Mom! For crying out loud.
“Doctor?” Rick prods. “What should I do? My son means everything to me.”
“Sure he does, you snake,” I explode. “That’s why you walked out on him to be with Bimbette, here.”
“Do you see what we have to put up with? Day and night. It’s always the same.” Darcy makes mouth motions with her thumb and fingers. “Yak-yak-yakity-yak.”
The doctor nods in sympathy. “I see no other alternative.”
“What?” I say, feeling suspiciously like I’m not going to like the forthcoming solution.
“You’ll have to kill her.”
Mom looks up and finally speaks. “Yes, I suppose that’s for the best. I mean, look, I had to travel all the way across the country to get away from her.”
Across the country. Right. All two states.
Shawn comes forward. I hold out my arms to him, tears flowing down my cheeks at the betrayal in this room. “Come here, baby,” I say. “I’m finding you a different doctor.”
“Want to hear my new poem, Mom?”
“Okay.” I’m dubious. A little fearful even and not entirely convinced this doctor was a good choice.
Violets are blue
Roses are red
I’ll be all better
Once Mommy is dead.
Kill her
Kill her
Kill her
I feel a scream tighten my throat, but no sound comes out.
“M-om, are you dead?”
“What?”
Ari’s standing over me. “Are you okay?”
Thank God. I’m not dead.
“You scared me half to death,” she says, anger edging her voice. “What are you doing down there?”
The fuzz is clearing from my brain and I take stock of my surroundings. “I was cleaning up the glass from the picture.”
I remember more. Overwhelmed, I’d known I needed to pray, so I got on my knees in front of the recliner. “I guess I fell asleep.”
That dream must have been punishment for not hanging in there for the entire prayer. I never planned on falling asleep. I was only going to pray until time to pick the kids up from . . .
The kids! I forgot to pick them up. Wait a minute. “Hey, how’d you get home?”
“Mr. Lewis saw us waiting,” Ari said. “Thanks a lot, by the way.”
“Greg brought you?”
“I hope you don’t mind.”
Dread slides through me at the sound of his masculine voice. I turn ever so slightly and look up from my lowly position.
“I appreciate it.”
He reaches down. “Let me help you up from there.”
How about taking me away from all this, Sir Greg? But then, he wants me dead!
Leery, I take his hand.
Did he just grunt when he lifted me up? Ugh. Why didn’t I just use the ottoman for support and get up without his help?
“Thanks.” I can’t quite meet his gaze. “And thanks for driving the kids.”
“No problem. I was headed this way, anyway.”
Oh? Was he coming to see me? Hope shoots through me like a quiver full of Cupid’s arrows.
The phone rings and Ari dashes past me to the kitchen. “It’s for me,” she hollers, even though I’m standing right there. “I’ll get it in the kitchen.”
I toss Greg an apologetic look for my daughter’s rudeness. “You were saying you had to come this way anyway?” To ask me out?
“I’m meeting the realtor at your mom’s house.” Bummer.
Or not. Greg just down the block. That could work.
“Do you want something to drink? I haven’t seen her go by yet.”
Oh, groan. Stupid thing to say. So obvious.
He gives me that lopsided grin.
I feel a blush steal across my cheeks.
Thankfully, Jake saves me. He trots into the room, pushes a beanbag chair from the corner to right in front of the entertainment center, grabs the game controller, and switches on the TV. Then he flops down on his stomach across the beanbag chair. He’s ready to go.
“Hey, wait a sec, sport.”
“What?” He doesn’t bother to look away from the little video figures winding their way through a dark forest.
“Did you do your homework?”
“No.”
“Do you have any?”
“Yes.” Still he doesn’t look up.
“Turn off the TV and go do it, then.”
“Can I wait until I die?”
I roll my eyes and look up at Greg, whose face is masked in amusement. “I bet no one from our mothers’ generation ever had to hear those words.”
“Maybe the Dark Ages,” he comes back.
I laugh. Then straighten up at the thought of some poor child with the plague. I scowl. “Not funny.”
He chuckles that wonderful, deep chuckle.
Still reveling in the joy of shared amusement with a guy I have a crush on, I have a little trouble working up a stern voice. “Jake, turn it off. You can die later.”
Tommy barrels through the door as Jakey throws the controller and pushes himself up.
“Watch your attitude, young man,” I call after my stomping-off son.
“I didn’t do anything,” Tommy says in a tone that makes me wonder what he’s been up to.
“I was talking to Jakey.”
“Oh. Why is there a car parked in Granny’s driveway? Is she moving back?”
Not if I can help it. I’ve suddenly lost that overwhelming sense of loneliness. This new development with Greg has me believing in destiny all over again. And we don’t want Mom to miss hers.
“That’s my cue.” Greg sends me a wink.
I walk him to the door. “Sorry things are so chaotic around here.”
“Kids and chaos go together.”
That reminds me. “Hey, how come I’ve never seen your daughter?” In need of an answer to this sudden probing thought, I walk him to the porch.
He leans toward me and gives me a wry grin. “I have her locked away in a tower until some young man worthy of her comes along.”
