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The Master's Inn

By Deb Gorman

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Chapter 1

“Mom! Where’s my iPad?” Joanie bellowed.
Susan Brown, downstairs in her newly remodeled dining room in Sandpoint, Idaho, ignored the stomping overhead and her fourteen-year-old daughter’s frantic voice. It sounded like she was on a rampage again.
Joanie’s voice drifted down the stairs, every foul word in her teenage vocabulary just loud enough for Susan to hear. Something else to confront.
She rubbed a nervous tic on her right temple and reviewed the contents of her garment bag once again—no mistakes this time. Two other bags were packed and strapped by the front door. Her plan was to surprise Bill by being ready and on time tomorrow. He was such a stickler for schedules and sometimes lashed out at any little bump.
Scanning her list for the third time, she found it too long, as usual. After crossing off two items, she’d pared it down to two evening and three mix-and-match day outfits.
She tucked everything into the bag, making sure the clothing was tightly strapped. It wouldn’t do to arrive with wrinkled outfits—although the company convention hotel in Las Vegas offered full valet service. Nothing but the best for Bill.
Lining up the bags by the front door, she made sure the edges formed a neat, straight line. She stretched and looked at her watch. He would be home from his meeting soon.
Susan returned to the dining room, noticed a streak, grabbed a clean microfiber cloth, and wiped the table where she’d set her bag. He had such a critical eye.
She anticipated the long weekend with schoolgirl eagerness. It would be just her and Bill. One thing she didn’t look forward to was his comparisons of her figure and clothes to the glamorous women on stage and in the restaurants. She’d never had any reason to question his loyalty, but she knew—after all these years—that she didn’t measure up. She’d lost her petite girlish figure, and the glow had faded from her complexion.
Susan walked back out to the entry hall and stood in front of the elegant full-length mirror and didn’t like who was staring back at her. Her clothes were nice—Bill always insisted that she buy the best for herself—but it didn’t hide the years piling up on her small frame. She tugged at her long-sleeved gray blouse and rolled up the sleeves for a different look. Seeing her pudgy arms exposed made her unroll those sleeves.
The noise from upstairs reached a crescendo. She tried to ignore the blaring music and thrashing sounds coming from her daughter’s room.
What could she be doing up there? I need a break.
“Mom!” Joanie yelled again. “Are you going to help me or what?”
Susan rubbed her eyes. Did other mothers of teenage girls sometimes hate the name Mom? Another reason to leave her behind.
They needed a game plan for dealing with her rebellious attitude—and she and Bill needed to play on the same team for once.
“Mom!” Joanie roared. “Why don’t you answer me? What are you doing down there—nothing as usual, I guess!”
That’s it!
Susan marched to the bottom of the stairs and saw the top of Joanie’s head as she stood in the hallway outside her bedroom door.
“I’m packing.” Susan kept her tone even. It wouldn’t help to set her off even more. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling at me like some wild animal, I’d answer you.” She moved to the bottom step and craned her neck. “What are you doing anyway? It sounds like you’ve got a wrecking ball up there!”
The answer came sweeping down the stairs like a tidal wave crashing against a rocky shore.
“I said, ‘Where is my iPad!’ I can’t find it anywhere!” Joanie yelled. “There, did you hear me that time?” She turned and disappeared, swearing like a street kid in a bad movie.
Susan ran up the stairs and down the hall. She peeked in the doorway of her daughter’s large bedroom. A heavy three-ring binder flew by, missing her nose by inches. After hitting the wall and rattling the blinds at the other end of the room, it landed on the dresser, scattering jewelry and knickknacks to the floor.
Susan stepped inside gingerly, not wanting to be brained by any other flying objects. “Joanie! For crying out loud, stop throwing things around. Calm down.”
She looked around in dismay. Joanie’s entire closet lay on the floor at her feet—sweatshirts, underwear, jeans, jewelry, and heavy outdoor clothing—jumbled in an impossible tangle. Susan glanced toward the dresser. A gouge dented the wall above it, where the heavy notebook had connected.
Bill had allowed Joanie to paint her room the way she wanted—black walls, purple trim, and one wall covered with posters of her favorite bands and fantasy movie heroes. Their garishly made-up eyes accused Susan, the intruder.
The gouge pierced the black paint, showing the primer like a beacon. There’d be another explanation to Bill, she was sure, and he’d want to know what had caused Joanie to throw it in the first place.
She felt his glare as she stooped and turned off the music.
