Not Your Everyday Housewife

by Mary Campisi

  “This is scarier than a Stephen King novel,” Shea murmured.

  Tula Rae sighed. “I could write a book. It’d be a best seller— love story, comedy, thriller, all wrapped in one.”

  “Maybe you should.” This from Derry. “I know some people in the publishing business.”

  Tula Rae shooed the idea away with two bony fingers. “I ain’t no writer, that’s for sure. Past is past. Too many people keep trying to drudge up their pasts, what with hows, and whys, it’s too confusing on a person. All it does is mess up their head.” Her voice dipped. “Cici died fourteen years ago. All’s he ever wanted to do was protect me, but he ended up shooting himself in the jaw when he was cleaning his rifle. It was the one in the chamber that got him. I told him about it too many times, but still, he forgot.”

  Cyn’s words filled the silence. “I’m so sorry, Tula Rae. I thought…”

  “You thought I killed ‘em all, didn’t you?”

  “He said…”

  The rest of her words seemed to jam up somewhere in Cyn’s brain, so Derry blurted out, “Some guy told her you did.”

  A wide mouthed howl burst from Tula Rae, big enough to reveal the silver in her back molars. “It’s old Gus Habernathy’s doings. He’s the mayor in town. He’ll do anything to keep the tourists coming, like I was some kind of Lizzie Borden.”

  “Maybe I need to pay him another visit,” Earl Gray said, stroking his thin, black mustache. “Guess he didn’t hear me the first time.”

  “I’ll leave you sitting in the emergency room next time if you do,” she said. “See if you can hobble back here on crutches, ‘cause you know Gus’ll go for that bum knee of yours again.”

  “I’ll take him from behind. He’ll never see me coming.”

  “And I’ll lock you out,” she snipped.

  “I thought you didn’t lock doors,” Shea said.

  “I’ll damn well start.” Her dark eyes targeted Earl Gray. “This ain’t your business, Earl Gray. It’s Gus’ way of bringing in business, and giving the town a little entertainment.”

  “But people believe it.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever told Cyn, and now Cyn, too.”

  “People who know me know I do what’s right, maybe not what they want me to do, but what’s right by me.” She jabbed her chest.

  “Why won’t you ever let me help you?” Earl Gray’s sorrowful plea filled the room.

  “It’s like I been telling you for seven years, Tula Rae don’t need no help.” She set her napkin on the table beside her half-eaten plate of vegetable lasagna and stood. “Every man that’s ever tried to help me ended up dead anyway.”

  And with that, she marched out of the kitchen, head high, gray braid swinging.

  ***

  Shea slipped out the back door and headed for the water. She pulled her sweat jacket close to her, fighting back the brisk morning chill. Thank God the house was quiet. At least there wouldn’t be any questions.

  She needed to be alone. Kirsten called last night, at 10:30 p.m., to tell her she’d been chosen to play Emily in Our Town. And she’d gotten A’s on all three of her exams. And, she’d just met a guy, maybe the guy. The good fortune went on for fifteen minutes, until Shea pleaded a horrible headache, which she actually had by then, and hung up. She spent the rest of the night sparring with self-pity, guilt, and hate.

  The sun lifted rays of gloom from its shadows, casting brightness like a grand illuminator. Shea grabbed a low fat blueberry muffin at The New England Beanery, wishing it were a Krispy Kreme doughnut instead and thought of what she’d do once she got back home—schedule an OB appointment, sign up for a Baby Makes Two exercise class, clean out the spare bedroom for the nursery, register in the After 40’s Mom’s Group at the hospital. Too soon for Lamaze. Besides, she’d need a coach. Maybe Richard could coach her and Tanya together.

  She worked her way along the water toward the edge of Main Street, not stopping until she was in front of Music and More. Despite the dark storefront, she could still make out the glint of brass from the instruments in the window. If I’d kept up with the flute, would I have been good enough to play at Carnegie Hall?

