After Frank finished his coffee, he handed me three copies of his business card and left. “Call my office and talk to my girl, Paula, if you have any questions.”
I said I would, although I nearly choked on that word, “girl.” For a grown man to call his secretary “his girl” in this day and age was ridiculous. I was still steaming as I carried a cup of coffee out to Curtis.
“Thank you very much. This looks worse than it is,” he said with a sweeping gesture of the hand not holding the mug of coffee. “Sure you lost a couple racks of paper, but the sprinklers turned off quickly. I can toss all the paper in plastic bags so you can take an inventory, if you’d like. There isn’t a lot of standing water. Let me turn on a couple of industrial size fans and small heaters to dry up the moisture. You’ll probably have trouble waiting on customers with the noise and the wind.”
I made a small sign to tape to our front door: In case of a crafting emergency, come around to the back door and knock hard!
“Does that really happen?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.
“Does what really happen?”
“A crafting emergency?”
“You’d be amazed,” I said. “When it does happen, I want my customers to know I’m here for them.”
“Good thinking.” Curtis gave me a wink. “I’ll try to make this as painless as possible for you. Once the areas are dry, you’ll be able to see what’s what.”
I’d made a cup of decaf for myself when Laurel flew in through the back door. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, but her skin was more pale than I can ever remember. I hugged her and noticed how her shoulder blades stuck out, even when muffled by her heavy winter jacket. Laurel has always been thin, at least since I’ve known her, but now she felt like skin and bones under my touch.
“How about a cup of mint tea? That should help you with morning sickness.”
She took a seat at the table we use for breaks. I started the electric water kettle and got her up-to-speed on the situation at my house. Because Laurel and Father Joe have agreed to be my children’s legal guardians, they had more than a passing interest in how my kids were doing.
“Anya’ll come around. I remember getting embarrassed easily when I was younger. Don’t you?”
“I hope so.” I put a tea bag into the mug of hot water and then I covered the mug with a plate so the mint would steep.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not good. I’ve been sick a lot. I don’t know why they call it ‘morning sickness,’ because I’ve been puking all day and all night long.”
Curtis walked into the back room to pour himself a second cup. The aroma of the coffee must have turned Laurel’s stomach because she raced past him, slammed the bathroom door, and puked so violently we could hear it twenty feet away.
“She hasn’t been feeling well,” I said, by way of explanation.
Curtis stared at the door. “Geez. Poor kid.
Laurel wobbled her way out of the bathroom. I introduced her to Curtis. She nearly fell into her chair when she went to sit down. “I hope this gets better.”
“When was the last time you kept down any food or water?”
She shrugged. “Three days ago.”
“Have you talked to your doctor?” I didn’t want to be a nag, but I was worried.
“Yes.” She unwrapped a ginger-infused hard candy and popped it into her mouth. “He’s really nice.”
“Laurel, nice doesn’t cut it. He needs to be responsive. Did you explain to him that you have not been able to keep anything down for three days? If you stay sick like this, you’ll wind up seriously dehydrated. ”
With a little shrug, she ignored me.
I sat down across from her. “Hey. You need to force your doctor to pay attention.”
“Okay, all right. I’m seeing him tomorrow morning. I’ll tell him that I’ve been sick.”
“Not good enough. You need to be specific. Tell him that you haven’t kept any food or drink down for three days. That’s a long time! Promise!”
She looked irritated, but finally she nodded. “Now, what work can I do?” There was an edge to her voice that urged me to back off. Laurel might look like a fluffy bunny, but she had a backbone of pure steel, a spine she’d grown through early adversity.
I filled her in on the steps necessary for us to make an insurance claim.
“Most of this I can do from home,” Laurel said. “I’ll pull the inventory sheets for the areas that were ruined. We’ve got a copier at the apartment that I can use to make duplicates. Is it okay if I bring these back tomorrow after my doctor’s appointment?”
