The next morning, I woke up to dirty dishes.
I made coffee, cleaned them, poured a cup of java, then went back to my room, showered and got ready to face the day.
I came out and went down the opposite hall.
I knocked loudly on Pippa’s door, didn’t open it and called through it, “I need you up, Olympia. In the kitchen. I want a word. Now.”
I walked down and did the same with Auden.
I went to the kitchen, prepared a travel mug and waited.
Sleepy, in their pajamas, looking cute and young and beautiful, my children came out and positioned themselves cautiously opposite the bar to me.
Neither of them met my eyes.
In their words, “whatever.”
“As it’s doubtful you wish to go to the auction with Josie and me, and I need to leave imminently, I’ll be doing that. Since I won’t be home, and you’ve made it clear neither of you wish to be here, there’s no reason for you to remain here while I’m gone. You may go home to your dad’s.”
Both their eyes widened and Pippa looked to Auden but Auden turned his wary gaze to me.
“Before you go, I’d like you to tidy your rooms, make your beds and please go through those piles as I asked. If you don’t, I’ll assume you don’t want any of those things and I’ll donate them to charity.” I looked to my daughter. “And if you truly don’t like your new bedclothes, your old ones are in the first guest bedroom. Just grab them and put them in your room. I’ll switch them out and deal with the new.”
I drew in breath, went to the counter, shoved my phone in my purse and hooked it over my shoulder.
As I did this, neither of my kids said anything.
I moved beyond the counter and stopped, turning back to them.
“I made grave mistakes,” I whispered and watched both their bodies lock. “I know this. I’ve admitted it. I’ve come here not to continue to do that but to get my family back. You’re my children and I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than my own life. I failed you and I intend to rectify that. I understand your anger. I don’t blame you for having it. All I ask is that you give me a chance. One last chance to show you that I’m sorry, to give you back the mom you love. The mom you want to be a part of your life. Because there is nothing in mine I want more than having you in it.”
They said nothing.
I took that too with a nod and finished it.
“I love you, honeys. Have a good day, take the cookies with you and I’ll see you in a month.”
And with that, I left.
*
Although Josie kindly didn’t comment on the fact I arrived at the auction without my children, it was still awkward.
But it was not the worst part of my day.
That had already happened.
In a different frame of mind, I would have enjoyed the auction.
Regardless of the fact that I was barely capable of functioning, I still found and bought a fabulous set of furniture—including a high-button-backed, leather rolling chair and a baronial desk—that would be perfect for the back room.
Not only that, I found a whimsical bedroom set that I bought for the guest bedroom. I’d need mattresses, but I envisioned a fanciful, beachy room that would give any guests I might eventually have (though few and far between, the only prospect being my brother and his family, only three of the four of them I’d actually want in my home) a tranquil, but exceedingly pretty, place to call their home away from home.
I arrived back at Cliff Blue at just after three, a couple of hours before my kids were supposed to leave me.
I also arrived back at an empty house.
They’d left the cookies.
They hadn’t gone through their piles of stuff.
But Olympia had not put her old bed things back in her room.
I texted them both to make certain they were good with me donating their things and added on Pippa’s that she wanted to keep her new linens.
Neither replied.
Chapter Seven
Picking up the Pieces
The next evening, I sat in my car and stared at the cineplex.
I did this concentrating.
And what I was concentrating on was not on the disastrous visit I’d had with my children that weekend.
No, I was concentrating on the fact that the auction furniture I bought would be delivered the next day and thus I could turn my mind to creating a tranquil, beachy, fanciful room that would delight the dearth of guests I would probably not be having.
I was also concentrating on my triumph that day at Dove House when I did not freak way the heck out during mealtime when Mrs. McMurphy clamped my wrist in her clawed hand, yanked me to her and looked at me with clear, light blue eyes, hissing, “I know you’re a spy.” Then she’d let me go only to drag a finger across her neck threateningly and declare, “I’m telling General Patton.”
Further, I was concentrating on the fact that right then, instead of going out and buying a teal Thunderbird with white upholstery and driving it to the nearest cliff where I would then drive right off it—considering I’d made such a mess of my own life, that was the only option open to me—I was going to a movie.