All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)(44)

Chantal stared at her. “That sounds bad. What do the doctors say? Are you going to be all right?”

The words were correct and there was a hint of concern in her voice, but Dominique was aware that her daughter didn’t move toward her. There was no comforting hug offered. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized a hug was exactly what she needed.

She shook off the weakness and squared her shoulders. “I’m fine. I had surgery and they got it all. But it was extremely unpleasant. Everyone talking about my bowels. A very undignified episode.”

Her daughter’s mouth twitched. “You’re saying it would have been better if it had been a different body part?”

“Of course. But that’s irrelevant. My time in the hospital reminded me of what’s important. That’s why I’m here. To spend time with you. We’re family. We should be close.”

One didn’t need to be Chantal’s mother to read the trapped expression in her blue eyes. “It’s not something we can order off a take-out menu. Neither of us is very good at relationships.”

Dominique wanted to protest. She was very good with people. She’d always handled the press extremely well. But she supposed Chantal meant personal relationships. Emotionally intimate ones.

“Your father was,” she said instead. “Everyone loved being around him.”

“I remember.” Chantal smiled. “Whenever he came to school for a program, all my friends talked about him.”

Dominique wanted to ask if they’d ever talked about her. After all, having a famous mother was certainly more interesting. But she held back the words, unexpectedly understanding this was not a moment about her.

With that insight came the uncomfortable realization that her constant need for attention wasn’t about feeding an ego, but instead filling a void inside. Silencing the cruel voice that whispered she was one false step away from losing it all.

“Want to go get a cup of coffee?” her daughter asked unexpectedly. “Come on, Mother, we’ll walk over to Starbucks. I’m buying.”

“That sounds nice,” Dominique murmured, thinking being outside might help. At least there would be more to talk about.

Five minutes later they were on the sidewalk and walking the few blocks to the center of town. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the day, there were plenty of people out, enjoying the perfect September weather.

Several of the women they passed either waved to Chantal or called out her name. A little girl of maybe six or seven ran over and motioned for Chantal to bend down. The girl whispered in her ear and then ran back to her mother.

Chantal laughed, then turned to Dominique. “Her grandmother has a cat who insists on climbing trees. He’s on the chunky side and has trouble getting down, so I go out and rescue him.”

“You climb a tree to rescue a cat?”

She nodded. “He’s rarely grateful, but his owner is.”

“You’re risking your neck for a cat?”

“That’s what I do. I take care of people here.”

“If there’s a fire.”

“Not just fires. We show up at car accidents, or if a kid gets stuck somewhere.”

Dominique didn’t understand any part of her daughter’s work. “Aren’t there men who can do your job better?”

Chantal’s eyes turned icy. “No. There aren’t. I’m damned good at what I do. I work hard and I find the job rewarding.”

Dominique sensed she’d made a misstep somewhere, but didn’t know how it had happened. “I’m not saying you’re not competent. It’s just so dangerous. Wouldn’t you rather do something safer?”

“Not really.”

“I just don’t understand.”

“Hardly news.”

They crossed the street. As they walked by a hair salon, a woman rushed out. She was in her twenties, with brown hair and brown eyes. Not the least bit remarkable, Dominique thought. It must be difficult to be ordinary.

Chantal stopped. “Patience, hi.”

“Hi yourself.” The other woman handed over a book. “I finished it and it’s as wonderful as I thought. Very sexy. These days I have to get my thrills in romance novels. At least that guy always turns out to be one of the good ones.”

Dominique saw a brightly colored cover and an author’s name she didn’t recognize. Chantal read romances? Dominique had always enjoyed them, as well. Something for them to talk about, she told herself.

“Patience, this is my mother. Dominique—”

“Dixon,” Dominique said, interrupting. “Dominique Dixon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Patience said, shaking her hand. Her head tilted. “How strange. You remind me of someone. My daughter is crazy about ballet and she has several DVDs starring a beautiful ballerina who...” She paused and laughed. “I’m being silly. Never mind.”

Chantal raised her eyebrows, as if waiting for Dominique to announce she was the beautiful star of those DVDs.

“I’ve always been a fan of ballet,” Dominique said instead. “Discipline for the soul and the body. I hope she continues with it.”

“Me, too. But she’s nine. Who knows what will capture her attention tomorrow.” She glanced back at the salon. “I’ve got to get back. Eddie Carberry is getting a perm and if I don’t watch her every second, she starts messing with the curlers. Nice to meet you Mrs. Dixon.”