If not for Diannes generosity and the last few dollars of the life insurance settlement, I might have had to sell my body on street corners to make ends meetnot that I expected a high profit margin on the bod of a woman whos nursed two babies. Unless there was a trendy stretch-mark fetish I didnt know about.
The wind chimes hanging in the alcove at my front door greeted me with tinkling metallic cheer. Even nicer were the voices I heard as I turned the knob.
Mommys home! A pink-socked Sara barreled in from the carpeted living room onto the slick square of tile just inside the door.
I caught her as she skated into me, nearly knocking both of us back out into the front yard. Missed you today, Sara-bear.
Behind her, Ben wobbled into view, grinning and drooling. He didnt have much of a vocabulary yetI couldnt count ma-ma since he generally said it to the oscillating fan in the kitchenbut his high-pitched squeals made it clear he was happy to see me. From the screened sunroom at the back of the house, Gretchen added her woofs of joy that Id returned. Gretchen is a German shepherd mix who joined us after Tom insisted that it was good for kids to grow up with a dog and that hed feel better knowing a trained canine was helping to look after the family. Thus resulting in my ownership of a sixty-five-pound nervous condition with chronic shedding.
Since Gretchen was terrified of the geckos that frequently got in the house, I didnt consider her my go-to line of defense in an emergency.
I hugged both of my children tight, closing my eyes and breathing in the faint scents of baby shampoo and Play-Doh. Being away from the kids all day was a difficult adjustment. Id loved being home with Sara for her first three years, doing things like Mommy and Me activity groups, trips to the zoo and playdates at the park. Somewhere along the line, getting outside the neighborhood had become a must. I dont remember the median age in our subdivision being sixty-seven when Tom and I had bought the house, but more and more I was feeling like the only one at the monthly potluck who still had all her own teeth.
Hey. Dianne met us as we rounded the corner from the living room into the kitchen. I wore a skirt, blouse and pumps, yet my statuesque friend looked far more glamorous in her faded jeans and yellow Lifes a Beach T-shirt. For all our superficial difference, she gets me and we share the same loyal streak.
She jerked her thumb toward the ivy-print kettle steaming on the stove. I was just brewing some tea. How was your day?
So many possible answers, so few of them appropriate in front of children.
I hadnt called Dianne because Id worried that if I tried to talk about todays news before fully absorbing it, lurking despair might snatch me into its jaws. But I was home now and armed with my secret weapon against despairkiddo-hugs and a mouse-shaped cookie jar stuffed to the rim with reduced-fat Oreos. I predicted significant cookie depletion by morning.
Dianne raised one red eyebrow when I didnt answer. Shes boasted more than once that among the redheads in her act, shes the only natural one. That bad, huh? Want me to stay and help with dinner?
I glanced at the jar pushed back on the mauve counter-top, theoretically out of Saras reach. Which was silly, since my daughter was plenty enterprising enough to drag one of the table chairs toward her goal. At least the scraping of wood on linoleum gave me an opportunity to foil her plans. I was kind of thinking six-course Oreos.
Oh. So really that bad.
Or maybe I should come up with something more representative of the four food groups? I averted my gaze guiltily, remembering the gourmet meals made from scratch Id proudly had on the table when Tom got home after a hard days work. The carefully prepared casseroles Id frozen toward the end of my pregnancy with Ben, so that nutritious dinners could be tossed in the oven with no thought or trouble once the baby came.
P-i-z-z-a offers bread, dairy, meats and veggies, Dianne suggested with a wink at my daughter, knowing perfectly well that Sara could spell pizza and enough other words to make her one of the best readers in her first-grade class.
Sara began jumping up and down. Pizza! Can we have pizza, Mommy? Please!
Caught up in her exuberance, Ben began waving his sippy cup of apple juice, ostensibly in demand of a ham-and-pineapple deep dish.
Okay. I reached for the kitchen drawer where I kept coupons for the local delivery place. Pizza sounds like decent comfort food.
You want to talk about why you need comforting? Dianne asked.
Maybe this isnt the best time. I jerked my head toward the kids, who were bouncing around the kitchen in time to Saras whoops of excitement. Ben wouldnt understand the technicalities of Kazkas downsizing, but even he could pick up on that Bad News vibe children are sensitive to, no matter how casual adults try to keep conversation. And Sara was bound to take the threat of more change badly.
