Catherine Coulter - Born To Be Wild

So why did I come back here? Fact is, New York’s lovely this time of year. So is London. So is Grapevine, Texas. People don’t change, they simply become more so. And the problem with being gone for three years is that you forget the bone-deep hurt waiting for you until it’s too late.

It was too late. She rang the doorbell again, and heard soft footfalls approaching.

The door opened. Her mother saw her daughter standing there, her hair windblown, big sunglasses covering half her face, the handle of the wheeled carry-on in her hand. There was a moment of silence, of bland scrutiny, and then, “Well, it’s nice that you’ve come back, dear.”

Not promising. Mary Lisa made no move to embrace the elegant woman who stood in front of her, the woman who was her mother. She wasn’t stupid. She took off her sunglasses and slipped them into the bulging side of her hobo bag, which weighed five pounds on a light day, and gave her mother a big smile. “Would you be interested in some Tupperware, ma’am?”

“Sorry, dear,” her mother said without pause, “all our storage containers are glass.”

“That was a good line, Mother.”

“Where do you think you got that mouth of yours?”

Hey, maybe we’ve got some softening here . At least some recognition. “How are you doing?”

Her mother looked at Mary Lisa’s single carry-on and stepped back. “Do come in, dear, we can’t have you standing there.” Her mother turned away from her and walked toward the living room. She called out from the doorway, “Betty, would you please bring some tea and two cups? We have an unexpected visitor with a carry-on.”

Unexpected visitor? Well, that was better than an unwelcome visitor, or maybe it was a euphemism. The living room looked the same as it had three years ago, with one new addition, a side chair with dark green satin upholstery that looked vaguely Regency, another jewel set in her mother’s beautiful living room with the rest of her nineteenth-century English antiques. Mary Lisa sat down in it across from her mother. For the first time she saw faint lines of dissatisfaction around her mouth. What did her mother have to be unhappy about?

In that moment, looking around at the magnificent, light-filled living room with its precious old furniture, Mary Lisa saw herself as a girl, carefully polishing all those chairs, the two sofas, the precious marquetry table. She remembered stained fingers and criticism.

Mary Lisa said, “It’s been a long time, Mom, too long. I don’t have to go back until Sunday. I thought I’d come for a visit, see how everyone was doing.”

“Everyone is fine. But of course you saw your father two months ago.” Her mother frowned when Betty walked into the living room, carrying a tray holding more than the tea and two cups she’d ordered.

Betty Harmon said, “Oh, Mary Lisa, hello! It is so good to see you again. Mrs. Abrams heard your voice, said you loved her spice cake, and she was so happy that she had a bit left, just for you.”

Betty stood beaming at Mary Lisa in the face of her mother’s silence.

Mary Lisa was on her feet in an instant. She hugged Betty and leaned back to look down at all five feet two inches of her. “How wonderful to see you. Those dimples, how I always envied you those dimples.” Her mother was waiting to lambaste her; Mary Lisa knew the signs. Even after three years of not having an occasion to even think about it, she threw herself into the breach as if she’d never been gone. She continued talking, nonsense really, while Betty poured tea, smiling and laughing, never took a breath while Betty sliced her a piece of spice cake, and finally turned to ask her mother if she’d like a slice. Her mother said, “That’s quite enough, Mary Lisa. Betty, no cake for me. Now, Mary Lisa will be staying until Sunday, so if you would make certain her room is ready…” She raised a brow to her daughter. “This means three nights?”

Mary Lisa nodded, wishing she could simply get up, grab her suitcase and her slice of spice cake, and march back out the front door.

“Yes, ma’am.” Betty turned and left the living room, seemingly oblivious of the displeasure in Mrs. Beverly’s voice, but Mary Lisa knew she wasn’t. Deaf or blind, you could still feel the freeze.

“Mrs. Abrams insists on making the spice cake for your father. No one else eats it. No one else likes it.”

“Good, that means I get to finish it off before Dad gets home.”

Kathleen Beverly was as tall as her daughter, and her black hair was cut in a bob and untouched by gray due to her hairdresser’s diligence. She looked her daughter up and down. “I’m surprised you’re eating that. I understand the camera adds ten pounds.”

“That’s true. Aren’t I lucky I have Dad’s genes?” She knew that even with a good dose of his genes, she still had to watch what she ate, and exercise like mad, but she didn’t feel like conceding the point. “He’s eaten everything in sight for as long as I can remember and never gains an ounce.”

Her mother nodded, not looking all that happy about it. Mary Lisa didn’t blame her.

She gave her mother a sunny smile. “He told me once that he and I were aliens and that I’d surely bless him when I grew up. He was right, I do. Is Kelly engaged yet to her Prince Charming? She e-mailed me about him.”

Her mother started to say something, but suddenly held it back, with an expression not unlike a soap actor’s before a commercial break. What was this about? Mary Lisa prodded a bit. “She was excited, said he was rich and handsome, and not a sleaze like the guys down in L.A. She ended it with ‘I might marry him, who knows?’”

Mary Lisa had said enough. She knew a minefield when she saw one. Had Prince Charming’s crown lost its luster? Had he belched at dinner? Or worse, said something distressingly common in her mother’s hearing?

Her mother sipped her tea, shrugged indifferently.

“Kelly called it off, two days ago.”

“Goodness, why?”

“I believe she called him a controlling jerk.”

“That’s a surprise. She sure was high on him last week. What happened?”

“Who knows? Sometimes a girl’s blinders come off before it’s too late.”

“Who is this jerk? Is he local? She never told me his name.”

“John Goddard.”

“John Goddard. Hmmm. I think I remember him, at least I remember his name. I was pretty young when he left to go back east to college, right?”

“That’s right. It’s a pity he turned out to be unsatisfactory since his family is one of the families in the area. They own a good deal of property and business interests in and around Goddard Bay. At first your father and I were very pleased, but apparently he didn’t suit her.” She looked toward the fireplace and frowned.

Mary Lisa wondered why Kelly had really changed her mind. Most girls, and especially Kelly, could tell whether a guy was a jerk pretty fast-it wasn’t usually a sudden epiphany.

Maybe this John Goddard was a selfish lover, that would certainly be a deal breaker, even qualify him as a jerk.

She said, “Kelly’s young and pretty, there’ll be lots of men who come her way.”

“Yes, of course. After Jared, we thought-well, never mind that. It’s water under the bridge.”

“What bridge? Who’s Jared?”

Her mother flapped her hands. “Oh, all right. Jared Hennessey was a mistake, nothing more, over quickly. He’s gone, moved out of town. She’s quite over him. I think Kelly’s grown to be as beautiful as Monica. Maybe even more so. She has her degree in communications from Oregon State University, an excellent field, and she could do anything she wants to do. She could be an actress like you if she wanted to, so many people have told her that after they’ve watched you on TV. But I don’t think she would be happy in Los Angeles-it’s so plastic and cheap and they expect the women to be whores to get anywhere.”