The Snow Globe (10 page)

Bryn ran from the room, crying, “Daddy, Daddy!”

Suzanne gritted her teeth and sat up. The sight of her ankle was enough to make her light-headed and sick and she lay back down with a cry. No human ankle was meant to look like that.

Bryn had barely left before Suzanne heard the pounding of feet. Guy's friend Clay stopped at the door and gawked.

Guy rushed past him and knelt by her. “Suz, my God. What happened?”

“Bryn was climbing on the chair and fell. I think I'm going to be sick.”
On the carpet. Noooo
. Suzanne clutched her stomach and willed the nausea back.

Bryn hovered in the doorway next to Clay. “I just wanted to see Happy,” she said, and burst into fresh tears.

“It's okay, Brynnie,” said Guy. “Suz, baby, we'd better get you to the emergency room.”

“Yeah, that looks bad,” Clay said as he picked up the crying Bryn.

“That damned snow globe,” Suzanne growled, brushing tears from her cheek. “I wish Kiley had never brought it.” The thing had been like Pandora's box, loosing all kinds of troubles on them. If they'd never seen it Bryn would have dropped her puppy fixation, Guy wouldn't have been mad, and Suzanne wouldn't have wound up with a foot that looked like it belonged on an elephant. And her coffee table would be in one piece.

“Let's get you to the car,” Guy said to her.

“Bryn needs to go to bed,” she protested.

“I can handle it, huh?” said Clay, giving Bryn a toss and making her smile for the first time since the accident. “Want Uncle Clay to put you to bed?”

Bryn sniffled and nodded. “Is my mommy going to be okay?”

“Of course, she is,” said Guy. “Okay, babe. Up we go.”

Suzanne tried not to groan as Guy carried her out and settled her in the car, but the pain was excruciating. No one ever died of a sprained ankle, she told herself, though it just felt like her injury was going to kill her. If she didn't get something for the pain soon she was going to gnaw off her leg.

The ride to Group Health Ballard took only minutes but it felt like hours, and the examination and X-rays were nearly unbearable. She had obviously angered the patron saint of dogs.

The final verdict was worse than anticipated. She hadn't simply sprained her ankle; she'd managed to break it. As soon as the swelling went down she'd be in a big, ugly cast. How was she supposed to drive with a broken ankle? How could she show houses? How could she do
anything
? Why the heck, if something
had to get broken, couldn't it have been the snow globe?

When she finally came home it was with crutches and a splint. And, thank God, pain pills. Those not only took away the pain, they made it feel like not such a big deal that she suddenly had no life. Who cared, she decided as she floated away on clouds of drug-induced comfort and joy.

The next morning Suzanne awoke to the smell of coffee and an urgent message from her ankle that it was time for more painkillers. She spotted the bottle on her nightstand and raided it, then lay back against the pillows with a groan. While waiting for the meds to take effect she occupied her time listing the many ways she would destroy the snow globe once she was up and moving again: throw it off the Aurora Bridge, donate it to some gun club to use for target practice, beat it to smithereens with her crutches. That last one appealed the most. The enjoyment would last longer.

The pills kicked in and she decided it was safe to try and get up. A glance at the clock told her it was almost nine. Sheesh. She should be on her way to the office. Instead she was only on her way to the bathroom. It wasn't an easy trip with one working leg and, once there, she managed to drop one of her crutches and knock her fancy soap bottle off the counter. Of course it broke, sending a puddle of soap across the floor. Great. The way her luck had been going she'd slip on it and break her other ankle.

She managed to escape slipping on the soap and had just gotten back in bed when Guy arrived, bearing a mug of coffee. “I thought I heard you.”

She frowned. “It was probably hard not to. I'm sure I sounded
like a rhino.”

“But a small one,” he assured her, handing over the mug.

“Thanks,” she murmured, then nodded to the clock on her nightstand. “You didn't go to work?”

“I took the day off.”

Both of them missing work. Great. “Sorry. By the way, I managed to knock over the soap.”

He shrugged. “Not a problem. I'll take care of it.”

“What a mess everything is,” she said miserably.

“It could be worse,” he said. “Bryn could have been hurt. That was some rescue you managed, Supermom, leaping over the coffee table in a single bound.”