After they go to bed, then, Dianne said.
You sure you want to stick around that late? I floundered between wanting to talk to another grown-up and not wanting to take advantage of my friends constant kindness. It was Wednesday, which meant she worked tomorrow night on top of watching my kids during the day.
I can make us rumrunners, she cajoled. Dianne mixed better drinks than Tom Cruises character in that old 1980s bartending movie.
Which is why several hours later, I hovered between a pleasant buzz and that weepy feeling alcohol can induce when youre blue. Feet tucked under me, I sat at one end of the couch, wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt of TomsId donated most of his clothes to charity, but had been unable to part with all of them. From the other end of the sofa, Dianne was regarding me with unconcealed worry.
Im just a little down now because the news is still fresh. Ill be fine once I have a few days to take it in, I insisted. Wanting to reassure us both, I managed a smile and conjured one of those clichés I knew by heart. You know, that which doesnt kill us
Sucks swamp water, nonetheless? Dianne supplied, her eyes twinkling.
Exactly.
Perhaps saying I would be fine in a few days had been unrealistic. After all, it had been a long time since Id truly felt fine. But I was coping. The weekend rolled around, and I eyed the classifieds in Fridays paper as I browned hamburger meat for dinner.
As the person who coordinated all of Kazkas sales appointments for the Southeast, I had contacts within the pharmaceutical distribution and medical equipment industry. Several people had agreed to look at my updated résumé. I suspected, though, that most of these offers stemmed more from professional courtesy than an overwhelming need to fill openings, which didnt bode well for me.
I knew I could find a job, but one that would allow me to support the family? Not for the first time, I regretted that Id never gone back to college to complete my bachelors degree. My college career had been cut short by Dads unexpected death and my marrying young, but Id finished enough credits to earn my associates. The degree didnt carry as much weight in the current job market, though, and it wasnt my only handicap. Id quickly proven myself at Kazka before leaving to have my second baby and had been told a full-time position was mine if I ever wanted it. But as far as impressing prospective new employers went, the stay-at-home-mommy years Id missed in the workforce could put me behind the competition.
I stirred the beef around, making a mental note to get chicken or fish sticks into the kids tomorrow since wed had cheeseburger kids meals last night. Once Id set down the plastic spatula, I reached for the newspaper, which crinkled as I folded it back. Pickings were slim, unless I wanted an exciting job in the field of selling condo time-shares to tourists. Would applying for the transfer to Boston really be such a bad choice?
For the last few days, my knee-jerk reaction had been that I didnt want to uproot the kids. This was home, the place Tom and I had made our life together, a place full of memories.
He and I had met while attending the University of Florida, where hed been offered a football scholarship. Id been a freshman away from my Georgia home for the first time, enchanted with the good-looking Gator receiver. We were both only children, both raised by single parents. And now I was the single parent.
If the kids were going to be stuck with just me, maybe I should move somewhere where they had more family. They loved Dianne, but she dreamed of one day moving to Las Vegas or New York to perform. In Boston, Sara and Ben would be closer to their adoring grandmother. Unfortunately, so would I.
It wasnt that I didnt like my mother-in-law. We got along, particularly when we were in different states. But Rose had been raised in a patriarchal family where the men were revered and waited onwhen shed lost her husband, shed transferred her devotion to her teenage son. Her pride and joy. The focus of her entire being. The first time hed brought me home, during a semester break in college, Id had the distinct impression that shed wanted better for him. Maybe it wasnt personal; maybe no mere mortal woman could have lived up to what Rose envisioned for him.
But that point was moot now. And the kids deserved people in their lives besides me.
Speaking of the children I glanced around the corner into the too-quiet living room. Although it might seem counterintuitive to worry that silence signifies chaos, it was amazing what my cherubs could do covertly. They were like a little sneaky special-forces team, usually on search-and-destroy missions. For the time being, though, Sara was lying on her stomach on the floor, tugging at the carpet that needed vacuuming as she watched a video. Ben was stacking soft blocks in the corner, then knocking them down and clapping his hands. Gretchen was probably either asleep in the hallway or hiding under my bed from any geckos that had infiltrated the house.
