Balancing Act

chapter Nine


A state of undeclared cold war existed in the Bellamy cottage over the next few days. Rachel was in turns sullen and then ecstatic when Twigg spent time with her. Her eyes would fall sharply on her mother when she went out with Twigg to the ski slopes or the resort lodge for a few drinks and dancing. There was a gleam of triumph in Rachel’s eyes when Twigg would ask Rita to come with them and she would automatically refuse. “Isn’t he polite?” Rachel said on more than one occasion, and Twigg’s eyes would fall on Rita with dark questions in their depths.

At these times of Rachel’s brutal tactlessness, Twigg would watch Rita’s face pale and see a shard of pain pierce her eyes. He would feel the impulse to take her in his arms, to kiss away the hurt. He could easily find excuses not to spend time alone with Rachel, but was that really Rita’s answer? He didn’t believe it was. Rita had to learn to trust him and to believe in herself as an attractive, desirable woman. If she saw younger women as her competition, she must learn to deal with it even if one of those young women was her daughter. To ignore Rachel or to pretend to dislike or be bored by her would be a lie and unfair. He could only hope that the next time he invited Rita to join them she would accept his invitation.

Rita’s pain was sharp and acute and there was nothing to do for it. She took to insulating herself by cooking and cleaning and going to town with the laundry. Rachel knows, Rita guessed intuitively. She knows I’ve been sleeping with Twigg and she knows I care for him. And yet, it doesn’t deter her from flirting with him, almost seducing him right under my nose. Don’t do this to me, Rachel, she thought. Don’t force me to a choice, because right now, I don’t think I like you very much. Your “go for it” attitude should not include “going” for Twigg. Especially if you suspect he’s become my lover and is very special to me.

The fault was not Twigg’s. Rachel usually got what she went after. The captaincy of the cheerleaders, the big man on campus, the right job, the right friends. Once Rachel set her sights, there was no stopping her. How could Twigg be blamed? Rachel was young, vital, and exciting. And so very, very determined.

On Thanksgiving Day Rita was peeling carrots for dinner by the kitchen sink when she lifted her head and looked out the window. At the end of the property was a small gully. When the children were little they used to ride their sleds down the hill and then squeal with delight when they toppled into the gully. Rachel, cherry-red parka brilliant against the snow, was sledding down the hill, knowing full well she would topple over. Twigg was still on top of the hill, head thrown back, laughing.

As predicted, Rachel toppled, Twigg fast behind her. It was inevitable that he would lift her to her feet and that his lips would find hers. Or was it Rachel who leaned into Twigg’s embrace? She stared a moment longer, her eyes misted, and she quickly moved away from the window. She didn’t see Twigg push Rachel away, nor did she see him lift his eyes in the direction of the kitchen window. She wasn’t sure what she felt, was uncertain as to what she should do. When in doubt, do nothing, she told herself. That’s nothing, as in zero. Zilch.

“Why did you do that?” Twigg asked Rachel, anger ripping his voice.

“Do what?” Rachel feigned innocence.

“You know. Why did you kiss me like that? I like to decide who and when I’m going to kiss someone.”

“For God’s sake. You almost sound like my mother,” Rachel pouted.

“Your mother happens to be a wonderful woman and a beautiful person and I value her friendship. In short, Rachel, I happen to like your mother, a lot more than I like you!”

Rachel was shocked; no one had ever said they preferred someone else to her. Much less her own mother! Not even her father, who adored his youngest daughter. “Have you been sleeping with my mother?” Rachel demanded. “You have, haven’t you! I thought so! It’s written all over her. Dear old Mummy. I can’t believe it! God, you aren’t much older than I am. What would you want with her?”

Twigg seized Rachel’s arm, shaking her furiously, his face set and murderous. “Don’t you talk about her that way. Why don’t you open your eyes and see her for the lovely woman she is rather than just seeing her as your mother? She’s been a friend to you, Rachel, and you’ve betrayed her, and I hope to God she never knows. What your mother and I mean to one another is no concern of yours. Is that clear?”

