by Mary Campisi
Kiki swiped at her eyes and said, “I’d like to start visiting at your house, if that’s okay.”
“That would be wonderful.” Then Cyn smiled and added, “Janie’s going to be a busy girl cleaning her junk out of the spare bedroom.”
“I can help her,” Kiki offered.
“You will?” The offer was a shock and a revelation.
Kiki shrugged. “Sure. What’s family for, right?”
“I think your sister misses you,” Cyn said, picturing Janie wandering around the condo or flicking through TV channels.
“I kind of miss her, too, but don’t tell her.” Kiki sniffed and said, “Mom, I’m the one who told Dad not to tell you about Janie being the one who was driving. He was all ready to tell you, but I said it would only be worse if he did and then Janie might never get her license.” She took a deep breath, blew it out, “He hated lying about it.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“And the other”—she hesitated then went on—“the woman, I know it was wrong but he stopped before anything horrible happened. He walks around the house playing Wind Beneath My Wings when he doesn’t think I’m home. And I caught him holding one of your T-shirts. And I swear to God he sprays your perfume every night before he goes to bed because I smell it. It’s like a piece of him is gone and he doesn’t think he deserves to get it back. Maybe he thinks you don’t need him now that you’ve got all this money and all these things. I mean, we both know he could never buy you that kind of place. Dad buys mixers for your birthday, not pearls and designer clothes. And he’s a little dorky in an absent-minded professor kind of way, and—”
“I love my mixer,” Cyn blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back a fresh flood of tears.
“Then give him another chance, Mom. Please?”
Chapter 31
Trader Jen’s blared with its usual jamboree; screeching toddlers, clanging pots, chatter- saturated booths amidst a bevy of young mothers and older, childless groups.
Cyn, Derry, and Shea sat near the far end of the restaurant in a semi-secluded booth surrounded by terra cotta planters stuffed with peace lilies and three pictures of James Dean.
Cyn had set up lunch, ironic since she hadn’t returned Derry’s or Shea’s phone calls since the afternoon they visited her new condo.
Maybe the news of Shea’s pending divorce was a wake-up call or it could’ve been Derry’s pregnancy. Whatever the catalyst, Cyn sat across from them now decked out in a tailored, white wool dress and a black and white silk scarf, looking like Sophia Loren on Wall Street. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of a napkin, trying hard to maintain her composure.
Shea recognized the early warnings of a major meltdown—fidgety, picking fingers, shifty glances, staccato conversation. It was all there and if she and Derry didn’t dig in and root out the real problem, pronto, then calm, level-headed, Cynthia Cintar would explode into a gazillion pieces like one of those meteors Shea read about in the National Enquirer.
There was no time to lose.
“I’m glad you called us today, Cyn,” Shea said, working her lips into a soft smile. “I needed a day off anyway.”
Cyn shifted in her seat and darted a glance in the direction of Shea’s neck. “Thank you,” she managed. “I do appreciate it.”
“So do we,” Derry said, sipping an iced tea. “We’re thrilled you remembered our phone number.”
“We know you’ve been busy and life’s crazy right now,” Shea said, trying to smooth over Derry’s comment.
Derry wasn’t going to be so easy on Cyn. “Too busy for friends or family from the sounds of things.”
Shea shot Derry a warning but of course, she ignored it. Since announcing her pregnancy, Derry had grown more beautiful. If that were possible. Today she wore a royal blue crew sweater and jeans, a comfortable, unassuming look without designer labels. And her black hair looked shinier, her complexion creamier, her nails longer, her demeanor calmer.
Who would have thought Derry would be the one to get her act together while Shea and Cyn floundered like preschoolers?
“We have been kind of wondering why you never called us back.” Shea said, offering Cyn an easy out. Just say, I was so busy, I lost track of time.
But apparently Cyn didn’t want excuses. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just wanted something for myself, you know?” The tears streamed down her cheeks and she let them fall, unchecked. “I’m good at stocks. I can make money. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Derry said, “money’s good. But take it from a rich girl. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I think she means there are parts of a person’s life that money can’t fix.” Shea laid a hand on Cyn’s cold fingers and smiled.
