Small Change (3 page)

“Waiting only starts the dying process,” Rachel said glumly. She pointed to the wine bottle in Jess's shopping cart. “If that's for craft night on Friday you'd better get more. After this week I'll probably inhale an entire bottle single-handed.”

“I hear you,” said Jess. “And don't worry. I've got something special in mind for Friday. I'll stock up on chocolate, too.”

It would take an entire vat of chocolate to raise her endorphin level, Rachel thought as she left the store. She turned onto Deerwood Avenue where Aaron had his dental office. Before he moved in with Misty the lingerie model he brought the kids home after their checkups, but that changed in a hurry. Misty didn't like Aaron coming by the house without her. Misty was smarter than she looked … or at least she had good instincts.

The children were already finished with their checkups and hanging out in the waiting room when Rachel arrived. As always, the place smelled faintly of chemicals. Lately, it seemed to Rachel that it smelled like money, too. This was probably simply her imagination getting fired up by the sight of the expensive new carpet and freshly painted walls. Light green. Between the walls and the turquoise glass window in the door, she always felt like she was under-water when she came in here.

“Hi, Mom,” ten-year-old David greeted her. He was a cute boy, with Rachel's long legs. Once he grew into his feet he'd probably tower over both her and Aaron. The basketball court was already second home to him and he could dart around anyone in his way like he had wings on his feet, but at home he tended to trip over everything. Right now he was smiling and clutching a new game
for the Wii Aaron had recently given the kids. “Look what Dad gave me.” He rushed to show her, nearly stepping on the toes of a harried-looking businessman in a nearby chair. “Sorry,” David muttered as the man frowned and pulled his feet under his chair.

Rachel looked at the expensive prize and smiled around gritted teeth. “That was nice of him.” She supposed she should be grateful that at least this time Aaron hadn't given their son some gadget that would require the frequent purchase of batteries.

“Can I go over to his house and play it?”

Of course, Aaron had opted to keep the Wii console at his place even though David and Claire were only over there every other weekend.

“I'll bet you have homework,” Rachel said.

David's smile evaporated.

Thank you, Aaron, for making me the meanie.
“I tell you what,” she said. “You get your homework done, then I'll run you over to Dad's. He can take you to school in the morning.”

Now David was beaming. He gave her a kiss and said, “Thanks, Mom. You're the best.”

Yes, she was. Aaron was the faux best.

Twelve-year-old Claire sat slumped in a chair and had yet to surface from behind a copy of
People
. She had the same dark coloring as Rachel and big, brown eyes, and she'd inherited Rachel's full lips. But, much to Claire's dismay, she had inherited her father's nose. It was a little long, but it wasn't a bad nose, really. Still, it wasn't a Miley Cyrus nose, which, for Claire, meant it was ugly. Rachel knew her daughter would grow up to be striking, and she assured Claire of that practically on a daily basis, but motherly assurance was a very small shield to carry against peer-driven standards of beauty.

“What did Daddy give you?” Rachel asked her. Why did she ask? Did she really want to know?

Her face still buried behind
People
, Claire produced a gift certificate to The Coffee Stop from her hoodie pocket and held it up.

Her daughter was barely communicating, and behind that magazine hid a scowly face. Something had put Claire in a funk and Rachel could already guess what it was. The threat of braces, which had been looming on the horizon, had finally materialized. “It looks like several vanilla chaismoothies for you,” she said, using her unfazed mother voice. She stepped up to the reception window where Aaron's young receptionist Liz sat, smiling politely. Polite was the best Liz could give Rachel since the divorce. This hardly came as a surprise. Aaron would, of course, have posed as a long-suffering husband whose wife didn't understand him.

She smiled back just as politely. “Hi, Liz. Can you tell Aaron I'm here?”

“He's finishing with a patient. I'll tell him.”

Rachel nodded and sat down in a chair next to her daughter. She gave Claire a playful shoulder nudge. “So, are you reading about me?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Lame, Mom.”

Ah, the love. If she hadn't been twelve, herself, once, she'd have been offended. “How did your checkup go?”

Claire shrugged. “It sucked.”

That said it all. “I'm sorry.”

“I don't want braces.” The words came out, powered by misery. A hand went to Claire's eyes to swipe at fast-forming tears.

“Oh, baby,” said Rachel, putting an arm around her. “I know you don't.”

“Tell Daddy I don't want them,” Claire begged. “My teeth aren't that bad.”

“I'll talk to him,” Rachel promised, more to make her daughter feel better than because she thought it would do any good. Braces were, after all, the American way.

Claire nodded and wiped away more tears.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel could see Aaron approaching. He was forty-four, tall and broad shouldered, with wavy dark hair salted with a hint of gray to make him look both distinguished and trustworthy. He was walking proof that looks were deceiving.

“How about you two go wait in the car?” she suggested to the children. “I'll be there in a minute.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad,” called David, bouncing out of the room, completely clueless to the unfolding family drama.

Claire stalked out after him without a word to her father.

“She's happy,” Rachel observed.

“We really need to get her into braces,” he said. “It's time. I can set up a consultation for you with Rencher for next week if you like.”

Rachel was aware of Liz, sitting a few feet away from them, pretending to work. “Let's talk.” She took Aaron's arm and pulled him out the door onto the second-floor landing. “This is not good timing for me.”

He frowned. “Rachel. This is our daughter.”

She felt a sudden need to kick him in the shin. “I'm glad you used the word
our.
Does that mean you're going to take care of this expense?”

His frown deepened. “Of course I'll pay my share.”

“Your share always seems to be smaller than mine.”

