The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (14 page)

“What do I do?” Steven asked, lifting his shoulders.

Millie picked up a dishtowel, swinging it around the air to dispel the thick smoke. Then she pushed Steven aside to flip on
the fan above the stove as she carried the pan to the sink. Steam rose as she poured water over the blackened eggs.

She bit the inside of her cheek, quelling her sigh of disappointment. Even though they’d done poorly in the class, she’d chalked
that up to inexperience. And she’d set up the early meeting with Mitchell so that she could give them another chance to prove
they had the aptitude to learn.

“See, Mom,” Steven said, “it’s hopeless.”

She shook her head. “Honey, you’re half asleep, and this is only your second try. You’ll get it,” she promised him and herself.

“Sure,” Mitchell said, his handsome face earnest as
he tried to be supportive. “You’ll get better. You’ll be making eggs for Audrey and Brigitte in no time.”

Steven sighed. “Give it up. How many times do I have to tell you guys—”

Millie left the pan in the sink to turn around and take Steven’s hand. She squeezed it, reassuring him, “You’ll patch this
up. Just give her a call.”

He lifted his chin, which was starting to double. “If she wants me back, she’ll call me.”

Darn it, he had his father’s stubborn pride. Okay, maybe it was a bit hers, too. “Steven—”

He pulled his hand from hers. “I’m going to take a shower now. Since I’m up, I’ll go in to work early.”

Mitchell widened his eyes. “Really? Eight-thirty?”

Steven didn’t take the bait, just shoved past him to head downstairs. Finally Millie released her pent-up sigh. “This is so
hard…”

Mitchell wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mom. He’ll come around.”

Thankfully Mitchell had inherited her hopeless optimism. She nodded. “Right. We’re not giving up.”

Mitchell lowered his voice. “No, but he has.”

That was what she was afraid of, that and the mess the boys had left in the kitchen. She glanced around at the coffee grounds
and eggshells and egg white strewn around the countertop. Mitchell squeezed her shoulders again. “Wish I could stay to help
clean up,” he said, insincerely, “but I have that early meeting. Can’t miss it—” He was already halfway to the door.

“Mitchell!”

“Really, Steven needs the homework more than me. Let him clean up.”

But Millie had already left the crumbs downstairs. She couldn’t leave the mess in the kitchen, too, and not be able to concentrate
on Kim’s class. She glanced at her watch. Kim’s class was due to start in thirty minutes.

She sighed and reached for the faucet and wondered where she could sign up for that how-not-to-mother-your-children-for-the-rest-of-your-life
class.

Chapter Nine

“Marrying a man is like buying something you’ve been admiring for a long time in a shop window. You may love it when you get
it home, but it doesn’t always go with everything else in the house.”

—
Jean Kerr

T
heresa walked into the kitchen and dropped her house keys on the counter. For once her muscles weren’t aching and protesting
her every movement as they usually did following one of Kim’s aerobics classes. Kim had been off her game today.

She’d been late… and sleepy. And Millie, who usually vigorously followed every routine with her innate passion and dedication,
had been distracted and out of sync. The bachelor survival course hadn’t gone that late the night before, not late enough
for them to be so tired.

Then there’d been the gossip that Theresa had overheard from the back of the class. Between pants for breath, probably more
from excitement than exertion, Mrs. Ryers had spread rumors about Millie walking all wet out of Charles’s bushes and Kim having
clandestine
rendezvous, while skimpily dressed, with strange men on her patio in the wee hours.

Usually only half of what the old busybody said was ever true, but it was still more than Theresa knew. She sniffed back a
little disappointment. These were her closest friends. She wanted to know what was going on with them, but they’d left the
community center before Theresa could head them off at the pass. Oh, no, she’d been inadvertently absorbing the jargon from
Wally’s western marathons. She’d have to make sure he turned the volume down, or got one of those earplug things so she couldn’t
hear them at all. Because it looked like all she would have for company for the rest of the day was Wally and his ever-running
TV.

After the class, Kim had dashed off as if training for a marathon, which she very well could be. And Millie had been on her
usual mission of marriage repair for her son. They had both passed on their standing after-class coffee/herbal tea date, ditching
Theresa, leaving her alone. She sniffed again.

The paper rustled and Wally peered blearily over the top of the crumpled page. “You’re home early.”

“You’re up,” she said, letting him hear her surprise.

“Barely,” he admitted. “You didn’t leave a pot of coffee going.”

Like she usually did. Since she’d switched back to caffeinated, it was no wonder he looked like an alcoholic suffering withdrawal.
His hair was standing on end and pillow creases had left haggard lines in his face. Nothing was left of the vital. young man
she’d married so long ago.

She turned away from him and glanced over to the
counter where the black and stainless steel coffeemaker sat empty. “Why didn’t
you
make some?”

His face flushed red, and he sputtered, “But…”

“Homework,” she reminded him. “You were supposed to make coffee and eggs this morning.” But he hadn’t even been up when she’d
left. “Like you learned last night. You didn’t forget already?”

“I’m just taking that class to help Millie with the situation with her son.” His tone was doubtful, as if he was beginning
to realize she’d had another motive for getting him to join.

“So? It wouldn’t hurt you to learn something new.” She’d thought her irritability was courtesy of the caffeine. But she doubted
that now. It was courtesy of this man to whom she was married. This stranger.

She needed her friends. Until Wally’s retirement, Theresa would have never guessed that a woman could be married and still
be lonely.

Hand shaking, she reached for the carafe and held it under the faucet to fill with water. But strong fingers closed over hers.

“Let me,” Wally said, taking the pot from her hand.