The guy is just too cute. But seriously. I go to church with him. Have never seen her. He teaches at my kids’ school. Never seen her.
A knowing look flickers in his eyes. He gives a short laugh. “Don’t worry. I do have a daughter, and no she isn’t locked in a tower somewhere. We’re living with my mom while I look for a house.”
Disappointment kicks me in the gut. He lives with his mother? Figures.
14
I step inside, trying not to think about the mama’s boy who left his truck in my driveway and walked down the block. Does this mean he plans to stop in and say good-bye before he goes home? Oops. I guess I am thinking about him.
Pondering this last, I’m taken by surprise at the sight that greets me when I enter the living room. I stop mid-stride. “What are you doing, Toms?”
Tommy turns around from his place by the wall. “The picture fell. I was putting it back up.” He gives me a “Duh, what does it look like I’m doing?” look and finishes straightening the glassless print. “What happened to it anyway?”
“An accident.”
“Looks like someone threw a ball or something.”
If anyone should be able to read the signs of destruction, it’s him. Since he learned to walk I’ve had to clean up more broken windows, knickknacks, and picture frames than breakage from all of the other kids combined.
“Anyway, thanks for putting the picture back up for me.”
He’s been acting so much better since Jakey barfed on him.
A shrug lifts his shoulders, and I notice that he’s beginning to fill out. His muscles becoming more defined. I should have seen this coming, but still it takes me by surprise. Plus it makes me a little sad to think of him growing up. I don’t feel like I’ve had enough time with him. As though his childhood just slipped by me.
“What?” he squeaks, then colors.
I snap out of my reverie befor
e I grab him and kiss his whole face. “What, what?” I ask. The picture of innocence.
“Why are you staring at me?” His face is clouded in suspicion.
I stick out my tongue. “Who’s staring?”
“Whatever, dude.” He shakes his head and walks toward the kitchen.
“Don’t call me dude,” I call after him.
“Whatever.”
This is going well. I follow him into the kitchen. I mean, I have nothing better to do, right? And the goal is to bond with my kids. Can’t really do that if the kids aren’t around.
Ugh. I wish I’d just stayed in the living room and minded my own business. Tommy has the fridge open and is drinking from the milk carton. “Ew, Tommy. Get a glass.”
He pops the lid back on the container and sets it on the shelf. Wiping away the milk mustache with the back of his hand, he kicks the fridge closed. “Don’t need one.”
“Don’t do that again. It’s nasty.” Note to self: buy a new gallon of milk.
“Whatever.”
I’m sorry, but that’s the last straw. He’s said that word to me three times in three minutes. Enough already. “Is that the only word you know?”
“Maybe.”
Hey, guess what? That was a bad answer. “You’re grounded from using that word.” Did I really just ground him from a word?
“What word?”
“‘Whatever.’” I mean it. I put my hand on my hip and dare him to defy me.
Undaunted, he does just that. “You can’t ground someone from a word.”
“I’m your mother. I can ground you from whatever I want.”
“You just said ‘whatever.’” His lips are tugged into a smirk and I have to fight to keep from smirking right back. Discipline is so not my strong suit.
“I didn’t say it like that. And I mean it. You’re grounded from that word.”
“But it doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t care what makes sense. You can’t use whatever for a week. It’s time to break that habit.”
“And what if I still use it?” The challenge in his eyes raises my hackles.
“Then I’m taking away your skateboard.”
His eyes grow wide for a split second, then he composes himself. The epitome of cool dudeness. “Wha—” He shrugs as the wheels of his mind come to a screeching halt on the edge of that word. “Fine,” he bites out. “One week.”
Score one for Mom. I’m starting to feel a little like my old self. Saucy. I like it.
“Speaking of my skateboard.” He grabs his schoolbag off the table and rifles through it for a sec. “I need this signed,” he says, shoving a sheet of paper at me. Prickles of panic needle through me. Notes from school that need my signature usually indicate something I’m going to be really ticked about. “What now?”
“It’s just a permission slip. Don’t flip.”
“I never flip,” I snap. “And watch your attitude.”
“Wh— Yeah, okay.”
This is going to be fun.
I read over the form. It isn’t from the school. “What is it?”
“Skateboarding contest. I need to take it back by tomorrow to get on the list.”
“Whoa, boy. Not so fast. Where’d you get it?”
“Dan’s mom owns The Board. They’re sponsoring a contest next week.”
“Are you kidding me? There is a thirty-dollar entrance fee! What are they sponsoring?”
“Mrs. Ireland is providing all the food and drinks. All we have to do is bring our board and the permission slip.”
“And thirty big ones. Not a chance.”
“Please, Mom. If I pay my own way?”
“With what, your dimples?”
He blushes at the reference to those gorgeous valleys in his cheeks he’d rather forget exist. “I have all that money in the bank.”
Oh, no, he didn’t just suggest using his college money for a stupid skateboarding entrance fee.
Wordlessly, I walk to the sink and turn on the faucet, let the water run for a few seconds, then turn it off.
I turn to my son, who is frowning like I’ve totally lost my mind.
“Hear that?” I ask as the water gurgles through the pipes.
