“They can get points for hosting a party,” Haley suggested enthusiastically, then turned to me. “You can host your own Super Sort and Seal party and earn points to get the Super Sort and Seal Family Storage Pack.”
Out of nowhere, my skin began to flush.
I had to stand firm on this. My best friend, Cyn, said I was the world’s biggest pushover, which was why Richard had gotten away with so much crap over the years. If I caved and booked a party, she’d tease me mercilessly. And she definitely wouldn’t come. No one would.
I shook my head. “No. I can’t.”
Nikki’s eyes darkened, and I felt like I’d walked into a four-hundred-degree oven. I picked up the catalogue on my lap and began to fan myself.
What the heck was wrong with me?
“You can’t do that, Nikki,” said a woman from accounting. “You can’t force us to buy things. It’s against the law.”
“You don’t have a union!” Nikki shouted, pointing her finger at her. “There is no law against Tupperware parties!”
“Super Sort and Seal,” Haley interjected, but she looked scared of her hostess, a legitimate fear.
Sweat broke out on the back of my neck and beaded on my forehead. I fanned harder, but now the back of my shirt felt wet.
“I am the law at Lisman and Freud International Shipping!” Nikki shouted, her chipmunk voice sounding even squeakier than usual.
“That’s not true,” a woman from marketing said sheepishly. “There are federal and state laws about what you can and can’t do, and I’m pretty sure that making your approval of our vacation requests contingent on attending this party and buying Tupperware is illegal.”
“So arrest me!” Nikki shouted, thrusting her hands toward her as though she were offering them to be cuffed.
The heat in my body continued to rise, and I was a half second away from ripping my shirt over my head. I rested my hand on the sofa cushion beside me, preparing to launch myself up and outside, hoping the January evening would cool me off. There were too many people packed in this room, and the furnace was likely turned up to eighty.
“Oh my gosh, Darcie,” Kristie murmured. “Are you okay?”
“She’s having a hot flash,” Minka whispered, giving me a knowing look.
A hot flash? I was forty-two, for heaven’s sake. Much too young to be having a hot flash.
“Do you smell smoke?” Haley asked, sniffing with her nose in the air. “I smell smoke.”
“I smell it too,” someone murmured. “It smells like burning snickerdoodles. Are you baking, Nikki?”
“Baking!” Nikki barked with a short laugh. “I don’t bake.” Then she looked frantically around the room. “But something is definitely burning.”
“It’s the sofa!” Parker exclaimed as he jumped to his feet. Before I knew what was happening, he’d reached down and pulled me off the couch.
Kristie let out a shriek as a plume of smoke billowed from the spot where I’d been sitting—within arm’s length from where she currently sat. As she leapt up, flames shot into the air.
It was mass chaos after that. Later, the fire marshal said it was a wonder all twenty-seven of us made it out alive. Cramming that many people into such a small space was against the fire code, it turned out, and they slapped Nikki with a fine.
Even I had to agree the punishment was excessive, considering Nikki’s house had burned to the ground. The only thing left was a pile of ashes. And poor Haley was a mess, crying over the complete loss of her Super Sort and Seal starter pack.
And me…little did I know that was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.
Chapter Two
“Let me get this straight,” Cyn said, her voice loud and clear from my car’s speakers. “Your boss’s house caught on fire?”
“It was still smoldering when I left.”
“Wow, I hate to say it, but it serves that egotistical, presumptuous bitch right.”
“Cyn!” I protested as I turned into my neighborhood. “No one deserves to lose their house like that.”
“What does the fire marshal think started it?”
“Well, when I left, the house was still too hot for them to go inside, or rather to walk over—it had literally burned to the ground in about twenty minutes—but we’re all fairly certain it started on the sofa, so maybe a candle or a lighter?”
“Was Minka there? I bet she was smoking a joint. No one, and I mean no one, is that chill all the time without the help of a little weed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jack says most people don’t smoke it anymore. Apparently they eat it.”
“Brownies?”
“That and other things,” I said, “although I find it slightly disturbing that I’m getting the lowdown on marijuana consumption from my sixteen-year-old son.”
“Is he smoking—er, I guess eating—it?”
I let out a sigh. “I don’t think so. I’ve heard him tell his friends he’s worried it will affect his performance. He desperately wants a basketball scholarship to Franklin Tech State, especially since Richard left and money’s tight. He’s not going to let pot interfere with that.”
“I thought he was going to go to Callaway on scholarship since Richard is tenured there.”
“Jack hates being around his father. Elena tells me he sulks and refuses to talk whenever they’re at Richard’s place for the weekend.”
“Okay, let’s set all of the Richard nonsense aside. What I want to know is, how in the world did the sofa catch on fire?” Cyn asked, sounding bewildered.
“I don’t know, and I’m tired of thinking about it. Especially since I think I had a hot flash moments before.”
“A hot flash? You’re too young to be having hot flashes. Did you eat a jalapeño? You know those make you flush.”
Oh. She had a good point. “I did have some spicy cheese after work. But that was a good two hours before I got hot. Usually that happens immediately.”
