There's Always Plan B (7 page)

“You can't tell me what to do.”

Carly turned on her daughter. She didn't raise her voice, but for once she didn't hide her disappointment, anger and pain.

“Get out of my sight.”

Tiffany gasped, grabbed her books and fled.

Carly
did her best to clear Tiffany from her mind as she set out the papers in front of her mother. A couple of hours alone in her room might give the teen time to rethink her words and actions and come to the conclusion that she'd been rude and wrong. Given Tiffany's current hormone level and mental state, it seemed unlikely; but hey, a mom could dream.

“I'm interested in a three-pronged approach to growing our bottom line,” Carly said after she'd set up an easel and put up the first graphic of three arrows pointing up. “First, individual bookings, second, group bookings and third, day visitors. The individual bookings are going to account for most of our weekend reservations, so the other two need to fill up our midweek slots. My marketing emphasis will be based on the haunted-house angle. It's the only way we'll get people to come out here. The decrease in visitors in recent years proves that without a hook, we're not going to make it.”

She flipped to the second graphic, this one showing a couple in a car. “I want to use the existing database to send out a letter to all our previous customers. We can offer them a twenty-percent discount for their next stay. I'll also put together some packages—a cooking weekend, day trips to Napa, or an afternoon on a marine research vessel. I already have some contacts there.”

Her mother didn't comment, nor could Carly read her expression. So she just kept on talking.

“We'll advertise in very specific magazines. I've listed them on page two, along with their rates.”

Her mother flipped the page. “This is a lot of money,” Rhonda told her.

Carly thought about pointing out it was way less than it had cost to replace perfectly good china and flatware, but didn't.

“I have more specifics on attracting couples and families, but right now I'd like to continue the overview,” she said. “The group bookings would be small conferences. There are lots of groups looking for a unique place to come and have a two- or three-day session. I've had interest from some horror writers—obviously they're excited about the ghost angle. There are three culinary institutes who would like to book for three- and five-day sessions at a haunted house. Management off-sites are another opportunity. I'm still getting information on that.”

“This is all very nice, Carly, but I don't want a bunch of strangers in my house.”

Carly opened her mouth, then closed it. “Mom, this is a bed-and-breakfast. Strangers is what we do.”

Her mother sighed. “You know what I mean. Nice married couples are one thing, but horror writers? And I don't want a bunch of business people here.”

Carly had expected resistance, but not like this. “What do you have against business people?”

“For one thing, we only offer breakfast. I'm not interested in opening a restaurant.”

“I agree. It's too expensive and too iffy. But we can offer boxed lunches with advance notice, and catering. I've spoken to several of the restaurants in town and they're more than willing to deliver out here. In fact, the boxed lunches tie in with my idea for day visitors. We could offer the larger, public rooms for meetings of local clubs. Civic groups, women's groups. We make a couple of bucks a head on their lunch and give them the parlors for free.”

“How is that going to help anything?”

“If they like what they see then they'll think about holding their daughter's wedding here. Or a birthday party. Or putting up out-of-town guests. We need to remind the world we're still here. I've spoken with a few groups and they're very interested. They love the idea that we're haunted.”

“Seems like you've been talking to the world.”

“Just trying to get a handle on things. Everyone who has been here loves the place and those who haven't are really intrigued. Without the ghost angle, I couldn't get anyone to return calls. But Mary is a fabulous selling point. Who wouldn't want to stay at a haunted B and B? That's going to be our main selling point with the management off-sites. That, and the quiet.”

Rhonda flipped through the pages. “I just don't know. It's all so much. Do we have to do this?”

Carly sat across from her. “No, we don't. But if you don't want to make changes then you need to sell right now. The B and B is losing between two and three thousand dollars a month just to stay running and that doesn't count the repairs or any replacement costs. Or property taxes. They're incredibly high. At the rate you're burning through the equity in this place, you have about three years left.”

“What happens in three years?”

“You won't be able to get enough money out of the sale to live on the proceeds. You'll have to get a job.”

Rhonda leaned back in her chair. “I don't want that. I'm ready to retire.”

“I know, Mom. The thing is, I would really hate for you to sell this house after all this time. It's a part of our heritage. But I also want you to be financially secure. What I propose is that you give me one year to get the B and B back on its feet financially. If I can't do it, then you can still sell and have your nest egg. If I can, then we'll go back to what we'd always talked about—that I would take over the business and slowly buy you out.”

“You want to make a lot of changes. I'm not comfortable with this. Why does it have to be different?”

“Because you're losing a lot of money.”

Her mother closed her eyes. “I hate this. I wish your father hadn't died. He always took care of everything. This has been so hard for me.”

Carly sat next to her and took her hand. “It has. It's been a long seven years and you've done a great job. But I don't want you to lose your retirement and I really don't want to lose the house.”

Rhonda nodded, then looked at her daughter. “I just don't know if you can do it. What if you fail?”

Carly tried not to take the lack of confidence personally. “I'm asking for a year. That's all. If things aren't going well at the end of that time, you can still sell and get out enough to live on for the rest of your life.”

“All right. I'll think about it.”

Carly held in a sigh. Her mother was notorious for thinking about things for weeks at a time and then still not deciding.

“I need to know by tomorrow.”

