It’s time for a reconciliation, she thought. Before he left for work this morning, Elizabeth decided she would prepare Timothy’s favorite breakfast—French toast with cinnamon—as a peace offering. Then she’d promise to rededicate herself to being a full-time mother.
It wouldn’t be so bad. Some of the members of her Mommy Time group were avid scrapbooking fans. Maybe Elizabeth could crop and paste her way to contentment. Or she could take a greater interest in home decor. The local community college had recently advertised a continuing education course on feng shui that sounded interesting.
Her eyes watered as she yawned and stretched her arms. She wanted to catch another hour of sleep before Glenda began her early-morning babbling. Elizabeth pulled a mohair throw over her bare legs and was reaching for the lamp switch when she heard the creak of the floorboards in the hallway.
Timothy stood in the threshold of the living room wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. His features, which had been all sharp, angry angles for the last two days, now looked soft and muted by sleep.
“Do I smell popcorn?” He swept his hand through a chaos of dark curls.
“There’s plenty left.” Elizabeth indicated the earthenware bowl on the coffee table. Her husband sat beside her and balanced it on his knees. Elizabeth surrendered a portion of the throw and tucked it around his legs.
“Tastes good,” Timothy said, as he reached for a handful of popcorn. Several pieces escaped his grip and tumbled to the carpet.
Elizabeth bent down to retrieve the errant popcorn, but Timothy caught her hand and said, “Don’t worry about it. Maybelline will find it in the morning.”
He continued to hold her hand, squeezing it at odd intervals while he munched on popcorn.
“I was thinking,” Timothy said, in a voice still thick with sleep. “Maybe you should try going back to your job. We could see how it works out.”
Elizabeth pulled herself up to a sitting position.
“Are you sure?”
“No,” Timothy said softly. “But I know I can’t live through another day of silence.”
“Oh honey!” she squealed. Suddenly she felt wide awake. “It’s just part-time. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
He continued to chew his popcorn. “I hope so.”
Later in the morning, after Timothy had showered and was seated at the breakfast nook and Glenda was banging a rattle against the tray of her high chair, Elizabeth placed a plate of French toast in front of her husband.
“I thought I’d visit daycare centers in Augusta today. Get a feel for what’s out there,” Elizabeth said.
“Why Augusta?” Timothy cut a piece of toast with his fork. “Why not Cayboo Creek?”
“There’s more choices there, and I’d feel better if Glenda’s daycare was close to the paper cup plant. In case anything happens.”
“What would happen?” Timothy’s fork stopped in midair.
“Nothing!” Elizabeth said. “It’s just comforting to be nearby.”
Timothy shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap. “I’ll go with you. I want to check out these places for myself. Ferrell can handle things at the Bait Box.”
Reluctant to cart Glenda all over town, the couple arranged to drop her off at Great-grandma Tobias’s house. When they rang the bell, Mrs. Tobias opened the door wearing a red cashmere sweater and a pair of freshly pressed blue jeans.
“I’ve never seen you wear blue jeans before,” Elizabeth said. “What are you doing? Cleaning out the basement?”
“No, I’m just sampling a new look,” Mrs. Tobias said as she took Glenda from Elizabeth’s arms. “Don’t look so shocked. They’re Ann Taylor, not Old Navy.”
“You look like a teenager,” Timothy said.
“You old flatterer.” Mrs. Tobias kissed both of them on the cheek. “Don’t forget to be back by five. I’ve got an engagement this evening.”
“Garden club meeting? Bridge game?” Elizabeth said, handing her Glenda’s diaper bag.
“Something like that,” Mrs. Tobias said with a carefree laugh.
“What was up with her?” Timothy said later, as they pulled out of his grandmother’s driveway. “She seemed kind of giddy. You don’t suppose she’s been nipping at the sherry.”
Elizabeth’s nose was in the telephone book, reading over the daycare listings. “Who knows? Maybe she’s just letting her hair down for a change.”