“Maybe it was a delayed reaction,” Cyn said. “Because you’re two years younger than me, and I don’t want to even consider getting hot flashes.”
My phone beeped with an incoming call. “Cyn, Harriet’s calling. Gotta go.”
“You still coming in on Saturday to help out, aren’t you? I have to say, I’ve missed you since you took that office job.”
I chuckled. “If I’m not careful, I just might be begging for a full-time job from you.”
“Honest to God, I wish I could afford to hire you full time. I just don’t have that much of a budget for overhead.”
“I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up and switched over to my daughter Harriet. “What’s up, honey?”
“I can’t find my green sweater anywhere.”
“Did you look in the laundry room? I laid it on the drying rack.”
“I looked and it’s not there. Logan is my science partner tomorrow, and the last time I wore it he said it made my eyes look greener.”
“I’m pulling into the garage now,” I said as I reached up and pushed the garage door opener on my sun visor. “I’ll look when I get inside.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”
I smiled. “Love you too.”
But she’d already hung up.
Harriet was leaning against the kitchen island when I walked in, next to Elena, my grade-school-aged daughter, who was bent over my laptop.
Jack was on the sofa in the attached family room, wearing a pair of headphones and enthusiastically pressing buttons on his video game controller as he shouted, “Brayden, look behind you, dude! Jeremy, go left! Go left!”
“What did I say about computer time, Elena?” I said in a stern voice as I put my purse on the kitchen counter.
“It’s for homework,” Elena said in her no-nonsense tone. Some days I swore she was a forty-year-old woman trapped in an eleven-year-old’s body. At times, she seemed to be more responsible than I was.
“Where’s Nana Stella?” I asked, glancing around the room.
I shook my head. My eighty-three-year-old grandmother had a busier social life than I did. “The last time Sally Jo picked her up, they both disappeared for three days.”
“They were having a good time in Vegas,” Harriet said with a grin.
“I made sure Nana only took twenty dollars this time so she can’t go far,” Elena said, her gaze still on the screen. “Why are you home so early?” Her nose wrinkled and she lifted her face to look me over. “And why do you smell like smoke?”
I sniffed my coat sleeve, then slipped off my coat and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair near me. “You’re right, I do.”
“Did you have one of those crazy parties where you build a bonfire and toss the Tupperware into it as a form of protest?” Harriet asked. “You know that plastic stuff is bad for you.”
“I can only imagine that it would be ten times worse burning in a bonfire,” I said. “But alas, it wasn’t anything as mundane as a bonfire. Nikki’s house caught on fire.”
“What?” Harriet shrieked.
Even the normally unflappable Elena looked upset. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, patting the air. “But it was a little confusing and a tiny bit scary. Thank God, everyone got out safely before the house burned to the ground.”
Jack broke into a long tirade directed at a teammate, and Harriet marched over and snatched the headphones straight off his head.
“Hey!” he shouted in protest, lunging for them. They were twins, but they took pride in being different. Although they had the same brown hair and hazel eyes, Jack was a good eight inches taller and Harriet was more academically inclined.
“Mom almost died, you imbecile!” Harriet shouted at him. “Your video game can wait.”
Jack turned to me, panic on his face. “Mom?”
He was taking his new role of “man of the house” much too seriously, despite continual reminders from me and the girls that he was still a boy and the term was both dated and chauvinistic.
“I’m fine,” I said, suddenly exhausted. I pulled out a kitchen chair from under the table and sat down. “I was never in any real danger, although I was sitting on the sofa when it caught fire.”
That brought on a round of protests and worry from all three of them. Harriet fussed over me, Jack was ready to go after the irresponsible fool who had started the fire that almost killed his mom, and Elena kept listing random statistics and facts about house fire deaths.
“Oh. My. God.” Harriet scrunched up her nose in disgust as she turned to her little sister. “Do you really think that’s appropriate right now?”
“It’s okay, Harriet,” I said softly. “She’s fine.” But I worried about Elena.
Her random-facts spouting had started around the time Richard had left. At first they had been about divorce and the percentages of couples who split and didn’t get back together. But she’d soon branched out, digging up all sorts of random facts about everything. I recognized it for what it was—Elena’s attempt to control a world that felt out of control. The psychologist agreed, but Harriet and Richard were annoyed by it. Jack found it funny, and he and Harriet had told me that Tiffany—Richard’s girlfriend—thought it was cute.
“I think I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and take a long bath,” I said as I stood.
“Good idea, Mom,” Harriet said. “Why don’t you go start your bath, and I’ll bring the wine to you?”
“Aww…thanks, honey.”
“She just wants to drink some of it,” Elena snipped.
“The legal drinking age is sixteen in France!” Harriet protested as she pulled an unopened bottle of Riesling from the fridge.
“No,” Elena said, “the legal drinking age is eighteen, but families let teens drink in their homes at family dinners.”
“And we’re in our own home, dufus,” Harriet said.
