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On My Perfectly Imperfect Life
“A highly emotional story about sisters learning to see each other and the past through adult eyes…4.5 stars.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“My Perfectly Imperfect Life is a deeply emotional family drama…. There is a lot of humor in this tale…add[ing] to a wonderful, affecting character study.”
—The Reader’s Guild
On The Me I Used To Be
“All the characters are vividly brought to life as they struggle to balance past and present.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“A poignant novel that explores the issues and emotions associated with family, adoption, and love. Archer has a talent for developing interesting, ‘real’ characters.”
—“Curled Up with a Good Book” at www.curledup.com
On Sandwiched
“Archer captures the voices and vulnerabilities of her characters with precision.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Jennifer Archer’s a smart writer.”
—Michelle Buonfiglio, NBC11.com Entertainment
Jennifer Archer
As a frequent speaker at writing workshops, women’s events and creative writing classes, award-winning author Jennifer Archer enjoys inspiring others to set goals and pursue their dreams. She is the mother of two grown sons and currently resides in Texas with her high school sweetheart and their neurotic Brittany spaniel. Jennifer enjoys hearing from her readers through her Web site, www.jenniferarcher.net.
Off Her Rocker
Jennifer Archer
From the Author
Dear Reader,
A new generation of mothers has been in the news recently. Labeled “helicopter moms,” they hover over their children long after the kids are grown.
In the past four years, I’ve left both my “babies” more than eleven hundred miles away from home at college and, upon reading about these parents, I worried that I might fit the mold. As I researched the topic further, I learned that most true “helicopter moms,” if there are such beings, are much more obsessive than I am. Still, I recognized a hint of their overprotectiveness in myself.
The news stories were pushed to the back of my mind until a summer day when my husband and I decided to extend a stay at our mountain cabin longer than we’d planned. We drove into a tiny nearby town to do laundry, but almost every business on the main drag either had a closed sign on the door or boards nailed over the windows. I’d hate to get stuck in a town like this, I thought. And then, What if a helicopter mom as spoiled as her children became stranded here? That question gave birth to the Logan family. They all had a lot to learn, about themselves and about each other. They did so with frustration and confusion, tears and laughter. I fell in love with them, despite their faults. Or maybe because of them. I hope you will, too.
Happy reading!
Jennifer Archer
For loving mothers who hover too close
to their children too long.
And for the children who love them back, in spite of it.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
PROLOGUE
“Push, Dana. Push!”
Holding my breath, I bear down with all the energy left in me. This kid is stubborn compared to Taylor Jane. After only an hour of labor, she popped into the world four years ago like a kernel of kettle corn. Tiny, pale and sweet, butter-yellow hair and an airy disposition.
Not this one, no. Eight hours, forty-three minutes and counting.
“That’s it, honey.” Carl squeezes my hand.
A shift, a loud grunting moan, sudden relief, exhaustion. The breath rushes out of me, my muscles go limp, my head drops to the pillow.
At the end of the table, from between my upraised knees, I hear Dr. Lattimer say, “Good girl, Dana.” Then, a squeaky, furious cry sounds and he adds, “It’s a boy!”
“A boy…” Carl’s eyes fill with tears as he leans down to kiss me. “We have a son. I love you, honey.”
I decide to forgive him for his behavior in the labor room earlier. The photo he had the nurse take of us together between contractions. The two times I caught him smiling at some program on the television in the corner, instead of suffering with me. His cheery encouragement while I panted like an old dog on a hot day, my attention fixed on my Lamaze focal point, the eyes of the child in the famous painting across from my bed. Mother and Child. In it, the mother hugs her toddler, her face turned into his neck, while the child’s arms hang loose, and he stares into the distance beyond her.
Carl moves aside, and I catch my first glimpse of our little boy. Bald and squealing, purplish red from the top of his misshapen head to the tips of each of his tiny long toes.
Sounds diminish. The room blurs around him, the people in it. I’m blind and deaf to anything except my baby, consumed with a fierce love for him, with adoration of every detail about him, perfect and otherwise. The cord may be cut, but we’re still connected. Now, more than ever.
