One More Time (33 page)

And just as she had all those years ago, she started to cry. Who could have guessed that his approval had really been hinged on her marrying an approved choice?

It still hurt, still stung that who she was and what she had done was less important to her beloved father than who she might marry. Leslie rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She supposed that if she was going to cry, this was a good time to do it. No one would see her, no one would hear her, and her eyes wouldn’t be puffy by the time she got to work.

Because the thing was that she still believed she’d been right. Love did count. Even if she had known that Matt would ultimately leave her and their marriage, she wouldn’t have chosen differently. They had laughed together and loved together and been happy together, at least until recently. There had been the Java Joint and that first horrible apartment and a thousand other sweet memories, so treacherously precious that they would make her cry again.

And there was Annette. It was impossible to imagine her life without Annette, impossible to imagine Annette not existing.

Her father had managed that trick, though. Leslie cried that he had never seen his own grandchild, that her mother had been so afraid of his disapproval that she hadn’t seen Annette until he had died.

Annette, mercifully, had been too small to understand, much less to remember. Beverly Coxwell might have been a snob about her son marrying down, but she hadn’t forbidden him to do so. She hadn’t stayed away. She hadn’t made absolute decisions.

Who’d ever heard of someone being a snob about their child marrying up?

It was so unfair. He’d only met Matt briefly once, had made his decision on the basis of Matt’s surname and the cut of his suit. He hadn’t cared what Leslie believed, what she thought or felt. It had been a final, non-negotiable decision.

The mattress bobbed before Leslie could wallow too much in this hard truth. She thought at first that it was her imagination, but then it happened again.

A distinct thump. Or a nudge.

She glanced over her shoulder and Champagne wagged her tail. The dog had her chin resting on the mattress and as Leslie made to roll over again, she thunked it on the mattress once again. The whole bed vibrated in response to this bid for attention.

“I suppose you want something.”

Caviar appeared then, alongside her companion, tail wagging as well. They had nudged the door open just enough to slip through the gap. Champagne stretched to sniffle Leslie, but Leslie recoiled.

“Don’t lick me. I don’t like dog spit first thing in the morning. Or ever, actually.”

Undeterred, Champagne disappeared for a moment, ducking her head toward the floor. Leslie watched, intrigued until the dog deposited a black leather leash on the bed.

“Ooof,” the dog said, a low bark of emphasis, almost an exhalation.

Caviar wagged as if in endorsement of this splendid idea.

“It’s five-thirty.” It was nuts to talk to a dog as if it was a person, but the gleam of intelligence in the dog’s eyes made Leslie believe she might be understood. “It’s too early.”

The dogs exchanged a glance, then Champagne nudged the leash closer with her snout.

“Ooof,” she insisted.

The dogs sat down and fixed Leslie with an unblinking stare.

“You have staff,” she informed the dog. “Check across the hall. The door on the right. You’ll find your minion there.” Leslie pushed the leash off the bed and buried herself in her covers.

All to no avail. The dogs came around to the other side of the bed. Champagne put the leash on the bed, exhaled “ooof” and the pair sat back expectantly.

“You have a fan club,” Leslie said this time. “Across the hall, the door on the left.” Again, she dumped the leash off her bed so that it hit the floor with a clatter.

“Ooof.” One peek revealed that the leash was back on the bed, along with a second leash. Champagne sniffled the leash in front of her, then pushed it closer to Leslie again.

To Leslie’s amazement, Caviar was looking toward the window, almost with yearning. She followed the dog’s gaze and saw that it was snowing.

The dog was watching the snowflakes fall. It was early and the snow flakes swirled white out of the slate blue cloud-filled sky. The fact that it was snowing at all meant that it couldn’t be too cold outside. There was no wind, the snowflakes appearing to dance as they came to earth.

“Ooof.” Again the leash was nuzzled and pushed closer.

It didn’t look as if the dogs were going to leave Leslie alone.

Maybe they really had to go outside to do things that people did in the bathroom. She hadn’t paid attention to when they had gone out the night before. And if they made a mess in the house, Leslie knew who would be cleaning it up.