“No wine for you, Harriet,” I said, grabbing the bottle from her hand. “And no calling your sister names.” I started to pick up the glass she’d just gotten out but decided to skip it. Who was I kidding? Today had gone from bad to worse. No sense dirtying a glass.
Jack pulled me into a hug, his chin resting on the top of my head, while Elena wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her face into my stomach.
“I’m fine, you guys,” I said, wishing I’d kept some of the details to myself. I hadn’t realized it would freak them out so much.
Harriet watched us from a few feet away before making a face of defeat and joined the hug pile-on. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too,” I said, squeezing her back with my arm. Tears stung my eyes. “I love you guys so much.”
“Oh gross,” Harriet said, backing up. “You smell like smoke and you’re getting weepy. If either your smoke smell or your tears get in my hair, I’ll have to wash it again.”
Jack gave her an irritated look, but I’d learned a lot about how my kids handled stress over the last few months. Harriet’s coping mechanism was to distance herself when she felt things spiraling out of control.
Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then headed toward my room, the wine bottle still in hand. A quick stop by the laundry room turned up the missing green sweater—exactly where I’d left it. I sent a quick text to Harriet telling her so.
Once in the bathroom, I set the wine bottle on the side of the tub and started the water. Feeling a little fancy, I lit a candle and poured lavender bath salts into the steaming water before I stripped and got in. I leaned my head back and took a long swig of the wine—not my finest moment, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
I hated my job. I hated my boss. I hated that my kids worried about me so much. I hated that we were perpetually broke. I hated that Richard had done this to them.
And I hated that I wasn’t sorry he’d left.
I hated that I was relieved.
Tonight, I’d drink my troubles away. Tomorrow, I’d start it all over again.
Chapter Three
My pulse pounded in my temples when I woke up the next day, but I padded barefoot out to the kitchen to start the coffee maker and breakfast. I always tried to make sure Jack and Harriet ate something before heading out the door. Well, more like make sure Harriet ate something and that Jack didn’t eat half the food in the house. I needed to call Richard and ask him for more money, but I’d be forced to listen to him berate me for being wasteful and for not having a better-paying job. Because I had a college education, so why wasn’t I using it?
I don’t know, asshole. Maybe because I stayed home for fifteen years cleaning your house, cooking your meals, washing and ironing your clothes, entertaining your snotty colleagues, not to mention raising your three kids while you did as you merry well pleased.
But I wouldn’t say any of that because our mediator had said negativity wouldn’t help us move forward. Funny how moving forward benefitted Richard with his new apartment, his new girlfriend, and his responsibility-free lifestyle. For me and the kids, it meant something different. Harriet would need to drop two of her dance classes, Elena wouldn’t be able to switch from clarinet to the oboe this spring, and if none of my Hail Marys worked, I wouldn’t be able to afford to send Jack to an amazing basketball camp during summer break—the one with scouts from multiple colleges.
Richard could hurt me all he wanted, but why did he have to hurt our children?
I knew his answer. I’d heard it ad nauseam. “It’s expensive to maintain two households, Darcie. You need to pull your weight now. Besides, it would do our children good to learn about adversity. They can’t have everything handed to them.”
That message might be easier to accept if he hadn’t just traded his Jeep Cherokee in for a Ford Mustang convertible. Why wasn’t Richard doing without?
I felt small arms wrap around my waist and a little head press into my back. “You don’t smell like smoke anymore.”
I spun around to face Elena, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s amazing what soap and water will do. You were asleep last night after I got out of my bath.”
“I was tired,” she said but refused to look at me.
“Who printed this article about Nikki’s fire?” Harriet asked, holding out a piece of printer paper as she walked into the kitchen. “I printed off my English essay and found this on the printer tray.” Harriet tossed it onto the kitchen island and turned to Elena. “Why can’t you just let it go?”
I moved to the island to pick it up, surprised at the headline: Local Woman’s Home Total Loss After Sudden Fire.
“Let me see that,” Jack said, snatching it from my hand and scanning it. “Man, she lost everything. It’s nothing but ashes.”
“That means it was a really hot fire,” Elena said. “They said it burned to the ground in about thirty minutes. It was too hot for the firefighters to even get close.” She glanced up at me with wide eyes. “If you didn’t get out when you did, you could have been killed, Mommy.”
“I’m perfectly safe,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “There’s no sense thinking about what could have been when I’m perfectly fine. Harriet, you need to eat something before you leave. I’ll make you eggs or a piece of toast. And why aren’t you wearing your green sweater? Didn’t you find it?” I turned around to open the fridge to pull out the eggs.
“I decided it would be too obvious that I like him if I wear it today. Instead, I decided to wear—” She released a piercing shriek. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”
I subconsciously lifted a hand to the back of my head to smooth down my bed head. “I haven’t brushed it yet.”
“Oh, my God, Mom,” Jack said. “That’s totally cool.”
I spun around too quickly to face him, my hangover making me nauseated. “What’s cool? What are you talking about?”
“Your blond streak. Totally rad.”
“What blond streak?”
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