Out with the Old, In with the New

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  “Corbin, the Carters cut down our tree.”

  I wait for him to connect with me, to get as indignant over the atrocity as I am.

  “What? Oh, hi.” His voice sounds flat, distracted. Probably just nervous.

  “Come home,” I say, wanting him to know it’s going to be okay. “I want to talk about this.”

  Then I hear what sounds like little-girl laughter in the background. “Who’s that?” the babyish voice says. “Don’t make Melody come over there and find out for herself—”

  The phone goes mute as if he’s put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  My blood goes cold.

  Oh, God! She’s there.

  I flatten my back against the wall and listen to the muffled mumbling in the background.

  I don’t want to listen, but I can’t make myself hang up.

  He lifts the phone mute, “Let me call you back.”

  The line goes dead.

  I stare at the phone.

  Shit.

  Oh. My. God. She was there. At his place. I guess I should have known she’d be there. Of course. He’s free to see who he wants.

  Still, this hurts worse than seeing the pictures.

  Because there was hope. Now there’s nothing.

  I set the phone in the charger.

  Bile rises in my stomach. I taste the coffee I drank for breakfast.

  And just like that my little lifeboat of hope is lost in an even bigger storm at sea.

  Despite my black mood, the weather is gorgeous. No chance of our date with Jon and Molly being called on account of rain. For comfort, I make brownies.

  Not necessarily to eat. Cooking soothes me. I think it’s because the recipes are a constant in my swiftly changing world. So I cook when I’m happy; I cook when I’m sad; I cook when I’m uptight or anxious or angry. Another form of therapy that doesn’t get me in nearly as much trouble as shopping therapy. As long as I don’t eat the end result.

  I pour melted chocolate into the brownie batter.

  It’s not a date.

  I don’t date.

  But I’m in the kitchen making another batch of brownies for Jon, and I’m contemplating canceling.

  The brownies aren’t really for Jon. I’m making this batch because I didn’t ask him what I could bring to our picnic. I can’t greet him empty-handed.

  This is so awkward.

  I pour the batter into a greased eight-by-eight pan, pop the pan in the oven.

  I don’t want to assume he’s packing a picnic for four—how embarrassing if he doesn’t—but I don’t want to show up with a supper of my own.

  I open the refrigerator and look inside.

  I could always make enough for four.

  Oh, this is too complicated.

  I shut the door.

  I should just cancel.

  What’s wrong with me? Have I become bipolar since separating from my husband?

  One moment going to the beach with Jon seems the perfect Sunday evening thing to do, then the next minute I’m on the phone with my estranged husband, hell-bent on saving my shattered marriage.

  I put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Check the clock—one-thirty.

  Corbin didn’t call back.

  Good. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I was an idiot for calling.

  What was I thinking, considering chalking the affair up to being one of the hazards of holy matrimony, investing in some heavy-duty marriage counseling and putting him on a short leash for the sake of keeping our family together?

  Momentary lapse of reason.

  If I feel myself slipping again, I just need to remind myself that as Caitlin gets older, she’s bound to find out. People are bound to talk.

  Didn’t your dad have a fling with that Magic dancer?

  Okay, maybe that’s a little far-fetched, but if she did find out, what kind of a message would it send to my daughter? What would it say about love and respect and the true meaning of marriage? That she’s not worth a man’s faithful love? That a man with money can get away with anything, including walking all over the woman he promised to love, honor and cherish?

  I put my head in my hands and resolve not to cancel with Jon. I will go and have a magnificent time.

  Because it will be good for me. That and because when Caitlin was eating her French toast, I made the mistake of telling her we were going to the beach with Molly for a special eclipse picnic. “Do you remember Molly? You two played a few times.”

  She squinted, looked up at the ceiling, tapped her chin, a gesture she makes when she’s really racking her brain.

  “Oh, right! I remember her. That was a long time ago. I like Molly. She likes to play Polly Pocket dolls. Will she bring her Polly Pocket dolls to the beach?”

  “Probably not to the beach, but maybe one weekend she can come over, and you two can play.”

  “Can she come over tomorrow since we don’t have school?”

  “Daddy wants to spend time with you tomorrow. He’s taking the day off especially to be with you. We’ll ask her daddy if she can come over another day.”

  “Where’s her mommy?”

  “Her mommy and daddy live in different houses.”

  Caitlin frowns. “Oh, did she leave just like Daddy left us?”

  The expression on her face breaks my heart, and I want to hold her and say I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to do this to you. “We don’t have to go to the beach if you don’t want to.”

  She shrugs, a listless manner much too weighty for her six young years. “No, we should go.”

  As she drags herself out of the room, I can almost imagine her adding, “We don’t have anything else better to do.”

  Mel-o-dy Wentworth’s silly little voice laughs in my mind. I hum “I am a Rock” to drown it out.

  The phone rings and a big part of me hopes it’s Jon calling to say something came up.

  “Hello?”

  “Kate, it’s me.”

  Corbin.

  I tense and strain to listen for his girlfriend.

  But I don’t hear anything.

  “Listen, sorry about earlier.” His voice is brusque. “You want me to come over?”