“Not much of a leap considering the fact that I knocked it over,” she said with a frown. “How on earth am I going to do anything?” Right before Christmas—could she have picked a worse time for this?

“Don't worry. Help is on the way,” Guy said from the bathroom.

She could hear the sounds of glass scraping on the floor. What was he using to clean that up? One of her good towels, of course.

“You hired someone?” she called. Where had he found somebody so quickly?

He reappeared in the doorway bearing a towel full of mess. “This help is free.”

She got a sudden uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Free? Who?”

“Your mother. She's already on her way up from Portland.”

“My…? Oh, no.”

Suzanne knew what that meant. Corny movies on TV every night, including a command screening of
It's a Wonderful Life,
the dreaded tacky home-crafted decorations, and, of course, a lecture on what a great blessing in disguise Suzanne's broken ankle was. Now she could take time to savor the joys of the season. As if Suzanne didn't already.

But she didn't savor the season the way her mother did, which meant she didn't do it right. Like all daughters since the dawn of time, she didn't measure up to her mother's expectations.

She could hear her mother now. “You don't need a decorator, dear, not when we can cut out snowflakes and paint Santas on the windows.” Just the thought of what the house would look like under her mother's reign was enough to make Suzanne shudder.

“Why did you have to call her?” Suzanne groaned.

“I didn't,” Guy said. “She happened to call last night and Clay told her what happened. She called again after you were in bed and insisted on coming. What could I do?”

“You could have told her we're fine,” Suzanne said irritably.

“Yeah? You're on pain pills and crutches. Just how fine are we?”

“Perfectly,” Suzanne insisted, even though she knew it was a lie.

“You'll be better if you get some help and some rest,” Guy said. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “The more you rest the faster you'll heal.”

“What's Bryn doing?” she asked.

“Watching a Disney princess movie. So I'm going to check on my e-mail and make some calls,” he said, heading for the door. “Do you want breakfast before I start?”

The last thing she wanted was food. She shook her head.

“Okay. Call or bang on the floor with your crutch if you need something,” he said, and left.

What she needed he couldn't bring her. She glared at her useless foot. This was grossly unfair.

The phone rang. She snapped it open and said a pissy, “Hello.”

“It's nine-thirty. Are you on your way?” asked Julie, her partner. Julie was the office's other top seller. She and Suzanne had dreamed up the holiday home tour the year before, and with their combined flair and drive it had been a huge success. This year they anticipated twice the turnout and twice the business.

Of course Suzanne was supposed to have been in the office by now and they should have been working on the home tour. “I broke my ankle,” she said bitterly. But the cursed snow globe was just fine.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Right now I'm in bed getting high on painkillers,” said Suzanne, smoothing the comforter over her legs.

“Gosh, I'm sorry. Do you need anything?”

“Only a new foot.”

There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line, followed by a tentative, “Um, how long are you going to be in bed?”

“Just a couple of days,” Suzanne promised. “I'll be up and around by the tour. Don't worry.”

“Well, okay,” said Julie, sounding doubtful. “But if you're not I can pull in Maria. We can handle it.”

And the sales that went along with it. “I'll be fine,” Suzanne assured both Julie and herself.

Or not. It seemed all she was good for was sleeping, and when the painkillers started to wear off she wanted to scream. The crutches were instruments of torture and the thought of going downstairs made her shudder. She could just see herself falling and breaking her neck. Ugh.

Bryn was restless and alternated between wanting to play Candy Land and wanting to know why Happy couldn't come live with them. “Because that's how it is,” Suzanne finally said wearily.

Her mother arrived early that afternoon. She floated into the bedroom in a cloud of cheap gardenia perfume, wearing her latest discount store bargains. She was still living on a teacher's salary, but she was an empty-nester now and could afford better clothes. Still, she insisted on dressing like she hadn't a penny to her name no matter how many gift cards her daughter sent her.

“Who do I need to impress?” she always said.

No one, obviously. Certainly not a man. Mary Madison had been a widow way too long to ever think about adding a new man to her life. Although maybe she should. Then she'd have someone besides her children to drive crazy.

She took one look at Suzanne and her face filled with pity.
“Oh, my poor girl.” She perched on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on Suzanne's brow as if Suzanne were dying of a fever.

