by Josie Brown
“Sales are way off, Lys. You know that. And the boss wants next year’s projections on his desk by the second of January. He’s just looking for an excuse to cut some fat. And we don’t want that to be me, now, do we?”
He hears my anger in my silence.
Ted softens his tone. “You and I both know that a lot of our friends aren’t traveling this year. The kids are already spending one week in the PH recreation department’s holiday camp. Why not just sign them up for the second week, too? Besides, this time of year in the Heights is always a fun time to hang in the ’hood. Isn’t there something going on tomorrow night?”
“Yes, the lighting of the big tree, in the park at seven o’clock. You know, with Santa and an elf, the whole works. Then Christmas caroling around the neighborhood afterward.”
“Well, there you go. Ho, ho, ho.”
I feel a headache coming on. “Look, I’ve got to go pick up Olivia at Miss Judith’s. Since you brought it up, I presume you’ll be home in time for all of this?”
“At the very least, in spirit.”
Bah, humbug.
3:06 p.m.
“I have a peace offering.” DeeDee Wilder leans toward my car window, one hand clutching Temple’s and the other holding out a small basket.
I pause before taking it. Of course I’m wary. These days, anyone can make a bomb. The information is all over the Internet.
As if reading my mind, she gives a shaky chuckle. “Look . . .” She unfolds the napkin that covers the gift within, to reveal gingerbread men, perfectly iced and nary a one burned to stone.
But of course not.
“Gee . . . thanks.” I put the basket on the floor of the passenger seat, but that doesn’t stop Olivia from begging for one. My look to DeeDee says: These better not be poisoned or I will hunt you down and make your death slow and painful. . . .
She gives a confident wave, so I grab two. But before I pass one back to Olivia, I sing out: “Temple, sweetie, want a cookie?”
God forgive me for making this child the canary in the mine. . . .
It’s a good sign that DeeDee doesn’t slap it out of my hand before it reaches Temple’s lips, so I pass the second cookie back in the direction of Olivia’s car seat, where it is eagerly plucked from my hand and devoured.
DeeDee’s shoulders relax visibly. “Temple told me how much fun she had, making gingerbread men with you and Olivia and . . . Harry.” This last word is so crisp I’m surprised it didn’t crack a tooth coming out of her mouth. “I thought, since those didn’t come out as planned, she and I could make it our own little mother-daughter project. Right, Temple?” She pats her little one’s mop top. “I’m sure it would have been more fun if you and Olivia had joined us.”
I let my silence speak for me, along with a look that reads Not on your life, bitch.
“Listen, Lyssa, I know we got off on the wrong foot. I know I haven’t been exactly—well, fair to you. You’ve gone out of your way to help my children through this very trying time. They’ve both told me how kind and welcoming you’ve been to them. That means a lot to me.”
“Oh . . . thank you for that. They’re sweet kids. I know it’s been wearing on all of you.”
“Yes, all of us.” She closes her eyes and sighs. “The tree-lighting ceremony is tomorrow. I was thinking—well, if you want, why don’t we take the girls to see it together? And perhaps go to the caroling event afterward? It would give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
“Mommy! We get to sit on Santa’s lap tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, Olivia, that you will.” If I say no, I’m a bitch.
If I say yes, I’m a traitor. To Harry.
“Great, Mommy. I want to remind him about our party.”
“Oh yes, your party!” DeeDee chimes in. “New Year’s Day, isn’t it? We’ve already got it circled on our calendar. We’re really looking forward to it. You know, Olivia is Temple’s closest friend.” Her eyes, starred with dampness, beseech me to absolve her of all past transgressions, to bury the hatchet.
Preferably in Harry’s back.
“Let me think about it, okay?”
She nods, resigned to the obvious: it ain’t gonna happen. “In case you’ve forgotten the phone number at the house, I’ve put it in the basket with the cookies.”
Is that supposed to make me feel guilty, that I know the number to her house as well as I know my own, thanks to her ex?
