I’d gotten the full tour last night, or this morning rather, but seeing Takata’s home in the daylight only accentuated the clean lines, spacious rooms, and sparse but comfortable furnishings. It didn’t look much like my mom’s old house, but my mom didn’t look much like herself either. She was wearing trendier clothes and had a far more relaxed smile. Losing the emotional baggage in Cincinnati suited her.
The kitchen was bigger than mine, with rich wood and gleaming metals. It opened up to a lower living room, three sides of which were glass looking out onto what had to be a private beach since I hadn’t seen anyone on it yet. The ceilings were high, and the second story where the bedrooms were overlooked it. A piano took up one bright corner, and a small library the other. Between them, a TV was turned to the news, and as we entered, Takata muted it from behind the kitchen counter.
Takata smiled as he took off his apron, still shy over my finding out he was my birth father. Most of his more famous songs had their inspiration in what he’d lost by giving me and my brother to his best friend and the only woman he’d ever loved. Now my father was dead, and though my mother missed him, it was good to see her in love again.
“Morning,” he said, pointing to the eat-at bar and two place settings.
“Thanks, Donald,” I said as I slid up onto the seat, feeling both welcome and awkward. My mom was out of the room, and I leaned in across the bar. “Hey, try to keep her from making my funeral into a circus, okay?”
Trent snorted, turning it into a cough as he took the chair beside me. The waffles steamed, but he reached for the coffee instead. Takata smiled, his big teeth and wide lips almost a shock as I saw myself mirrored in him. “I’ll try, but you know how she gets.”
I sighed, my wandering gaze finding three bags and Takata’s guitar sitting next to the door. “Enthusiastic,” I muttered, then blinked when Trent took his fingertip out of his mouth, smiled, and poured a dollop of syrup into his coffee. Must be the real stuff.
“You get your drive from her,” Takata said, and I met his eyes when he reached across the counter and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly, not sure if it was enthusiasm or desperation that kept me going. I usually didn’t put syrup on my waffles, but seeing Trent enjoying himself, I dribbled some on, needing to shove my robe sleeves back out of the way as I cut dough into pieces.
Takata hustled to take Mom’s bag, and from the corner of my eye I saw the front of Trent’s main building on the TV. The banner, KALAMACK PIE SLICING UP SOUR, ran below it before it went to commercial. It was official, then. We were dead.
I took a bite of waffle, leaning forward as the syrup dripped. If this was dead, then sign me up.
“About time you got out of bed, sweetheart!” my mom called cheerfully, then gave Takata’s orange pants and striped shirt a disparaging look. A pang went through me as I saw the little clues we learned as children telling us that our mother was leaving to do grown-up stuff: her hair was brushed into a professional topknot, her heels clicked smartly on the tile, there was a blush of heavier makeup, and her jewelry was just shy of extravagant. Her expression was eager and her motions deliberate. I knew when I gave her a hug good-bye that she’d smell of her favorite perfume. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry.
“What are your plans for today?” my mom said as she fixed her scarf, not oblivious to my mood but ignoring it like always. “Use the house as if it’s yours,” she said before I could even frame an answer. “There’s a boat at the club, and the sweetest row of shops in town.”
“Ah, I need to do some spelling,” I said, giving Trent a thankful glance when he gave my fingers a supportive squeeze under the bar.
“Mmmm.” My mom paused, then strode forward to take a key from a rack behind the pantry door. “I’ve got a studio upstairs. It’s nice and sunny up there. Help yourself.”
I took the smooth, small key thinking it looked like it would open a file cabinet, not a door. “You keep it locked?” I asked hesitantly, remembering my mom liked to experiment. She was quite good, and I’d been told on more than one occasion that if it hadn’t been for Robbie and me, she could have been one of Ohio’s premier spell spinners, the elite few who have the knack of creating new spells by modifying existing ones.
“Just the expensive stuff.” My mom’s eyes were on Takata as he came back in, this time wearing something a little more subdued but still clearly “retired rock star” with metallic socks and red shoes. “Thank you, dear,” she said as she adjusted his wide collar, then turned to me. “Ah, ignore what’s under the sink, okay? I’ve been meaning to take care of it.”
“Sure . . .” I tucked the key in the robe’s pocket, exchanging a questioning look with Trent before I spun on the stool to watch her getting ready to leave. My plate was on my lap, and I picked at a piece of waffle. “I’m working on something for Ivy. God knows when I’ll have another day off again from saving the world.”
I had meant it to be sarcastic, but my mom nodded, totally serious. A car had pulled up outside, and Takata headed for the bags. “Use what you need,” my mom said as she checked inside her purse. “That woman needs a little goodness in her life. If you can’t find what you want, I’ve got an account in town at Jack’s Imagineering.” She looked up, breathless and alive, and I set my plate down and went to give her a hug.
“You’re the best, Mom,” I said as my arms went around her, and I was a little girl again, watching her leave for a job interview or rare overnight trip. “Thank you.”
She blinked fast, eyes bright as she pulled away. “Just looking after my little girl. Gotta go! See you later, sweetheart. Enjoy! Don’t show up until after the funeral, okay? Oh, and I’ll tell Robbie. Don’t worry about it. He’s going to be pissed.” She hesitated. “That you played dead, not that you’re really alive.”
Good to have that clarified. I glanced at Takata. He was laughing. “Okay. I’ll try.”
Trent stumbled as my mom jerked him into a loud, noisy hug, and I edged sideways over to Takata. I’d hugged him only a couple of times, and he still felt tall and awkward to me, his arms holding me with a hesitant firmness before he rocked back, face having a touch of sadness for opportunities lost even as he stood in my life again. “You’re doing good.”