“Interesting,” he said, and held them out. “How about you put these on?”
I yawned loudly. “Not tonight, Sweetie, some other time. I’m really, really tired.” I made a grab for the clothes but Ross held onto them.
“Come on, Bee. Just give me a quick look. On and off, that’s all I ask. These pants probably won’t fit anyway. They’re obviously meant for a woman with a much smaller ass.”
I snatched them out of his hand. “They do so!” I said indignantly… then realized my mistake. “Oh, all right. But after this I don’t want to hear another word out from you about them. Not ever!”
Ross made the sign of the cross on his chest, raised his hand in the air and said, “Cross my heart.”
“And they’re going to Goodwill first thing in the morning– Right!”
Ross picked up the pink top and inspected it–turning it this way and that. “I think I’ll reserve my judgment until after I’ve seen them on you.” He lay back on the bed, propped his arms behind his head–and watched me undress.
I shed my jeans and top then removed my plain cotton bra and replaced it with the orange one, pulled the pink top over my head and wiggled into the green Lycra low riders, adjusting my knickers to avoid being cut in half.
Ross glanced at my bare feet and tried not to laugh. “Don’t forget the purple stilettos.”
“Oh, Ross, do I have to?”
“Humor me.”
“Oh, all right!” I slipped my feet into the glittering stilettos and as I turned around I came face to face with what could pass as a sixty-year-old version of Olivia Newton John’s alter ego in Grease, staring back at me from the full length mirror on the closet door. I was speechless. What were those girls thinking!
Ross’s voice broke the spell. “Come over here and let me look at you?”
I walked around the bed and stood in front of him. “Turn around,” he said.
“Ross!”
“Come on, Bee, humor me, just this once. Please!”
I heard my sister’s voice calling from across the hall.
“I’ll go and see what Rosie wants. Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”
When I walked in the room, Rosie burst out laughing. “I Hope I didn’t disturb anything?” she said.
“What? No! You’ve got the wrong idea. Ross just wanted to see how they looked.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She chuckled.
I put my hands on my hips and glared at her. “Was there something you wanted aside from a good laugh?”
“Sorry, it’s just that you caught me completely by surprise.” She giggled. I glared.
“Well?”
“Just give me a minute. I’m trying to think who you remind me of.”
“If you say the fairy on top of the Christmas tree I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Not even close. Oh, I know who it was. You look like an aging version of Olivia Newton John… In that scene out of Grease…” We finished the thought together–and laughed.
“Only seedier,” I said.
“If a sixty-year-old Olivia Newton John could fit into that outfit–and purple stilettos, I bet you could give her a run for her money.”
“Well, I couldn’t see John Travolta getting the hots for me in this get-up.”
“Maybe not. But did you see the look on Mr. Takamura’s face when he saw you? What was it he said that made you blush when you walked past him?”
“I did not blush,” I said with righteous indignation. “It was probably a reflection from the orange bra.”
“Well, whatever it was, he had an enormous grin on his face. I think that man has the hots for you!”
“He does not! Now, what was it you wanted, aside from a good laugh?”
“Would you help me out of this? I can’t seem to undo the buttons.”
“Sure, Hon.” I helped her undress and slipped the nightgown over her head. “Would you like me to make you some Milo, to help you sleep?”
“Only if you’ve got time. I would hate to keep Ross waiting.”
“Believe me, Hon, I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“It’s just that I thought… Ross…” She giggled like a schoolgirl. Even though I pretended to be annoyed I was glad my sister was enjoying herself.
“Don’t you start, I’ve got enough to contend with from that aging Harley hoon across the hall.” I could hear Ross flipping through the pages of a magazine. I knew his attention span was self-limiting and figured if I dragged it out long enough he’d be asleep by the time I go back. At least, that was the plan.
On my way to the kitchen, I tripped on the living room rug. I wasn’t used to wearing anything higher than a slice of toast. I mixed up the Milo and put the mug in the microwave to heat a little. I set the timer and waited, and heard a door slam. Being a mother with eyes in the back of my head, I knew who it was without turning around when I heard footsteps come up behind me.
“Oh, hi, Cody. Did you and your friends have a good night?” I asked as I watched the mug spin on the turntable while I waited for the countdown to zero.
“Um... ah… err... ” was his garbled reply.
The microwave pinged, I grabbed the cup and when I turned around, Cody was staring at me−open mouthed. “Was there something you wanted?”
He swallowed hard and tried to find his recently lost voice. “I… um… err... ” His face flushed bright red as he grabbed the container of milk off the bench top and poured it into a glass. In his haste, he spilled a large portion of milk down the front of his shirt, and onto the floor.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I grabbed hold of a cloth, ran it under the cold water and rubbed the front of his shirt. Cody screwed his eyes shut, and held his breath.
“You get more and more like your uncle every day,” I muttered.
In this outfit, there was no way I was going to get down on my knees and wipe the milk up off the floor. I was already feeling the onset of vertigo from being so high. I grabbed the mug of warm Milo and handed him the cloth. “Here, you’ll have to clean up that mess up,” I said indicating the puddle of spilt milk at his feet.
