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Starlight On Willow Lake - Сьюзен Виггс - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
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Starlight On Willow Lake
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Cara tried her best to act totally chill about sitting in the fanciest living room she’d ever seen. She leaned her elbow on the arm of the cushy leather sofa, crossed her legs at the ankles and stared out the French doors at an amazing view of Willow Lake. Every few seconds she surreptitiously checked out some detail of the room—a tall grandfather clock that softly ticked into the silence, a rustic chandelier perfectly centered over the middle of the room, an oil painting that looked exactly like a Renoir. It probably was a Renoir.
On the opposite end of the sofa, Ruby sat twirling her feet in small circles, her brown eyes like saucers and her fingers twisting into the fur of her Gruffalo. New situations always intimidated the hell out of Ruby.
The woman named Regina was acting all flustered as they waited for Cara’s mom and the Bellamy guy to get cleaned up and join them. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Regina jumped up, smoothing her hands down the front of her expensive-looking beige slacks, and said, “I’m going to get some refreshments from the kitchen. Alice, what sounds good to you?”
“A sloe gin fizz, but it’s too early in the day for that.” Old Mrs. Bellamy didn’t crack a smile.
“How about you, Cara? Lemonade? Iced tea?”
“I’m fine,” said Cara. “Thanks.”
“Ruby?” Regina’s voice went up an octave, the way some people’s did when they talked to little kids. Everybody assumed Ruby was younger than she looked, because she was so puny. “I bet I can talk Wayan—he’s the chef—into bringing you a plate of his special frosted sugar cookies.”
“No, thank you.” Ruby’s eyes widened in terror. She was so damned bashful all the time.
“Well, then.” Regina grinned with phony brightness. “I’ll go ask for a tray of lemonade and snacks. In case you change your mind.” She practically ran out of the room, as uncomfortable as Cara felt inside.
Cara wasn’t sure who Regina was or how she fit into the Bellamy household. She seemed way too stylish to be a housekeeper or whatever. She looked totally polished, with shiny, straight hair, expertly applied makeup and nails, and an outfit a TV news anchor might wear. She was attractive, but Cara couldn’t be sure if that was due to the hair and makeup, or if she really was attractive.
Cara’s mom was pretty, but it was a tired kind of pretty that just happened naturally, because she was slender and had light brown hair, kind eyes and a nice smile. Cara sometimes wished her mom would find time to get a makeover or whatever, but of course there was never time. Or money.
Throughout high school, Cara had given herself several makeovers. One of the few—very few—perks of having to move all the time was that she got to reinvent herself, and no one thought it was odd. Yet despite all her experiments with different looks, nothing seemed to work. She had tried going boho, with layers of organic cotton and weird footwear, but that kind of made her look like a homeless person. Which technically she had been off and on ever since Dad had died. Last year she tried to go preppy with stuff from thrift shops, but it had made her look like a total poseur. Knee socks had gone away for a reason. Her current look was her version of steampunk. It wasn’t working, either, but at the moment she couldn’t decide what to pursue next. Besides, she didn’t have the dough.
She sneaked a glance at Mrs. Bellamy, but the old lady caught her.
“So this accident,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “You simply happened to come upon it.”
“Yep.” Cara nodded. “Just like that.”
“And it was at the end of the driveway.”
“Across the road from the driveway. Motorcycle versus ditch.”
“It was Cara who saw him first,” Ruby ventured in a tiny voice.
“I spotted him out the window,” said Cara. “A puff of smoke and the sun glinting off a piece of metal. He must have just crashed.”
“I see.”
At least Mrs. Bellamy didn’t say something patronizing like it was a good thing Cara had come running for help and all that crap. It was kind of a no-brainer. It would’ve been simpler if Mom had let her drive the van, but Cara didn’t know how to drive. Mom had shown her the basics, but the stick shift was way too challenging. It was embarrassing. All the kids in her school drove or were currently in driver’s ed. Cara just went to study hall during that block and wished with all her heart she could join the class. Most days the only other kid in study hall was Milo Waxman, an oddball who thought the whole world should ride bicycles or dogsleds or something that didn’t pollute the environment. Cara secretly found him interesting, but it would be social suicide to hang out with him.
She yearned to be normal, whatever normal was. Driving a car and living in one place for more than a few months at a time. But she didn’t like asking her mom for anything, because she knew damn well that Mom would give her and Ruby everything if she could afford it. And she couldn’t afford it.
Cara remembered the day she finally understood that they were poor. And not just ordinary, having-to-clip-coupons poor, but poor like we-don’t-have-a-place-to-live poor. Not long after Dad had died, the three of them had spent several nights “camping” in the van. Mom had acted as if it was a fun adventure, even when the mornings were so cold that the van’s windows were etched with frost. Cara had pretended to be asleep when a park ranger had come along, telling Mom it was time to check and see if the county housing agency had found a place for them yet.
“You’re seventeen, according to the letter your mother sent last night,” said Mrs. Bellamy, interrupting her thoughts.
It wasn’t a question, so Cara simply nodded, happy enough to quit thinking about the past.
