“One thing at a time.”
Even this little disappointment didn't dampen her spirits entirely. She evidently viewed a riding party as a parental gateway to full-on equine capitulation. “I bet by next year she'll let me have one.”
“For the party, Becca said you could ride what's-his-name.”
Olivia went perfectly still. “Harvey?”
He nodded. “I've even talked to Harvey. He's looking forward to meeting you.”
Her gaze flicked upward in annoyance, letting him know he'd overstepped that fuzzy boundary between teasing and treating her like a child. But her thoughts were whirring faster than his, already distracting her with a new, pressing problem. “What am I going to wear?”
“Becca said jeans and sturdy shoes,” he said. “It's written in the information from the stable containing the permission slip I'm going to include with the invitations.”
“I can't wear my regular clothes to ride Harvey.” Her tone indicated that his suggestion was offensive not just to her but to the horse, as well. He'd never seen her worry about clothes before, but until now she'd never had a date with a thoroughbred. Some girls dreamed of a prince on a charger. Olivia just dreamed of the charger.
“I doubt Harvey will mind.”
“
I'll
mind. And there will be pictures and stuff, and Monica will have jodhpurs and boots and everything. I wish I had
something
that looked like riding clothes.” She paced in front of him, strategizing. “Do you think I'd be more likely to get something else from Mom if I called, or e-mailed?”
Nicole had already sounded a little cranky about the party's price tag. He couldn't deny that renting a stable for an afternoon was a whole lot more expensive than pizzas and a slumber party.
“I'll buy you some riding clothes,” he said.
Olivia sucked in a breath. “Really?”
“I'll ask Becca the name of a . . . a place that sells stuff like that.”
“A tack store.” Olivia's happiness level soared right back up to thirty on a scale of one-to-ten. “Thank you, Matthew!” She gave him a brief, boa-constrictor squeeze. “You're a better dad than my dad.”
Realistically, it was faint praiseâher dad hadn't been much of a dad at allâbut in the moment, it seemed by far the nicest compliment anyone had ever paid him. It made him want to buy her a lifetime supply of dressage jackets and riding boots.
“I have to call everybody!”
He stopped her before she could run out. “First, you've got to fill out the invitations and stuff the envelopes.”
Her shoulders sank. “Oh. Okay.” Realism didn't bring her down for long, however. “Maybe it will be even better if I don't tell anybody ahead of time anyway. Then they'll open the invitations and be
so shocked.
It'll be awesome!”
He doubted her friends would think it was as awesome as Olivia did, but what did he know? His mind was already mulling over the next problem. Shopping.
Not his forte.
“I can't wait to tell Monica I'm riding Harvey on my birthday,” she said. “Just last week she brought in her horse's pedigree papers for show-and-tell, along with video of her winning a ribbon at some competition. She's such a show-off. She wanted to bring her horse, but the principal wouldn't let her.”
He settled Olivia at the coffee table in the living room, which was now invitation central. The cards she'd bought weeks before had balloons on themâno horses. She had to fill in the date, time, and a short message on each one, then include a parental release form from the pile on the table, and mark off the names on her list. She grumbled about having to do the grunt work for her own party, but it was good-natured grumbling.
Matthew picked up his phone and dialed Nicole's number. It was a little too early for their nightly call, but he wanted to tell her how Olivia had reacted. Nicole's call notes picked up, so he left a message telling her that the party news had gone over big. As if that outcome had ever been in doubt.
While the phone was at hand and the subject was on his mind, he fished Becca's card out of his wallet and punched in the home number she'd scrawled on the back.
“Matthew? Hi!”
“Hi. I wanted to let you know that Olivia is over the moon about the party. And especially about your lending her Harvey for her big day.”
“Great.”
“Now she's worried that Harvey will be offended if she isn't dressed properly.”
She laughed. “Believe me, if he expected a fashion plate on his back, he would have run away from me years ago.”
“I figured she was worried for nothing, but in a moment of weakness, I promised I'd buy her some riding clothes.”
“And now you're wondering where the heck to get them,” she said, guessing his problem.
“Right. I was going to talk to Nicole, but she's probably just as clueless as I am.”
“Nicole is still in Hawaii?” Becca asked.
“Yeah.”
When the line went silent, he wondered for a second if they'd been cut off.