That made the decision for her.

She rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. A short walk might even be good for her, might work off those extra chocolate bars.

It was, however, hard to get her socks on with two excited poodles circling her in their enthusiasm.

“Well, bring your leashes,” she said to them when she left the room, and to her surprise they did so. Both girls ran back into the bedroom, picked up a leash, and galloped after Leslie. Champagne body-checked her into the railing on the stairs when she passed on the right, then Caviar did the same from the left.

“Hey!”

The both leapt the last four or five steps, landing in the foyer with a thump, then trotted to the kitchen, tails wagging like banners. Leslie had a hard time keeping up.

By the time she had her boots and jacket on, both dogs were practically tap-dancing at the back door. Maybe this was a matter of some urgency. She opened the door, not accustomed to dogs and assuming that they would wait for her to put on their leashes.

Instead they bounded out into the snow so quickly that she panicked. Fortunately, the back yard was fenced. Caviar skidded across the low deck, slipped off the low edge and landed in snow that went up to her belly. Champagne leapt off the deck, looking for all the world like a dressage horse. Leslie shouted and they stopped, looking back at her with snow on their snouts, apparently surprised by her call.

Champagne trotted back to her and nuzzled Leslie’s mitten, as if to reassure her, then bounded after Caviar and pounced on a snowflake. The two dogs ran circles around each other in the snow, playing like children. Suddenly, they pivoted and looked at her expectantly, the snow gathering on their backs, tails wagging.

They wanted to play. Leslie understood as much from the mischievous gleam in their eyes, by the way they tried to catch snowflakes, by the joy in their every move.

“You got me out of bed so you could play in the snow,” she accused with mock indignation.

Champagne’s merry bark seemed to be an agreement. Both tails wagged so quickly that they seemed to blur. Caviar bowed down—chest on the ground, rump in the air—and gave a low playful growl.

That gave Leslie an idea. It was perfect packing snow and dogs like to chase balls, as far as she knew. She bent to gather snow for a snowball and Champagne barked with anticipation. The dog bounced closer as if unable to contain her excitement.

Leslie threw the snowball and Champagne jumped to snatch it out of the air. It was impressive how high she could jump. The dog shook the snowball playfully, then took a bite out of it. She held it down with one paw, eyes dancing, tail wagging, as she ate it.

Then she barked for another.

Caviar barked, as if to say “me, too!”

Leslie found herself laughing, just moments after she had been crying. She threw snowball after snowball, and the dogs never seemed to get tired of the game. They jumped and barked and chased snowballs, ate a lot of snow, and generally had the time of their lives.

Leslie was surprised to realize that she was having a good time, too. She couldn’t make other people happy—she’d tried that and failed. Other people had to make themselves happy, and if that meant that they withheld their affection or moved out of her life, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot she could do about it.

That hurt, but the truth tended to be like that.

What she could do was make herself happy, take responsibility for her actions and choices, communicate effectively to those around her about her desires and needs. She’d messed up her marriage by not talking more to Matt. Maybe she’d get another chance, maybe not.

It looked like not, but at least she’d told him what she thought first. That might make a difference. She could only try.

Maybe she’d be better off making herself happy first.

Leslie was so taken by their game that she didn’t notice the sky begin to lighten, didn’t realize the passing time until the back door opened behind her.

“Mom? Don’t you want any coffee this morning?” Annette asked, her astonishment so evident that Leslie laughed and threw a snowball at her.

* * *

Annette couldn’t believe that it was her mother outside, playing with the dogs in the snow. But when the person outside turned around, there was no doubt that it was Annette’s mom.

Even if she did chuck a snowball at Annette.

“Hey!” Annette jumped out of the way and the snowball hit the door with a splat. Her mother—or the alien who looked remarkably similar to her mother—laughed again.

“Did you make coffee already”

Annette nodded, smiling when the dogs trotted over to greet her. She patted them, then looked at her hands. “They’re covered in snow!”