Elizabeth stood in front of an institutional brick building with a merry string of multicolored paper dolls hung over the entrance. “Lads and Lasses Child Care. That’s a cute name.” She pushed opened the glass door and was assaulted by the collective shrieks of at least a dozen children, as well as the stench of dirty diapers.
“It sounds kind of hectic in there. Maybe they’re having a bad day.” Elizabeth whirled around. “What’s next on the list?”
“Why are those kids screaming?” asked Timothy, who was inching up the steps outside. “What are they doing to them?”
“It’s probably close to naptime. Let’s move on,” she said, hustling him along so he wouldn’t get a whiff of the place. “We have at least ten more to visit.”
The morning wore on, and none of the centers seemed any more promising than Lads and Lasses. A facility called Kinder Corral had rows of grim-faced tots pasting dry macaroni to cardboard while a German-accented teacher named Dagmar paced in front of them, issuing orders in a staccato voice.
After Kinder Corral, they visited a day care called Little Sprouts. Unfortunately, the facility lived up to its name. The building smelled damp, and Elizabeth saw a colony of mildew climbing up the wall in the hallway. Elizabeth and Timothy exited before the tousled-haired director, wearing a stained teddy-bear smock, could approach them.
Kid Kingdom seemed promising from the street. The building looked like a tiny castle and the banner stretched across the facade read “We treat children like royalty.” The infant room, however, was a scene straight out of a Romanian orphanage. Two frazzled employees were trying to care for ten squalling babies.
“You’ve caught us short-handed,” said an exhausted-looking woman who was juggling three babies on her lap. “One of our teachers is out with the flu.”
“They treat kids like royalty all right,” Timothy said after they’d returned to his truck. “Like the peasants treated Marie Antoinette.”
“There’s only one place left on our list,” Elizabeth said, a note of panic in her voice.
Posh Playcare resembled a miniature Georgian mansion on the outside, with classical-style columns and ornate roof balustrades. Timothy and Elizabeth strolled along the stone walkway that cut through a large swath of neatly trimmed rye grass. They entered the building and took in the black-and-white tiled foyer, the high ceilings, and the elaborate moldings along the walls. Timothy let out a low whistle. “Pretty fancy for a childcare center.”
“Actually, Posh Playcare is a child development center.” A thin woman, who’d been seated behind a row of security monitors, stood up.
“I’m Cynthia Dare, the headmistress.” She approached them and extended her hand. “‘Care’ is much too minimal a term for what we do here at Posh Playcare. If you sent your youngster to Harvard, you wouldn’t call it student care, now would you?”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth said as she introduced Timothy and herself. She approved of the woman’s gray wool suit and her calm, composed manner.
“Would you care for a tour?” Ms. Dare asked.
“Absolutely.”
Elizabeth gave Timothy’s hand an excited little squeeze.
“We’re very proud of our facility,” Ms. Dare said, striding down the hall in a sleek pair of designer shoes. “To your right is the bibliothèque. We boast a healthy five thousand volumes.”
“Bibliothèque?” Timothy asked.
“Library,” Ms. Dare said with
a toss of her Veronica Lake hairstyle. “Next door is our state-of-the-art computer center and foreign-language lab. Shall we have a peek?”
“Ms. Dare,” Timothy said, “our daughter is only ten months old.”
“Which is the ideal age to learn conversational Mandarin,” Ms. Dare said.
“Maybe,” Timothy said. “If we could just see the baby room...”
“Ah, the Petite Suite!” Ms. Dare clapped her hands together. “It’s our crown jewel at Posh Playcare.”
They followed her down a hallway covered with Berber carpeting and decorated with a row of framed Impressionist prints. Elizabeth eagerly sniffed the air.
“What’s that heavenly smell?”
“Lunchtime,” Ms. Dare said. “Chef is preparing coq au vin today.”
The headmistress stood outside the classroom, which had a pink elephant cutout on the door. “Here we are. Baby Nirvana!”