  Her gaze drifted to the Baby Grand in the corner. She pictured Marcus’s long, graceful fingers moving over the keys…

  “Would you like to go inside?”

  Shea swung around to find Marcus standing in front of her, wearing black sweats and worn Nikes. He wiped his face with a towel and slung it over his shoulder. “Hello, Shea.”

  “Marcus. I…want to apologize for what I said last time—”

  “No need.” He held up a hand. “I barged in where I shouldn’t have. I should probably be the one apologizing.”

  “Can we start over?” She extended a hand. “Shea Donovan.”

  “Marcus Orelean.” He grasped her hand, and gave it a firm shake. “Let’s go inside and I’ll make you a latte.”

  And just like that, she relaxed. Gay men made wonderful friends. Shea breathed out softly, watching him as he flipped on lights and worked his way to the tiny kitchen in the back.

  “Do you have decaf?”

  His gaze shot to her belly. “Sure.” He pulled a Starbuck’s decaf from the cupboard. “How’s everything going?”

  “Okay, I guess. I’m relaxing, taking walks to the water, reading.” She stared at his calf muscles. What a waste.

  “And the other?”

  “If you mean my husband, I haven’t heard from him since his girlfriend told me she was having his baby and I should butt out of their lives.”

  “Sounds a little backward to me. Isn’t the wife usually the one who cleans house and gets rid of the girlfriend?”

  Shea let out a hysterical little hiccough that exploded into full-blown laughter. “You’re right.”

  Marcus grinned at her over his shoulder. “And why is the girlfriend doing the talking anyway? Is your husband hiding behind her?”

  “He’s a coward,” Shea said, emboldened. “A worthless, roach on society.”

  “A miserable miscreant?” Marcus offered.

  “A thousand time loser.”

  “A wimp?”

  “A milquetoast.”

  “A no good sonofabitch?”

  “A bastard.”

  “But you love him.” A simple statement.

  Shea sunk into a chair, deflated. “But I love him.”

  And so began the remarkable friendship of Shea Donovan and Marcus Orelean, proof that men and women could have close relationships without sexual intimacy. It also helped if one of those partners was gay. For the next six days, Marcus acquainted Shea with every instrument in his shop, beginning with the flute. Once in her hands, she remembered the feel, the sound, the grandness of producing notes and the music that elevated her from a mundane existence. He was a wonderful teacher, and a good listener. In between lattes and lessons, she shared the disaster of her first marriage, the fear of raising two children alone, the desire to find a soul mate, and the heartbreak of being unable to conceive.

  And then finally, finally, the exhilaration of a baby, only to be squashed with the words, Get rid of it.

  Marcus listened mostly, advised rarely. He and Shea spent much of their time at Music and More, making music, singing, even composing a few lines together. On the third day, Marcus talked her into letting him play with her hair, which he styled into a trendy bob. By the fourth day, he’d taken her to The Kittering Outlet Mall and between a morning latte and an evening decaf, he’d changed her color palette and her fashion sense. Green cotton became history.

  “So, who is this guy and when do we get to meet him?” Derry sipped cinnamon tea on the patio as the sun plunked slowly into the ocean.

  “Marcus?”

  “Hell, yes, Marcus. For the past five days, every sentence out of your mouth begins and ends with Marcus. You got the hots for this guy?”

  “No,” she laughed, shaking her head so a mass of soft curls swung side to side.

  Derry fing
ered her whacked up hair. The guy knows his stuff. And she’s wearing makeup, not just lip gloss. Did he do that, too?

  “I’d like to meet anybody who talked you into ditching the scrubs,” Cyn said.

  “Marcus just has really good fashion sense.” Shea shrugged, smoothing the pale blue turtleneck she wore. “And I was tired of looking like a green tent.”

  “ALLELUIA!” Derry whooped. “Praise be to Marcus. So, when do we get to meet this god?”

  “Whenever you like.”

