There's Always Plan B (8 page)

Tiffany stood and waved her arms. “Hello. Still in the room. Stop talking about me as if I'm not here.”

“What? Oh. Right.” Carly looked at her daughter. “Because this is all about you.”

Tiffany stomped her foot. “Stop saying that. I'm not selfish.”

“And the last time you thought about anyone was when? You accused me of ruining things so your father left. Here's a news flash—it takes two to make or break a marriage. I'm willing to accept my responsibility in what went wrong, but your father has his, as well. We were equal partners in what happened. You can continue to blame me, but that doesn't change the truth. As for what you did—there's no excuse. You hurt me because you don't care about me. I'm working my butt off to make your life better and all you can see is what's wrong with it.”

She rose. This revelation about her daughter deserved some serious thought. If she was contributing to Tiffany's center-of-the-universe thinking, she was going to have to change how she interacted with her daughter. She headed for the door.

“Wait,” Tiffany called. “What about me?”

Carly turned and stared at her. “What about you?”

“Aren't you going to punish me? For what I said.” Tiffany looked both angry and afraid.

“Will that make you feel better?” Carly asked. “Will that take away some of the guilt?”

Her daughter nodded.

“Then not just yet.”

 

Carly returned to her room and started to organize the papers on her desk. First up, she needed her own office. There were several available spaces downstairs. She would clear one out and move her stuff in.

Thank goodness her laptop was relatively new. She wouldn't have to buy a new computer anytime soon. She could—

She set down the folder she'd grabbed and leaned back in her chair. She was really going to do this. Her! She was going to turn this business around and make it a success. Whatever happened, wherever they ended up, it would be because of her hard work, her ideas, her vision. No one was making her do this and no one was offering advice. It was totally and completely up to her.

The idea of being that much in charge was both terrifying and freeing. Sure, if she failed it was public, big-time, and had a huge impact on many lives. But if she didn't…If it worked, then it was something she could point to with pride.

The need to share the slightly thrilling, slightly scary moment had her reaching for the phone. But who would she call? Maribel was busy with her family, and all her L.A. friends had turned out to be less than friendly.

“I wish you were here, Mary,” she murmured aloud, but the ghost didn't appear. Not that she actually expected her to. Ghosts weren't real, right? Except Carly needed the ghost. Having a haunted B and B had opened doors for her. Without a “shimmering essence,” she was unlikely to turn the business around.

A problem to deal with later. Right now she could celebrate her pending business venture with a trip downstairs to pick out her office. She could move in that afternoon, then come up with a schedule. In a perfect world, she would spend mornings working on growing the business and afternoons learning all the ins and outs of the B and B. Not that her life was going to be that tidy, but still, she could dream.

She stood to head out when someone knocked on her bedroom door. As the person on the other side was likely to be either her mother or daughter, she briefly thought about pretending to be somewhere else.

But in the end she sighed, then called, “It's open.”

Tiffany stepped into her room. Her eyes were red and swollen and her lower lip trembled.

Carly had always considered herself a soft touch. Still, she didn't say anything. Maybe being a soft touch had contributed to her daughter's lack of responsibility.

“Yes?” Carly asked.

Tiffany flinched. “I'm sorry.”

Carly waited. Right now those two words weren't good enough.

Tiffany swallowed. “I'm sorry I called you a bad word. I shouldn't have done it. I was mad.”

“You hurt me. I love you more than anyone in the world. I would die for you. I know you're going through a lot and it's unreasonable to expect you to completely understand I'm going through some things, too, but you have to learn that you can't always blurt out what you're thinking. There are consequences for words and actions.”

Tiffany began to cry. “Do you hate me?”

“I've never hated you. Sometimes I don't like you very much.”

Her daughter seemed genuinely shocked. “But you're my mom.”

“I know that. I love you. I always will. But liking you is different.”

“B-but you have to like me.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I'm sorry, Mom. I'm really, really sorry. I know I can be a brat and I'll try really hard to do better. I just get so mad and it gets big inside.”

And Carly was a safe target. She opened her arms. Tiffany threw herself into them and held on tight.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated.

Carly stroked her hair. “I accept your apology.”

