The Red Hat Society's Acting Their Age (14 page)

But it wasn’t the contacts at all, and she knew it. She glanced from Leanne to Mia, realization dawning inside her like the morning sun. Yes, she missed Jimmy and the girls, but she didn’t have to go all the way to Massachusetts to be near family.

She didn’t even have to leave Muddy Creek.

Chapter 10

M
ia opened her eyes the next morning, looked at the clock, then pulled the pillow over her head. For once, she had a morning to sleep late, and what did she do? Awoke at her usual time, even without an alarm. And she was
wide
awake; there’d be no drifting back to sleep.

Yesterday, she, Leanne, and Aggie had decided to change their schedules for the week ahead. They would not leave Rachel alone, not even for a minute. Not after what happened at the mall. But sneaking her to the Brewed Awakening every day was a risk they wanted to avoid, if at all possible. So Mia and Leanne agreed to alternate mornings at the shop with mornings at Mia’s house, where Rachel would be.

Leanne would tell Eddie she was spending
every
morning at work to take some pressure off Aggie. He knew that Aggie had been out of sorts and wouldn’t question her needing some extra help.

They all agreed that, for Rachel’s sake, they should continue to keep the secret between the three of them. Mia sensed that lying to Eddie weighed on Leanne’s mind, but Aggie didn’t blink about keeping Roy in the dark. Surprisingly, she had no qualms about spending her afternoons at Mia’s house rather than going home, whether her husband liked it or not. For as long as Mia could remember, Aggie had catered to Roy’s demands. But that was something else she saw changing in her friend—the way Aggie handled her husband. Hanging up on him in the car yesterday, for instance. Sweet, eager-to-please, nurturing Aggie would never have done such a thing a year ago. Or even last month.

After staring into the darkness for ten minutes, Mia gave up and dragged herself from the bed with a groan. She slipped on her robe and a pair of wool socks then went to the kitchen to start the coffee.

The prospect of an idle morning alone while Rachel slept should have pleased her. Instead, she felt restless and unmoored. It occurred to her now why she’d never complained when Leanne, after the opening of their business, all but refused to take turns working the earliest morning shift.

Mia had wanted to escape from home as soon as possible every day.

Mornings were hardest since Dan died. Facing an entire day ahead without him in it often seemed overwhelming. And the silence . . . The house at dawn had never been so quiet while her husband was alive. He’d start whistling the minute his feet hit the floor.

Turning away from the coffee maker, she switched the radio on low. Maybe Dan had the right idea. Maybe music would drown out the whispered concerns and questions in her mind about her daughter. Was Christy still in New York City? Was she healthy? Happy? In love? Did she still sketch and paint?

Mia sat at the table, waiting for the pot to fill. Two minutes ticked by. Three. The music didn’t work. She left the table and went to the bedroom where Rachel slept soundly, her breathing steady. The closet door creaked annoyance when Mia opened it, but the tiny lump beneath a bundle of blankets on the bed didn’t stir.

A cardboard portfolio sat on a low shelf. Mia took it out, left the closet door open, crept from the room again.

She spread the pages of her daughter’s artwork across the kitchen table. Long ago, she’d discovered that if she looked long enough, images she’d never noticed before jumped off the pages, as if they’d been waiting for her to open her eyes, her mind. Christy’s work was like that . . . surprising and subtle. Nothing plain, easy or mindless about it. It didn’t reveal itself until the viewer invested more than a second glance.

Like Christy herself.

Mia sipped her coffee, her gaze slowly moving from page to page. Christy had talent—a gift. In the beginning, the artwork had seemed amateurish and strange. She and Dan had believed Christy wasted her time dreaming about an art career. But what had they known about such things?

“Wow . . . did you do those?”

Mia looked up from the table. Rachel stood in the doorway, a blanket pulled around her shoulders and dragging on the floor. She crossed the room and sat in the chair beside Mia. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she scanned the paintings and sketches.

“They’re my daughter’s.”

Bleary-eyed, Rachel asked, “Can I touch them?”

“Sure.”

She chose one. “This is, like, really good. I mean . . .” Rachel blushed. “I
feel
something when I look at it.” Rachel stroked fingers across another page. “This one is sad.”

Staring deeply into the swirls of red and dark purple and black, Mia saw it, too.