“Look,” Becca said, “I've been craving a trip to my favorite tack store. I'd be happy to take Olivia. How about this weekend?”
This was a generous offer . . . but way above and beyond the call of duty. “I can understand rounding up clients for your ex-husband, but surely you're not responsible for how they dress.”
“I just like Olivia. She was nice to Walt, and she has great taste in horses. And cupcakes.”
“I know she'd love to go, but I might have to check with her mom.”
“You should come, too, of course,” she added. “If you have time. The place is just outside of DC, so it would be the after-noon.”
“Well . . .” On the one hand, he hesitated to put her to the trouble. On the other, she was handing him a golden opportunity to get an errand done with minimal hassle. And he enjoyed her company.
Maybe a little too much.
But that was silly. There had never been the slightest hint of flirtation between them. A few flashes of interest, maybe. But that was just normal. To say he couldn't go would be tantamount to admitting that men and women couldn't control their primal impulses and could therefore never be friends. Which almost made it seem vital that he not shy away from the invitation.
“I'll take you up on that offer,” he said. “Thanks.”
They fixed the outing for Sunday afternoon. He wondered if he should wait a day or two to tell Olivia this new development. Was there a limit to how much elation an almost-eleven-year-old could stand?
The phone rang again. He picked it up without looking, assuming Becca had remembered some conflict or other reason that Sunday would be inconvenient.
Nicole's voice brought him up short. “What's up?” she asked.
“I just called to tell you that your daughter is off-the-charts happy.”
“Oh. Good. Is that all?”
“I thought you'd want to know.”
She let out a breath. “When you call at a different time than usual, I always worry that something has gone wrong.”
“Sorry. I didn't think of that.”
“But of course I'm glad that she's happy,” she said. “It's nice to hear some good news for once.”
He frowned at the rug. “Things not going well?”
“That's putting it mildly. We've got a design flaw disaster . . . among other disasters.”
“Like what?” He was genuinely interested, in part because Nicole seemed so stressed out. There was more than the usual high-strung tension humming over the wire.
“It doesn't matter,” she said. “I'm sorry I'm not in the best of moods.”
“If it helps, you don't have to worry about anything here. The cake lady is going to take Olivia shopping for riding clothes. That's going to be my birthday gift to her.”
“You don't have to give Olivia anything,” Nicole said.
Was she kidding? “I don't think Olivia got that memo. She's been hinting that a five-year subscription to
Horse and Rider
would make a perfect birthday gift.”
“I have to talk to her about that.”
“No, you don't. Of course I was going to give her something.”
“You mean on top of the month of your life you've already sacrificed for her benefit?”
“It's no sacrifice. It's been fun. Dad practice. By the time you come back, I'll have morphed into Ward Cleaver.”
“Oh God. That's all I need.”
“Then you should come home soon.”
“Believe me, if I could be airlifted out of this place tomorrow, I'd welcome rescue.”
She had to be the only person in the world who would refer to Hawaii as “this place.”
They talked a few more minutes, and then he handed the phone to Olivia, who was watching television while she filled out invitations. She paused the screen to talk to her mom, and as Matthew settled into a chair, he found himself staring at a screenshot of a very young Becca.
When Olivia was done with her trans-Pacific enthusing, she flopped back down at her workstation.
“What are you watching?” he asked, unnecessarily.
“It's Becca's showâ
Me Minus You.
I just now found it.” She pointed at the screen. “That's Becca.”
“I guessed. But how . . . ?”
Olivia sent him a steady look. “Matthew, duh. It's on Netflix. And you don't have to worry that I shouldn't be watching it, because it's really stupid and tame.
Dora the Explorer
was racier than this stuff.”
“I remember. Sort of.”
“Was all television this dorky way back then?” She looked at the screen and shook her head. “I can't believe she did her hair like that.”
Becca's hair was sticking up in an off-center ponytailâan explosive pouf of hair and bow geysering out of the side of her head.
“Don't tell Becca I said her show was dorky,” Olivia pleaded. “She might not let me ride Harvey.”
He felt the urge to laugh at the idea of Becca holding a grudge for something like that. In fact, if she were in the room with them, he bet she would be laughing at her old self.
“Becca wouldn't go back on a promise,” he assured her.
