Condemn Me Not Page 8

  REBECCA AND MARIAH

  Per Claire’s instructions, Rob breezed in through the front door of his sister’s home with an obligatory, “Knock, knock.”

  Rebecca looked up from the couch. “Hey, Uncle Rob.”

  Sitting on the opposite end, her best friend Mariah grazed him in fleeting acknowledgment. The girls looked remarkably alike. Long, straight hair fell past their shoulders, partially covering brand name logos emblazoned across their T-shirts, each layered with a plaid flannel shirt, opened to the waist. The pair was flipping through colorful pages of celebrity magazines, each perched on either end of the sofa, one leg folded beneath them.

  Rob smiled. The teens were twin images. “Well if it isn’t Josalee Wales and her sidekick, Belle Starr.”

  “Very funny, Uncle Rob,” Rebecca scolded playfully, but rewarded him with a sheepish smile, the one accentuated by those precious dimples of hers. The ones that dared any man not to submit to her charms and fork over anything she demanded. Mariah looked up from the magazine she’d been thumbing through.

  He chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know, I hear you two have caused quite a stir around here. Your mother is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  “So she called big brother to come manage damage control,” Rebecca replied knowingly.

  Mariah seemed to take this as a warning and emptied her expression, closing the book on her thoughts.

  “And?” His gaze moved between them. “Is that so bad?”

  “No, but it won’t make us change our minds.”

  Rob looked down at Rebecca. “Are you the spokesperson for this here uprising?”

  “I can speak for myself, Mr. Alexander, and I agree,” Mariah piped up. “It won’t make us change our minds.”

  Planting hands to hips he declared, “And who said anything about changing your mind?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re here to do?” Rebecca asked, suspicion swirling through her eyes. “Didn’t Mom put you up to convincing us to do what they want us to do instead of what we want to do?”

  Rob laughed. Oh, but she was a smart one and knew her mother well. “So what if they did? Far be it from me to interfere.” He was here as peacemaker, to bring the two sides together. It was the mothers’ business where the lines were drawn and who drew them. He merely wanted to jumpstart the conversation that had stalled at the gate.

  Rob moved to an arm chair and dropped down into the center of it. His tired middle-aged body thanked him for the sudden change in gravity with an audible grunt. Definitely time to give that gym membership another whirl, he mused. Taking in the girls’ defensive posture, he concluded they were no different than a couple of young mares springing away from the first rider who attempted to break them. Fire and independence were admirable traits.

  “Listen,” he said. “This is your life. These are your decisions—decisions that will become a turning point for your future. Me? Heck, I say go for it. I like independent thinkers and solo flyers.” Turning to Rebecca, he asked, “Did your mother ever tell you about my venture into the water business?” He brightened at the memory. “Filtered water was the way to go, future of water consumption. Great opportunity. It was a sure thing,” he went on, comfortable in his position as storyteller. “Who didn’t want clean water? Everyone did and I was going to be a millionaire by the time I was twenty-five. I had it all planned out.” Rob panned the room of wood paneling and dark green walls with his hands, the director staging a scene. “I’d go door to door, selling, installing, then expand from my neighbors’ doors to knocking city to city, packing my pockets with orders.” He regarded the girls with a suddenly sober gaze. “Clearly it didn’t work out as planned.”

  “Just because your dreams didn’t happen the way you wanted doesn’t mean ours will work out the same,” Rebecca informed him.

  “No, it doesn’t. But it’s something to think about. Paris is a long way to travel home if you decide to drop out.”

  She dipped her head. “I’m not going to drop out.”

  “And I’ve got a plan,” Mariah spoke up, as though heading him off at the pass.

  Rob nodded, amused, but didn’t press. “Good. It’s good to have a plan.”

  The two stared at him expectantly.

  “But it’s also good to share that plan with the people closest to you. The ones who love you.”

  Mariah rolled her eyes and head in unison as Rebecca objected, “We tried that, remember? As I recall, it didn’t work out so well.” She slapped her magazine closed.

