Tree Climbing For Beginners

by Joyia Marie

I was proud of my marriage and I worked hard to make it work. I even turned my head when Harold started ‘working late’, much to the distress of the ghost of Grandma Gert. Can I get a second to mourn?

  “What do you mean the kids don’t know?” Raphael asked, staring into my eyes in the mirror.

  I have to state, I have looked better. I wasn’t wearing any makeup and my hair, what there was left of it was covered in the glowing green glop. I don’t know why Raphael’s magic mixture is green and haven’t felt comfortable enough to ask. Knowing Raphael, it’s just food coloring, added to yank his client’s chains.

  “I know Harold has been ‘working late’,” Raphael said with exaggerated air quotes. “But he was coming home. What did the kids say when he moved out?”

  I dropped my eyes and began watching the woman doing my nails. I was getting a lovely fuchsia shade and they looked amazing. My toes were zipping right along as well with a matching coat of paint. I feel pretty, I thought, ignoring the wilder beast currently residing in the mirror.

  Raphael whipped the chair around, startling the Korean women into chattering like angry birds. “What did you do?” he asked in a hiss, his face inches from mine.

  “Harold didn’t leave. I did,” I said in a low voice feeling like a kid in the principal’s office.

  Raphael is fiercely protective of the twins and several times I’ve had to talk him out of a drive by when anyone got sideways or he thought they got sideways with the twins. The counselor in elementary school didn’t know how lucky she was. From the second they were born, they were his kids even more than Harold’s or mine. I think he would have breastfed them if he could.

  “Just listen…” I said, putting my hands out in a soothing motion.

  I had about 15 seconds to talk this angry gay man down off the ledge or the roof as the case may be. Raphael was in the Marines before he decided to embrace his gayness and I think he had sniper training. I have too much to do to spend the next however long, ducking and looking over my shoulder.

  “That’s the kids’ home, that’s where they go to school and their friends are,” I said, giving him the same pitch I had given Mrs. Gunderson. Mrs. Gunderson, I remembered gratefully. I had forgotten Mrs. Gunderson. “And Mrs. Gunderson is there,” I finished with the capper.

  “Hmm,” Raphael said, standing up and crossing his arms. He looked at me for a long moment while he considered. This could go many ways, including Raphael grabbing the twins if he thought Harold and I were botching the job of raising them.

  Mrs. Gunderson would be no help. Raphael did her hair as well, although there wasn’t much to a iron gray bun, so she’d pack their bags and send them out the door if Raphael showed up for them. She’s done it in the past when Raphael took the kids for a sleepover.

  He takes his ‘uncle’ duties seriously and this includes sleepovers and trips to the zoo. I don’t know how much of this is for the kids’ benefit and how much is Raphael loves going to places like that and knows it looks strange for him to be there by himself.

  In today’s society, a single man sans kids in a kid rich environment equals pedophile. Which is stupid, Raphael loves kids and not in a creepy, going to need therapy to get past it, way. He thought pedophiles should be castrated on pay per view and the proceeds sent to their victims. He’d volunteer to go the honors. He takes a bit of a hard line when it comes to people that mess with or mess over kids.

  “Explain,” he said fiercely and I could suddenly see the Marine inside the hairdresser.

  I hurriedly explained the events of the past couple of days while Raphael pinned me to the chair with his dark eyes. I left out the part about Aiden, as I didn’t see how it had any bearing on things but I told him the rest. His face was implacable and I wondered what was going to happen as I stumbled to a stop.

  “Hmmm,” he said again and went back to thinking. The Korean women sat quietly intrigued by the drama. This made me think they understood more English than they claimed, but that was a worry for another time.

  “Mrs. Gunderson stays with the children,” he reiterated. That seemed to be the deciding point. He didn’t appear to have any faith in Harold’s parenting abilities, Jillian was an unknown and now even mine was under suspicion but Mrs. Gunderson was dependable. I nodded and the Korean women looked at me then Raphael.

