Condemn Me Not (11 page)

Rebecca
scowled.  “I’m serious.  Don’t you ever wish you went to work—
did
something
with your life?”

It
was a loaded question, weighted with lead and steel, the blackest of iron.  Certainly
not gold.  Rebecca wasn’t admiring her job title of “Mother.”  She held it in
disdain.  It wasn’t coated in luster and prestige.  It didn’t hold intrigue and
romance.  It carried no financial compensation, no shiny accolades.  The reward
in Claire’s life was intangible.  Invisible to the inexperienced eye.  No, her
reward was lodged deep within.  It was found in the everyday time she spent
with her children, the every night intimacy she shared with her husband.  Her
life was about living and loving, not money and recognition.

Rebecca’s
eyes glittered with need.  “I want a
life
, Mom.  A real life where I go
places and do things, not wait on my family hand and foot.”

Stinging
from the comment, Claire allowed her hands to fall away.  Rebecca may as well
have slapped her across the face, for the pain of her words felt the same. 
However unintended, the judgment hurt.  She never expected this sort of
appraisal from her daughter, the beautiful young woman maturing before her very
eyes, the one she was so proud of, the one she’d planned on spending the rest
of her life getting to know, continuing to love.  Their relationship was
special and unique.  It was a closeness shared only between mother and daughter. 
Claire couldn’t fathom that Rebecca didn’t understand the significance, feel it
to her very core the way she did.

Clearly,
Rebecca had no concept of what it was like to be a wife and mother, what it
meant to find fulfillment in nurturing a family.  But how could she?  She was
merely a child.

“I
mean, don’t me wrong,” Rebecca said shortly, stepping away from her.  “I’m glad
you did it.  I’m glad that you stayed home, but it’s not what I want.  Not for
myself,” she added quietly, and tucked her hands into the front pockets of her
jeans.

Claire
didn’t hear the feckless apology.  She was still lingering in the stupor of
misconception.  Rebecca was her mature child, the one she believed understood
and valued her contribution as wife and mother.  Claire fixed her gaze on Rebecca. 
Did she really have no clue what her life meant in real terms?

REBECCA
AND MARIAH

Per
Claire’s instructions, Rob breezed in through the front door of his sister’s home
with an obligatory, “Knock, knock.”

Rebecca
looked up from the couch.  “Hey, Uncle Rob.”

Sitting
on the opposite end, her best friend Mariah grazed him in fleeting
acknowledgment.  The girls looked remarkably alike.  Long, straight hair fell past
their shoulders, partially covering brand name logos emblazoned across their
T-shirts, each layered with a plaid flannel shirt, opened to the waist.  The
pair was flipping through colorful pages of celebrity magazines, each perched
on either end of the sofa, one leg folded beneath them.

Rob
smiled.  The teens were twin images.  “Well if it isn’t Josalee Wales and her
sidekick, Belle Starr.”

“Very
funny, Uncle Rob,” Rebecca scolded playfully, but rewarded him with a sheepish
smile, the one accentuated by those precious dimples of hers.  The ones that dared
any man not to submit to her charms and fork over anything she demanded.  Mariah
looked up from the magazine she’d been thumbing through.

He
chuckled.  “Oh, I don’t know, I hear you two have caused quite a stir around
here.  Your mother is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“So
she called big brother to come manage damage control,” Rebecca replied
knowingly.

Mariah
seemed to take this as a warning and emptied her expression, closing the book
on her thoughts.

“And?” 
His gaze moved between them.  “Is that so bad?”

“No,
but it won’t make us change our minds.”

Rob
looked down at Rebecca.  “Are you the spokesperson for this here uprising?”

“I
can speak for myself, Mr. Alexander, and I agree,” Mariah piped up.  “It won’t
make us change our minds.”

Planting
hands to hips he declared, “And who said anything about changing your mind?”

“Isn’t
that what you’re here to do?” Rebecca asked, suspicion swirling through her
eyes.  “Didn’t Mom put you up to convincing us to do what
they
want us
to do instead of what we want to do?”

