Sighing heavily—she already knew who was texting her—she thumbed on the device.
Carter: Still plan to head back to Wayfarer soon?
Mia: Yes. We fly out @ 10:30 ish.
Her cousin kept her abreast of the happenings in Chicago. Each of her mother’s stints in rehab. Every fall off the wagon. All the pleas for more money. Ad nauseum ad infinitum.
At first, Mia had wondered why he bothered to shoulder the responsibility of Jane Ennis. Sure, his mother and Mia’s mother had been sisters. But Mia didn’t remember Carter being particularlycloseto Jane while growing up. Then Carter had mentioned the stipend Jane paid him to, quote, “look after her” and it had all made sense.
The two things that were absolutely true about Mia’s mother were that she liked other people to clean up after her messy life, and that she was willing to pay—though usually not more than pittance—for the convenience. And Carter? Well, he’d never seemed able to get his act together, always drifting from job to job, living hand-to-mouth. Any extra money coming in probably felt like a windfall to him.
Mia felt sorry for her cousin. Dealing with her mother wasfarfrom easy. In fact, a couple months earlier, Carter had texted her to say he was done, that Jane had pulled her last stunt. But Jane was nothing if not a master manipulator. And somehow, she’d convinced poor Carter to stay on.
Mia couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy. And it was her pity that kept her responding to his updates even though she’d stopped hoping for any sort of relationship with her mother years earlier.
Carter: Next time you’re back in civilization, think about booking a flight to Chi-Town. Your mother would love to see you.
Jane Ennis loved many things, designer handbags, Chanel N°5, and anything that was pink. But Mia? No. Jane had never loved Mia. And Carter’s text made her think of the last time she’d been in the same room with her mother.
It was right before she’d agreed to take the job overseeing theSanta Cristina’ssalvage. She’d booked a flight to Chicago to put flowers on her grandmother’s grave. And when Carter heard she was in town, he’d set up a lunch date for Mia and Jane.
Against Mia’s better judgment, she’d gone. She and her mother had barely put in their appetizer order at Gene and Georgetti’s before Jane had turned to her with that look in her eye.
A look Mia had recognized all too well.
A look that had said her mother was itching for a fight...
“You still refuse to let your hair grow long.” Jane pulled one luscious lock of scarlet hair over her shoulder, letting the ends curl around her manicured fingertip.
“I wasn’t blessed with a mane like yours, Mom. I do the best I can with what I’ve got.” Mia tried heading the confrontation off at the pass. Compliments had always been the best way to tame the beast that lived inside her mother.
As she’d hoped, Jane’s mouth curved into a smile. Or, at least what passed as a smile on a face made mostly immobile by a gallon of Botox.
All too soon, however, the smile faded and her mother narrowed her emerald eyes. “And why haven’t you seen Dr. Johnson about your boobs? Heaven knows you have plenty of money to fix them.”
Mia would have been more plastic than flesh by the time she graduated high school had she not gone to live with her grandmother when she was seven years old. Even before Mia had learned to ride a bike, Jane had talked about the things they would ‘get fixed’ once Mia came of age. Mia’s brow, her nose, her chin, her lips... None of her natural features measured up to Jane’s standards. Because none of her natural features wereJane’sfeatures.
Mia took after her father.
It had been her brother—beautiful, gentle Andy—who’d inherited Jane’s flawless face.
“Please, Mom,” she begged. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”
Jane’s nostrils flared, causing a sick sensation to swirl in the bottom of Mia’s stomach. The smell of the shrimp cocktail the waiter placed in front of her made her want to retch.
“Okay.” Jane folded her hands primly atop the white tablecloth, her eyes calculating as she stared at Mia. “Let’s talk about you giving me some money.”
“For what?”
Jane donned a saccharine expression that struck Mia as being patently false. “For another ninety days in the recovery center.” Jane fluttered her false eyelashes. “I’ve just completed ninety days, and I’d like to do another round. I’m serious about getting sober this time.”
Mia hoped her mother couldn’t hear the suspicion in her voice when she said, “That’s so great, Mom. But what about the money Dad set aside for just this reason?”
Hostility flared in Jane’s eyes, but she tried to mask it with a sweet smile. “This place I’m going to isn’t some run of the mill rehab, Mia. It’sexpensive. I used my yearly allotment on the first round. And that stingy lawyer that Richard has overseeing my trust refuses to let me dip into next year’s cash.”
Mia nodded. “Of course, I’d love to help. Just have the facility invoice me, and I’ll be sure to pay the fee immediately.”
One of Jane’s eyelids twitched. “Why don’t you just give me the money?”
