The Motherhood Intervention: Book 3 in the Intervention Series Page 4

  On the day of the Steve Prefontaine video, Summer and Derek walked into Derek’s sunny kitchen, and his mom, Julie, grinned.

  “So you’re the one who’s been putting that goofy smile on Derek’s face for the past two months,” she said. Summer blushed, but felt herself immediately warming, and then practically melting when Julie put down her iced tea and wrapped Summer in a hug.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetie. Really. It is.”

  Derek mysteriously disappeared and Julie offered Summer a bowl of potatoes to wash, peel and chop. Just like that, Summer Carson became part of a family.

  It was Julie who cried when she saw Summer in her wedding gown, and Derek’s dad, Buck, who walked her down the aisle and gave her away. It was Julie who came to the house after each of Summer’s children were born, to cook and clean and rock her tiny grandchildren while Summer napped. Julie showed up at all the kids’ sporting events, school awards ceremonies and science fairs. And she was around for more than just the fun stuff. She helped with homework. She bandaged scraped elbows and put baking soda paste on bee stings. She sent kids to timeout, for goodness’ sake.

  Julie had stepped in, and Summer had decided long ago she didn’t need Willow. And she certainly didn’t need her now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “It’s time for your intervention, sister,” Josie said.

  Because Summer had called an emergency Happy Hour on a Monday night at Rowdy’s, the scene was quieter than usual. Thursday nights were pretty rockin’, but Mondays were dead. Only a handful of college kids sat at the bar, and a couple of suits snacked on pub mix a few tables away.

  Summer put her head down on the table. “I wish I could drown my stress in wine. Or vodka. Or turpentine.”

  “So, I guess I didn’t even realize you had a mom,” Delaney said.

  “I know,” Summer said. “Me neither.”

  “Seriously, though,” Josie said. “What happened? How did she just show up on your doorstep?”

  Summer explained how Willow had apparently spent the past fifteen years developing her research skills instead of getting an actual job. She happened to see a post from someone on FriendZoo that mentioned Summer’s work as a graphic designer, and she went from there, searching the property records and then lurking around until she verified Summer was, in fact, Mrs. Gray after all this time.

  “Wow,” Delaney and Josie said.

  Summer nodded. “Derek said we should let her stay, and he was being pretty reasonable. So she’s been at the house since Friday. Ergo, today’s emergency meeting. Mostly I wanted to meet with you guys so I could think about something besides my own crazy life. What’s going on with you two?”

  The girls looked at each other. Before Summer really had time to wonder what their silent conversation was all about, Delaney spoke.

  “Jake and I are going to buy a new house,” she said. “Hopefully before the baby comes. My place is too small, and his apartment is, well, a bachelor pad, so, not really appropriate for a family.”

  “That’s great,” Summer said. “How’s the search going?”

  “Awful,” Delaney said.

  Josie laughed, but forced a serious expression when Delaney gave her a dirty look.

  Delaney went on, “He wants to live, like, out in the country, so our kids can run around and explore. Play cowboys. Whatever. But I want to live in town so we can walk to school, borrow sugar from our neighbors, that kind of thing. Did you guys ever fight about a house?”

  Summer shook her head. “Not really. I mean, we were so head over heels, and so young. Buying a house seemed really exciting. I’m pretty sure we bought the first one we looked at.”

  “Do you guys ever fight?” Josie asked.

  Again, Summer shook her head. “Not really. Until Willow showed up.”

  Delaney elbowed Josie, and Summer felt a tiny bit of apprehension sneak in.

  “Look, Summer,” Josie said. “I know you want a distraction. But we want an intervention.”

  Just as Summer had done a few months ago when she and Josie took over Delaney’s romantic life as part of The Dating Intervention, Delaney held up her hands as if she were admiring a big, bright movie marquee. “We call it”—she paused for dramatic effect—“The Life Intervention.”

  “Wow. That just doesn’t have the same ring as The Dating Intervention or The Marriage Intervention,” Josie said.