  “I did. But your girlfriend helped me realize what a big mistake that would have been.”

  I slam the phone down in the charger and walk out of the room.

  It rings again. I start to ignore it, let the machine get it, but I don’t want to hear his voice.

  I pick it up, and slam it down again, then push the talk button to take it off the hook so he can’t call back.

  Since the brownies have forty minutes left to bake, I go upstairs and turn on the water to draw myself a nice hot bath. While the tub is filling, I take off my clothes and scrutinize myself in the full-length mirror.

  It’s not a nineteen-year-old body.

  And then there’s those damned small breasts. Would Corbin have stayed if I’d gone to Dave Sander’s brother for the nice set of Ds?

  My waist is still smallish—I’m lucky that way, but my hips seemed to have spread wider with each child. Did Corbin silently resent that about me? Holding it inside until he just couldn’t stand it anymore?

  I turn sideways, suck in my gut.

  I’ll start that ab routine I’ve been planning to do.

  After so many years together bodies tend to mold to one another.

  We fit just perfectly together. He used to say that when he held me. This is my place.

  Does Melody feel new and foreign or has he found his place with her, too?

  I cross my arms over myself—one over my breasts, the other just below my abdomen. Stare at my slack tummy. I’m a good thirty pounds heavier than when I met Corbin.

  Maybe I should diet?

  The mere thought makes me hungry, especially with the aroma of the baking brownies filling the house.

  How in the world does one ever remember where she misplaced the confidence to take a new lover?

  Thinking back, I really don’t remember confidence
being part of the seduction equation.

  It just happens.

  Naturally.

  So maybe I have a little “interior” design to do on myself before I think about new lovers and relationships.

  Because really, the thought is petrifying.

  I don’t know how, or where to start, or what to do. All I have is what I’ve known with Corbin and obviously that wasn’t good enough. If I keep repeating the same patterns of the past anything in the future will surely fail.

  Same sofa.

  Different slipcover.

  Maybe I’ll have these spider veins taken care of—they say the procedure is nearly painless. I run my hand over the red-purple road map on my thigh.

  Then again, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll borrow back the hot pink polish I gave Caitlin and paint my toenails.

  Yes, that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll even wear sandals to the beach tonight.

  I sink down into the warm water and decide that with my small breasts and wide hips and bright pink toes, I will look nice when Jon picks us up.

  I’m not doing it for him.

  I’m doing it for me.

  So much for my makeup boycott.

  One of the first things I discover about Jon is he’s very easy to be with. He’s relaxed and easygoing, a type B personality through and through. A nice change to Corbin’s tightly wound, type A.

  Jon’s packed a picnic of fried chicken, potato salad and coleslaw—which he made himself. In my circles the men don’t cook. I’ve heard of such an animal that does, but I really thought it was an urban legend.

  He picks us up promptly at four. He brought me a bouquet of lavender he grew himself in his greenhouse.

  “How did you know I love lavender?”

  “I just had a feeling.”

  We pile into his Suburban and listen to Kenny Chesney sing about “The Good Stuff.” I’ve never liked country music. I think it brings me too close to my roots, and the songs always make me cry. This one was no exception, and I try my darnedest to hide it from Jon.

  He just smiles and sings along. His shorts and Quicksilver T-shirt, the oversize SUV, his choice of music—all so different from Corbin. Jon’s not into opera or Corbin’s finer things.

  He seems to find beauty in life’s simple pleasures. One minute it’s like balm for my soul, the next it feels foreign and uncomfortable, and I want to run far away from it.

  Since I’m captive in the front seat of his big truck, I can’t go very far. So I try to relax and remind myself, this is not a date. We are two friends, two parents who are getting their kids together for a play date. Just like I’ve done hundreds of times with the moms of Caitlin’s friends.

  Only the moms aren’t nearly as attractive as Jon is—well, not in a way that makes me nervous.

  I’m glad when we finally get to the beach and have our picnic. It gives me something to do. So I don’t feel quite so conspicuous.

  It takes a while for me to truly relax, but it happens after dinner when Jon is setting up the telescope and giving the girls a kid-size astronomy lesson.

  “Who knows how a star is born?” He winks at me. “No I’m not talking about the old Barbra Streisand movie.”

  “What?” says Caitlin.

  “That was a joke for your mommy.”

  I smile. This man is perfectly comfortable with himself. Sure, he’s good-looking, but I’m sure he’s flawed like any human being, even though I have yet to discover those flaws. I’m sure they’re in there somewhere.

  Still, he’s comfortable in his own skin.

  You should follow his example, says Hera.

  That’s all it takes. Well, that and a glass of wine and listening to him interact with the girls while I sit back and relax.

  When was the last time I was the one who sat back and relaxed on a family outing? When was the first time?

  I realize that I haven’t even thought about Corbin since we arrived. Until now.

  “Stars begin as a cloud of black dust and gas. The dark masses swirl around out there aimlessly in the heavens until they gather enough particles. But what makes them glow is that they get so many particles going and they’re so close together that they get very hot. When the temperature and pressure become too much, they begin to glow. Voilà, you have a star.”

