Robin didn’t protest when Janice demanded another drink. The more intoxicated Janice became, the more wildly her mood swung between belligerent and weepy. Contributing to the conversation was risky; a seemingly innocuous statement could set off a tirade or tears. When Janice asked for yet another drink, Robin finally put Margaret out of her misery by telling Janice they were leaving and, if she wanted a drink, she’d have to get it herself. Janice stumbled into the hallway with them. Margaret thought Janice intended to see them out, but she continued into the kitchen—for another rum and Coke, no doubt.

  “Time to make a break for it,” Robin murmured, her small smile failing to mask the bleakness in her eyes.

  They quickly pulled on their coats and fled the apartment. Robin shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and didn’t speak a word the entire way home. She’d raised the drawbridge, shuttered the windows, and hunkered down for a lengthy siege. Margaret would try to find a way in, but not tonight. It would be like poking a wounded animal with a stick.

  When they arrived home, Robin hung her jacket and said, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  “Can I have a minute of your time?” Margaret asked. “Just a minute.”

  Robin’s lips compressed, but she nodded.

  “I have to fetch something from my bedroom.” She hurried up the stairs and retrieved Robin’s present from its hiding place. She’d looked forward to giving it to her, had imagined them returning home in high spirits and capping off the evening by sharing a tea—the perfect time to watch Robin unwrap her gift. If only Margaret had known . . . On the way home, she’d contemplated holding onto it until Robin’s mood brightened, but withholding a birthday present because someone was hurting didn’t make sense, and Robin would surely guess Margaret’s reason for doing so and not appreciate it.

  When Margaret went downstairs, Robin was in the living room, fidgeting on the sofa. Margaret handed her the present. “Happy birthday,” she said, inwardly wincing at the hollowness of the words.

  “Thank you.” Robin unwrapped the gift, unfolded the knitted cardigan, and lifted it up by its shoulders.

  “I altered the pattern a bit, so I hope it fits. I removed some of the more feminine features and added a collar.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “I know I didn’t buy the wool.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You crafted it and put in the time.” Robin hugged the cardigan against her chest and blinked rapidly. “It’s the thought that counts. You thought of me.”

  A lump formed in Margaret’s throat at the sadness in Robin’s voice. Her heart ached for her. Love was joyous, but it had another side—Robin’s pain pierced Margaret’s soul as if it were her own. Watching Robin struggle with her composure . . . Oh, the helplessness, the certainty that anything she said or did would deepen the hurt, embarrassment, and shame that Robin didn’t deserve to feel! She wished they could start the day over. If only she’d known.

  Robin folded the cardigan and dropped it onto the wrapping paper on her lap. “I was thinking that we should have invited more people than just Cathy to lunch tomorrow,” she said, her eyes on her present. “I should introduce you to more people.” She swallowed. “I’m not the only lesbian in Toronto. I’m just the first one you met. It’s a big city. There are a lot of us.” She nodded, as if reaching a decision. “I’ll introduce you to more people.”

  Margaret loved Robin! She’d fallen in love with Robin before she knew Robin was a lesbian. She hadn’t fallen for her because Robin was the first lesbian she’d met.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll try this on tomorrow. I really need to go to bed. But it’s lovely. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Margaret said, but Robin wasn’t listening; she’d already scooped the cardigan into her arms and risen.

  “Good night,” Robin murmured.

  Margaret managed to stem her tears until she could no longer hear Robin’s footsteps, then she let them flow and quietly wept—for Robin, for herself, and for the battle that lay ahead. How did one overcome years of emotional battering and neglect?

