Condemn Me Not Page 3
“Special treatment?” Simone discharged the question like it was toxic waste. “You try delivering a nine-pound baby and see how long it takes you to recover!”
“Ladies, please.” Claire scanned the vicinity for spectators. “We need to finish up the shopping. Speaking of duties that need attention, I have laundry at home, a kitchen to clean...”
Teresa ignored her plea and said to Simone, her voice devoid of emotion, “Like you told Claire—that was her choice. You decided to have a kid, not me. I’m simply pointing out the reality of your decision and that I think it’s unfair for a woman to feel entitled to walk off the job for six weeks, have her baby, pay someone to care for it, and then waltz back in and expect to pick up where she left off.” She shook her head. “Not good with me. You don’t see men demanding flexible work schedules. Why is that?” she asked to no one in particular, then muttered under her breath.
It took every ounce of willpower Simone had not to rip Teresa’s head from her shoulders. “Because men don’t have babies,” Simone informed her coolly.
Teresa shook her head again. “Whatever. You and I both know that what I said is true. People pick up the slack for you at work. They help make it happen for you to have babies and keep your job. The least you can do is pick up the slack and help your daughter when she shows a little initiative.” With that, Teresa strolled off to the bakery, leaving a trail of barbs in her wake.
Simone stared after her sister, gripped by an overwhelming desire to set her straight. What did she know about children? About kids? About juggling the demands between work and family, husband and child?
Nothing. Teresa didn’t know a damn thing. Yet it didn’t seem to stop her from sticking her opinion where it didn’t belong. Simone marched after her. Well she would shove that opinion—
“Simone.” The urgency in Claire’s voice as she hurried to her side was not missed. She swiped a glance over her shoulder at her friend, but said nothing. Teresa was the current target.
CLAIRE AND SIMONE
During the car ride home, Simone continued to brood, staring out the windshield of Claire’s minivan without a word. Traffic was light, the drive from the grocery warehouse a mere twenty minutes from her house. Thank God they decided to drive separately, Claire thought, stealing a peek to her side. She wasn’t enthused by Teresa’s commentary either, but the woman’s sword had clearly been aimed for Simone, and straight into the heart, no less. Claire ventured another peek through the corner of her eye, the tension so thick, she could scarcely breathe.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Claire said, unable to stand the silence a moment longer. “You’re an amazing manager. Your team relies on you and you didn’t let them down. You worked your tail off—two weeks—my God!” Tightening her grip on the hard rubber steering wheel, she glanced sideways. “What other mother can claim a two-week maternity leave? It’s insane.” Claire continued to ramble, trying to focus on the cars ahead and her friend at the same time. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Continuing her blind stare out the front, Simone replied, “You don’t have to make excuses for her.”
Excuses? Did Simone think she was trying to fill air, here?
Far from it. Claire calmed the sudden flutter of her pulse. She meant every word, but Simone seemed hell bent on festering. If they hadn’t been in public, Claire knew she would have ground Teresa into the floor with her pointed heel. Crammed her into the frozen food section and held the door closed. But Teresa was clever that way. She’d never strike battle in private. If she did, there would only be one Richmond sister standing and Claire would put money on Simone walking away the victor.
Flipping the lever for her blinker, she continued, “Listen, I’m trying to be objective. Teresa is single. She has no idea of the demands of juggling family and career.”
“Then she should keep her mouth shut.”
“She’s just trying to help,” Claire replied, navigating the right hand turn into slow moving traffic, the wheel sliding within her palms.
“Help?” Simone raked Claire with a blistering glance. “She might as well have called me a freeloader at the office!”
“She did not.”
“Or insinuated I have no business having children.”
“Simone. Don’t you think you may be overreacting? Teresa expressed her feelings over a simple point of fact—”
“Simple point of fact?” Simone turned fully in her seat to face Claire. “You mean to tell me you agree with her?”
Claire stumbled in reply and slowed as the light above turned yellow. “No, of course I don’t. You know that. Not necessarily.” She faced Simone and was met by stony eyes. The grim set to her friend’s jaw should have prevented the question, but she plunged ahead. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“What’s true?”
“That women who take the full six weeks are relying on others to carry their load at the office in their absence.” Whether Simone wanted to admit it or not, Teresa was right.
“No one carried my load.”
“Maybe not yours, but in general they do.” Claire alternated focus between Simone and the light above. “They have to. Not everyone can work from home and manage to keep on top of their position. You could, but other jobs require women to be there. Like a secretary.” Claire twisted her palms around the steering wheel, sliding them back and forth over the curved top as she waited for the light to change. “It’s her job to answer the phone, take notes. A teacher, a...” Claire dropped the last job from her lips. She’d almost said ‘manager.’
“Teresa is a selfish bitch,” Simone declared flatly. “It’s a good thing she didn’t have any children, because she would have ruined their lives.”
“At least she knew that about herself,” Claire reluctantly agreed. But many women didn’t, she thought. Many women had kids because it was expected of them, then tried to hang onto their careers, only to find out later that they weren’t very good at managing both. Kids were a full-time commitment and so was a job. It was something Claire had accepted going in. Superwoman was a cartoon character. She wasn’t real.
