The Ugly Truth Page 3

  A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “He’s a sweetheart.”

  She motioned toward the couch, and we sat. “Virgil died and Maddie left for college soon after. I felt like I’d lost all direction in my life. I’d been wife and mother for so long I’d forgotten who I was. For a long time I just floated aimlessly through my life. Then I got to know Henry, and he encouraged me to think outside the box. For a long time we were just friends.” She shrugged. “Then one night we kissed, and it was magic.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  She looked at me then, almost as if she’d forgotten I was there. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you aren’t interested in an old woman’s rambling.”

  “You are so not old.”

  “To someone your age I am.”

  “No, you aren’t, and thank you for sharing your story.” I looked down at my hands for a moment. “I just hope one day I’ll find a man I’m willing to put up with for the rest of my life.” Yikes! Why did I just say that?

  Margaret patted my shoulder. “You will. You just have to keep your eyes open and don’t settle for less than the very best.”

  I smiled at the bright confidence in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She stood. “Now I’m going to get some dinner on the table. I hope you like chicken.”

  “I love chicken. What can I do to help?”

  “Honestly, if you’d make sure Maddie’s all right it would be much appreciated.”

  “Okay, but if I’m not back by the time dinner’s ready you have to promise to send in the troops.”

  She chuckled. “Will do.”

  I turned and hurried up the stairs. I peeked in the first room I passed. Obviously Margaret’s bedroom, with the beautiful classic furniture and the wide range of muted color.

  There was a bathroom, and the next door was closed. Beyond was one more room, and I could see the edges of canvasses from where I stood. That must be Margaret’s art studio. I itched to go in there, but my responsibility was to my friend. So I gently knocked on the closed door, then opened it without waiting for an invitation.

  Maddie was sprawled across one of the white twin beds covered with matching pink and violet bedspreads.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She chewed her lower lip for a moment before she answered. “I’m sure you think I should just accept my mother has a....” I saw her swallow. “A friend. It’s not that easy, though. Not for me.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Not really.”

  I sat beside her. “You’re right. I have no idea what you’re feeling. You had a Leave It to Beaver childhood. It has to be really hard to let that perfection go.”

  Madison allowed me a rueful smile. “My family isn’t perfect, long way from it. Witness today, for instance.”

  I snorted. “Hey, if that’s all you got, I hope you never meet my family.”

  Maddie touched my arm. “I know your life was hard. I’m sorry.”

  “It was hard for you to lose your dad.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’ve put all that family crap behind me.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of her, but when I looked into her eyes, I changed my mind. I was sure she was wrong, I was well beyond that ugly time in my life, but it seemed mean to argue with a woman who’d been through so much grief.

  She pulled herself up and propped against the headboard. “I guess I can’t imagine anybody with Mom except Dad.”

  I nodded in support, but my mind whipped through the mental family album, the one where my own mother married within six months after my father left. She’d pushed through the divorce—it’s amazing what money can do—and sent me and my brother straight into hell.

  “Did Mom send you up here to talk to me?”

  “To check on you, not to use my devious charm to make you see her side.”

  Maddie picked at the girly pink and violet bedspread. “I guess I should go and talk to her.”

  “I think you should.”

  She grabbed me in a big hug, all but knocking me off the bed in the process. “You’re a good friend, Buffy.”

  She got away before I could pinch her. Nobody calls me that. Nobody. I refuse to have a name that’s half bitchy-richy and half run-around-slaying-things-person. Stupid TV show.

  To give Maddie and her mom a few minutes alone, I lay across the bed and surveyed the room where my friend had grown up. It was girly, of course. Not that I’m not feminine, mind you, I just have a more Bohemian taste. Maddie is all about frills and pastels.

  The walls were a soft cerulean, the furniture white with gold trim. Everything else was a mixture of pink, blue, violet and white. The pictures on the wall were of kittens and ballerinas, with a poster of Johnny Depp in full pirate costume thrown in to keep the place from seeming too little-girly.

