Discovering Normal (6 page)

Beth looked up to see her mother carrying a tray with a mug of hot chocolate.

“I thought you might like this.”

Beth took the mug though she truly wanted the sanctuary of the bed. “Thank you.”

Her mother slid her palm over the comforter and sat at the edge. Greer Williams was a woman of breeding and though she loved her children, intimacy wasn’t her strong point. “You know that I’ve always feared this day would come
.
”

Beth set the cup down on the nightstand. “I’m not discussing this tonight, Mother. I’m too tired, too confused--”

Greer raised a sculpted brow. “Confused? You shouldn’t be confused, Elizabeth. This was as predictable as the wind.”

Beth sighed and massaged her temples. “And why is that?”

“Because you and Christopher were so very mismatched from the get go. We can’t change who we truly are, Elizabeth.”

“Mother, our problems developed. They weren’t always there.”

“Christopher was from one walk of life, you from another.”

Beth stuffed her feet beneath the covers. “I’m so tired, Mother.”

Her mother stood and gave Beth’s forehead a feathery kiss. She trailed her fingers through the wet strands of Beth’s hair and she felt herself almost doze until her mother spoke again.

“I’d always feared that the day would come when your incompatibility would become evident, but I knew it for sure when I visited you after Audrey’s birth.”

Beth
opened her eyes.

“You were propped in your bed, nursing Audrey
.
Noah was curled at your side. I was trying to speak with you, but Christopher appeared and leaned on the doorframe. He stood with his hands in his pockets and that charming smirk on his face. You ignored me, my dear, and focused your attention on your husband…on the life you’d made. At that very moment I knew the end was insight.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“It was too perfect, Elizabeth. Too extraordinary. Nothing in life is that unblemished. You found that out soon enough.”

Her mother flicked off the Tiffany lamp and the room was dark.
 

C
hapter 5

Chris rolled over, squinted, and tried to decide if it was
I Can’t Get No
Satisfaction
by The Stones, or
Teenage Wasteland
, by The Who, pounding through his brain. He did his best to hoist and find the alarm clock only to realize that he had somehow ended up with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet near the headboard. He got his bearings and made out 7:50 on the clock. Shit!

No matter how he felt, there were cows to be milked.

The unmistakable smell of bacon wafted through the heating grates and hit his nose. He beat back the nausea as he remembered. Anita Borden--redheaded waitress at Flaherty’s Pub with a chest bigger than her brain, suggestive looks and messages for three years now and
wild
sex in his bed until 4 a.m. when he’d finally said
enough
a
nd crashed into sleep.

Chris pulled himself up, snatched the jeans that he’d managed to locate and stumbled his way to the bathroom and then down the stairs. Anita stood in the kitchen--Beth’s kitchen--wearing a bra, panties and an apron that
lettered with 
EVOO
.
A
pparently she didn’t care that a half dozen farmhands and herdsman were wandering the property. She smiled when she saw him, flipped an omelet and turned down the flame beneath the bacon.

“Hiya,” she said with a grin.

“Morning.” Chris wandered to the coffee that she’d set to brew and poured a stiff black cup.
             
“There’s orange juice in the pitcher on the table. Fresh squeezed.” She wiped her hands right over the
EVOO
.
“Your wife has lovely things. I couldn’t resist looking through the cupboards.
”

Goddamn.

Chris slid into a wooden chair. The scratch of the leg against the floor set his head flipping yet again. What the hell was he doing? Why the hell was Anita Borden-the-barmaid going through Beth’s cupboards and flipping an omelet that he could see contained green pepper? He hated green pepper.

Beth always knew that though he didn’t remember ever telling her.

Anita slid the omelet onto a plate she’d decorated with little curls of oranges. She plucked two pieces of bacon and arranged them around the top. “Hope you’re hungry. I thought after all
of
the…” she turned with a coy grin. “
Hard work
you did last night, you’d probably worked up an appetite.”

She set the plate in front of him and then just as quickly plopped onto his lap. She plastered a kiss against his lips that he didn’t open. His head pounded and he didn’t want the damn omelet. He just wanted her to go home to her apartment above Flaherty’s.

“The bacon’s extra crisp,” she whispered against his lips as she trailed her fingers through his hair.

Chris lifted her up and stood. “This looks great and I’m sure it is. But I don’t really eat breakfast. One of the guys will eat it though. Thanks.”

Anita looked hurt. “I wanted to make something for you. I love to cook.”

Damn he was cold. Sure she was cheap and dumb, but he remembered the drill. You screwed them, you damn well better be ready to eat their omelet come daybreak. Chris sliced a wedge with his fork and popped it into his mouth.

Bland and rubbery. The green pepper screamed at him. “Very good,” he said instead.

Anita clapped her hands near her chin. “I’m even better with dinner.” Anita stalked to his side and wrapped her arms around him once again. “I’m best with dessert,” she whispered.

Mercifully the phone rang. “I really have to take a shower and get some work done. I never get started this late.” He sidestepped to the phone and snatched it. His mother was on the other end
--c
hecking up on his first official day as a separated man. “I’ll call you back,” he said and lowered the receiver.