All right. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea to call her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Rotten,” said Suzanne. Frustrated. Grumpy.

“Well, I'm going to make you some good, old-fashioned vegetable soup. You used to love that when you were sick.”

Her mother's vegetable soup—the finest restaurant in Seattle couldn't touch it. “That would be great,” said Suzanne.

Now Bryn was in the room, squealing, “Grammy!” and running pell-mell toward her grandmother.

Mom intercepted her just before she could crash onto the bed. “Hello, my littlest angel,” she cooed, and gave Bryn a big kiss. “Would you like to come help Grammy make soup for your mommy?”

Bryn jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Yes!”

Suzanne searched her memory for a time Bryn had been that excited over doing something with her and came up empty. That was because her brain was fuddled with pain pills. Later she'd remember something. Wouldn't she?

The second time Suzanne awoke it was to the aroma of tomato and spices and the yeasty fragrance of home-baked bread. Those were the smells of her childhood and as comforting as the blankets she was nestled under. Her mother's taste in clothes and décor were abysmal, but when it came to cooking, Mary Madison could have had her own show on the Food Network.

Suzanne stretched and then reached for her cell phone only to find it was no longer on her nightstand. She checked to see if it had fallen on the floor. No cell phone there, either. She frowned. If Bryn had sneaked it away to play with she was going to be in big trouble.

Suzanne pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the instruments of torture known as crutches, and made her clumsy way to the upstairs hall. “Guy!”

Guy didn't come. Instead her mother appeared at the foot of the stairs. She had donned an apron over her polyester pants and
Bryn appeared at her side like a living accessory. “Oh, you're awake,” she said.

Bryn detached herself and ran up the stairs, bearing a miniature marshmallow tower covered in pink sprinkles. “Look, Mommy. We made marshmallow snowmen.”

Goody. The craft marathon had begun.

Bryn held it out for Suzanne to take.

Suzanne kissed her daughter and gave her a hug. “That's very nice, Brynnie.”

“This one's for you. Try it, Mommy,” urged Bryn, shoving it in front of her nose.

“I can't right now, baby,” said Suzanne.
Thank God
. “Mommy needs to take her pain pills first. You keep it for me in the kitchen. Okay?” Her daughter's hands were a sticky mess. “And then go wash your hands before you touch anything.”

Bryn made a face and trudged back down the stairs and Mom's brows took a disapproving dip.

Ah, how well Suzanne knew that expression. “Where's Guy?”

“I told him there was no need to hang around here when he had things to do,” said Mom, “not when I can take over.”

Take over
was right. And Guy had been happy to let her. What was with that? Her husband just ran off and left her the minute the next shift arrived?

He has to work, her rational self reminded her, but she told it to shut up. “Do you know where my cell phone is?”

“Oh, I took it downstairs,” said her mother as if it were perfectly acceptable to take someone's cell phone. “I figured you
need your rest.”

Suzanne could feel her blood pressure rising. “I've had my rest. Now I need my cell phone.”

Her mother's easy smile stiffened. “Fine. I'll get it. Would you like some soup?”

“That would be great,” said Suzanne, equally stiff. “Thanks.”

There was nothing else to say after that, and besides, Suzanne's ankle was not happy. Scowling, she maneuvered herself back to her bedroom. By the time she got back to bed she was exhausted. This was so not fun. She grabbed her bottle of happy pills and popped one. At the rate things were going, by the time her mother left she'd be a drug addict.

Mom appeared a few minutes later, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a plate with a slice of fresh-baked bread smothered in Suzanne's healthful butter-substitute spread. The aroma of tomato, garlic, and onions spread through the bedroom. Suzanne sniffed and closed her eyes. Just the smell made her feel better.

She opened her eyes as Mom set the tray on her lap. There, next to the bread, lay her cell phone. Good. She was connected to the outside world once more.

Mom perched on the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?” Her tone of voice said,
Let's make up.

Sick in bed with her mommy bringing soup; suddenly, Suzanne felt twelve years old again, and in need of understanding. “Crummy. Frustrated.” She tested a spoonful of soup. “This is great,” she said, and dipped the spoon back in, dredging up a pile
of finely cut carrot, celery, and parsnip. Mom had given her this recipe last winter but she'd never gotten around to making it.