Whether it is or isn’t, it does.
In my rearview mirror, I see Temple waving good-bye to me.
4:15 p.m.
“You’re being foolish. Seriously, you should go with her. You know the girls would have fun.” Despite being bombarded by Miley Cyrus caterwauling through our den’s television, Harry sounds as if he means it.
He also sounds tipsy. Make that drunk.
And that makes me nervous. Or at least, it gives me an excuse to down three of DeeDee’s gingerbread men in one sitting. It pisses me off that her recipe is better than mine.
“Of course the girls would enjoy it, but I’d hate every second of it. And I’m guessing DeeDee would too. So why put ourselves through the misery of it all? Just to keep up appearances?”
“Exactly.”
Relief flows through me along with my sugar high. “Good. I’m glad you feel that way. Now I don’t feel so bad about blowing her off—”
“Whoa, hold up, cowgirl. I mean, yes, you should go with her, even if it’s just for appearance’s sake.”
“But—”
“Listen, Lyssa, I know it won’t be easy for you. But I think we should face facts: both of us will always put our kids first. And that’s the way it should be. It also means making every attempt we can to get along with the others in our lives—you know, Ted and DeeDee.”
Of course he’s right.
“I do appreciate you putting up with Ted. So . . . yeah, okay, I’ll make an attempt with DeeDee.”
He rolls with laughter. “At least she won’t give you a black eye.”
“Hey, the week’s not over.”
“Even so, my money’s on you.”
Of course it is. I’m the heavyweight in that ring.
I sigh. At this point, one more gingerbread man won’t hurt. I bite headfirst. It feels great.
“Lovely! Wonderful!” DeeDee sounds downright exuberant.
“Well . . . okay then. It’s a date.”
“Yes. . . . But just one little thing.” I hear her suck in her breath. After a long pause, she lets it out again. “I had planned to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in the city before the tree lighting. As you can imagine, Harry hadn’t even put up the tree with the kids. Oh, sorry, I guess that was cruel. . . . Look, would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to pick up Temple from rec camp at the same time you get Olivia? I’ll meet you there as soon as I get home.”
The nerve of this bitch!
But if it had been Harry who’d asked, I would have said yes.
So I say yes to DeeDee.
“Thank you, Lyssa! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll come as quick as I can! I promise.”
As I hang up the phone, I wonder if I should have suggested she take her time. Not that I can put off the inevitable.
The phone rings. I’m willing to bet it’s DeeDee calling again. Now that she knows I’m such a pushover, I’m sure she’s thought of at least one more little favor I can do to cement our BFF status.
But no, the phone’s caller ID shows me that it is yet another update from Patti on my father’s rapidly deteriorating condition. It should only take her a minute to leave a message, but I don’t check my voice mail until later that night, when the children have gone to bed and Ted is unwinding in front of the tube. I have to play it several times to realize she has spoken only three words between all those hiccups and sobs: “Any . . . day . . . now.”
Thursday, 19 Dec., 7:40 p.m.
Santa has come and gone, which is more than I can say for DeeDee. Olivia and I are keeping Temple bu
sy so that she doesn’t ask for the millionth time, “When will my mother get here?” She has a right to have separation-anxiety issues.
She also has a right to be with her father when her mother wants to run errands. In fact, I’m surprised I don’t see Harry here at the Annual Pacific Heights Caroling Extravaganza—
But of course, he doesn’t want to run into us.
I’ve been scanning the crowd for Ted, too. I was hoping he’d get here to see Olivia tell Santa what she wants for Christmas. Then, as she’s done every year of her young life, she handed Santa an invitation to her birthday party. “We’ll have fun,” she promised. “Just like last year.”
Temple was not as bold. In fact, Olivia had to nudge her toward Santa. I can only imagine what wish she whispered in his ear. If it was for the reunion of her parents, she’ll be sorely disappointed.
I know from experience.