  “No, it really doesn’t,” Delaney said.

  Summer laughed. The sound bordered on hysterical. “I don’t need an intervention.”

  “Um, yes,” Josie said. “You do.”

  I probably do. Summer remembered watching Delaney’s love life disintegrate, and she remembered feeling like stepping in was the only option. She remembered seeing Josie’s marriage on the verge of falling apart, and again, feeling like taking over was the only option. She couldn’t see her own life from her friends’ perspective, of course, but they had trusted her and now it was her turn to trust them. She thought of her dream vacation—in a hospital, due to injury or illness—and nodded.

  “I guess I do. But it needs a better name.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Delaney said. “But let’s come up with a few rules.”

  Josie pulled a pen out of her purse and began writing on a bar napkin. “One. You must return to yoga class.”

  She wrote, Yoga on the bar napkin. “I can already hear you: ‘But I don’t have childcare.’ First of all, your mom is there now. Second of all, Dee and I can watch the kids for you. Two.”

  “Wait,” Summer said. “There’s no way I’m letting my mom watch the kids. I’m just saying.”

  “Fine. Delaney and I will watch them. Two. Date nights.” She wrote Dates on the napkin. “Again, we will watch the kids. You and Derek must go out once a week. We don’t care if you go up to the top of a mountain and make out or go to dinner and a movie. But you’ve got to get out of the house. Before you go crazy.”

  “We were going to put in a rule about sex,” Delaney said. “But seeing as you’re currently as big as a house, we decided we’ll let that one slide.”

  “For now,” Josie said.

  “Thanks a lot,” Summer said.

  “Three,” Delaney said. “Girl days.”

  Josie wrote Girls’ Day Out on the napkin.

  “I would love to, you guys, really. But I don’t have time for all this.”

  “That’s the problem,” Delaney said. “You need to make time. We know you’re not going to like this one, but—”

  “Just say it quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Josie said.

  “You need to take a break from The Sweets,” Delaney said.

  Summer sighed. When Josie opened her mouth to speak, Summer held up a hand. “No, you’re right. I do need to take a break from the band. I love it. I’ve loved it since we started seven years ago. I really loved it when we performed at the rodeo dance. But right now, it’s not providing the stress relief it has in the past.”

  “That was easier than I expected,” Josie said.

  “I know,” Delaney said. “I could see you gearing up for a fight.”

  Summer wanted to blame hormones for the tightening in her throat, but she knew the onslaught of emotion came from the growing sensation of relief. The girls were stepping in at exactly the right moment, and they knew just what she needed.

  “I love you guys,” she said.

  ***

  As Summer drove home from Rowdy’s, she felt immense gratitude for her friends. Again, tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the watercolor sunset. Delaney and Josie were right. Since Willow’s appearance at the front door of Summer’s home, the tension had risen to almost unmanageable levels. Something had to change.

  Summer cringed as she thought about her behavior over the past couple of days. She found herself snapping at Derek and the kids, leaving her keys in the freezer (and then accusing the kids of taking them), and constantly on the verge of crying or screaming or locking herself in the bathroom.
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br />   When she called Willow at the hotel and invited her over, trying to hide the reluctance in her voice, Willow said, “I just knew you’d come around. In fact, I’ve already showered. You can pick me up anytime.”

  Derek drove over to get her, and when she walked into the house, she lined up all four of the kids and inspected them as if they were livestock.

  “This one looks just like you—and like me,” she said as she examined Sarah’s face. “Only, she got your husband’s ears. Unfortunate. And this one—” she leaned down so she was eye-to-eye with Nate—“he’s handsome. Lady killer. Watch out for you, honey.” She whistled through her teeth. Nate grinned. Derek laughed and Summer rolled her eyes. Willow moved on to Luke. “He looks pale,” she said. When he frowned, she quickly added, “And a bit mischievous.” He laughed at that, and she looked around for Hannah, who wouldn’t stand in a lineup if her life depended on it. “Where’s that little whippersnapper?”