Tiffany sniffed. “Really? You're going to punish me now?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, good.”

Carly smiled at that. “Whoever thought you'd be happy with the idea of being punished?”

“Yeah. Don't tell anyone. So what's it going to be?”

“All the wood furniture in the public rooms need to be polished.”

Tiffany stepped back. “There's a ton.”

“Probably closer to two tons. You'll have a week to get it all done. After dinner I'll show you where the supplies are and how to do it.”

“Okay.”

Now that the ugly stuff was out of the way, Carly wanted to share the rest of her news. “Grandma agreed to my plan. We're going to stay here and make the B and B work.”

“Really.” Tiffany sounded more cautious than excited. “And that's good?”

“I think so. I know you're hating school right now, but you'd have to start over anywhere we went. At least it's pretty here, and we have a cool house. You'll make friends. Imagine the slumber parties you could have here.”

Tiffany brightened at the thought. “That would be good. Maybe a real party. You know, with boys.”

“Hmm, maybe not for another year or so.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a serious drag. But here's the good part. I'm going to be doing a lot of advertising for the B and B. I want your help on that. You can design the graphics and work on the ads. That sort of thing. It will be your chore. We'll work out a schedule, and if you're spending more time on it than we decide, I'll pay you.”

“Really? That's so cool.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

Some might question her decision to seek input from a fifteen-year-old, but Tiffany had inherited all of Neil's marketing sense and was a whiz on the computer.

“There's a great computer lab at school,” Tiffany said. “Maybe I can hang out there at lunch and do some work on this. It's not like I have anyone to talk to.”

“I appreciate your cooperation,” Carly said, ignoring the dig about school. She knew that would get better fairly quickly. “This is going to be fun. And when you're grown up, you'll love having this place as part of your history.”

“I'll inherit it, right?” her ever-thoughtful, ever-sensitive daughter asked. “When you're dead, I mean? Then I can sell it and use the money to buy a really great car.”

“I'm sure none of us can wait.”

Carly
typed on the keyboard and then pushed the enter button. The numbers on the computer screen wiggled and danced, then quickly rearranged into a simple profit-and-loss statement. She studied the bottom line and grimaced. Bad. They were still hemorrhaging money, but at least doing so was helping them achieve something.

“Is this a good time?”

She looked up and saw Maribel standing in the entrance to her office.

“Absolutely.” Carly saved the file, then turned toward her friend. “The whole numbers thing makes me crazy. Some days I know I can do it and others I just want to run screaming into the mist, never to be heard from again.”

Maribel sank onto the chair next to Carly's desk and handed her a file. Then she reached around and began to rub the small of her back.

“It's only been three weeks,” her friend reminded her. “Give yourself a break. You've already made a ton of changes.”

“Thanks. How are you feeling?”

“Seriously pregnant. I'm reaching the stage where everything hurts.”

“You can stop working anytime,” Carly reminded her. “Your daughter has graciously agreed to fill in for you while she's on summer break from college.”

“That's because I didn't raise a fool,” Maribel said with a smile. “Lisa has figured out she can make more working for you
and
be done with her workday by eleven in the morning. That leaves her plenty of time to hang out with her friends.” Maribel leaned back in the chair and rested a hand on her belly. “I've given her all the recipes and I'll be just a phone call away.”

“I'm not concerned,” Carly told her. “We'll be fine.”

“I know. It's just I feel bad missing out on all the fun. After years of the same old same old, new things are happening. Oh, speaking of which, here are the menus I worked up. Your idea for box lunches from town is a good one, but we can definitely make them cheaper ourselves. Even with a part-time person devoted to them, we come out ahead.”

Carly flipped through the pages her friend had brought. Although she'd contacted a deli in town to provide box lunches, she'd wondered about having them made on-site. It gave her a little more flexibility, although it added to her stress level by giving her another thing to worry about.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Maribel grinned. “Wow. Someone wants my opinion on more than the location of the soccer ball or a backpack. I'm flattered.”

Carly chuckled. “I know that one. But I mean it. I don't think I'd start this up until you were ready to come back to work. I'd need your help. Are you willing to take on supervising a helper?”

“Ooh, management. Sure. I could handle that. I wouldn't mind putting in a few extra hours a week.”

