All summer long, p.17
All Summer Long, page 17
“Hello, Chantal.”
Charlie wanted to issue a sternly worded letter to the universe. Wasn’t she supposed to have some kind of sixth sense that warned her when danger approached? Shouldn’t clouds have appeared to block the sun? Or maybe birds could have suddenly taken flight. Anything to give her a half second to prepare before her mother appeared.
She looked up to find Dominique was indeed standing next to their blanket. Even more startling was the fact that her suit-wearing mother was dressed in jeans. Jeans with a silk blouse, but still.
“Hello, Mother.”
Clay scrambled to his feet and wiped his hands on the side of his T-shirt. “Mrs. Dixon,” he said, holding out his hand.
Dominique looked him up and down very thoroughly. “Who are you?”
“Clay Stryker.”
They shook hands, then Dominique sank gracefully onto the blanket and looked at her daughter. “You’re still avoiding me.”
Charlie held in a groan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.” She returned her attention to Clay, who had settled next to her. “My daughter does not appreciate my sudden return to her life.”
“Why were you gone?”
“I wasn’t gone. Chantal left.”
“Children tend to do that. It’s a cycle-of-life thing.”
Dominique dismissed that with a wave of her delicately formed hand. “I had a career and those who needed to see me.”
Charlie found the conversation fascinating. She had the sense that Clay and Dominique were equally matched. Gifted with a kind of perfection that those stuck in the normal world could only experience vicariously.
“Now you need Charlie?”
Dominique’s gaze narrowed. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“I’m Clay.”
“I’m aware of your name. You’ve already mentioned it once. You’re avoiding my question.” She turned her sharp gaze on her daughter. “Who is this person?”
A question Charlie didn’t know how to answer. The truth was impossible. She would rather cut off an arm or a leg than give her mother that kind of power.
“I’m the man your daughter is seeing,” Clay said quietly.
Dominique’s expression shifted to pure confusion. “Excuse me?”
“We’re involved.”
Clay spoke with a certainty that made Charlie want to offer him a kidney. Not that he was telling the truth, but still. It was nice. Like she’d thought before. Kind.
Dominique glanced between them, then tossed her head back and started to laugh. The high sound cut through the afternoon and reminded Charlie of all her uncomfortable days in high school when she’d been too tall, with large feet. Awkwardness had followed her like a stray dog she couldn’t shake.
Clay finished his cookie and reached for his soda. “What’s so funny?”
“You and Chantal? Why would someone like you be interested in her?”
Charlie felt heat on her cheeks. Had the speaker been anyone but her mother it would have been a toss-up between a verbal evisceration and a hard punch to the jaw. As it was, she could only wish to be struck by a meteor.
“You really don’t know your daughter, do you?” Clay asked. He leaned across the blanket and lightly touched Charlie’s knee, then turned his attention back to Dominique. “There’s the usual. Smart and funny. She’s a part of this town, which I admire. She’s brave, which speaks to her character. She doesn’t take crap from me, and I like that a lot. She’s the kind of woman who gets under your skin.”
Charlie knew he was protecting her, which she appreciated. The words had just enough truth that Dominique might believe them, without going over the top. Had he gone on and on about her beauty, they all would have known he was lying. But this was different.
Dominique glanced between them. “How interesting,” she said, her chin coming up. “If what you say is true, I must be in the way. If you’ll excuse me?”
She rose with a fluid grace that spoke to her years of dance, then glided away without looking back. Charlie felt the first whispers of guilt, but quieted them.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said when they were alone.
“I wanted to.” He reached for another cookie. “You really do take after your dad.”
“Mostly. Although she was the tough one, so I get that from her.”
“She’s lonely.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because I don’t want to have to feel bad for her. She bugs me. Ever since I was a little kid, the whole world had to rotate around her. My birthday parties were scheduled around her performances. If she was tired, we had to be quiet. When I was seven, she told me to stop growing. That if I got too big, I would never find a man. She resented my dad for caring about me and when I told her about the rape, she didn’t believe me. She said I was wrong to lead a boy on and she hoped I’d learned my lesson.”
Clay shifted so he was sitting across from her. He took both her hands in his. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She did, her gaze locked with his.
“You’re not that girl,” he told her. “You’re strong. You can take care of yourself. So it’s okay to trust people again, Charlie. You have the experience to recognize a jerk now. You didn’t before, but you’ve grown up. You have friends and a community. You’re not alone. You made those choices—no one else. Be proud of yourself.”
“I am,” she murmured. “Mostly.”
“Your mom really is lonely.”
She winced. “Don’t make me feel sorry for her. I like it better when I’m slightly annoyed and she’s four thousand miles away.”
“She’s family.”
“Want to trade?”
“She came here for a reason.”
“Yes. She wants to be worshipped. She’s getting older and the legions of fans have lessened.”