“Well, I wouldn't want her to feel bad in any case. She probably couldn't help it that they dressed her like that. And it was forever ago, so . . .”
All the way back in the 1990s, but to Olivia that probably seemed as far into the past as the Eisenhower years.
“She has a sense of humor about herself,” he said.
“I know! That's why I like her. She laughs. Mom never laughs.”
“Sure she does,” Matthew said.
“Rarely,” Olivia said. “When I grow up, I want to be like Becca. Not all serious like Mom.”
“Your mom is fun. She's also crazy intelligent, and she's working on something that could help save the planet for all our sorry selves.”
“But she doesn't seem happy,” Olivia said. “At least, not lately. Not that we'd
know
or anything, since she isn't here.”
She punched the remote, and the show on the screen leapt back to life.
Matthew zoned out. It was hard not to. The story
was
hokeyâa recently deceased father was haunting his family, and only the little girl Becca played could see him. The episode played out like a farce, with a gooey coda at the end with the little girl saying good night to her ghost dad. Olivia finished one episode and started right in on the next one.
But Matthew wasn't thinking about the story, or even Becca. He was wondering about Nicole, and how Olivia was right. She hadn't seemed happy, really happy, in ages. At least, not around him.
Why was that?
Chapter 8
Becca worked all morning Sunday, which was usually her most profitable day. The shop wasn't as crowded as Saturday, but people were apt to zoom by to make serious pastry purchasesâcupcakes by the dozens for football get-togethers and church functions, or whole cakes for family dinners or to take to visit grandma. The doors stayed open until they ran out of things to sell, usually mid-afternoon.
“You sure you don't mind closing up today?” she asked Pam as she waited for Matthew to pick her up.
“Not at all. Enjoy your date.”
“It's not a date,” Becca corrected automatically.
Pam scooted closer. “Has he mentioned what's going on in Honolulu?”
“The subject hasn't come up.”
“I'm dying to know what's going on.”
So far, there had been no news from Erin except for pictures she had posted on Facebook of herself looking tanned and happy in her new bathing suit in front of the surf. Many were clearly selfies.
“If she really has triumphed over Ann Taylor, you'd think she'd want to crow about it in an e-mail,” Pam said.
“Maybe she thought the pictures were all the evidence we'd need.”
“She looked
too
happy, if you ask me.”
“How can someone look too happy?” Becca asked.
“Come on. This is a battle for Bobâwinning isn't exactly winning.” Pam shook her head. “Judging from that smile, I think she's found herself a cabana boy.”
“Leave the dishes when you close up. I'll take them upstairs later and wash them in the dishwasher in my apartment,” Becca said, wanting to change the subject.
Easier wished than done.
“If you think Erin's marriage is so secure,” Pam began, “don't you feel a little weird going out with Bob's mistress's almost-husband? Doesn't that make you a potential almost-home-wrecker?”
Where to begin? “First, we aren't one hundred percent certain that she and Bob are having a fling. If there is an affair going on between them, wouldn't Erin have hopped a plane back by now?”
“Maybe she decided to stay and stalk them.”
“If she was stalking them, would she be posting pictures of herself on the beach at Waikiki?”
“I guess that would be a tip-off.” Pam tapped a manicured nail against her chin. “Which brings us back to my cabana boy theory.”
“Also,” Becca continued, “Matthew and I aren't going outânot in the way you mean. Unless you consider taking an eleven-year-old girl to a tack shop a romantic outing.”
Pam sighed in frustration.
“Sometimes I could swear that you
want
me to be having an affair with the guy,” Becca said. “I don't see how that would help anybody.”
“You're right. I just want . . .” Pam growled in frustration. “Oh, forget it. Who knows what I want?”
Becca had no hope of answering that question, so she steered the conversation in another direction. “I sent Walt off with cupcakes for the Baptists. If he ever comes back, tell him to take the rest of the day off.”
“What do you think the odds of him coming back are?”
It had to be admitted: Walt was unreliable. First, there was the sleeping thing. And for a few days he hadn't shown up at all. When he'd turned up after his longest absence, he'd simply taken up his broom and acted as if nothing had happened. Becca had decided that if something shady was going on in his life, she didn't want to know about it. Maybe that wasn't the most self-protective attitude to take, but it did prevent her from having to do something unpleasant, like possibly fire someone, or go to the county lockup to spring her employee.