“Good. I'll go over your numbers and figure out what I want to do,” Carly said. “I'm leaning toward moving our sandwich operations here.”

“If you do, I have a couple of cookie recipes I want to try. I've been playing around with them and if I can get them the way I want them, we could include them in the lunches.” Maribel tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. “Okay, it's more than that. I've been thinking maybe we could go in on the cookie thing together. Sell them here under a special Chatsworth-by-the-Sea label. Split the profits.”

“I like it,” Carly said. “We could have them in the guests' rooms when they arrive, then sell them. We could get into some kind of limited mail order. Of course not right now. I'm not sure I can deal with one more thing.”

“Right back at you,” Maribel said. “But let's talk about it again after the baby.”

Carly flipped forward a few months on her calendar and wrote “cookies.” “Think I'll know what that means?”

“Hope so. I'll remember even if you don't.” Her friend touched her arm. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. I am. It's insane. When my mom agreed to all this, I told her I'd be working sixteen-hour days, and I wasn't kidding. There's a lot of work. But I'm pulling it together.”

Carly pointed to a binder on her desk. “Those are menus from local restaurants willing to deliver. I have a two-day seminar next week and local civic groups lined up. The model-airplane club booked every room for the long weekend in ten days. And there is a group of horror writers coming here for a retreat at the end of June.”

Maribel grinned. “Horror writers?”

“It's the ghost thing. I guess they think they'll be inspired. In fact all of our guests, except the model-plane guys, are here because of Mary. I just wish she'd make an appearance.”

“Sort of a personal haunting?”

“Yeah. I haven't seen any sign of her since I've been back.”

“I've
never
seen her,” Maribel said with a laugh. “Remember? You saw her all the time when we were kids. I just felt a chilly brush and tried not to feel slighted that it wasn't more.”

Carly tried not to ignore the fact that she was wishing for the moon. “Having a ghost in residence is a huge selling point. That appealing fact is responsible for most of our new bookings. But a ghost? For real?”

Maribel shrugged. “You used to believe.”

“Then I grew up. But I would swear I saw something. I know I felt it.”

“You and me both. Maybe you should go on the Internet and see if there's a way to lure a spirit here. You don't specifically need Mary. Pretty much any spirit would do.” Maribel laughed. “I can't believe I just said that.”

“It
is
crazy.”

“But you'll go investigate?”

Carly nodded. “A ghost would be cool. But a friendly one.”

“Right. Maybe you could take applications.”

The two women laughed together.

“But do me a favor,” Maribel said. “Wait until I'm out of here to try anything. I'm not really ghost-friendly.”

“Fair enough.”

Carly glanced around the large office she'd made for herself. After painting the walls a pale yellow, she'd moved in an old desk, a large table for additional workspace and a couple of bookcases. Next door was a conference room she'd decorated with comfortable chairs from the attic.

“I'm really doing this,” she said, both pleased and stunned by the way things were working out.

“You're not just doing it, you're doing it well.” Maribel glanced at the open door and leaned close. “A couple of days ago I overheard your mother talking to one of her friends. She mentioned you had already doubled the bookings. I think she's impressed.”

“I'm glad. Not that she would ever say anything to me.”

“Of course not. My mom is exactly the same. I promise myself I won't be like her when my kids are out on their own, but I'm afraid I will be. How does that happen? How do we turn into our mothers?”

“Not a clue.” Carly didn't want to think she was anything like her mother, but she had a feeling they had more in common than she wanted to admit.

“Maybe I'll do better with this one,” Maribel said, glancing down at her stomach.

“You did great with the others.”

“I did okay. I learned from each of them. After all this time one would think I would be perfect, but I know that's not true.”

“Yeah, I make plenty of mistakes.” Carly glanced out at the gardens. “Do you think it's the least bit possible that our kids understand we're trying to do our best?”

“Not a prayer.”

“You're right. I would never have believed that of my mom.” Carly still didn't.

“It is a mother's lot in life to be misunderstood and under-appreciated. That's why we get our own day.” Maribel pushed herself into standing position and groaned. “I'm going to go home where I can lie down and remember what it was like when I could see my feet.”