  For one, awful moment, I was a bit jealous. No, I did not wish I had a frilly, girly room back home. Wouldn’t fit me, or that cold mansion I grew up in. What had my heart longing, I guess, was the idea of a comfortable home, a bedroom decorated to suit my taste, a mother and a father who loved me.

  Mom had wasted no time getting rid of a gorgeous red and gold rug I’d snagged at a thrift store, put a decorative fringe on the edge, and used as a bedspread. I’d loved the effect, but she couldn’t get past the “it’s a rug!” idea.

  Okay, this was ridiculous. To distract myself, I took a visual inventory. Dolls, stuffed animals, trophies, silver comb and brush set. Wait a minute. Trophies? Interesting.

  I pulled myself off the bed and went over to the white shelves on the wall over the desk. As I got closer, my heart began to pound, and it seemed to be hard to push and pull the air in and out of my lungs. Little metal cheerleaders waved pompoms on top of the trophies. Cheerleader? Oh no. Say it ain’t so!

  Sadly, the truth was right in front of me. There were trophies, awards, and pictures; group and team. And in the team picture, not only did Maddie’s too-perfect face look out at me, Liza was also among the short-skirted crowd. No wonder they squealed so much. Sigh.

  As I stared at the shrine to popular kids, I wondered if I was going to be able to handle this new information. Madison Clark, my nearest and dearest friend, had not only been a high school cheerleader, she’d been head cheerleader.

  I took a couple of steps backward and all but fell onto the end of one of the beds. I propped my elbows on my knees and let my suddenly too-heavy head drop onto my hands. I’d worked with her; I’d shared an apartment with her; I’d trusted her with the truth about my background.

  And now this.

  I couldn’t take it. I had to get out of the room. I scurried out into the hall and took a long breath of non-cheerleader air.

  I didn’t hear any yelling from downstairs, so that was a good sign. Probably.

  I’d head down there, but I’d take my time about it, give Cheerleader Girl a bit of space, and myself a little time to adapt.

  Of course, that presented a whole different problem. Just how long could I dawdle between here and the kitchen. I could snoop, and I have to admit, I do love to snoop. It didn’t seem right though, snooping in my best friend’s house. On the other hand, she was a cheerleader, for goodness sake. What other dark, disturbing secrets was she hiding?

  I headed straight for the room I’d wanted to explore ever since I’d caught a glimpse of it.

  In my defense, the door was open.

  Brushes, paints, and other supplies were neatly stored. An easel held a painting of a man who looked familiar from the photo of him Maddie had on her dresser. It was Virgil Clark, Maddie’s dad.

  I had never met Maddie’s father, when I looked at that painting I felt I knew him. As if Mrs. Clark had somehow captured the essence of her late husband on the canvas. It was an amazing thing to see. The woman was incredibly talented.

  I saw a variety of landscapes around the room. Apparently she rarely did portraits. And that was
a serious shame.

  The ding of a doorbell brought my attention back to the present, and I headed for the door. I hadn’t quite made it when I caught a glimpse of a painting that seemed to be of some sort of furry creature. I hadn’t seen anything other than landscapes and one portrait, so I took a moment to move the blank canvas blocking my view. And stepped back in shock.

  The painting was a portrait after all—of a Bigfoot. Sharp and detailed, the piece seemed to capture a personality just as much as the one on the easel. Why had she painted a mythical creature? A creature that seemed alive. A creature with a soul. Maybe she was that imaginative.

  Or maybe she’d simply painted what she saw.

  Chapter 3

  The sound of voices reminded me I was in someone else’s house, snooping around where I wasn’t invited. I pulled the blank canvas back in front of Mr. Sasquatch and headed for the stairs.

  “Stephie,” Mrs. Clark called from the bottom. “I’d like you to meet Aunt Octavia.”