“Yes, as long as you agreed to tell your doctor how sick you’ve been. I also expect you to promise to drink a lot of liquids and put your feet up.”
“Promise.”
Laurel had already left when Clancy arrived at ten. Her eyes and nose were both red. Her hands trembled as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as she pulled up a chair across from my stack of paperwork.
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
“Clancy? Don’t give me that. Come on. You know everything that happens in my life.”
“Since you insist.”
“I insist.”
“As you know, James, my ex, took the kids on a two-week for the holidays.” Using both hands, she raised the mug to her lips.
I nodded. After hearing about James’ plans, Detweiler and I had invited Clancy to join us Christmas Day. I wasn’t sure if she would accept, but she did. Several times, she thanked me. If I hadn’t intervened, she would have been home alone.
“James told me that he wanted to introduce our kids to his new girlfriend, who’s the same age as our daughter, Elizabeth, and a year older than our son, Charles.” Clancy paused and shook her head. “I hated the whole idea, but I finally reconciled myself to it. When he left me, they quit talking to him. They are his children, too. I can’t blame him for wanting to salvage his relationship, but I was upset that he planned to take them during the holidays so I couldn’t see them at all.”
“That seems pretty cruel to me.”
“I thought so, too. Anyway, I haven’t heard a word from the kids since they left. Not a peep. They didn’t even try to Skype me on Christmas Day. I’ve seen a few photos on Instagram, but that’s it, and it’s really getting to me. Finally, I gave in and phoned James. He says they had internet connection problems on the cruise ship. I get that. I’ve been on cruises before. They always tell you that there’s WiFi, but then they make you pay for it with solid gold bars. Sometimes you have to line up to use the ship’s computers to connect. You stand there waiting while kids play video games.”
“So there’s a technical reason they can’t contact you.”
She gave me a look so filled with anger I nearly dropped my coffee cup. “Baloney. There’s no reason at all. None. They’ve been back to school for nearly a month now. My kids still haven’t contacted me. I’m sure they are okay, but it hurts that they can’t find the time to call me. It’s like a knife wound to the heart.”
I went around the table to hug her. She accepted it with the sort of stiff posture that she always grants my affection. Even so, I could tell she appreciated the gesture. I couldn’t imagine how badly she must be feeling. I knew where Anya was and how she was doing, but I still felt miserable, and it had only been a short while that she’d been gone!
“Clancy, I am so, so sorry.” I still had my arms around her.
She talked into my hair. “So am I. I really thought I’d raised them better than that. I thought they loved me, no matter what. Now it feels like they’ve kicked me to the curb because their dad can offer them more goodies than I can.”
I squatted next to her chair, putting myself a tad lower than she was. “You don’t know that. You can’t be sure what’s happened.”
“You’re right.” Her sigh was deep, and silver crescents of tears sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening. Or more correc
tly, what has happened.”
“How about texting your kids?” I asked.
“I tried. Not a peep. They aren’t answering my calls now. My ex seems to be dodging my calls, too.” She ran a shaking hand through her auburn bob.
“What’s your best guess?”
“He’s trying to turn them against me. It’s the old Disneyland Dad syndrome.”
“The what?”
Sighing, she wiggled free of my hug. I let her go and walked back to my chair. After another gulp of coffee, she explained, “A Disneyland Dad is a man who tries to buy the love of his kids by pulling out all the stops when they’re together. I can’t tell you where the phrase originated, but I can say that as a teacher, I saw it all the time. A father’s guilt can translate into a spoiled rotten kid. Besides bribing the child with vacations, toys, clothes, and even cars, some dads purposely suspend all the mothers’ rules when the kids visit. It’s a nasty, destructive way of endearing the kids to their father and making Mom out to be the bad guy.”
“Is that what you think is happening?”
“Yes, I do. I suspect that James really laid it on thick. He truly does love our children. When he ran off with his girlfriend, our kids were furious with him. He had a lot of groveling to do before they would even talk with him. Initially, I encouraged them to go on the cruise. I didn’t want them to be estranged. I wanted them to move on and forgive their dad for starting a new life with Bambi.”