“What?” Her mother glared at her. “I can't decide something this big that quickly. You're pressuring me. What does it matter if I take a few weeks?”

“It matters to me. I need Tiffany settled. If you're going to say no, I need to find a job somewhere else and get her into a new school. I don't want to have her start to make friends here only to uproot her again. It's not fair. I'm asking you to decide in a reasonable time frame. I have responsibilities to my daughter, and I take them as seriously as you took your responsibilities to me.”

Her mother's eyes filled with tears. “This isn't fair. If your father were still alive…”

“But he isn't.”

“You think I don't know that? I've had to deal with this all by myself. You haven't been any help. You've been running around having a good time while I suffered.”

Carly stood and stepped back a couple of steps. “I've been raising my child.”

“With that no-good man you married. I don't understand it. And now you come back here and want to order me around.”

Carly knew that however this went, she was going to be the bad guy. “That's not my intent. I saw us as partners. I've offered my vision for what we can do to make the B and B successful again. I'm willing to work sixteen-hour days and devote myself to the project. All I ask in return is for you to either agree or disagree. But I won't wait forever. If you don't like what I want to do, then you'll need time to figure out what you want to do instead.”

“Oh, sure. Put it all on me. You've always been difficult, but I don't remember you being so hard-hearted. When did that happen?”

“I have no idea,” Carly told her, feeling both sad and resigned. Why couldn't her mother simply make a decision? Obviously she'd known changes would have to happen to make the business a success.

Of course Carly already knew the answer to that. If her mother decided anything, then she had to take responsibility—the one thing she hated to do. Life was better when whatever went wrong was someone else's fault.

“You're not giving me much choice,” Rhonda said. “Either I agree or you walk away from me forever.”

“That's not what I said. If the B and B is going to be closed, then I have to make a life for myself and my daughter. That's hardly abandoning you.”

Rhonda didn't look convinced. “Fine. Have it your way. You'd probably do it without me.”

Carly sank back into the chair. “You're saying yes? You're agreeing with my plan?”

“Yes. It's your idea and you're in charge.”

Carly understood the momspeak. That she wasn't just in charge, she was responsible. If anything went wrong, she was to blame.

She was okay with that—in this case it was true.

“I suppose you'll be taking over everything,” her mother said sadly. “I won't matter at all.”

“That's not true. I'll need your help more than ever. With me getting all the advertising in place and coming up with different ideas, I'll be swamped. You're the heart and soul of this B and B, Mom. You always have been. Yes, I have a lot of things I want to get done, but none of it will happen without you.”

She squeezed her mother's hand. “I mean that.”

At that moment Rhonda looked old and small. Carly opened her mouth, then closed it.

Was that the
real
problem? That her mother didn't feel needed by anyone?

Rhonda sighed. “I just don't have the energy I used to, but if you need me, of course I'll be there.”

“Thanks. I want to take the load off you and I will. But at first I'll need your help in the day-to-day running of things. At least until I'm up to speed and can do some rearranging of the staff.”

“All right,” Rhonda said. “We'll be a team.”

“Great.” Carly smiled. “I'm going to do everything I can to make the B and B a success.”

“I hope it works,” Rhonda said. “If it doesn't, we'll all know you tried your best and that's what matters.”

Carly accepted the words in the spirit they were given—or at least in the spirit she wanted them to be given. She leaned forward and hugged her mother. The soft scent of Chanel No. 5 surrounded her.

“You'll see,” she said. “It's going to be great.”

And it would be. Just as soon as Carly stopped the money hemorrhage, got a few more guests and figured out what she was going to do with her daughter. Then it would be great.

 

Her small moment of celebration lasted for as long as it took to climb to her daughter's room. After a quick knock, she stepped inside. The bedroom was empty, but she heard a chair squeak in the small parlor.

Carly didn't want to have this conversation. She wanted things to be as they had been two or three years ago. Before her daughter had become so difficult and demanding. Sure, it was just a teenage thing, but why did she have to suffer, too?

Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the floor and entered the second room. Tiffany sat in a chair by the window. She didn't look up as Carly entered.

“It's not my fault,” the teen said before Carly could speak. “You're messing everything up and I'm reacting to that. If we'd stayed back in Santa Monica, none of this would have happened.”

Carly didn't know what to address first—the obvious lie that if they hadn't moved Tiffany would have behaved perfectly, or the complete lack of responsibility.

“So this is my fault?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Her daughter glared at her. “You're making me act this way.”

The words were different, but the intent was the same. Painfully the same, and familiar. It took Carly a second to place it and when she did, she didn't know if she should laugh or cry.

“Oh, my God. You're exactly like my mother,” Carly said in horror. “You don't take responsibility for anything and you're completely selfish.”

“What?” Tiffany yelped. “That's not true.”

Carly barely heard her. She pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Her brain seemed to be swelling by the second. Was it true? Was it possible?

“You're exactly like her,” she repeated, more to herself than to Tiffany. “You blame me for your actions, you can't see any view but your own. How did this happen? Did I do it? Did I grow up a certain way based on my mother? Did my hyper sense of responsibility mean you didn't have to be responsible for anything?”

Had she screwed up her daughter as much as she'd been screwed up herself? Was this the legacy she had inadvertently passed on?

“Is it just your age?” Carly asked. “Or is it your character?”