by Nancy Moser
“I know that. I’ve had my chances.”
“Hmm.” June sat back, leaving Gladys’s hand dangling.
“Quit looking at me that way,” Gladys said. “I’m a big girl, three times past the age of consent. If I’d wanted the spouse-kids-picket-fence thing I would have made it happen. I didn’t. I’m perfectly content.”
“Glad to hear it.” June’s face did not reflect her words.
“I’m serious.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
Gladys watched June look around the tiny room that was all that was left of two lives—now down to one. “I don’t want you to have regrets,” June said. “Your mother and I have been very happy all these years. She’s the best sister a woman could have. But I’d be lying if I said we didn’t have regrets. Twenty years more than you.” She looked at Gladys. “It’s never too late, you know.”
Gladys snickered.
“I’ll admit for some things, there is a time limit.” June leaned forward again, pointing a finger. “But in other things—like love—time’s not an issue. Unless you waste it. And from what I see coming out of King’s eyes when he looks at you, from the muscles in his hands twitching when he wants to touch you . . .”
“Oh please . . .”
June flipped a hand in the air. “Go ahead. Ignore me. Ignore the wisdom of my years. Ignore what your mother wanted for you.”
“My mother never met King.”
“But she wanted you to be happy. And I’m telling you, that man is aching to make you happy.”
“But I’m going blind.”
“Not if you do something about it. Which you will. Today. You’re going to call the doctor and get your name on that transplant list.”
“I am?”
“You are. No arguing. You are going to do what you have to do. So there’s that excuse washed down the dirty drain. You’ll get your sight back fresh and new. And you’ll be happy with a man who loves you.”
“You’ve got it all figured out for me, don’t you?”
“You betcha.”
“Perfect sight, and the perfect man.”
“I think you’d settle for better sight and a good man. ’Cuz he’s not perfect, you know.”
Gladys put a hand to her chest in mock surprise. “He’s not?”
Aunt June aimed a finger at her. “Maybe that’s your problem: waiting for perfect. If that’s the case, you’d better give up, because that ain’t ever going to happen.”
“I’m not waiting for anything. It’s just that I don’t want—”
June stood, teetering a bit at the effort. Gladys held out her hand to steady her, but June shooed her away. “Go on! Get outta here. I’ve done all I can, and if you insist on being a total nudzh . . . you always were a stubborn thing, but I never thought you were stupid.”
Gladys didn’t want to part like this. “June, I’ve listened. I have, but—”
June pushed her toward the door. “But nothing. Go on. Thanks for coming. Keep in touch. But don’t be surprised when that wonderful man out there finds someone else—’cause he will. Good ones like that need to share their love. Unlike some people.”
Gladys was out in the hall. “But—”
June shut the door in her face.
* * *
King leaned against the rental car, but stood up straight when Gladys came out of the retirement home. His expression turned to concern and he took a step toward her. “Are you all right?”
With a quick move she fended off his touch—his touch that had gained new meaning, if June was right. “I just want to get home.”
“Your wish is my command.”
He opened the door and helped her in. The gentleman. Always the gentleman willing to do anything to help. To please her. To love her?
He went around to the driver’s side and got in.
King was in love with her? It was absurd. They were business partners. Period. They rarely saw each other because they often worked opposite shifts—except for King’s recent habit of coming in early before his shift started.
It was an act of polite attention and concern for the business. Surely not love.
Why not love?
She looked at him as he drove. He looked back and smiled in a gentle way. He was a handsome man. Not a hunk, as the kids would say nowadays, but Jimmy Stewart handsome. And certainly Jimmy Stewart charming. And nice. A good guy . . .
Who could not be interested in a woman her age. June was leading her astray, caught up in memories and regrets of her own, and seeing things where there was nothing to see.
“I like your aunt,” King said.
“She likes you too.”
“She’s feisty . . . a character.”
“Correct on both accounts.”
He turned onto the on-ramp for the interstate that would take them to the airport. “I called the store,” King said. “Bernice says everything is going great. Margery has really stepped up to the plate.”
“Good, good.” Business talk.
They shared a business connection.
That was it.
* * *
After leaving the comfort of Nesto’s lap, after leaving Tomás off at day care, Talia was in overdrive, not thinking about tasks but coasting through them, just assuming she was on the right road and going the speed limit.
Her thoughts of Nesto—of death, of pain, of loneliness—were obstacles as real as rocks and rain, and it took all her power—such as it was—to not end up in the ditch. Somehow she got to work safely. Somehow she made one minute move into the next.
“I love you, meu amor.” Her husband’s simple declaration was a mantra underlying every other thought. He did love her. She knew it with her entire being. And she loved him. Yet recently she’d felt herself pulling away, preparing herself for the worst, protecting herself. Loving him too much would hurt too much. Would she be able to bear it? She’d have to, for Tomás and for the baby. Yet how could she?
Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.
She nodded at the Bible verse she’d heard many times, knowing it was true, yet not being able to let go.