  “That’s because you put the cart ass backward on the horse. Plans and discussions happen before decisions are made—not after.” The two girls wrinkled their noses. “And it stinks, same as a horse’s ass. You plan, discuss, and then decide.”

  When neither budged, he smacked hands to his knees and leaned forward. “You girls want to be all grown up and independent, make your own choices? Well, here’s your first bump in the road.”

  “More like ditch,” Rebecca said glumly.

  He smiled at the adolescence oozing from her strident observation. “Ditch, bump, call it what you will, but it’s all the same. You have a problem and you need to handle it.”

  She struck him with a flippant glance.

  “Like a grown-up.” He accentuated the term. “You handle it like the grown-up you want to be taken for.”

  The girls looked at each other, checking to be sure they were in tune. Each nodding, Rebecca said, “We are. We’ve made our decision.”

  “And now everyone has to live with it, right?”

  “Pretty much.” Mariah echoed the sentiment and opened her gossip rag.

  Tough, gritty, he could see this kid was interested in playing hardball. “So what happens when your boss decides to invest in your future by training you for the job he hired you to do, only to have you up and leave, because you decided the position he was grooming you for wasn’t quite what you wanted?”

  Rebecca answered, “I’m an artist, Uncle Rob. I get my training in school.”

  He pulled his attention away from Mariah and directed his response to his niece. “Education doesn’t begin and end at the front door of your fancy school of art. It’s only the first step on a long and winding road. You’ll be learning your whole life—” He raised a brow. “At least you hope you will.”

  “Well I won’t have to worry about a boss,” Mariah pitched in. “I plan to start my own business where I’ll run the show.”

  “Perfect.” He swiveled his spotlight to her. “What happens when your employee up and quits after you’ve invested thousands of dollars in him?”

  She leveled her gaze. “I’ll fire him.”

  “Fire him?” He laughed. “You can’t fire him—he quit!”

  “I know what you’re doing, Uncle Rob, and it won’t work.”

  “It won’t, huh?”

  The two shook their heads in unison.

  “Hm.” Rob settled back into his chair, the united front appealing to him in its innocence, its determination. “Let’s get one thing clear right up front. I’m on your side, okay? I’m not here to change minds or appease emotions.” And he meant it. That was their parents’ department. With a teenage boy of his own, he knew what it took to raise kids, and if Claire and Simone thought these two were tough, they should try a go-round with Todd. Between the boy’s hot rod car and his bevy of girlfriends, he and his wife had ground their teeth to nubs with worry and fury over his escapades!

  But boys were different than girls. And he was talking to girls at the moment. Settling on the two young ladies before him, seated comfortably in a home that had been built for family gatherings, he accepted they meant what they said. He didn’t doubt their intentions, tenacity or their ability. But they were kittens, babies. They had no idea what lay ahead, though to say as much would get him kicked out of the living room with the door slammed shut behind him. Better to begin as their friend.

  “Okay, give it to me straight, fast and juicy,” he said with a wink. “And le
t’s see if we can’t get this rodeo on the road.” But as Rob listened to them unleash their side of the story, the girls used terms like I’m an adult now. I can make my own decision. It’s my life and she needs to learn to accept that fact. While all true, it would get them nowhere. Throwing up mistaken maturity in place of logic and reason was the quickest way to ramp up a parent’s defensive mode and cause more harm than good.

  Rebecca finished with, “It’s an honor that I’ve even been accepted to La Sorbonne at all. She should be happy for me.”

  “And I should be admired for my courage to strike out on my own,” Mariah bucked. “I plan to be a career woman, just like my mom.”

  Rob smiled and wanted to add. Damn straight. And admired for your gumption and commitment when you’re forced to pick up the pieces of your ill-begotten plan and start all over again. Because darling, you are facing an uphill battle and those skinny little legs of yours are going to trip and stumble.

