Beauty & the Beasts (15 page)

“How nice.” Plainly Garth wasn’t the one who interested Mom. “This veterinarian must make a good living. Is he handsome?”

“Yes he—” Madeline broke off when the waitress appeared with the pizza.

Her mother waited only long enough for Madeline to dish up two slices and push her half-eaten salad aside.

“What does he look like?” she prodded. “If he has a son who’s twelve, he must be older than you are. Unless he and his wife had him while they were still in college?”

“Eric’s thirty-eight,” Madeline said patiently. “He’s tall and very blond, with…oh, kind of grayish-green eyes.”

Her mother continued her inquiries. Madeline found herself answering without the irritation she’d expected to feel. These were
motherly
questions, not those of the business manager she’d once been for Madeline or the critic she’d become.

And therein, Madeline realized, was the problem: somewhere along the way, her mother had quit being
her mother and become her manager; Madeline in turn became a property, not a beloved child.

Maybe, Madeline thought as she drove home, there was still hope. It could be that her mother had awakened one morning and wondered what had happened to the little girl she’d sewed Halloween costumes for and walked to the first day of kindergarten. Maybe she’d even missed her.

Or maybe not. By the time they stepped in the front door, Mrs. Howard was already saying peevishly, “By morning I suppose my nose will be running. It always does when I stay here. Keeping all those cats out of my bedroom doesn’t do much good when they’ve been shedding in there year-round.”

Madeline had never—not once—seen her mother blow her nose during a visit. She gritted her teeth and said nothing.

“I’m terribly afraid my stomach will be upset, too,” Mrs. Howard continued. “The pizza tasted good, but it’s so greasy! I hope you don’t eat it often.”

“I never get an upset stomach.”

“But the cholesterol!”

“Mine’s 148.”

Her mother sat, knees properly together and back straight, on the living-room couch. When Benjamin, the flame-point Siamese, strolled up, she shooed him away with her foot, shrinking back into the sofa cushions as though he might attack any moment Poor Benjamin gave her an indignant look and stalked out of the room even though Madeline extended her hand and murmured his name.

As soon as he was gone, her mother straightened and took up where she’d left off. “A low figure like that can be deceptive, you know. Besides, you have to think about the future.”

The recklessness had worn off, like a drug that could buoy her only so long. “I’m sure you’re right,” Madeline said expressionlessly, hoping that agreement would be enough.

But no. “I can recommend some good books on nutrition.” Tiny frown lines formed on her mother’s brow. “Perhaps I ought to buy a low-fat cookbook or two while I’m here. That way you wouldn’t have to hunt for them.” Or, her tone implied, ignore her advice and not buy them at all. “If I show you how delicious healthy eating can be, you might stick to it.”

A familiar weariness swept over Madeline. “Mom, I do eat well most of the time. I have a salad almost every day for lunch. One of my favorite restaurants is a vegetarian place just down the street from my shop. You really don’t need—”

“But what do you put on your salad?” her mother interrupted. “Just because you start with lettuce doesn’t mean you won’t end up with a higher fat content than a cheeseburger has.”

Madeline nodded with increasing desperation as Mrs. Howard went on and on. Maternal concern? Or was Madeline’s figure and complexion still all her mother gave a damn about? Sometimes Madeline was tempted to ask. But neither recklessness nor anger had yet carried her to that point, because there
might be no going back. Without sisters or brothers, without a father, she
needed
her mother.

Or rather, she thought wryly, she needed to know that her mother was there
if
she needed her—“there” preferably being her mother’s home in Southern California.
Not
Madeline’s spare bedroom.

She snapped to attention, suddenly realizing that her mother had fallen silent. Apparently Mrs. Howard had worn out this particular topic.

Now what could they talk about? Madeline had a familiar sinking feeling. Visits were fraught with these moments. The past was forbidden, they knew little about the other’s day-to-day life, and their basic philosophies were worlds apart.

She and her mother looked at each other with mutual awareness that neither had a thing to say. The silence wasn’t a comfortable one. It stretched and thinned like a taut rubber band until Madeline could feel tiny cracks weakening it. She groped frantically for something to say. Anything.

“Tea?” It was the only thing she could think of. “Would you like a cup?”