  Robin had lost a strong ally—Pam—and it was up to Margaret to take her place. Remaining silent and staring in horror like a frightened rabbit wouldn’t do. Janice would not run Robin down unopposed in Margaret’s presence again! Next time, Margaret would immediately speak up, over Robin’s protests, if she had to. Of course, she was assuming this evening hadn’t completely scuttled her and Robin’s chances of spending their lives together. As much as the thought of seeing Janice again turned Margaret’s stomach, she desperately hoped there would be a next time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pam watched in dismay as Elliot helped Doris into his car. When Doris raised her hand in farewell, Pam forced a smile and returned the gesture. Her peripheral vision caught Jasper doing the same. They stood in silence, their eyes on the car as it slowly proceeded up the long driveway. “I could use a drink,” Pam murmured to Jasper, aware of Bella dusting a table in the entrance hall that probably didn’t have a speck of dust on it. She’d come to see Doris led to the slaughter, no doubt. “Let’s go to the drawing room.”

  Once there, Pam lowered herself into a chair with a sigh.

  “She’s not going to prison,” Jasper said, though he didn’t smile.

  “It will feel like a prison to her.” Pam accepted the glass of white wine he poured. “I don’t know, Jasper, she’s bright, she has dreams, and she’ll waste her life away with that moron.”

  Jasper chuckled. “It’s her choice.”

  “It’s not that simple! To do what she wants, she’d have to give up so much.”

  “You did it.”

  “That’s different. What I did was like snapping my fingers and making everything and everyone I knew disappear. If I hurt anyone by doing so, I’m not there to see their pain. If I let people down, disappointed them, they can’t tell me. I can pretend they’re all deliriously happy for me and living wonderful lives.” She sipped her wine, then reconsidered and drained her glass. “Doris wouldn’t have that luxury. She’d have to face down Elliot, his family, her parents, hold her head high despite the looks and whispers.”

  After refilling Pam’s glass, Jasper poured himself some wine, sat in the chair nearest Pam, and leaned forward. “Are you sure she won’t tell everyone about you? Maybe you should have insisted that you were Margaret.”

  “How? She met Margaret.”

  Jasper shrugged. “When Margaret was fifteen.”

  “And knew how to embroider.” Remembering the panic in his eyes when she told him about her conversation with Doris, Pam rested her hand on his knee. “She won’t say anything. She believed my story, and ever since we talked, she’s warmed up to me. In a funny way, my confirming her suspicions has made her trust me more. I didn’t lie.” And she wasn’t concerned that Doris would spill the beans because they’d exchanged secrets. In this time period, Doris admitting that she’d prefer not to marry and have children was akin to admitting that she was contemplating mass murder. A woman who’d rather spend her life working than as a wife, mother, and housewife? Dear me, call the exorcist! Despite Pam’s confidence that Jasper would support her aspiration to be more than his wife and the mother of his children, even she, a woman of the future, was sitting on that tidbit until after she had the ring on her finger and he couldn’t run the other way, screaming.

  She caressed his leg. “I’m glad you were able to come over. I didn’t want to sit alone and cry into my wine.”

  He covered her hand with his, then grasped her fingers. “I know I’ve been busy trying to establish myself here. But I couldn’t turn down the offer from Bill, especially when he was skeptical about a gentleman wanting to roll up his sleeves. It’s important that I earn his respect.”

  “I know.”

  “And I have to get the money sorted out. I know I’m no longer an investment banker, but I still can’t stand to have money sitting around not earning its keep. Everything I’m doing . . .” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “It’s for us, and our children.”

  Jesus, she’d never thought she could swoon at the same time her eyes teared up. “I know. Seeing what’s happening to poor Doris . . . I know how lucky I am.”

  A mischievous smile played across his lips. “I guess this would be a good time to tell you that I agreed to help Bill with an order tomorrow, so I won’t be able to see you until the supper at Oliver’s.”

  Pam put her wine on the table so she could air-slap him across the face. “You cad!” They both grinned. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I won’t mind curling up with a good book for the afternoon.” And she could sleep in! Now that Doris was gone, she wouldn’t feel the need to drag herself out of bed and present herself at the breakfast table—not that Doris had been there half the time, anyway. Who cared what Bella and the other servants thought? “You’ll stay for dinner tonight though, right?”