“Very clear,” Rachel hissed, the fury of rejection beating wild within her. Was it true what he said? That her mother was lovely and wonderful? How could it be? Rita was already in her forties! She was old! She was her mother!

“Why can’t you see her for the person she is, Rachel? Oh, I know you think you’re a grown woman, but you are also a selfish child. Perhaps you are woman enough to give of yourself to someone you love deeply. But all of us remain children, selfish children, where our parents are concerned, making demands for complete love and total attention, forgetting that our parents are people first and parents second. Think about it, Rachel.”

Rachel was humiliated. She didn’t need this man to tell her how to feel about her parents, much less how to feel about her own mother! “Very well, O lord and master, I will think about it!” she snapped, bowing from the waist in mock respect. “But before I do, tell me. Has my mother been properly grateful for the attentions of a young stud like you?”

At the rage suffusing his face, Rachel stepped backward. She hung her head in shame for her coarse remark. She liked Twigg and she loved her mother. It was only that she had never been rejected this way before, especially not in favor of her mother. Mothers were supposed to be self-sacrificing and interested only in their children’s happiness. They weren’t supposed to reach out and take that happiness for themselves.

“What you need, Rachel,” Twigg was saying, looming over her, “is a good swift kick in the ass. A pity someone hasn’t done it before now.”

“C’mon,” Rachel cajoled, “we were having such fun. Why spoil it? So okay, I’m sorry I got you in a clinch. I’ll even tell old Mummy it was me who trapped you. She saw us, you know. She was standing by the kitchen sink. Probably spying.”

“She wasn’t spying. Rita would never lower herself. That’s something you would do, isn’t it, Rachel?” His tone revealed his total disgust.

“If it was important to me, yes, I would!”

“What about trust and faith?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. The man hasn’t been born a woman can trust and believe. Look what my father did to her. Even my own father! And you call me a child, Twigg Peterson. You have some growing up to do yourself.”

Twigg clenched his fists. He wanted to push her down into the snow and rub her face in it till she screamed for mercy. “If men are like that, Rachel, it’s because of women like you. One more thing, if you so much as say one word about this incident to Rita, I swear you’ll have to deal with me. Make certain you understand; Rachel. I mean it. I won’t have Rita hurt.”

Rachel stared into his challenging green eyes. What she saw frightened her. “Okay, staunch defender of middle-aged women. Now that you’ve spoiled the day, I think I’ll go back to the house and read a book. A good book! None of that unrealistic crap my mother writes.”

“Why are your mother’s books so unrealistic, Rachel? Because she writes about relationships? Real people and their emotions and their love? Yes, I can see where that would seem unreal to you.”

Twigg flopped down onto the Magic Flyer and wrapped his arms around his snow-covered knees. He stared at the kitchen window for a long time, willing Rita to materialize. He felt there was a large hole in his stomach that was gradually sucking up his chest. Whatever he felt for Rita Bellamy was stronger than any emotion he had ever felt for another woman. She was warmth. She was comfort. She was intelligent and loving; she was Rita Bellamy. His love. A part of himself that could not be denied. They had searched for, found, and touched each other. Was that love? He grinned. Yes, he was in love, did love. This special, fragile woman whom he yearned to protect and yet realized he admired. He wanted her to fulfill herself as a woman, as a person. He wanted her to remain in charge of her own life; he only wanted to share it with her. There was no way around it. He wanted to love her.

It was a small word, according to Rita. It didn’t take much space on a page, yet it was awesome. It was a word capable of changing two lives, shaping the destiny of both.

Twigg dusted off his pants and then picked up the sled. He tramped up the hill toward the Bellamy cottage. He wasn’t sorry for the way he had spoken to Rachel. It was time someone set her straight. He leaned the sled against the side of the garage. He opened the kitchen door and shouted. “I’ll see you later, Rita.”

“Okay,” she called back from somewhere deep in the cottage. A sigh of relief escaped him. She sounded fine. Trust and faith. She trusted him, believed in him regardless of what she had seen through the window. That was what it was all about.