“Right.” Derry said.
“Like family,” Shea continued.
“And friends,” Derry said matter-of-factly. “Lose either of those and you’ve got nothing.”
Cyn wiped her nose with a napkin and said, “Kiki thinks I’ve abandoned her, and Janie’s sick of shopping and eating out. Who would have thought she’d ever say that? And Sam”—she paused and drew in a deep breath—“I think I’ve ruined the man.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Derry asked.
The words slipped out of Cyn’s mouth like a painful confession. “I don’t know. Isn’t that ironic? I was always the one who could tell you what I’d be doing next week, next month, in five years. And now, the two of you have plans.” She smiled at Derry, “A baby for you and Alec, and Charlie. And God, Shea, you’re moving hundreds of miles away to follow a dream. But me?” She shrugged. “I love the stocks, but the travel and the wining and dining? I hate it.”
“So, don’t do it,” Derry said.
“But the home office has such plans for me.”
“Are they your plans?” Shea asked.
“That’s the hell of it. I don’t know.”
***
The call came at 8:10 a.m. just as Derry kissed Alec good-bye and poured her second cup of decaf coffee. It was Earl Gray: Tula Rae needs you ladies. Quick.
That was it. No amount of prodding could get any more information out of him.
So now here they were on Route 222 just outside Pennsylvania with Derry behind the wheel, Cyn riding shotgun, and Shea peeking out the front window from the backseat.
“I have this feeling she had a stroke,” Shea said in a soft, worried voice. “That’s why she can’t talk. And Earl Gray doesn’t want to tell us. She’s probably in the cardiac unit, all hooked to monitors and IV’s. I wonder if it was a left-sided stroke or right-sided. It matters, you know. If it’s left-sides then—”
“Shea, stop.” Derry eyed her in the rear view mirror. “Nobody said anything about a stroke. Maybe she just misses us and it’s a way to get us there.”
“So, speculating isn’t an option?”
Derry shrugged. “I said maybe, Shea.”
“It does sound suspicious,” Cyn said.
“We’ve gone through this for the last two hundred miles. The only way we’re going to find out is to ask Tula Rae herself.”
“If she can speak,” Shea added.
“I’m sure she can.”
“Do you think Alec will be there when we get in?” Cyn asked.
“Mr. Worry Wort?” Derry smiled as she thought of the map tucked in her pocket highlighting every hospital on their route. Agreeing to take it and check in with him every four hours was the only way she could get him to agree to the trip. And he was flying to Ogunquit to meet Tula Rae himself, so he could personally thank her for her part in salvaging his marriage.
Alec acted like she was going to deliver this baby any minute instead of four months from now. She’d never felt better. And her nails looked great. Fantastic hair and nails for nine months. Not a bad trade off for stretch marks and saggy boobs.
Who was she kidding? She’d shave her head and subject herself to Chinese fingernail torture for this baby.
“Don’t complain,” Shea said. “That man would do anything for you.”
“I guess he would.”
“And Charlie’s so excited about the baby. Who would’ve thought such a thing possible the last time we made this trip?”
That statement pretty much summed up what they were all thinking. Who would have thought Shea would lose her baby, give Richard the boot, stick a For Sale sign in the front yard, shave her hours at Mercy from fifty to ten, and completely eradicate scrubs from her wardrobe? She’d be all right once she got used to the idea of taking care of herself instead of everyone else.
No one would have guessed Cyn would be the one to move out of her house, rent a fancy condo, and contemplate life without a husband. She had all the Coach, Calvin Klein, and Ann Taylor she wanted, but they didn’t make her smile. Nothing much made her smile anymore. At least she’d reconciled with Kiki, who wasn’t such a brat anymore but seemed to be turning into a real person.
And then there was Sam.
He was the key to it all, why couldn’t Cyn just see it? Or did she, and that’s why her face pinched every time Derry talked about Alec. Cyn better wake up soon, or Sam might just get tired of waiting.