“Yeah.”
“What is it?”
“Uh, water draining from the sink, maybe?” His sarcasm isn’t helping his plight any.
“Wrong. It’s the sound thirty dollars makes when you spend it to enter a skateboarding contest.”
“It’s not money down the drain.” Ah, the boy gets it at least. “First prize is a Zero skateboard.”
“And this is supposed to impress me?”
An exasperated sigh pushes through his lungs. “A professional skateboard. It costs over a hundred dollars retail.”
Hmm… maybe thirty bucks isn’t way overpriced. And since when is my son using words like retail? “What’s second prize?”
“Skateboard shoes. Vans.”
Okay, I’ve shelled out seventy dollars for those, so I do know what Vans are. Not bad.
“Third?”
“Three-month membership to The Board.”
“What does a membership consist of?”
“Unlimited skateboarding for a year.”
“How much is a membership? I didn’t even know they offered them.”
“Fifteen dollars a month or two dollars every time you go.”
I do some mental number crunching. Every time he asks to go, I give him two dollars. And that’s at least three times a week. That’s twenty-four dollars a month! I hear the sound of nine bucks a month swishing down the drain. Six dollars a week for five weeks would cover that entrance fee.
“Get my purse out of the living room. It’s on the coffee table.”
“Yes! Thanks, Mom.” I brace myself for a hug. But it doesn’t come. I’m a little disappointed, but I’m happy also, because he’s so happy.
He stands beaming as I fish through my purse for a pen and thirty dollars. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.
Left-handed, I sign as neatly as possible, fold the paper, and hand it back to him.
“Think you can win something?”
“I know I can. Want me to show you some moves?”
The kid’s actually offering me a bit of his life. No way am I turning that down. “Sure.”
“We have to go outside.”
We head through the living room and out the front door. He scowls when we reach the porch. “Lewis’s truck is in the way.”
“Mr. Lewis.”
“What’s his truck doing in the way?”
“He’s looking to buy Granny’s house.”
“I wish she didn’t move.”
This sudden admission takes me by surprise. The kid isn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings. But he’s gotten close to Granny lately. Helps her take out garbage, carries in wood for her fireplace.
“You know what I’m really going to miss most?” he says, turning to look in that direction as though by doing so will bring her back.
“What?” I swallow hard.
“Hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.”
“You can have those things at home. I’ll fix them for you when it gets cold out.”
He shrugs. “Wh— Okay. I’m going in.”
“What about showing me your moves?”
“I can’t until Lewis moves his truck.”
“Mister Lewis.”
“Yeah. Mr. Lewis.”
He slams back into the house. I’m about to follow, but I’m caught by a gentle autumn breeze. I sit on the porch swing and gather in the smells of burning leaves somewhere in the neighborhood combined with the distinct fragrance of coming rain. I love autumn rains. They come to wash away the dust and heat of summer and to get the earth ready for the beauty of winter ice and snow.
Aren’t I just the optimist tonight? Ice and snow are treacherous. Or they can be. Just as treacherous as they are beautiful. But I need a good perspective tonight. I glance down the block and see Greg walking back
. I wave. A smile stretches his lips as he waves back. “Hey, looks like we’re going to be neighbors if everything works out on the business end.”
“Mom’s going to be glad to hear that.” And oh, baby, am I ever glad! Oh, Lord, I’m a desperate housewife.
He stops in front of the house and I walk down the steps to join him. We are standing on the sidewalk. Two people just shooting the breeze. Nothing to get excited about. But I can’t quite convince my heart of that, and it insists upon doubling in beats per minute. We are standing fairly close and he looks down at me, his dark eyes gentle and soft.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
Anything, Romeo. Ask and it’s yours.
“Do you think I could borrow your mom’s key so I can show Sadie around?”
“No problem. Do you want to come for supper?” Oh shoot. I didn’t thaw anything out.
“Another time. I’m sure Mom will already have something cooking.”
Whew. Dodged that bullet, and note to self: Don’t invite gorgeous neighbor for supper unless you know you have something decent to serve him. Especially if you ever plan to snag him into a date. And did he really say, “Another time”?
“Okay, no problem.”
“I’ll be back around seven to get the key, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sounds fine.”
He climbs into the Avalanche and cranks the engine. A smile and a wave follow before he backs out of the drive. I stand there like a lovesick puppy, watching him drive away into the sunset.
The door swings open and shut behind me. “’Bout time,” Tommy grouses. “You ready for me to show you some of my moves?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, but don’t flip out when you see all the jumping and dangerous stuff.”
“Dangerous?”
“I said don’t flip out.”
“I never flip out.”
“Yeah…”
I say it for him, “Whatever.”
I watch him, impressed, for about an hour, with only a slight time-out when the pizza delivery guy comes, and I think the kid just might win that board. He has a great chance anyway. And he’s actually smiled at me five times if my count is on. Four, if the last one was a grimace of pain when he missed the board and fell on his backside.
“Hey, Mom. Come learn how to do a kickflip.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. You can do it. Dan’s mom boards all the time.”
Leave It to Claire Page 13