Condemn Me Not Read online

  Jim sounded so excited by the prospect.

  He cupped his hands around her cheeks. “You look pale.” He studied her face, searched her eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes,” she uttered, her insides tearing apart. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you worried about the money?”

  That and few hundred other things! Claire wanted to shout.

  “We’re good, honey. Our finances are solid. We’ve already saved up for most of her tuition. If we make a plan, I think we can manage the rest.” His eyes darted toward the stove, the pot of unattended water, spits of liquid shooting over its rim, sizzling as they landed on the hot stove below.

  Claire looked at him, a slew of misgiving hurtling through her mind. Granted business had been good of late, what with everyone opting to salvage their old cars versus buying new ones, but she knew deep down, Jim viewed every job as though it were his last. Business was fickle. As the owner, he knew that better than anyone. To say he was conservative with a dollar was an understatement. He was downright tight to the nicked edge of a penny.

  “Is there something else?” he asked.

  Claire could feel the heat of the burners beside her, feel the urgency of rice that needed to be added, chili that needed to be stirred. The oven timer would sound soon, calling her to remove the bread, serve the dinner. But peering into her husband’s eyes, she felt cornered, trapped by his enthusiasm, his quick solution. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. We really don’t know anything about this school setup, where she’s going to live.”

  “What are you talking about? You know very well it’s one of the best. And if she can get in, she deserves to go. You considered it for yourself at one time.”

  Tears pricked at Claire’s eyes. But the stakes were so high, the negatives, the pitfalls...

  Jim leaned over and turned the burner down. Giving his full attention to his wife, he held her shoulders and asked, “What’s this really about, Claire?”

  She paused, then spewed, “It’s about my only daughter moving halfway around the world to live in a foreign country all by herself. I can’t believe you’re okay with that.”

  “I don’t like the distance any more than you do, but I trust Becky’s judgment. We raised a fine young woman and we need to trust her.”

  “But she doesn’t know what lies ahead!”

  “None of us do.”

  “She’s too young,” Claire pushed back from his grasp. “She’s only eighteen!”

  He nodded. “True. But technically, she’s an adult.”

  “What if she needs me?” she cried weakly. “I won’t be there, can’t be there...”

  Gathering Claire into his arms, Jim pulled her close. He caressed her face with a loving gaze and replied softly, “She has you. She can call you. I’ll get her one of those phone cards, with unlimited calling. She’ll be able to call you whenever she wants. And we can fly her home from time to time.”

  No, Claire thought, arms entrenched by her sides, his warm, hard body secured around her own. Jim couldn’t be saying this. He couldn’t mean it.

  “There’s no difference in her living on her own in a big city here in the states versus Paris.”

  “Of course there is—she’d be closer. I could drive to see her.”

  He cocked his head to one side and the lines across his forehead deepened. “Is this about you, or Becky?”

  Claire remained mute.

  Tenderness settled in as he peered down at her, loosening the knot of questions in his eyes as he whispered, “We can’t hold her forever, Claire.”

  We can with a united front, she protested silently.

  “She has to move on at some point.”

  Doesn’t have to be thousands of miles from home.

  Jim hugged her tight. Strong and protective, he wanted to comfort her, protect her, Claire acknowledged—even if it was from herself. He kissed the side of her head and murmured into her hair, his breath warm and moist, “This is her life were talking about, not yours.”

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Her body went limp against him. How come it didn’t feel that way to her?

  SIMONE AND MARIAH

  “Stop!” Mariah shrieked. “Why do you feel the need to control every aspect of my life?” Wearing a path in the shiny, chocolate brown wood floors, Mariah stormed from one end of the living room to the other. She stopped and pounded a finger to her chest. “It’s my life. I’m an adult now and you can’t make me do what you want!”

  Mariah’s screaming reverberated in Simone’s skull. It trampled her nerves. “Control? I’m trying to help you, not control you.” An argument that was wearing thin. “Only you’re too self-centered and self-focused to see past your own desire.”