Let go and let God.
She leaned her elbows on her desk and covered her face with her hands. If she was having trouble handling the thought of being without Nesto how could she ever hope to handle the reality of it?
Suddenly, she felt a touch on the back of her neck. She turned around.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Wade asked.
She couldn’t even say anything, but found her head shaking no, no, no, no.
“Is it Nesto?”
At her nod, he helped her to her feet and led her into his office. With one swift movement, he pulled her into his arms. Even as she thought no she found herself resting her head against his shoulder.
“There, there,” he said. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. So sorry.”
“I love him so much,” she said into Wade’s suit coat.
He put a hand to the back of her head. “I know. I know.”
It felt so good to be held.
* * *
Angie stopped as soon as she entered her daughter’s office with the list of florists. There, straight ahead, in plain sight in Wade’s adjoining office, was her daughter in her boss’s arms. Closer than close. She watched a moment longer, long enough to see Wade’s lips graze Talia’s hair.
She’d seen enough. Talia could deny the attraction all she wanted. Seeing was believing.
* * *
Talia carefully ran a tissue under her bottom lashes after telling Wade there could be nothing between them. “Thank you for being so understanding, Wade. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on. I don’t like being a needy woman, and I really appreciate your friendship. But . . .”
“And I yours. I’m just sorry . . .” He didn’t need to fill in the blanks, and she was glad when he moved back to his desk, creating the p
roper distance between them. A part of her hated to see him go. But it was for the best. She’d been teasing the edge of impropriety too long. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and moreover, it wasn’t right. After he’d comforted her she’d told him so. It was something she should have done the first time they’d had contact beyond the norm.
In truth she’d welcomed his attention. Wade was a handsome man by any standards. He obviously thought she was an attractive women—even in her very pregnant state—and he’d offered a few lingering looks and special smiles. Who wouldn’t react to such interest?
Talia was human. She was vulnerable. But she was also going to do the right thing. Up until now she’d been playing a game. She’d allowed herself to play what-if? with her boss. Sure, the thoughts had only been fleeting. But they had existed. What if they could be together? What if she didn’t have a sick husband? What if she sought a little pleasure? Was that so bad?
No. But it wasn’t good either.
And it wasn’t real. Running away from what was real was cowardly—and of no use.
So now it was time. Time to live in the here and now, accept what was, and deal with it. Be at peace with as many people as possible but not let anyone—anyone—drag her down.
“I’m leaving for my doctor’s appointment now,” Talia told Wade. “If that’s all right?”
He pulled a file front and center and didn’t even look up. “See you tomorrow.”
Talia would have liked a more personable ending to the conversation, but she realized the time of dipping into the what-if world was indeed gone.
So be it.
* * *
“Boon!”
Tomás pointed to the pink “It’s a Girl” balloon bobbing in the front seat of the car. “Balloon, that’s right, sweetie. Isn’t it pretty?”
Talia checked the cake on the seat next to her. Through the cellophane on the top of the box she could see the pink writing: It’s a Girl! There would certainly be a celebration at the Soza house tonight.
Talia had publicly said she didn’t care if the baby was a boy or a girl—adding the trite though true line, “As long as it’s healthy.” But during the ultrasound when the doctor had told her, “Looks like you have yourself a little girl here,” she’d felt a surge of happiness that rivaled her joy at Tomás’s birth. A boy and a girl. Perfection.
She pulled into their driveway and decided to take Tomás in first. Nesto was not in his recliner. “Nesto?”
No answer.
She set Tomás down by his toys and went to the kitchen. He wasn’t there either. She ran toward the stairway. “Nesto?”
No answer.
She raced up the stairs, past Tomás’s empty room, to the master bedroom. He wasn’t in bed. Her thoughts sped to an emergency. Had he called 911? Had they come and taken him to the hos—?
She heard the toilet flush. Moments later, Nesto came out of the master bathroom. “Oh, hi,” he said.
Oh, hi? Talia put a hand to her chest, calming her heart. “I couldn’t find you.”
“I was—” he looked toward the bathroom—“busy.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He came close and kissed her. “So? You have news?”
This wasn’t how she’d played it out in her mind. She’d find him in his recliner, set Tomás on the floor close by, then bring in the balloon and cake in a triumphant show.
“Mama?” It was Tomás’s where-are-you? tone.
“I’ll be right there, sweetie,” she called. “Let’s go downstairs.”
“Tell me here,” Nesto said.
“No. Come downstairs.”
“It’s good news?”
What? “Yes,” she said, taking his arm. “It’s very good news.” She whispered in his ear, “We’re having a baby.”
“Ha-ha. Funny.”
“Be patient. Let me do this the way I want to do it.”
She helped him down the stairs. Tomás met them on the bottom step, reaching up for his papa. “Wait till Papa gets seated, little one.”
Once Nesto was in his recliner with Tomás on his lap, Talia went out to the car. She removed the cake from the box, licking a bit of frosting off the edge of her hand. She went up the front walk, the balloon flowing behind her. She paused at the door. “Are you ready?”