“He’s beautiful,” I murmur. I think how abundant, wondrous and smooth I want his life to be. His and Taylor’s. I would do anything, sacrifice everything, to protect them, to make them both happy.
“He looks like Uncle Harold,” Carl says.
“Uncle Harold’s a skinny, wrinkled-up old man.”
“I know.”
We both laugh through our tears.
“Have you decided on a name?” the nurse asks.
“Troy Bennett.” I lick the salty sweat from my lips. “After my father.”
“Troy Bennett Logan.” Carl’s voice oozes pride. “Future president of Logan Advertising.”
“That’s a strong, proud name,” the nurse says. “I like it. Is he your first?”
“Second,” Carl answers, his voice raised slightly to be heard above Troy’s cries. “We have a four-year-old daughter.”
The nurse smiles, spreading wrinkled wings at the corners of her kind, knowing eyes. “Enjoy every second you have with them. Tomorrow you’ll wake up, your daughter will be getting married, and this one will be off to college.”
Tomorrow? I don’t believe her. The years stretch ahead like a long sunny road I’ve never traveled. Block after block of surprises and adventure, of firsts: first steps, first teeth, first day of school, first date.
I can’t see the place where my children are grown; it’s too far in the distance. A million miles away.
CHAPTER 1
Tomorrow
aka Eighteen Years Later
Troy, Carl and I stand outside of a red-roofed brick dormitory backed by rugged mountains.
“It won’t be the same at home without you.” I squeeze Troy tighter, my tears dampening the sleeve of his White Stripes T-shirt. He squeezes me back, but doesn’t say anything.
Carl clears his throat, and I blink across at him. He stands behind Troy, smiling, but his eyes are misty as he slides on his sunglasses. “We need to get the car back to the rental place if we’re going to make our flight.”
Troy and I step apart. The cord is cut, but we’re still connected. “I love you.” I take his hands in mine.
“I love you, too, Mom.” Pink splotches bloom on his cheeks. His tender, anxious expression tells me that, despite his excitement, he’s feeling some of what I feel: pride and love, but sadness, uncertainty and a little fear, too. The moment is bittersweet. This is what the past eighteen years have all been about. Raising him to be independent, brave and capable. But the thought of not seeing him every day, not hearing his voice…
Two snickering young men approach, headed for the dorm’s white-columned entrance. Their glances cut our direction, and Troy’s blush deepens. Dipping his chin, he releases my hands.
I wait until the boys pass by, then, with a final quick hug, I back away. “We’re proud of you, sweetie.”
Carl embraces Troy for only a second, then gently punches his shoulder. “We’ll call you when we’re home.”
Troy nods, his gaze shifting to the dorm, down to his feet, then back to us. He pops his knuckles. All signs that he’s nervous, excited and antsy. How many times have I watched him act the same on the sidelines of a basketball court before the coach sent him into the game?
“Remember why you’re here,” Carl adds, attempting sternness but sounding sentimental, instead. “Your studies come first. Even before basketball. Keep your priorities straight.”
“I will.” Troy’s Adam’s apple shifts.
“You have big shoes to fill some day at Logan Advertising.” Carl glances down at his size elevens, then winks. “I’m counting on you to send me off to retirement in about ten years.”
Clearing his throat, Troy blinks down at his size tens.
“If you need anything—” my voice falters “—we’re only a phone call away.”
Carl checks his watch, then takes my hand. “Bye, son.”
Panic seizes me. There’s so much more to say, but not enough time. One weekend here wasn’t long enough. Eighteen years wasn’t long enough. I look at Carl and silently plead one more minute. As if I can cram into sixty seconds everything I forgot to teach our son, to explain and impress upon him during his lifetime.
“You should have plenty of money in your account,” I tell Troy. “And I put extra on your student card.” The words rush out of me. “You understand how to use the card in the laundry machines, don’t you? And how to do the laundry?”
“Yes, Mom. You went over it a million times.” Embarrassment and exasperation strain his quick laugh.