“Don't get me wrong,” Pam said. “I'm happier when he's not around.”
“I think you've made that clear. But I can't understand why. He's a harmless enough old guy.”
Pam crossed her arms. “But he doesn't belong hereâand no, I'm not being a snob. I'm saying the man doesn't serve a purpose here. In the shop. We can both sweep, mop, and walk a couple dozen cupcakes to churches, so he's not doing anything we weren't getting done perfectly fine on our own.”
“But he's nice,” she said.
“You mean he likes you. Lots of people like you.”
Becca snorted. “You obviously haven't been on the Internet.” Gecko Girl was still pitching her online snit fit. Megan's Musings was now selling T-shirts featuring a picture of Becca in her most unflattering freeze frame from
Malibu High School.
The caption read TINA THINKS YOU SHOULD GET A LIFE.
“You can't hire every hard-luck case that comes along,” Pam told her.
“I'm not. I've hired
this
hard-luck case. And it's just for a little while.”
“That's what you said weeks ago.” When Becca didn't respond by agreeing with her to fire Walt immediately, she said, “Let me put it bluntly. I think the man's a leech. He's taking advantage of you.”
“He's
working.
”
“He's a mooch.”
Becca didn't see itâat least, it didn't seem like malicious mooching. He was more like a piece of driftwood that had temporarily snagged on something. And that something was her.
“This isn't Tinseltown,” Pam said. “You're in business. Real business. No one's going to hand you an Emmy for Best Performance of a Nice Shop Lady.”
Heat burned Becca's cheeks. The steam coming out of her ears could probably have powered a locomotive or two. She was used to the occasional snide “Hollywood” comment from acquaintances or customers, but not from Pam. “I can't believe you said that.”
Pam managed to look both contrite and defiant. “I'm sorry. I just don't like to see anyone taking advantage of you.”
“He's
not
taking advantage of me. I only pay him for the hours he's here. Mostly.” Relieved to see Matthew's vehicle through the plate-glass window, Becca snatched her purse and headed for the door with a hastily mumbled, “See you later.”
Matthew and Olivia were just getting out of the car when Becca stepped out into the perfect fall day. Her mood, on the other hand, was no longer perfectâa detail Matthew appeared to pick up on. His smile faded a little when their gazes met. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
Olivia, happily oblivious, was so excited she was practically vibrating. “You get the front seat,” she informed Becca. “I'm going to sit in the back.”
She had a very liberal idea of what the backseat wasâit basically extended as far forward as her seat belt would allow. Most of the time, her head was poking between the two front seats.
“Guess what?” Olivia asked as soon as Matthew had navigated them onto the freeway. “We watched you on television.”
“Did you? Am I still in reruns?”
“Netflix,” Olivia explained.
Becca glanced over at Matthew and could have sworn his face was a shade redder than it had been a minute ago. “What did you think?”
“
You
were good,” Olivia said, assuming a critic's seriousness, “but the show was kind of dumb.”
“Olivia,” Matthew warned.
Becca laughed. “That's okay. It
was
kind of dumb.”
“Did you ever meet any big movie stars?” Olivia asked.
“Sure.”
“Really? Who?”
“Hm . . .” Becca smiled, trying to decide whether to provide a tease or go straight for the big guns. “George Clooney.” That usually resulted in a swoon or two.
Olivia popped a bubble in her ear. “Who?”
She also popped the bubble of Becca's ego.
Oh God.
She was officially old. “I met Elijah Wood before he was a hobbit. How's that?”
“Okay, that's kind of cool.” But Olivia sat back, obviously disappointed with Becca's name dropping.
After a mile or so, Matthew asked, “Did you know there's a Trekkie convention in Alexandria this weekend? I've been telling Olivia that if we have time, we'll drop by.” A quick wink told her that this was more of a threat than a possibility.
Becca swiveled toward the backseat. “You don't like
Star Trek
?”
Olivia fidgeted. “That's, like, the last thing in the universe I'd do with my weekend.”
“Me too,” Becca said. “So don't worry.”
Matthew shifted a quizzical glance her way.
“Those conventions make my skin crawl,” Becca explained. “All those poor actors in stalls in a rented hall, on view like livestock at a state fair. Selling their autographs for twenty dollars a pop.” The performing-monkey aspect of it made her shudder. She'd rather die than resort to that kind of desperation.