“And you’re eight,” the old lady said to Ruby.
The woman wasn’t really old, Cara observed. She just looked that way because she was a sourpuss, and she wore her blond hair in a granny bun.
“Yes,” Ruby replied in a soft, shaky voice.
“What grade are you in?”
“Second grade. My teacher’s name is Ms. Iversen.”
“Your mother said you have special needs. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ruby trembled as if the old lady were breathing fire. “I...I...”
Mrs. Bellamy blew into a tube on her wheelchair and the thing moved closer to Ruby. “Speak up. I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Ruby looked as if she were about to pee her pants.
Just then Regina came back with a fancy tray loaded with frosted cookies and icy glasses of lemonade. “I brought extra, in case you changed your mind,” she chirped. “Once you taste Wayan’s treats, you won’t be able to resist.”
“Well?” demanded Mrs. Bellamy, glaring at Ruby. “I was asking about your needs. Your special needs.”
Ruby’s mouth moved, forming the words, I’m diabetic, but no sound came out. Cara always hated when Ruby acted ashamed, as if the disease were somehow her own failing.
“She’s diabetic,” Cara snapped. “And no, thank you,” she added as Regina set down the tray. “We both totally appreciate the offer, but she can’t have any of Wayan’s damn cookies.”
Ruby’s hands came up to her cheeks, and her eyes got even rounder. At the same time, Mason Bellamy and Mom walked into the room.
“Well,” said Mom, surveying the situation, “I see everyone is getting along just fine.”
Cara shut her stupid mouth, but she didn’t see any reason to apologize to the dragon lady or to Regina. Her outburst might have cost Mom the job, in which case she owed her mother an apology, not anyone else.
Mom walked right over to Mrs. Bellamy and sat down in the wingback chair beside her. “I’m Faith McCallum,” she said. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“Likewise, I suppose,” said old lady Bellamy. Cara could tell already that she had a way of sizing people up with her eyes.
“This is Regina Jeffries,” said the guy named Mason. He had changed out of his bloody clothes and now wore clean jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar, the cuffs turned back. He was super good-looking for a guy in his thirties. Now Cara understood how Regina fit into the picture—she was his girlfriend. It was obvious by the way she stared at him.
Mom stood up briefly and shook hands with Regina. There was an obvious contrast between the two of them. Regina had every hair in place, while Mom looked...well, just kind of ordinary in a dress with pockets and flat shoes, her damp brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup. Ever.
“That was more drama than we expected this morning,” said Mason. “How about we start over?”
“Lemonade?” asked Regina. “Cookie?”
“I’m fine,” said Mom. She shifted her focus to Mrs. Bellamy. “I’d love to hear about you—what you need, what you want. Your expectations.”
Mrs. Bellamy narrowed her eyes. “You are to be in charge of assisting me, including the supervision of the two other home health aides who cover the evening and early-morning shifts.”
Mom nodded. “All right.”
“The compensation package includes parking, room and board for one person. I hadn’t anticipated two extra children.”
“I did bring it up in my reply,” Mom said. “Obviously, it’s nonnegotiable.”
Cara’s mother had this thing she did. She usually seemed all meek and mild because she was quiet and small. But when something came up involving the family or people she cared about, there was a subtle shift, and Mom became a rock. She was doing it now, regarding Mrs. Bellamy with a perfectly pleasant expression on her face, but anyone in the room could see that the balance of power had shifted.
Which was funny, Cara reflected, seeing how Mom didn’t have any bargaining power, none at all. She was out of options. Then again, she had nothing to lose, because they had already lost everything. If old lady Bellamy said no deal, Mom would be scrambling for a place in line at the county housing office.
This was not a new situation for the McCallum family. This was the norm, thought Cara, slumping back on the sofa and tucking her chin into her chest.
“You’re slumping.” Suddenly Mrs. Bellamy was talking to Cara. “Sit up straight.”
Cara shot her a look.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m your elder.”
“You sure are,” Cara murmured, then sat up as instructed, all innocence. “Just agreeing with you.”
Then Mrs. Bellamy turned to Ruby. “You’re a beautiful child, but too scrawny. You need to eat something. Now that I realize you can’t have sugar, I’m going to have to consult with the kitchen staff. We’ll make sure there are plenty of sugar-free options for you.”
Holy crap, thought Cara. The woman was schizoid, barking like a mad dog one moment and then catering to everybody the next.
“What’s that disreputable-looking thing you’re dragging around with you?” the woman asked Ruby.
“My Gruffalo.”
“What is a Gruffalo?”
“It’s from a book called The Gruffalo,” Ruby patiently explained. “When I was younger, it was my favorite. My mom made me my very own. She sewed it herself out of a sock and some yarn and buttons. He’s one of a kind. Did you ever make stuff for your kids when they were little?”
“I made trips to FAO Schwarz, but that’s about it.”
“What’s FAO Schwarz?”
“It’s a very large toy store in New York City. You should visit there sometime.”