“Ready!” Nesto said.
She made a grand entrance, just as she’d planned. “Surprise! It’s a girl!”
Nesto’s eyes lit up—and teared up. “Uma menina. Uma menina pequeña.”
Talia set the cake on the coffee table and knelt beside her husband’s recliner for the second time that day. “Yes. A girl. A little girl,” she whispered.
They kissed each other, then Tomás.
“Boon!”
Talia tied the balloon around his little wrist. He got off his papa’s lap and marched around the room, the balloon dancing with the motion.
Talia slid her arms around her husband’s neck. “Are you happy?”
He nodded. “I can see her. She has bonito skin like her mama.”
“And big brown eyes like her papa.”
“Arcelia,” Nesto said.
Talia sat up. “That isn’t one of the names we’ve been thinking about.”
He shrugged. “It means treasure. She’s our treasure for the future.”
Arcelia.
Yes, indeed, Talia had much to treasure.
* * *
Make the frosting for the cake, sweep the front porch, have water ready for hot tea . . .
After spending the day at work, Margery entered Gladys’s house going over her mental to-do list. If Gladys’s flight was on time it had already landed. She would be home any minute and Margery wanted things perfect.
She hung her coat in the front closet and paused to retrieve a few stray gloves that had fallen from the shelf to the floor.
There was a knock on the door, startling her. Disappointing her. She hadn’t even started on her list. But as she put her hand on the doorknob she had an odd thought, even as she swung the door wide: Why would Gladys knock? But the completion of the movement beat the completion of the thought, and—
“Mick!”
He pushed his way past her, taking possession of the living room in a few steps. He did a three-sixty, his eyes taking everything in. “Nice digs. How’d you manage this?”
“How’d you find me?”
He nabbed a crystal shamrock from the mantel, turning it over in his hands. “I followed you from work.”
She realized she still had the front door open. She opened it farther. “You need to go.”
He put the shamrock down, sat on the couch with a bounce. “Not bad. You sleeping with the guy?”
“What?”
“To live here. He’s not making you pay rent, is he? Because you could barter. If you were smart, you’d barter.”
Margery was repulsed. For him to think . . . to suggest, as if it were no big deal . . . The door was still open. Cold air flowed in. Obviously he wasn’t going anywhere until he was ready. She closed it, but didn’t move closer. “What do you want, Mick?”
He patted the cushion beside him. “Come sit by me.”
She shook her head.
“Come on. I forgive you for whatever you’ve had to do to get here, but I need you now. I want you back.”
She thought of his fling with the floozy on the couch. Their couch. “No you don’t.”
He didn’t do a very good version of stricken. “Of course I do. Why would you doubt me?”
She wanted to mention the other woman and shove it in his face, but that would stir things up and take time. Gladys was on her way home. Margery made speed her priority. “I’m not ready to come back yet, Mick. But maybe. Soon.”
He grabbed a pillow with one hand and heaved it at her, hitting her chest. “You think this is better? You think this guy is going to keep you around? You’re not that good, Marg.”
Her breathing turned heavy. She needed him out. Now. And she wouldn’t go ba
ck to him. A few days ago she might have, but after her promise to Gladys and after experiencing what normal felt like . . .
Everything had changed, and more would change—in a bad way—if she didn’t find a way to get rid of him.
“How’s your trial going?” Making him mad was a risk, but he’d stormed out often enough. Maybe—just maybe—he’d do it now.
But instead of pouncing on her words, he relaxed against the cushions, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “It’s done. Got myself a lawyer who got me off.”
“You’re free?”
“As a bird.”
When she felt a surge of disappointment, Margery realized the extent that her love for him had faded. She gathered another question. “So you’re back at work. You’re—”
He laughed. “Yes, well. Whatever.” He stood. “Enough old-home week. I don’t have time for this.”
Neither do I. She wanted this over, yet braced herself for whatever he was about to say. It couldn’t be good.
“You work at a drugstore.”
She didn’t know what to say to this. “Yes . . .”
“They trust you there.”
One plus one was going to equal . . . “Not really.” She realized he didn’t know she’d tried to steal the bail money. He’d kicked her out of the house before she’d told him. “I’m working real hard to earn their trust and—”
He crossed the room, wearing his I-want-something face. She took a step back but he kept coming until one hand was on her shoulder. The other cupped her cheek, making its way behind her neck, pulling her—
Even as she reacted, she knew it would make things worse, but his touch . . . she jerked away and sidled around him, taking a place near the couch he’d just left.
His eyes widened in surprise, which was quickly replaced by anger. He dropped his hands, which had frozen in their touch-Margery position. “Let’s get to the point. You work in a drugstore. I need drugs. You’re going to get them for me.”
Shock mixed with sadness. So he was into drugs. The charge against him was valid. He should be in jail.
But he was free. And standing in front of her.
“There’s no cocaine there. Just prescriptions. Medicine.”