“You always did love that soup. Your daughter likes it, too,” Mom added with a smile.

Suzanne bit into the bread. Wait a minute. This wasn't her spread. This was real butter. “You bought butter?”

“Real butter is better for you than that awful imitation stuff,” said Mom.

“You went out and bought butter?” When had she found time for that?

“I brought a few things up with me,” said Mom. “I figured if I was going to come up early for Christmas I might as well bring some ingredients for baking. I think Bryn will enjoy that.”

“She'd like anything her grammy made,” said Suzanne in an effort to be gracious. “I suppose she's been talking your ear off.”

“A little.” Mom smoothed the bedspread. “Mostly about a dog named Happy.”

Suzanne shook her head. “That dog.”

“She appears to have her heart set on it.”

“Well, I have my heart set on a diamond necklace,” Suzanne retorted. “That doesn't mean I'm going to get it.”

“You're not a little girl,” said her mother, with that same superior smile she always used when handing out unrequested advice. Before Suzanne could think of anything to say, she stood and moved away. “I'd better get downstairs and see what she's up to.”

Suzanne let out her breath in an irritated hiss as her mother
bustled her busybody self out of the room. Shouldn't she be at school still, bossing around helpless children? Two weeks of this. Suzanne would go crazy.

“I'm losing my mind,” she told Allison when her friend called to check on her Saturday morning. “Julie is having to take my clients around, Bryn is making an army of marshmallow snowmen and expecting me to eat every one, and my mother is, well, my mother.”

“Any time you want to trade moms let me know,” said Allison, her voice taking on a scolding tone.

“How about now? I'll send her right over. She can help you make some more fudge.”

“Deal,” said Allison.

Suzanne could see Allison and Mom in Allison's state-of-the-art kitchen, whipping up exotic confections in Allison's designer pots. Those two had a mutual admiration society going. “Why don't you come over here for dinner tonight instead?” What the heck? Let Allison have a dose of Mom. It would give Suzanne a break.

“That sounds good to me.”

“Great,” said Suzanne. “I'll call Kiles, too.” Like Allison was always reminding her, girlfriend time was important.

“Don't bother,” said Allison. “She already got a better offer. She and Craig are going skating at the Lynnwood Ice Center and then out for pizza.”

Kiley was going into this new relationship at a gallop, racing for another heartbreak. “Have you met this guy?” asked Suzanne.

“Actually, he came by when we were making fudge. He's funny and kind, perfect for her. It looks like that snow globe was the best investment Kiles ever made.”

“Yeah, well, it sure paid off for me,” Suzanne grumbled.

“If you don't want it, I'll take it.”

“You can have it with my blessing.” Right along with her mother. “Just don't sue me when it ruins your life.”

They chatted a little longer. Then Allison went back to her baking for the holiday home tour and Suzanne returned to being bored.

Until she remembered that the decorators were finally coming. Yes! She threw off the bed covers. She was going downstairs no matter what.

Since it was Saturday Guy was on hand to help her clean up and get downstairs. But on hearing about the pending invasion, he took off for the gym. She had coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast and averted her eyes from the ratty snowman and snow lady Mom and Bryn were constructing from cotton batting.

“We thought they would look nice on the fireplace mantel, right next to the snow globe,” said Mom. “Didn't we, Brynnie?” She smiled at Bryn who was happily gluing a lopsided eye on her snow lady.

“We'll see,” said Suzanne noncommittally. “I've got the decorators coming today.”

“Ah.” Mom nodded, her politeness poorly masking her disapproval.

Too bad, thought Suzanne. This was her house, not her
mother's.

To prove it she set up court in the living room and watched while the place became a thing of beauty. When the Holiday Creations crew left a nine-foot tree graced the bay window, simply yet tastefully decked with gold balls and wine-colored ribbon and tiny white lights. The same theme was carried up the stair banister and along the mantel.

Suzanne made the circuit with her crutches, pleased with all she saw. Everything was perfect, from the front hall to the powder room. “It looks like we're ready for the holidays,” she said happily as she swung her way back into the living room.

Bryn, who had been following the workers from room to room, looked at the mantel and frowned. “Where can we put our snowman and snow lady, Grammy?”

Suzanne's mother cocked an eyebrow at her. That eyebrow. Her mother always could say so much with it. Right now Suzanne didn't particularly like what she was saying.

