The Daddy Audition

Tanya stiffened. “I’m not a perfectionist,” she said.

Ruth smiled. “I remember when you were just a little girl, about Annie’s age, and you came home from school in tears. You were crying so hard you were practically hysterical. It took me forever to figure out what was wrong.”

“What was wrong?”

“You’d drawn a picture in class and the teacher selected some student artwork to put on the bulletin board for parents’ night, and your picture wasn’t one of the ones she chose.”

Tanya remembered how hard she’d worked on her drawing, sure hers would be picked for the bulletin board. She’d even imagined herself showing the picture to her mom and dad, who would be so proud.

“I tried to tell you it didn’t matter if your picture wasn’t displayed,” Ruth said. “I put it on the refrigerator, but you were almost inconsolable.”

“I’d been looking forward to showing off for you,” Tanya said.

“You were the same way if you got a B on a test instead of an A,” Ruth continued. “Or on the rare occasions when you didn’t get a part in a play you wanted.”

Her mother made her sound so uptight and neurotic. “I wasn’t that bad,” Tanya said.

“You got better as you got older. At least better at hiding your feelings, but you were always a perfectionist.”

“I don’t think Annie has any perfectionist tendencies,” Tanya said. Though she’d been upset about not being allowed to have a puppy, Annie had given in semigraciously.

“She’s a happy child,” Ruth said, “because she knows she’s loved.”

“I knew I was loved.”

“You knew it, but I’m not sure you always believed it.” Ruth looked thoughtful. “I always had the feeling you were trying to prove yourself, even though we loved you no matter what you did. You did do one thing to perfection, though.”

“What’s that?”

Ruth smiled. “You gave us the perfect granddaughter.” She leaned over and took Tanya’s hand. “I’m so glad you came back here to live so that we could watch her grow up and be a part of both your lives again. Seeing you only a few times a year was never enough.”

“You were never not a part of my life.”

“I know, but it’s nicer now that you’re close again. I can’t explain how special it is to watch you with your daughter—to see what a good mom you are. I’m so proud of you, hon.”

Tanya blinked back the tears that burned her eyes. “You really think I’m a good mom?” she asked. She’d made so many mistakes.

“You’re the best.”

Tanya squeezed her mother’s hand. “I had a good teacher.”

“No, you did this on your own. Anyone watching can see that Annie is the most important thing in the world to you. No one can teach that kind of love.”

Annie was the most important thing in Tanya’s life; important enough that she’d erased her entire vision for her future to make a better life for her daughter here in the town where she’d enjoyed such a wonderful childhood.

But Tanya had doubts about her ability to give her daughter the childhood she’d wanted. She was a single mom with a demanding job and not even a house of her own to live in. The town wasn’t the same. Maybe Tanya had moved here looking for something that didn’t exist anymore.

Annie skipped into the kitchen, minus Misty, who had probably retreated to her bed for an afternoon nap. “If I can’t have a puppy, can I at least visit that man’s puppy?” she asked.

“What man?” Ruth asked.

“Mr. Jack,” Annie said.

Ruth looked at Tanya. “Jack who?”

“Jack Crenshaw. Annie literally ran into him at the fair. I guess he was trying to calm her down by telling her she could come visit his puppy.”

Only the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth betrayed Ruth’s keen interest in Tanya’s former flame. “Jack’s done very well for himself,” she said.

“So I hear. Building all those new condos.” The ones she couldn’t afford to move into. The ones that spoiled her view every day.

“Don’t hold that against him,” Ruth said.

Tanya shrugged.

“When can we go see Mr. Jack and his puppy?” Annie asked.

“I don’t know how to get in touch with him,” Tanya said.

“His number’s right here.” Ruth opened a drawer and took out the slim Crested Butte phone book. Tanya almost smiled. Everyone she knew in L.A. would have looked it up online.

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled as she accepted the book. It was less than an inch thick.

She found the number for Crenshaw Construction, aware of her mother and daughter watching. “He’s not likely to be in on a Saturday afternoon,” she said.

“From what I hear, he works all the time,” Ruth said. “But if he’s not there, you can leave a message.”

One ring, two rings…Tanya held her breath, trying to calm nerves that were jumpy at the prospect of talking to Jack. Which made no sense, considering they’d managed a perfectly civil conversation this morning.

On the fourth ring, a voice came on the line—not Jack’s but a woman’s. “Hello, you’ve reached Crenshaw Construction. Your call is important to us, so please leave a message…”

“Oh, uh, hello,” Tanya stammered. “I’m trying to reach Jack Crenshaw. Would you please ask him to call Tanya Bledso.” She gave her number and hung up.

“I guess that was his secretary on the answering machine,” she said.

“Probably,” her mother said. “He’s president of the company now, did you know? His father still keeps his hand in, but he turned most everything over to Jack last year and is enjoying retirement.”

“Great.” So Jack had made a big success of himself, while she might as well have a big F for failure stamped on her forehead. Not that she had to let Jack see it.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was still an actress, after all. She could play the part of Hollywood glamour girl even if in reality some of the shine had worn off the glitz.

Chapter Four

Jack stopped by the office again Sunday morning, intending to make one more attempt to get a jump on that bid he needed to write. He paused to check his answering machine and froze, mesmerized as Tanya’s voice filled the empty room. Her words brought back memories of all the messages they’d exchanged all those years ago from routine questions about homework assignments to whispered endearments dispatched late at night, often when they had been apart only a few minutes.

For weeks after she’d left, his heart had sped up every time he saw the red light on his answering machine blinking. He’d held his breath, hoping against hope he would hear from her, saying she’d been thinking about him, that she missed him…that she was coming home.

He hit the button to erase the message. He didn’t need to make note of her number; it was the same one he’d called so many times when they were together. She probably had a cell phone she’d brought with her from L.A., but coverage was so spotty here in the mountains that people continued to rely on landlines. One more way Crested Butte was different from the rest of the world.