“Oh, that’s right,” her mother said. “Hey, that reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Did you ask them about the child support?”
Madeline’s improving mood took a turn south. “No,” she said. “We barely got past the fact that we had inherited the ranch. I met the sisters.”
“Oh yeah?” her mother said, sounding less interested.
“They seem okay.”
“I guess they’re happy about the inheritance,” her mother said with a slightly bitter tone.
Funny, but Madeline didn’t know how they felt. “I don’t really know. So far, we’ve only discussed the logistics.”
“Well, you need to discuss with someone the fact that Grant Tyler never paid me more than a few bucks of child support. There has to be someone you can ask.”
Mom made it sound like there was a bucket of money and all Madeline had to do was ask the keeper of the bucket for it. “Okay, Mom,” Madeline said. She was coming up on the road to the ranch. “Listen, I have to go. I’m going to lose you in a minute.”
“Well call me when you hear something.”
“Bye Mom,” Madeline said, and clicked off the phone, but she didn’t let go of it. She continued to hold it. Tight. So tight that her hand began to ache. She wanted to crush that damn phone and hurl it out the window. But she settled it for throwing it in the passenger seat.
Why did she bother? It was always that way with her mother—it was never about Madeline, it was about Clarissa. It had been that way forever, and Madeline wasn’t foolish enough to think her mother would ever change. Sometimes, she wished she could be free of her mother. Just… free. But the wish always disappeared in the reality of her situation, and the guilt would creep in. If Madeline was gone, who would take care of Clarissa? Who would go by and clean her house and make sure she hadn’t drunk herself into some stupor, or know that she’d gone off with some man and worry about her?
Her mother’s indifference was intolerable.
She stewed about it all the way out to the ranch.
At the house again, Madeline saw only one car in the drive. She got out, looked up at the blue sky and took a deep breath of pine-scented air. It was so fresh, so clean. So unlike Orlando.
With a sigh, she dipped into the backseat to grab her bag. When she emerged, she saw the dogs. They were coming out from beneath the porch, stretching long, shaking off their coats, as if they’d been waiting for her to arrive.
The biggest one, a black dog with an enormous square head, was the first to advance, wandering over, his snout in the air. Madeline stood very still, hoping he’d walk past. But he didn’t—he stopped to have a good sniff of her shoes and trousers. “Nice doggy,” she murmured.
The dog behind the big one began to wag his tail when she spoke, and trotted over, nosing in beside the larger one. The other two followed a moment later, and all four of them sniffed her, crowding her. “All of you. All of you are nice doggies, very nice doggies,” Madeline said, backing up against the car as the dogs closed in. The smallest of them sat up and put his paws on her thigh, and the big one had the audacity to stick his snout in her crotch.
“Okay, okay,” she said, stiffening. “That’s it. Shoo. Shoo, shoo, shoo—”
“Hey! Get back to the garage!” she heard Libby shout.
Madeline’s head jerked up along with the dogs’ heads. Four tails began to wag, and the dogs bounded around to the corner of the garage, where Libby had just emerged, carrying a plastic bucket and a mop. She was dressed in cutoff jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she’d parked a pair of sunglasses there, too, as if she’d only just arrived and had rushed to the garage to get the mop.
“Go, get!” she said sternly, and the dogs loped off, their tails high.
Libby smiled sympathetically at Madeline, who was still plastered up against her car. “Their bark is worse than their bite, you know. You really don’t need to be afraid of them.”
“I’m not afraid,” Madeline said, although it was apparent that she was. She relaxed a little, leaned down to brush dog slobber off her trousers. It didn’t brush off. She glanced at the bucket and mop Libby held. “Was there an accident or something?”
“Huh?” Libby asked, and then looked down. She laughed. “No. I’m just helping out.” To Madeline’s puzzled look she added, “I told Jackson I would clean up. You know, for the Johnson reunion. That house hasn’t been cleaned in I don’t know how long.”
“Can’t he get someone to come and clean it?”
“I don’t mind,” Libby said, and started for the house.
“Are you by yourself?” Madeline called after her.
“Just me!” Libby said airily, and bounded up the stairs, disappearing inside.