While the turkey basted itself, Rita curled herself into the deep love seat by the fire and started to read. She was surprised, after an hour or so, that she was really comprehending what she was reading. She wasn’t engulfed in the scene she had witnessed.

Rachel walked into the room carrying two cups of coffee. “When are we eating? I’m starved!” she complained.

“Then eat something. We’re not going to eat till around seven. That’s the time I told Twigg to come over.”

“Why did you invite him anyway?” Rachel snapped.

“I invited him because I wanted to invite him. The two of us certainly cannot eat a thirteen-pound turkey. Thanksgiving is for sharing or have you forgotten?”

“It depends on what you’re sharing.” Rachel snapped.

“Is that supposed to mean something in particular?” Rita asked evenly.

“It means whatever you want it to mean,” Rachel almost snarled.

Rita felt the most uncontrollable urge to slap her daughter and send her to her room. “Rachel, don’t talk in riddles. If you have something to say, I suggest you say it and get it over with,” Rita said levelly, her gaze keen and direct.

Rachel dropped her eyes. “For two cents, I’d leave and go back to the city, but the road to the highway is closed.”

Rita made a mental note to call Connie and ask her to have her son plow her out to the main road. Nothing must keep her from Charles’s game the next day.

“Why don’t you take a nap till dinner is ready. I’ll call you so you can mash the turnips.”

“Call me after they’re mashed. Let your friend Twigg do it, after all he’s freeloading, isn’t he?”

“No, he isn’t freeloading. I invited him. However, if you want to get into technicalities, I don’t recall inviting you. You called and announced that you were coming. Either keep a civil tongue in your mouth or don’t speak. I mean it, Rachel. I’ve had enough of your sly innuendos. If you want to say something, now is the time to say it. If not, stay off my space.”

Rachel stared at her mother, stunned at her words. She turned and fled as though a dog was snapping at her heels.

Exhausted, Rita fell back onto the couch. Damn, she hated confrontations. Especially with Rachel.

Twigg arrived early, eager to help with the last-minute preparations for dinner. He worked beside her in the small kitchen, sipping his wine and making small talk. Lord, how she enjoyed being with this man. She glanced up, seeing the window through which she had seen Rachel and Twigg kissing. It was dark now, mirroring Twigg and herself working happily side by side. Strange how the same window could look out to a hurt and look inward to a pleasure. Twigg followed Rita’s gaze, meeting hers in the dark glass. As if knowing what she was thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips against her hair. “They look happy, don’t they, that couple in the window. How lucky we are to be inside looking out.”

She leaned back against him, feeling his warmth and recognizing the sweet, fruity aroma of the wine on his breath. Is that what we are, she asked herself, a couple? Is that how he thinks of himself and me? She looked again, seeing them reflected there. He was tall, leaning over her, holding her. She fit into the circle of his arms so naturally, so willingly.

“It’s Thanksgiving, love,” he murmured against the side of her neck, “and we have many blessings to be grateful for.” His embrace held her fast and his lips found hers.

Yes, she thought, sighing, leaning against him, catching sight of the window again, there are many blessings, and the most precious one is you.

Dinner was delicious and enjoyable. Rita and Twigg talked animatedly, their eyes meeting and lingering. Rachel picked at her food, her mind otherwise occupied. From time to time Rita looked at her daughter and forced her into polite conversation.

Whatever had happened between Twigg and Rachel out there in the backyard, Twigg seemed to have handled it. Rachel was subdued and thoughtful but not hostile. At least not hostile or angry toward Twigg, Rita thought disdainfully. I’m another matter entirely. Somehow, I’ve disappointed her and I’m not certain how. She wondered, not for the first time, does Rachel guess that Twigg and I are lovers? Is that the source of the disappointment? That my morals are somehow lacking, unworthy of a mother? How easily these young people decide what’s right for them and at the same time deplore and condemn the same values in their parents. It doesn’t matter. Not really. Rachel, being Rachel, will soon come to terms with it. While the girl has never displayed prolonged loyalty or interest in any one person or thing, she also doesn’t harbor ill feelings and anger. Whatever, it’s Rachel’s problem and she’ll have to deal with it.

