had to shake her awake and stick a cup of coffee under her nose any time she had babysitting duty before ten or so.
But that morning Joleen walked into the kitchen with Sam in her arms and found Camilla sitting in the breakfast nook, her coffee already in front of her, wide-awake and fully dressed.
Joleen started at the sight. “Mama. You’re up.”
“Yes, I am, baby,” said Camilla in a determined tone.
Sam put both hands on Joleen’s shoulder and gave a push. “Dow, Mama. Pway.”
Joleen bent to let him to the floor. He toddled off toward the living room where Camilla kept a big bin of toys just for him.
“Has Niki already left for school?”
Camilla nodded, picked up her coffee and took a delicate sip.
“Uncle Hubert and everyone finally go home?”
“Yes, they did.”
Joleen wondered why it felt as if something wasn’t right. “Everything okay, Mama?”
Camilla answered by lifting a shoulder in a shrug.
“Well,” Joleen said brightly. “Since you are up and about, I might as well get goin’. When’s your first appointment?”
“I have got a facial and cosmetic consultation at eleven.” Camilla didn’t do hair anymore. She specialized in facial care—everything from herbal masks to makeovers. A couple of years ago she’d brought in a pricey new line of products, which she used and promoted exclusively. The line was a big success, mostly because Camilla had the knack for exploiting and enhancing the natural beauty of each of her clients.
“Okay, then.” Joleen started for the front door. “I’ll see you at eleven.”
“Baby.” Her mother’s voice was flat.
Joleen turned. “What is the matter, Mama?”
“Have some coffee.”
“I really want to get—”
“I know you do. You always do. But whatever it is can wait. We need to talk.”
“Mama, can’t we talk a little later? I’ve got to be at the shop in an hour and before that I want to—”
“Don’t argue with me, now. Get yourself some coffee and sit down here with me.”
“Mama, I have got to get goin’.”
Her mother just looked at her.
“Oh, all right.” Joleen got a mug from the cupboard, filled it and took the chair across from her mother. “Now, what is it that just cannot wait?”
Camilla had stopped looking at Joleen. Now she stared into her coffee cup, her mouth drawn down at the corners, as if there might be something in there that shouldn’t be.
Joleen, who needed to get to the cleaners and make a quick stop at WalMart before she headed over to one of the major beauty supply houses to pick up a few popular products they had run low on, couldn’t keep herself from making a small, impatient sound in her throat.
Camilla heaved a deep sigh and shook her head at her coffee cup. “I find I don’t quite know how to say this.”
That suits me just fine, Joleen thought. “It’s okay. We can talk later.” She started to stand. “Tonight, after—”
“No, you don’t.” Camilla’s hand closed over her arm. “You are not escapin’ me.”
Joleen stared at her mother’s hand, which was soft and slim, the smooth square-filed nails polished a shimmery bronze. It did not look like the hand of a fifty-year-old woman, not by a long shot. Joleen wished her own hands looked half that good. But Joleen still did hair. And she had no shampoo girl, so she spent a lot of her working life knuckle-deep in lather. Very hard on the hands.
Camilla said. “I have been awake half the night worryin’ over you.”
“Why?”
“Sit back down.”
Joleen dropped into the chair again. “All right, Mama. I’m sitting. Talk.”
“I am just going to ask you directly.”
“I sure wish you would.”
Camilla let go of Joleen’s arm and threw up both hands. “What on God’s green earth has possessed you to think a marriage between you and Dekker is a good idea?”
Joleen felt pure indignation. She decided to let it show. “Mama! I love Dekker. And he loves me.”
Camilla smacked one slim, soft hand on the table and waved the other one in the air. “Yes, and I love your uncle Foley. But I never would marry him.”
“Uncle Foley is your brother, Mama.”
“Exactly. And that’s how I love him. Like a brother. The same way that you love Dekker Smith.”
Oh, this was getting sticky already. As Joleen had known it would, as she’d tried to get Dekker to understand it would.
Half-truths and evasions, she though glumly. Comin’ right up…
“Well?” said her mother on a hard huff of breath.
“I love him,” Joleen said again, and she stared her mother straight in the eye.
Her mother stared right back. “You don’t love him the way a woman loves a man,” she accused. “And he doesn’t have that soul feelin’ for you, either.”
“You do not know that,” Joleen said. “You do not know what we feel.”
“Oh, yes I do. I know my baby. And I know Lorraine’s boy. I also know that you both deserve better than to marry a person who does not set your heart on fire. You both deserve it all. Passion and excitement. And magic. I want those things for you—and I want them for Dekker, too.”
Joleen wrapped her hands around her cup. The warmth felt comforting against her palms. She said honestly, “Both Dekker and I had those things once, Mama. They didn’t last.”
“Bobby Atwood and Stacey?” Her mother made a low, scoffing sound.
Joleen’s indignation level rose again. “Yes. Bobby Atwood. And Stacey. You know how Dekker was about Stacey.”
“There were terrible problems in that marriage, baby.”
“I know that. I am not saying they didn’t have problems. I am only saying he loved her. In a passionate way. A soul way. And Bobby, well, it shames me to have to admit it now, but I was long gone in love with that man.”
“Oh, that is so not true.”
“Mama—”
“You