“Will you take me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not capable of taking you anywhere.” She swiveled the chair to face Mom. “Where’s their father? He’s not going to come barging in uninvited, is he?”
Mom regarded her steadily. “I can guarantee he will not.”
“Are they noisy?” asked Mrs. Bellamy.
“They’re kids. They make noise.”
“I imagine they’re messy, as well.”
Ruby walked over to their mother and looked Mrs. Bellamy in the eye. She was still acting scared, but intensely determined as she faced the old woman. “Last year at the end of first grade, I got the Neat as a Pin award.”
The old lady returned the steady gaze. “What about this year?”
“I’m working on it. But Shelley Romano is in my class, and she’s giving me a run for my money.”
Mrs. Bellamy glared at the kid with dragon eyes. Yet buried beneath the fierce glare was something Cara recognized—a glimmer of humor.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting your own room.”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
“And your own bathroom?”
Ruby relented. “We could share.”
“Why don’t you finish telling us about your expectations,” Mom suggested gently.
“I expect each day to be no different from the last. My schedule is quite simple.” She rattled everything off in a brusque, bitter tone. “I wake up at nine each morning and have coffee. Then I’m bathed and dressed for a late breakfast. Lunch is at one o’clock and dinner at seven-thirty. I’m in bed by ten. Any questions?” She seemed to be daring them.
No one spoke. Then, to Cara’s surprise, Ruby raised a tentative hand.
“Yes?” demanded Mrs. Bellamy. “What is it?”
“You asked if there were any questions,” Ruby said. “I have a question.”
“You have a question. And what might that be?”
“I was wondering... What do you do?”
Aw, jeez, thought Cara, watching the old lady’s face.
“I beg your pardon,” the old lady fired back. “What do you mean, what do I do?”
“I mean like, do you go to a job, or have meetings, or run errands? Stuff like that.”
It was a good thing Ruby was tiny and supercute, because it made people more tolerant of her.
But maybe not Mrs. Bellamy. She had the look of a fire-breathing dragon again. “Child, can’t you see I’m confined to this chair?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can see that.”
“Then you must understand that I can’t do anything. I can sit, and on a good day, I might have the tiniest bit of function in my arms. But I don’t actually have any good days, because I can’t do anything.”
“Oh.” Ruby simply stared at her, unperturbed. After the initial scare, the kid was showing some backbone.
“I’m open to suggestions, if you happen to have any.”
“You could sing,” Ruby said without missing a beat. “Or if you don’t like singing—”
“How did you guess?”
“You could listen to music. Or audiobooks—I used to listen to them before I learned to read. You could also tell jokes and talk on the phone if you put it on speakerphone. You could tell me all your favorite flowers, and I would plant them in the garden so you can have a bouquet whenever you want one.” She shrugged matter-of-factly. “I can think up more stuff and make you a list if you want.”
The silence in the room felt like a storm about to descend. Mom looked mortified. If Cara’s rudeness had put the job in jeopardy, Ruby had finished it off. Poor Mom.
Then Mrs. Bellamy blew into her tube, and the chair glided toward an arched doorway leading to a long hallway.
No one moved. Mrs. Bellamy stopped, and the chair swung back. “Well?” she asked, eyeballing Ruby. “Are you coming?”
Ruby blanched. “Coming where?”
“To see where you’ll be living.”
* * *
The job posting had simply stated that the offer included “ample living quarters.” Cara thought she knew what was meant by ample, but this was definitely more than ample.
Mrs. Bellamy led the procession down the hallway and through the house. Each room they passed was pretty and sparkling with the light reflecting off Willow Lake. The rooms had old-fashioned names like the conservatory, the library, the card room, the solarium. The place at the end of the hallway was known as the quarters.
The quarters turned out to be bigger than most apartments they had lived in. It was a sunlit suite of two bedrooms, separated by a fancy bathroom with black-and-white tile, a deep claw-foot tub and a separate shower surrounded by clear glass. There was an antique-looking desk and, best of all, a deck on the outside, with a view of the lake. Everything was as elegant as a set on Masterpiece Theatre.
Ruby acted as if she had entered the Magic Kingdom, not that anyone in the McCallum family could afford to go to Disneyland.
“This reminds me of Mary Lennox’s house,” Ruby exclaimed. She turned to Mrs. Bellamy. “Mary Lennox is the girl in—”
“The Secret Garden,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “I’m a cripple, not an ignoramus.”
Cara wondered if it was politically incorrect to say cripple when you were the one in the wheelchair.
“Do you like books?” Ruby asked her. “I love books, and I can already read chapter books all by myself. I still like reading aloud, though.”
“So do I. We will have to begin reading together,” said Mrs. B.
“It’s beautiful, Mom,” said Ruby. “Do we get to stay?”
Mrs. Bellamy swiveled to face Mom. For the first time, the old lady seemed to smile. It wasn’t an actual smile but almost. A lightness in her eyes, like the sun reflecting off the lake. And Cara realized old Mrs. Bellamy really wasn’t actually old, and she wasn’t a total sourpuss, after all.
“I was just about to ask you the same question.”
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