“Ask your resident adviser if you have any questions. He’s there to help. And get involved in dorm activities. It’s a good way to meet people and make friends.”
Troy sends his father a desperate look.
“Dana, come on.” Carl tugs my arm. “We’ll be late.”
Ignoring him, I say, “Remember what we talked about. You’ll meet all kinds of people here, Troy. Good ones, but kids you’ll want to avoid, too. Be careful.”
“Jeez, Mom.” He cringes slightly and eyes a group of girls who walk by carrying boxes.
“Goodbye, sweetie.” I have to squeeze the words from my throat.
Turning, I follow Carl down the sidewalk. One step. Two. Three. Four. Deep breaths. In…out…in…out. Bringing Troy into the world was less painful than sending him off on his own to explore it. The cord may be cut, but we’re still connected. At least I am; when I look over my shoulder, Troy isn’t watching us leave, as I’d expected. His head is turned toward the dorm.
I flash back to the painting on the wall of the hospital labor room eighteen years ago. The mother clinging to her child, the boy detached, looking off into the distance.
“Don’t forget to call AAA if you have any car trouble,” I yell. “They’ll even change a flat tire or come out if you lock your keys inside.”
Troy turns squinting eyes on me, his shoulders slumped, his arms at his sides.
“He can change his own damn tire,” Carl mutters and tugs me again.
“Your allergy medicine’s in the first-aid kit I packed for you,” I add as Troy starts for the dorm.
“Dana.” Carl walks faster.
A sob builds in my chest as I watch the back of my baby’s shiny dark head, his tall, lanky frame, merge into a throng of University of Colorado freshmen hauling boxes and trunks, beanbag chairs, mini-refrigerators and stereo equipment. In my mind, he’s three years old again, lost in a crowd, and I can’t get to him. It’s almost more than I can do to look away. “I can’t stand to leave him.”
Carl digs keys from his pocket and gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ve known for almost a year he’d be going to school here.”
I swipe at my eyes with a shaky hand.
We walk the rest of the way in silence. When we finally reach the car, Carl heads for the driver’s side door, and I head for mine.
I sink into my seat. “I feel like we’re abandoning him in a strange place with a bunch of strangers.”
“He’s not a little boy anymore—he grew up. It happens to everybody if they’re lucky.”
“He may look grown, but he’s still a kid.” We buckle up. “He doesn’t know how to take care of himself. He isn’t ready.” My nose starts running as we pull out. “He’s only done two loads of laundry in his entire life, and both of those were last week. The second time, I still had to give him directions. What if he doesn’t remember?”
“He’ll figure it out.” Carl turns onto the road. We merge into traffic.
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’ll wear dirty clothes. Nobody ever died from wearing the same underwear two days in a row. He’s a big boy, Dana. It’s time he started doing things for himself. You spoiled him.” Wincing, he glances at me and quickly adds, “We spoiled him. Taylor, too.”
“Why’d he have to get that stupid basketball scholarship?” My lip quivers as I stare out at the brilliant blue cloud-scattered sky. “We should’ve insisted he go to a Texas school. You make enough money. We didn’t need the tuition cut.”
“Honey, don’t. He’s closer to home than he would be if he’d gone to the University of Texas.”
“But he knows people in Austin. We know people. What if he hates it here? What if he’s lonely?”
“Troy’s never had any trouble making friends, you know that.”
“What if he gets into trouble? There’s no one to call who could reach him quickly. He could get sick.” A tear rolls down my cheek and drips off the tip of my chin.
Carl reaches for my hand. “It’s hard for me to let go, too. Give it some time. We’ll adjust.”
“It happened so fast….” Leaning my head back against the seat, I close my eyes and hear a voice from the past…. Enjoy every second…. Tomorrow you’ll wake up, your daughter will be getting married, and this one will be off to college.
Damn that nurse for being right.
All the way to the Avis car rental agency, I weep softly. On the shuttle bus from there to the air terminal, Carl holds me while I press my face against his shoulder and weep some more. When the plane lifts off, I touch the window, look out at Troy’s new home. And weep. By the time the city disappears, I’m numb, wrung out, my tear supply drained dry.
