Mr. Elliott Finds A Family. Susan Floyd
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little bit turned out to be forever. After her mother had died, her stepfather had visited just once to let his mother know he didn’t want the children, not even Carrie, his own blood. As Carrie slept, Beth Ann cried silently, leaning up against the door, her chest aching, listening to him argue with Iris. He was the only father she had ever known. The next morning, he was gone and Iris never spoke his name again.
Beth Ann took a deep breath. Bernie would never, ever wonder whether she was loved. Ever.
“I hear voices,” Iris said plaintively.
“Yes. Glenn is here. Remember, I told you he was coming to keep an eye on Bernie so I could get back to painting.” She hoped. It had been a long time since she’d painted, really worked at it, rather than merely dabbling with interesting techniques and calling it work. When she’d stopped painting, neither Glenn nor his life partner, Fred, who was a highly regarded art dealer, had condemned her. Even when she didn’t follow through on several projects, Fred did his best to cover for her, simply telling her to let him know when she was ready.
Two months earlier she had thought she was ready. So, believing the effort would spur her back into painting more regularly, she’d sent some slides of her older work to a hotel in Merced that wanted to use their lobby to showcase local artists. It had cost her a big gulp in pride. Before Bernie, she’d been accepted to some of the most prestigious Bay Area galleries. Way beyond showing in a local hotel. Still when the white envelope bearing the hotel’s logo had arrived a few days ago, she couldn’t even open it. She didn’t know what she feared most: the rejection or the acceptance.
Iris frowned, then brightened. “Has Carrie come to visit?”
Beth Ann shook her head. “No, sweetie. Carrie’s dead. Remember?”
Iris looked away puzzled. “Why did I think Carrie was here?”
“Carrie’s husband is here,” Beth Ann said after a moment’s hesitation. “Remember the man that stopped you on the road?” Damn near ran her down.
“Carrie’s husband?” She looked puzzled. “When did she marry?”
“Years ago.”
Iris’s forehead wrinkled. “Did we go to the wedding?”
Beth Ann shook her head. “No, sweetie. They got married kind of quickly.” She started straightening Iris’s covers. “Do you want to get up? I can fix your hair and put in your diamond tiara before I take Bernie to the garden.”
Iris sunk back down into the pillows. She closed her eyes. “No. I feel tired. I don’t want to wear my tiara today.”
Beth Ann kissed her on the head, wondering if she should take her to the doctor later in the afternoon. “Sleep well, Grans.” Before she left, she switched on the portable baby monitor, then quietly closed the door.
When Beth Ann got to the kitchen, she found that it was completely deserted, but she heard screams of excitement outside. Despite its gray start, the day had turned out to be beautiful. Not yet noon and the sun shone brightly. She saw Bernie, bundled in her coat, scrambling wildly through a pile of decaying leaves as Glenn chased her from behind. Christian leaned against the old oak, watching intently, the collar of his leather jacket turned up as he nursed a mug of coffee.
Bernie lifted something and gave it to Glenn. Then she turned and gave whatever it was to Christian. Both men thanked her with enthusiastic nods of their heads. Suddenly aware that she had a moment of peace, Beth Ann was reluctant to open the door and join them. If Carrie’s husband would just go away— It made no difference that Bernie was an heiress. As far as she was concerned, his money, his software company, his silver Jaguar and expensive shoes only made it heartwrenchingly clear that Carrie had chosen things over her own daughter. Beth Ann would not give him the chance to make the same choice. Bernie would not be rejected twice.
CHRISTIAN IGNORED the persistent ache behind his left ear and watched Bernie who dug furiously into the ground with a toy shovel and then chortled with glee when she found a huge beetle that raced to get out of the way. She reached to pick it up with two fingers, but it scurried past her and she followed, her little face pinched with her efforts to coordinate her eyes with her hands.
“Bug!” she declared and looked straight up at Christian. His heart jerked. Caroline. His fist tightened and he felt the sharp rock jab into his skin. He opened his hand. Glenn had long since discarded his, but Christian examined the garden rock, really an oversize piece of amber gravel, that Bernie had so judiciously bestowed upon him. Bernie shrieked with excitement, chattering away as she continued to doggedly pursue the bug, trying alternately to step on and grab it until it managed to squeeze its body through a small hole and out of reach.
Having been eluded, Bernie walked around in aimless circles. Her mind already searching for her next adventure. The steaming pile of compost looked promising.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Bern-Bern,” Glenn said as he intercepted her, pulling her up against him, then giving her a big affectionate squeeze and a wet smacking kiss on her cheek.
Christian felt slightly satisfied when Bernie screamed her protest and wriggled violently to be let down. Glenn obliged. Her mind now fixated on trying to move a small boulder, Bernie began to push.
The two men stood awkwardly, both watching Bernie, who got tired of pushing and decided to defeat the rock by sitting on it.
“I’m sorry about Carrie,” Glenn said finally.
“Thank you,” Christian replied and took a sip of coffee. It was cold now and it still tasted awful. The second cup was worse than the first. No wonder Beth Ann put so much sugar in it.
Glenn laughed.
“What?”
“She makes terrible coffee, doesn’t she?”
“Is that why you didn’t take any?” Christian raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Glenn admitted. “I let her keep one or two of her illusions. One is that it’s coffee in general that tastes so bad—not her coffee in particular.”
“I think she might have an idea.”
Glenn smiled. “Maybe, but that hasn’t made her want to learn how to make better coffee. She just adds more sugar and cream.”
They fell silent again.
After a moment, Christian asked, “Have you been friends long?”
Glenn shrugged. “Depends on what you think is long. We’ve known each other since graduate school.”
“Graduate school?” Christian felt an unflattering wave of guilt at his surprise. He would never have imagined Beth Ann would have gone to college much less received a higher degree. Caroline had no degrees he knew of.
Glenn shot him a speculative look, then said, “Don’t know much about her, do you?”
“Well—” Christian felt his face grow hot. Why was he so reluctant to admit he knew absolutely nothing?
Glenn nodded. “She paints, teaches when she has to, but mostly holds together her little family single-handedly.”
“Single-handedly?” Christian asked, a flare of something coming up from under his ribs. “She’s not married?”
Glenn called out to Bernie who was now lying on the rock, her head lolled backward, the tips of her curls brushing the dirt. She sat up quickly and then toppled over sideways. She chortled, babbling at them unintelligibly, clearly emphasizing the last syllable, as if she were scolding them. She placed her hands on her hips to make her point.
“No, she’s not married.”
“Divorced?” Christian tried to make his voice casual.
“Nope. Never married.”
“So Iris has lived here all her life?” Christian looked around.
Glenn shook his head. “No. From what