As I hobbled out the door doing my best not fall and break an ankle or two, I sensed Cody’s eyes following me.
“Aunty Bee?”
I turned and gave him an encouraging smile. After all, I reasoned, it was not his fault he was born with male genes. “Yes, Cody?”
“You look… kinda…. nice.”
“Why, thank you, Cody. Don’t forget to turn off the lights when you’ve finished.” That boy has got more of his uncle’s genes in him that I credit him with. Come to think of it, that’s kinda strange seeing as they’re not blood relatives!! Go figure. It must be one of those nurture, nature things. I’ll suggest my sister enroll him at the local Jesuit school–in the hope of a better outcome.
As I stumbled down the hall, I noticed Ross leaning against the guestroom doorframe with a strange look in his eyes, his truck-tire midriff sagging over the waistband of his pajama pants like a sack of potatoes, his bare chest a roadmap of some strange religion inscribed in blue-black hieroglyphics, a lascivious grin on his face.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.
I took care of my sister and headed across the hall. When I closed the guestroom door, I was again confronted with the image of O N J–by proxy. I peered at my alter ego. Blue eyes: still looking good with smile-lines at the corners some might call crows-feet, but not on this tootsie. I ignored the plumping around the orbits – glasses and make-up would take care of that. High cheekbones, a little fleshy; aquiline nose–some would call my best feature. I lifted my chin: jaw-line – still holding firm – kinda. A few gray hairs I’d missed with the dye job. Mmm. If I fluffed up my hair and put on some lippy maybe, just maybe…! I shook my head –nah, you’ve got to be dreaming, girlfriend!
I looked at Ross’s image reflected in the mirror behind me, stretched out on the bed. He had a smile on his lips as his eyes roamed over my body.
/> “Okay. You’ve had your fun. Now, can I get out of this hideous get-up?”
“Only if you want to. Don’t take it off on my account.”
Before he had second thoughts, I tugged the pink top over my head, dropped it to the floor and removed the orange bra. I kicked off the shoes and wiggled out of the Lycra pants. When I was down to my Bridget Jones underwear, I scooped everything up, dropped them back into the bag and tossed in the bottom of the closet. I grabbed my purple elephant pajamas with pink bows on their ears, out of the drawer. But before I had a chance to put them on, Ross reached out and took them.
“Don’t put these on,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
I looked at him–and smiled. He may be an aging Harley-hoon with a body by Pillsbury, but he still knows how to get my engine humming.
“Do you think you could put the purple stilettos back on, Bethany?”
Well now. Perhaps I could give old Olivia a run for her money, after all.
“I was kind of hoping you’d say that–big boy.”
*****
She emerged from the fog, like a ghostly apparition, and looked around. Her clothes are in tatters, her eyes, sunken; her hair and skin gray–her hands at her throat.
“Danny! Danny!” she calls out, clearly distressed.
The mist swirled around her like a giant snake, swallowing her whole. She held out her hands, imploring. Blood dripped through her fingers and ran from the wound in her neck.
“Sara! Sara! Don’t leave me,” he sobbed.
Danny! Danny?
Danny woke with a start to find Nicola leaning over him. Even though he could hear the loud crack of thunder in the distance a wash of pale moonlight fell across the bedclothes.
“What’s the matter?”
“You were calling out in your sleep.”
“I must have been dreaming.”
“You seemed upset. What were you dreaming about?”
Danny wrapped his arms around Nicola and pulled her in close. Even though he whispered, “I don’t remember. Go back to sleep,” he remembered every detail–he always did.
The dead never leave. You carry them around inside you–forever.
* * *
They parked on the grassy verge not far from the lighthouse that looked across the Sound to Long Island, removed their shoes and left them on the floor of the SUV, rolled up the legs of their jeans, and walked along the beach holding hands with the cool water from the ocean tugging at their feet as waves crested against the hard-packed sand.
They climbed over rocks, and waded through shallow pools, the salty air clinging to their bodies. The sea spray soaked their clothes and left a sticky salt residue clinging to their skin. In the distance they could see the only other people on this secluded stretch of coastline–a small child, a dark haired woman, and a dog.
As they drew closer, they saw the woman throw a ball in a haphazard fashion across the sand and the dog, a full-grown Labrador, filled with boundless energy, took off after it its large paws sending up sprays of grit. When the dog reached the tussock of grass where the ball had landed, its nose picked up a scent as it sniffed the air. The dog looked towards the road, its keen eyes picking up something. Suddenly the animal pricked up its ears, grabbed the ball in its mouth and headed back to the woman who had called out its name.
As the Labrador raced across the hard-packed sand, it noticed Danny and Nicola walking along the water’s edge. It changed direction and ran down to meet them. The dog propped in the wet sand, dropped the ball at Danny’s feet, and barked.
“Looks like you’ve found yourself a playmate,” Nicola said.
Danny crouched down and ruffled the dog’s ears. “So, you want to play, eh, girl?” He picked up the ball and threw it further down the beach than the woman could ever hope to achieve and watched the large dog bounding after it in a flurry of energy, its long hair drawn back, sleek against its side.
