Marge was heading upstairs to take a shower after her doubles match when she heard noises of a fight in progress. She was passing by the room where Isobel Droba was staying, and if she wasn’t mistaken the voice raised in anger was that of Isobel’s daughter Alison. For a moment Marge dawdled on the doorstep, pressing her ear to the door. She wasn’t normally one for peeking through keyholes or listening at doors, but this business between Isobel and her daughter had been going onfor a while now, and it frankly worried her a great deal.
“You can’t do this!” Alison was saying.
“Watch me,” Isobel returned coldly.
“You’re such a—”
“Hey! Watch your language, young lady!”
Marge shook her head. Even though Alison wasn’t a teenager anymore, her volcanic temper still persisted to this day. For as long as Marge could remember mother and daughter had been having arguments. Sometimes about things as mundane as a skirt Alison had bought that her mom thought too short, or a new car Alison felt she was entitled to. But recently the arguments had turned even more acrimonious. Ever since Alison had met a young man named Jason Rocamora, in fact. Alison had had boyfriends before, of course, and some of them hadn’t met her mother’s approval. But Jason was an ex-con, and when that little fact had been brought to Isobel’s attention, she’d blown a gasket, and had forbidden her daughter to keep seeing this highly unsuitable suitor.
But Alison wasn’t a kid anymore. She was twenty-one, and had told her mom in no uncertain terms what she could do with her opinions about Jason.
“Look, Mom,” said Alison in measured tones. “I’m going to marry Jason whether you like it or not. And if you want to cut me off financially, so be it.”
“Honey, can’t you see that Jason is all wrong for you? He’s a criminal!”
“Ex-criminal, Mom. And besides, he was wrongfully convicted.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“In his case it’s true.”
“Of course it is.”
“God, Mom!” Alison exploded. “You’re simply impossible!”
Marge heard the stomping of footsteps coming in her direction, and quickly removed her ear from the door and herself further along the corridor. Moments later the door was yanked open and Alison came storming out. She didn’t even see Marge, too busy as she was fuming over her mother’s refusal to back her betrothal.
“Alison, come back here!” Isobel shouted as she, too, appeared in the corridor.
But her daughter was already stomping down the stairs. Isobel blinked when she saw Marge.
“Hi,” said Marge, feeling a little embarrassed.
“Hi,” said Isobel, rearranging her features into a weak smile. “Teenagers,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Always something.”
“Tell me about it,” said Marge.
The two women stood there for a moment, in awkward silence, then Isobel turned on her heel and strode back into her room, gently closing the door.
Tex came up the stairs, mounting them two at a time. He must have caught the tail end of the incident, for he asked,“I heard shouting. What was that all about?”
“Alison wants to get married,” said Marge, “but her mom doesn’t approve.”
“She wants tomarry the guy now?” said Tex, who was fullyau courant of the whole Jason Rocamora drama, as was the rest of the guests at the house.
“Looks like. Isobel said she’ll cut her off if she goes through with the wedding.”
“Tough,” said Tex. He glanced at the closed door. “Maybe we should intervene?”
“I don’t think so,” said Marge. “Best to stay out of this.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Tex, looking quietly relieved.
Much to their detriment they had learned that sometimes the best way to lose a friend was to get involved in their personal business. Isobel might think they were taking sides. And besides, if she wanted their advice, she would have asked for it. As it was, she might simply take offense if they tried to intervene.
It was in moments like these that she thanked her lucky stars that they’d always maintained such a good relationship with their own daughter. And that when Odelia had arrived home one day to deliver a fianc? on the mat, it had been a cop and not a criminal. Reformed as Jason Rocamora might be, he still sounded like bad news. And it was with this thought that they entered their own room for a much-needed shower.
CHAPTER 4
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Perlita Gruner was in the bedroom she shared with her husband, putting sunscreen on her face and getting ready for their doubles match. A handsome woman in her early fifties with an abundance of flaming red hair, she was nevertheless concerned about a suspicious-looking spot that had appeared on her face in recent weeks. And as she studied herself in the vanity mirror, she wondered whether to make an appointment with a dermatologist to have it checked out. According to Nathan it was just a mole, but moles could be tricky.