“Okay. Have a good afternoon.”

“You, too.”

Carly turned back to her computer and opened the spreadsheet. She wanted to finish this projection, then start calling some of the local bridal fairs. If it wasn't too late, she would buy a booth and plan on selling the B and B as a great place to hold a wedding. But before she could finish entering the information into her program, the phone rang.

“Chatsworth-by-the-Sea,” Carly said. “May I help you?”

“I would like to speak with Carly Spencer please.”

“That's me.”

“Mrs. Spencer, this is Mrs. Beecham, the vice principal. I have Tiffany in my office.”

“What?” Carly's stomach flopped over and dove for her toes. No. This wasn't happening.

“I'm sorry to inform you that your daughter has been cutting class. Is it possible for you to come to the school anytime soon?”

Carly had already logged out of her program. “I'll be right there.”

 

It had only been three weeks, Carly thought grimly as she parked on the street, then hurried in the main entrance. Three weeks. Tiffany had never once gotten in this kind of trouble at her old school.

Worse, Carly had thought things had been improving with her daughter. Tiffany had made a couple of friends, including a girl who had stayed for dinner a couple of nights ago. There was even a boy she liked—Jack something. She mentioned meeting him in the computer lab and how she hoped he liked her. So why this?

Carly followed the familiar halls to the vice principal's office and went inside. Tiffany sat on a bench outside a closed door. She rose when she saw her mother.

“You didn't bring Grandma,” she said, sounding both scared and relieved.

“No. I didn't tell her.” Carly hadn't wanted to hear the lecture. “I'll explain things to her after I understand them myself.”

Tiffany grabbed her arm. “It's not what you think. It's not bad. I didn't do anything wrong. Well, not bad-wrong. Mom, I can explain. It's not my fault.”

“How many times have I heard that sentence before?”

“But it's true.”

The door opened and Mrs. Beecham stepped out.

The woman was in her early thirties, attractive and well dressed. Not exactly the dried-up old prune Carly remembered from
her
days at the school. Apparently administrators had changed in the past twenty-two years. But the rules hadn't, and if Tiffany was cutting class, there was going to be hell to pay both here and at home.

“Mrs. Spencer?” the vice principal asked with a smile. “It's very nice to meet you, although I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

“Me, too,” Carly said as they shook hands.

Tiffany tightened her grip on her arm. “Mom, I'm really, really telling the truth. I didn't do anything wrong.”

“Why don't you let us discuss it?” Mrs. Beecham said pleasantly. “Would you prefer your daughter in with us or would you like to have her wait out here?”

Tiffany's blue eyes pleaded for admission to the meeting. Carly hesitated. The situation was a new one. She still couldn't believe this was happening. Tiffany had acted up before, but she'd never done it at school. Skipping classes? Was it possible.

“She can join us,” she said, not sure if she was making the right decision.

“Thanks.” Tiffany moved close. “I can explain everything.”

Mrs. Beecham frowned. “You'll have to be quiet if you're to sit with us,” she said sternly. “Do I make myself clear?”

Tiffany shivered slightly and nodded.

Carly followed the vice principal into her bright and cheerful office and took one of the two chairs on the visitor side of the desk. Several plaques hung on the wall, honoring the school for academic achievement. There were mentions of the various universities Mrs. Beecham had attended and Carly was a little surprised to see her first name was Heather. Somehow women named Heather had never been so authoritarian before. At least not in her world.

“Tiffany has missed her class after lunch twice this week,” Mrs. Beecham said. “I can see by her transcripts that she was never in this sort of trouble before, which is why I wanted to have you in, Mrs. Spencer. We don't want to start a negative pattern here in Tiffany's new school.”

“I don't get it,” Carly said, turning to her daughter. “You're cutting class after lunch? What's going on? Are you leaving campus?”

“That's not permitted until one is a senior,” Mrs. Beecham said quietly.

Tiffany ignored her. “I'm not going anywhere. I've been working in the computer lab. On stuff for the B and B. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I was working on the computer doing graphic designs. I lost track of time and didn't realize I should be in class. I messed up and I was late. But here, if you're more than ten minutes late, it counts as an unexcused absence. Which means they're saying I cut class, but I was really there.”