  He nodded. “I thought we could talk about the house. And I want you to start thinking about what you’d like for a wedding present.”

  Ooh.

  “Anything, Pam.”

  “Let me think about it,” she purred, then frowned.

  Jasper’s face slackened. “What?”

  She heaved a sigh. “I just watched Doris marched out the door, and here I am, rubbing my hands together in glee about my wedding present. Life isn’t fair.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Did Oliver say why Doris and Elliot won’t be at dinner tomorrow? It seems odd. They always invite them.”

  “They did invite them. Apparently Elliot turned them down.”

  God. Elliot’s plan to brainwash Doris must include cutting her off from her family and friends. Pam had been told in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t to visit until Doris was settled. She knew what that meant. No outside influences until Elliot had successfully turned Doris into a Stepford Wife.

  *****

  Robin slipped into her jacket and turned to Margaret. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Leave her be.” Cathy zipped up her jacket. “She’s already said no twice.”

  “I’d like to clear the table and load the dishwasher,” Margaret said. “You’ll have tea and cake waiting for you when you get back.”

  “We can help you with the dishes and the tea,” Robin said.

  “Robin!” Cathy grasped Robin’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Come on. Give the woman five minutes to herself.”

  “We won’t be long,” Robin said over her shoulder. Why had Cathy so enthusiastically agreed to Margaret’s suggestion that they go for a walk, and why was Margaret so eager to shove her out the door? Outside, she pulled up her collar, rammed her hands into her pockets, and skulked next to Cathy.

  “God, you’re a dumbass sometimes, you know that?” Cathy said.

  Robin raised her brows. “What have I done now?”

  “You can’t tell when someone wants us to have a private chat?”

  What? “Why would Margaret want us to talk?”

  “Probably for the same reason I do. If she hadn’t thrown the perfect opportunity into my lap, I would have figured out some other way to get you alone.”

  “Well, clue me in, because I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Cathy sighed and shook her head. “Typical. Robin, you look miserable, and you’re making Margaret miserable. Or maybe she’s miserable for the same reason you are—I don’t know. But I do know that you were fine when I talked to you on the phone yesterday afternoon, and that you were off to your mom’s last night.” She tapped the side of her nose. “Now, I’m not Hercule Poirot, but it doesn’t take a crack detective to figure out that the visit probably didn’t go well.”

  Robin snorted. “That’s the understatement of the year.” The disastrous evening rushed back. “I can’t subject Margaret to that.”

  “What do you mean? You’re not thinking of breaking up with her because of your mother?”

  “Margaret’s special.”

  “I can see that.”

  It would be so much easier if she could tell Cathy the entire story. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Cathy grabbed Robin’s arm. “Yes, it does! Are you planning to stay single until your mother finally drinks herself to death?” She blew out some air. “Shit. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but I can’t believe you’re going to mess up a good thing because of her.”

  “Margaret and I . . . it’s complicated.”

  “I’m not blind, deaf, or stupid. Margaret came on the scene real quick and you’re already practically married. You don’t need to tell me what’s going on, okay? I know you love her and she loves you, and that’s good enough for me. I’m not out to rock the boat. I’ve concluded that she came out to her family, who are probably filthy rich and move in hoity-toity circles, and they threw her out.”

  Robin chuckled.

  “What? You have to expect speculation in the absence of information. And it’s romantic.” Cathy clasped her hands over her heart. “The society chick comes out to her parents because she’s fallen in love with a woman from the other side of the tracks. When she’s tossed out on her ear, her lover rescues her. It’s all rainbows and kittens, but then boom, mommy comes on stage and scares the kittens away.”

  “You’re really weird, you know that?” Robin said with a laugh. Cathy’s story had a ring of truth to it, except they’d fallen in love before Margaret had chosen to leave her former life behind.

  “I’ll admit the story has a few holes in it, like how did Pam come to be friends with a society chick? And yes, I’m weird. I’m also worried you’ll do something stupid, like choose your mom over Margaret. I think Margaret’s worried about it, too.”