“What do you think it is?”

The girl’s brows drew together. “A heart that’s hurting.” Her fingers slid across it. “Like it’s bruised.”

Mia’s throat ached. “You have a good eye.” So much better than hers. So much quicker to see.

Rachel laughed as she moved to the next painting. “This one’s funny.” Shifting to a sketch, she frowned and said, “Oh, man . . .
this
is
freaky
.”

Taking it from her hands, Mia looked at it. A corridor swarming with people on the move, their faces clear, distinct. And in the middle of the chaos, one girl stood still, stared out from the page, her features blurred at the edges, fading. Only her eyes were distinct.
I’m here
, they seemed to scream.
Look at me
.
Accept me.

“Is she famous?”

Rachel’s voice startled Mia back from her thoughts. “Christy?” When Rachel nodded, she answered, “No, I’m not even sure she does this sort of thing anymore. But a long time ago, she had hoped to go to art school in New York after she graduated high school.”

“Why didn’t she?”

Swallowing a knot of shame, Mia answered, “Her father and I wouldn’t pay the tuition. We wanted her to go to Tech, like her brothers.”

“So she studied art at Tech?”

“Christy didn’t go to college.”
She didn’t even graduate from high school.

“I hope she’s still an artist,” Rachel said, her focus on the sketch. “If I could paint and draw like this, I’d never stop. Not ever.”

Mia gathered the paintings and sketches and placed them back into the portfolio. “Why are you up at this hour? Did I make too much noise?”

“No.” Rachel lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes I just wake up early.”

Pushing away from the table, Mia said, “I’ll make you some herbal tea. You want cinnamon flavor or peach?”

“Cinnamon.” Yawning, Rachel followed her to the stove. “Where does Christy live?”

“In New York City.”

“
Shut up!
” Rachel’s eyes widened. “That’s where I want to go. Does she live by Rockefeller Center? They do
Saturday Night Live
there. A bunch of other shows, too.”

Mia drew a steadying breath as she took a plastic honey bottle from the cabinet then reached for the kettle. “I don’t know where Christy lives. I’ve never been to see her.”

“How come? Is she still mad at you about the art school?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Mia held the kettle under the running faucet. “After Christy left home, she never really found her place. She wouldn’t let me help her and we grew apart. She’s never invited me out to visit.”

Rachel picked up the honey bottle, squeezed a sticky amber dot onto her fingertip, touched the finger to her tongue. “If my mom was alive, I’d want to see her. Even if I pretended I didn’t.”

Setting the kettle on the stove, Mia flipped on the burner beneath it.

Outside the kitchen window, the moon still gleamed like a polished pearl against a black velvet sky. How many times had she stared at such a moon, thinking of Christy, wondering if her daughter saw it, too? And wondering if Christy ever thought of her.

Rachel squeezed more honey onto her fingertip. “Does Leanne have kids?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“How come? Doesn’t she like them?”

Mia took two teacups from the cabinet. “Leanne loves children. That’s one reason she used to be a teacher. I think she wanted a family, it just didn’t happen.”

“She’s married, though, right?”

“Yes, her husband’s named Eddie. They were high school sweethearts.”

“I bet she was popular in school.”

“She did have a lot of friends.” Wondering about Rachel’s preoccupation with Leanne, Mia asked, “What makes you think she would’ve been popular?”

“She’s really cool. And pretty.” She met Mia’s gaze and said quickly, “You’re pretty, too, but Leanne wears totally young clothes and stuff.”

Mia smiled. “I guess Aggie’s not the only one who needs to work on her wardrobe, huh?”

Rachel blushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ve never been much of a fashion plate. And you’re right, Leanne does have great clothes.” The kettle started to whistle. Mia lifted it from the stove and turned off the burner. “You really like Leanne, don’t you?”

Rachel shrugged. “She’s okay. I hope she’ll teach me to sew.”

Mia caught her eye and winked. “Then I’ll have another friend with snazzy clothes to make me jealous.”

They ate French toast for breakfast. Rachel spread hers with peanut butter and smothered it in syrup. She claimed her dad had liked it that way, leaving Mia to wonder which of her foster families had taught her the habit. One thing she knew for sure, many more breakfasts like this one, instead of her usual yogurt, fruit and coffee, and she would soon gain back the weight she had lost in the last year and a half.

