Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [57]
“I’ve got a new prescription for your mother,” Hassie told her. “Would you drop it off for me?”
Calla placed the mascara on the counter and pulled a wad of dollars from the hip pocket of her jeans. “Can’t Dennis get it for her later? Let him do it.” Calla wasn’t stupid. Hassie was trying to manipulate her into visiting her mother—something Calla would prefer not to do.
Her response seemed to stun Hassie. Not saying a word, she stared at Calla with a directness that made her squirm.
“Oh, all right,” Calla said irritably. “I’ll take over the prescription.” But she was annoyed Hassie had asked her to do this, and made her feelings very clear.
Muttering under her breath, she grabbed the small white sack and her change and slammed out of the store. Still annoyed, she walked the few blocks to the old Habberstad house.
She stomped onto the porch, where she paused to ring the doorbell. Then, without waiting for an answer, she let herself inside. “It’s me,” she shouted, stepping into the house.
Her mother lay on the sofa where she’d been the other two times Calla had talked to her.
“Calla!” Her mother’s eyes lit up when she saw her.
Calla hated that and she loved it. She wanted her mother to be happy to see her, but at the same time, she didn’t want to feel anything for Sarah. Nevertheless, Calla had to admit that she did, and she resented it. “Hassie asked me to drop off this prescription,” she said, wanting to be sure her mother realized this wasn’t a social call.
“Thank you.” Sarah was pale and drawn, much paler than she’d been on Calla’s last visit.
“How are you?” Calla hesitated, then set the small package on the coffee table.
Her mother glanced up toward the ceiling. “I’m going stir crazy. Another month and everything should be better, but this inactivity is so boring. I’ve read every book and magazine in the house, until my eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.”
“Can’t you work on the quilts?”
“Some,” her mother said, “but my concentration is so poor these days.”
“You could always watch TV or videos.”
“I could,” she agreed. “But there’s very little I want to see on television.”
“Daytime television is the pits,” Calla murmured, remembering her own attempts to watch it in Minneapolis. She also remembered that her father had found it enthralling, especially the sports channels. He could sit in front of the TV for eight hours straight.
“I’ll manage,” Sarah insisted.
Calla frowned. “One would think Dennis would be happy to get you some videos, then,” she said waspishly, eager to put her stepfather in a bad light.
“He would if I asked,” Sarah returned.
“Why don’t you?”
Sarah looked down, shaking her head. “He has enough to do with keeping up the house, cooking, cleaning, plus working all day. I don’t want to ask anything more of him.”
Calla walked about the room and picked up discarded sections of the newspaper. It didn’t look like Dennis was all that great a housekeeper, but she didn’t say so.
“Dennis should spend more time with you,” Calla muttered instead, her tone challenging. He was the one responsible for this—her mother being pregnant and all. The least he could do was be there for her.
“He tries.”
Calla snorted softly, hating the way her mother was so quick to defend him. “In my opinion, he doesn’t try hard enough.” She picked up the empty juice glass on the table and carried it, along with the newspaper, into the kitchen. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. There was no excuse for that. It wouldn’t take three minutes to load the dishwasher. If her mother saw the state of the kitchen, she’d have a conniption.
Calla ran the sink full of hot, soapy water, rinsed the dishes and loaded them, then wiped down the counter. She should probably leave this mess for Dennis but knew how upset her mother would be if she were to see all these dirty dishes.
“What are you doing in there?” Sarah called.
Not wanting to admit she was washing dishes, Calla made up an excuse. “I thought you