  “That one’s got a mind of her own,” Derek said to Willow, as if it were a secret the two of them shared.

  “Just like her mother,” Willow said, winking at Summer.

  Did you just wink at me? That would be the first wink Willow had ever sent Summer’s way.

  The sound of running feet distracted Summer from saying anything to Willow, and Hannah emerged from the hall with a pair of Nate’s underwear on her head and his cowboy boots on her feet. Her shirt was crusted with dried oatmeal, and her hair stuck up, cemented in place by more of the same.

  “Isn’t she just a handful?” Willow said, clapping her hands together. “I sure hope you don’t have another girl, Summer. I’m not sure you can handle it.”

  Derek squeezed Summer’s arm before she could say anything hateful. Throughout the day, Willow sat on the couch taking everything in, and of course, offering commentary.

  Mid-afternoon when the older kids were still in pajamas, Summer threatened them with no meals for a week if they didn’t get dressed. Naturally, they put on the clothes they’d worn the day before. “Oh, is that how you manage?” Willow said. “Threaten to starve them and make them wear dirty clothes? I guess that’s how you afford to feed this little flock of yours, and keep up with the laundry.”

  Summer glanced at Derek and bit her tongue when she saw him staring at her with narrowed eyes.

  When Hannah stood up in her highchair and toppled right out of it, Willow sat calmly at the dining room table, clucking her tongue.

  The crying quieted, and she said, “You should really monitor her better, Summer. I’d hate for her to suffer a serious head injury because you’re not watching her. Poor little thing.”

  Flashbacks of her own childhood played like a film reel in her mind—the time she’d spent an entire afternoon playing outside in a thunderstorm until a neighbor noticed and sent her inside, the full week she’d spent fending for herself, eating questionable produce when Willow didn’t come home because she had ended up in some homeless shelter, and the time Willow left her next to those cantaloupes. Summer reminded herself that Willow had a skewed sense of good parenting.

  Again, she remained silent, Derek’s words from that first night on repeat in her mind: “Just give it a try. Be patient. This is your chance to reconnect with your mother. I don’t want you to regret it if you don’t give it an honest effort.”

  At one point, Summer walked into the kitchen to find Willow teaching Nate how to use a lighter to light her cigarette. Summer worked herself into a tizzy, shrieking at Willow, not only about teaching a nine-year-old how to light a cigarette and the inappropriateness of smoking inside a house where children lived, but also about how nobody smoked anymore. “I didn’t even know they still made these!” she said as she ground Willow’s out in the sink.

  As she had throughout Summer’s childhood, Willow acted like Summer was the irrational one.

  “Using a lighter is a life skill,” she said while Nate looked back and forth between the two of them as if one of them might explode at any moment. “And don’t worry. I made him promise me he’d never smoke. I told him it’s a nasty, nasty habit. Right, Nathan?”

  “His name is Nate.”

  “I like Nathan better.”

  Willow had been at the house only three days.

  Summer found excuses to spend time alone in the bathroom. She’d turn the shower on, sit on the toilet lid and either cry, belt out kids’ songs in an angry growl or mutter to herself. She felt that sick longing for a car accident or semi-major illness and the resultant hospitalization. More than ever, she looked forward to the birth of this baby. Yes, she’d have to go through labor and delivery to get it, but she’d at least get an overnight at Juniper Medical Center. Maybe even two overnights.

  When she almost rear-ended a tiny hatchback at a red light, the adrenaline dump gave her a reality check. Considering the hospital a vacation was not healthy. And her fantasies of crashing her own car or coming down with a serious illness were becoming more frequent.

  The only solution: to send Willow packing.

  ***

  When Summer arrived home from Rowdy’s, Willow sat at the kitchen table with all four kids. Each of the three big kids stared intently at a hand of cards, and Hannah studiously mashed peas into her high chair tray with her index finger.

  Summer knew the scene should make her happy, but instead, anger rose quickly into her throat and she snapped, “Where’s Derek?”