Already hard at work on a presentation for a prospective client of his ad agency, Carl glances up from his laptop. He doesn’t appear to be the least bit emotional. He had his brief teary moment and got over it. Easy for him to say we’ll adjust. Our kids growing up and leaving doesn’t change his life as drastically as mine. He isn’t losing his job of the past twenty-two years. Taylor and Troy have been my entire world. What am I supposed to do now?
“Taylor Jane’s picking us up, right?” Carl asks.
“She said she would. I gave her our itinerary.”
“We should’ve called her before we took off. I wouldn’t put it past her to forget. She’s probably preoccupied with her big plans to marry Moo-ney.” His head bobs left to right and his lip curls when he speaks each syllable of our future son-in-law’s name. “What kind of name is that, anyway? His parents must be a couple of kooks.”
The wedding. I sit straighter. Sniff. Pull a tissue from my purse and dab my eyes.
“We have a few things to discuss with our daughter when we get home,” Carl says grudgingly. “Such as how those two think they’re going to support themselves. I don’t get it. The kid’s nothing like any of Taylor’s prior boyfriends. What kind of life does she think she’s going to have with someone like him?”
I sigh. “She isn’t thinking. She hardly knows the guy.” They met over the summer when Taylor moved home after graduating from Southern Methodist University.
“If she’d wait, she’d probably find someone at grad school.”
Because of Taylor’s average grades, Carl had to pull a few strings to get her accepted to a master’s program at Texas Tech.
“Some kid with a smart head on his shoulders,” he adds.
And without a ponytail brushing them, I think.
“Someone with reasonable ambitions,” he continues.
Rather than pie-in-the-sky dreams of becoming his generation’s Jimi Hendrix.
“Someone clean-cut.”
Meaning, no multiple earrings or five-inch-long goatee.
“She probably won’t even go to grad school now.” Carl presses a hand to his stomach and winces. “Damn engagement’s giving me an ulcer. I wonder what she has in mind for the wedding?”
The wedding. I push negative thoughts of Mooney aside and smile. Taylor announced her engagement two days before we left in Troy’s Jeep to drive him to college, so there wasn’t much time to talk details. But I do recall mention of a January ceremony.
Dabbing my eyes again, I dig in my purse for a pad and a pen. If she’s determined to marry Mooney, maybe I could convince her to do it in December instead of later. We would have to get busy, but a Christmas wedding will be beautiful.
“What are you smiling about?” Carl’s expression shifts to one of amusement. He studies me over the tops of his reading glasses.
“What do you think about a Christmas wedding?”
He holds up both hands. “That’s your department, not mine. If there’s going to be a wedding, I guess that’s as good a time as any.”
“We could have it at the Club.”
“What if they want a church wedding?”
“Even better. Can’t you just imagine how beautiful the sanctuary would be filled with roses?” I nibble my lip and squint, seeing it all in my mind. “Red ones. I’ll call the florist and ask what they’d cost.”
“Won’t the church already be decorated with flowers for the holidays? You could use those and save us some money.”
“Poinsettias are too predictable. Everyone will expect them.” I push against his arm with my palm. “Don’t be such a cheapskate. She’s your only daughter.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. Spend the money if it makes you happy.” With an indulgent smile, he leans over and pecks my cheek. “I’ll just work harder.” Digging in his pants pocket, he pulls out an antacid and pops it into his mouth.
“We’re doing this for Taylor, not me.”
Carl raises one brow; the corner of his mouth twitches. “Whatever you say.”
I nudge him with an elbow. “Stop it. You’d love a big shindig, too, and you know it.”
“What I’d love is for Taylor to wise up and reconsider. But I’m all for whatever it takes to make my girls smile.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Feeling better?”
Surprised to realize that I am, I grin. “Much.”
“Good.” Carl pats my hand, then returns his attention to his work.
The wedding. I take a deep breath, then start scribbling. Red roses. Mistletoe. A red velvet cake. A string quartet…
CHAPTER 2
“You did what?” I slam the car door.