Her mother leaped to her feet, exclaiming, “Why, yes! That sounds nice. You do have herbal, don’t you? I was just reading a study about caffeine…”

Going ahead to the kitchen, Madeline made a horrible face. Three weeks. She could survive anything, if it only lasted three weeks.

“THANK YOU
for inviting my mother, too,” Madeline said in a low voice.

Eric lounged beside her on the leather sofa in his
living room. A moment before, he’d announced his intention to go stir the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, but Mrs. Howard had volunteered to do it.

Now he reached out, tangled his fingers in Madeline’s hair and tugged gently. She slid toward him. He smiled, eyes heavy-lidded. His expression was enough to awaken warm shivery feelings in her belly.

“Are my manners so bad you think I’d invite you to dinner and leave your mother sitting at home?” His lips brushed her cheek.

“No, of course not.” Madeline turned her head, seeking his mouth.

“Besides, she seems nice.” He kissed her lightly, then nipped her lower lip.

Madeline heard the tap-tap of her mother’s returning footsteps. She hurriedly sat up and scooted away from him. Eric lifted a brow, but didn’t comment

Mrs. Howard hadn’t missed her daughter’s hurried retreat. She offered them a benign smile. “Your sauce looks and smells divine. How wonderful that you’re a cook, too.”

Mercifully he didn’t ask what his other attributes were alleged to be. Madeline was grateful, as well, that her mother was too well bred to tell him the truth, which from her point of view would have been looks and money. His respect for animals, his kindness and generosity toward them, wouldn’t rank on her list of important attributes in a potential husband.

Madeline’s body jerked, and she covered up by shifting position. Eric gave her a curious glance, but went back to making polite conversation with her mother.

Husband?
The word echoed in Madeline’s head. No, it did more than that; it ricocheted.

Disturbed, she slipped into denial.
She
didn’t see Eric that way; marriage was the last thing on her mind. But of course that was the way her mother would think. A woman of her mother’s generation would naturally assume a trip down the aisle was the logical culmination to dating.

With a surreptitious glance at Eric, Madeline smoothed away her frown before it fully formed. Even so, she was perturbed enough to admit to a false note in this easy assumption: if marriage was a woman’s goal, why hadn’t her mother remarried? She must have had chances—probably still had them—but she’d never dated seriously in the many years since her husband had left. Or had she? As stilted as their conversations were, would she have told her?

A timid voice in her head whispered,
You could ask her why she didn’t remarry.

How simple. How obvious. So why
hadn’t
she ever asked?

Because they never talked about the past The facile answer came quickly. Because it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder about her mother’s life beyond the superficialities. Because her own anger didn’t allow her to feel any empathy, much less sympathy, for her mother.

She stared straight ahead, momentarily unaware of her mother and Eric. Was she really that self-centered?

“Madeline.”

She whipped her head around. “What?”

Eric raised an eyebrow, but said only, “I just heard Garth come in. If you want to check on the kittens before dinner…”

“What a good idea!” Grateful for an excuse to escape, she jumped to her feet. “Did he go to his room?”

“I’m afraid so.” To Mrs. Howard, Eric said ruefully, “My son seems to be at a difficult age. He’s gone from a friendly boy to a rebellious teenager since last summer. I don’t know if he’s forgotten his manners or is just ignoring them.”

Madeline winced. His remark might have been aimed at her. She paused in the doorway. “Mom, if you want to see the kittens…”

Her mother visibly shuddered. But she smiled sweetly. “Didn’t you say they’re frightened? One visitor is probably enough.”

Eric smiled with approval, and Madeline whirled and stomped down the hall, her brief contrition squelched. He’d actually bought her mother’s act! He probably thought
she
was the one who wasn’t behaving well! Well, maybe she wasn’t, but too bad!

She raised her hand to knock on his son’s door. Maybe Garth would let her hide out in his bedroom. They could console each other for the world’s unfairness.

The image of herself slumped on Garth’s bed, headphones shutting out the world, a snarl on her lips, restored her sense of humor. She ought to be relieved Mom had made a polite excuse. Imagine if she’d said, “Heavens, no! I hate cats!” Considering
Eric’s vocation and avocation, that would have been a social blunder souring the rest of the evening.

