Custody by Nancy Thayer Page A

Randall. “I have asked you—I have begged you—to keep her away from those horses. She could be injured. She could fall, have a concussion, break her spine, snap her neck—”
    “Anne, look at her. She’s here. She’s just fine.”
    He sounded so reasonable. How she hated him for this, for making her look irrational by contrast. And he was so very handsome, even though his shirt was rumpled and he needed a haircut and barn dust covered his boots.
    Randall . His clear blue eyes, his massive shoulders, his calm, bull-like confidence. Why couldn’t he continue to love her? She knew she got carried away sometimes. She knew she wasn’t easy to live with. But if she’d been a man, her wife would not only have dealt with her eccentricities, but also would have revered them as part of what made her unique.
    “You look tired, Anne,” Randall said.
    She sagged. “Yes. I am.”
    They were all still standing in the front hall. “Let’s go in the kitchen and have some tea,” Randall suggested.
    Her heart thumped. Perhaps he wanted to talk. He sounded friendly, conciliatory—“Yes. All right.”
    The routine movements of making tea soothed Anne. Boiling the water, warming the pot, setting out the flowered china cups and saucers. Here, in this room of scrubbed pine and polished chrome, Anne could relax. Carmen kept this room in perfect order.
    “How was the taping, Mom?” Tessa’s nose and cheeks were pink from the sun.
    Anne looked at her daughter. Her beautiful, healthy, fortunate child, gleaming with abody fed with the best substances, cleaned, groomed, loved, and educated.
    “It went well. My new slogan seems to be, ‘Vote for Anne Madison, for the health of it.’ ”
    Randall laughed. “That’s great, Anne. Catchy.”
    He sat at the place he’d always had when he still lived here, wearing clothes Anne knew as well as her own. The blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, those khakis—his socks didn’t match. They were both white and both cotton, but not a pair. She thought of his rented apartment, his clothes neatly folded away in cheap new furniture, and shuddered.
    “I like it, too, Mom.”
    Anne poured the tea. “Good.”
    Randall rose and dug in the cupboard for the sugar. Anne eyed him disdainfully as he spooned it into his tea. “Tessa?” He nodded toward the sugar.
    “She doesn’t need it,” Anne snapped.
    Randall stirred his tea, sipped it, then said, in a companionable sort of way, as if he were discussing something minor, “Anne, you remember about the GAL appointment this week, don’t you?”
    She felt her mouth tighten. “Of course I remember . It’s not likely I’ll forget something as important as that.”
    “I’m only trying to be helpful. I know you’ve got a full schedule with your campaign.”
    Placated, Anne agreed. “True.” She brightened. “Let me try an idea out on you two. The videotaping gave me an idea: What if we could produce a television show, something fun and engrossing, like a sitcom, but incorporate into the plot all the simple things we’re trying to teach? Not drinking during pregnancy. Taking medication daily. Proper diet. That sort of thing.”
    “That’s a really cool idea, Mom!” Some of Tessa’s hair had come free from the braids and curled in the heat over her ears.
    “It is a good idea, Anne. You should pursue it.” Randall’s voice was warm.
    “Yes. Yes, I will.” Anne rose. “I need to get a pad and make some notes.” As she left the room, she looked back. “Randall, give Tessa some dinner if you haven’t already, will you? She can have a salad—there is lettuce and a cucumber in the refrigerator. Be sure to use the fat-free dressing; the other is Carmen’s. And a banana for dessert.”
    Randall’s voice cut through her instructions. “Anne. Tessa’s too thin—”
    “I’m not going to argue about this!” Anne snapped. “I am her mother.” She turned to Tessa. “ Nothing else. I mean that, Tessa . And Tessa, if you’ve