Behind me, my mother-in-law cleared her throat. “Tom doesn’t allow the girls to eat sugar.” Her tone implied that I, as Tom’s wife, should already know this salient fact. “Besides, it’s only a couple hours to supper. You’ll spoil their appetites.”
I stiffened. It was at least three hours until supper. God forbid I should spoil their appetites. God forbid a single grain of sugar should pass their lips. The girls looked crestfallen, and suddenly that guilt, heretofore absent, reared its ugly head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.”
Jeannette covered the meat loaf pan with foil and put it in the refrigerator. Untying her apron and pulling it off over her head, she said, “As long as you’re here, I need you to run to the grocery store and pick up a few things. You’ll have to take the girls with you, because the babysitter’s sick. I’d do it myself, but I have to go back to work. I have a shampoo and clipping at four-fifteen. Late in the day, but not much I can do about it.” She folded the apron with precise motions, tucked it into a drawer, and reached up to smooth her hair. “If I’m not back by five, you might as well go ahead and put the meat loaf in the oven. Potatoes are already peeled and in the fridge. They just need to be put on to boil.” Her eyes, peering at me over the rim of her glasses, were skeptical. “You do know how to cook?”
What idiot couldn’t boil a potato? Did she really think I was that incompetent? “Of course,” I said, an ingratiating smile glued firmly in place. “I’m much more than just a pretty face. What do you need at the store?”
“I’ll give you a list. Girls, pick up your crayons and coloring books and take them upstairs. And put them away. I don’t want to come home and find them strewn around your room.”
“It’s not fair,” Taylor said. “I want a doughnut!”
“Yeah,” Sadie said, taking a cue from her older sister. Tiny fists planted on her hips, she echoed, “It’s not fair!”
“Life isn’t fair,” my mother-in-law snapped, “and you shouldn’t expect it to be. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”
Yikes. Glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of her cutting comment, I carefully arranged my face in the most neutral expression I could manage. The girls made a few more token protests, but it was obvious that in this house, Grandma ruled. So while Jeannette wrote out a list for me, the girls put away their toys.
Afterward, I got them settled in the backseat of the Land Rover and, as I drove away from the house, I marveled at my amazing transformation from big-city career woman to small-town mom, complete with husband, two kids, and an SUV. I felt a little like Barbie, after she and Ken had built their Dream House somewhere in American suburbia. The only thing needed to complete the picture was a large, hairy dog.
I slowed for a red light. It turned green before I reached it. I stepped on the gas, and forgot to shift gears. The car stalled halfway through the intersection. Muttering under my breath, I pumped the accelerator, popped the clutch, and took off, tires squealing on the pavement.
From the backseat, Taylor said, in a tone that was far too accusatory for a seven-year-old, “Why are you having so much trouble driving?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion. Whatever happened to children being seen but not heard? “I’m not having trouble,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m just a little rusty.”
“My mom never had trouble driving it.”
I checked the mirror again. This time, my stepdaughter looked smug, and far older than her seven years. Why was it that she always made me feel as though she were the adult and I the child? I took a breath and forced myself to be civil. “This was your mom’s car?”
A smile flitted over her face. The little wretch had hit a nerve, and she knew it. “Yes,” she said. “And Mom was a good driver. Sadie never got carsick when she rode with Mom.”
Mild panic assailed me as I imagined myself cleaning vomit from the backseat of a very expensive Land Rover. “Sadie?” I said in alarm. “Are you carsick?”
“I’m not sick,” Sadie piped up. “I love to ride.”
In the mirror, Taylor was grinning. Gotcha! her face seemed to say.
I reminded myself again that I was the adult, and far too mature for the kind of retaliation I was contemplating. I had other, more important things to focus on. Like the fact that the car I was driving belonged to a dead woman. A dead woman who happened to be my predecessor. Thanks, Tom. It would’ve been really nice if he’d bothered to drop a hint.
I wasn’t sure why it gave me the willies. Did I think Beth’s spirit was still hovering around, clucking in disapproval as I stole her husband, laid claim to her children, and burned out her clutch? It wasn’t as though she’d died in the vehicle and was therefore doomed to haunt it for all of eternity. Although, come to think of it, I was sure Tom had told me his wife died in an accident. If that was true, and if this vehicle really had belonged to her, then what had she been driving?
Maybe she hadn’t been driving at all. Maybe she’d been a passenger in somebody else’s car. Tom hadn’t gone into any detail about her death. I could tell it bothered him to talk about it; the wound was still a little too fresh to start picking at the scab, so I hadn’t pried. But I had to admit I was curious.
I glanced in the mirror again. Sadie was staring out the window, humming under her breath, some tuneless little ditty that kept repeating itself, over and over. Or maybe that was just Sadie’s interpretation of how the song went. Taylor had tired of toying with me and was now focused on her Game Boy. The self-satisfied look on her face confirmed what I already knew: She was going to be a challenge. But one way or another, I’d win the war. After all, I’d once been a seven-year-old know-it-all. To paraphrase an old country song, I’d forgotten more than she would ever know about being a brat. The kid didn’t stand a chance against me.
I eventually found the grocery store—the town was too small for it to stay hidden for long—and I pulled into a parking space. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I opened the glove compartment and rummaged around until I found the auto registration. I told myself I wasn’t snooping. After all, the vehicle belonged to Tom and, as his wife, that meant it was half mine. Besides, if I got pulled over for some infraction, I’d need to know where the registration was. I had a right to snoop.
I could rationalize until the cows came home, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The registration didn’t answer any of my questions, because the car was registered to Tom. It might have been Beth’s vehicle, as Taylor had said, or my stepdaughter might have been needling me. It was impossible to tell. The only way I’d know would be to ask Tom.
I shoved the registration back into the glove compartment and slammed it shut. “Okay, girls,” I said briskly. “Let’s do this!”
For a weekday afternoon, the store was busy. Lots of harried housewives and elderly people pushing their shopping carts up and down the aisles. Zippy muzak, designed to move shoppers along at the optimum pace for picking and choosing, blared out of overhead speakers. I checked Jeannette’s list. It was extensive, but not detailed. Standing in front of the milk case, I pondered all the choices, wondering what brand my mother-in-law usually bought. Did I dare to ask Taylor? If I did ask, could I trust her answer? Would she tell me the truth, or try to sabotage my already shaky relationship with Tom’s mother by pointing me in the wrong direction?
I wouldn’t put it past her. The kid was sly, and I’d once walked in her shoes. I could remember a time or two when I’d done just about anything I could to get rid of my father’s latest girlfriend. I hadn’t cared how obnoxious I was, hadn’t cared how childish some of my stunts were or how much trouble I might get into afterward. All that mattered was the end result: one more irritating woman out of our lives. One more opportunity for our nuclear family—that would be Dave and me—to remain intact. I’d been a real piece of work. And Taylor was so much like me it was scary.
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