  “She’s probably having second thoughts about me.”

  Cathy slowly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I think she’s hoping I’ll talk some sense into you.”

  “My mother’s my problem. It’s not fair to expect someone else to—”

  “Put up with the crap you do?” Cathy was silent for a moment. “You’re not your mother’s keeper. And you’re not Chris’s mom. He’s moving on. You need to do the same.”

  But who would look out for Mom? As for Chris, Robin had to admit that his hasty exit had irked her. She always stood by him—made sure he was taking his medication, gave him a little money here and there, and went over when he needed moral support. He couldn’t manage one night for her? His girlfriend, who probably wouldn’t be around for long, came before the sister who’d always been there for him. Yeah, he was moving on. He wouldn’t be the one to find Mom unconscious, or worse.

  “What happened last night that was so bad?”

  Despite her still raw humiliation and shame, Robin shrugged. “The usual.” And more. She’d wanted to die when Margaret had realized she’d bought her own cake. Happy Birthday, Robin! Pathetic. When the baker had asked who it was for, she’d said, “My niece.”

  “The usual, eh?” Cathy said softly. She pulled a rumpled tissue from her pants pocket and offered it to Robin. “It’s not used, honest.”

  Robin took it from her and wiped her eyes.

  “What happened? Your mom’s nonsense usually rolls off your back.”

  “It’s tougher with an audience.”

  “You mean an audience you really care about.”

  Yeah, that did ramp up the embarrassment factor—considerably. “Margaret wanted to make me a cake. I told her not to bother, that my mom would get one.” Why was she telling Cathy this? Did she want Cathy to tell her it was okay? “I bought the cake. I usually do.” She paused. “It’s tough for Mom.”

  “Jesus, Robin, tough? Why? All the woman has to do is drag her ass down to the bakery and pay for a fucking cake. Jesus! If she can make it to the LCBO, she can make it to the bakery.” Cathy groaned in exasperation. “Please don’t tell me you buy her booze.”

  “No, I don’t. I told her a long time ago I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, tell her you’re not buying your own cake anymore,” Cathy growled. “Jesus, listen to me. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at her. I’m frustrated with you. Frustrated!” She muttered under her breath, then let out a loud sigh.

  “She started to rip into Margaret when Margaret stood up for me. I told her—Mom—to stop.”

  “You stopped her? Why don’t you do that for yourself?” Cathy asked.

  “I’m used to it.”

  “You shouldn’t be used to it.”

  “Anyway, you can see why Margaret will never want to see my mother again and doesn’t have a lot of respect for me.”

  “She said that?” When Robin remained silent, Cathy said, “You haven’t talked to her about it, have you?”

  “It’s not easy,” Robin mumbled.

  “I can see how it would be uncomfortable, but she’s your partner. You love her. She loves you. If you think you’ll be together for a while, she’ll have to deal with your mother.”

  “I can’t talk to her about this.”

  “Why not?”

  Because Margaret didn’t need to know that the woman she depended on was a pathetic, insecure moron who didn’t know what she was doing, but was very good at pretending she did. She didn’t need to know that she’d left a wonderful life to join a family of screw-ups. “She depends on me. She hasn’t been out for long, and this is the first time she’s lived away from home.”

  “God, Robin, she’s not a child. Neither is your mom. Neither is Chris. Margaret seems very capable to me, and if you don’t mind me saying so, she’d probably be damn supportive, if you’d only give her a chance. Why do you always have to go it alone? Why is it okay for you to support everyone, but nobody can support you?”

  “Oh, so you don’t want to go to the store for me. Then what the fuck are you doing here? What do you mean, you’re too tired after work to clean up the spill in the bedroom? You’re useless, you’re no good to anybody. I don’t give a shit about your problems. You think you have problems? Your problems are nothing. Make yourself useful and get me a drink. Nobody wants to hear about your fucking problems.”

 

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