If we moved to Boston, I definitely wouldnt miss finding lizards in the tub. Nor would I miss palmetto bugs so large they flew into the outdoor electric insect zappers just for the head rush.
Not wanting to disturb the kids when they were behaving so well, I tiptoed back into the kitchen, where I followed the back-of-the-box directions to finish preparing our meal. I poured a cup of milk into the drained hamburger, then stirred in noodles and a powdered sauce mix. With dinner finally simmering on the stove, I picked up the cordless phone. All this pondering a move to Boston made me guiltily aware that I hadnt found time to call Rose recently. Tom would have been disappointed in me.
What were the odds she wasnt even home and I could just leave a dutiful were thinking about you message on the machine?
She answered on the first ring. Hello?
Rose, hi. Its Charlotte. Charlie. The informal name everyone else called me wasnt quite as comfortable with her; it had taken me years just to stop referring to her as Mrs. Smith.
What an unexpected pleasha to heah from you! Though Rose and her tight-knit family were active in an Italian sub-community, a lifetime of living in Boston had my mother-in-law sounding more like a Kennedy than a Corleoneat least to my ears. Its so lovely you remembered, even if it is a few days late. But I always thought a birthday is better when you spread it out, anyway.
Umabsolutely. Birthday. Last week. Damn. How could I forget when we were both September babies? Of course, I was in serious denial about turning forty later this month, so that might explain it. Happy belated birthday! Did you do anything special to celebrate?
Had lunch with some friends, puttered in the green-house, spent the evening looking over old photo albums, thinking about the restaurant where Thomas Sr. used to take me on my birthdays. I dont even know if its in business now. I dont believe Ive been since he passed on.
The image of Rose alone in that big house, surrounded by pictures of her lost husband and son, made me feel like the worst daughter-in-law on the planet. The least I could have done was sent a card.
While were on the subject of birthdays, Rose said, I saw something on sale I wanted to send you.
Oh, Rose, you dont have to do that.
Nonsense. What kind of family would I be to ignore your birthday?
Ouch. Direct hit!
Just let me know what size you are, dear. Still carrying around all that pregnancy weight you gained?
Yes. Id thoughtlessly ignored her birthday and I was fat.
After a brief pause, I lied, naming a size two digits smaller than I could comfortably zip. It wasnt as though I were likely to wear the gift even if it did fit. For herself, Rose has great taste in clothes. She knows exactly what colors and styles flatter her dark looks. Regarding my fair-to-the-brink-of-sallow blond complexion, shes a little less successful. Last September, when shed come to meet her grandson, shed given me an early birthday present. A thick wool sweater unsuited to the muggy Florida climate, in a shade of unflattering army-green.
That night, in the privacy of our room, Tom had asked, You are going to keep it, though, right? My reply of Sure, you never know when the bilious look might make a comeback, hadnt amused him, but when Id promised to have the sweater on hand for future holidays with Rose, hed pulled me into a grateful hug. Hed smelled like his favorite bar soapa manly soap hed always teased, telling me hed leave the sissy moisturizing stuff to me. Sometimes I still caught myself reaching for his soap at the grocery store before I remembered no one in the house used it.
I sighed, missing my husband. He would have wanted me to make more of an effort with his mother. Rose, I really am sorry I didnt get a chance to call you on your birthday. Things have been so Description eluded me.
Busy with that job, I imagine. How do you modern career girls do it, always on the go? It probably makes me something of a relic, but I was naturally the housewife type, with no outside ambitions. I believe a mother can do so much good at home with her children.
Well, if your precious son hadnt up and died on me
Whoa. My heart was slamming and my vision swam in a red haze. I knew from the books on grief Dianne had badgered me to read that rage was just another expression of loss, but the unexpected flash of fury still sent waves of shock and guilt through me. Tom hadnt asked to abandon us. And Id come too close to verbally lashing out at Rose. So much for my theory that I was more balanced these days, moving on to the next stages of acceptance.
I spoke slowly, keeping my tone neutral. Being a stay-at-home mom is certainly a noble choice.
I know its what Tom always wanted for his children.
Since I had no honest response that didnt seem cruel, I bit my tongue. I could manage that for one phone call.
But on a more permanent basis?