In an effort to put Rachel to “work” to repay her debt, Mia had her wash the the dishes. Then they looked through cookbooks for new ideas for the bakery case at the coffee shop. Some variety couldn’t hurt; the customers might like a change of pace. Once they chose a few recipes, Mia would call Aggie and have her pick up any ingredients they needed on her way over later. Rachel could work off some more of her financial obligation by helping Aggie bake during the afternoon while Mia joined Leanne at the coffee shop.

Rachel giggled. “Let’s do Bourbon Balls.”

Mia glanced at the recipe Rachel indicated. “Three jiggers of bourbon? That’s all the Coots need. They’re loud and rowdy enough when they’re just eating plain cherry pie with their coffee.”

“Who’re the Coots?”

“A group of retired men who meet at the shop for coffee and conversation most mornings and again in the afternoon.” Mia flipped the page. “Cream Cheese Pound Cake. That sounds good.”

“More like boring.” Rachel made a sour face that sweetened quickly when she turned another page. “I know! Rocky Road Brownies. Look. Marshmallows and chocolate chips. Yum.”

“Those
do
sound good. I think I have all the ingredients. What do you say we go ahead and bake them this morning? You can choose another one for you and Aggie to do this afternoon. Maybe a pastry or a sweet roll.”

Mia turned to that section of the cookbook, handed it back to Rachel then stood. Light filtered in through the curtains covering the window over the kitchen sink. She looked at the clock. 7:43. She walked to the small window that overlooked the front yard. No one could see in from the street during the day. It would be nice to let the sunshine stream in. Leaning over the sink, she pushed the curtain aside . . . and screamed.

“Ohmygod!” Rachel stood up so fast the chair fell over behind her. “
What
?”

Aubrey Ricketts squinted back at Mia through the window, his face scrunched into a thousand wrinkles. She closed the curtain and hissed, “Turn off the light, Rachel.”

Rachel moved to the switch on the wall, flipped it and whispered, “Is someone out there?”

“Just a busybody with too much time on his hands,” Mia whispered back.

“One of the Coots?”

“Not officially. Aubrey’s too preoccupied with nosing around to drink coffee.” She’d never pegged him as a voyeur, though.

“So, what do we do?”

“Wait a minute.” Mia heard a sputter and a pop followed by the revving of an engine. “Hear that?”

“That rumbling noise?”

“It’s his truck. He’s leaving.” She sighed her relief. “We need to be extra careful.”

“You don’t think he saw me, do you?” Panic tinged the girl’s voice.

“No, it was too quick.” Mia smiled. “Turn the light back on. Let’s get busy.”

It didn’t take long to realize that no one had ever bothered to teach Rachel how to cook. Mia showed her how to melt the chocolate and butter, how to measure the sugar and blend it in, too. They had just finished beating the fourth egg when the doorbell rang.

Rachel bit her lower lip. “You think it’s that man again?”

Mia turned off the mixer. “Go to the bedroom and close the door. I’ll see.” As she moved through the kitchen and into the dining room, she checked for any signs that might indicate she had a houseguest. Just in case whoever was outside came in, for whatever reason.

She didn’t know why she was at all surprised to find Cade standing on the other side of the door. Still, her heart skipped at the sight of the steady gray eyes staring back at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Hi,” she said.

“Morning.” His warm breath hit the cold air in feathery white puffs. He handed her a newspaper. “Aubrey Ricketts said he was taking this out of your front flowerbed a few minutes ago when he heard you scream. He’s worried about you.”

She made a frustrated sound. “I
screamed
because he was staring in my window. What was he doing picking up my paper, anyway?”

Cade smiled. “You know Aubrey.” When Mia didn’t smile back, he continued, “Aubrey said he sees you every morning on your way to work. When he didn’t today, he made a spin by here to make sure—”

“
What?
” Mia interrupted. “That the paperboy wasn’t holding me hostage?”

“Just to see if you were okay, I guess.” His eyes gleamed. “He means well, Mia. And why wouldn’t he be worried?” Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Cade pulled out a pair of tiny, hot pink thong panties, brand new, the tag still on them. “He found these in the flowerbed, too.”