The Ugly Truth (3 page)

“You didn’t tell me your mom’s house was purple.” Purple, mind you. Not violet or lavender or plum. This was bright, unadulterated purple.

There was silence from the other seat, and I looked toward my friend. Madison stared open-mouthed toward the house.

I climbed out of the car, and I saw Madison was doing the same thing on the other side. “It looks really nice,” I said.

Madison, who still stared open-mouthed toward the place, didn’t answer.

A pink Cadillac pulled in beside us, and a balding middle-aged man in a spandex Spiderman costume minus the mask, climbed out. My camera was in my hand before I thought about it, and I snapped shots of this out-of-the-ordinary person. He aimed a smile in my direction before turning to my open-mouthed friend.

“You must be Madison,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he held out his hand to her. “I’m Henry, your mother’s boyfriend.”

As I watched Maddie’s eyes widen even more, I was suddenly very, very glad I’d come.

I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

Chapter 2

The front door of the purple house opened, and a tall, beautiful woman stepped out onto the porch.

“Margaret,” the man in the Spiderman suit said. “Look who’s here!”

“Madison! I’m so glad to see you!” The woman in the doorway hurried out to embrace her daughter.

“Hi, Mom. I’m sorry I haven’t visited in so long.”

Maddie’s voice struck such a downcast note; the sound of it made a tiny hole in my heart.

“You’ve been busy. I understand.” Margaret kept an arm around Madison as she turned. “And you must be Stephie. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” I smiled toward the vibrant woman, whose light brown hair had only a touch of gray. Her bright smile, her khaki pants and crisp sapphire blue blouse all complimented the aura of a woman who seemed far too young to have a daughter a mere year and eight months from thirty. I thought of the workouts and beauty treatments my mother endured in an effort to hold back the signs of passing time. I was sure she’d envy this woman who so naturally radiated youth.

Margaret beckoned to us. “Come on in, the mosquitoes will eat us alive out here.”

“It’s purple,” Madison said, staring hard toward the house.

Margaret chuckled as she wrapped an arm around her daughter, and edged her toward the front porch.

Spiderman held the door as I followed Maddie and her mother inside. They’d moved through the small foyer and turned to go into the living room when Madison suddenly stopped, causing me to bump into her.

“Mom?”

The shock and disbelief in her voice had my curiosity bouncing up and down, and I edged around Maddie’s body in an effort to see the room.

It was like stepping outdoors on a bright, happy, spring day. The walls were sky blue, and the slipcovers were mint green with bright yellow flowers. The coffee and end tables were rich brown with tiny flowers painted up the legs as if they had grown there.

There were real flowers in pots, sending out a soft, sweet scent throughout the room. The curtain fabric was a colorful mosaic of sunflower yellow, sage green, brilliant indigo, and sunset red. It was gorgeous, and the artist part of me was ecstatic. I raised my camera to capture the sight. “This is great! Did you decorate it yourself?”

“Henry helped me.”

“I helped with the grunt work, but the decorating was all her,” Henry said, pride obvious in his voice. “Margaret’s a very artistic person.”

“Well, thank you!” Margaret said, as her face went pink.

The woman was blushing. How cool!

Madison stared at her mother, sort of like she was wondering who this person was. “Mom, could I speak with you for a moment?” Her voice was pitched high enough as to be reminiscent of her earlier squeals.

“I made some iced tea,” Margaret said. “You can help me bring it in here.” Together they walked into the kitchen, leaving Spidey and me alone in the living room.

“Nice suit,” I told him, as we made ourselves at home on the couch.

“Thank you,” he said. “The children love it.”

Huh? “Children?”

“I volunteer at the children’s hospital a couple of days a week. I just came from there.”

“That’s so great!” There was clearly more to this man than met the eye, and I immediately wanted to get to know him better. “I couldn’t deal with sick kids,” I told him. “I volunteer at a homeless shelter, and we get children in there way too often. Breaks my heart.”

“Breaks mine too, but I love the feeling that maybe I can bring some happiness into the little darlings’ lives.”

“You’re a good man...Henry, right?”