“Well, someone will have to dry them off. There are some old towels in the downstairs bathroom.” Her mom trudged back to the house and seemed somehow different. Happier. Brighter. More determined. Annette couldn’t name it quite but she noticed it. “And your reward, my beloved child, for making me coffee is a good breakfast.”

“Chocolate chip muffins?”

“Alas, we fired the muffin fairy.” Her mother shook her head with mock regret, then held up a finger. “But fortunately we have something better.”

“Chocolate chip cookies?”

“Your father would shoot me if I let you eat cookies for breakfast. Come to think of it, I might shoot me, too.” Her mom shed her boots and crossed the kitchen, producing a box from the cupboard with a flourish. “We’re having Raisin Bran, with fresh fruit on top.”

Annette made a face. “Healthy food isn’t a reward.”

“Sure, it is. Look, it even has Riboflavin.”

Was that a joke? Annette folded her arms across her chest. “You can be as cheerful as you want. You’re not selling that stuff to me.”

“You’ll go hungry instead?”

“I’ll get a chocolate donut at the corner instead.”

“I suppose that’s what you do during the week.”

“No, I buy them at school, in the cafeteria.”

Her mom rolled her eyes and got two bowls out of the cupboard. “My tax dollars at work, teaching poor nutritional choices through simple availability in the public school system.”

“Donuts aren’t that bad for you.”

“Be serious.” Leslie perched on the stool by the counter, her eyes too bright for her to be entirely trustworthy. Annette braced herself for A Lesson. “Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a teenage girl a lot like you and she was sad that boys never looked at her.”

“Because she was fat.” Annette threw herself into a chair, knowing who the teenage girl in question was supposed to be.

Her.

Duh.

“And so she decided that she would do something about it.”

“As if.”

Her mom continued on as if Annette wasn’t saying anything. “She decided to eat less and to be thin, but she knew she’d need a reward. So, she decided to buy herself a fancy bra when she’d lost five pounds. And she did.”

Annette regarded her mother with suspicion. There was no fancy bra in her life, though there were a bunch of them in her mom’s dresser.

“It was red with white polka dots. Then she bought the matching panties when she’d lost another five.”

“Who are you talking about?” The dogs laid down on the towels, stretching out by the floor duct that was spewing warm air into the kitchen.

Her mom kept talking. “And then she cut a deal with herself, that so long as she stayed thin, she’d buy herself lingerie. The trick was that she had to stay thin to be sure that all the lingerie continued to fit. And so, she’s been pretty much the same size and weight for about twenty years, except when she was pregnant, of course.”

“Wait a minute. I saw all of
your
lingerie...”

“Did you now?” Her mom sipped coffee, unsurprised. “Was that before or after you took my vibrator?”

Annette opened her mouth and closed it again, not knowing how to defend herself against that. She hadn’t expected to get caught, and she’d expected even less that she would be challenged. Her old mom—the one who had been replaced by an alien—had never paid that much attention to domestic detail.

Her mom considered her coffee for a moment before she spoke. “So, did you use it?”

Annette sputtered, then the truth fell out of her mouth. “I’m not sure how.”

“Well, that’s a relief in a way.”

If Annette had expected censure, this wasn’t it. As a result, she wasn’t sure what to say.

Her mom watched her for a moment, then continued. “So, here’s my suggestion. If you want to lose weight, to maybe have someone like Scott Sexton—”

“Hey! I told you that in confidence!”

“—stop to talk to you, then you could give yourself a reward, like I did.”

“I tried your bras. They didn’t fit.”

“So, I’ll make you a deal. Ten pounds off and I’ll buy you a bra and panties.”

“My choice?”

“Your choice.” Her mom crossed her heart and touched her fingertips to her lips. “It’s just between you and me.”

“What about the vibrator?”

Her mom laughed. “I’m not going to show you how to use it. You’ll have to work that out for yourself.”

“Can I have it?”

“No. If you haven’t used it, I’d like it back. I’ll buy you another one.”

“After another ten pounds, I’ll bet.”

“No, right now. This weekend. I have to go to the mall anyway.”

Annette’s ears perked up. “Why?”