For All She Knows (Potomac Point #3) - Jamie Beck Page 0,3
what is and make the best of it.”
Easier for whom, exactly?
From my perspective, that attitude had let Daddy run roughshod over us all and still come home to a clean house and a good meal. Maybe if she hadn’t been so accepting—if she’d had the courage to take us to a domestic abuse shelter like the one I sewed dresses and drapes for—Margot might still be alive. This kind of thinking is why her attempts to make up for all the years she’d prioritized enabling and justifying my father’s alcoholism and violent tendencies over protecting Margot and me fell flat.
Sometimes the urge to criticize her choices came on so strong I worried it’d leap right out of my mouth. But berating her for the past served no purpose now.
“Except that this budget isn’t approved yet, so I don’t have to accept it.”
“Isn’t it better to focus on keeping your family happy than to get political? Less chance of regrets.”
Perhaps she meant to spare me the regrets she carried on her back like an invisible cross, so I didn’t point out that she’d never managed to build a happy family.
“Mom, you’re being overanxious. It’s a hearing.”
She tsk-tsked. “You know how people get when they fight about money or kids, and this deals with both.”
“Well, I appreciate your concern, but it’s my choice.” I knew she was shaking her head despite her silence. A car engine idled out front. “Listen, my student just arrived, so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Think about what I said, honey.” The parting shot. I pictured a grimace deepening her wrinkles. “Bye, dear.”
“Goodbye, Mom.” I hung up, turning away from my past, and then answered the door.
In an unusual move, Keri had walked Jasmine up to the house.
“Jasmine, go ahead and warm up for a minute. I’ll be right there.” I gestured toward the living room, where we kept my grandmother’s Steinway. My grandmother had played for her church but left me the magnificent upright piano when she died fifteen years ago. Now my family enjoyed singing around it on holidays, and as always, playing remained my way of relieving stress and releasing my emotions without fear of reprisal.
When Jasmine left us, I turned to Keri. “Is there a problem with Jasmine’s lessons?”
“Oh, no. I love listening to her practice. She’s becoming so good.” Keri’s proud smile wrought one from me as well.
“She’s a terrific student.”
“Thank God she inherited my husband’s discipline.” Keri adjusted her purse strap. “I just wanted to wish you luck. Sorry I can’t make the hearing, but Paul’s working late and Jasmine is babysitting for the Singhs later, so I’ve got no one to watch my other two.”
“No need to explain yourself, Keri. We’ll have enough protesters to make our points.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. That Mimi and the booster club are all whipped up.”
I braced, fighting a scowl. Other women often referred to Mimi as that Mimi, especially when they didn’t personally know her. Some of their contempt probably arose because many husbands flirted with her. Others might resent that she didn’t change herself to make them more comfortable. But most of all, I think Mimi—like my mom years ago—got condemned for her former husband’s bad behavior. Dirk had been something of a boor and a notorious cheater.
Having lived through my mom’s defenses and rationalizations, I guessed that, deep down, Mimi had put up with it because she’d been hoping that he’d change back to the man she’d fallen in love with.
In any case, I’d grown tired of how some women justified harshly judging other women. When did it become the rule that we all had to conform to one standard and agree about every little thing? As long as a person wasn’t out to hurt others, live and let live. Mimi never set out to hurt a soul.
With a firm but polite tone, I said, “Mimi’s only supporting her kid like the rest of us are. Fingers crossed that the board members are persuaded by our arguments.”
“You’re right.” Keri nodded, then checked her phone. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes to get Jasmine.”
“Perfect.” I waved goodbye, then put tonight’s meeting out of my mind.
My kids came home from school shortly after Jasmine’s lesson began. Usually they did their homework in the kitchen and then retreated to their rooms until my last lesson left for the evening. When I finally went to take the chicken from the oven, Carter was closing his textbooks. Although his sophomore workload had increased over last year’s, the