Not Your Everyday Housewife

by Mary Campisi

  “And I doubt she’s come to see her older sister,” Alec said, “because she’s the older sister.”

  ***

  “Now you girls call me the minute you get in. Tula Rae don’t want to worry no more wrinkles in her face.” She patted her leathery cheeks and grinned. “I gotta stay pretty for my man so he don’t go wandering, ain’t that right, Earl Gray?”

  Earl Gray smiled down at her, his topaz eyes soft and shiny. “That’s right,” he said, placing a large brown hand on her skinny shoulder. The look on his face told them all he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Tula Rae reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Today she was wearing a hot pink doo rag and matching spandex shorts with a tangerine tank top. From a distance a person might mistake the poochy potbelly for a second trimester spread, until they got closer.

  Cyn watched as Tula Rae hugged Earl Gray, her chicken legs moving like a slow dance over the wooden floor. The single braid she always wore swung across the back of her spandex, shifting from side to side like a horse’s tail swatting flies. Cyn would miss this woman who practiced Salsa, loved Johnny Depp, downed a shot of Jack Daniel’s every morning—to wake up my bones, she said—and cooked a mean barbecue.

  Tula Rae embraced every millisecond of every minute she spent on this universe. And if God would only give her a second chance, Cyn promised herself she’d never take another day for granted.

  “If we don’t leave now, I’m either going to have to take the two of you with us, or we’re staying another month,” Derry said.

  “That’d be fine by us, right, Earl Gray?” Tula Rae sniffed and blew her nose into a big blue handkerchief.

  “You’re all welcome anytime,” he said.

  “Oh, we’ll be back, won’t we ladies?” Derry’s eyes grew bright, her voice husky.

  “I’d love to come back,” Cyn said, wondering what Sam would think of Tula Rae and Earl Gray.

  Only Shea remained silent, strawberry-blond head bent as she picked at a spot on her shorts. They hadn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon when she informed them that Richard was home waiting for her.

  “Well, you’re all invited, anytime,” Tula Rae said. “Just give a call and let me know how many is coming. Men, children, and pets included.”

  “Thank you,” Cyn said, hopeful there’d be a family left to bring to The Bird’s Nest.

  “Sure.” Derry’s tone told them she’d be returning alone.

  Tula Rae hugged each one of them, tears sprouting in her dark eyes as she said, “Never had no daughters of my own, but you three come mighty close to making me wish I did.”

  “Teach her how to operate that damn computer, Earl Gray,” Derry said. “We’re just a click away. Remember, I left you our e-mail addresses by the mouse.”

  “Too many new-fangled gadgets for this old crow to worry about.” Tula Rae sniffed. “Who ever heard of a body wanting a mouse in their living room?”

  Derry laughed and hugged her again. “Maybe you can talk Earl Gray into operating it for you, huh? Give him a few Salsa dances and a bowl of jambalaya, maybe that’ll convince him.”

  “My man don’t need no convincing,” she said, chuckling. “Now get going, and call me. And don’t forget when you make the banana bread, start and finish with the flour, the sour cream goes in between.”

  “I got it.” Derry hugged her once more. “Thank you both”—her voice clogged—“for showing us more in a month than we could have learned in ten years on our own.”

  Tula Rae’s dark gaze roamed over each one, pausing just long enough to make them fidget. Then she turned to Earl Gray and said, “Help these girls load up their bags. I got to check on them tomatoes out back. There’s a few ripe ones ready to burst.”

  And with that, she turned and made her way out the back door toward the vegetable patch.

  “She’s never been very fond of good-byes,” he said in a soft voice, his topaz eyes trailing after her.

  “This isn’t good-bye,” Derry said, her words fierce. “We’ll be back.”

  ***

  “So, are we really not going to talk about this for the next five hundred miles?” Derry asked, scanning Shea’s bent head in the rear view mirror. “Shea?”

  “Huh?” She looked up from her magazine. “Were you talking to me?”