She rapped.

Garth’s muffled voice said, “Yeah?”

“It’s Madeline. May I come in?”

“Yeah! Yeah, sure!”

She opened the door cautiously. No kitten hurled itself at the gap, so she slipped inside and pushed the door shut behind her.

Garth was sprawled on his stomach on the bed, almost nose to nose with the two kittens, curled in the shelf of the bookcase headboard.

“Hi,” she said softly. “How’re they doing?”

“Great!” He smiled at her over his shoulder, his face impish and charming without its usual sullenness. “Come and pet ’em.”

As she crossed the room to his bed, she glanced around. The walls were bare, nail holes showing where posters and pictures had previously hung. Books were piled and CDs scattered atop a plain maple desk. Unclosed closet doors revealed an open suitcase on the floor, clothes jumbled inside it

“Chev and Ron have been playing in there,” Garth said. “I, uh, usually kinda fold my stuff.”

“Ah.” She smiled back at him. “Don’t you love having kitty litter in your bedroom?”

“I change it, like, twice a day, but it’s still pretty stinky,” he agreed. “But that’s OK. They’re worth it.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He scooted over on the bed. She felt as if they’d become friends, and without self-consciousness, she
lay on her stomach beside him. Two sets of gold eyes regarded her warily, but when she reached over and ruffled silky backs, first one, then the other, began to purr.

“Ron really likes to play,” Garth told her. “He especially likes that feather thing. You oughtta see him jump!”

“Chev still hide?”

“Yeah, mostly, but he’s getting braver. He didn’t purr at first, but now he does. And when I hold him, sometimes he seems to like it for a few minutes. If I flick the toy by him, he’ll snatch at it, then scuttle back under the desk or in here. I bet in another week or two, he’ll come out.”

“I bet so, too.” When she quit petting, Garth’s hand took the place of hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. His eyes were soft, the curve of his mouth tender. She could see the boy Eric had described before this seeming stranger had showed up. Obviously that boy hadn’t disappeared—he was just hiding. She suspected that, like Chev, he’d get braver and appear more and more often, too.

Turning her attention back to the kittens, she said, “Chev’s finally putting on weight. Actually Ron’s filling out, too, isn’t he?”

Garth cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

She glanced at him, only to find that he’d been watching her. The moment their eyes met, a fiery blush leaped from his neck and up his cheeks. He turned his head and pretended to be concentrating on his four-legged boarders.

What was going on? Puzzled, she waited.

“Dad thinks you’re really pretty,” he said, voice stifled. “I mean, he always dated pretty women, but you’re even prettier.”

Uneasiness balled in her stomach at the reminder of how Eric himself had answered when she’d wondered why he’d asked her out.
Because you’re beautiful and I’m attracted to you.
Maybe she’d been kidding herself that their relationship had deepened.

“Did he say that?”

Garth still wouldn’t look at her. “Sort of.” Even more awkwardly he added, “But, like, you
are
pretty.”

Lightning bolt. What an idiot she was. Poor kid, no wonder he was uncomfortable! He was telling her
he
thought she was pretty, and here she was stretched out on the bed beside him! At twelve years old, any boy was becoming aware of girls and women.

She laughed and said, “Thanks. You ought to see me first thing in the morning.” Pretending to sigh, she sat up. “I have a feeling dinner is about ready. Shall we?”

He didn’t move. “I’ll probably just eat in here.”

“Oh, no, you won’t.” Only half kidding, Madeline gave him a stern look. “My mother is here. I need rescuing.”

Garth finally rolled onto his side, open surprise on his face. “But you’re a grown-up!”

“I’m still a daughter. She’s still my mother. Habits and, oh, tensions from when you’re a kid don’t necessarily go away, you know.” Madeline grimaced. “There’s a lot of stuff we’ve never talked about.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

Good question. “Would you believe I’m a coward?”

He stared. “It’s not like you’re scared of her.” More uncertainly he added, “Are you?”

“No.” She smiled reassurance. “Nothing like that. I guess I’m just…still angry inside. I’ll tell you about it sometime, okay? But we really ought to go eat or our parents will come looking for us.”