The light turned green. Claire stole one last glance at her friend and thought, Simone included. There was no way she could be good at motherhood and money management—not without help. Not without someone there to pick up the “slack” for her. With a steady push of her foot, Claire accelerated, keeping pace with the stream of cars around her. Simone’s someone was Mitchell. He was her saving grace when it came to family. Though considering Mariah’s recent decision, it didn’t seem like he was doing too well in the child-rearing department either. He should have been more clear with Mariah about what it took to start a business—like a plan, a contract—neither of which the girl had bothered to secure. Mitchell also neglected to be frank with her regarding the downside, the risk.
Teresa mentioned allowing the girl to fail, but would Simone and Mitchell be there to help her move on? Get back into college and on track with her studies? Claire certainly hoped so.
“Teresa doesn’t know anything,” Simone grumbled, hugging arms close to her body. “She’s not married because no one would have her.”
“C’mon now, you don’t mean that, you’re just mad.” Claire turned onto her street, an instantaneous relief discharging inside her. They were almost home.
“I do, too.” Simone flipped her gaze to Claire. “And why are you taking up for her? Do you think it’s true what she said? Do you actually agree with her?”
“No,” Claire hesitated, startled by the hostility boring into her from across the center console. The temperature rose by several degrees within the confines of her vehicle. Despite the time that had passed, obviously Simone remained hot over the argument, madder than a wet cat in a dog kennel. But Claire wasn’t willing to back down either, and braced herself for the inevitable attack as she asserted, “But you have to agree with her in the sense that working women can’t do it all by themselves. They do need a support network to a
ccomplish it all.”
“I don’t.”
“What do you call Mitchell?”
“I call him my husband, my partner. He doesn’t help me at work. He has nothing to do with my job.”
Claire nearly slammed her foot on the brake pedal. “Nothing to do with your job?”
“Yes, nothing to do with my job,” she repeated.
“Simone,” Claire said, unable to let the statement stand. “You couldn’t manage your workload at the office if he didn’t help you manage the load at home.” Simone couldn’t have family and career without Mitchell, the same as Jim couldn’t have it without her.
Simone balked. “Manage the load at home? Since when is that solely my responsibility? It’s his house, too.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t believe I do.” Simone slid a hand along the passenger door frame, resting her arm along the window as she fastened on Claire. “Why don’t you explain exactly what you mean?”
At Simone’s brittle tone, Claire held steady. She would not be intimidated from speaking her truth. “Mitchell keeps the house running so you can work the long hours it takes to be a success. He’s there every day and without him, you wouldn’t be where you are today.”
“And I pay my nanny for what—watching television while my dear husband takes care of the child? Cleans the house?” Simone scoffed, turning her face toward the windshield. “Someone better fire the housekeeper. Apparently she’s been robbing me blind.”
Claire braked fully for the final stop before they arrived at her house. She centered on Simone and decided enough was enough. She was tired of Simone’s self-righteous sarcasm. Simone acted as though she alone carried the family and Mitchell didn’t lift a finger to help. But he deserved credit. A lot. “Look, you couldn’t do everything you do without Mitchell and I’m not talking about the dishes. I’m talking Mariah. He’s your lifeline to her and you know it.”
She turned on Claire. “My what?”
“You heard me. He’s the reason you two have a relationship to speak of, and he’s the reason Mariah’s as smart and well-adjusted as she is—because he was there when you weren’t able to be.”
Simone barked out a laugh. “Then Mitchell should be fired! His daughter has turned into a disrespectful brat who runs to him when Mommy Dearest says no to her childish whims. Not to mention that dropping out of college doesn’t speak very highly of her intelligence.”
Claire pushed back into her seat and said quietly, “You never did appreciate what it means to stay home for your child.”
“I still don’t.”
Damn her. Simone had grated on her last nerve and Claire refused to tolerate another second. “At least my child is going to college.”
“Halfway around the world.” Simone grunted in retort. “Looks like staying home didn’t endear her to you any more than my working did for Mariah.”
# # #
Claire slammed the plastic grocery bags down onto the Formica, the corner of one splitting open. Damn Simone. Nothing drove a wedge between them quicker than a disagreement on how to raise their children, but damn her for being so hateful. She always considered herself superior because she worked. She had never approved of Claire’s choice to stay home. And Mitchell. Claire slung the purse from her shoulder and smacked it down alongside the groceries. The man deserved a lot of credit, yet his wife refused to give him any. As though his job was to see that her job was made possible. Because it was her right to pursue her career and have children.
And Mariah? Why did Simone bother to have the child if she wasn’t going to stay home and raise her? Why bring her into this world, only to have someone else raise her? Why did either of them? Locked rigid in place, Claire stared across her kitchen. The matte yellow walls, the maple cabinets, the countertops honey brown and host to a variety of small appliances, knickknacks, and a stack of mail she’d piled to one end, revealing her procrastination day by day. This was her domain. This was her job.
