Mary Sullivan - Beyond Ordinary

In Ordinary, she was confident and tough.

She would deal just fine here until she could get grounded, get clear about who she wanted to be. Then she’d head out of town and reinvent herself again.

She wasn’t ready to quit. She’d come out of her mother’s womb a fighter. This was a temporary setback. Ordinary, Montana, the second I have enough money to leave, you can kiss my butt goodbye.

She felt Timm’s gaze on her as palpably as a touch.

“Why were you burning that bike?”

“Never mind.” She couldn’t talk about it. The words were too big, too enormous in their dark intensity, and clogged her throat.

She wanted to yell, to act out, to smash something.

That’s why she liked cool, logical math so much. It didn’t have miles of shit-kicking emotion attached to it the way everything else in her life did.

They traveled the length of Main Street, then turned and stopped in front of her mother’s house. What should she say? Thanks for stopping the only thing that could have eased my pain?

She slipped her feet into her cowboy boots. Offering him a terse “Thanks” she stepped out of the truck, dragging her saddlebags with her.

Behind her, Timm sped away.

She trudged toward the bungalow. The rosebushes that lined the walkway were well cared for, the green cushion on the wicker chair on the veranda well used.

Mama had done well for herself in the past five years. She’d nursed her former boyfriend until his death. Hal had left everything to her—the house and enough money to leave Missy secure for years. The first thing she’d done was pay for Angel to attend college.

Mama no longer had to depend on men—she had security. Yet she was on the verge of throwing it all away on another man. Somehow Phil Butler—a slimy example of the worst of his gender—had convinced Missy to marry him.

“Angel,” Mama had said in yesterday’s phone message, “Phil and me are getting married.”

Maybe that’s all Donovan women were good at—squandering their advantages when so close to success.

But Angel couldn’t figure out why Missy was so dependant on Phil. Why did she defer to him in her own house?

Angel knocked so she wouldn’t scare Mama, then used her key to enter.

“Is that you, Phil?” Mama called, her voice huskier with age.

“No. It’s me.” So Phil wasn’t home? Perfect time to confront Mama about him.

“Angel?” Mama rushed from the living room with a broad smile creasing her face. “Oh, honey, I wondered when you’d get here. You didn’t call.” She pulled Angel into a hug.

Angel filled her lungs with Mama’s scent—Avon’s Sweet Honesty and cigarettes. She’d missed this. She liked the perfume Mama had used all her life, but wished she would give up the smokes.

Oh, it felt good to be cradled in Mama’s arms. Mama might be the town tramp, but she’d always been a good mother.

Missy pulled away to look at her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Mama.” She fingered a lock of Mama’s hair. “Why did you go back to the blond?”

Missy had stopped dyeing her hair after Hal died. Now she was using again.

“Phil likes it this way. He says it makes me look younger.”

Phil was an ass. He was a big part of the reason Angel had come home instead of heading off to a big city, any city where people didn’t know her. The moment she’d heard her mother’s message, she’d packed her saddlebags and set out for Ordinary.

Mama would marry Phil over Angel’s dead body.

Of course, that was only part of the reason she’d run home. To be honest, she was also here for Mama’s TLC. Mama always knew how to make her feel better about things. At the moment, Angel needed a double dose of her mother’s care.

Angel tried to turn away before her mother could read her expression. But Mama held her still and saw everything Angel tried to hide.

Mama’s happiness turned to concern. “What’s wrong, honey? What happened?”

Giving in to the impulse to lean on someone else for a minute, to let someone take on her battles, Angel hid her face against her mother’s shoulder and sighed.

“Oh, Mama, I screwed up so badly.”

“YOU QUIT COLLEGE?” Mama asked.

Angel nodded.

“But—” Mama sighed. “I wanted you to do good. What happened?”

Angel shook her head, mute in the face of Mama’s disappointment in her. Resentment burbled beneath the surface, though, that Missy had never tried to change, to become someone better than the town tramp, but she had expected Angel to fight the good fight, to put the effort into overcoming her roots.

Angel had at least tried.

They sat in darkness, on Mama’s rose-patterned sofa, illuminated only by the streetlight filtered through the trees and sheers on the window.

Angel couldn’t tell Mama about Neil. Not yet. How could she tell her that she’d crumpled like a day-old balloon when Neil died? How could she explain how hopeless and hard trying to change was? Or how difficult it was to outrun a reputation? How could she say any of it without hurting Mama’s feelings? After all, it had been Mama’s reputation she’d been running from.

She’d wanted to settle anywhere but here.

Then Mama had called and Angel had come running to Ordinary to save Missy from herself.

Mama must have seen the turmoil on her face, because she rubbed Angel’s knuckles and said, “Never mind for now. Let’s find you something to eat.” Before Angel could start in on what she thought about Missy’s fiancé, the front door opened and she tensed.

Phil. Her skin crawled before she even saw him.

He stepped into the living room. “Why is it so dark in here?” he asked, his tone brusque.

Mama flicked on the lamp. “Look who’s come home, Phil,” she said, her voice soft, tremulous.

Angel bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say what she thought. For God’s sake, Mama, stand up for yourself.

In the split second before Phil realized Mama wasn’t alone, he looked severe. That changed when he saw Angel.

His manner became snaky. Oh, Lord, he could be the villain in a silent movie, scrubbing his hands in glee over the heroine tied to the train tracks. The word unctuous came to mind. Yuck.

That image was only her imagination, though. Phil was an ordinary man, not a cardboard villain in a movie. Still, Angel had trouble liking him.

Was hating a person as much as she loathed Phil illegal?

His crafty gaze took in the tension between Angel and Missy. Phil never missed a thing. Chances were he would somehow use this to his own advantage.

“Angel,” he said. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

Daughter? Gag me.

Just because Mama had agreed to marry him, Angel was suddenly his daughter? No freaking way. Never. That was too creepy.

When he approached the sofa, Angel remained seated and held her breath while he embraced her, endured it because Mama watched her with such hope, as if to say, Please, Angel, like him, for me.

Oh, Mama, you’re all I’ve got. I would die for you, but put up with Phil? No way.

Angel smelled beer on Phil’s breath.

She pulled away. “You’ve been drinking. Where?”

Mama gasped. “Angel, that’s rude.”

Phil watched Angel with a smug grin. She could see the hamster maniacally spinning the wheel of Phil’s mind, calculating how much he could get away with because he knew she didn’t want to hurt Mama more than she had to. He knew she would do whatever she could to ruin his chances with Mama. He also knew that Mama’s happiness mattered more to her than anything.

Phil made her think of rodents. Too bad for the rodents.

“At the new place,” Phil replied. “Chester’s Roadhouse.”