“Thank you for that,” the woman said as she rose to her feet and brushed sand from the seat of her blue-jean cut-offs. She brushed an annoying wisp of hair from her face and nudged her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her bronze-colored eyes, scrutinized them cautiously.
“You’re very welcome.” Danny sensed the woman’s guardedness with strangers. He removed his sunglasses, clipped them to the neck of his T-shirt, and smiled, hoping to allay her fears. “Beautiful day isn’t it?”
“Oh, just perfect, much too nice to be cooped up indoors. The cold weather will put pay to that soon enough.”
Nicola picked up an educated New England accent. Yale, she assumed, or Brown. Rhode Island was not far away. “A large dog and small child confined within four walls. I don’t envy you your New England winters,” she said as she watched the boy shoo away a curious seagull that encroached on his territory.
The dog bounded down the beach, dropped the ball at Danny’s feet, and barked.
“Now, Cindy, don’t go bothering the nice man. Bring the ball here,” the woman said as she walked towards them, the glare of the sun in her eyes.
Danny noticed she used her hand to shade her eyes, instead of her sunglasses.
Danny picked up the ball. “That’s okay. I don’t mind. Come here girl.” He pretended to throw it but kept the ball hidden in the palm of his hand. Cindy started down the beach–propped, looked around, obviously confused.
Danny held the ball out, teasing the animal. “Here, Cindy, come and get it.” As the dog got nearer Danny reached back and threw it much further than before. Cindy watched the tennis ball sail through the air, and took off down the beach in great lopping strides, scattering noisy gulls.
“You’re not from around here?” the young mother asked.
“No, California. San Francisco. Our winters are cold and wet but nothing like you have here,” Nicola said.
“Oh, I can only dream of California winters. Being cooped up for days with a large dog and a four year old while blizzards rage outside is no fun. Cabin fever doesn’t go anywhere near to describing the half of it.”
“I can only imagine,” Danny said sympathetically. He smiled and corrected himself. “No, actually, I probably couldn’t.”
The laughter of the small boy drew their attention as they watched him build a sandcastle using a bright yellow plastic bucket and spade.
“Do you live around here?” Danny asked.
The young woman nodded. “Just up the road. Less than ten minutes’ walk.”
Danny looked in the direction she indicated, and smiled. “Beautiful part of the world you’ve got here. Is it always this quiet?”
“Usually it is at this time of year with school vacation over. Summers you can hardly move for people. Of course in the winter the place is deserted. Winters here can be pretty nasty.”
Nicola noticed there were only a couple of houses on the street, sparsely placed. “It must get lonely?”
The woman gave a half smile and shook her head. “I wanted to get away from the city and raise my boy somewhere quiet and safe.” The woman stopped for a minute and seemed to reflect before adding, “I lost my husband on United Airlines Flight 93 in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, September-Eleven.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath−but chose to ignore it. I was on a roll here and had no intentions of stopping. The story would speak for itself.
Nicola was clearly shaken. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
The woman placed her hand on Nicola’s arm. It was warm and felt strangely reassuring. “No. That’s all right. You weren’t to know. I’ve come to terms with it now,” she said. “Gary and I used to live in Lower Manhattan, not far from the Twin Towers. When the area was evacuated, I moved back to Connecticut to stay with my parents. My father teaches law at Yale and my mother runs the university bookshop. When I found out I was pregnant I was over the moon. It must have happened the night before Gary left.” She looked lovingly at the tow-haired boy digging holes in the sand, and smiled. “I am so grateful to have Thomas. He’s made my li
fe bearable. He’s the image of his father.”
Danny glanced up and down the beach. There was no one else in sight. And he could only make out two houses on the otherwise empty street. One was about three hundred yards to the north; the other, half a mile south. The only other building he could see was a small kiosk advertising soda-pop, ice creams, and take-out coffee about a hundred yards north of where they were standing–but it was closed. “What made you decide to move here?” he asked. “It seems so desolate.”
“Gary and I often spent weekends and vacations around here so when the cottage came on the market I decided to buy it. It’s the perfect place to raise a child.”
“It must have been very hard for you,” Nicola said.
The young mother gave a sad smile. “It was at the time but I’m fine now. I might grumble about being shut up during the cold weather, but I actually enjoy every one of those precious moments. I’ll miss Thomas when he starts school but at least I’ll have Cindy to keep me company.”
Something cold and wet nudged Danny’s ankle. He looked down and noticed the tennis ball laying at his feet, and the golden-haired dog, saliva dripping from its open mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes, a goofy expression on its face.
“You don’t have to do this,” the woman said.
Danny dismissed her objection with a casual wave.
“Allow me this one last throw. If I make it a good one, our canine friend will hopefully be all tuckered out by the time she gets back and give you some peace.”
He reached back as far as he could and threw the ball with such force it became little more than a speck on the horizon as it sailed through the air with Cindy bounding after it, her keen eyes knowing exactly where it landed.
“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time. Well, I must get back to my son. It’s been nice meeting you both.” She brushed her hand down the side of her cut-offs, to remove the sandy grit, and held it out to Danny. “Gina, Gina Leyton and that’s my son, Thomas. Cindy you’re already acquainted with.”
When Danny took her hand he was surprised at the strength in it.
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