  Mariah ran thumb and forefinger through her hair and yanked the overgrown bangs from her face. The veins in her neck bulged blue against her fair skin, nearly matching the steel blue gray of her walls. “You don’t get me at all.” She frowned. “Dad will understand. He gets it.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ. I think I understand you better than you realize.”

  Mariah dropped her hand and challenged, “No, you don’t. Because if you did, you’d know that sometimes in life you have to take risks. Dad says you have to take risks if you want to get ahead.”

  Simone ground her jaw. She hated that Mitchell’s decisions undermined her position with Mariah, especially annoying at the moment, as they were being thrust in her face. “He never advised you to start a business you know nothing about, because in taking this risk you can lose it all.”

  The insinuation registered. Mariah’s defiance stalled. She knew the story of how her father earned and lost a fortune—months before he and Simone were ever married. Speculating on real estate had made him a millionaire, but it was all on paper. Bank notes. Nothing solid. It was “assumed” wealth. Assuming all went well, assuming everything went according to plan, assuming nothing untoward happened, Mitchell was a millionaire. Then one of his biggest tenants reneged on a deal, stopped paying his loan, and the effect was a rapid cascade of dominoes that crashed quickly, leaving her husband bankrupt. The part Mariah didn’t know was how Simone had to sign for their first mortgage, because no bank in town would accept the signature of one Mitchell Sheridan.

  “Logan and I have researched the recycling business. We know there’s a market and we know we can make money. Dad thought it was a good idea.”

  Simone felt trapped, cornered between her daughter’s obstinacy and her husband’s entrepreneurial mindset. There had to be some way she could get through to her. She had to make Mariah understand. The girl was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, one that could cost her for years to come. But staring into the piercing green eyes of her only child, Simone felt at a sudden loss. It was like staring into Mitchell’s eyes, a gaze she had learned long ago would remain hopeful, determined, resistant, despite all odds to the contrary.

  He would never give up on an idea, flimsy and precarious as it might appear to those around him. Mitchell believed in himself and, win or lose, that’s what mattered most to him. But Mariah wasn’t Mitchell. “Starting your own business is not the fairy-tale you’re painting,” Simone began. “It’s hard. It’s twenty four-seven. The stress of bills to pay will eat away at your mood, your willpower, your relationship with Logan… It will affect you in ways you can’t even fathom right now.”

  “I understand it’s going to be hard,” Mariah returned. “But like you always say, the best things in life are often the hardest to come by. You’ll never get anywhere in this life without commitment. Isn’t that why you spent so much time away from the family? Because you valued what you were doing, believed in it enough to put in the long, hard hours to make it work?”

  Clipped by the concise comparison, Simone huffed, “I had a husband willing to support me. Somehow I don’t see Logan in that same role of support.”

  “Logan loves me and is willing to support me in anything I do.” Mariah twiste
d her expression into naked disbelief. “He’s not a loser. Why do you think we’re going into business together?”

  Because he sees an easy mark. Because he thinks you’re going to use your parents’ college savings account to fund his venture. “How much of his money are you using to start this business?” Simone cocked a brow. “Or can I assume you’re the silent partner pulling the purse strings.”

  Mariah stood by the marble mantle, charcoal veins and carved white edges appearing cold beside her, the gilded-framed family portrait above seemingly out of place in the chill of confrontation. “Logan has money.”

  “How much?” Simone asked, suddenly curious. His family wasn’t wealthy. From what she could gather, sending him to college would be a stretch. Simone’s gaze narrowed. Which is why he needed Mariah.

  “You never liked Logan.” Mariah spat the words, then spun away and stalked off to the front corner of the room. With her body pressed so near the second-story window, Simone had the fleeting image of her daughter busting out in a desperate jump to escape.

  “He doesn’t have any, does he?” Simone quipped.

  “This isn’t about the money,” Mariah said, staring out the window, her back turned in silent condemnation. “This is about him.”

  “That’s what I thought.” It was no longer a question in Simone’s mind.