“How about we put them on your dresser?” Suzanne suggested.

Bryn's lower lip stuck out. “But then nobody can see them.”

That was the general idea.

“How about here?” Mom suggested, plopping the tacky things on the new coffee table, right next to the pillar candle arrangement. The perfect tacky finishing touch, and a fire hazard to boot.

“They might catch fire there,” said Suzanne. Had her mother thought of that? Nooo. “I think your room would be better.”

“But I want Aunt Kiley and Aunt Allison to see them,” pro
tested Bryn, frowning.

“They will,” Suzanne assured her. “They'll come up to your room and look. And just think, you'll have your very own special Christmas room,” she added. “You can put them right next to your pink Christmas tree, and you'll be able to look at them every night when you go to sleep.”

Bryn gave up. “Okay.” She hugged the ugly things to her and left the room, frowning.

Suzanne kept her gaze focused on her daughter, successfully avoiding visual contact with The Eyebrow. But she didn't escape The Sigh, which was almost as bad.

She turned to her mother and demanded, “What?”

“The house looks beautiful, dear. It really does. Certainly more lovely than anything you had growing up.” Her mother stopped and bit her lip.

She was on a roll. Why stop now?

“But,” prompted Suzanne. As if she didn't know what was coming next.

“I just think what makes a home truly beautiful is the happiness shared by the people who live in it.”

“We're happy,” Suzanne protested. How could they not be? “Our life is perfect.”

“It certainly looks that way,” said her mother. The sneaky little dig wasn't lost on Suzanne, but before she could respond, Mom said, “I think I'll get busy in the kitchen. If Allison's coming over she'll want Spritz Christmas tree cookies,” then made her exit, leaving her daughter smarting.

The sting continued all day and into the evening, making it
hard for Suzanne to appreciate her friend's visit. Guy had insisted on moving their daughter's craft project back down to the living room and the snow couple was now on the coffee table in place of the candles, sitting in judgment on Suzanne, and pronouncing her the world's worst mother. To top it all, Mom fussed over Allison as though she was the daughter Mom never had.

Finally, Suzanne had enough. “My ankle is hurting. I think I'm going to go to bed.”

“Do you want help up the stairs?” Mom offered.

“You've helped enough for one day,” Suzanne assured her.

“I'll help her,” said Guy, getting up.

She would have appreciated his offer if his tone of voice hadn't added,
Pain in the butt that she is
. “I can manage,” she said stiffly.

“Let your husband help you,” said Mom. “That's what he's here for.”

More unrequested advice. “Mom,” Suzanne said sternly.

“You can pretend you're Scarlett O'Hara and he's Rhett Butler,” quipped Allison in an attempt to lighten the moment.

“I can do it myself,” Suzanne snapped.

Guy shrugged and said, “Okay then. Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suzanne turned around in a huff and hobbled off.

By the time she got to her bedroom she had a thin film of sweat on her forehead and tears on her cheeks. No one understood her.

She managed in the bathroom, then popped a pain pill and fell into bed.

She had just gotten settled when her mother arrived with a cup of cocoa. She handed it over with an empathetic look. “I thought you could use this.”

Mom always did think cocoa was the solution to all of life's problems. It had made Suzanne feel better when she was a child, but she wasn't a child now, even if she was acting like one.

“I know this isn't fun,” her mother said gently, “but maybe there's a silver lining here. Maybe this is God's way of slowing you down a little.”

Oh, that was helpful. “I don't need to slow down. I need to make money. This place doesn't maintain itself. It takes two salaries.”

“I understand,” said her mother.

What a joke. Their house growing up had been a hodgepodge of garage sale furniture and ugly, homemade decorations. Always a mess. Mom had never cared. She'd never even tried to improve the house. Instead she'd bumped along as if life was just fine as it was. Maybe for her, but not for her daughter. Suzanne still remembered having to make excuses for why she couldn't go on trips with her friends or to school dances when the truth was that there was no money in the budget for those extras. Was it so wrong for her to want to spare Bryn the same disappointments?

“No, you don't,” Suzanne snapped. “I don't want to live like you.”

She regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth. They were true but they were also cruel. It was the pain pills; they
were scrambling her brain.