  Her auntie was not even five feet tall and wore jeans, white sneakers, a bright orange sweater, and carried a black purse about half the size she was. Her hair was mostly black, blended with gray. She was probably around seventy or so, and she was about the cutest little thing I’d ever seen.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” I said, as I reached toward her. Instead of shaking my hand, though, she turned it over and leaned close to scrutinize my palm.

  “Your lifeline splits. A major life decision is coming.”

  Yeah, okay. “Well, thank you for your insight.”

  “Aunt Octavia!”

  Cutie turned. “Madison!”

  Then they hugged and I smiled. Maddie was five-seven, and the adorable palm reader didn’t even make her shoulder.

  “I’m so glad to see you, Aunt Octavia,” Maddie said.

  “My sweet Madison. Always with an aura of success.”

  Great, I get decisions and Maddie gets success. But then, Psychic Lady was her relative. At least she hadn’t done the stereotypical tall, dark, handsome stranger line—and just why did those words make my thoughts go straight to Jake Blackwood?

  “We’d love to have you stay for dinner.” Mrs. Clark said.

  “Oh no, dear,” Octavia said. “I have several errands to run before dark. I just wanted to stop by and see my sweet Madison.” She took my hand again and held it. “And meet this Stephie I’ve been hearing about.”

  I tried to extricate my hand, but she held on. Her eyes dropped closed, and she swayed a little. I was beginning to wonder if she was having a stroke or something, but then her eyes popped open.

  “Beware a rabbit the color of grass.”

  She let go of my hand then, so I stepped back. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Auntie Cute but Weird turned and strolled out the door.

  “She is such a sweet woman.” Maddie had a big smile on her face.

  I didn’t want to admit what I thought about that “sweet woman,” so I kept my big mouth shut.

  “Let’s eat,” Mrs. Clark said, and headed toward the kitchen with Maddie close behind.

  Three hours later Maddie and I were in her childhood bedroom, sprawled on the twin beds, leaned against our respective headboards while our bodies digested a large and excellent baked chicken dinner with sides of sweet carrots, corn, and to-die-for mashed potatoes.

  “You and your mother seem to have resolved your conflict,” I said. Dinner conversation had been a little on the strained side, but nobody had tried to kill anybody. In my family that would have counted for a wonderful night. Hell, in my family it would be a miracle.

  Maddie leaned against her headboard and closed her eyes, an expression of pain and longing coloring her perfect features. “I love her, and part of me realizes Daddy’s been gone ten years, but part of me wants to scream at the thought of her with another man. She said Dad was her soul mate, how can she betray him like this?”

  I wanted to go to her, to sit beside her and support her, but Maddie didn’t always respond well to touchy-feely and I was afraid my nearness would only irritate her more. I wanted to remind her she’d said herself it had been ten years. I knew she was being unrealistic and wildly unfair to her mom. But I knew exactly how she felt. My dad hadn’t died a hero. In fact, he’d just up and left us. But when Mom hooked up with my stepdad, I felt like she was betraying Daddy. Yeah, I know, crazy. But the brain and the heart don’t always see eye to eye. And did Mom really have to marry a jackass?

  I shook away the contemplation of things I couldn’t have done anything about even when they were happening. I figured the only thing I could really do for my friend was to lighten up the conversation, or at least get it going in another direction. Besides, my curiosity was jumping up and down trying to get my attention. “I didn’t know you believed in psychics.”

  Madison shrugged without opening her eyes. “Mostly I don’t. Psychics are generally scam artists or fakes. Aunt Octavia, though, she’s different. She has a gift.”

  “So I’m going to be ravaged by a wild green bunny?”

  Maddie shrugged. “The spirits don’t always give her straightforward information.”

  “Therefore, open to interpretation.”

  Her eyes opened then, the bright blue popping. “No. What she says may sound strange, but it will make sense. And soon. Be careful, okay?”

  I glared. “So says you, with your ‘aura of success’.”

  Maddie closed her eyes again, as a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile pulled at her lips. “I can’t help it because the spirits like me.”

  I groaned. “I get life decisions and you get The New York Times.”