Joanie barged out of her walk-in closet. Her long rust-brown hair was dyed black—courtesy of her friend down the street—with some of it sculpted into short bright-green spikes on top of her head, but dark green and purple where it hung over her shoulders. She glowered at her mother, nostrils—adorned with a nose ring, courtesy of Bill on Joanie’s last birthday—flaring in anger.
Susan stared at Joanie’s attire—flip-flops, ripped jeans, and a low-cut tank top covering her tall, lanky frame. Hardly proper clothing for the cold winter weather. Black glitter fingernails, plastic orange earrings hanging to her shoulders, heavy silver rings on every other finger, and a tattoo of her favorite graphic novel hero on her upper arm completed her ridiculous ensemble.
Susan looked away, choosing which issue to tackle first. She was saved from the decision when she saw what was on the nightstand. She knelt next to it and shoved aside two paperbacks and a locked journal.
“Mom! Why don’t you help—”
“Umm, is this what you’ve been ransacking your room for?” She held out the iPad.
Joanie snatched it out of Susan’s hands without a thank-you and turned to put it into her suitcase.
“Thank you to you too!” Susan admonished. “And you will clean up this mess you’ve made and make your bed, understand? I want every article of clothing that you’re not taking hung up where it belongs and everything else put away before we leave tomorrow. You always seem to have time for everything else on your agenda—”
“I don’t have an agenda unless you give it to me. Geez, Mom, I don’t have a life!” She plunked her hands on her hips, drawing out the last words. “So will you please let me get on with it? I’m trying to remember everything you told me to pack, and you’re not helping by ordering me around.”
Susan closed her eyes and massaged her throbbing temples.
“Settle down. And I guess you haven’t remembered that I told you not to take your iPad to Mrs. Brewster’s. If you would be so kind as to unpack that item, I’ll put it in the safe while we’re gone.”
“Mom, why can’t I take it?” Joanie moaned and hugged the tablet to her chest.
“Really, Joanie?” When had her daughter become such a drama queen? Maybe she should audition for a part in a soap.
“I’ve already explained, but I’ll be glad to go over it again. It’s only four days, and there’s no reason you can’t leave it here and spend time with her. After all, she took care of you for years when you were little and I had to work.”
She ignored Joanie’s drawn-out groan with difficulty. “She’s fond of you, and I expect you to behave yourself and give her some company. She’s so looking forward to having you. It’ll do you good to think of someone else for a change.”
Joanie’s response was typical, and Susan lost it, flinging her arms up in frustration.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me! I’ve had enough of your attitude—”
“Yeah, and I’ve had it with you controlling my whole life. When do I get to make my own decisions? All my friends do. Even my cousin can do whatever she wants. Ginny doesn’t have to check in or out with anyone, and I’d rather stay here by myself than be stuck with that old bat Mrs. Brewster.”
Susan tightened her fists. She wanted to slap Joanie, but she took a calming breath and leaned forward, wagging her finger in her daughter’s face. “Listen, Joan—”
“Mom!” Joanie jerked her face away from her mother’s finger. “It’s not fair! You leave me out of the trip to Las Vegas—you and Dad never take me anywhere fun—”
“Oh—you mean like skiing at Schweitzer? Or Colorado? Seattle on a shopping trip? Boating on Oreille? Should I go on—all those unfun things?”
“—tell me I can’t go to Ginny’s. And then foist me off on Mrs. Brewster. She’s so . . . old. She smells funny and wears too much of that lavender crap to cover it up. She’s like all old people—all they do is talk about the past. Who cares what happened a hundred years ago? And if it’s not that, it’ll be reruns of Bonanza or the one about some weird geek named Beaver. I can’t take four days of that—”
“Joanie, stop this—”
“Please?” Joanie pleaded. “And I promise not to play with it every single second. I promise to talk to her. Can I take it? Please?”
Susan squared her shoulders.
“No.” She held out her hand. “It’ll be good for you to be without it for a few days and have some face-to-face time with a real live flesh-and-blood person instead of TikTok time. Now hand it over.”
Redness crept up Joanie’s neck to her cheeks. With her green and purple hair and orange earrings, she resembled a Roman candle about to explode. She stepped toward Susan and held out the tablet—her glittering, heavily made-up eyes never leaving her mother’s.
Susan didn’t know if Joanie was going to hand it over or hit her with it. Warily, she took it from her.
Heading toward the door, she heard Joanie mumble a rude expletive.
“Listen, I’ve had it with you and your attitude.” Susan braced for another explosion.

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