“Shea?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really going to move to Ogunquit?” Derry asked.
“If I can convince Marcus to go into business with me, then yes, I am.”
Derry raised a brow and asked, “The same Marcus whose heart you stomped on four months ago?”
Shea’s face burned lobster-pink. “It wasn’t that way. We were just friends.”
“And I’m Abe Lincoln.”
“No, really, Derry. We were just friends.”
“That’s not what it looked like from this angle. Did it, Cyn?”
Cyn turned from the window and the rows of snow-coated pine trees. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Shea muttered. “Derry’s just harassing me, as usual.”
“I’m trying to make you wake up and see you’ve got a hot, young guy after you.”
“Not everyone’s got raging hormone’s like you and your husband.”
That made her laugh. “Marcus has a thing for you. Doesn’t he, Cyn?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Shea said under her breath.
“Actually, I think he does.” Cyn pulled her lips into a faint smile, the first since they left Randalee Road.
“You’re both crazy.” Shea grabbed her pillow from the back and flung it on the seat. “Call me when we get there.” She plunked down on the pillow, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep.
***
Tula Rae hadn’t suffered a stroke. Or a heart attack. Or any other physical ailment.
When they reached The Bird’s Nest, she ran outside in a powder blue parka, her long braid stuffed into a pink stocking cap pulled low over her eyebrows.
“I’ll be danged,” she hollered. “If it ain’t my favorite girls!”
Derry slid out of the Navigator and smothered Tula Rae in a bear hug. “We got here as soon as we could.” Derry eased away and said, “What’s wrong, Tula Rae?”
The older woman threw back her head and let out a guffaw. “Why do people always have to think the worst? Ain’t nothing wrong.”
“Really?” Shea inched in and hugged her. “You do look a little peaked.”
“Peaked, schmeeked,” she mocked. “Tula Rae’s right as rain.” She pounded her chest with scrawny fists. “Fit as a fiddle.”
“It’s good to see you, Tula Rae.” Cyn hung back letting Derry and Shea crowd around their friend.
But Tula Rae wanted none of it. “Come here, Missy.” She latched onto Cyn like a koala, pressing her down-clad body against Cyn’s. “You’re having a tough time, aren’t you girl?” she whispered into Cyn’s ear. When Cyn nodded, Tula Rae squeezed her tight. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“So, are you going to tell us why Earl Gray scared us half to death, or do we have to ask him?”
Tula Rae waved an arm in the air. “Psshhhh. He don’t know nothing.” She paused and tapped a finger against her pointy chin. “Hmmm. Unless…” Her dark eyes shimmered. “Unless he’s talking about...”
“Tula Rae, for heaven’s sake, what?” Shea demanded.
“The wedding.”
“Who’s wedding?” Derry asked.
Tula Rae lifted her shoulders and said, “Mine, I guess.”
The next two hours flipped between hysterical laughter and outright disbelief. Tula Rae had sworn she’d never marry again, and now here she was, planning her wedding menu.
They sat at the kitchen table devouring beef stew and chunks of Tuscany bread dipped in olive oil and garlic. Tula Rae dished out more stew for Earl Gray and handed it to him. “We been arguing about the menu,” she said, sliding a smile at Earl Gray. “I want a little Chinese, a little Italian, less German, a pinch of Mexican, and some downright good Southern grits and fried chicken.” She snorted and pointed to her prospective husband. “Earl Gray says you can’t cross over like that.”
“That’s right,” Earl Gray said in his soft voice. “That’s what I said.”
“Hah! We’re a crossover, Earl Gray, can’t you see that? White and black, how’s that not a crossover?” She pressed her skinny arm against his large one. Even with months of sun, Tula Rae’s skin was several shades lighter than Earl Gray’s. “No crossover, hmmmph.”
“Tula Rae,” he said with calm patience, “I’ve told you before, it’s not about the crossover, it’s the time and effort involved. It’d be much easier to just have Chinese, or Indian, or Italian. But just one thing.”