The conversation drifted around to the football game the following afternoon. “Why don’t you go with Mother?” Rachel asked Twigg snidely. “I’m certain she’d love taking you with her and introducing you to all the family.”

Twigg’s eyes met Rita’s. “In the first place, I have not been invited. Secondly, I have work to do.” Silently, he told Rita that he realized it would complicate things if he were to go with her. She needed this time with Charles and her own feelings.

Wordlessly, Rita thanked him.

“How about a game of chess, Twigg?” Rachel asked as he took his pie plate to the sink.

“Later. I want to help Rita with the dishes. I know those three-inch nails of yours don’t get themselves into dishwater,” he teased.

Not for the first time Rita was aware that he usually referred to her by her name instead of saying, “I want to help your mother with the dishes.” She was Rita Bellamy, to Twigg. Not Rachel’s mother. How nice, just to be herself.

Later, Twigg played chess with Rachel while Rita busied herself with her needlepoint. She would feel his eyes fall on her, and when she lifted her head she could read the message they spoke.



When Rita awoke the next morning she looked outside. Connie had been as good as her word. Her oldest son, Dick, had arrived sometime during the wee hours and plowed the road.

Rachel could go back to the city now, if she chose. Yet Rita knew her daughter would still be in the cottage when she returned. Perhaps she herself would spend the night in a motel rather than make the long trip back on the same day.

Twigg was waiting for her when she drove the car around the bend. Rita rolled down the window. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked, laughing at his rumpled hair and the stubble of beard on his chin.

“I couldn’t let you go off without telling you to drive carefully and to hurry back. You’re very special to me, lady, I hope you know that.”

Interstate 80 was free of snow, and Rita felt her shoulder muscles relax. It would be a good trip. She switched on the radio and heard Kenny Rogers singing “Lady.” She grinned, remembering Twigg’s departing words. She was glad he had kept it light between them. She didn’t want any declarations of love and promises that couldn’t be kept. Being “special” could mean so many things. It didn’t necessarily mean love.

“Do you expect to be hurt?” Connie had asked her. Rita pulled her thoughts away from Twigg. She should be thinking about Brett and what she would say when she saw him. It had been a long time. Because of the tickets Charles had sent them, they would be sitting next to one another all through the game. Somehow, she would face it when the time came. She wouldn’t worry about it now. Instead, she concentrated on Kenny Rogers and wished he would sing the song again.

Stopping at a restaurant for lunch, Rita delayed and lingered over coffee so she would arrive at the stadium just before game time. There was no point in arriving early and bearing up under the strain of spending all her time with Brett and his new wife.

Walking outside into the chill after the warmth of the restaurant, she was glad she had worn her mink jacket and high, fleece-lined boots. She wished Twigg was with her so the two of them could cheer for Charles. Twigg would like her son, and Charles would like Twigg. Perhaps, at first, there would be some resentment, but later they would learn to appreciate one another. She laughed uneasily. Whatever gave her the idea there would ever be a “later”? Now, and only now, was all that was important.

It was like old home week when Rita took her seat in the crowded college stadium. Surprisingly, Camilla and Tom were there. Brett hadn’t yet made his appearance. Camilla wrapped her arms around her mother. “Tom said we had to come and root for Charles. We had a devil of a time getting tickets though. We’re two rows ahead of you.”

“I’m so glad you came, honey. Charles will be so happy to have all of us here. He has a girl,” Rita whispered. “He’s bringing her up to the cottage next weekend.”

“We had our dinner with Tom’s folks. I’m glad I came, Mom. Family is, and should be, very important.” Rita steeled herself for Camilla’s diatribe on family closeness, complete with charged and veiled statements concerning one’s duty to family solidarity. Instead, she heard her oldest daughter say, “The kids miss you, Mom. Let’s not be angry with one another. Maybe one of these days I’ll understand and I’ll handle it better. Just hang in there with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Rita said softly, hardly daring to believe her ears. “You’d better take your seat. I’ll see you later. They’re tuning up for the ‘National Anthem.’ ”

Tom put his arm around Camilla and looked at her approvingly. He leaned over from his tall, rangy height to plant a kiss on Rita’s cheek. “Do you know how wonderful you look?” he asked.