Rob
laughed.  Oh, but she was a smart one and knew her mother well.  “So what if
they did?  Far be it from me to interfere.”  He was here as peacemaker, to
bring the two sides together.  It was the mothers’ business where the lines
were drawn and who drew them.  He merely wanted to jumpstart the conversation
that had stalled at the gate.

Rob
moved to an arm chair and dropped down into the center of it.  His tired
middle-aged body thanked him for the sudden change in gravity with an audible
grunt.  Definitely time to give that gym membership another whirl, he mused. 
Taking in the girls’ defensive posture, he concluded they were no different
than a couple of young mares springing away from the first rider who attempted
to break them.  Fire and independence were admirable traits.

“Listen,”
he said.  “This is your life.  These are your decisions—decisions that will
become a turning point for your future.  Me?  Heck, I say go for it.  I like
independent thinkers and solo flyers.”  Turning to Rebecca, he asked, “Did your
mother ever tell you about my venture into the water business?”  He brightened
at the memory.  “Filtered water was the way to go, future of water
consumption.  Great opportunity.  It was a sure thing,” he went on, comfortable
in his position as storyteller.  “Who didn’t want clean water?  Everyone did
and I was going to be a millionaire by the time I was twenty-five.  I had it
all planned out.”  Rob panned the room of wood paneling and dark green walls
with his hands, the director staging a scene.  “I’d go door to door, selling,
installing, then expand from my neighbors’ doors to knocking city to city,
packing my pockets with orders.”  He regarded the girls with a suddenly sober
gaze.  “Clearly it didn’t work out as planned.”

“Just
because your dreams didn’t happen the way you wanted doesn’t mean ours will
work out the same,” Rebecca informed him.

“No,
it doesn’t.  But it’s something to think about.  Paris is a long way to travel
home if you decide to drop out.”

She
dipped her head.  “I’m not going to drop out.”

“And
I’ve got a plan,” Mariah spoke up, as though heading him off at the pass.

Rob
nodded, amused, but didn’t press.  “Good.  It’s good to have a plan.”

The
two stared at him expectantly.

“But
it’s also good to share that plan with the people closest to you.  The ones who
love you.”

Mariah
rolled her eyes and head in unison as Rebecca objected, “We tried that,
remember?  As I recall, it didn’t work out so well.”  She slapped her magazine
closed.

“That’s
because you put the cart ass backward on the horse.  Plans and discussions
happen before decisions are made—not after.”  The two girls wrinkled their
noses.  “And it stinks, same as a horse’s ass.  You plan, discuss, and
then
decide.”

When
neither budged, he smacked hands to his knees and leaned forward.  “You girls
want to be all grown up and independent, make your own choices?  Well, here’s
your first bump in the road.”

“More
like ditch,” Rebecca said glumly.

He
smiled at the adolescence oozing from her strident observation.  “Ditch, bump,
call it what you will, but it’s all the same.  You have a problem and you need
to handle it.”

She
struck him with a flippant glance.

“Like
a grown-up.”  He accentuated the term.  “You handle it like the grown-up you
want to be taken for.”

The
girls looked at each other, checking to be sure they were in tune.  Each
nodding, Rebecca said, “We are.  We’ve made our decision.”

“And
now everyone has to live with it, right?”

“Pretty
much.”  Mariah echoed the sentiment and opened her gossip rag.

Tough,
gritty, he could see this kid was interested in playing hardball.  “So what
happens when your boss decides to invest in your future by training you for the
job he hired you to do, only to have you up and leave, because you decided the
position he was grooming you for wasn’t quite what you wanted?”

Rebecca
answered, “I’m an artist, Uncle Rob.  I get my training in school.”

He
pulled his attention away from Mariah and directed his response to his niece. 
“Education doesn’t begin and end at the front door of your fancy school of
art.  It’s only the first step on a long and winding road.  You’ll be learning your
whole life—”  He raised a brow.  “At least you hope you will.”

