Rain Shadow (4 page)

Melissa glared at her. “The ashes from
a
cigarett
e
don’t count as biodegradable. Not with all the toxins they leach into the soil. Toxins
polluting your lungs just now, I might add.” She seemed to cheer at the thought. “We protect life around here and don’t appreciate you killing
it.”

Taylor took another drag off the cigarette. “I don’t see any life.” She blew smoke toward Melissa, dropped the cigarette butt, and ground it out on the gravel.

“Oh. My. God. You better get the hell out of here.”

Taylor stood her ground. “Relax Al Gore. I won’t leave anything that might damage the ozone” She bent and picked up the butt. “In case you hadn’t realized, this is a public parking lot. I can stand here all day if I want. I’m just waiting for somebody; don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Melissa stared hard at Taylor, as if invoking some sort of evil spell. Just before turning on her heel she smirked and said, “I’m not sure what’s going to happen with your application. With so many it’s easy to misplace one … ”

The crunch of gravel interrupted the girls’ conversation. Without looking Taylor knew it was a silver Lexus.
The car slowed to a stop as she fluffed her windbreaker, hoping any leftover smoke would evaporate. She opened the car door and slid into the passenger’s seat.

“You stink.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re still smoking.”

Her mother’s eyes roamed over Taylor’s face, as if looking for something she already knew wasn’t there. “You realize what you’re doing to your body?”

“Just drop it, okay?”

“I thought you were smarter, that’s all.” Her mother eased the car onto the road. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Too bad she didn’t have a dollar for every time she’d heard that phrase growing up. Instead of becoming an agent, she’d have invested in some serious real estate and put down roots in a tropical paradise somewhere. Taylor glanced at her mother’s profile. “On the contrary, I think it fell rather far. Are we going to fight or do you want me to learn how to be a real estate agent?”

Ann smoothed down the back of her extra short black hair with one manicured hand, and then fingered the thin gold chain and delicate cross at her throat. She looked at Taylor, smiled, and winked. “I’m glad to have you back in the northwest, dear. We’re going to have fun together.”

“No doubt.”

“Aren’t you going to say hello to Minnie?”

Taylor sighed. She’d been trying to ignore the only being on earth that never disappointed her mother, the tiny, persistent black dog wiggling in the back seat.

“Come on, Twit.” Taylor clapped her knees and the Miniature Pinscher
launched over the armrest and into her lap, wiggling and shaking like an epileptic. “Chill, would you?” Taylor tried to cover her face as Minnie bounced in her lap. She couldn’t help giggling even though the dog was quite possibly the most useless creature on earth.

Her mother beamed. “Did I tell you Minnie and I are blogging now?” She reached over to caress the dog’s glossy coat.

“Do I even want to know what you’re writing about?”

Ann pulled into The Olive Garden parking lot. “Don’t laugh. Social networking is critical for success in nearly every business now.”

“Like I said, do I want to know what you write about?”

“Minnie Musings. That’s the name of the blog. Check it out for yourself. I’m encouraging all my agents to get involved with social networking.” Ann turned off the car. “Bye, Min-Min. Keep the seat warm.” She looked lovingly at the dog before getting out of the car. Taylor followed her into the restaurant, shaking her head.

The smell of butter and garlic greeted them inside. A hostess showed them to a small table, filled glasses with water and left menus. Ann only glanced at the entrée choices before placing the menu at the table’s edge. Taylor lingered over photos of lasagna and chicken parmesan. She was tired of eating frozen pie and more than ready to hunker down over a serious meal.

“They have a great lunch special here. Light and inexpensive. I recommend
the minestrone.”

“I’m pretty hungry. That’s not enough for me.”

Ann pursed her lips as the waitress placed a steaming basket of bread sticks in the middle of the table.

“I would like the lunch special—a cup of minestrone soup and salad.”

The waitress wrote it down then looked at Taylor chewing a huge bite of bread sticks. She smiled, “Those are refillable.”

Taylor swallowed and smiled back, “Mmmm, so good. I could live off these things. I’d like the Tour of Italy, please.”

As the waitress walked toward the kitchen Taylor steeled herself and scrutinized a family of four across the room. Ignoring her mother’s gaze, she watched the father cutting his daughter’s meat into small pieces. He laughed at something and touched the girl’s hand. 

“You’ve put on weight.”

“Thanks for noticing.” Taylor gave her mother a fake grin.

“You used to be so active and fit. Didn’t you spend time on the beach in California? Surfing and such?” Her mother took a careful sip of water and patted her lips with a napkin.

“Yeah. Guess I like eating more now than I used to.”

This was true. But the empty calories from her frequent dates with Corona hadn’t helped, either. Taylor knew all about empty calories. Nutrition and, more importantly, keeping up one’s appearance were areas of mothering never neglected by Ann Archer.

Taylor remembered the days of watching her mother carefully and mimicking her food habits—measuring out exactly ¼ cup of almonds, never eating more than a palm-sized piece of meat. Until recently, her 5’8 frame had fit perfectly into a size six. It was the one area of her life she knew didn’t disappoint her mother. Now a small tummy roll and larger thighs felt most comfortable in size ten jeans. Still, that hardly qualified as obese. Taylor took another bread stick from the basket and dipped it into a fragrant puddle of cheesy red sauce.

Ann grimaced. “White bread is like glue in the intestines.”

“So you’ve said before.” Taylor continued chewing.

Her mother sighed. “Okay, you’ve made your point: You’re an adult now and can live however you want—glue up your insides, paint tar on your lungs, whatever. But just tell me what happened in the last three years, Taylor Ann; something is very different about you.”

