The Gazebo. Kimberly Cates
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your teacher out of her mind? Stuffing hormone-crazed kids’ heads with romantic nonsense—glorifying sex, defying one’s parents and committing suicide. Teenagers generally screwing up their lives. That play should come with a warning from the surgeon general.”
“My mother, the last of the great romantics.” Emma rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
“When was the last time Mel Gibson was in town? Oops, he’s married. Guess I’m out of luck. Besides, one die-hard romantic in the family is enough. You got your uncle Cade married off. Be happy with that.”
Happy? She’d never believed it possible for a McDaniel to be that happy. With his adoring wife, five-year-old twins and another baby on the way, Cade’s life was damned near perfect. At least until the patient from hell had moved into the spare bedroom. Their seventy-six-year-old father who’d broken his hip tackling some kid who’d snatched a teenage girl’s purse.
Damned embarrassing, the Captain had grumbled, to find out the kids involved were brother and sister, just horsing around. Deirdre almost managed to smile at the memory of the crotchety old buzzard blushing to the roots of his thick, iron-gray hair. And yet she couldn’t stop the ache in her chest. His injury had changed everything.
“Mom, don’t you ever get lonely?” Emma asked.
“With you around? Never.”
“But I won’t be around forever. After Christmas—”
Emma had been hovering over the mailbox for weeks now, waiting to see if she’d won early admission to the drama school she’d dreamed of since she’d gone to theater camp there last year. Truth was, Deirdre dreaded Emma leaving, yet was anxious to get her out of this dead-end town. High school and its dangers had terrified Deirdre, but Emma had a good head on her shoulders. She was way too smart to get trapped the way her mother had.
That said, maybe it still wasn’t such a bad thing that Brandi would be the one to do the whole balcony gig. “The nurse is a great character part,” Deirdre said, trying to sound sympathetic. “You’ll be brilliant.”
“I’ll be brilliant all right. But not as the nurse.” Emma shone and Deirdre’s heart tripped. “Miss Wittich says I’m the most perfect Juliet she’s seen in thirty years of teaching!”
Oh, God. A perfect Juliet? That’s exactly what Deirdre was afraid of. Emma glowed with innocent passion, stubbornly determined to race into the world with open arms, not knowing how badly life could hurt her.
“Aren’t you going to say something? Like congratulations?”
“I’m just…I thought Brandi…everyone was so sure she was going to get the lead.”
Emma grinned with pardonable triumph, considering all the times Brandi had lorded it over the less popular kids. “Man, is she ticked. Her boyfriend, Drew Lawson, is Romeo. And I get to kiss him on stage!”
Deirdre’s nerves tightened. “A little less enthusiasm, please.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s just acting. But he is gorgeous in a soulful, Orlando Bloom kind of way.”
“That’s just great.” Couldn’t Wittich have done something revolutionary? Like cast some shy, pimpled computer geek who wouldn’t make Emma’s cheeks turn pink with anticipation?
“Uncle Cade said it’s too bad Grandma isn’t around to hear my news. He says Romeo and Juliet was her very favorite play in the whole world. Is that true?”
Deirdre stifled a frown. “That sounds about right.”
Their mother had loved all that star-crossed lover junk, sobbing her way through movies like West Side Story time after time as if the tragic endings sneaked up on her totally unexpectedly to bite her in the butt.
“Mom, what was Grandma like?”
“Perfect.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. Emma shot her a puzzled frown. “I mean, she was one of those women who gardened in a house dress long after other moms had changed to jeans. She liked more…old-fashioned things. Like floppy straw hats and china teacups and frilly dresses on little girls.”
Deirdre remembered the look of horror on her mother’s face when Deirdre mutinied against Emmaline’s dress code. Deirdre had taken her mother’s sewing shears and dragged out a pair of Cade’s old jeans. Hacking the legs off so the frayed hem hit below her knee, Deirdre had threaded one of the Captain’s neckties through the belt loops, then tied it tight around her far-narrower waist. After all, she couldn’t climb up to the tree house in a stupid dress.
“Do you think Grandma Emmaline would like me?” Emma asked, a wistful light in her eyes.
“Absolutely.” Deirdre tried to ignore the twist of pain in her chest. “She would have adored having someone to share teacups and poetry with.” Maybe the fact that Deirdre had produced such a granddaughter would have redeemed her a little in her mother’s eyes.
Deirdre felt a jab of envy, reluctant to share any of Emma’s love, even in her imagination.
“Am I like her?”
“No,” Deirdre said flatly. Then more softly, “Yes. In some ways. But you’re stronger than my mother was. She always seemed as if she were waiting for something bad to happen.”
“I wish I’d gotten a chance to know her. I asked the Captain about her. His face got all stiff and sad when I mentioned her, just like yours does. But Uncle Cade said everything there is to know about Grandma is in that wooden box upstairs. There’s even a copy of Romeo and Juliet she kept from when she played Juliet in tenth grade. Uncle Cade used to read it to cheer her up when she was sad.”
She’d been sad a lot. Even boisterous Deirdre had longed to be able to comfort her. But when the melancholy had stolen over Emmaline McDaniel’s face, the last thing she wanted was Deirdre racketing around.
Can’t you ever sit still? her mother would mourn. You’re just like your father.
Not that the Captain had approved of her wild side, either.
“I’m just dying to get my hands on that play,” Emma pleaded. “Can I come with you and look for it?”
Deirdre’s jaw clenched. Score another point for Cade. He’d not only made certain Emma would check on her in the house, he’d guaranteed the kid would shadow her every step of the way to the cedar chest.
“Emma, I’d…”
Rather not let you see how much it hurts me to sort through Mom’s things, see how badly everything in the chest suits me. What a disappointment I was to a mother I never really knew…
There had been an ocean of secrets between Deirdre and her mother. Deirdre had almost lost Emma’s trust, as well. She’d deserved to. Jesus, God, how she’d deserved to. But she’d fought to mend the wounds between them, swore she would never hide things from Emma again, never keep secrets that would fester, destroy.
She’d be the worst kind of hypocrite to change the rules now.
She forced herself to smile. “If you really want to come upstairs with me, it’s fine.”
Emma gave a skip of delight. “You’re the best mom in the whole world!”
Deirdre flinched inwardly. She knew better.
Emma grabbed Deirdre’s hand the way she had every Christmas morning before they headed downstairs to see what Santa Claus had left, never disappointed even those times when the man in the red hat had to scrape the very bottom of his sack for presents.
Half dragging Deirdre, Emma rushed up the stairs to the soft pink room that had been Emmaline’s own. Not that Deirdre had entered it willingly after shattering the china ladies. The afternoon sunlight showed the dust on the top of the chest, smeared with finger marks, as if Cade hadn’t been able to resist touching it. He should take the blasted thing, Deirdre thought. For him