Even at nine, Mickey is now too old for Santa. I have to poke him to keep him from snickering at his sister’s idolatry of a fat man in a fake beard and a red velour suit. Tanner and Marcus are flirting with Natassia and some of her lustful gal pals. I don’t see Jake anywhere, though. Since DeeDee never mentioned his tagging along with the boys, I presume she’s letting him hang with Harry.
How big of her.
I am duly snubbed by Margot, Isabelle, and Tammy, although Colleen and Brooke give me reserved nods. So much for the Christmas spirit.
Finally Santa reappears and throws the switch that lights up every limb of the park’s most majestic Douglas fir, and three local church choirs take turns singing it out in the name of the child in the manger. As I stand there mouthing the words to songs always identifiable even if most of their stanzas cannot be remembered, I wonder if DeeDee is still fighting the 101 traffic home or is in fact still terrorizing some couture-shop clerk and in the emotional frenzy of the experience has lost all sense of time.
Yeah, okay, it’s Christmas, so this once I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
The kids and I are walking back from the park when I spot Officer Fife coming out of our house, his partner not far behind. Seeing the concern in my face, he meets me in the driveway while the other policeman gathers up the kids for a few questions.
“Your silent alarm went off. From what we can see, nothing was taken, but it looks as if somebody sure made a quick exit from the house.”
I follow him inside to verify his presumption that our valuables are still in place. Yes, there are the television and the computer, but I don’t remember having left it on prior to leaving with the girls. Neither Tanner nor Mickey remembers doing so, either.
Mickey runs upstairs to confirm that his baseball card collection is safe and sound, and that Ted’s favorite sex toy, the TV, is still pinned to the wall.
I start to ask him to check on my vibrator too, then think better of it.
Then I see it: the San Francisco Seals baseball cap.
So the burglar is Jake.
Boy, oh boy: the last thing Harry needs is Jake going into juvenile court for theft.
I do get some satisfaction that it happened on DeeDee’s watch.
The proof of this is the cap.
As Officer Fife checks yet another window, I kick it under the couch before Tanner or Mickey can see it and ID it as their good buddy’s. But if he’s going to stay a friend, he’s going to have to be reeled in as soon as possible.
DeeDee glides up the steps just as the policemen are walking out the door. “My God! Is everything okay?” She looks around frantically for Temple. Since Halloween, she’s come to expect the worst.
“There was a break-in. Our silent alarm went off.”
Relief puts color back in her face. “Anything stolen?”
“Apparently not. They’re figuring it’s a kid’s prank.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about Jake, but I don’t want her to think that I just presume he’s the villain anytime something bad happens around here. If and when the truth comes out, she’ll be on the defensive anyway.
DeeDee tries on some apologies for size, but my reaction is a shrug. “The girls had fun. That’s all that counts.”
She sweeps Temple into her arms. Glancing around, she notices her basket on the coffee table, beside my cup of tea and an issue of Vanity Fair. “That’s mine, isn’t it? Oh! Already empty. . . . Well, I guess you liked the cookies after all! Addictive, aren’t they?”
As she says this, she looks pointedly at my backside.
It wouldn’t hurt so much if it weren’t true.
She smothers a grin. “Yes, well, we’ll have to reschedule our little bonding date. The holidays are crazy. Maybe one afternoon on the back end of Olivia’s party . . .”
That’s when I figure out her no-show was all a big fix.
My guess is that she rendezvoused with Max Karloff. With all his listings that are currently vacant, finding a place to fuck shouldn’t be all that difficult.
If she did go shopping like she said, I hope she bought herself some very expensive pairs of shoes, and that Lucky finds one and makes a good meal of it.
39
“Friendship often ends in love;
but love in friendship—never.”
—Charles Caleb Colton
Friday, 20 Dec., 11:08 a.m
Harry won’t answer the door, even though I know he’s in there.
I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself, but I keep tapping on it because he’s not answering his cell phone either, although he can see on his caller ID that it’s me.
What the hell is up?