  “Tomorrow?” Cyn asked, touching her hair. “I think the whole Sophia thing has dried out my hair. No offense, Derry, but maybe Marcus can pick up where Clairol left off.”

  “Actually, I’m kind of tired of the Susan Powter look. I’m ready to go back to black.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe I’ll be Liz.”

  “Being Derry is radical enough, trust me.” Cyn leaned forward and studied Shea. “God, you’ve got this glow.”

  “I am pregnant, you know.”

  “It’s too soon for that kind of glow. This is something else. Confidence, maybe?”

  “Maybe.” Shea’s pink lips pulled into a tiny smile.

  “Or maybe it’s the guy,” Derry said. “You know, Shea, the guy.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  “No, I mean really. We’re just friends.”

  “For now.” Cyn threw Shea a sly look.

  “For good.” Shea shifted in her chair, leaned forward and whispered, “Marcus is gay.”

  Chapter 12

  Derry pressed speed dial on her cell phone and took a deep breath. She’d decided to call Alec tonight since he obviously wasn’t going to call her and there were issues to discuss, though as of this second, they were quickly evaporating.

  She should talk to him, if for no other reason than to make sure Charlie really was okay. Kids didn’t know when they were okay and when they weren’t. And Vivien wasn’t a good gauge either. She’d say anything to get Derry back with her son.

  Alec was the only one who could tell Derry how Charlie was doing. If he were home. Maybe he was out again, like he’d been twice last week and two days ago when she called. Was he trying to punish her? She swallowed, pressed the send button to his office because she knew he’d be there.

  “Rohan, McGill, and Associates, Alec Rohan speaking.”

  His voice unsettled her. She’d always loved the deep, velvet of it. “Hello, Alec.”

  Silence, and then, “Derry.”

  She willed her own voice to remain even. “I’m calling about Charlie. Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Vivien said he’s been having trouble sleeping the past two nights, and he’s been waking up crying.”

  “He’s fine.”

  There it was again, the deep resonance of his sound filling her. “I think we need to talk about it.”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “It’s easier getting you at the office than at home, Alec.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “So I gathered.” Don’t you miss me, even a little?

  “I’m not going to sit around like a puppet and wait for your orders, Derry.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to, but if there’s an issue with Charlie, I’d like to know about it.”

  “Why? Isn’t that what this trip is all about, getting ready for the big send off?”

  “I love Charlie,” she said, avoiding an answer.

  “You left him.”

  “I’ll be back in less than two weeks.”

  “That’s right. Time’s flying.”

  That’s why he was such a good attorney—detachment. He doesn’t care about me anymore. I can hear it in his voice.

  “Well, okay.” She stumbled around and added, “I’ll call Charlie later on.”

  “Make it before six. He’s got a soccer game tonight.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Derry, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For all of it. The lie, the fighting, but most of all that we couldn’t get past this. We had a good thing together.”

  “Alec, why are you talking like this? I haven’t decided anything yet. This is why I’m here. To decide.”

  “You’ve already decided. You just don’t realize it yet, but you’ve made your choice.”

  The sound of him pulled her close. Closer.

  “Good-bye, Derry.”

  She clutched the phone, whispered, “I love you, Alec, I love you.” But he was already gone.

  ***

  The house was too quiet, even for 11:20 p.m.

  Janie slid the end of the paper clip into the knob, waited for the click, and eased the door open.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Kiki jerked back from the open window, hissing, “Get out of my room.”

  Janie ignored her and pointed to the fire escape ladder resting on the windowsill. “I knew that story you gave Mom and Dad about needing a ladder in case of a fire was a bunch of baloney. You just want it to sneak out and see that loser boyfriend of yours.”

  “Shut up and go to bed. And who said you could barge into my room?”

  “I’ll bet Dad doesn’t know what you’re doing, does he?” Janie stepped over scattered shirts, underwear, CD’s, and candy bar wrappers to get to her sister. “You are such a pig. Mom would never let you get away with this.”

  “Well, too bad she’s not here right now, isn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t mean you should take advantage of Dad.”

