. Skye didn’t want to be stuck there all night. “Can you please park it so I don’t get boxed in?” she asked. “I’ll be leaving the party early.”

“How am I supposed to get back to my casita?” her mother asked.

“I’m sure you’ll find a ride. If you don’t, call a cab.”

With every step they took toward the barn, Skye hoped her mother would not flirt with Daddy. “He’s in love with that painter, Margaret. They’re good together. Please be nice to him.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sheila said. “I have nothing in my heart for your father other than gratitude.”

Say it enough times and maybe you’ll believe it, Skye thought as they rounded the corner and took inventory of the party setup. The wind was howling, and Skye covered her face to keep from getting grit in her lip gloss. Paper flowers had busted loose from their pots and were flying around and landing in the dirt. The party planner, wearing spiky heels, could not run fast enough to catch them.

The caterers were dressed in black and white and wearing chile pepper print aprons. They were trying to keep the Sterno cans lit, but it was a losing battle. Skye watched her mom retrieve a whistle from her purse and blow it. “Change of plans. We’re moving the party inside the barn. Someone break open a bale of straw, not hay, and start spreading it on the floor.” She pointed to the party planner. “You’re in charge?”

The woman nodded.

“Then get your people started moving things inside. And hurry. Guests will be arriving any minute. Go!”

When things were under way, the planner hobbled over on her spike heels to Skye and her mother. “Thank you for saving my butt. I wondered, though, why do you have a whistle in your handbag? Do you teach preschool?”

“Good heavens, no,” Sheila said. “I don’t relate very well to children until they are toilet-trained and able to speak in full sentences. That’s my ‘don’t even think about it’ whistle. I also carry Mace. Actually, you shouldn’t leave home without it.”

Sheila got right to work, adjusting the linen tablecloths and placing the decorative paper ones atop the linen at an angle. Skye was amazed at her mother’s ability to walk into a room and organize everyone. This was a side of her mother she didn’t know, and it seemed—for the first time—like one she could learn from.

“Crudités first,” Sheila said. “Main dishes last. Where are the serving spoons?”

“In the van,” someone answered.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go and fetch them!”

The interior of the barn began to transform. The straw underfoot made it feel intimate and comfortable. One of the workers was tacking crepe paper to the wall, measuring it so it draped like a banner. When another worker brought in helium-filled balloons, her dad emerged from the stalls and said, “Absolutely no balloons. Even the calmest horse in the world will spook at a balloon popping.”

“But can’t you see? Without the balloons, the banners are only one layer,” the party planner argued. “Without layers, you don’t get texture, and without texture, nothing works! They have to be there.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, waving hello at Skye. “What I do know is that there are nine horses in this side of the barn, and five on the other. I’ve seen a horse jump out of a box stall when a balloon pops. That kind of panic is contagious. Someone could get hurt. No balloons.”

“Can’t you just chain them in the stalls?”

Owen threw up his hands. “Holy Mother of God, dear, they’re not circus elephants!” he exclaimed. “Liability insurance on a place like this is hard enough to get in the first place. What part of ‘no balloons’ did you not understand?”

There went the balloons. Layering, Skye thought to herself, I have to remember to ask Sheila about that. And once the balloons were out, in came the band. “Take those amplifiers back to wherever they came from,” her dad said.

Skye put her arm through her mother’s. “Daddy,” she said, “here’s Mama.”

The first thing he did was take off his cowboy hat. Then he smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Sheila, you look wonderful,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you, too. The years have been kind to you.”

Owen laughed. “Thanks for saying that, but we both know it isn’t true. You, on the other hand, look about thirty years old.”

“It’s all done with smoke and mirrors,” Shelia said.

Skye was amazed to see her parents relating on such good terms. Her mom had called her dad the day Skye got out of rehab. Who knows? Maybe they’d talked more than once. It seemed like they had settled a few things. Had he convinced her to come to New Mexico, to help Skye in this search for Gracie? She would have given a kidney to have eavesdropped on that conversation, but she’d settle for the outcome. These two had a relationship she knew nothing about.

“It’s going to take me a while to remember to call you Owen,” Sheila said. “The both of you with your name changes. But I’m in favor of new beginnings, having made a few myself. Is everything set in the barn, now?”

Uh-oh, Skye thought. She was definitely getting another divorce.

The three of them stood near the bandstand, where musicians were setting up instruments. “Things are fine. Do you mind if I have a private word with our girl here?”

“Not at all. I’ll go organize the auction tables.” Skye’s mother gave her father a kiss on the cheek that lasted a bit too long, and when she walked away toward the stalls, she took her sweet time, allowing Owen plenty of time to study her backside, had he been looking. If her mother made a play for her dad, Skye would sit on her until she gave up. Could you ever really stop loving someone you once took vows with, using that word
forever
? Despite the way things had ended, Rocky would always own a part of her heart. But no way was Sheila going to get between Daddy and Margaret.