  “Okay, we’ll see,” he said like a judge passing down the sentence. He turned me around and went back to combing conditioner through my hair. The Korean went back to painting my nails, chattering at each other in their mother tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Helen

  I wasn’t fooled, this was far from over. Raphael said we’ll see, but he meant he’ll see and he would be watching from an up close and personal distance. The first sign of trouble and my kids would be gone. With Raphael’s military training, I might never see my kids again.

  Let me give you a little illustration. A couple of years ago, my mother came up missing on one of her photography gigs. Now, her being out of pocket for weeks on end was nothing new but this was a bit lengthy even by her standards.

  I was freaking out and trying not to freak out when I came to Raphael for a trim. He listened to my tale of woe carefully asking many questions that I was surprised I actually knew the answers to then sent me on my way.

  I didn’t think anything more of it. I was too busy trying to figure out how to retrieve my mother from the bowels of the South American jungle. This was the last known location of Vivian.

  Harold was no help. He was used to Vivian disappearing for weeks and months on end and thought I was freaking out for no reason. For some reason, my explanations that I ‘knew’ something was different this time didn’t seem to sway him.

  I was about to catch a plane to Belize when here comes Raphael with my mother in tow. She was out in the jungle and her guide had gotten bitten by a snake and died. Vivian suffers from geographical dyslexia as well as chronological dyslexia so she had no hope of finding her way back to civilization. I’m surprised she managed to find my house when she gets back stateside. Vivian could get lost inside a cardboard box.

  What I thought was Raphael giving me a shoulder to cry on was actually a Marine gathering intel. After I left, he left, leaving his shop in the capable hands of his assistant Shelia. He got in contact with one of his friends in the Navy Seals and mounted Operation Bring Vivian Home.

  They dropped into the South American jungle and followed my mother’s misguided path from the grave of the unfortunate guide to the hut where she had taken shelter. She was taken in by an indigenous tribe no one knew was out there and came back with some nice shots.

  I tell you this not to just show how awesome Raphael is and he is. There is no one I rather have at my back in a firefight. I told you this to show if he can find someone who ‘disappeared’, he’d have no problem disappearing with my kids.

  I hoped for Harold’s sake, this went well. Raphael at least likes me, and wouldn’t spank my ass too hard if this goes sideways. Harold might not get off so lightly.

  Raphael sent me off with the esthetician for my facial and my defoliating. I might not be the Chia pet of Jillian fame, but I did get my share of unwanted hair. It was a minute since I had tended to the garden so I braced myself for a world of hurt. Waxing is not for the faint of heart.

  Once my spin on the torture wheel was done, the esthetician who doubled as a massage therapist had me lay down for my massage. The massage was the only thing that made the rest of this crap worth it. The mask was congealing on my face and my hair was wrapped in a warm towel while she rubbed me down with almond oil, my favorite.

  After the waxing, I was smooth as a baby’s butt and after this, I would be soft as one too. I would love to have someone to share this smooth softness with and my libido voted for Aiden but this was just for me. It was months since I indulged myself around the same amount of time since Harold started boffing Jillian.

  I stopped all this when he started tipping so as not to send the wrong message. Harold
took my trips to the salon as an invitation for sex. I swear just the smell of almond oil gives him a boner. However, once he started doing Jillian, he would no longer be doing me so I was content to be rough, hairy, and shaggy.

  Right when I reached the state of bliss that only a truly good massage brings, the phone rings. I didn’t hear it as my phone was in my purse in the main room of the salon but Raphael did. He tiptoed in and handed me the phone, whispering ‘Harold’ to stop my panic.

  That’s one of the things they don’t tell you about having kids. Every ringing phone is a potential crisis. The better time you are having when the phone rings the darker place your mind goes when it does. I was having a marvelous time and my complimentary green tea replaced with a lovely glass of white wine.

  So, when Raphael came in telling me my phone was ringing, I instantly thought my kids had been struck by lightning. Or worse, Tonya had said ‘screw you’ all to the adults and run off with her twin to join a cult. Tonya is another one who could vanish without a trace. In addition, her uncle ‘Raffie’ would be just a phone call away to talk her through it if she decided to make a break for it.