  “Just like you didn’t take advantage of him last night when you were IM-ing until 1:15 a.m.?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Janie shrugged, averting her gaze. “I had some homework questions.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Bullshit for you. At least I’m not sneaking out of the house to have sex with my boyfriend.”

  “I am not having sex with Brad.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  “Then you better do a better job hiding those condoms you’ve got stuffed in your underwear drawer.”

  “You were going through my drawers?” Kiki’s face contorted into three shades of red. “You little shit. You mind your own business.”

  “Be quiet or I’ll poke holes in all your condoms.”

  Kiki grabbed Janie’s arm and twisted. “Don’t you spy on me again.”

  “Ow! Let me go.”

  “I mean it. You’re nothing but a pain in the ass.”

  “Slut.”

  Kiki pushed her and Janie stumbled, landing on the floor with a distinct thud. Janie reached for the closest weapon at hand, which happened to be a hairbrush, and threw it at her sister, whacking her in the shoulder.

  “Bitch!” Kiki lunged at Janie, caught her by the ankle. “Stay out of my stuff, you hear me?”

  “Let go! I’m telling Dad!”

  “You open your mouth and I’ll tell him about the time you stole that nail polish from CVS.”

  “You dared me to.”

  “And you were stupid enough to do it. What do you think Dad will say when he hears his precious little Janie is a shoplifter?”

  “That was eight months ago.” Janie tried to keep her voice from quivering. “And you told me to do it. You said I could start hanging around with you and your friends if I did.”

  “I just wanted to see if you were stupid enough to do it.”

  “I’ll tell Dad about you and Brad. And wait until Mom hears. You’ll see who gets in trouble.”

  “But you committed a crime. A crime is still a crime, even if it was eight years ago.”

  “Kiki? Janie? What are you two doing?”

  Their father stood in the doorway, in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair sticking straight up, eyes squinting behind his glasses as he adjusted to the light.

  “Dad.” Kiki released Janie’s ankle and rolled away. “We were just goofing around.”

  “At
11:30 at night?” He glanced at Janie. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She rolled to a sitting position, avoiding Kiki’s angry stare.

  “Somebody better start talking right now. And what’s that in the window?”

  “Oh.” Kiki ran to the windowsill and lifted the ladder from the ledge. “Now don’t get mad, Dad, but we were bored so we decided to try the ladder out. We wanted to see if it worked”—she stumbled on—“in case there’s a real fire.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “It was my idea,” Janie said, picking at the beginnings of a hole in her sweats. “I wanted to try it.” She couldn’t stop the tears that inched down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  He sighed and held his arms out to both girls. “It’s okay. Come here, girls.” He pulled them into his arms and rested his chin on Janie’s dark head. “I know you’re doing this because you miss your mother. We all miss her, but she’ll be back soon.”

  Janie did miss her, and she knew her father did, too, but Kiki? No way.

  The next morning, Kiki ran into the kitchen, jerked open the fridge and pulled out a key lime yogurt. “You ready to go?”

  Janie stuffed the crust of her peanut butter toast in her mouth and washed it down with milk. “Just a sec.” She rinsed her glass and plate, loaded them in the dishwasher, and threw her napkin in the garbage.

  “Let’s go Suzy Homemaker, or we’ll be late,” Kiki said, throwing the yogurt lid at the garbage can. She missed and the lid landed on the floor in a smear of key lime.

  “Can’t you just try to be neat?” Janie picked up the lid and tossed it into the garbage. “You make so much work for everyone else, especially Mom.”

  “So?”

  “So, can’t you be considerate?” Janie grabbed her book bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “It’s not like she has anything else to do.”

  “Why are you always saying that stuff about her? You just want to be mean?”

  “Because she tries to control everything and she’s clueless. Dad’s just as clueless but he leaves me alone.”

  “Mom busts you and you don’t like it.”

  “Shut up or you’ll walk to school,” Kiki said, opening the driver’s door of the Camry.