Julia Kate looked at my mother as if she’d just seen her for the first time.
I laughed. “Welcome to my world.”
“Um, no thanks, G-ma.” My daughter scrabbled away from my mother, rising and rushing toward her backpack, which she had dumped on the catchall cubby at the kitchen door. “Will you sign the slip now?”
I made a “Stop it” face at my mother, who merely sniffed in offense. The woman would have Julia Kate waxed, corseted, and lipsticked with a bow atop her head if she had her way.
I dutifully grabbed a pen, perusing the form, which was for a field trip to a working farm to learn about sustainability and modern farming. Huh. Guess it wasn’t a bad field trip. Julia Kate probably needed to learn about waste if the number of water bottles on her bedside table was an indication.
“They’re going to let us feed the baby cows with a bottle,” Julia Kate said, leaning over as I scrawled my name on the blank line. I had a twinge of something as I wondered if I should remain “Crosby” or go back to my maiden name.
“Calf, not a baby cow.”
“Oh yeah. And they have donkeys and goats, too.” Julia Kate whipped out her phone and started showing me pictures of adorable farm animals. “This one is named Rosebud. She wears a little hat and everything. But only at Easter. They don’t force the animals to be pets or anything.”
“Well, I’m sure the donkey liked her hat. I mean, it’s a cute hat.” I tried to smile even though inside I still felt twisted by all that had happened. It kept banging around inside my head—Scott Crosby was a cheat, a liar, a criminal.
Julia Kate pocketed her phone into her jeans. “Oh, I forgot. This creeper guy handed me this envelope for Dad.”
She hurried over to her open backpack and pulled out a clasped envelope. My mother sipped and watched, like a well-moisturized vulture awaiting a kill. Or awaiting another opening to suggest a makeover for my daughter.
An alarm flag had raised inside me over Julia Kate’s words. Creeper. “What do you mean? Some guy handed this to you? Where?”
Julia Kate nodded, looking adorably young. “When I was walking up the drive. I thought he was, like, a yard worker or something. He just said, ‘Hey, give this to your daddy’ and hurried away toward a black car. But he was scary looking.”
Scott’s name was scrawled across the sealed envelope, which felt like an evil omen. Every fiber of my being wanted to rip open that envelope, but I refrained and set it on the counter. “I’m sure he was just what you thought. Dad had some work done on the pool, and it might have been one of their guys leaving us the bill. But I’m glad you were aware of your surroundings. It’s good to be careful and trust your instincts.”
“Yeah,” Julia Kate said absentmindedly, fetching her phone after a series of dings. She picked up the permission slip, kissed my mother’s cheek, and strolled out, her thumbs moving furiously on her iPhone.
“She’s going to run into a wall,” my mother said, finishing the last of her drink.
I cast another glance at the ominous envelope. “Those phones are their world.”
“So sad.” My mother slid from the stool and repositioned it back perfectly. “Well, I must go. I need to water the plants on the back patio before the sun sets. Let me know when I can take a meeting with Ruby.”
“You’re really interested in helping her?”
“Yes. I am. I have money and I have time.”
Another thing flipped upside down in my life, but this was a good thing. Just shocking that my mother—the woman who took to her bed when I got a second ear piercing in college—wanted to support Ruby with her tattoos （maybe my mother thought she was a sailor?） and her nose ring. But I had to admit that once Ruby allowed her guard to lower, she was easy to love. My mother wasn’t unaffected by underdogs. Neither was I. Maybe because I now felt like one. “Well, I know Ruby would appreciate both. I agree with you—she’s talented and worthwhile.”
My mother, who called everything “tacky” when I was a teen, proceeded to mosey out my door like the most avant-garde of women.
Yeah, my world was definitely lopsided.
I tidied up the kitchen, my gaze straying to the envelope I had set aside for Scott. Something was odd about it, and finally, after wiping the fridge handles with Clorox for a second time, I went to my bag, pulled out my vintage detective book, and looked in the glossary for how to open correspondence without being detected. And there it was—the tried-and-true steam method. This book was brilliant.