Charlie remembered what her mother had said about the colon cancer. How she’d been in the hospital on her own, wondering if she would die.
“Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s a little more to it than that.”
“I’m not saying you have to be best friends.”
“I wouldn’t listen if you were.”
“I’m saying, she’s your mother. There’s no escape. So try to figure out a way to make it better for you.”
“Aside from buying her a plane ticket to Beijing? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”
“My Charlie doesn’t run from her troubles.”
My Charlie?
Her heart gave a little stutter. He didn’t mean that, she told herself. Not in any way that wasn’t friendship based. They were buddies. Buddies who had seen each other naked. She wasn’t looking for love; she was looking for sex and the healing that would follow.
“I’m not running,” she told him. “I’m complaining. There’s a difference.”
* * *
“THERE IS no way in hell.”
Dante stared at the sign by the door. The office space Rafe had rented was on the bottom floor of an older building, with more businesses upstairs. Clay followed the other man’s gaze, read the sign and did his best not to laugh.
Dante swung toward him. “Did you know about this?”
“No.”
Dante swore. “Was this the only place in town? I don’t think so. Rafe did this on purpose. While he’s off in Paris on his honeymoon, I’m supposed to get our office set up here? I’m going to kill him. I’m a lawyer. I can keep myself out of jail.”
Clay grinned. Rafe and Dante’s company’s temporary location was right under The Fool’s Gold School of Dance.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he offered.
Dante glared at him. “Not bad? Children dancing above my head? Those wood shoe dances and tap and God knows what? The music playing the same damn song over and over again?” He turned his attention back to the building. “This place was built in the forties. I doubt they’d even heard of soundproofing back then. Did I say I was going to kill him, because I am.”
Clay slapped him on the back. “Come on. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee while you plot your revenge.”
Dante swore again, then followed Clay to the Starbucks.
After they had their coffees, they sat outside. Dante scowled at the people passing by.
“Have you noticed how damn happy everyone is here?” he asked. “It’s not natural.”
“It’s small-town America,” Clay reminded him. “What’s not to like?”
“Everything. I miss the city.”
“You don’t want anyone to know your name?”
“Exactly. The woman who cleans my room at the hotel was telling me about her kid playing football. She invited me to the game.”
Dante sounded outraged, as if the woman had suggested he violate laws of nature.
“You don’t like football?” Clay asked.
“Sure. But pro games. Or college. Why would I go to a high-school game?”
“For fun.”
Dante’s confusion made Clay laugh.
“This is Fool’s Gold,” Clay told him. “Embrace it. It’s the parade capital of California.”
“I’m not a parade kind of guy.”
“You will be.”
“When hell freezes over.”
“Famous last words.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEING AWARE THAT she was reacting out of guilt didn’t change the facts, Charlie thought as she stirred the simmering pot of pasta sauce. In a moment of weakness, she’d invited her mother over for dinner. Now, as the moment of Dominique’s arrival neared, Charlie kept looking longingly at the back door. Was it wrong to want to bolt? Surely she could find a good job somewhere in Nebraska. Or Costa Rica.
Precisely at five, her doorbell rang. Charlie wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked to the front of the house. She pulled open the front door and forced herself to smile.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, stepping wide to allow the other woman in.
“Chantal.”
Dominique had dressed for the occasion. She wore a simple wrap dress in a subdued pattern. Her green eyes were enhanced by makeup. Pearl and diamond earrings glinted from her earlobes and a pearl necklace hung around her neck.
Charlie was aware that despite putting on dark-wash jeans and a blouse rather than a T-shirt, she was still nowhere in her mother’s league. She wasn’t wearing makeup or jewelry and her lone concession to fancy was a pair of rhinestone covered flip-flops she’d been given as a gift by someone who obviously didn’t know her.
Dominique followed her into the house, then passed over a bottle of red French wine. “A Bordeaux,” the other woman said. “It goes with nearly everything.”
“Thanks. I made pasta.”
“That sounds lovely.”
Dominique followed her into the kitchen. Charlie had set the small table with place mats and the brightly colored stoneware dishes she favored. She collected two wineglasses, then easily opened the bottle. After pouring them each a glass, she handed one to her mother.
They stood looking at each other. Dominique cleared her throat, raised her glass without saying anything and took a sip. Charlie did the same.
“Nice,” she murmured as the wine slipped smoothly down her throat. She was off tomorrow. Getting drunk was completely fine and perhaps the best way to get through the evening.
Silence filled the kitchen. It was too early to start the pasta or serve salad. Charlie studied the floor, then the far window. Finally she sighed. “We could, ah, go into the living room.”
“Of course.”
Unfortunately the quiet followed them. Charlie sat uneasily on the sofa, searching for a topic of conversation.
