Her mother was jealous, of her? Who’d have guessed?
“Yes, I wanted to be smart, not just pretty. I wanted to be that for your dad. Even when you were a little kid you could relate to him better than I could.”
Dena swallowed hard at her mother’s sudden resentful tone. “And then Carli was born.”
“Well, it was just…it was, she was like me,” her mother said. “I understood her.”
She hadn’t said, “and I resented you, so I gave every ounce of my love to your sister” but Dena knew the story.
“Listen, Mom, you’re a smart lady. You have an incredible sense of color and style. You’re a natural born decorator—”
“Fluff honey, that stuff is just fluff and nonsense,” her mother said bitterly.
She knew the pinched look her mother would have on her face. “Well, I think it’s a talent. I’m not at all artistically creative—”
“But you’re educated,” her mother said. “Nobody takes that decorating stuff seriously.” She scoffed. “Any woman can do that.”
Darn. She’d complimented something her mother didn’t like about herself. How was she supposed to know that?
“Some people make it a career. It’s as important as you want to make it.” Dena bit her lip. Her mother had never had a career. She’d gone straight from college to marriage. This whole conversation was doomed.
“You sound like my therapist,” her mother said sharply.
Well, there you go. Doomed, absolutely doomed. Two minutes of conversation and they were at a stalemate. Dena groped around in her mental filing cabinet and searched for labels that said “Mom is smart,” however, “Mom is spoiled and selfish” kept popping into her thoughts.
“I’ve upset you again, or—”
“It’s okay.”
“No it isn’t,” Dena said softly. “You want to talk about something but—”
“Forget it. This conversation is over.”
The sharp sting of the rebuff reverberated through Dena’s body. Mom had shut her out again. She wanted to scream. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut and let her mother find her own way to broach the apology? Why was she always fixing things, taking care of everyone else’s needs? Smoothing ruffled feathers? She was about to hang up, thinking the conversation had ended when her mother spoke again.
“Are you still working?”
“Yes, I’m staying busy,” Dena said. Work was the story of her life. That she could always count on.
“You’re in Palm Springs?”
“Yes, I—”
“That Cabrera guy should be shot—”
“Mom!” Dena’s heart about jumped into her throat. She took a couple of deep breaths and steadied herself. “You can’t say that, there’s no evidence—”
“Well, I just did say it. And I believe it. There’s something shifty about his eyes.”
“What? That’s crazy.” The words had come out sharper than she’d intended. Crazy wasn’t a smart choice of words to use with someone deep into psychoanalysis and popping anti-depressants like candy. “When did you see his eyes?”
“In photographs, in the newspapers, photos don’t lie you know. Besides, his eyebrows are too close together.”
She knew Zeke and believed one hundred percent in his innocence. He was a victim. Suspicion had been cast on him by someone who could gain…gain what? Her eyes narrowed. And anyway, his eyebrows were not too close together.
“You still there?” her mother asked.
“Yes. I was thinking—”
“Who is your client down there in the desert?”
“Oh, uh…I can’t say. It’s a confidential matter. Once it’s all cleared up, I’ll tell you.”
“I called your office. The receptionist said you no longer worked there.”
So, that’s what this was all about, she was spying. Damn it to hell. Mom hadn’t wanted to apologize at all. Dena’s heart pumped like crazy. Why had she allowed herself to trust even for a minute? She took a deep breath, tried to calm her anger. When would she ever get this relationship right?
“That’s true,” Dena said, as calmly as she could. “I was going to tell you when I got home. I’m doing consulting work, and then I’ll start my own business.” She didn’t say as a PI. Let her mother think what she wanted. “Why did you call the office instead of my cell?”
“I had a dream you were in danger,” her mother said softly. “Are you? I was so worried.”
She’d misjudged. Again! Tears pricked at Dena’s eyelids. Her mother had cared enough to call her office. She’d been worried about her. She blinked several times, swallowed hard at the lump in her throat.
“I’m fine, Mom. It’s a tricky job and I’m not going to lie, there is an element of danger, but I’m surrounded by good people. I know I’ll be fine.”