Now he stiffened and looked down his nose at her. “Is that so? Need I remind you who got the house?”

“And all the bills to go with it,” she retorted sweetly.

“Between what you make and the hefty amount I give you …” he began.

“Hefty?” she said with a snort. “Oh, please.”

“Rachel, can we stick to the subject?” he suggested in a pained voice.

“I am sticking to the subject. I can't afford braces. I'm not getting hired back next year.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

For a moment he almost had her convinced that he was sorry for her, but then she remembered whom she was dealing with. Aaron was only sorry because he suspected her problems meant he'd be asked to step up to the plate and help more. When it involved parting with large chunks of money for anything that wasn't his idea and that didn't directly benefit Aaron Green, his heart went into lockdown and his wallet slammed shut.

“We'll work something out,” he assured her. “I'll talk to Rencher about setting up a payment plan.”

“For who?”

Now he looked very disappointed in her. “That is unfair. I'm paying my part.”

“That is debatable.”

“Look, I've got to get back inside. My patient's probably numb by now.”

“Your patient's not the only one,” Rachel said as he started slipping away. She caught him by his sleeve. “One more thing. You saw how upset she is. What about clear braces? Can I at least promise her that?”

He shook his head sadly. “Don't get her hopes up on that. Those aren't as effective for children.” He gave her arm a pat before disengaging himself. “You'll handle it.”

Sure. No problem.

Back in the car, David was bouncing his basketball off the car ceiling and Claire was plugged in to her iPod and glowering. “Did you talk to Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes. I'm afraid braces have to happen.”

“It's not fair,” Claire stormed. Meanwhile, the ball kept hitting the ceiling.

“David, if you don't stop immediately I'm going to give that ball to the Goodwill,” Rachel said. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

“Sorry, Mom,” he said genially. He let the ball fall on the floor, where he began rolling it around with his foot.

That took care of her son. Her daughter was a bigger challenge. Always.

Claire had turned her face and was now pretending to stare out the window. A hand crept up to wipe the corner of her eyes with her sweatshirt.

“Braces aren't so bad anymore,” Rachel said gently. “You can get them in all kinds of cool colors.”

“I'll be a freak.” Claire turned a teary glare on Rachel as if it was her mother's fault that she had tooth issues.

Rachel wanted to say, “You got your messed-up teeth from your messed-up father,” but that would hardly be productive, so instead she said, “Sweetie, practically everybody wears braces.”

“No, they don't,” Claire growled. “I don't want braces. I'm already ugly.”

“You are not ugly,” Rachel said firmly.

“Aidan thinks you're cute,” David offered.

Learning she had the admiration of a ten-year-old's best friend in no way consoled Claire. “No one's talking to you,” she snapped.

David shrugged and fell silent.

“Aidan may be the wrong age, but he knows beauty when he sees it,” Rachel said.

Claire rolled her eyes and turned back to the window.

Rachel gave up. For the time being, anyway.

After dinner Rachel dropped David off, not bothering to go to the door, and pretended not to see when Misty waved to her from the doorway. After she returned home she went straight to the bonus room off the kitchen that doubled as her office and gathered the pages she'd printed from the Internet safari she'd taken when the children were doing their homework.

Claire had disappeared back into her room, so Rachel went upstairs and knocked on the door. No answer. She opened it a crack and peeked in. It already looked like a teenager room, with teen idol posters on pink walls and clothes scattered on the floor. A lamp shaped like a purse sat on Claire's nightstand and her bedspread, a new one Misty had helped her pick out, was a reversible pink with zebra stripes on the other side. She lay flopped on the bed, facedown, iPod plugged in.

“Knock, knock,” called Rachel.

“I don't want to talk.”

Actually, Rachel didn't either. She wanted to fill the tub with bubbles and stay there for a million years. But first, she was going to talk and hope her daughter listened. “Just for a minute, 'kay? I have something to show you.” Claire reluctantly rolled over onto her side
and Rachel sat down next to her. “I know you don't want braces and I don't blame you, but it's better to get them done now. Then you won't have to wear them in high school.” At least she hoped not.
Please, God, let that be true.

Claire's face crumpled and she began to cry. “I'm so ugly.”

Rachel took her daughter into her arms. “No, really, you're not. You are going to be so beautiful it's not even funny.”

“No, I'm not,” Claire sobbed.

“Yes, you are. And the really good news is, you're already beautiful on the inside, and that's the hardest kind of beauty to find.”

“You have to say that. You're my mom.”

“You think so? Look.” Rachel began to lay the pictures of supermodels she'd printed from the Internet out on the bed. There was Gisele Bündchen, Julia Polacsek, Lieke Smets, and Erin O'Connor, who looked like a grownup version of Claire. They all appeared glamorous, exotic, and unique. “Do you know who these women are?”

“No,” Claire said grumpily.

“They're international supermodels. Do you notice anything they have in common?”

Claire bit her lip, refusing to state the obvious.

“Here's one more. Recognize her?”

“That's the woman on
What Not to Wear.
” Claire's and Rachel's favorite Friday night show. On the weekends Claire was home they always watched it together, even when Claire's best friend, Bethany, was sleeping over.

“Yep. Stacy London.”

“But she's pretty,” Claire said in a small voice.

“They're all pretty. But they don't all look alike. It's okay to look different. Sometimes different is better.”

Claire rolled her eyes.

Rachel gathered the papers into a stack. “Just think about that,” she said, and leaned over and kissed her daughter's forehead.

Claire didn't say anything but she nodded.

“And next time we're watching
What Not to Wear
check out Stacy London's nose,” Rachel added as she slipped off the bed. She was to the door when her daughter said, “Mom?”