“Don't they have
Me Minus You
conventions?” Matthew asked, arching a brow at her.
“The world isn't that hard up for activities yet, thank God. I've been approached by nostalgia stuff, but I avoid it all, including âWhatever Happened To' articles. I've moved on. I'm a cupcake lady now, and I'm fine with that.”
“I'd rather be a cupcake lady than an actress,” Olivia said.
“Good for you,” Becca said.
“Unless I could be a really rich and famous actress. Then I might change my mind.” Another pause indicated that Olivia's brain gears were still grinding away, and then she darted her head between their seats. “Hey, I know what. Becca could come to Career Day at my school and talk about cupcakes!”
“Fun,” Becca said. “When?”
“A week from Wednesday. Mom was supposed to, but she probably won't be back. Matthew said he would take her placeâbut I've watched Matthew work and it looks really boring.”
Becca checked out his reaction. He was laughing. “Don't you think Becca's doing you enough favors already, O?”
“I don't mind,” Becca said.
Olivia sank back against the backseat with a triumphant fist pump. “Yes! You'll be even better than Monica's pedigree papers.”
The statement confused Becca, but she was glad that someone thought she'd be interesting. Not that she liked giving presentations, as a rule. Also, she hoped Matthew wouldn't feel slighted. “I don't want to step on any toes,” she told him.
“Believe me, I will not be heartbroken.”
His smile, relaxed and warm, gave her heart a strange lift. He wasn't like Cal, always working the charm . . . usually because he thought he had something to apologize for. Matthew was charming and easy to get along with. But that made sense. His being involved with someone took the flirtatious, desperate-to-please element out of their relationship.
Not that she would call theirs a relationship. Not exactly. More like a . . . friendship. She took the word for a spin in her mind. Could she be friends with Matthew and Olivia without spoiling their fragile family unit? Especially when she knew it was more fragile than Matthew probably suspected?
At the tack store, Olivia stayed close to her. “What are you buying?” she asked Becca.
“Gloves.” Becca misplaced riding gloves with the same frequency that she lost regular winter glovesâas fast as she could replace them. She picked over a shelf of them. She probably could have ordered them over the Internet, but she loved coming to this place. Just the smell of new leather from the saddlery department gave her a rush. It was mecca for equine freaks.
Olivia plucked a pair of riding gloves off the shelf. “Maybe I should get some, too.”
“I think you'll be okay for the party without them.” She was thinking of a small item or two that might make Olivia feel like a horsewoman without breaking Matthew's bank account.
But Olivia harbored grander ideas. “If I get a whole outfit now, Mom'll have to see that it won't cost much more to send me to lessons. I'll be all ready.”
Ground Control to Olivia.
“It's the lessons and the barn time that rack up the big bucks, not the wardrobe.”
“Yeah, but lessons are different,” Olivia said. “Mom didn't mind spending money on ballet and violin lessons, and I stank at both those things. I know I'll be good at riding.”
Becca shook her head. Anyone could tell by talking to Olivia that she wasn't on the violins-and-tutus track of girlhood. Why had her mother been trying to ram a square peg into a round hole? Or maybe those had been Nicole's own interests when she was younger, so she'd thought her little girl would be exactly the same. It was sad when parents tried to live their kids' lives for them.
It made her all the more thankful to have been raised by her own mother. Sure, she'd cringed as a teenager when her mom hadn't seemed “normal.” Normal moms of other kids she worked with were either in show business themselves or were stay-at-home moms turned stage mothers. They didn't change the subject when you asked where their father was.
But there were things she'd always loved about their life, too. Like that feeling of camaraderie they'd had. There was nothing better than hanging out with Ronnie and watching movies they'd rented. Or sitting at the table eating her mom's yummy comfort food, when she'd felt enveloped in warmth and total love. Thank God she'd had that.
She wished she'd appreciated her mom more at the time, and hadn't pestered her so much. Especially about her dad, which usually resulted in silence. The closest she'd come to the truth was once when she'd stubbornly held her ground. Didn't she have a right to know?
“I was an idiot,” Ronnie had confessed. “I got involved with someone who was bad news. But that doesn't mean you should suffer.”