I hooted with laughter. “Bambi? I don’t think you’ve ever used her given name before. You’ve called her the Hussy and the Homewrecker, but I didn’t know her name was Bambi. Is that a joke?”
“I wish it was. No, the name on her birth certificate is Bambi. I’m surprised her mother didn’t name her Jane Doe. Can you imagine? How dumb is that?”
“Bambi.” I marveled at the name. Actually, it really was a pretty name. It brought to mind big brown eyes, and an innate sweetness. But it sent the wrong vibes entirely.
“Get this: she looks exactly like you’d expect her to. She could be a Playboy centerfold. It’s not surprising that James fell for her. He always was a complete fool when it came to women. Not that he’d ever strayed before, but he always was the type of guy who got whiplash when a pretty face or a nice body walked past.”
“Excuse me. This will be loud,” Curtis said. He had walked past us, carrying the tank from his wet vac. With practiced ease, he drained the contents into the sink. Because the sink was only four feet from where Clancy and I were sitting, the noise drowned out any further conversation.
When the gurgle stopped, Curtis righted the tank. He turned to face Clancy. “I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but lady, any man who’d run after another woman when he was married to you has to be dumber than a goldfish. You’re well rid of that sorry excuse for a husband. You deserve a guy who treats you like a queen. Not a numbskull who chases kids in skirts.”
Clancy and I were wide-eyed with surprise. I struggled not to giggle, while my friend colored from her neck to her hairline.
His momentary lapse of good manners must have surprised Curtis too, because he turned the shade of a ripe tomato. “Sorry,” he added before hustling out of the back room.
“Smart man. My sentiments exactly,” I said. “As for kids, this seems to be the season for selfish offspring, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine how badly you feel about this. Let’s hope our kids regain their senses, and they do it quickly.”
Dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin, Clancy nodded. “Thank goodness for this job. I would go out of my mind if I didn’t have this as a distraction. Well, this and the ongoing drama at the Detweiler house.”
“Glad I could provide entertainment value.”
“You always do. You’re a walking-talking highlight reel. Enough feeling sorry for ourselves. Let’s go over what we need to do to get ready for our regular Friday night crop.”
For the rest of the morning, the three of us did our jobs companionably, not bothering each other. Curtis worked out on the sales floor, I sat at the break table, Clancy moved around the store. With a little help from the insurance agent’s brochure, my friend created a form that would help us organize our list of damages. Meanwhile Curtis worked his magic, sucking up standing water and circulating fresh air. Around noon, I waved him down.
“You’re welcome to join us in the back for lunch,” I said.
“I appreciate that. May I use your microwave?”
“Help yourself.”
After making a trip to his van, he brought in a small cooler. From it he removed a glass container full of reddish sauce and what looked like a chicken with vegetables dish. His food smelled terrific as it heated. Meanwhile I had a tuna fish sandwich and a dish of sliced cucumbers. Clancy had her usual salad, but that didn’t inoculate her from the charms of Curtis’s food.
“That looks terrific,” Clancy said. “What is it?”
“Hungarian goulash. Just like my mother used to make.”
That led to a discussion about my favorite subject: food. From food, we naturally discussed travel, since the goulash was a beloved native dish. Before her divorce, Clancy had done a lot of traveling. She and Curtis discussed the Rhine River valley while I listened with envy. The conversation made for a pleasant lunch, and it definitely took Clancy’s mind off her adult children.
“Back to the salt mills,” I said.
“That salt mines,” Clancy corrected me.
Rebekkah dropped by at two. She looked like a hot mess with her curls flying around her head in a dark halo. From the back, her body was so similar to her mother’s that I felt a fresh ache of sadness. I never walked into the store without thinking about Dodie and her devotion to saving and making memories. Rebekkah seemed distracted as she hung her navy pea jacket haphazardly on a hanger from the coat rack. As she stepped away, it fell to the floor. Clancy, however, retrieved and re-hung it properly. She also straightened all our coats and arranged the hangers an equal distance apart. This unnecessary organizing was a symptom that her OCD was raising its ugly head.