“Well
I won’t have to worry about a boss,” Mariah pitched in.  “I plan to start my
own business where I’ll run the show.”

“Perfect.” 
He swiveled his spotlight to her.  “What happens when your employee up and
quits after you’ve invested thousands of dollars in him?”

She
leveled her gaze.  “I’ll fire him.”

“Fire
him?”  He laughed.  “You can’t fire him—he quit!”

“I
know what you’re doing, Uncle Rob, and it won’t work.”

“It
won’t, huh?”

The
two shook their heads in unison.

“Hm.” 
Rob settled back into his chair, the united front appealing to him in its
innocence, its determination.  “Let’s get one thing clear right up front.  I’m
on your side, okay?  I’m not here to change minds or appease emotions.”  And he
meant it.  That was their parents’ department.  With a teenage boy of his own,
he knew what it took to raise kids, and if Claire and Simone thought these two
were tough, they should try a go-round with Todd.  Between the boy’s hot rod
car and his bevy of girlfriends, he and his wife had ground their teeth to nubs
with worry and fury over his escapades!

But
boys were different than girls.  And he was talking to girls at the moment. 
Settling on the two young ladies before him, seated comfortably in a home that
had been built for family gatherings, he accepted they meant what they said. 
He didn’t doubt their intentions, tenacity or their ability.  But they were
kittens, babies.  They had no idea what lay ahead, though to say as much would
get him kicked out of the living room with the door slammed shut behind him. 
Better to begin as their friend.

“Okay,
give it to me straight, fast and juicy,” he said with a wink.  “And let’s see
if we can’t get this rodeo on the road.”  But as Rob listened to them unleash
their side of the story, the girls used terms like
I’m an adult now
. 
I
can make my own decision
. 
It’s my life and she needs to learn to accept
that fact
.  While all true, it would get them nowhere.  Throwing up
mistaken maturity in place of logic and reason was the quickest way to ramp up
a parent’s defensive mode and cause more harm than good.

Rebecca
finished with, “It’s an honor that I’ve even been accepted to La Sorbonne at
all.  She should be happy for me.”

“And
I should be admired for my courage to strike out on my own,” Mariah bucked.  “I
plan to be a career woman, just like my mom.”

Rob
smiled and wanted to add. 
Damn straight.  And admired for your gumption and
commitment when you’re forced to pick up the pieces of your ill-begotten plan
and start all over again.  Because darling, you are facing an uphill battle and
those skinny little legs of yours are going to trip and stumble
.

However,
as a rancher who’d been around the barn a few times, he swallowed his real
thoughts and submitted affably, “Mariah, you’re right.  It takes the courage of
confidence to start a business—at any age—and I think your recycle gig is an
incredible idea.  It’s exactly the right thing at the right time.  You’re
filling a need, making money, and saving the planet.  Perfect.  I love it.” 
Rob indulged in a private smile as Mariah swelled with pride, fanning a wall of
showy feathers like a peacock hot on the dating scene.  He turned.  “And
Rebecca, the admiration I have for you and your accomplishment goes without
saying.  You’re the most amazing young woman I know and always have been. 
You’re absolutely brilliant.”  She flashed a dimpled grin in light of his
praise, and he suppressed a rise of emotion.  She was definitely his favorite
of the bunch.  “But your parents aren’t hearing a word of it.”

Mariah
hardened.  “Exactly.”

“So
how do we make them see, Uncle Rob?  I want Mom to be proud that I’m going to
Paris, not angry.”

Rob
leaned forward, forearms to thighs.  “You make your argument with logic.”

Rebecca
fell back to the sofa cushion, crestfallen.  “That will never work.”

“Why
would you say that?” he asked, surprised by her automatic rejection.

“Because
Mom doesn’t care about logic.  She cares about control.  She doesn’t want me
out of her sight, like I have to check in with her at all times.”  She
frowned.  “She’s a bit needy that way.”