  “For all you know, your choice might be between The New York Times and National Geographic.”

  “Or The National Enquirer.”

  “I hear they pay well.”

  “Bite me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shelf of trophies. “You were even successful in cheerleading, huh?”

  Her eyes popped open again, and this time I could see worry in the depths. Did I say how smart my friend is?

  “Oh crap, I forgot to have Mom hide that stuff.”

  “Ashamed of your short-skirted exploits?”

  She gave me the evil eye. “No. I just knew how you’d react.”

  I flopped back, my hand over my eyes in overacted distress. “How could you not tell me?”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d ever forgive me.”

  Through narrowed eyes I was pretty sure I saw her lips twitch. She’d better not smile. “You might be right.”

  “I know it was stupid, but I was young.”

  “I can’t believe my best friend is one of them.”

  “Them?”

  “The enemy.” I swallowed hard. “You were one of the...gag... popular kids.”

  The snort had my gaze jerking toward her. She wouldn’t dare. I looked at Maddie, and she lost it. My mean cheerleader-type-friend laughed so hard the bed shook. Dang it!

  “I’m going to kill you later,” I told her, “when you aren’t expecting it. Slowly and painfully.”

  That just had her laughing harder.

  I sat back and tried to ignore my traitorous friend. Cheerleader, popular, gorgeous. And she thinks I’m funny. Ugh. Maybe murder wasn’t good enough. Maybe I should cancel her subscription to Vogue.

  She finally got herself calmed down and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  The next thing I knew she was stretched out on the bed beside me, propped on an elbow, her chin supported by a hand. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

  It’s her eyes. Being mad at those big blue eyes is kinda like smacking a puppy upside the head. I can’t do it. So I guess I’ll have to forgive her. Eventually.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Someday,” I conceded.

  “Thank you.” She gave me a quick squeeze, kissed the top of my head, then jumped up and rushed for the door. “Dibs on the bathroom.�
�

  The rat.

  I lay back and glared at the photos on the top of her dresser. It’s amazing how even people you think you know can surprise you.

  While I waited for her to finish her beauty routine—which, in spite of her natural envy-producing gorgeousness—could take a while, I decided to download the pictures I took last night to my computer.

  I booted up my laptop and looked through the myriad shots. One in particular caught my attention, the one of Steve looking at Liza. For the second time in just a few hours, I felt a touch of jealousy. I’d give a lot to have a man look at me like that. But I knew it was highly unlikely. Things like that just don’t happen to women like me. I had way too much baggage. Any good man would run in the opposite direction.

  I shoved the sadness from my head and pulled up a game of spider solitaire. Maybe boredom would dull the sudden, odd loneliness.

  ****

  That night, I lay in the dark room for hours, listening to the crickets and cicadas outside. Damn. The sounds reminded me of Alabama, of my childhood home, of the hell I swore I’d never return to.

  I rolled over. Again. And tried to relax, but the strange house, the long trip, and finding out my closest friend had been a cheerleader was more than my brain could handle.

  I slipped out of the room and tiptoed down the stairs. I’d seen the screened-in back porch through a window during dinner and complimented Mrs. Clark on it. She said her property backed onto the woods and they’d built the porch to take advantage of the view. After we ate she took me out there, and I’d fallen in love. Outside, but safe from the flies and mosquitoes that are the bane of Southern life, the porch with simple wicker chairs and a small wicker table was a place for quiet contemplation. A place that felt safe.

  That’s where I went now. The full moon cast its bright glow onto the woods, and bits of the light overflowed to illuminate the porch. I leaned back and luxuriated in the soft light and the quiet, fresh air.

  I might not miss my mom’s whining, or the yelling, or my stepdad’s quick backhand. But sometimes I missed the country. Sometimes the thick air, the masses of people, and the rush of big city life made me want to go running.

  Movement near a tree caught my attention and I narrowed my eyes to get a better look. Whatever was out there, it was pretty big. Large dog? Maybe a retriever, a German Shepherd, or even a Great Dane.