  Mariah turned her head to the side, but didn’t look at her. “For your information, Logan has some money saved up. We’re doing this together, in every sense of the word.”

  “What if you get pregnant?”

  “What?” Mariah whirled around. Disgust wrenched her features.

  “It’s a possibility.” Simone punched a hand to her hip and repeated, “What if you get pregnant? Then what?”

  “I can’t believe you. Now you’re just making stuff up to argue about.”

  “It happens, Mariah. Can I assume you won’t get an abortion?”

  Mariah took several steps toward Simone and said, “I wouldn’t abort my baby!”

  “So then you’d keep it. Do you know how much babies cost?”

  Mariah stopped in her tracks and glared, furious at falling into her mother’s trap.

  “Food, clothing, education...” Simone itemized, ticking up fingers with each category. “It all costs money. Look around you,” she said, indicating the elegant furnishings of their home. From the polished wood-flooring to the expensive silk draperies, the hand-crafted stone appointments and original artwork adorning the walls, Simone knew exactly how much life cost. She enjoyed the finer things in life, as did her daughter. Only Mariah didn’t fully comprehend how they were acquired. “This doesn’t come cheap. Not only will you and Logan be struggling with the bills at work, but you’ll be struggling with them at home, too. You’ll be reduced to shopping at thrift stores, eating frozen dinners. The stress of living paycheck to paycheck will drive a wedge between you, and the next thing you know, you’ll be twenty-eight, divorced, years behind your contemporaries in the job market, and on your own with a child to raise.”

  Hatred scored jagged lines through Mariah’s expression. “You are so wrong.”

  Simone inwardly recoiled at the animosity staring back at her. She didn’t want to inflict pain on her daughter. She just needed her to see the realities at play. Mariah needed to get an accurate picture of the road ahead. “It sneaks up on you, Mariah. It’s how the cycle of poverty works. You don’t think those millions of women out there planned on raising their kids alone with barely two dimes to their name, do you? Of course not. It began with young love that would beat the odds until real life collapsed their dreams, revealing them for what they were—ill thought-out plans based on a rush to judgment and a desire to feel mature and independent.”

  Mariah became a stone, as gray and cold as the mantle beside them. “I’m starting this business with Logan whether you approve of it or not.”

  “Okay,” Simone said. “Fine. You’re set on it. How about you delay it for a year? Take some courses at Amherst in business and learn how to run your recycling company, the finances, the contracts, etc. Then, if you still want to start it after a year, I’ll help you with the money.”

  Distrust clawed at Mariah’s eyes. “You know I can’t take any business classes the first year. They require freshmen to take a basic repeat of high school—which is a waste of time.”

  “No, it’s not,” Simone countered. “You have electives you can take. Make them business, accounting.”

  “You’re just trying to put me off in hopes I’ll change my mind.”

  “And what if you do? Is that so bad?” You’re so young, Simone hammered silently. You have no idea. You’ll change your mind about so many things over the next ten years. But if she spoke her thoughts out loud, Mariah would consider them an insult. “Maybe it would mean you found something better,” she offered.

  “You’re only saying that because you think Logan would break up with me.”

  “No, I’m not.” But now that she mentioned it, the idea was definitely appealing. “Why would he break up with you?”

  “Because Amherst isn’t in Boston. It’s two hours away.”

  And the boy couldn’t hack a little separation? Sadness poured into Simone, soaking her heart in despair. Was his relationship with Mariah that tenuous? The bond that professed to be strong enough to start a business together wasn’t tough enough to hack a two-hour drive? Simone didn’t know what Logan would do if Mariah went to college and he stayed in Boston. Maybe they’d grow apart, meet new people, maybe they wouldn’t. All she did know was that she was failing her daughter, failing to protect her from herself and her youthful idealism. There was so much Mariah didn’t know, didn’t understand—but how to get her to listen? How to get her to grasp the hard reality she was going to be living?

