Love, Marriage And Family 101. Anne Peters

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СКАЧАТЬ her till her capped tceth rattled. “You took Corinne to a rock concert without my permission?”

      Faced with his barely leashed fury, Pamela blanched. “W-well,” she stammered before gathering herself together with a flare of indignation. “I thought she had your permission.”

      “Did she say she did?”

      “Not in so many words, no.” Pam tossed her glossy mane with obvious pique. “But she certainly had, the money.”

      “Money?” Just that morning Corinne had demanded her allowance—fifteen dollars—because she was broke. Mike had told her she’d get it as soon as she did her chores.

      “How much money?” Mike asked, sickness gathering in the pit of his stomach.

      “She had a fifty-dollar bill.”

      

      She had a fifty-dollar bill. Letting himself into the house, Mike was still reeling from that statement and its implications. His daughter was no longer just a rebel at odds with herself, her father and her circumstances, she was a thief. A thief!

      Thunderstruck, Mike had abandoned his grocery cart and walked out of the store without another word to the visibly shaken Pamela.

      Dropping onto a chair at the kitchen table where a cereal box and two milky bowls bespoke this morning’s hasty departure, he felt as if he had taken a beating—defeated and sore right down to his bones. He felt so deeply and utterly betrayed that he would have wept had he had the tears.

      Putting his elbows on the table, he dug his fingers into his scalp and despaired of ever being able to reach his daughter after this.

      What had the teacher said after he’d spelled out to her how things were between Corinne and him?

      “Time, patience and love, Mr. Parker. That’s what your daughter needs from you right now. Except for the basics such as pulling her weight around the house, leave the rules and the discipline to me here at school for the time being….”

      So how do you propose I handle this, Ms. McKenzie?

      Mike raised his head. He looked around the cozy kitchen, his eyes flicking over each familiar item they’d brought with them from Idaho as if he’d never seen any of it before. His gaze stopped at the white porcelain cat with its slightly chipped, raised black paw.

      It was Becky’s cookie jar, which now served as the bank for the emergency cash he liked to keep around the house. A couple of hundred dollars, for those unexpected incidentals. It was a carry-over from his parental home, and probably no longer even necessary in this day of credit cards and ATMs.

      Slowly, his eyes never leaving the silly cat, Mike rose from his chair and walked over to the shelf on which it sat. He stood in front of it for a long time, staring at it and debating with himself whether he really wanted to do this or not. He leaned heavily toward not. There really was a certain comfort in not knowing the truth.

      Coward? No.

      Jaw set, Mike grabbed the jar. Putting one hand on one of the cat’s ears, he raised the lid. He set lid and jar down on the counter and reached inside. Irrationally, his heart lifted a little as his fingers latched onto several bills. As if having Cory steal from strangers was better than having her steal from him. He pulled the bills out There were four of them. He fanned them a little. Three twenties and a ten.

      His chin dropping to his chest, Mike closed his fist around the bills, crumpling them. A sound very much like a dry sob rose into his throat and refused to be swallowed. It burst from him with terrible force as he blindly stared at the crumpled bills in his hand and raggedly exhaled.

      In all, the bank was short one hundred and thirty dollars.

       Chapter Two

      It was well past six o’clock when Hally pulled her classic, buttercup yellow convertible VW Bug into the drive on her side of the duplex she co-owned with her mother. The house was a white stucco affair, pre-World War II, and each half had its own sweep of wide steps leading up to its own pillared veranda and its own front door. A lawn hardly bigger than a place mat separated the two sets of steps that were each flanked by flowering shrubs.

      A one-car garage sat back from each side of the house at the end of the respective driveways, but neither Hally nor her mother used the squat little building for its designated purpose. For Hally it served as a catch-all storage place while Edith Halloran McKenzie had converted the garage into a studio in which she created her fabulous stained-glass art.

      Hally could hear the telephone through her screened open windows as she unlocked her front door. Hurrying inside, she tripped over Chaucer who, as usual, appeared out of nowhere and was trying to beat her into the house.

      The cat yowled his indignant protest, drowning out Hally’s muttered epithet. In the kitchen, she lunged for the phone just as its ring abruptly stopped.

      Garnet Bloomfield, she thought with a baleful glare at the instrument. With a sigh of vexation, she plunked her bulging tote on the nearest chair and her keys on the kitchen table. Probably called to read me the riot act for not showing up for aerobics.

       As if I had a choice.

      Out of sorts, Hally bent and absently stroked Chaucer who was winding himself around and between her legs in a bid for apology and attention. She fretted. The meeting with Michael J. Parker had been necessary but, darn it—this new school year was supposed to be the beginning of a whole new chapter in her life. Her horoscope had said as much. Her bank account agreed—come June it was time to cut loose and make a change.

      Which meant that come June she would pack her bags, lease out the house and hit the road to Florence, Italy, for the year-long sabbatical that had always been her dream. Or, if not always, at least since a certain medical student had cured her of romance back in college.

      Before the trip began, however, she planned to be a whole different person. For one thing, she intended to have a leaner body. And long, smooth tresses that could be swept back into a simple and classic hairstyle. She also meant to acquire the kind of simple and classic wardrobe in basic black, taupe and cream that never went out of style. Especially in Europe.

      “I’m gonna have to get tougher with my time, Chauce,” she muttered, and puffed out another long breath of vexation as she straightened. Today’s aerobics class was to have been step one on the road to Fiorenze. Tomorrow night’s Italian language class would be step two.

      “And nothing’s darn well going to interfere with that,” Hally emphatically informed the cat. Living alone, conversations with Chaucer were a normal occurrence. “I’ve waited too long for this to let myself get sidetracked by other people’s problems.

      “Oh, all right.” Giving in to the cat’s insistent pleas, Hally grabbed a can of cat food out of the cupboard, opened it and dumped it into a bowl. “If you aren’t going to listen, you might as well eat.” She set the food on the floor. “Here. Stop complaining.”

      As Chaucer fell on his meal as if he hadn’t had nourishment in years, Hally filled another dish with water, set it on the floor, as well, and flicked on СКАЧАТЬ