She laughed; the sound was carefree and almost girlish to her own ears. “I feel wonderful, Tom.”

“Daddy isn’t here?” Camilla complained.

“He will be, don’t worry. He probably had trouble getting a parking space. Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket.”

“We did too. Keep it, it must be all of ten degrees.”

There were three minutes to play in the first quarter when Brett arrived with his wife. Rita’s eyes widened in surprise as he ushered Melissa past pairs of knees. “Rita,” he said pleasantly, “this is Melissa.”

“Hello.” Rita smiled at the young, dark-haired woman. How young, was her first thought. How pretty and wholesome, was her second. How very, very pregnant, was her third! It was a shock, but not unpleasant. Funny, Camilla had never mentioned Melissa’s pregnancy. Did she think her mother would be devastated by the news? Truthfully, Rita knew that only months ago it would have sent her into a panic and a depression. Now, since Twigg, she had gained a different perspective.

Brett looked happy. Happier than she had seen him in years. Contented. A contentment and excitement that she had once been responsible for, when she was young and hugely pregnant. And Brett looks younger too, she thought, softer and somehow more mellow. He’s not fighting for his identity; his ego is intact. How awful it must have been for him when he was so insecure and uncertain of his place as her husband, of his masculinity and position as head of the household. Her career and its rewards had stripped him of that, she knew. Money was freedom and, according to Brett, possessed a masculine gender. Freedom was for men, just like power. She was glad to see he wasn’t shattered by the changes she had wrought in his life. He had been and still was very important to both her and their children.

Melissa glanced up at Brett when he tucked a thick blanket around her knees. She adores him, Rita saw. Did I look up at him that way? Of course I did, when all I wanted from him was love and security. As soon as I wanted more, like support and understanding and respect, that’s when he began to balk. Men like Brett revered women, they didn’t respect them—there was a difference. Like gallant, white knights their image of themselves only shines through a woman’s adoring eyes.

A sudden thought stunned Rita. Brett hadn’t deserted her after all! He hadn’t divorced her because he had found her lacking. No, to the contrary, he had found Rita, the young, adoring, dependent Rita all over again in Melissa! His new wife was probably the same person Rita had been at the same tender age!

Pleased with her realization, Rita sat back and watched the playing field. How nice to know that Brett had loved the life he had shared with her enough that he had actively sought to duplicate it. She had not been so much a failure as a wife and mother if he sought the same things in Melissa. Brett was positively beaming, proud as a rooster and just a little pathetic. What would happen, Rita wondered, if Melissa proved to be a “late bloomer” as she was?

“Are Camilla and Tom here?” Brett asked. “Where’s Rachel?”

“Camilla and Tom are two rows ahead of us. Rachel is still up at the lake. She wants to do some skiing.” She saw Brett’s eyes go to his wife and her chattering teeth. Poor thing, her coat barely covered her stomach. She must be freezing. Rita removed the heavy plaid robe from her knees and nudged Brett. “Here. Give this to Melissa. She’s cold.”

Brett rewarded her with a smile. How well she remembered those smiles. They used to light up her life during those early years. When had smiles ceased to be enough?

Melissa seemed a bit wary of taking her husband’s ex-wife’s blanket. “I’ll just go down and squeeze in between Camilla and Tom,” Rita said. “It was nice to see you, Brett. Very nice. Melissa, much happiness with your new baby.” The young girl nodded and tried to smile, pulling the blanket closer around her. “Brett, why don’t you take Melissa home? This is no time for her to get sick. I’ll explain to Charles. He’ll understand.”

“If you think he’ll understand, okay,” Brett said, relieved.

“Before you go, can you spare a minute for Camilla and Tom? They’d like to say hello.”