  “You know damn well I was talking to you. I’ve been waiting the last fifty-five miles for you to say something.”

  “Like what?”

  Derry blew out an exasperated sigh and fixed her gaze on the red and yellow foliage ahead. “Fine. You want to pretend that two-timing, impregnating, husband of yours has seen the light and is ready to pledge undying love and fidelity to you? Give me a break.”

  “He doesn’t think Tanya’s baby is his,” Shea said in a small, defiant voice.

  “Oh, that makes me feel better.”

  “Stop it, Derry. I love him.”

  “And he loves the ‘open door’ policy. Whenever he gets tempted, he leaves, and when the money runs out, he comes back.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “How is it then, Shea? Tell us.”

  “Leave her alone, Derry,” Cyn said. “We all have our own reasons.”

  “What about Marcus Orelean?”

  Shea sniffed. “What about him?”

  Derry slapped the steering wheel and scowled. “See, this is what I can’t stand, people thinking I’m an idiot. I saw the way he looked at you, Shea. Even Earl Gray made a comment.” She paused and added, “Okay, so maybe I was half listening from the upstairs window.”

  “Derry!”

  “I said, half listening. I just happened to look on the deck and there you were and there he was.”

  “I can’t believe you eavesdropped.”

  “So, I picked up a few key words like ‘intoxicating’ and ‘only you’. I could’ve been a deaf mute and one look at the two of you would’ve told me he had the hots for you.”

  “I’m married.”

  “Yeah, too bad Richard keeps forgetting.”

  “It’s going to be different this time.” Her words held conviction, but her voice fizzled.

  “Sure.” Nothing was going to change but Shea refused to see it. “So, basically, you just let Marcus walk out of your life.”

  “I’m sure he’ll survive. Besides, he just thought he was attracted to me,” Shea said. “I probably reminded him of his aunt or something.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.” Was she purposely acting ignorant?

  “He did seem quite attracted to you,” Cyn said, finally entering the conversation.

  Derry laughed. “Which translates into what I said earlier. He had the hots for you.”

  “Can we talk about something else, please? My stomach’s feeling queasy.”

  “Fine,” Derry said. If Shea liked to be made a fool of, let her. “What subject won’t make you queasy?”

  “Maybe we can talk about what we learned on this trip. You know, how we changed, what we hope to focus on when we get back home, stuff like that.”

  “God, now I’m getting queasy,” Derry said, scrunching up her nose.

  “Let’s do it,” Cyn said. “I’ll go first.” She turned to face them and cleared her throat. “I guess what I’ve learned most is to value what I have, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential. And to be happy with that.”

  “Has Tula Rae been talking Buddhist with you?” Derry asked.

  “I just want a second chance.” Cyn squeezed her eyes shut and made a quick sign of the cross. “A do-over,” she whispered, “not the kind that leaves everything behind. I want the kind that starts again from the same place.”

  “Me, too.” Shea said in a quiet voice.

  “I guess that leaves me odd man out,” Derry said. She had a pending divorce and a strange woman claiming to be her sister, waiting for her in Reston. She hadn’t mentioned the sister to Cyn or Shea.

  Did she want to start over in the same place, or did she just want to start over? That was a
question with no answer. Derry squinted against the sun, flipped her sunglasses into place and turned onto the highway.

  Chapter 23

  Randalee Road looked almost the same as it had six weeks ago—lawns splashed with red and orange leaves, sun-dappled roofs, clusters of mums crowding flower beds, all neat and tidy.

  Cyn’s house stretched out in front of them, a tan and brick colonial at the end of a cul-de-sac with a Chinese maple spread out over the lawn and three flower beds. Someone had been watering them, from the looks of the mums.

  “Well, here you are,” Derry said. “Home, sweet home.”

  They’d spent the night in a Motel 8 off Route 220 in Pennsylvania and had gotten up at 5 a.m., grabbed a 7-eleven coffee and muffin, gassed up, and hit the road. Urgency surged through them, like a living, breathing creature, forcing them home.

  Time to say what needed said.

