Old Flames

Old Flames: Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Once the smoke had been cleared, Lainie spent the evening pouring over the newspaper and internet, looking for a place to live, and a job she could do to supplement her meager income and still raise her children. Her mother peeked over her shoulder as Lainie scribbled a red X over several prospects.

"Why are you looking for a job? If you need money, I can give you some."

"I don't want your money," Lainie said, marking out another job in frustration. Single mothers cannot work eight hours a day. It was impossible!

"What's wrong with my money?" Gemma asked, sitting down next to her at the breakfast table. "It's good money. Your father left it for us. Besides, you've still got that trust fund, right? Use that if you can't take my money."

Lainie didn't look up as she answered, "I transferred that trust fund into my children's names last year. It belongs to them now. And I only need a job temporarily until the house sells."

"Then what are you gonna do? You can't live off the equity of your house."

Lainie sighed and threw down her marker. "I just need enough to put a deposit and first month's rent on a house. I've got my royalty check coming later this month, so we'll survive."

Gemma Moon snorted. "Well, if that's all you need..." She reached behind her to the kitchen island and grabbed her handbag.

"Mom," Lainie said, "don't."

Her mother stuffed her cigarette in her mouth and eyed her daughter through the smoke. Finally, she removed the deathstick and pointed it at her. "You have two babies upstairs asleep. You can't work and take care of them. And you obviously don't want to live here with me, so I'm giving you the money for a place of your own. Deal with it."

She wrote a check, ripped it out of the checkbook and handed it to Lainie, who glared at it like it was a snake waiting to bite her. "Take it," her mother demanded. "It'll cover you until you get your royalties. You can consider it a loan if you must." She shook her head and stuffed her checkbook back inside her purse. "I'll never understood why you went into freelance editing. With your intelligence, you could have worked at any of them big, fancy publishing places."

Lainie finally plucked the check from her mother's fingers. "Working from home lets me set my own hours. I couldn't do that if I worked at a publishing house."

Holy crap! Lainie choked when she saw the amount scrawled across the slip of paper. "Mom, this is too much. How can you afford to give me this much?"

"Nonsense. The house is paid for, and I've got no major bills. Besides, I invested in a few things last year. I'm good."

Lainie had always known that her parent had more money than they needed. They lived in a five bedroom house on top of a hill, overlooking the river. Daddy, before he died, drove an old Ford pickup, but her mom rode around in luxury in a Mercedes and had her nails and hair done every week. But growing up, Lainie never felt like a spoiled, rich girl.

She wore hand-me-downs from her older cousins just as often as she wore new clothes. She worked for two years at a grocery store in order to save enough money for her first car, and she'd gone to public schools.

But then, she was never afraid of asking her dad for some extra spending money, and if she wanted something bad enough, she knew she would get it on her next birthday or Christmas. Case in point: The Barbie Dream Home she saw in a toy catalogue at the age of seven and wrote a three page letter to Santa Claus that year, explaining why she just had to have it.

The same Barbie Dream Home that was still upstairs in her old room, and her own daughter played with earlier that morning.

Lainie's parents never threw anything away. So, in a small part of her brain, she was kind of glad that old blue sofa was now sitting out on the curb for the garbage truck. She glanced around the breakfast nook and kitchen for a moment, and realized that the only things she didn't recognize from her childhood, was the coffee maker Lainie gave her mother on Mother's Day, and the purple and brown candy bowl the kids made for Gramma at a pottery shop, which she now uses as an ash tray.