Programmed for Peril

package of Yodels and a Sno-Ball about a half hour before dinner.”
    “Her grandmother’s influence,” Trish said. “Eat! You can do no wrong.” She shook her head. “What do I do with Marylou?”
    “That’s easy. After you marry Foster, you hire a nanny.”
    “A nanny?”
    “Sure. With all his money that’d be no problem. Then you won’t have to ask Grandma to sit.”
    Trish sipped lemonade, thinking of what else an unlimited budget would mean to her.
    “That’s assuming you continue not to take my best piece of advice,” Jill said.
    “Which is?”
    “Don’t tell me for a minute you’ve forgotten. The day after the wedding you sell your business. And start living the Way a few lucky women still can—at home, with kids.”
    “You sure you’re not playing the shill for my mother? The two of you sound alike.” Jill moved off to do some cleanup, insisting Trish sit still, keep an eye on the kids. Trish drifted into a reverie that began with her at the altar—in pastel to go along with Marylou’s big lie campaign. How she wanted to he married to Foster! Reaching that goal meant so much: someone to love always, a secure home for Melody and the chance to begin her musical education with the best teachers, far less dependence on PC-Pros for their livelihood. Basic Jill might well be right.
    Past those obvious gains from marriage would come some even more valuable—ones made on the fields of her emotions and personality. Reaching the haven of matrimony meant that California, and all that went with it, would be forever behind her. She was not fooled into thinking that she had escaped her past completely, though some critical distancing had taken place. Too much had happened to be thrown aside, even over a three-year period, to make a complete end of it. Carson’s influence and attentions had been too telling to allow an easy exit. Lois’s cries of “mental case” hit close to her condition upon returning home. How much inner healing remained to take place she couldn’t guess. At moments like this, when her energy reserves were low, she imagined Carson still owned the soul she had obliviously bargained away.
    She absolutely had to be married September fifteenth!
    She drove a drowsy daughter home. Both of them needed to be between sheets in record time. Breaking discipline, she allowed Melody to get into her pajamas without brushing her teeth or washing her face. Trish hurried into her nightgown, slid into bed, and pulled a pillow over her head.
    Despite her fatigue, she slept poorly and awoke feeling more drained than rested. All morning she had trouble focusing her attention. Shortly after noon her impatience got the best of her. She phoned Foster’s kennels. He wasn’t there. She phoned his home. Houghton the butler said he wasn’t there but had gone off in “his motor.” She knew she shouldn’t hound Foster. He would speak to Lois as soon as was practical. The problem was she was losing her cool. She phoned the yacht club and asked that Foster be paged. In time he said hello.
    “Have you talked to Lois yet?” Trish was surprised by the naked haste in her voice.
    “Trish... I’m doing so now. Over lunch.”
    Her heart sank. “I was hoping you wouldn’t turn something like an inquisition into a social event.”
    “Those were her terms for talking to me—lunch here. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.” The line rustled with his familiar short, dry laugh. “Here I am, caught between the demands of two assertive women. If I didn’t bring Lois here, she wouldn’t talk to me. If I didn’t talk to her, you wouldn’t talk to me!”
    “Foster, this is not funny! If you could have been there when I was sweating over code to save my whole business—”
    “Lois insists neither she nor Nicholas has anything to do with your problems.”
    Trish snorted. “And I’m sure that while denying she managed to take a few shots at me.”
    Foster’s voice cooled. “You asked me to do this. You can’t have it both ways.”
    “She’s such a bitch!”
    “Trish!”
    “Foster, I know she’s behind it all. Just be sure you tell her that if she doesn’t knock it off, the police will show up. And Foster, don’t enjoy yourself too much!” She hung up, then stared down at the receiver.
    She was making a fool of herself.
    As the afternoon passed she became more aware of her mental state. She had so much work to do, but her concentration was worse than before she spoke with Foster. Her