  Four little heads snapped around, eight eyes opening wide at the sound her her voice.

  The fifth head, Willow’s, turned slowly, and her eyes trailed from Summer’s face down to her stomach.

  “Glad you could make it back from the bar.”

  Summer gritted her teeth.

  “Daddy ran to the store to get Hannah some biscuits. He says she’s teething,” Sarah said into the silence.

  Summer thought—but managed not to say—What the hell was he thinking, leaving you all here with her?

  Instead, she nodded and stalked into the bedroom to change into sweat pants. Meanwhile, she took some deep breaths. She needed to go back to yoga. The front door opened and she heard Derek come in. Summer waited, and almost laughed because she felt like a lioness stalking her prey. The trap was set.

  Derek must have sensed it, because he took his time walking back to the bedroom.

  In a whisper, she demanded, “Why did you leave the kids here with her?”

  He sighed, but didn’t look surprised.

  “I just ran out to get Hannah some biscuits. I was gone fifteen minutes. I knew you’d be back soon, too. Take a chill pill, Summer.”

  “‘Take a chill pill’? Take a chill pill? My husband is telling me to take a chill pill after he made the worst decision in all of history to leave my children—my children!—with my delinquent, alcoholic, cigarette-smoking mother!”

  Summer found it difficult to maintain her low volume, but didn’t want the kids to overhear her.

  “Who are you talking to?” Derek asked.

  “Winter. My alter ego. You wouldn’t like her.”

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Is she kinky? Maybe I would.”

  Now, Summer laughed, too.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t help but think about the time Willow left me at the grocery store. Or the time she slept through an entire weekend at a homeless shelter while I scavenged in the fridge for leftovers.”

  Derek moved forward as if to hug Summer, but stopped short, pretending to be afraid. She laughed and pulled him to her. He kissed her forehead and said, “I was gone fifteen minutes. If she suddenly went missing, Sarah could watch the other three until one of us got back.”

  Summer sighed. “What could go wrong in fifteen minutes, right?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that. But I figured it was pretty safe.”

  Summer found herself in a bit of a trance as they stood there, hugging. Then a yell from the kitchen broke the spell.

  ***

  Nate lay on the kitchen floor, a foam sword in his a
rmpit, howling with pretend pain. Luke stood over him, his arms raised in victory. Apparently, Luke had just beaten Nate at War.

  “Knock it off, Nate,” Summer said.

  The mood in the kitchen transformed immediately from frivolity to frigid.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go have a cigarette before the bar-hopping Ice Queen freezes us all out,” Willow said.

  “I’ll join you,” Summer said.

  The kids’ mouths dropped open simultaneously and Summer snapped, “Not for a smoke. Just to talk. And for the record, I wasn’t bar-hopping, Willow. I was at one bar, with my best friends, having a glass of water and some green olives. Not bourbon and cigarettes. Surprisingly, I don’t have a taste for them, seeing as how I got a taste of them in the womb. Derek, could you please put the kids to bed?”

  Derek managed to cover his surprised expression and bark out an order for the kids to get their pajamas. For once, they didn’t protest. Maybe they could sense Summer’s stress, or her resolve. Maybe they knew what she was about to do and didn’t want to witness it. Or maybe they were just tired.

  Nevertheless, they walked out of the kitchen single file without a backward glance at their grandmother. Summer was glad their last impression of her would be a good one.

  ***

  Outside, Willow sat down in one of the wicker patio chairs and sighed.

  Summer remained standing as Willow pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and tapped it on the arm of the chair.

  “Geez, I don’t know how you do it with four little beasts,” Willow said.

  She tapped a cigarette out of the pack and Summer watched her light it in exactly the same way she had for decades. She held the cigarette between her teeth and pulled her lips back into a kind of grimace. She flicked her lighter once, twice, and on the third try it lit. Now she pursed her lips to inhale as she touched the flame to the cigarette, and Summer noticed the vertical lines along her upper lip had deepened noticeably in the past fifteen years.

  “I just do it,” Summer said.