  For Cyn, it was time to tell the truth, all of it.

  “Good luck,” Shea said, rubbing Cyn’s shoulder as they pulled into the driveway. “Just tell him the truth. He’ll understand.”

  “I will. God, I’m so nervous.”

  “He worships you,” Derry said, “even if he picks out dorky birthday gifts.”

  Cyn forced a smile. “Well, here goes.”

  The front door opened and Sam stepped outside. Cyn’s gaze brushed over the tall, lean frame of her husband, clad in khaki’s and a blue polo. His arms and face were darker, his blondish-gray hair lighter. And he definitely looked thinner.

  “Hi, Sam,” Derry yelled at him. “We’re returning your bride.”

  Why did Derry have to say that? And why did Sam hesitate a few seconds before moving toward her? Cyn wiped her hands on her shorts and fixed a smile on her face. Then she opened the car door and stepped outside.

  “Hello, Sam.”

  “Cyn.”

  The deep timbre of his voice still burned a spot low in her belly, even after all these years. They stood less than two feet apart, staring at one another. She moved first, flinging herself at him. She clasped her arms around his waist, buried her head against his chest, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  This was home. Exactly where she wanted to be.

  Sam pulled her close, casually at first, and then with a fierceness that surprised her.

  “I missed you so much,” she murmured into his shirt. “I love you, Sam.”

  He buried his face in her hair and whispered gruffly, “Me, too.”

  “Okay, lovebirds save it for the bedroom.” Derry placed Cyn’s bags on the sidewalk next to Cyn’s feet. She flicked her sunglasses up and smiled at Sam. “Good to see. You’ve got a great wife. Take care of her.” And to Cyn, “Bye girl. It’s been a blast.”

  Cyn eased an arm from around Sam’s waist and hugged Derry. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Sure.”

  “And call me tomorrow. Let me know,” she paused, “about everything.”

  “Yup.” Derry pushed her sunglasses on her face and threw them a quick wave. “See ya.” She hopped into the Navigator, shifted into gear, and flew down the driveway.

  “Crazy woman,” Sam muttered under his breath.

  “It’s just Derry. She means well.”

  “So did Hitler.”

  Cyn lifted a hand and ran her fingers along Sam’s jaw. “I really missed you,” she whispered.

  His gray eyes darkened as he lowered his mouth and kissed her, soft and slow at first, and then with soulful urgency. “Ah, Cyn.”

  “We need to talk, Sam.” She pulled away and forced herself to say, “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s the reason I went away.”

  ***

  Sam watched Cyn fidget with the lemon, attempting to cut thin slices for their lemonade. “Damn!” She yanked her hand back and balled her fingers into a fist.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I cut myself.” She hurried to the sink and turned on the faucet. As she unfolded her fingers, thin streams of red washed over her left forefinger in quick, steady pulses. “Damn.”

  “Here, let me.” Sam shut off the water and slapped a paper towel on her finger, applying pressure. He stared at the faint traces of red oozing through the double-ply cotton. “I should have warned you I just sharpened the knives.”

  She shook her head but avoided his eyes. “No, it’s my fault. I should’ve been more careful.”

  “You’re not going to tell me you’ve hated those knives for twenty years and wished my brother had given us one Cutco instead of twelve pieces of junk?”

  “No.”

  “Look at me, Cyn.” Her eyes mirrored the pain and torment he felt. “It’s time to talk.” He held her hand and led her into the living room where he sank onto the corduroy sofa, pulling her down beside him. He wanted to get this over and done so they could move on with their lives. Would she tell him all of it, about the money and Steve Miller? And if she didn’t, what then?

  Guilt pricked him but he forced his own indiscretions aside. She didn’t need to know about the accident, the girls were fine. As for Rita, nothing happened, certainly nothing bad enough to risk his marriage.

  Cyn pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “Oh, God, I’ve been dreading and hoping for this day for over six months.”

  “Six months?” His heart lurched against his ribcage. Maybe there was more he didn’t know about.