  The girls are so busy looking through the telescope I wonder if they hear him. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “We’re going to see an eclipse tonight. An eclipse of the moon can only happen where the moon is full—and you know what else happens on a full moon?”

  They look at him. He turns his back, then turns around again quickly with his arms crooked at the elbow and his fingers bent into claws. “That’s when the vare volfe comes out to get little girls.”

  Molly and Caitlin scream and run until they fall down in the sand, laughing and giggling. Jon seizes the opportunity to come back to the blanket and sit down next to me.

  I pour him a glass of merlot and hand it to him.

  “Thanks.” He picks up the container of brownies and helps himself. “Are you having fun?”

  I lean back on my forearms and gaze up at the indigo sky dotted with stars that shine like diamonds and at the huge moon that looks like a giant, illuminated penny.

  “I am. This is incredible.” I gesture to the sky.

  “It’s as if Mother Nature is slowly pulling a copper-colored shade across the moon.” He frowns. “I said that already, didn’t I? That’s how I enticed you to come with me tonight.”

  I laugh.

  “Darn, I’ve already spent my best line.”

  I shake my head. “It is very persuasive. Next eclipse, you’ll have to remember to use it at just the right moment. Definitely keep it in your repertoire.” I breathe in a deep breath of briny air. “If this were a date, it would be very romantic.”

  I can’t believe I just said that. I don’t know him well enough to say things like that. Besides, it’s not appropriate to mention dating in front of Molly. She might still be sensitive about her parents’ divorce.

  But she’s not paying the least bit of attention to us. She and Caitlin are back at the telescope, taking turns peering at the moon.

  “So it’s not a date, huh?” Jon brushes chocolate crumbs from his hands.

  I really feel stupid for bringing it up. Stupid and flustered and not quite sure what to say next.

  I shrug. “It’s still all so new to me.”

  He picks up the bottle of merlot and refills my glass.

  “I’m not real good at it, either. Can you tell?”

  I sip my wine and watch him over the top of my glass.

  “It’s just that when I came to change your tire the other day… I don’t know, something told me that we might enjoy each other’s company. I thought that might be a good place to start. No pressure. Okay?”

  As he raises his glass to mine, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

  All in good time, says Hera.

  There’s a directness in Jon that’s refreshing. I draw a squiggle in the sand with my finger, look up and see him stretching his long, lean legs out in front of him on the blanket.

  He leans back and his burly shoulders are as wide as the sky. I’ve always appreciated a nice pair of broad shoulders.

  Girlfriend, if this doesn’t prove that you’re not dead I don’t know what proof you want, says Hera.

  The girls come running back to the blanket and fall down alongside of us.

  Jon puts an arm around Molly. “See those three stars in a row that are close together? That’s Orion’s belt. Have you ever heard about the legend of Orion and Merope?”

  The girls shake their heads.

  “Well, Orion is the hunter. He stands by the river Eridanus and is always accompanied by his faithful dogs because they spend their nights hunting together.

  “You see, Orion was in love with Merope. But Merope would have nothing to do with him. One day Orion was so sad because he couldn’t get the girl that he wasn’
t watching where he was going and stepped on a scorpion and he died. The gods felt sorry for him, so they put him and his dogs up in the sky as constellations. They put all of the animals he hunted up there near him—like the rabbit and the bull.” Jon points to the heavens. “But they put the scorpion all the way on the opposite side of the sky so Orion would never be hurt by it again.”

  His story implies more than myth, and I wonder if he’s thinking of Pam.

  “Is that for real, Daddy?”

  “Of course it is. Didn’t I just show you old Orion hanging out up there in the sky?”

  “But those are just stars, it’s not a real person.”

  “There are all kinds of treasures out there. You just have to know where to look to find them.”

  He glances back at me.

  “The most important thing is if you’re ever afraid, you just have to look up in the sky and find Orion and know he’s looking out for you.”

  CHAPTER 13

  A week later, my parents come over for dinner. It’s the first time they’ve been over since Corbin left. Between that and Dad’s chemotherapy, we’re all doing our best to act as if life’s normal.

  But what is normal?

  If there ever was such a thing.

  “How’s Dad doing with the chemo, Mom?” We’re standing together at the kitchen sink peeling jumbo shrimp for scampi. She shrugs and I see a wall go up around her.

  “He’s doing all right, I guess. The doctor says the first round is always a shock to the system.”

  I want to ask her to define all right because my father looked tired and frail, as if it was all he could do to drag himself in and sit down in front of the television.

  “I wish that husband of yours were here right now.” Mom’s lips flatten into a straight line. “I could really use a good unbiased medical opinion.”

  “Give him a call, Ma. I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you.”

  She shakes her head.

  I rinse a prawn under the running water and feel a pang of guilt at not having shared the news with Corbin. I’m not sorry for his sake, but for Mom’s and Dad’s.

  After what Corbin’s pulled, sharing the news about Dad’s condition seems too personal. We don’t need his pity. Dad’s going to be all right, and we’re going to make it through fine, without the help of my louse of a soon-to-be-ex-husband.