Cassie inhaled sharply, stung by her daughter's bitterness. She'd been nothing but the most loving mother, had thought of nothing but her daughter's welfare every single day of her life. She'd had almost no pleasures of her own-none, in fact, that were not connected with doing good for the family. What did Marsha have to be so bitter about?
"What are you missing? You're missing everything. What do you know about me? What do you know about anything but yourself and your own selfish feelings."
"You're obviously projecting," Marsha said haughtily. "Just tell the truth, I can take it."
"You're very hurtful, Marsha." Cassie shook her head. Where had she gone wrong with this girl?
"Look who's talking."
"You're talking about money, is that it? Money? That's ridiculous. What if I did spend money on myself-I'm not saying I did, but if I had, would it be so terrible?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Yes," Marsha said. "Yes, Mom, it would."
"I've given my whole life for you, for all of you. You got your camps and your trips to Europe and your college and your graduate school…" Outraged, Cassie ticked the items off on her fingers. She'd never even been to a day spa. Why were they arguing about money?
"What are you two yelling about?" Teddy stumbled into the room, rubbing his eyes.
"Mom's gone psycho," Marsha told him.
"And you, Teddy. Every advantage. Special schools, special tutors. College enrichment programs." Cassie pointed an angry finger at him. "Vineyards in Italy. Vineyards in France…"
"Teddy did get everything. He was Daddy's boy," Marsha confirmed, nodding at him.
"No, I didn't. You got everything," Teddy jumped in, his rage topping everyone's.
Marsha made a disgusted noise. "What?"
"You got the nervous breakdowns. You got the attention," Teddy spit out.
"And what did I get?" Cassie demanded. "Tell me, what did I get!"
They both looked at her, then turned to each other and cracked up.
"You got a face-lift," they said in unison.
I hate them, Cassie thought. She was amazed at herself. I hate my own children.
CHAPTER 10
CASSIE WAS SO INCENSED by the behavior of her children that she went back to her bathroom and put some concealer on her face. Then she tied a scarf around her head à la Jackie Kennedy. She was furious that her children thought she was vain and a spendthrift. She wasn't vain. How could they think she was vain just because she'd gotten a face-lift? She was going to show them. And she was going to show Mitch. How dare he make her look like the bad guy? She was the good guy. She'd always been the good guy, staying home and taking care of them all. She marched downstairs and got into the car. She sat there for a few minutes muttering to herself. When the children didn't show up, she honked the horn.
After what felt like an hour and a half Marsha came into the garage looking like a movie star in her size zero slacks, high heels, and (now) pink cashmere twinset with little embroidered flowers traveling up and down the cardigan's placket. She pushed the button on the garage door, swinging it open and blinding Cassie with the morning light. Where did all that cashmere come from? Saks, Bergdorf's, Neiman's? The girl's hair appeared to have been carefully styled by Frederic Fekkai in the last five minutes, and huge sunglasses covered half her face, enhancing rather than disguising her very good looks.
"What's the big hurry?" Marsha complained, taking the glasses off and frowning at her mother as she rattled the car keys.
"Where's Teddy?" Cassie demanded, feeling hurt for so many reasons, she thought her heart would explode just like Mitch's brain.
"He's having breakfast. He'll meet us there."
Cassie shook her head. "I don't want him in Daddy's den."
"Well, you locked the door. How's he going to get in?"
So they'd checked. It was war. Cassie jumped out of the car and marched back into the house. Teddy was sitting at the kitchen table wearing khakis and one of his father's expensive Italian knit shirts. He was reading the sports section of the newspaper, eating a bowl of his father's favorite cereal, the one holdout from his childhood-Frosted Flakes, with the tiger on the box. "Hi, Mom," he said without looking up.
"Teddy, what are you up to?" Cassie demanded.
"I'm eating breakfast."
"I don't want you in Daddy's files."
"No problem. I don't want to know."
"What do you mean you don't want to know?"
"Whatever," he said, taking a huge bite, crunching loudly, swallowing, taking another, as if actually trying to infuriate her further.
Cassie hesitated in the doorway. Her tone softened, though her heart remained stone. "What does ‘whatever' mean?"
"Marsha's the one who wants to know. I told her whatever, too."
"Teddy, what are you talking about?"
Teddy didn't look up from the page. "Nothing."
Something about the way he said "nothing" alarmed her. Teddy had been the one with the sweetest disposition in the family. Everybody else walked all over him. It occurred to her that with the good business sense inherited from his father, maybe Teddy was the finagler. It had to be one of the three of them. Would Mitch protect his children if they went crazy with the spending? Marsha? Never. But his boy Teddy…? She considered it. Teddy was his father's favorite. Cassie couldn't see Teddy at Bergdorf's, though. He probably didn't know where it was. Not Teddy. "Well, are you coming?" she asked finally.
"If I have to," he muttered.
From the garage, Marsha called out, "For God's sake, what are you doing in there?"
"Yes, you have to, Teddy. Daddy wants to see you," Cassie told him.
"Sure he does," Teddy mumbled, lifting the bowl to drink the milk.
Cassie closed the kitchen door quietly, headed back into the garage, got into the Mercedes, and closed that door quietly, too. Something was up between those kids.
Marsha was busy powdering her nose in the mirror. "I don't know what you're so worried about. Teddy got all of three hundred on his math SATs. You don't actually think he could read a bank statement, do you?"
"Marsha, what's going on?" Cassie asked.
"Nothing." Marsha started the engine and pulled out.
Again that "nothing."
"Teddy is no dummy," Cassie defended her son.
"Yes, he is," Marsha said.
Agitated by the sibling rivalry and all the things that she didn't know about the doings of her own family, Cassie grabbed Marsha's sunglasses off the dashboard. Carefully, she put them over the scarf tied around her head so they wouldn't come in contact with those awful stitches that were pulling her face so tight, she couldn't breathe at all. She felt as if she were choking to death from those stitches, and they itched like hell. If she could rip them right out of her head and go back to her old life, she would do it.