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“I’m not going to the funeral,” Chloe said, unconcerned. She was scooting a mini-pancake around her plate, soaking up as much maple syrup as possible.
Barbara’s gaze turned frosty. “This is something we need to do.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t know that—”
“I’m not going with you,” Chloe interrupted.
“Of course you are,” Barbara bulldozed over her, walking closer to the island where Chloe rolled her eyes upward to hold her stare. “We all need to say good-bye to your daddy, honey.”
“I’m going to preschool to see my friends,” Chloe said, forking a big chunk of pancake into her mouth, though her gaze didn’t leave her aunt’s.
“Not today, you’re not.” Barbara told her tautly.
“Mmmmhmmm,” Chloe mumbled.
Elizabeth could see the way her jaw was starting to jut out in the stubborn way that warned of a battle to come. An Ellis trait that Court and Barbara also possessed.
“Today you’re going to the funeral,” Barbara told her flatly.
“Nope.” Chloe was unmoved.
Barbara, who had no children of her own, turned to Elizabeth and demanded, “You tell her that we’re going to the funeral.”
Elizabeth bristled. She’d already had a run-in with her father, whom she rarely spoke with for too many reasons to count, one of them being that he hadn’t liked Court at all. Luckily, he hadn’t offered to come to the service when she’d called to give him the news, so the only person she had to deal with was Court’s sister who was determined to throw her weight around. “I’m going to let her go to preschool,” Elizabeth decided, taking a sip from her cup.
Barbara’s gasp was loud enough to be heard through the whole house. “She needs to be at the service. Courtland was her father!”
“It’s been a tough week for all of us. If Chloe feels more comfortable at her school, let her go.”
“Yeah,” Chloe said, finishing her last bite and reaching for her cup of milk. She took several large gulps and climbed down from the bar stool.
“Chloe, you need to change your attitude,” Barbara said.
“You sound just like Daddy.” Chloe stalked off to her room and slammed the door.
Barbara turned to Elizabeth in outrage. “What are you going to do about that?”
“Give her a little room, Barbara. Please.”
“You’re letting her walk all over you!”
“I’m letting her deal. She just lost her father and it’s been tough on all of us, her included. I don’t really care whether she’s at the funeral or not.”
“But—”
“I’m not sure how much she’s grasped of Court’s death. And she’s been having these flulike bouts that the doctor can’t seem to diagnose.” Elizabeth admitted. “Feverish, loss of appetite . . . anyway, I’m just worried, and I don’t—”
“I can’t believe you’re giving in to her again!” Barbara was aghast.
“This is my call. I just want my daughter to be okay.” Elizabeth felt her anger rise and steadfastly tamped it down.
“It’s a mistake, Elizabeth. That child runs this place. I’ve seen it since I’ve been here. You make her lunches and she gets to choose whatever she wants to eat. She stays up till eight o’clock every night, and she wears whatever she wants from her closet even though she looks like a ragamuffin.” As if she realized she’d crossed an invisible line, Barbara stiffened a bit. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I know things are . . . difficult right now, but someone needs to speak their mind around here.”
“So I guess that would be you, right?” Elizabeth said, not hiding her sarcasm.
Barbara barreled on. “You’re just letting her do whatever she wants and she’s rude! You’re not doing her any favors, you know.”
“Her father died in an auto accident less than a week ago,” Elizabeth pointed out more calmly than she wanted. “I give her three choices for her lunch and she picks one. She’s always gone to bed at eight, and she likes to do it herself so I let her select her own clothes. I think it shows independence.”