  Boston wasn’t cheap. It was expensive to live here and if you lived outside the city, the commute would cost you. Simone sharpened her gaze. Maybe a stronger dose of realism would succeed. As much as it pained her to force her daughter’s hand, it was for her own good. Mariah needed to consider the consequences of what she was doing. “Have you picked out your apartment yet?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Simone wrestled with the angst seizing at her breast, tearing through her heart as she continued, “You’re going to need somewhere to live. Have you checked into rent?”

  “You’re kicking me out?” Mariah asked, gripped by sudden and total shock.

  “Well, if you’re going to be making adult decisions, you need to live like one which means paying the bills on your own.”

  Mariah shook her head, the movement slow and stunned. “I can’t believe you...”

  “What’s not to believe?” Simone asked, the mild elevation in tone the only hint as to the fear splintering through her chest. She didn’t want to push Mariah away, but she wanted her to see the whole picture. Needed her to see it so she would quit this fantasy play.

  Mariah appeared to stumble, and placed a hand to the cream-colored wingchair. She rolled her weight backward and cupped its wooden frame, leaning her body against it. The fight went out of her. “I thought you’d be supportive of my venture. I mean, once you got past the shock of my not going to college and all. But then...” She paused and peered at her mother, a stabbing disappointment in her eyes. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”

  The cut was so quick and deep, Simone struggled to maintain her composure. She clutched hold of the nearby sofa table, the glossy edge hard within her palm. “I am proud of you, but not like this, not throwing away your education so you can go off half-cocked on a business venture with your boyfriend—”

  But her daughter had shut down. Mariah wasn’t listening anymore.

  Simone tightened her grip and eased toward her daughter. Her pulse pounded. “Mariah—you have to see this from my point of view. I’m not trying to ruin your life, I’m trying to save it. One day you’ll understand and appreciate my efforts but for now you’ll simply have to trust me.�
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  As though operating on a separate channel, Mariah mumbled into empty air. “Rebecca’s mom said she believed I could do it. That if any young woman could go out and make her own way it would be me.” Moisture glistened in the whites of her eyes, the green growing fluid as Mariah turned to face her. “Why can’t you say the same?”

  Resentment seared a reply clear off Simone’s lips, but her thoughts were loud and clear. Claire should keep her thoughts to herself.

  “Maybe it’s because she was always there and you weren’t,” Mariah went on, evidently misreading Simone’s silence for a lack of rebuttal. She turned, and plunked herself down onto the damask-upholstered chair cushion. “Maybe that’s why she can see the real me and you can’t.”

  “I was there for everything important in your life, Mariah.” Simone maintained a firm hold of the table, the only thing keeping her solid and upright. “I never missed a play, an open house. I never missed a sports game or a dance recital.” Through the years her daughter had tried her hand at a wide variety of activities and she had busted her butt to attend every event. She was proud not to have missed a one. Not a big one, anyway. But she couldn’t be expected to watch every soccer game, every tennis match. Tournaments yes, but every game, every match?

  No one could boast that record. No one but Claire. Annoyance percolated. But Claire didn’t have anything else to do, but attend her daughter’s games and dances. It probably helped pass the time, but it wasn’t fair to compare the two of them. They dealt with wholly different obligations. She was a good mother. And a successful career woman. She was disciplined and caring. To assert anything to the contrary was inaccurate. But that’s exactly what her daughter was doing. “It’s unfair of you to claim that I wasn’t around, because it isn’t true.”

  “You weren’t at my tenth grade spelling bee, the one where I won runner-up.”

  “What?” Simone’s surprise was swift and complete. She released her hold of the bed and approached Mariah. “I most certainly was and do you know what it took me to get there?” She remembered the day clearly. Len had scheduled a late afternoon meeting and demanded all senior VPs attend. Simone attended but begged out early. The move earned her a scathing dismissal from her boss—one most unusual for him—but Simone understood and accepted her lot. When your largest client announces it is withdrawing its capital, tsunamis of pressure steamroll through the corridors of a banking firm, wiping out everything but the need to retain and regain.