There's Always Plan B (20 page)

“No, you don't.”

“This is so unfair.”

“There's more to your grounding, but I haven't figured out what it's going to be,” Carly said, keeping her voice calm. “You chose to lie, you chose to mislead me and you chose to break the rules. You made every bit of this happen and now you're going to face the consequences.”

“I hate you!” Tiffany screamed.

“I'm sure you do.” She unplugged the phone that had only been recently restored from the last grounding. After collecting Tiffany's cell phone from the nightstand, she turned to leave.

“Just so we're clear, I'm calling Jack's mother to tell her about the party.”

“What? You can't. This is too embarrassing.”

“Should have thought about that before. Consider yourself stuck on the property here until the second week of July. I suppose you can leave to see your dad, but that's it.”

“You can't do that. It's nearly summer vacation.”

“Huh. You're right. You should have thought about that before.”

Carly stepped out into the hallway. Something hard slammed into the door, but it didn't phase her in the least. For once she didn't mind that her daughter was upset with her. Tiffany had screwed up and now she would face the consequences. It was time to make sure there was only one professional victim in the house.

 

“I don't like these people one bit,” Rhonda said as she peered out the kitchen window. “The way they dress, and their music. They'll probably murder us in our beds.”

“I think they'll be more creative than that,” Carly said. She poured herself a second cup of coffee. “They're horror writers, Mom. They're fine.”

Her mother sniffed loudly. “They're odd.”

“I know, and I'm okay with that.”

Funny how she was. Tiffany hadn't spoken to her in nearly three days and she had a feeling Jack was pissed at her, as well, but that was all right, too.

“Neil's here,” Rhonda said. “What do you suppose he's going to do with Tiffany this time?”

“I haven't a clue.” Carly carried her coffee out to the front porch and waited for her ex-husband.

When he strolled up the steps, she smiled. “Hi. Tiffany's in a bad mood because she's grounded for a month.” She told him about the party. “I'm sure you think I'm being too tough, but I would appreciate your support by not telling her that. Also, please don't take her shopping this weekend. She's still grounded.”

Neil nodded. “I know, I know. No belly button rings, no late nights, no inappropriate movies. Jeez, Carly, don't you ever get tired of being an adult?”

“Sometimes, but it's too late to go back.”

“Not necessarily. My boat's nearly ready to go. You could leave all this and sail with me to Hawaii.”

“What?” He couldn't be serious.

He shuffled his feet. “It could be fun. Like it was before.”

“Before when?”

“You know. Back when things were good between us.”

Before she had grown up, she would bet. “Thanks for asking, but I'd rather stay right here.”

He frowned. “Why?”

She leaned against the front of the porch. The railing would need painting again soon. There was a broken washer, a full house and the produce delivery was late. Maribel had gone on maternity leave and her daughter freaked out every single morning before she started baking. Carly knew it would be a long two months until her friend returned to work. And it was summer—their busiest time.

She seemed to go from crisis to crisis. But wasn't that life? A day-to-day world where very little was in her control? And isn't that what made it wonderful?

She might have come here because she'd had nowhere else to go, but she was staying for far better reasons.

“I like my life, Neil. I don't want to run away.”

And if she did, it wouldn't be with him.

“What is there to like?” he asked, obviously genuinely baffled by her statement.

She thought for a second, then grinned. “Everything.”

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I
settle into a wicker chair, flip through the mail again, then place all but one piece on the patio table. The evening is cool but not uncomfortable. It's already dark out, but I don't care; I'm numb and blind to everything except the texture of the expensive envelope beneath my fingertips and the return address in the upper left corner. Gosset, Dusseldorf and Klein.

Shooing away a fly, I turn the envelope over to open it, but can't bring myself to lift the flap. “This is it, Max,” I say, eliciting a tiny moan from the dog. He stops munching and trots over. “The end of life as I knew it. No more Bert. Hurray!” My throat tightens. Erin might as well be gone, too. From now on, it'll just be Mother and me.

It won't be so bad, I tell myself. Who needs men anyway? Who can trust 'em? I'll learn to knit. That's something Mother and I can do together. Night after night. In front of the television.
Wheel of Fortune.
Mother will cook delicious meals for me. What better way to fill the emptiness than with smothered steak and buttermilk biscuits. Blackberry cobbler? She might even make my favorite chocolate éclairs. I'll gain so much weight that I'll have to buy my clothing at the tent and awning store. Which won't be an issue anymore since I won't be trying to impress a man. Think how comfy I'll be. How content. Fat and happy.

And alone. With Mother.

Max yelps. I look down at him. He tilts his head to one side. His brown eyes appear sympathetic.

“I'm sorry, Max.” I sniff. “It won't be just Mother and me. I'll have you, too. Since Dad's gone, you're the only male in my life worth bothering with, anyway. At least you don't leave dirty underwear on the bedroom floor.”

With one final scratch to Max's head, I return my focus to the envelope. I open it, pull the paperwork out, unfold it, then set it aside, facedown. Why not see what else came in the mail and put off the inevitable? I make my way through bills, flyers, an invitation to a party to celebrate an associate's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Good for her. Thanks for rubbing it in. I reach for an envelope from Erin's school. The letter inside is for parents of seniors. A meeting's planned next week to discuss graduation plans: announcements, caps and gowns, the class party. Already.

A wave of sadness sweeps over me.

Erin.
She's not a little girl anymore. But she's not as grown up as she thinks she is, either. She's pulling away from me, but still requires my guidance. More than ever. But I need a different approach now that she's older.

With a sigh, I return to the legal papers. Can't put them off forever. Maybe I've been looking at this divorce all wrong. Maybe it's a new beginning rather than an ending. A chance to discover new interests. To rediscover old ones. To do something for
me,
for a change. I should redefine my relationship with Erin, focus more on my career, spend more time with Mother. Can't all that be enough?

When I flip to the last page, Bert's signature jumps out at me. Then mine. I suck in a breath of cool air.

My tears taste salty and bittersweet as I stare at the document that ends my old life and launches a new one.

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Greensville, NC

September 2000

I
could tell you a story about how my uncle Grey Alexander left me Magnolia Hall because I was his favorite niece. Then you might think I visited him every summer to attend reunions, and our family was close and very loving. That's when I'd explain that Uncle Grey always sent me beautiful birthday cards, telephoned me on Christmas morning to wish me a happy, peaceful holiday. And at the end of our conversation he'd go on and on about how he wished I were home instead of in dusty Las Vegas.

I'd also tell you on the day he died I found out he made sure I, Juliette Carlton, a forty-year-old, three-time, divorced blackjack dealer, his beloved niece and misplaced Southern belle, inherited all he had, including the memories of a loving Southern family.

But none of it would be true.

Someone once told me the reason people lie is because it sounds better. They were right. And life, as my mother used to remind me over and over, is raw and ugly. Part of that is true. Life is raw and ugly if a person makes it that way. Maybe that's why my mother lied so much.

I've decided not to fabricate anything, especially to myself. At one time I was big on that. I'd tell myself I was happy when I wasn't, tell myself a man cared when he didn't.

So the truth is I inherited an old Southern house from a man who just happened to be my uncle. I barely had a few faded memories of him. I became the owner of his house because I'm the only family member left. And that one little mistake of Grey Alexander not making a will changed my life forever. Because before all this happened I believed money would make my life better, different, worth living. What I didn't know was that no amount of money could help me. It took something so strange, like inheriting an old Southern mansion that really didn't belong to me, to make me see what's really important.

The things to give away. And what to keep.

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