  “I lied to you.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, across her chin, onto her lap. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered in short, choppy breaths.

  Sam braced himself for a truth he didn’t want to hear. “Just tell me.”

  “You know that money we set aside in the credit union for Kiki’s college?”

  He nodded. It was about the money. That he could handle. It was the other he dreaded.

  “Well, I was watching this seminar on TV about day trading one night when you were out of town.” She sucked in a breath and finished, “And I kind of borrowed the money.”

  “You spent Kiki’s college money?”

  “Well, kind of.”

  “Cyn, there is no ‘kind of.’ There’s only yes and no. Which is it?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Jesus.” He dropped her hand and stared at her. “You took your own daughter’s money?”

  “You said it wasn’t that much, Sam, not compared to what we would’ve had if you hadn’t lost your job three years ago.”

  “Don’t put this on me, Cyn. How much did you lose?” Would she tell him the truth or make up another lie?

  “Actually, I didn’t lose.”

  “For God’s sake, stop it.” He tried to keep his voice even but anger seeped through. “I know about the day trading. I found your password and the spreadsheet.”

  “You know?” She sank back against the couch, her eyes narrowing on him in disbelief. “How long?”

  “A few weeks after you left. You lost fifteen hundred dollars on some scheme and you never bothered to tell me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I found the spreadsheet, Cyn. I know what you lost.”

  “What?”

  She had the nerve and quick thinking to look confused. “Come here.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go take a look.” Sam led her to the study and pulled out the computer chair. “Sit.” Cyn sank into the chair while he leaned over and typed in a file name and password. “There,” he said, triumphantly. “A three thousand dollar investment in May and a fifteen hundred dollar loss.”

  He waited for a reaction but she just sat there fixated on the screen. Dried tears streaked her cheeks in pale lines, making her look half sick.

  “Say something,” he demanded when the silence in the room threatened to burst his eardrums.

  “This was the first transaction I ever made,” she said slowly. “But it wasn’t the only one.” She closed the file and brought up another, her fingers moving deftly over the keyboard. “This is the other spreadsheet,” she paused, “the one with the final numbers.”r />
  Sam scanned the bottom line, squinted, and studied the numbers again. “Am I reading that right?” He scratched his head, leaned closer. “Does that say one hundred and fifteen thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in dollars?”

  Cyn nodded, avoiding his gaze. “I guess I have a knack for it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She’d made a ton of money and kept it from him for six months? Why? And then it hit him like a dump truck. “You were going to leave me.”

  “No!” She shot around and the horror on her face told him she was telling the truth.

  “Then why?”

  “I was just trying to find a way to get a little extra money to help us. We were always so strapped and you were so stressed about money for college and yet you didn’t want me to work. I had to find a way to help out. I thought I’d make just a little and that would be it, but I was good at it, really good. And then I didn’t know how to tell you I’d borrowed Kiki’s college fund and how we suddenly had all this extra money. Every day, I kept thinking I’d just earn a little more and then work up the courage to tell you.” She grabbed his hands and said, “Oh, Sam, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to tell you, how many things I wanted to buy you. That set of Callaway clubs you’ve always dreamed of, a new riding lawnmower, a Rolex—”

  “Hey, stop,” he said, brushing the hair from her face. “I don’t need all those things. All I ever wanted was you, Cyn.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m through with day trading. I promise.”

  “What are you talking about?” He leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You’ve got a gift, Cyn. Use it.”

  “Really?”

  “Hell, yes,” he murmured, framing her face with his hands. “Hell, yes.” He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the tantalizing sweetness of her mouth.

  This was what he wanted, all he’d ever wanted. Just Cyn. Nothing and no one else.

  She broke the kiss and searched his face. “There’s something else, Sam.”

  He forced himself to remain calm when every cell in his body wanted to rage. She was going to tell him about Steve Miller.

  “I met a man when I was in Ogunquit.” She swallowed hard, her voice quivering, “His name was Steve Miller and he said he was a photographer.”