“Dang it!” she spat out. “It’s my wedding and if I want fifteen crossovers, then dang it, I’m having them!” She threw her napkin on the table and stood. “And I ain’t having no mess in the kitchen, less I’m the one making it.” Her dark eyes scanned the round table. “Excuse me, girls, my appetite’s plumb skipped out on me.” With that, she pushed her chair aside and sashayed out of the room.
Cyn and Shea snuck a glance at Derry who shrugged and said to Earl Gray, “I guess Tula Rae’s having crossovers.”
Earl Gray’s broad shoulders slumped and he stared into his stew bowl. “I guess so,” was all he said. When he looked up seconds later, his eyes were wet. “I love Tula Rae, but that’s not why she agreed to marry me.”
Shea covered his dark hand with her own pale one. “What’s going on, Earl Gray?”
“It’s the only way I can protect her,” he croaked.
“What are you talking about?” Derry leaned in closer to Earl Gray and whispered, “Is she sick?”
“She passed out in the back yard last week. I found her when I got back from hauling wood.” His voice cracked as he said, “I thought I lost her. I can still see her, face down in the lettuce patch.”
“What did the doctor say?” Shea asked.
“You mean after she cussed me out like a man for making her go see him? Doc said it sounded like some kind of blockage.”
“Have they done any procedures yet?” This from Shea again.
“Angioplasty. That’s where—” He stopped and attempted a smile at Shea. “Well, you know what it is.”
“She’ll be okay, Earl Gray. You caught it in time,” Shea said.
He rubbed his eyes and said, “When I carried her into the emergency room, they wouldn’t tell me anything, said I wasn’t next of kin. That’s when I knew we had to get married or I had to leave her because I couldn’t protect her if something happened again.”
Chapter 32
At first, she refused to talk about the angioplasty except to say, “Doc said the angie plasty opened my arteries, but I can’t have no more fat backs and green beans nor nothing like that.” She adjusted the canary scarf tied around her little pot belly and sank cross-legged on the floor in the living room. “Enough about that. I want to talk about living, not dying. That’s why I wanted you girls to come.”
Derry lay spread out on the floor with her
head resting on a fuchsia pillow. Shea sat next to Tula Rae, mimicking her cross-legged pose, and Cyn slouched beside Derry. It was almost midnight, and Earl Gray had gone to bed hours ago. Tula Rae laughed and said he probably wanted to enjoy his last few hours as a single man.
They all knew better.
“We’re not sitting here all night squawking about what is and isn’t. Got it?” She waited for each one to nod before she continued. “I been keeping an eye on you girls and, frankly, there’s some things need fixing. Oh, no, don’t you look away, Cyn. You know for sure I’m talking about you, don’t you?”
“I know.” The words spilled out like a moan.
“Okay, then. All’s you got to ask yourself, is do you love him or not?”
“I love him.” She’d never loved any man but Sam.
“Then why in the be-Jesus ain’t you with him? You want to cuddle at night with them fancy pieces of furniture you keep buying?”
Cyn shook her head. What had started out as angry self-righteousness had turned into confused awkwardness. She wanted to snatch pieces of her new life and plunk them in her old life. A do-over of sorts. If only she could close her eyes, spin around three times and end up back in her old kitchen, mixing a batch of chocolate oatmeal cookies and discussing dollar cost averaging on her new cell phone with her latest client.
Maybe she could have slices of both lives.
“People make mistakes.” Tula Rae jabbed at her chest. “I’m a big one for that, but the real mistake is not being big enough to admit it and fix it.”
“I know.” Cyn’s eyes misted as she fingered the diamond studs Sam had given her for Christmas. They were half carat, beautiful, and easily several months’ salary. It had been a gift of desperation, not love, and she hated herself for driving him to it.
“So go to your man and tell him you love him. And for the Lord Almighty’s sake, get back into bed with him.”
“I will.” Cyn sniffed, her path suddenly illuminated by Tula Rae’s backwoods philosophizing. She needed to call Sam tonight, needed to tell him she loved him, and that she was coming home.
“Got it?” Tula Rae screwed up her tanned face and waited.