  However, as a rancher who’d been around the barn a few times, he swallowed his real thoughts and submitted affably, “Mariah, you’re right. It takes the courage of confidence to start a business—at any age—and I think your recycle gig is an incredible idea. It’s exactly the right thing at the right time. You’re filling a need, making money, and saving the planet. Perfect. I love it.” Rob indulged in a private smile as Mariah swelled with pride, fanning a wall of showy feathers like a peacock hot on the dating scene. He turned. “And Rebecca, the admiration I have for you and your accomplishment goes without saying. You’re the most amazing young woman I know and always have been. You’re absolutely brilliant.” She flashed a dimpled grin in light of his praise, and he suppressed a rise of emotion. She was definitely his favorite of the bunch. “But your parents aren’t hearing a word of it.”

  Mariah hardened. “Exactly.”

  “So how do we make them see, Uncle Rob? I want Mom to be proud that I’m going to Paris, not angry.”

  Rob leaned forward, forearms to thighs. “You make your argument with logic.”

  Rebecca fell back to the sofa cushion, crestfallen. “That will never work.”

  “Why would you say that?” he asked, surprised by her automatic rejection.

  “Because Mom doesn’t care about logic. She cares about control. She doesn’t want me out of her sight, like I have to check in with her at all times.” She frowned. “She’s a bit needy that way.”

  “Exactly,” Mariah chimed in. “Same with my mom. It’s all about control with her. If she can’t tell me what to do, she’s not happy. Who can argue with a woman like that?”

  Rob sighed heavily. Apparently there was more work to be done here than he first thought. He’d been here almost an hour and hadn’t made a dent. “Okay. I hear ya, I hear ya. So tell me, Rebecca,” he said, casting his net wide and subtle. “You went behind your parents’ backs in order to be accepted to the La Sorbonne. You wasted their time and effort with your charade of an application to Rhode Island, got your mother’s hopes up, your father’s budget allotted for the next four years only to drop the bombshell a month before graduation that it’s all been for naught. Now you expect them to forgive and forget and pay the difference in tuition, along with the added travel costs and time spent away from home.” He lifted his brow in question. “Have I missed anything?”

  Rebecca shrank beneath his scrutiny.

  “Mariah,” he began, and detected the girl on the other end of the couch was already steeling herself against his assessment. “You waltz in during high school grad party prep and declare you’re dropping out of college—the college to which you’ve already been accepted—to start a company for which you have no written business plan or contract in effect. You intend to start this business with your boyfriend, the one who legally owes you nothing in the event of success or failure of said business, because you haven’t allotted for such detail, and to top it off, you demand to use your parents’ money to fund this operation without the first bit of discussion or consent on their part.” He grinned. “How am I doing?”

  Mariah glared at him. She was not amused.

  Rob held up his hands and said, “Hey, I don’t see the problem, either.” He chuckled, finding comfort in his role as arbitrator. “You guys are dream children! If only Todd had the first clue what he wanted to do with his life, I’d be grateful. You could call me Uncle Happy Feet, ‘cause I’d be dancing from here to the South Pole and back.” Rob continued to indulge in his merriment. He shook his head at the image of his son approaching him with the first shred of a plan. Not gonna happen. Not anytime soon.

  “Uncle Rob, be serious. What are we going to do?” Rebecca pleaded, brushing long bangs behind an ear. “I have to go to Paris. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I’m starting my own business,” Mariah added, “whether my parents help me or not.”

  Rebecca’s position was firm, yes, but Mariah’s anger was visceral, seething. It gave him pause. Determination he understood, but this girl was packing a jaw full of venom, ready to bite. If she wasn’t careful, someone was going to get hurt. Probably her. “You want my advice?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca answered for the both of them.

  “Begin with an apology,” he said, a watchful eye to Mariah’s reception. “Say you’re sorry for the way you handled it and that you want to move forward, together.”