She opened the door to a room awash with sunlight. The sounds of a Mozart symphony played softly in the background as two pink-cheeked babies gamboled happily on a plush ABC rug. An attendant, wearing a starched white uniform, scooped up a giggling little girl in a pink onesie and carried her to the window.
“See the cardinal. Look at the red cardinal,” the attendant crooned. A feeder and bath had been positioned outside the window, and several varieties of birds were splashing in the water or nibbling on suet.
Elizabeth noticed a row of wooden cribs with blue-and-white toile bedding and shelves filled with cloth books, stuffed animals, and other new toys. An armoire, hand-painted with plump, wooly lambs, held stacks of clean diapers, powders, and lotions.
“It’s gorgeous,” Elizabeth said.
“You’re in luck,” Ms. Dare said. “We have one opening. We keep our ratios at one teacher for every three babies. Young children need constant attention and nurturing, and they get it here in the Petite Suite. Not to mention a full curriculum.”
“Curriculum?” Timothy said with a sharp laugh. “What? In teething skills?”
“You’re very droll, Mr. Hollingsworth,” Ms. Dare said. “Here at Posh Playcare we keep up with the latest studies in infant development and adjust our program accordingly. With our youngest charges, we concentrate on creative movement, eye-hand coordination, vocabulary development and, our parents’ favorite, restroom readiness. We’re quite comprehensive.”
“I love it here, Timothy,” Elizabeth said, her eyes shining. “Where do we sign up?”
“You’ve not seen the solarium or the mini water park,” Ms. Dare said.
“I’ve seen enough to know that my daughter belongs here,” Elizabeth gushed.
A few minutes later, as they sat in Ms. Dare’s office, she pushed a brochure across her massive cherry desk.
“I’ve circled the weekly tuition amount,” Ms. Dare said. “The application, supply, and athletics fee are separate, naturally.”
“Athletics fee?” Timothy said.
“The babies utilize a fully equipped gymboree,” Ms. Dare explained.
Elizabeth studied the brochure and sucked in her breath.
“This figure can’t be right. Glenda wouldn’t be enrolled full-time.”
“Exactly,” Ms. Dare said. “I circled the correct amount for half-time enrollment.”
Timothy peered over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Elizabeth, this is more than your salary!”
“So it is,” Elizabeth said with a jittery laugh. She glanced back at the brochure. “I don’t suppose scholarships are available?”
“I’m afraid not.” Ms. Dare drummed her manicured nails on the glossy desk while Elizabeth glanced at Timothy.
“I guess we’ll have to discuss this at home,” she said.
“Fine.” The headmistress sprang up from her chair. “Keep in mind that openings in the Petite Suite are snapped up very quickly.”
Timothy and Elizabeth made the ride to Great-grandma Tobias’s house in silence. After they retrieved Glenda, they drove back to Cayboo Creek. Elizabeth kept her face turned to the window as she doodled circles in the condensation on the glass.
“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, Elizabeth,” Timothy said finally. “How could we justify the expense of that place?”
Elizabeth thumped her back against the passenger seat in frustration. “But it’s the only place we liked.”
“Who can afford that kind of money for child care?” Timothy shook his head. “It’s crazy.”
“We should think of the tuition fees at Posh Playcare as an investment in Glenda’s educational future,” Elizabeth said. “She’s certainly not going to pick up conversational Mandarin from me.”
Timothy jerked the gearshift into park after he pulled into their garage. “Glenda’s not even a year old. She needs her mother much more than she needs Mandarin. I don’t understand why you can’t see that.”
“And I don’t understand why you can’t see that I’m going crazy being cooped up with a baby all day long.”
He turned off the engine and sighed. “We can’t afford Posh Playcare, and all the other places we visited were terrible. I think we’re running out of options here, sweetie.”
Elizabeth didn’t respond and instead kept squeaking her finger against the window.
