Use me? Did that mean I was working for free? “What would I have to do?”
She smiled. “You just deal with whatever I ask you to deal with so I’m free to handle things only I can handle.” She smiled like it was no big ask. “It pays.” She spouted a number I had to have heard wrong. Misunderstood or misinterpreted, although I suspected it was English.
My mouth was open as I looked at her. “Could you say that again?”
She repeated the same amount. An amount almost as big as my entire income from last month. “For one night?”
“The whole day. There’s some set-up involved.” She smiled. “Mostly it’s directing set-up. Plant goes here. Stained tablecloths are a no-no kind of thing.”
There was no way in hell I could turn down a job that paid this much for one day even if it meant I was swimming with gators or jumping out of planes at her direction.
“I’m in. Absolutely.” Now all I had to worry about was the bad egg leading my daughter around by the nose and making sure nary a spotted tablecloth landed at the mayor’s charity function.
No problem. I was woman enough for the job.
I hoped.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
As soon as I was away from the girls, my new besties it seemed, I walked home. There, I dropped my stuff on the counter to pull my vibrating phone out of my pocket.
I won’t be home until late.
Tilly. I started to type, “Come home early, I’m worried about the kids you’re hanging out with,” then deleted it and instead wrote,Okay, be safe.And make good choices.
Really, really good choices.
Sighing, I tried to ignore what was happening with my daughter until I could actuallydosomething about it. Pushing too hard would elicit a rebellious response. Was this my punishment for being the understanding mom? She’d never needed a rebellious phase before.
Instead of worrying myself to death, I busied myself by cooking dinner for one, eating it, and cleaning up before settling on the sofa for a night of Hallmark movies. Every problem in the world could be solved in a Hallmark movie. That was how it felt when I was watching them.
Tonight, it was difficult to stay awake. Since all this shifter business started, I was fatigued in ways I’d never been before. I chalked it up to the shifting business anyway, and not to the fact that every day I was a day older. A day older, and having my daughter back home, bringing her own problems.
I fell asleep around eight, then woke and dragged myself to bed around nine. It was a routine I’d grown accustomed to since Tilly went off to school. And while it might have been a bit pathetic, my bed called to me, and I answered.
What felt like a blink of an eye later, I sat straight up in bed when the front door opened and shut. I peered at my phone. Midnight. It was as if I was still hardwired from when Tilly was a newborn, and I’d woken up at the slightest sound. My body trembled a little, and I realized that I needed to see my daughter, to ensure she was okay, and to discuss some of the things I’d been putting off. My tactic of not pushing Tilly wasn’t working. It was time to push.
Now. At midnight.
I yanked on my robe and stalked out to the kitchen where, once again, Tornado Tilly had struck. In the ten short seconds, she’d managed to drop an egg on the floor and spill orange juice on the counter so that it was dripping down the cabinet to puddle next to the egg mess. Tilly always cleaned up after herself but walking in on her when she wasn’t done with whatever she was doing was sure to show anyone how she got her nickname.
And yet, this was something more.
“You okay?” I asked cautiously.
“Yup,” her voice came out a slur of letters.
Ah. She was drunk. I was a cool mom. I would not overreact. I would not push her away by freaking out.
With a huff and a puff, I jerked the towel I kept on the oven handle from its place and began wiping. But the second I got close to her, there was no denying it. She smelled like she’d been drinking. She staggered as if to prove it as she tried to lean back against the counter but was a little farther away than she thought.
I stood and steadied her. “Tilly.”
She laughed. Cackled, was probably a more accurate description. And the leaning turned into falling. I tried to help her stand and somehow, we both ended up on the floor. She laughed again. But I was beyond laughter. I was watching the trainwreck that was my daughter as she jumped the track. It would’ve been one thing for her to have gotten drunk. She was at that age. But on top of what I’d learned the last few days? It was too much.
Where was my child who’d gotten good grades without me even having to check on her? Where was my daughter who made good choices, acted like a responsible senior, and liked routine? It was as if whatever happened during her freshman year at college had made that Tilly vanish. And while she still had my daughter’s attitude, this was the first time I really felt like I needed to parent her, or she’d make a terrible mistake.
“Tilly.”
