Maybe my father hadn’t spoken to her yet . . . Maybe she still thought I’d spent the night with Bobby . . .
“Are you asking
I decided to keep her in the dark. For now. “No, no. It was 112
Heather Webber
good.” Fantasies of me and Bobby in bed played in my mind. “Really good.”
I stepped into the house, preparing for the worst. I’d seen some of those home improvement shows and their nightmare results.
Oh, not all of them were disastrous, but Maria had had orange paint on her. Orange.
Dear Lord.
Paint fumes lingered in the air, but as I looked around, I didn’t see any evidence of paint. I looked at my mother.
“What room did you change?”
“Upstairs. Were there candles? I love when your father lights a lot of can—”
“Eww! Stop!”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Why? I am your mama! You can talk to me about everything.”
Except that. I shuddered. “Where’s Maria?”
“Shopping.”
Ah.
“Want to see your room?” she asked me, her face lighting.
Orange. I sucked it up. “Sure.”
She latched onto my hand, her skin smooth. Time had been kind to her. Barely any wrinkles marred her creamy white complexion. Maria was the spitting image of her, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a natural grace.
I took after my father. And after seeing him last night, I was beginning to worry how I’d turn out.
“You’re all tense,” my mother said, looking back at me as we climbed the stairs. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I didn’t want to worry her with the whole Grabinsky thing. Not until there was something to worry about.
“Late night,” I said.
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When my mother broke into a smile, I realized it had been the wrong thing to say. I fully expected another maternal interrogation, and was surprised when she didn’t ask any questions. She simply said, “I’m happy for you,
I swallowed over a sudden lump in my throat and fought off tears. She, at times, could say just the right thing.
She patted my hand. “You can have all day to rest.”
I wished I could. I needed to speak with Greta Grabinsky.
I also had work to do. TBS was open on Sundays for a half day. Usually it was time to meet with clients, catch up on paperwork, but today there was a mini going on. Deanna’s first, planned solo.
She had the confidence and know-how to pull it off, but I wanted to at least pop in at the site and give her encourage-ment and support.
I also needed to call Bobby to plan when we could get together. To talk.
“Come, come,” my mother said. “I cannot wait for you to see your room.”
Worried, I held my breath as she pushed open my door.
“Ta-da!”
All I could do was stare. And stare some more.
Gone was my standard, no muss no fuss bed. Gone were the two dressers, one still empty in Kevin’s absence. The paint had gone from a bland white to a creamy yellow.
No orange!
My inner self did a happy dance.
I walked in, absorbing.
A queen-size canopy bed angled in the corner took up most of the space. The canopy was made of white flowing gauze material. The bed looked heavenly with a mile high feather bed, thick ivory down comforter, and tons of pillows.