  As Rebecca contemplated his suggestion, Mariah shut down. As if to prove it, she made a point of perusing the glossy pages again. Seems there was no way in hell this one was going down without a fight. Respect pulled at him. The fiery spirit would serve her well in the dog-eat-dog world of business, but it would freeze any attempts at family cohesion. Rob knew Simone well. He’d come to learn the woman was more than saber rattler. She sliced and diced without regard to the size of her opponent, and she wouldn’t take kindly to her daughter trying to assert power over her dominion. Mariah would have to draw blood before Simone allowed that to happen, and buckets of it—if she planned to get her way.

  “But Uncle Rob,” Rebecca’s voice drew him back to her. Crossing her legs beneath her, Indian-style, she zeroed in on him. “Even if I do apologize, she still won’t want me to go to Paris.”

  Agreed, he thought. His sister was dead set against it. This is the last thing she wanted to hear, especially after Sarah left. Claire had been devastated. But Rebecca wanted this, deserved to go to Paris, and by God he was going to help her get there. Rob’s focus softened. Wrapped around his favorite niece, his heart went out to her now. “Then you have to give her solid reasons why you should, why it makes sense.”

  “That’s a pretty tall order to fill.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “So is moving to Paris.”

  SIMONE

  Simone glanced up from her computer at the sound of her daughter’s entrance. Edgy and stiff, Mariah wore a pair of drawstring cotton pajama pants and matching green top as she sidled into her mother’s home office. Her hair was clipped back into a loose knot behind her head, her usual style when holed away in her room for the evening. Frankly, Simone was surprised to see her at this late hour. Ten o’clock on a school night usually found the child reading before lights out. She, on the other hand, had yet to finish reconciling the personal bank statements. Her lot of the household duties included paying the bills and handling the investment accounts.

  A sudden tide of exhaustion washed over her and she paused, mouse in hand, on the desktop. “Hey.”

  Rather than sit, Mariah remained standing several feet away. Spying the statements in her hands, she asked, “Do you have a second?”

  “Sure.” At the distance in her daughter’s voice, a pang of guilt pricked her heart. Simone loathed the building separation currently wedging between them. She knew Mariah was angry—as was she—but Simone also knew that she hadn’t handled the situation with as much grace and aplomb as she could have. As it warranted. She was the adult in the room. It was her job to act like one.

  Mariah glanced around the room, the wall o
f books to one side, the leather sofa tucked beneath an oversized Malcolm Liepke painting to the other, her gaze settling on nothing in particular, as though she was processing the layout of a new place. Simone waited, giving her daughter whatever time and space she needed to begin the conversation.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Mariah began, but paused. Crossing arms over chest, she shifted her weight from bare foot to bare foot, her toenails painted a glossy black. After a brief dodge to the window, Mariah returned to face her mother. “And I’ve made a decision.”

  Buoyed by a rush of hope and relief, Simone wanted to ask if she had changed her mind. Had she realized the error of her ways? Had she come to her senses about this inane business idea? But she held herself in check. Backing down wasn’t an easy thing to do. Years of practice with her father taught that patience and compassion from the knowing adult made life easier for the idealistic child.

  “Logan and I are moving in together.”

  Simone gasped. What?

  Mariah stared at her expectantly.

  Unable to speak, she stared back. Nausea filled Simone’s mid-section. The computer screen went black. Mother and daughter stared at one another through the silence. Moving in together?

  It was not the decision she wanted to hear.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Bolted to her swivel chair, Simone couldn’t move, could barely think. The screen saver flashed white across the computer monitor as the time display made a slow bounce in and out of sight, its motion fluid, repetitive. Mind-numbing.

  Mariah shifted from side to side again, her impatience a thin disguise for the fear rising in her eyes.

  “Have you told your father?” was all Simone could think to say.

  Mariah lowered her lids, the dark line of lashes shielding the shame most definitely consuming her. Mitchell Sheridan was an easygoing man. He was lenient when it came to discipline. He was forgiving of his daughter’s contemptuous attitude, almost indulgent regarding her reckless ideas about starting a business. But living together with her boyfriend?