She looked up at him, and his green eyes, once so bright with intelligence and energy, held a faint glimmer of that former
brightness instead of the bleary fog that had filled them since his retirement. She sputtered, “But…”

“I remember how,” he insisted, but he stared at her instead of the pot, which overflowed with water.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking only about making coffee… or something else.

M
illie fidgeted as she waited on the front porch of her son’s house. She knew there was a spare key hidden in the hollowed-out
newel post at the bottom of the steps. If she tipped it, the post would open on a hidden hinge and reveal the key and she
could let herself in.

If Steven were still living in the house, she might have. But things were different now. Steven was as much a guest in his
home as Millie was.

She had “dropped by,” hoping to help both her son and daughter-in-law. Except that no one was home, so she waited outside
with a casserole bowl in her hands. She should have called first, and she would have except that every time she had, Audrey
had found an excuse for her not to visit. Millie had thought that was all they were, excuses, because Audrey didn’t want to
hear Millie pressuring her to take Steven back. Undoubtedly she got enough of that from Brigitte.

But now Millie realized her daughter-in-law had probably been telling the truth; she was too busy for visitors. So busy that
she wasn’t even home. Millie considered leaving the casserole on her doorstep like she’d done for Charles in those months
that she’d thought his wife had died.

“Mom?” Audrey yelled with the exasperation of someone who’d called her more than once.

Millie turned toward where her daughter-in-law stood next to her car in the driveway. She hadn’t even heard her drive up.
Kim claimed the memory was the first thing to go, but maybe it was the hearing. However, at her last check-up her doctor had
declared Millie’s hearing perfect.

Audrey wore scrubs, in that universal green that was a mix between sage and pastel aqua. Her hair struggled free of the elastic
band holding it in a haphazard ponytail. Wisps of blond framed her face, highlighting the dark circles beneath her eyes. She
didn’t look any less miserable than Steven. Despite what he believed, Millie thought there was hope for a reconciliation.

“Mom?” Audrey said again, in a questioning manner… either of her presence or her distracted state of mind.

“I knew you were starting your internship, so I brought something by that you or Brigitte can heat up for your dinner.”

“Why are you standing outside with it?” Audrey asked. “You know where the key is.”

Millie shrugged, unwilling to admit how uncomfortable she was now in her son’s house. “I just got here,” she maintained. It
wasn’t exactly a lie; she had no idea how long she’d stood on the porch.

“You looked like you were a million miles away,” Audrey said, as she stepped around Millie to unlock the front door, then
pushed it open. “Come in,” she said, stepping into the living room.

Millie had rarely been in this room; it was the place for receiving strangers, through the front door. Family walked through
the garage and down the hall to the kitchen. This room, with its sterile white walls and light beige carpeting, didn’t even
look lived in. While Millie respected the cleanliness of white walls and the floral couches, she wanted to feel at home in
her son’s house… for however much longer it might be his house.

“So how is everything going?” Millie asked.

Audrey turned and studied her through narrowed eyes, undoubtedly gauging her sincerity. “Good. I’m interning at St. Mary’s,
in the ER, so it’s busy. It’s interesting.” She dropped the forced cheerfulness with a sigh and admitted, “Exhausting.”

Millie hadn’t needed Audrey’s confession to figure that out. She put her free arm around her daughter-in-law’s shoulders.
“Ah, honey…”

“It’s not that I don’t love it,” Audrey hastened to explain. “Because I do. I know this is what I want to do…”

“But?”

“It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

“I’m sure it is. But you’re a smart, strong woman. You’ll handle it just fine, Audrey.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Audrey said, followed by a little self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t think I’m listening,
though.”

“You and Steven have that in common. He didn’t listen when you said you needed help.”

“Mom,” Audrey’s tone cautioned Millie to back off.

Millie had made that mistake before, when she sensed there were problems in their marriage and didn’t want to interfere. “Audrey,
you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I told you already that I appreciate it, but I don’t want
your
help.” But even as she said it, she took the casserole bowl from Millie’s hands.

Millie followed her into the kitchen that she’d helped decorate with granny apple green walls and an apple
border. Unlike the plain living room, this room was bright and cheerful. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

Although she did intend to help.

“Steven?” Audrey snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

Millie hoped it would.

“He didn’t help me when I asked,” Audrey reminded her, “why would he now?”

“Because he can.”

Audrey turned away from the butcher-block counter where she had set the casserole and lifted a dark blond eyebrow. “What?”

Honesty forced Millie to admit, “Well, he can make coffee and eggs. But it’s a start. He’s taking a class on cooking and housekeeping.”

Audrey’s green eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “He is?”

Millie wasn’t about to share the name of the class with her daughter-in-law. She didn’t want to give her any ideas.

“Where is he taking this class?” Audrey asked, skepticism heavy in her voice.

“At Hilltop’s community center.”

“So this is your idea?” Audrey answered her own question with a nod, then added another, “You’re teaching it?”

“With Kim and Theresa’s help.”

Audrey shook her head. “Mom, you’re so sweet to try. But you’re putting in all the effort, not him.”

“He’s taking the class, Audrey.”

“Why?”

She’d rather not answer than respond honestly to that question, that his brother had goaded him.

Audrey pounced on her hesitation. “So he’s not taking it for me? For our marriage?”

“He hasn’t admitted it,” Millie confessed, “but I’m sure he is.” Or at least the hopeless romantic in her was certain.

“It’s going to take more than coffee and eggs for me to ask him to move back home, Mom.”

And Audrey hadn’t even tasted his ground-laden coffee and eggshell omelet. “We’re going to teach them more than that,” Millie
promised, and she was determined to make sure that they actually learned.