Angela’s smile slowly faded as she began fidgeting with the covers. It reminded Laura of that awkward “if you’re having sex, you should be on birth control” talk she had given her when she was fifteen.
“I think moms are supposed to give the bride advice on her wedding eve night,” she said, grabbing Laura’s hand. “At least that’s what that little booklet that came with my mother-of-the-bride dress said.”
Laura snuggled into the bed and braced herself for a pep talk.
“I raised an independent girl, and I wanna make sure she stays that way, even though she’s gettin’ married.” She pushed a lock of hair behind Laura’s ear. “It’s something I’ve made a point to do myself, and I’m so happy I did it. I know you’re gonna take this the wrong way, but please don’t. The best advice I ever got was from my crazy aunt Mary.”
Laura smiled. Crazy Aunt Mary had died in a freak horseback riding accident on the family farm. She had only seen pictures and heard stories about her but knew her mom secretly worshipped this chain-smoking free-spirited hippie.
“Well, when I was fifteen, she pulled me aside at the Sugarcane Festival Fais-dodo and told me that when I was married, I needed to have enough money in my savings to leave my husband if I ever wanted to.”
“That’s pretty bleak,” Laura said.
Angela pursed her lips. “I think she was in a horrible marriage—her husband was a jerk to all of us, so I could only imagine how he was to her behind closed doors. But she didn’t work, so it’s not like she had any money to just pick up and leave him.”
“But Brian’s not a jerk,” Laura said, narrowing her eyes and wondering what her mom was getting at.
“I think you’re missing the point here.” Her mom laced her fingers through Laura’s. “It was always important that I work so that I could have my own savings account, just in case.”
“But you and Dad have an amazing marriage . . . right?” Laura asked, confused.
“Heck yeah we do!” Her mom held her shoulders back proudly. “But there’s a certain security and confidence to having my own money and my own worth. I love your daddy, but I also love feeling independent and capable. If the worst ever comes to pass, I’ll be all right.”
At the time, Laura hadn’t been sure about her mom’s advice. She understood wanting to feel independent, but somehow it felt like giving up before they even got started. But after everything that had happened tonight with Brian, she wondered if it wasn’t a bad idea.
For the first time since they moved back to Toulouse, Laura admitted honestly to herself that the surgery wasn’t a guarantee. What would happen if Brian’s knee wasn’t fixed and he didn’t go back to college? Not only would his future be ruined, but so would Laura’s. She’d hitched her star to someone else’s wagon, only for all the wheels to fall clean off.
27
madison
“ARE YOU OKAY, honey?” Allen asked, joining Madison at the kitchen table. Her dad had caught her staring off into space, her Cheerios getting soggy in the bowl of milk.
She wanted to say no, to tell him everything about George. When she’d handed her dad that $2,500 last week, he’d been blown away and immediately asked where it had come from. She knew he’d never accept it if he discovered what she’d done, so she’d lied and said she’d pawned some of her thrift store jewelry and one of the necklaces she got for a dollar turned out to be real pearls with 18 karat white gold.
She hadn’t seen or talked to George since the pawnshop incident. Every time she picked up the phone to text him an apology, her fingers literally felt numb, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted to tell her dad about Claire, too. She wondered if she did the right thing by telling Claire what she saw in the first place. Maybe she could have spared her cousin the pain.
“I’m fine,” she said instead. After all, her dad had bigger things to worry about, like his next doctor’s appointment and his latest test results.
Allen put a frail hand on her shoulder. “By the way, your mom and I ran into George last night at the grocery store.”
Madison’s eyes snapped up.
“He was in the frozen food aisle looking like kind of a wreck.” He crossed his leg. “Baggy eyes, disheveled clothes, messy hair . . .” Allen put his arm around her chair. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
She looked down at herself. “Who . . . me?” she asked defensively. “It’s seven in the morning. What do you expect?!”
Allen snickered. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but he asked about you.”
“He did?” Her heart started beating faster. “What did he say?”
“I believe it was, ‘How’s Madison?’?” He smiled.
She slumped down in her chair. “Oh, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Why don’t you go visit him today? It seems like he could really use the company.” Allen patted her on the knee.
She dangled her spoon in the bowl. “What gave you that impression?”
“The fact that he was buying twenty frozen dinners for one.” He took a sip of coffee and raised a brow at her. With a sigh, Madison stood up and threw her leftover cereal in the sink, the little mushy Os sticking to the scratched-up stainless steel, then kissed her dad on the cheek before trudging to her room.
After sitting on her bed, stewing over the possibility of going to see George for half an hour, she finally walked to the bathroom and took a shower. The scent of her eucalyptus body wash was relaxing, but she couldn’t wash the guilt away.
Stop thinking about it, she kept telling herself. But George’s face was still there, as was the memory of him driving away in his Porsche looking heartbroken. And beyond the guilt . . . if she was being honest, she missed him. Odd as it was, she’d really enjoyed his company. She’d liked his phone calls and how he’d always say, “Just callin’ to say howdy.” She liked sitting on his porch and hearing about his travels abroad, or making him laugh with stories about her epic fishing trips with her dad. She closed her eyes and shampooed her hair, the water and suds running down her cheeks. The pipe squeaked in the wall, causing scalding hot water to run from it and burn her skin. “Owwww!” she screamed out loud, jumping out of the water. “I deserve that . . .” she muttered under her breath.
As she dried herself off and combed her knotty hair, she stared at her reflection, her dark eyes looking back at her as if they, too, were judging her. And why wouldn’t they? She was scum. No, she was that nasty mold that developed on top of the scum in her bathroom.
I can’t take this anymore, she said to herself, running to her bedroom, stepping into a pair of ratty jeans, pulling on a black sweatshirt, and grabbing her keys.