With a sigh, I asked Rebekkah how her father was.
“Abba has walking pneumonia. They’re keeping him in the hospital for a few days because he’s pretty weak.” Sighing, she ran a hand through the unruly curls that spilled onto the infinity scarf wound around her throat. She’d made the piece herself, using a variety of blue yarns in different textures. Brawny had patiently taught the girl to crochet, a real feat because Rebekkah, bless her heart, was all thumbs. But she had been motivated to learn, and she kept at it. “This will help me keep calm. I love blue, and I figured the soothing colors would help, too. With Bubbe gone, I need to help Abba, and I can’t do that if I’m overly emotional.”
Her rationale brought tears to my eyes. She was so sweet and so lost.
Clancy and I offered our support, but it had been Brawny who’d taught Rebekkah the art of crochet. At first, like many beginners, Rebekkah kept her knots too tight. She worried they’d slip off the hook. Trusting the process comes with practice. So did learning to “read” the knots, so she could see her stitches.
“How did inventory go?” she asked. “Wait a minute. Do I smell smoke?”
We explained what had happened. Then Clancy dragged out a plastic tub full of items that needed to be assessed for damage. I copied a couple of the insurance claim forms that Clancy had created and gave them to Rebekkah. Already I could tell that using them kept us all on track. The form made it easy to see at a glance what had been counted and what still needed our attention.
Armed with the proper supplies, we all got back to work.
I had trouble focusing. I kept glancing at the clock and thinking about Anya. Jennifer had promised to talk with her, to make sure nothing inappropriate had happened with Brawny. How would that conversation go? Had Stevie’s blitz of information been enough to help Brawny’s cause? Would my baby ever come home?
That led me to ponder Clancy’s problem. How could she compete with a husband who was determi
ned to “buy” his adult kids? Why weren’t Elizabeth and Charles smart enough to realize what their dad was doing? Would they ever “come home?” Why weren’t they polite or kind enough to stay in touch with their mother? Was there more to this than inconvenience? Was Clancy being totally honest with me?
I knew Clancy could be difficult. She lacked flexibility. She was judgmental. She had borderline OCD, and she walked around picking up after people, which often created problems because she didn’t put stuff where you wanted it. More than once, she had dismantled a project that I was working on, scrambled all the parts, and made a hash of them, simply because she couldn’t take looking at the mess. Had she driven her children away?
Was I doing something similar with Anya? Was I somehow overlooking her needs for autonomy? Was I overbearing? Had I paid my oldest child enough attention? She’d been through so much in the past few months.
If only Sheila was out of rehab! She had been a stabilizing factor in Anya’s life. Although the late George Lowenstein’s mother could be a real harpy to me, she was a never-ending source of love for Anya. Right this minute, Anya really, really needed her grandmother. It would be easy to be ticked off at Sheila, but in truth, she was stuck in rehab fighting for her life. Briefly, I considered calling Robbie and asking him if there was some way that Sheila and Anya could get together. Just as quickly, I ditched that idea. Sheila had already had one big set-back, drinking Aqua Net hairspray of all things. Better to wait until Robbie gave us the okay. He knew how close she was to Anya. We’d talked about it many times—and concluded that Anya was Sheila’s number one reason for agreeing to dry out. If for any reason a meeting between them backfired, such a risky move might cost Sheila her life.
I mulled all this over while counting wet sheets of paper in the back room. Rebekkah labored over the plastic tub of assorted damaged items. A couple of hours passed by slowly. I was finishing one more inventory sheet when Rebekkah set her clipboard down on the break table. “I’m sorry, Kiki, but Abba is expecting me. I promised him I’d come visit this afternoon. I have to get going.”
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