Behind me, in the back seat of our Lexus, Carl swears softly.
Taylor flips the blinker, turns out of the airport parking lot and lifts her chin. “Mooney and I eloped. And don’t yell at me. I’m trying to drive.” She keeps her focus on the road.
I glance back at Carl. He’s shaking his head and muttering, but he doesn’t appear to be as stunned by the news as I am.
I return my attention to Taylor. Her long blond hair looks sleek and glossy as she tosses it off one shoulder with the flip of a hand. Troy is dark like Carl. But our daughter inherited my Scandinavian coloring. Her temperament, though, is all her own. “When did this elopement take place?”
“Night before last.”
“You could’ve called us,” Carl says.
“I didn’t want to ruin your time with Troy. Besides…” Her mouth curves up slightly at one corner. Her I’ve-got-a-secret smile; I know it well. “I wanted to enjoy at least one day of our honeymoon without having to deal with you being mad at me.” She glances my way when she says this. To hear her talk, anyone would think I rant and rave at her every hour of the day.
“You had a honeymoon?” I ask.
“A mini one. Until we can do it right.”
I cross my arms and lean back. “What did you do?”
That smile again. “Mo-ther.” She giggles.
I lift my gaze to the ceiling. “You know what I meant. Where did you go?”
“We flew to Dallas and stayed at the Mansion.”
Carl blurts a laugh. “I guess sweeping up sawdust at Home Depot pays more than I thought. Or has Mooney changed jobs again? I can’t keep up.”
“He’s a musician.” Another hair flip. “The other jobs are only temporary. Until the band breaks out. Code Freak will have plenty of gigs then, and Mooney will rake it in. They already have lots of fans who follow them everywhere.”
“Tomorrow’s gigs don’t pay for the Mansion today,” Carl says from the back seat.
Taylor’s eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, a movement only a mother would detect. And decipher.
I squint at her. “You paid for the honeymoon, didn’t you. For the hotel and the flight.”
“My money is his now. Just like his is mine.”
“Your money?” Carl sputters. He sticks his head up front between us. “Did you land a job we don’t know about?”
Since graduating in May, Taylor has worked hard on perfecting her tan; that’s the only work she’s done.
“Taylor…” I sigh. “The money in your account is for you to live on while you’re getting your master’s at Tech.”
“We didn’t blow that much.”
“Don’t the other members of Mooney’s band live here? How are they going to practice if he’s living with you in Lubbock while you’re going to school?”
“I’ll apply for the program at WT instead.”
“Isn’t it too late?”
“I’ll apply for the spring semester.”
I glance at Carl. “Do we know anyone at WT I could call?”
Taylor lifts her chin. “I don’t need you to get me in.” She sounds offended.
“Do you know someone?” I ask her.
She glares at me, and I immediately regret my implication. But she knows as well as anyone that her grades are subpar.
I try to find a positive side to all this. If, by some miracle, she does get in at WT, at least she’ll be closer to home. West Texas A&M is twenty minutes away from Amarillo, as opposed to the two hours it takes to drive to Lubbock.
“Please don’t spend any more of the money in that account on extravagances,” I say to her. “It’s for tuition and books. Things like that.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
“Just so you’re not tempted,” Carl says, “I’ll call the bank tomorrow and have you taken off the account.”
“Dad-dy. Don’t you trust me?”
The question elicits a wry chuckle from Carl. “Where do the two of you plan to set up house?”
“In Mooney’s aunt’s garage apartment.”
“That place he lives now?” My stomach drops. I went there with Taylor once when we were shopping and she found Mooney’s cell phone in her purse. He needed it, so we dropped by. The sight of that apartment made me wonder what on earth Mooney had done to brainwash my daughter. Before meeting him, she wouldn’t have stepped foot in such a place. Peeling paint. A dangling shutter. A swamp cooler in the window. A thorny, weedy patch of yard. The inside was worse. Stained, threadbare carpet. Musty, stale beer scent. Dark stuffy rooms—three of them; a living room/kitchen combo, one bedroom and a tiny bath. Completely depressing. I can’t imagine Taylor happy there.