Mitchell was by no means a stay-at-home dad, but his contribution around the house, his willingness to take the reins with Mariah deserved respect. But it was their nanny of more than a decade who spent the bulk of time with Mariah. She toted Mariah to school and back, prepared her lunch in the morning, sat with her during sports activities, birthday parties and the like. It was the nanny who remained glued to Mariah’s side—when the child wasn’t at their home, that is. Mariah and Rebecca spent a lot of time together and through the years, Claire had come to feel like she had two daughters. Two girls joined at the hip, and she was proud of them both, regardless of their recent bombshell.
Claire sank a hip to the counter and held onto the beveled edge. Her thoughts migrated from Mariah to Rebecca as she stared blankly out the window. Nothing but a sheet of white, the sky held no intrigue, no appeal. No answers. It was nothing but another icy spring afternoon.
Unlike Paris, where charm sprang eternal. An allure Claire understood well. Rebecca was young and the City of Love called to the artist in her. It beckoned her creative spirit, her idealist nature, her thirst for adventure and excitement. Travel the world? The idea still hurt, but Claire could see why it drew her. And Mariah was no different. Young and willful, independence streamed through her veins, ran circles around thoughts of college and consumed her like a dog on the hunt. Once Mariah had a mind to do something, she was going to do it. It was an admirable quality, one that would get her far in life.
Only Simone couldn’t see it. Simone didn’t see value in anything, if it didn’t conform to her opinion of how things should work. Which irked Claire. There was more than one way to toss a salad, paint a picture, or craft a life. While she didn’t prefer that Mariah skip college, she would support her as the girl tried her hand at business. Amherst could wait. Once accepted, always accepted—or could be again. Claire thought back to her own fork in the path and decided that that was the way life played. You had a plan and then life changed it. Happened to her. Claire blew a heavy stream of breath. And if Simone wouldn’t support Mariah in her new venture, she would.
At the sound of the car door slamming to a close, Claire moved to the hall window. She pushed aside the curtains and spied her brother Rob in the driveway, a bulky paper bag in his arms. The front door opened and closed. “Claire!”
“In the kitchen,” she called back and busied herself with the mess of grocery bags. Pulling packages of napkins and paper plates from the ripped bag, she welcomed him with a smile.
“Hey, sis.” Rob Alexander strolled into the kitchen. “I brought you some goodies.”
“Goodies for me?” She read the name on the outside and corrected, “You mean for the boys.”
He laughed. Something her brother Rob did often. The man was as easygoing as a Labrador Retriever, his hair a mess of dark curls in need of a cut, his frame sporting the soft edges of middle age much like her own. The man never seemed ruffled. Living on the rural outskirts of town kept his pace slow and easy, yet Rob made a special point to be a regular fixture at her place. “Had a few friends over last night and this is all that’s left.” He set the bag of barbeque on the counter next to her bag and kissed her cheek. “How ya doing?”
“Not good.”
He glimpsed the torn bag as though he’d found the culprit. “Bad day at the grocer’s?”
Claire wished. Abandoning her attempt at organizing groceries, she leaned a hand onto the counter. “Rebecca’s not going to Rhode Island.”
His demeanor abruptly tensed. “What?”
She’s going to Paris.”
“Paris?” He let out a low whistle. “Well, what do you know...”
“I know it’s the worst possible news.”
“Claire—” Rob reached out for her, but anticipating his move, she dodged his hand and headed for the living room. She’d deal with party supplies later.
Rob sauntered in behind her. “I take it this is bad news on the Atkins front?”
“Jim doesn’t know yet.”
Claire walked toward the front door and then stopped. What was she in here for again? Turning, she picked up a stack of mail on the foyer table and headed back toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” Rob said softly, reaching out to stop her. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Why is she doing this to me?”
“Doing it to you?”
“Yes. We made plans for her to go to Rhode Island, but she’s enrolled herself in La Sorbonne, instead.” Her brother suppressed a smile, and she pulled her arm away from him. “It’s not funny, Rob. This is serious.”
“I know.” He gave a quick nod. “Here, come sit.” Rob gently guided her toward the sofa. Dropping down to the cushion beside her, he said, “Why don’t you tell me what’s happened.”
Claire relayed the events from the morning. Although the shock had worn off, the disbelief remained. “I don’t know what possessed her to go behind our backs.”
Rob chuckled. He tugged his jean pant leg up at the knee and crossed one leg over the other. “No sense upsetting you before it was a solid deal.”
She frowned, the knife twisting deeper. Upsetting her. As though she were the problem here. “I would have respected her decision to seek admission elsewhere, if only she’d come to me first.”
He raised a sardonic brow. “Would you?”
Claire didn’t appreciate the accusatory glint in his eye. She was the parent here and parents deserved a say on major decisions. “I would have at least liked to be included in the process.”
“So you could talk her out of it before she ever got her hopes up?”
“I’m not the bad guy, here.”
“And neither is Rebecca.”
Stalemate.
Rob peered at her, and a wave of unspoken emotion washed through his eyes. He reached over and loosened one of her hands. He took it in his own, enveloping her in a tender gaze. “Is this about Sarah?”