Anita hadn’t budged. She just untied her apron, taking extreme care to jut her tits out. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long. But you were married so I never acted on it. I couldn’t believe it when you flirted back last night.” She looked up and damn, she was going to cry. “Last night was a dream come true for me. You’re everything I imagined.”

Chris sucked in a breath and set the plate in the sink. “Anita, my wife just left yesterday. I’ve got a lot of shit to figure out.”

“Story of my life,” she said as she laid the apron down. “I’m always the rebound girl.”

He watched her walk to the back stairs and then disappear up them. Was this going to be his life now--sleazy girls and excuses? He heard a crash, a bark and a tiny scream.

Apparently Anita had discovered that Sundance, who missed Beth as much as Chris did, had decided to sleep outside of the bedroom door.

***

George kept trying to take her hand.

Beth combated the action each time. It wasn’t that she found him unappealing; it was just that this wasn’t the time, in front of her children while they surveyed Noah’s new school.

His building in Garrity had been a state-of-the-art facility with shiny bright playground equipment and whimsical murals painted on hallway walls. The Langston Rhodes Elementary School in Old Saybrook was fortress-like with creaky floors and huge paintings of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln with wandering eyes, staring down from corridor walls. They’d frightened Beth as a child and Noah seemed equally unimpressed.

Audrey had scaled Beth’s leg at the sight of the smile-less Washington. Chris was the one who generally lugged her. At four-years-old, she was getting heavy. Beth set her down, but squeezed her hand tight. “Noah,” she said after she glanced at the paper she held. “This is your classroom. Miss Hilton, room 142. I went to third grade in this room. There was a piano!”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically and kicked the doorframe.

George knelt to Noah’s level. “Noah, your mom is trying hard here. Try and help her, all right.”

And in a flash of what was truly his father, Noah unleashed an icy glare. Beth had always stressed manners and respect, but this time maybe Noah was justified. Beth touched George’s arm and tugged him to the other side of the hall.

“Please, George, don’t try and intervene. He only found out two days ago that we were moving here and his whole life has flipped around. Give him time. Don’t push. He’s very close to Chris and he’s only ten. He’s missing his dad. Just allow him that.”

George glanced at Noah who had hiked Audrey to an ancient drinking fountain. “He looks just like him.”

“Acts like him too,” Beth whispered and
gave
George
a gentle pat
.

George sighed and adjusted his tie. Beth felt for him too--for all of the men in her life. They were all hurting in one way or another and she was probably to blame. “It’ll all work out, George. In time.”

He was a handsome man,
though Beth had always been more attracted to roguish danger than upscale polish
,
but he was kind and understanding and he’d always loved her. She wouldn’t have been strong enough to move on had he not been there to cushion her fall.

“We’re still having dinner tonight, right?”

Beth nodded. “Of course.”

George turned to her children. “Who would like to go to Papa Joe’s House of Pizza?”

Audrey hopped, spun, teetered and then hopped again.

Noah shrugged, but followed in line after giving Miss Hilton’s fifth grade room a final once over.

Chapter 6

The Most Masterful was annoyed.

He ignored the knock, concentrating instead on Chanta-Clara. Lovely, young, raw material. Just eighteen, she was a true find; one of the few who had taken little coercing when she’d realized she’d been chosen. She arrived a few days ago and quicker than usual, The Most Masterful was informed last night that Chanta-Clara was ready.

The knock persisted and with each rap, Chanta-Clara grew more distant.

“Enter!” he snarled and lifted from the bed, grabbing his silken shirt in the process.

Dara-Dawn stood hovering. Her child was evident. Soon The Most Masterful’s first offspring would be born.

But not his last.

He hastily buttoned. “I trust you have a good reason to disturb me.”

Dara-Dawn curtsied as she attempted not to look at Chanta-Clara who had drawn a sheet to her chin. “I do, Your Most Masterful.”

He rolled his hand in impatience. “Very well…”

Dara-Dawn evidently chose not to take in the sight of his newest conquest. She turned so her back was to the girl. “We’ve just received word.”

Tired of the game now, he sucked in a breath. “Divulge your knowledge, Dara-Dawn or prepare to be sorry that you hesitated.”

“The Master Courier sent me. He believed I’d have an easier time gaining access to your quarters.”
             
“What is it already? You’re disturbing me!”

Chanta-Clara had shimmied down beneath the sheets, only the tip of her long nose and the points above it were visible.

Dara-Dawn shifted and fidgeted, folding and unfolding her fingers. Such a human reaction.

“Enough!” he screamed. And the day had seemed so promising. The first shipment of the powder had departed from a Swedish dock just that morning. Chanta-Clara had come
to his bed without any difficulty.

And Christopher Stoddard was poised for payback.

But Dara-Dawn was getting on the very mortal part of The Most Masterful’s nerves.

She trembled and shook and wrapped her arms around her torso. “We have it on good authority that The Evil Stoddard and his wife, The Divine Farley- Fauna, are no longer living together.”

And to quote the simple boys he’d heard on the streets of Wales when something so wonderful and surprising had occurred, “Fucking A.”

Dara-Dawn curtsied and at last looked to the girl in the bed. “What would you have us do, your Excellency?”
             
He tapped his long fingers against his lips, once, twice, three times. Could there be a more perfect sign? The Most Masterful could hear his father in the divine heaven above muttering, “As it should be. As it always should’ve been.”