  “Hello, Harold,” I said languidly as my massage and wine induced coma resumed now that I knew it wasn’t about my kids. I gave a luxurious groan as the esthetician placed a line of hot stones down my spine before covering me with a large warm towel. I felt like a baby in the womb.

  “Hello,” Harold said cautiously. He paused for a minute and I guess his ‘smart phone’ was smart enough to pick up the relaxing wind chime music in the background and he figured out where I was.

  “You’re in the salon,” he said accusingly. I raised a brow at the tone. He made it sound like I was at an opium den and he caught me between hits on the pipe.

  “Yes, Harold, I am,” I said smoothly, “the last few days have been stressful for me with my marriage breaking up and my husband preferring the charms of a younger woman. Preferring I might add before divorcing his wife, but that’s unimportant. Did you need something, Harold? It’s almost time for me to rinse off this mask.”

  “Maybe if you’d have spent a little more time at the salon, I might not have preferred the charms of another woman,” Harold said nastily. Again, my brow shot up and took its twin with it. Oh, this was a new nasty part of Harold I had never seen. Suspected was there? Yes. Seen? No.

  “Maybe I stopped spending so much time at the salon because I didn’t want you to get confused as to who you should be screwing. One at a time, Harold, you’re only allowed one at a time,” I said calmly, drifting back into my bliss. Harold could kiss my newly soft and smooth ass. There was no way he’d turn this around and make this my fault.

  He sputtered, as he realized his big secret affair wasn’t, and hadn’t been. I waited to drop that bombshell on him. I would have done it when all this started, but I was too busy packing and getting out of dodge. Harold had better be glad he went into paper production because he had no future with the CIA. The twins were better at keeping a secret than he was.

  “Look, I didn’t call to argue with you,” he said when he stopped sputtering, another fallback position when he was losing an argument. “We need to talk, and since you don’t want to do it in person like two reasonable adults,” here he paused, I guess to give me a chance to be reasonable. Nope, not going to happen. I left reasonable behind with his mother’s sensible clothes in the walk in closet at Casa Asshole.

  “I guess we’ll have to do this over the phone,” he said when he figured out his ploy toward reasonableness wasn’t working. “Or maybe I should just run over to the salon and we can do this face to face,” he said slyly.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said silkily. “Raphael isn’t real happy with you right now.” I left out the part where Raphael wasn’t real happy with me either. Thank God for Mrs. Gunderson.

  Harold is a little afraid of Raphael. I’m not sure if it’s the gay thing or the Marine thing, but Raphael makes Harold sweat and not in a sexy, I’ve been working hard kind of way. No, this was a stinky, I’m afraid and want my mommy kind of sweat. Not real attractive, but then again, neither is Harold.

  Harold paused as if trying to figure his odds of talking his way around Raphael. Then he started cursing, I guess figuring the odds correctly. Raphael barely tolerated Harold for my and the twins sakes. With me out of the picture, that only left the twins and Raphael would be happy to take them off Harold’s cold and clammy hands.

  “Okay,” he said with false calmness. “Your little joke has gone on long enough. It’s time for you come home and be a mother to our children.”

  I didn’t say anything. I let my silence speak for itself. How many different ways are there to say, not going to happen?

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I messed up and you need some more time,” Harold said patiently when I refused to speak. “How about you come by tonight and have dinner with us? Like a family.”

  At this point, I started laughing. A family? Really? Harold sounded like he was calling from the opium den and he really needed to lay off the pipe.

  “Harold, I’m not coming back. Not tonight for dinner, not ever. It’s your turn, Harold. Your turn,” I said firmly when I finally stopped laughing.

  “So this is it?” he said sadly like all this crap was my idea. Good grief, what was wrong with this guy?

  “Yeah, I guess so, when you marched your bony ass into our bedroom and announced you were in love with another woman,” I reminded him, “I took as a sign we were through.”