The tables were rapidly filling with spa packages, gift baskets, pottery, and silver jewelry. Skye glanced across the room, and there was Margaret with Mrs. Vigil’s baby daughter. She was also holding the hand of a little girl near Gracie’s age. “Daddy,” Skye began, reminded of their awkwardness, “I’m sorry I walked in on you and Margaret. I didn’t think—”

He held up a hand. “Margaret and I have a long history, and a future ahead of us, Skye. And I may be old, but I’m not Methuselah.”

“I know, Daddy. You guys have the real deal. I hope I can be that happy someday.”

He patted her hand. “You will, I know it. By the way, you look beautiful.”

“Please, I am barely holding it together. Mama bribed me into wearing this dress. As soon as the introductions are over, I’m hitting the road for T or C.”

“Did you hear from that judge?”

“No. I just have a feeling. And it won’t hurt anything to poke around.”

He frowned. “I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Can’t you ask Peter to go with you? Or your mother?”

Skye laughed. “In a contest for high maintenance, who would win, Mama or Peter?”

“I see your point. Please drive carefully. There are a lot of drunks out on the road.”

Skye said, “Don’t we both know it? Listen, I think you ought to invest in a lock for that door,” she said.

He chuckled. “Already done. See you later, doll.” He started to walk away, then came back and gave her a hug. “It’s a tie for prettiest woman in the room. Don’t tell Margaret I said it, but I’d vote for you.”

“Aw, go polish your boots.”

Skye walked back to Mama, who was bidding on the spa package. Each item had a card with a description, its retail worth, and places to enter bids. “Ten Thousand Waves,” her mother said. “Maybe we could go together.”

With all my spare time, Skye thought.

Sheila took Skye’s arm as the guests began arriving. Women were dressed in floor-length broomstick skirts and velvet blouses, sporting squash blossom necklaces that otherwise resided in safe deposit boxes, dangly needlepoint turquoise earrings, and silver bracelets so numerous that they shimmered in the light of the barn. Most of the women wore cowboy boots instead of high heels. The men wore whatever their wives told them to wear, so there were Pendleton blanket jackets in a multitude of patterns, cowboy hats, and western-cut tuxedoes. They were dressed for dinner. Sunday best. It pained Skye to admit, Mrs. Wadsworth hadn’t been entirely wrong in her lessons.

“You watch carefully,” Sheila said. “Worthwhile philanthropic events in Santa Fe bring out the born-and-raised New Mexicans, not just retired wealthy people. These are the powerful folks you want to get to know.”

Mama never passed up a chance to elevate her station. “You look great, Mama,” Skye said. “Nobody can rock a little black dress better than you. With your hair piled on top like that, you could pass for Audrey Hepburn.”

“Oh, honey,” her mother said. “A lot of work and money went into keeping this old body looking young. But thankfully I have a plastic surgeon for a husband. He tells me what’s possible, and what he refuses to do. I don’t want to end up like that cat-faced woman with the miniature greyhounds. It’s a fine line. Now, let’s go get a drink.”

“You go ahead.”

“But I want you to go with me.”

“Mama, I can’t be around alcohol. I just can’t. It makes me want to—”

“You can’t live in only one part of the world, Skye. You’re coming with me and that’s that.”

Skye steeled herself and went to the open bar, where her mother ordered Johnnie Walker Blue with cream. Skye tried not to smell it, but one whiff and she felt the anticipation surge through her body. She could almost taste that mellow flavor of aged Scotch, feel the burn in the back of her knees, where it always hit her.

And there Sheila went, shaking the governor’s hand and giving a hug to Pop Wilder, whom Skye actually remembered from stories her dad told. Skye had been friendly with his daughter, Lily, the ultimate party girl until she met that guy Tres. Or was it Cuatro? Some Spanish number. Pop Wilder’s wife had been in a few made-for-TV movies and some commercials, but Skye couldn’t remember what they were for. Her dogs! That was it. She’d been instrumental in getting the dog track shut down, and she rescued retired greyhounds and now, Spanish galgos. Skye wondered if she knew Opal.

Mr. Vigil was leaning heavily on his cane tonight, and Skye watched him take a pill from his pocket and pop it into his mouth. She bet she knew what it was, too. A pale peach–colored 20-milligram oxycodone tablet, which he took for his back pain and Skye had taken for fun. He and Mrs. Vigil were standing next to Margaret, fussing over the baby. “There she is, Mama,” Skye said.

“There’s who?”

“Daddy’s girlfriend.”

Sheila stiffened beside Skye. Apparently, Mama was allowed to move on, but not Owen. What did she want him to do? Languish forever?