I move from the door to a window and peek in. He’s still standing at the door, listening for my knocks. He’s in scrubs and a T-shirt. There is a dark shadow of a beard on his face. I’m guessing he hasn’t shaved since I last saw him, let alone brushed his hair, which now waves out like wings from behind his ears.
Something certainly has him worried.
I rap even harder, and startle him enough that he jumps. He swivels around to see me, and breathes easier.
“What are you waiting for?” I tap the glass once more for good measure. “It’s cold out here. Let me in.”
He wipes his face with an open palm, then with a shrug motions for me to come back over to the front door.
He doesn’t greet me with a joke, let alone a smile. He doesn’t even ask me to sit down. What’s wrong? Does he already know the worst about Jake?
Now that this moment has come, I don’t know what to say.
So I say nothing. Instead I toss the Seals baseball cap on the sofa bed, which still has not been made up.
He stares down at it. “So . . . you know, I guess.”
“Oh! You know, too?”
All of a sudden, he’s on his guard. “Know what?”
“You tell me.”
“Nope, you know the rule: ladies first.”
This game is getting old fast. “Okay, sure.” I take a deep breath. “I know about Jake.”
He nods but says nothing, as if he’s mulling that one over. Finally: “What about Jake?”
“Harry, quit playing games! I know it’s Jake who’s been doing the break-ins all over the neighborhood.” I stare him down. “You must know about it too, right? Hell, I know Pete knows, because Officer Fife told me so himself—”
Worry pierces Harry’s brow. “What else did Fife say?”
“Are you asking me if he knows who owns this cap? No, don’t worry, I didn’t tell him.”
Relief floods his face. “Thanks, Lys.”
“Seriously, did you think I’d squeal on Jake? Give me some credit!”
For some reason he finds this hilarious. His snicker soon roils into a full-blown belly laugh.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Harry? Don’t you know what this means? If he slips up again and gets caught, it could mean jail time!”
“You’re right Lyssa. I shouldn’t be laughing. I guess—I guess it struck me the wrong way. But please believe me when I say that Jake has nothing to do with the b
reak-ins. In fact, Pete will agree because—”
“Oh, right. You’re telling me that Jake was with you guys last night? And what, were you all playing poker—during the lighting of the Christmas tree? Cut me some slack, Harry! I’m not that gullible!”
“Lyssa, you’ve got to trust me, even if I can’t tell you everything right now. Do you get that? But one thing I can tell you in all certainty is that Jake wasn’t in your house. And . . . there won’t be any more break-ins.”
I can’t believe my ears. “How can you be so sure? Look, I get it. No parent wants to believe his child is capable of anything like that. But, Harry, you have to face facts: Jake hasn’t been the same kid at all since your breakup. This is no time for you to be in denial—”
“Me—me in denial? Boy, you’ve got nerve!” His face turns to stone. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! Maybe it’s time you quit butting into my business and take care of your own.”
“You say I don’t know what I’m talking about?” His words hurt worse than any fist could. “Okay, yeah, all right, I’ll mind my own business. Heaven knows I’ve neglected my own life because I’ve been so concerned with yours. Well, that stops right now.”
I would have made it to the door before he grabbed me, except that the tears are falling so hard and so fast that the whole room is a blur. I guess he’s afraid I’ll bump into something because he holds me close and whispers how sorry he is that he hurt me, that he never meant to make me cry ever, not in a million years, but that he’s so angry now, about everything, especially what he couldn’t stop, and now everyone will get hurt and will feel the pain—
Even me.
Especially me.
This time, when he kisses me, I don’t pull away. I can’t.
I won’t.
His tongue opens my lips gently, but moves through my mouth with a ferocious hunger. I want to eat him too, body and soul, to lose myself in his touch. . . .
But first things first. I place his hand beneath my shirt and shiver as his fingers roam over my belly, light feathers that tease my skin. His tongue follows, working its way up to my breasts, where his palm cradles my heart while his index finger, with a few gentle strokes, stiffens my nipple so that it aches for the feel of his lips around it. . . .