“How are you enjoying Fool’s Gold?” she asked.
“The town is very nice. Small and quiet, but the people are pleasant enough.” Dominique took another drink. “I met May Stryker. She lives on the ranch where you board your horse.”
Charlie nodded. “May’s nice.”
“Yes. She is. Nice.”
Charlie sucked in a breath and tried again. “I’m friends with May’s new daughter-in-law. Heidi married May’s oldest son last month. They’re in Paris right now.”
“Paris,” Dominique said with a sigh. “I do love Paris.”
“When was the last time you were there?”
“Two years ago. There was a celebration for one of the theaters where I danced.”
She mentioned the name, which was meaningless to Charlie.
“It was wonderful to see everyone after so long. Time is not always our friend, but at least we’re still alive. One night we stayed up late drinking too much wine. Dmitry tried to recreate his solo in Swan Lake. A disaster, of course. He nearly broke a hip and we had to rush him to the hospital.” She gave a soft laugh. “So many good memories.”
She smiled at Charlie. “The dance world is inescapable. I was taking a flight to New York the other day and lo and behold, there was Johanna Howard. Remember her? She used to come to the house when you were a baby. She was so beautiful. Well, time has not been kind. She made a fortune, so why she doesn’t have a little surgery done, I’ll never know. Muriel got fat. And Elizabeth...”
Her voice trailed off. “You probably don’t remember any of these people.”
“Not really, but it’s nice to hear you talk about them.”
Dominique raised her eyebrows. “Nice again? Is it really that bad between us, Chantal? We’re mother and daughter.”
“Biology doesn’t guarantee communication.”
“Obviously.”
Charlie thought longingly of a ten-mile run. At the end, she would have accomplished something and be assured a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately this dinner didn’t promise anything close to either.
Dominique looked at her. “Why a firefighter? It’s not a traditionally feminine occupation.”
“I wanted to be able to help people. I enjoy the intense work environment and the friendships.”
“Like a dance company.”
“Yes. A little. We share experiences that the rest of the world can’t always relate to. We work hard and have a common goal.”
“I remember a choreographer wanting to modernize Giselle. I’m in favor of updating the classics as much as anyone, but his ideas were ridiculous. We banded together and told the producers we would not destroy something beautiful in the name of change.” She pressed her lips together.
Charlie could see she was trying. She wasn’t sure why, but Dominique had made it clear she wanted to have a relationship. As they were the only family each of them had, Charlie knew she should make the same effort.
“You must miss your friends,” she said.
Her mother nodded. “I do. The travel, as well. In the last few years, I was exhausted all the time, but when I stepped onstage, it was still magic.”
“You brought beauty to people’s lives. For a few hours, they could forget everything but the dance. They were transported. That’s a gift.”
“Thank you.”
“I remember Dad taking me to see you dance. Even though I knew it was you on the stage, sometimes it seemed like you weren’t real. More fairy princess than mother.”
“It’s the stage makeup.”
Charlie laughed. “I suspect it’s about your brilliance more than stage makeup. You had a gift. Not just the talent, but the willingness to do the incredible work. I admired that.”
“I wanted you to have the same.”
“I know. It didn’t happen.”
“That was obvious from an early age.” Dominique sipped her wine. “It’s possible I pushed you a little too hard when you were young. I hoped you would grow into someone more...”
“Graceful?” Charlie offered.
“Perhaps.”
“I wasn’t going to grow smaller, Mom. I wanted to be like you. I just didn’t know how.”
“You turned out very well.”
An unexpected compliment. Charlie told herself to accept it and not look for anything more. This was a start.
“At the risk of shattering the mood,” she said carefully, “I’d, uh, really appreciate it if you could not call me Chantal.”
Dominique’s eyes widened. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It is and nothing about me fits it.”
Her mother wrinkled her petite, perfect nose. “You want to be called Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“But it’s so ungainly.” Dominique nodded. “All right. I’ll try. It may take some doing.”
“I appreciate any effort.”
For the first time since her mother’s arrival, Charlie felt herself starting to relax. Maybe she’d been too quick to assume the worst. Dominique would always be the star, but everyone could grow and change. Even in small ways. She’d been without family for so long that it would take some retraining to get used to having a mother around, but that was okay. They only had each other. Dad would want them to get along.
“Are you really dating that man? Clay?”
Charlie’s good mood vanished. Her muscles tightened as she automatically braced herself for attack. “Clay and I have been seeing each other,” she said, avoiding the actual D word. Because they weren’t dating. They were having sex.
“How did you meet?”
“He’s been staying on the ranch for the past few weeks. He’s moved back to town and wants to open a business. He’s also interested in being a volunteer firefighter.”
Dominique put her wine on the coffee table and leaned forward. “You need to be careful. I looked him up on the internet.”