He held out a hand to her. “Henry Thomas at your service.”

“Like the kid in
E.T
.?”

He chuckled. “You know, I’ve never seen that movie.”

“You should, it’s really great.” I shook his hand. “And my name is Stephie.”

“Stephie what?”

“My last name’s Stephanova. Stephie’s a nickname.”

“So what’s your first name?”

Oh good grief, you can’t slide anything past these people. “I prefer to just go with Stephie, if you don’t mind.”

He inclined his head as he gave me a soft smile. “Whatever the lady wants.”

A real gentleman? I thought they were creatures of legend. Like Bigfoot. I gave him my very best smile. “Thank you, kind sir.”

I studied his warm eyes for a moment, but quickly became uncomfortable and looked away. When I did, I caught a glimpse of a picture above the fireplace, and crossed the room for a better look. The painting was clear, colorful, and almost impressionistic with its soft edges and exaggeration of features. “This is great!”

“Margaret’s a talented artist.”

Margaret.
I leaned closer, and sure enough, the signature read, “Margaret Clark.”

Henry came to stand beside me. “I’m very proud of her.”

“You should be. This is amazing.”

The sound of footsteps announced the return of Madison and her mother, who carried trays with iced tea and snacks. Maddie looked a bit teary-eyed, but Margaret was smiling.

“This painting is wonderful, Mrs. Clark,” I said. “You’re very talented!”

“Thank you, and please call me Margaret.”

“You’re painting again, Mom?” Madison’s voice sounded like she’d been sucking on a helium-filled balloon.

“I started again about a year ago,” Mrs. Clark…Margaret…said.

“I encouraged her,” Henry said. “Talent like hers shouldn’t go to waste.”

Madison’s gaze swung to Henry, and I could see distrust and barely restrained hostility flash in her eyes.

“Henry volunteers at the children’s hospital,” I told her. “That’s why the costume.”

Madison didn’t say a word, she just stared at him.

Henry gave a small, sad sigh. “The only bad thing about my volunteer work is it takes time from my business. I need to get going.”

He gave Margaret a quick kiss on her lips, then nodded toward Madison and me. “Glad to meet you.”

“Glad to meet you too,” I told him, and I meant it.

Madison muttered, “Me too,” as Henry left.

Margaret closed and locked the front door, then turned back to us. “I know you don’t like me seeing him, Maddie, but Henry has been very good for me.”

Madison spun and glared at her mother. “How can you betray Daddy like this?”

“I loved your father very much, but he’s been gone
ten years
.”

“I don’t care how long it’s been, he’ll always be my father.” Madison spun and tore up the stairs like a banshee was right on her heels.

The sigh that blew from Margaret seemed to push out all her stuffing. Her head drooped forward and her eyes closed.

I decided to venture a try. “This festival thing is hard on her.”

“I know,” Margaret whispered. “And I know this isn’t the best time to spring something like her mother’s boyfriend on her, but that isn’t really something you can talk about over the phone or in a letter.” She looked at me then. “We’d thought Henry would be gone before you two got here, but he got held up at the hospital so he didn’t get here until you were already here and...” She shrugged. “Well, we’d decided we weren’t going to hide our relationship from Maddie. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.”

“Henry seems like a very nice man.”

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “He’s a sweetheart.”

She motioned toward the couch, and we sat. “Virgil died and Maddie left for college soon after. I felt like I’d lost all direction in my life. I’d been wife and mother for so long I’d forgotten who I was. For a long time I just floated aimlessly through my life. Then I got to know Henry, and he encouraged me to think outside the box. For a long time we were just friends.” She shrugged. “Then one night we kissed, and it was magic.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

She looked at me then, almost as if she’d forgotten I was there. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you aren’t interested in an old woman’s rambling.”

“You are
so
not old.”

“To someone your age I am.”

“No, you aren’t, and thank you for sharing your story.” I looked down at my hands for a moment. “I just hope one day I’ll find a man I’m willing to put up with for the rest of my life.” Yikes! Why did I just say that?