  “Okay, fine, then you at least need to come home for us to talk to the kids,” Harold said slightly desperately.

  I smiled and thought, ‘that’s my girl’. Tonya wasn’t one to suffer fools lightly and Harold putting her off and blowing sunshine up her dress about where mommy was would make him foolish in her opinion. He would have been better off telling her the truth from the git-go but not Harold, the king of a country called avoidance.

  “Talk to the kids about what?” I asked casually. “I talked to the kids earlier and they’re fine.”

  “Oh,” Harold said with a huge sigh of relief, “so you already told the kids about us?”

  “Oh no, not me,” I said, taking massive pleasure in popping that bubble. “That should come from you as this was all your stupid idea. You had an affair. You decided you didn’t want to be married to me anymore, so you get to tell the kids.”

  Harold breathed on the phone so hard and fast he sounded like he was about to pass out. “But I need you, I can’t do this alone. Like you said, they are as much yours as mine, so why do I have to tell them alone?”

  “Harold, it’s like this. My half of the kids wanted their parents to stay together, even though their father is a lying cheating scumbag. But your half feels differently so go see if your half can convince my half that this is the best thing,” I said crisply.

  I wanted to scream so badly but couldn’t. Why? Number one, Raphael wouldn’t like me disturbing the Zen of his salon and number two; I wouldn’t give Harold the satisfaction.

  “Okay, okay. I will and don’t blame me for how this turns out,” Harold said meanly.

  “Just make sure you tell them the truth, Harold. They will come to me for verification and if I hear you tried to blame this crap on me, you are so not going to like what happens next,” I said just as meanly.

  “Look, Harold,’ I said when he didn’t say anything else. He knew I was telling the truth. The kids never believed anything he said. He could tell them the sky is blue and they’d ask me it if that were the truth. I don’t know why, unless it’s because he’s been so absent in their lives. If so, that would change as they bonded as a unit. Or not, either way. “I need to get off here. It’s time to get this gunk off my face and get moving. Lots and lots of things to do,” I said coolly.

  “Wait, wait, before you go. I’ve been looking at the kids’ schedules and there are some things I don’t understand. This car pool thing, how long does it last? My car is not built to h
aul that many kids every day,” Harold said hurriedly before I could hang up.

  “I wish I had thought about that and I would have left the minivan when I was at the house today,” I said thinking I might go change cars the next day.

  I was driving the minivan so long it was habit, but I did still have my baby, a vintage candy apple red convertible Mustang. It’s been languishing in the third bay of the garage. I start it up from time to time and take it out for a spin when I need the wind in my hair, but I haven’t used it as an everyday car since I brought the twins home from the hospital. Yet another thing Harold wanted me to get rid of when we got married.

  “You were in the house today?” Harold said, his voice sounding slightly accusing.

  “Yeah, but not to worry, I just got my stuff,” I said scornfully.

  As if I really wanted any of that reproduction antique furniture, his parents gave us on our tenth anniversary. Real antiques can be somewhat cool. I love the sense of history, but reproduction just shows all the design flaws with none of the charm.

  “About the carpool,” I said really ready to finish this conversation. My mask was well and truly dry and tiny flakes were falling off as I talked. “You have it this week, then another parent has it next week. After this week you won’t have it again for a month.”

  Harold sighed at what I said. I think it was finally starting to sink into his pointed little head that I REALLY wasn’t coming back. So he needed to buck up, buttercup. Time for Mr. Mom to take a turn at the wheel.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Helen

  “Okay,” Harold said suddenly sounding tired, “on the schedule it shows that the kids have art lessons today but it doesn’t show where or when.”

  “Oh, Tuesdays and Thursdays are art lessons with Mrs. Gunderson,” I said lightly.

  “Mrs. Gunderson…”Harold said slowly, as if he was trying to picture the sturdy housekeeper as an art instructor. “Okay, so that’s here?”

  “Yep, so live it up. Once you get the kids from school, you’re home free for the evening,” I said cheerfully, ignoring the huge clump of mask that fell off on the massage table.