You have no idea.

Taylor looked at her mother, her eyes jumping from Ann’s French-manicured fingers to her perfectly arched eyebrows to the charcoal grey sweater set that hung just so on the trim frame. Her worst, desperate moments were not something sharable with such a woman, even if that woman was her own mother. Especially if that woman was Ann Archer.

“As you said, I’m an adult now. Guess I’ve grown up since you saw me last.”

Strange how one event could define a person, mark time into solid chunks as unchangeable as stone: BA—before the abortion; AA—after the abortion.



Chapter 4

A

fter lunch Taylor followed her mother to the car and they drove to the office, Northcoast Realty. Because it was a Saturday, only a couple agents lingered inside. After a tour of the small space, Ann moved toward a desk in the corner. Taylor gratefully sank into the swivel chair, her stomach straining against the zipper of her jeans. She tried to focus on her mother who had remained standing and gestured to the space with one hand.

“Real estate in this down economy is all about cutting the fat.” Ann smoothed the front of her size four black skirt. “A few years ago we spent much more money on advertising the traditional way—flyers and such thrown everywhere—but now it’s all about niche marketing and name branding. I’m known here and in my main office as the Condo Queen because that’s where I’ve chosen to become an expert. I encourage all my agents to find a niche and work the niche. Don’t try to be good at everything. But ge
t
grea
t
at social marketing.”

She looked pointedly at Taylor. “Remember the blog I told you about? Many of my past clients have dogs they love. This gives us something in common besides the sale of a property. I make sure to show interest in the areas we share. Some keep in touch with me through Facebook and subscribe to my blog. We become friends, in a matter of speaking. Friends look after and support each other. It’s simple, really.”

Of course it’s simple.

For some people everything was simple. Her mother was such a person: make “smart” choices—cause and effect. You make the bed you want to lie in. Life was black and white and very efficient. No drama, no messy emotions. The messiest thing in Ann Archer’s life had been an ill-fated marriage to a closet gay man. And the resulting unplanned daughter. But Taylor knew better than to prob
e
tha
t
particular subject. As far as her mother was concerned, the whole experience had been dumped into a mental junk drawer and stored in the dark indefinitely. She had long replaced whatever dreamy and romantic girl had married Taylor’s gentle, humorous father with a woman of destiny. A woman who made her own breaks in life and needed no one.

Taylor’s head felt fuzzy from the food. She wished for a bed to stretch out on, but forced herself to concentrate on her mother’s words.

“You’re all signed up for the online real estate program, right?”

“Yeah, start Monday.”

“Why not tomorrow?”

Taylor chewed her bottom lip before answering. “I have a commitment tomorrow. Plus, it’s Sunday.”

Her mother frowned. “How could you have a commitment in a new city where you have no friends?”

This was the way her mother operated when she got set on a course
of action. Immediacy became key. Nothing should delay moving toward
a worthy goal. Her goal? Operation Daughter Makeover. Apparently she’d forgotten this operation had failed in the past. Multiple times.

“I’m volunteering at a shelter on Sundays. An animal shelter.”

“Whatever for?” Her mother furrowed slender brows.

“Because,” Taylor squirmed in her chair, “I want to.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ann moved to a desk and pulled out a newspaper, clearly ready to move on. “This paper has a great article on real estate in Whatcom County. It has changed dramatically in the last five years. Useful reading material. Outside of your studies online, I’d like you to come into the office twice a week. I have an agent you can shadow and you can begin helping in the office with whatever anyone needs you to do. I’m only a phone call away if you have questions.”

Ann’s life revolved around her main office in Seattle where she remained
the most successful condo saleswoman in the area. Northcoast Realty, the new office, opened shortly after Taylor had moved to San Diego. Though Ann’s expertise was 90 miles to the south, she navigated Bellingham like she’d lived there all her life. Taylor knew she had spent hours researching the area, making acquaintances with local business people, and otherwise greasing the wheels for future sales. Sharp. If nothing else, the woman was sharp.

“Your mother’s one sharp cookie.”

As if reading her mind a heavy-set man with ruddy cheeks approached. He took big strides, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet and pushing off in a manner that thrust his balding head upward with every step. It reminded Taylor of a giraffe, minus the long skinny neck.

“This must be Taylor. Beautiful, like her Mama.”

Ignoring the compliments, her mother smiled without showing
teeth. “Steve, this is my daughter, Taylor Ann. Your soon-to-be assistant.”

“A pleasure.” Steve offered a moist, meaty palm and squeezed Taylor’s
hand, the metal edges of a high school class ring crushing her fingers. “I’ve never had an assistant.”  

Taylor shook his hand and discreetly wiped it on her thigh. “I’ll be in next week.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Steve grinned, revealing teeth that would have been perfect minus a small chip in front. Taylor noted a sprinkling of crumbs on his tie and what looked like an old ketchup stain. His squarish face had a strong jaw and clear blue eyes which hinted at European descent. This impression was strengthened by the blond hue in the thinning hair gelled into submission atop his head.

In another time period Steve had been handsome; before he lost his hair, acquired  fifty extra pounds, and added a trembling double chin under the imposing Aryan jaw line. He carried himself with the pride of someone who’d once been somebody—a high school football star, perhaps.

Taylor immediately got the sense that Steve still clung to the glory days of his youth when looks and social status guaranteed a girl would never tell him No. Regardless of what time had done to his athletic abilities, the cocky edge in his speech suggested he still expected to score.

When they got in the car Taylor turned to her mother. “What’s with Steve? He’s sort of … lecherous, or something.”