Effie’s stomach turned over. “Polly. No. I promise you, Heath is not my brother. If he was, then Nana would be his mom, right?”
Polly sniffled again but looked relieved. “Yeah. And Nana doesn’t like him.”
“No, she doesn’t.” There was no point in lying about it.
“Because something happened when you were younger,” Polly said with some more confidence.
Effie hesitated. She’d never discussed with Polly what had happened to her from the ages of thirteen to sixteen. She’d meant to when Polly got older, probably when she was closer to thirteen herself, but she was only eleven now. There hadn’t seemed a need to get into the details. It was actually something of a surprise that nobody had ever told her anything about it before now.
“Yes. That’s why Nana doesn’t like him,” Effie said.
“It happened to you and Heath together?”
Effie nodded. “Yes.”
Polly frowned and plucked at the hem of her shirt before looking at her mother. “Meredith said the only reason you ever sell any paintings is because people on the internet are perverts.”
“Meredith Ross needs to keep her mouth shut, and so does her mother.” Effie’s voice rose, and she forced herself to calm. “Don’t listen to her, honey, okay? She’s a jealous little brat. You don’t need to worry about my paintings or anything else. It’s none of her business. You just concentrate on being the best Polly you can be, and ignore her.”
Polly didn’t look entirely mollified, but she nodded. Effie hugged her again, squeezing tight before letting her go. She held the girl’s shoulders gently for a moment, though, looking closely at her daughter’s face.
“If she gives you any trouble, Polly, you tell me. I’ll talk to the teacher.”
“No!” Polly looked alarmed. “Mom, no. Don’t do that, I’ll get called a tattletale.”
“Is she telling everyone this stuff?”
Polly shook her head. “I don’t think so. And if she did, I’d just tell them it’s not true. Because it isn’t. Right?”
“Right.” Still angry but not showing it, Effie looked over Polly’s list with her as they tried to settle on a project. Leaving it to be decided another time, she shooed her kid off to watch an hour of television before dinner.
Her phone buzzed with a call she picked up without looking to see who it was. Expecting her mother or Heath, Effie was ready to launch into a bitter tirade against tween girl bullies but stopped short at the sound of a male voice. “Oh. Mitchell. Hey.”
“Hi, Effie. Is this a bad time?”
She looked at the pot of water she was boiling to make boxed macaroni and cheese. “I’m just putting together a gourmet feast for me and my kid. How are you?”
“Good, good. I thought I’d give you a call. See if you wanted to chat.”
Effie hesitated. “I’m kind of in the middle of some things. Maybe later tonight?”
“Oh, sure. Dinner and stuff. Right. I should’ve thought.” Mitchell laughed softly. “Bachelorhood tends to make you forget about things like regular mealtimes.”
Somehow, she doubted that. Mitchell had not impressed her as the sort of guy who survived on day-old pizza. Was he angling for a dinner invitation? That was the problem with this dating stuff, Effie thought. It was so much more complicated than bringing home a guy from a bar and sending him home in the morning with a phone number one digit off so he wouldn’t be able to call her again.
“I had a great time with you. I wanted to let you know,” Mitchell said when Effie didn’t speak.
“Me, too.” She cradled the phone against her shoulder to pour the pasta into the water.
“So...we’ll talk later. Okay? Looking forward to it.”
“Me, too,” Effie repeated and let him disconnect the phone call first. She stared at the phone for a second or so. She hadn’t assigned him a special ringtone or added a picture to his contact information, so for the moment, Mitchell remained nothing but a string of numbers.
“Give him a chance,” she murmured to herself. “This is what you want.”
Something nice, something tame. Something normal. That was what she was looking for.
Wasn’t it?
Polly was so quiet at dinner that nothing Effie said got a smile out of her. Clearly, she was still bothered by what had happened with Meredith. So, after they’d polished off the mac-n-cheese and Polly had cleared the table, Effie sent her off to her room to do homework.
Then she picked up the phone.
“Hi, Dee?” Effie fell into the old nickname before thinking it was possible Delores didn’t go by it any longer. Then she decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass what the other woman preferred to be called. “This is Effie. Polly’s mother. Your daughter’s in Polly’s class.”
“I know who you are, Effie, of course.” Delores sounded bubbly, as if maybe she’d already started on the early evening cocktails. No wonder, since her husband had left her several years ago for not a younger woman, but an older one.
Maybe that was unkind.
“So listen, Dee, I’m going to cut straight to it. Keep your mouth shut about my daughter, your speculation about her father, and about Heath.” Effie drew in a breath as if she was dragging on a cigarette. “You know damn well he’s not my brother. And not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not Polly’s father. Get your own house in order before you start talking shit about mine.”
Dee sputtered. “What... I... Wait a minute. What?”
“My kid’s eleven years old. She should be worried about her science fair project and growing out of her favorite jeans too fast. Not any other bullshit you want to spread around.” Effie paused long enough to hear a snuffle from Dee through the phone. She smiled to be sure the other woman heard it in her voice. “She has a lot of people in her life who love her. She hasn’t suffered for the lack of knowing who donated the sperm that made her.”
“Oh.” Dee sounded confused. She’d never been the brightest shade of pink in the palette. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a sperm donor.”
Effie had in fact been knocked up the old-fashioned way and had been making a sarcastic comment, so now she sighed. “Dee, Jesus. It’s none of your business. Okay? Why would you tell your kid anything like that anyway? And as for my paintings, also none of your business. What difference does it make to you who buys them or supports them?”
Silence. Effie waited. Through the phone line she heard another snuffle.
“I’m sorry,” Dee said finally. “I didn’t tell Meredith any of those things. She must’ve overheard us talking.”
“Who was talking?”
“Friends, I guess.” Dee made a small, apologetic noise. “The subject came up at the last mommy meeting I had here. I guess she overheard us...”
It was far from the first time Effie had known herself to be the topic of conversation. For years after coming home she’d been approached by reporters and curiosity seekers wanting a piece of her story. After the debacle with the coming-home party, her dad had forbidden any of them from contacting her, but after he died, there’d been a few who managed to find her contact information. Some had been ballsy enough