Read Online The Lone Star Lonely Hearts Club by Susan McBride - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan McBride
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reassuring me, and resumed walking, past the shipwreck painting and toward the door that Annabelle had slipped through a moment before.
“Hey, hold on!” I had to do a little jig around her, stopping her just before the entrance to the dining hall. I held out my arms like a traffic cop, blocking her way, unwilling to go any farther unless she agreed. It had been a trying enough day already, and it wasn’t quite noon.
I hadn’t exactly gotten the go-sign from her that I’d needed, and I certainly didn’t want her to cause a scene at the reception, simply because she was on serious emotional overload and her mind was playing games with her common sense. Even in lesser moments, Mother tended toward the dramatic, making molehills into Greek tragedies; this morning, she’d cranked her paranoia into high gear.
And people told me that I had a vivid imagination.
Clearly, it was inherited.
“Promise me you’ll behave?” I asked again when she didn’t respond, merely skewered me with a piercing stare, her lips pulled taut. “Did you hear me, Mother? If you don’t swear you’ll put the kibosh on your Twilight Zone scenario about how Bebe died, I’ll march you out the front door and have Fredrik drive you home right this minute.”
“And will you count to ten in French and give me a time-out?”
“ Mu-ther . Stop kidding around.”
“Don’t worry, Sparky, I’ll play nice,” she said dryly, shifting her gaze toward the dining room doors.
I was tempted to check her hands to see if she were crossing her fingers.
Why didn’t I believe her?
“All right.” I let out a breath, still uneasy, because my instincts were screaming that I should march her back out the front door and get her home pronto.
Bebe’s death had obviously discombobulated Cissy more than I’d imagined, and it troubled me, even scared me a little. She’d lost lifelong friends before, and it had knocked her for a loop each time; but she had never reacted like this. Never insisted one of them was liquidated.
If she didn’t regroup in a couple days, I might have to call Dr. Cooper and make an appointment for a physical. I didn’t want her making herself sick.
“Stick with me, will you, please?” I implored and caught her elbow as she brushed past me, heading toward the French doors. I wanted to keep her within shouting distance until we could leave. “We’ll only stay long enough for you to see the rest of your bridge buddies and get something to eat”—at least, I was getting something to eat—“then we’re out of here. Annabelle can give me a tour some other day.”
“For heaven’s sake, Andrea, I’ll stay as long as I want to stay. I’m not a child, I’m your mother.”
As if I could ever forget.
She brushed off my grasp. “And would you please stop talking to me this way. It’s condescending.”
“It’s for your own good,” I told her, and I meant it. She was behaving like a sixty-year-old with adult ADD.
“My,” she drawled, “but that sounds awfully familiar.”
“I’m just concerned about you.”
“Why on earth?” Her brows arched, and she gave her hair a toss, though her blond coif barely shifted. “Darling, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well”—she tugged on the cuffs of her jacket—“maybe I’m a wee bit tired after everything. This hasn’t been easy.”
Ah, there it was. She’d admitted all wasn’t right with her world. As long as I’d known her, she’d rarely confessed to any weakness, so this was encouraging. Perhaps she even realized how paranoid she was behaving.
Still, my brain was already making plans to accompany her back to the house on Beverly, feed her a Valium (or two), and put her down for an afternoon nap, leaving her under Sandy Beck’s watchful eye thereafter. I figured it’d just take some time for her to feel like herself again and get this silly idea of murder out of her system.
Murder.
The word prickled my short hairs.
I rubbed the tight
“Hey, hold on!” I had to do a little jig around her, stopping her just before the entrance to the dining hall. I held out my arms like a traffic cop, blocking her way, unwilling to go any farther unless she agreed. It had been a trying enough day already, and it wasn’t quite noon.
I hadn’t exactly gotten the go-sign from her that I’d needed, and I certainly didn’t want her to cause a scene at the reception, simply because she was on serious emotional overload and her mind was playing games with her common sense. Even in lesser moments, Mother tended toward the dramatic, making molehills into Greek tragedies; this morning, she’d cranked her paranoia into high gear.
And people told me that I had a vivid imagination.
Clearly, it was inherited.
“Promise me you’ll behave?” I asked again when she didn’t respond, merely skewered me with a piercing stare, her lips pulled taut. “Did you hear me, Mother? If you don’t swear you’ll put the kibosh on your Twilight Zone scenario about how Bebe died, I’ll march you out the front door and have Fredrik drive you home right this minute.”
“And will you count to ten in French and give me a time-out?”
“ Mu-ther . Stop kidding around.”
“Don’t worry, Sparky, I’ll play nice,” she said dryly, shifting her gaze toward the dining room doors.
I was tempted to check her hands to see if she were crossing her fingers.
Why didn’t I believe her?
“All right.” I let out a breath, still uneasy, because my instincts were screaming that I should march her back out the front door and get her home pronto.
Bebe’s death had obviously discombobulated Cissy more than I’d imagined, and it troubled me, even scared me a little. She’d lost lifelong friends before, and it had knocked her for a loop each time; but she had never reacted like this. Never insisted one of them was liquidated.
If she didn’t regroup in a couple days, I might have to call Dr. Cooper and make an appointment for a physical. I didn’t want her making herself sick.
“Stick with me, will you, please?” I implored and caught her elbow as she brushed past me, heading toward the French doors. I wanted to keep her within shouting distance until we could leave. “We’ll only stay long enough for you to see the rest of your bridge buddies and get something to eat”—at least, I was getting something to eat—“then we’re out of here. Annabelle can give me a tour some other day.”
“For heaven’s sake, Andrea, I’ll stay as long as I want to stay. I’m not a child, I’m your mother.”
As if I could ever forget.
She brushed off my grasp. “And would you please stop talking to me this way. It’s condescending.”
“It’s for your own good,” I told her, and I meant it. She was behaving like a sixty-year-old with adult ADD.
“My,” she drawled, “but that sounds awfully familiar.”
“I’m just concerned about you.”
“Why on earth?” Her brows arched, and she gave her hair a toss, though her blond coif barely shifted. “Darling, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well”—she tugged on the cuffs of her jacket—“maybe I’m a wee bit tired after everything. This hasn’t been easy.”
Ah, there it was. She’d admitted all wasn’t right with her world. As long as I’d known her, she’d rarely confessed to any weakness, so this was encouraging. Perhaps she even realized how paranoid she was behaving.
Still, my brain was already making plans to accompany her back to the house on Beverly, feed her a Valium (or two), and put her down for an afternoon nap, leaving her under Sandy Beck’s watchful eye thereafter. I figured it’d just take some time for her to feel like herself again and get this silly idea of murder out of her system.
Murder.
The word prickled my short hairs.
I rubbed the tight
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