“It’s only five years of your life, Elizabeth, just until Glenda starts kindergarten,” Timothy said. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Elizabeth turned to him. Long streaks of mascara striped her cheeks. “Just five years, you say. I don’t know if I can last five weeks.”
Thirteen
When Blondes have more fun, do they know it?
~ Sign outside the Dazzling Do’s
Mrs. Tobias twitched her hips and snapped her fingers to the song “California Dreaming” as it played on the stereo in her bedroom.
“All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray,” she sang in a soprano voice. She parted her brocade curtains for a peek at the weather outside. The bare tree branches in her yard looked stark against a sky heavy with low-bellied clouds.
The day was indeed gray and dreary, but Mrs. Tobias’s mood didn’t match the season. She felt as sunny as a Palm Beach summer.
Her phone jangled on its stand, and she dropped the curtains and hastened to answer it.
“How’s the most fascinating woman south of the Mason-Dixon line?” rumbled a male voice.
“Rusty! You’re such a character.” She dropped down onto the cushioned stool of her dressing table.
“Is that the Mamas and the Papas I hear in the background?” he asked.
“It is. I fear you’re wearing off on me.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?”
“I’m beginning to think it’s a grand thing.” She removed the stopper from a crystal perfume bottle on her vanity and dabbed a drop of Joy behind each ear.
“I’m tickled to hear that,” Rusty said. “So, can I pick you up at the usual time?”
“I’ll be waiting,” Mrs. Tobias said. She paused. “Any hints on the nature of our outing?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Rusty said in a teasing voice. “Why don’t you slip into that cute pair of jeans you wore on our last date?”
Mrs. Tobias hung up the phone, laughing. No telling what kind of plans Rusty was brewing up. Last week they’d gone roller-skating, two nights ago they’d noshed on Thai food, and last night they’d floated along the moonlit canal in a canoe.
Mrs. Tobias’s mind drifted back to their very first date at the Chat ‘N’ Chew. As she sat across from Rusty at the scratched Formica table, he’d instantly put her at ease. It turned out he’d read To Kill a Mockingbird almost as many times as she, and they’d enjoyed a lively discussion of their favorite characters and scenes.
From their conversation, Mrs. Tobias discovered that Rusty was a study in contradictions. With his l
eather bomber jacket and faint razor stubble, he was one of the most rugged-looking men she had ever seen. Yet that afternoon at the diner, he’d admitted to a weakness for baking and claimed to take enormous pride in the flakiness of his piecrusts.
He also relished sixties music. The CD playing on her stereo was borrowed from his collection. Ever since they’d met, he’d been gently trying to indoctrinate her in his musical tastes. She’d turned up her nose at Jimi Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane, but enjoyed the upbeat sound of The Mamas and the Papas.
And while she didn’t share his fervor for all flower-power music, she discovered they both adored opera, Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies, and barbecue.
“I really must go,” Mrs. Tobias had said that very first afternoon after she looked at her watch and discovered she’d been at the Chat ‘N’ Chew with Rusty for nearly three hours. It felt more like three minutes.
“Do you have to?” His dark eyes clouded over with disappointment.
“I almost forgot.” Mrs. Tobias sorted through the contents of her handbag and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “The poem you left in the library book. You must love this Hap very much. Is he your grandchild?”
“No.” His jaw tightened. “Hap’s my dog. He ran away about a week ago.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Tobias put down her handbag. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ve had him fifteen years, since he was weaned from his mama. Hap’s always had some wanderlust in him.” A tear grazed his cheek but he made no move to wipe it away. “But he’s never stayed gone this long before. I’m afraid something’s happened to him. He’s not a pup anymore.”
Mrs. Tobias had never seen a man cry before, and certainly not over a dog. All the other men she’d known in her life were stoic in the face of tragedy. When their daughter Lily died in a car accident over twenty-five years ago, her late husband’s eyes had remained dry. At the time, she’d respected Harrison’s control over his emotions since she’d been brought up to believe that men who openly wept were weak.
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