Brett looked at Rita, thinking how wonderful she looked. Fresher, more confident . . . something he couldn’t put a finger on. There was a style about her, a certain flair . . . a man. It was a man! The thought saddened him. Rita had so much to offer a man, this he knew from experience. Warmth, tenderness, loyalty. Why hadn’t she been able to offer him those things when they were married? Why had she insisted on pursuing that silly career? Melissa was holding on to his arm to keep her balance. No matter, Brett thought with certainty. He had Melissa now, and this time he was going to be certain this wife didn’t get crazy ideas!

Camilla was stunned when she looked up at her father and stepmother. Her father hadn’t said a word about the baby. Clearly, talking on the phone every day and seeing were two different things.

Melissa and Camilla hugged and Brett and Tom shook hands. It was obvious to Rita that they all shared warm feelings for one another and she realized she was glad. Brett had divorced her, not the children, and it would be unfair to expect them to take sides against their father. Brett lovingly assisted Melissa up the stairs to the exit, a protective arm about her. Camilla approached Rita excitedly. “My God, Mother, my kids will be that baby’s nieces and nephews. Tom, say something!” Her husband grinned at Rita and went back to watching the game.

“Mother, say something.”

Rita laughed. “Camilla, your father is deliriously happy. Let him enjoy it. You may feel uncomfortable for a while, but eventually you’ll get used to the idea. Now watch your brother; he has the ball.”

After the game in the Knife and Fork, the campus coffee shop, Rita waited along with Camilla and Tom for Charles and his girl, Nancy.

“I wonder what she’s like,” Camilla speculated.

“I’m kind of curious myself.” Rita smiled.

“If I know Charles, she’s probably centerfold material. He always goes for the flash.” Tom grinned.

Charles walked in, his hair damp and slicked back. A young girl in a heavy jacket with a hood was beside him. How big he looked. How tiny she looked. There was an air of protectiveness about Charles when he gently pushed the girl forward. “Mom, Camilla, Tom, this is Nancy Ames. Nancy, this is my family. Where’s Dad?”

Rita quickly explained. She dreaded the look on her son’s face. Instead, she saw it split in an ear-to-ear grin. “You’re kidding! That’s great. Maybe it’ll be a boy and I can take him under my wing.”

Nancy slid into the booth. “I’ve read all your books, Mrs. Bellamy. I think they’re super. All the girls in the dorm read them. We don’t pass them around either; we each buy our own.”

“That’s so nice to hear.” Rita smiled. Charles preened. His girl read his mom’s books and liked them. Hell, what more could a guy ask for?

Was she mistaken or was there a new note of respect in Camilla’s eyes? “Are we all set for this weekend, Mom?” Charles asked.

“All set. I even went out and bought two snowmobiles. His and hers, so to speak. That snow is going to be around for a long time. I’m glad you’re coming up, Charles. I have a friend I want you to meet. His name is Twigg Peterson. I think you’re going to like him.” The statement bubbled out of her and she realized how good it felt to say those words. Charles and Twigg would like one another, and the thought pleased her. She wanted her children to know the man in her life. Seeing Brett again with her new confidence and this sense of herself had relieved her of the burden of the past. She could be free of old memories and ancient hurts and could look to the future. She could believe in herself and could trust in love. Twigg’s love.

“I’d like to spend more time with you, but I have a long drive ahead of me. Camilla, call me next week. Remember, any time you want to come up, the door is open. Tom, take care of her for me. Nancy, it was nice meeting you. When you come up, I’ll have a copy of the bound galleys for my new book. Perhaps you’d like to see what a book looks like before it gets to the bookstore.”

“Charles, do you need anything?” she whispered in his ear as she hugged him.

“I’m okay, Mom. Dulcie sent the brownies. In fact, she sends a batch regularly now. I’ll see you on the weekend. This Twigg guy, is he the one Rachel bent my ear about?”

“One and the same.” Rita laughed.

“She struck out, huh?” Charles whispered in her ear. Rita shrugged. “You always were a class act, Mom.” He kissed her soundly on both cheeks and then walked her to the door. “Drive carefully. It’s supposed to snow again this evening.”

“I’ll be careful and, Charles, I like your girl.”

“I knew you would. See you, Mom.”

“See you, son.”