Diana Palmer - Texas Born

“Roberta, if you need money so much, why don’t you get a job?”

“I had a job, if you recall,” she replied. “I worked in retail.”

That was true. Roberta had worked at the cosmetics counter in one of San Antonio’s most prestigious department stores.

“But I’m not going back to that,” Roberta scoffed. “Once I sell this dump of a house, I’ll be able to go to New York or Los Angeles and find a man who really is rich, instead of one who’s just pretending to be,” she added sarcastically.

“Gosh. Poor Bert,” Michelle said. “Does he know?”

Roberta’s eyes flashed angrily. “If you say a word to him...!”

Michelle held up both hands. “Not my business.”

“Exactly!” Roberta snapped. “Now, how about fixing supper?”

“Sure,” Michelle agreed. “As soon as I clean up my room,” she added in a bland tone.

Her stepmother actually flushed. She took a quick breath. She was shivering. “I need...more...” she mumbled to herself. She went back into her own room and slammed the door.

* * *

They ate together, but Michelle didn’t taste much of her supper. Roberta read a fashion magazine while she spooned food into her mouth.

“Where are you getting a job? Who’s going to even hire a kid like you?” she asked suddenly.

“Minette Carson.”

The magazine stilled in her hands. “You’re going to work for a newspaper?”

“Of course. I want to study journalism in college.”

Roberta looked threatened. “Well, I don’t want you working for newspapers. Find something else.”

“I won’t,” Michelle said firmly. “This is what I want to do for a living. I have to start somewhere. And I have to save for college. Unless you’d like to volunteer to pay my tuition....”

“Ha! Fat chance!” Roberta scoffed.

“That’s what I thought. I’m going to a public college, but I still have to pay for books and tuition.”

“Newspapers. Filthy rags.” Her voice sounded slurred. She was picking at her food. Her fork was moving in slow motion. And she was still sweating.

“They do a great deal of good,” Michelle argued. “They’re the eyes and ears of the public.”

“Nosy people sticking their heads into things that don’t concern them!”

Michelle looked down at her plate. She didn’t mention that people without things to hide shouldn’t have a problem with that.

Roberta took her paper towel and mopped her sweaty face. She seemed disoriented and she was flushed, as well.

“You should see a doctor,” Michelle said quietly. “There’s that flu still going around.”

“I’m not sick,” the older woman said sharply. “And my health is none of your business!”

Michelle grimaced. She sipped milk instead of answering.

“It’s too hot in here. You don’t have to keep the thermostat so high!”

“It’s seventy degrees,” Michelle said, surprised. “I can’t keep it higher or we couldn’t afford the gas bill.” She paid the bills with money that was grudgingly supplied by Roberta from the joint bank account she’d had with Michelle’s father. Roberta hadn’t lifted a finger to pay a bill since Alan had died.

“Well, it’s still hot!” came the agitated reply. She got up from the table. “I’m going outside. I can’t breathe in here.”

Michelle watched her go with open curiosity. Odd. Roberta seemed out of breath and flushed more and more lately. She had episodes of shaking that seemed very unusual. She acted drunk sometimes, but Michelle knew she wasn’t drinking. There was no liquor in the house. It probably was the flu. She couldn’t understand why a person who was obviously sick wouldn’t just go to the doctor in the first—

There was a loud thud from the general direction of the front porch.

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