Going Through the Notions(72)

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be busy working on the kitchen anyway.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You know I don’t, but . . .”

“Yes?”

“Well, you always do whatever you want to do anyway, Daisy. See you later.”

And he hung up.

I sucked in a breath as I stared at the phone, the dial tone humming. I’d thought Joe was always so easygoing, proud of my independence, and content to let me have my moments in the sun. It never occurred to me he might resent it.

*



“Claire was sitting coloring at the farmhouse table in the dining room when I arrived. The townhouse had a great open plan kitchen, dining and living room with vaulted ceilings, and a fireplace. The spacious kitchen had pickled oak cabinets and a tile backsplash dotted with pictures of herbs. Some of Claire’s framed artwork hung on the khaki-painted walls, and the refrigerator was covered in magnets and notes. A tabby cat lounged near the sliding doors leading out to the wooded backyard. Patsy had picked Sarah up and they were doing their makeup together in the powder room. I’d said I’d give her a ride home with me later, so she could enjoy herself and not worry about drinking and driving.

“Look at this!” I said to Claire. “A real kitchen with cabinets and a countertop and everything!”

She giggled. “Daisy, you’re funny.”

Patsy had wanted her to call me Mrs. Buchanan when we first met, but I preferred plain old Daisy. I set a paper bag on the table. I’d bought cheese curls, Swedish Fish candy, and lemonade at the convenience store attached to the post office.

“Ooh, what’s in there?” Claire grinned at me, dark eyes flashing. She knew what was in the bag. I got her same favorites every time.

I sat in one of the white Windsor dining chairs as she pushed a coloring book toward me. “Pick a page for you to color.”

Obediently, I selected an ocean scene and a variety of blue crayons.

The brick townhouse had a finished basement that ran the whole length of the house, where Patsy and Claire spent most of their time. It was carpeted with a big-screen TV, a huge sectional sofa, and a desk for Claire to do her homework. There were two beds at one end behind a screen, a second bathroom, and built-in closets under the stairs. It was close to a thousand square feet, and quite a nice space, but still, I knew what Patsy meant about wanting her own place someday.

Patsy came out of the powder room and sat next to her daughter. She never talked about Claire’s father. It was as if he’d never existed. All I knew was that when Patsy’s mother died in a car crash, she went a little wild and crazy, got pregnant, and had to drop out of school. Her older sister had taken her in and basically raised her.

Patsy didn’t have a high opinion of men, to say the least, and I wondered how that would influence Claire. I still wanted her to be a kid, to dream and be innocent for as long as possible, but unsentimental Patsy with her hard-core common sense was determined to teach her about the ugly side of human nature. I myself was an innocent compared to Patsy. When I was teaching in the early days, a kid brought in a bag of weed that he’d found in his dad’s sock drawer. I thought it was parsley.

After Patsy and Sarah left, Claire and I went downstairs with our snacks. She lay on her stomach on the floor, watching a fashion designer reality show on television. The tabby cat sat at her side, on guard for any dropped cheese curl crumbs.

My cell rang. It was Martha, in full commander-in-chief mode. “I’ve planned an organizational meeting for the country fair,” she announced. “Tomorrow at my house. It’s a working lunch.” She said it like we would be at a Fortune 500 company boardroom meeting.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Oh, and Betty’s volunteered to be on the committee, too.”

There was a slight pause.

I smiled to myself. “You want me to give her a ride to your house, right?”

I could almost feel Martha smile back at the other end of the phone. She loved it when a plan came together.

“No problem,” I said. “Betty’s being nice enough to let us use the auction grounds. It’s the least I can do.”

Claire was shuffling around now in a pair of Patsy’s shoes, hands out at her sides, acting like a model sashaying down the runway.

“It’s okay, Daisy,” Claire whispered as she caught me watching her. “Mommy’s giving this stuff to the Salvation Army anyway.” Her little feet slipped around in the high-heeled pumps.

Jeez. Patsy must have really big feet. Just like Angus.

A tiny bell dinged in the back of my mind, but with the angst on television and Martha’s monologue, I couldn’t concentrate.