Margaret patted my shoulder. “You will. You just have to keep your eyes open and don’t settle for less than the very best.”

I smiled at the bright confidence in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” She stood. “Now I’m going to get some dinner on the table. I hope you like chicken.”

“I love chicken. What can I do to help?”

“Honestly, if you’d make sure Maddie’s all right it would be much appreciated.”

“Okay, but if I’m not back by the time dinner’s ready you have to promise to send in the troops.”

She chuckled. “Will do.”

I turned and hurried up the stairs. I peeked in the first room I passed. Obviously Margaret’s bedroom, with the beautiful classic furniture and the wide range of muted color.

There was a bathroom, and the next door was closed. Beyond was one more room, and I could see the edges of canvasses from where I stood. That must be Margaret’s art studio. I itched to go in there, but my responsibility was to my friend. So I gently knocked on the closed door, then opened it without waiting for an invitation.

Maddie was sprawled across one of the white twin beds covered with matching pink and violet bedspreads.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment before she answered. “I’m sure you think I should just accept my mother has a....” I saw her swallow. “A friend. It’s not that easy, though. Not for me.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Not really.”

I sat beside her. “You’re right. I have no idea what you’re feeling. You had a
Leave It to Beaver
childhood. It has to be really hard to let that perfection go.”

Madison allowed me a rueful smile. “My family isn’t perfect, long way from it. Witness today, for instance.”

I snorted. “Hey, if that’s all you got, I hope you never meet
my
family.”

Maddie touched my arm. “I know your life was hard. I’m sorry.”

“It was hard for you to lose your dad.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’ve put all that family crap behind me.”

“No, you haven’t.”

I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of her, but when I looked into her eyes, I changed my mind. I was sure she was wrong, I was well beyond that ugly time in my life, but it seemed mean to argue with a woman who’d been through so much grief.

She pulled herself up and propped against the headboard. “I guess I can’t imagine anybody with Mom except Dad.”

I nodded in support, but my mind whipped through the mental family album, the one where my own mother married within six months after my father left. She’d pushed through the divorce—it’s amazing what money can do—and sent me and my brother straight into hell.

“Did Mom send you up here to talk to me?”

“To check on you, not to use my devious charm to make you see her side.”

Maddie picked at the girly pink and violet bedspread. “I guess I should go and talk to her.”

“I think you should.”

She grabbed me in a big hug, all but knocking me off the bed in the process. “You’re a good friend, Buffy.”

She got away before I could pinch her. Nobody calls me that. Nobody. I refuse to have a name that’s half bitchy-richy and half run-around-slaying-things-person. Stupid TV show.

To give Maddie and her mom a few minutes alone, I lay across the bed and surveyed the room where my friend had grown up. It was girly, of course. Not that I’m not feminine, mind you, I just have a more Bohemian taste. Maddie is all about frills and pastels.

The walls were a soft cerulean, the furniture white with gold trim. Everything else was a mixture of pink, blue, violet and white. The pictures on the wall were of kittens and ballerinas, with a poster of Johnny Depp in full pirate costume thrown in to keep the place from seeming too little-girly.

For one, awful moment, I was a bit jealous. No, I did not wish I had a frilly, girly room back home. Wouldn’t fit me, or that cold mansion I grew up in. What had my heart longing, I guess, was the idea of a comfortable home, a bedroom decorated to suit my taste, a mother and a father who loved me.

Mom had wasted no time getting rid of a gorgeous red and gold rug I’d snagged at a thrift store, put a decorative fringe on the edge, and used as a bedspread. I’d loved the effect, but she couldn’t get past the “it’s a
rug
!” idea.

Okay, this was ridiculous. To distract myself, I took a visual inventory. Dolls, stuffed animals, trophies, silver comb and brush set. Wait a minute. Trophies? Interesting.

I pulled myself off the bed and went over to the white shelves on the wall over the desk. As I got closer, my heart began to pound, and it seemed to be hard to push and pull the air in and out of my lungs. Little metal cheerleaders waved pompoms on top of the trophies. Cheerleader? Oh no. Say it ain’t so!