Denise settled on the sofa beside Katherine. "I love the way our furniture blends," she commented, her eyes scanning the room.
Katherine nodded as she looked around appreciatively. She was also pleased with the effect of her furniture mixed with Denise's. Her bold stripes complemented Denise's floral prints, giving the room a soft, comfortable country look. It was as if they'd picked out their furniture with this house, and living together, in mind.
"We always did have the same taste," Katherine commented. "Remember in high school when we would go shopping separately and end up with the exact same clothes?"
Denise laughed. "We decided we'd better shop together so we wouldn’t look like twins at school."
Katherine smiled at the memory, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the news.
After a few minutes, Denise asked, "Do you miss your old house, Kathy?"
Katherine took a moment to ponder Denise's question. Katherine knew Denise understood how attached she'd been to her other house. In fact, Denise knew her better than anyone else alive. Denise had been there the day Kathy and Andrew moved in, and had helped clean out the kitchen cupboards and put everything inside them. She'd been with Kathy for many of her firsts. Denise was there when Kathy and Andrew first met, when they were all juniors at Washington State University. Andrew had been tall and slender, with a handsomely carved face and wavy blonde hair. He was also athletic, like Chris, excelling in every sport he played. Denise had stood by Katherine's side as her maid-of-honor at their wedding. She was first to arrive at the hospital after Chris was born and the first to share in the new parents' excitement over their new baby boy. And Denise had stood beside her best friend as they laid Andrew to rest, the most heartbreaking moment of Katherine’s life. Denise had shared in their every special moment, always welcome as part of their family as if she were more a sister than a friend, enjoying family life vicariously through them. And Katherine knew she'd never begrudged her any of it.
After finally deciding to put the house on the market, it had sold on its first Open House and Katherine had cried after signing the papers. But she knew the change would be good for her, and she was feeling better about it every day.
"I don't miss it as much as I thought I would," Katherine finally answered. "We lived there a long time. Chris grew up in that house. Yet, making this change wasn't as difficult as I'd expected."
"How’s Chris handling the move?" Denise wanted to know. She was just as much an aunt to Chris as she was to Chelsea.
"He's doing okay. He said he didn’t mind moving, and he likes this house and his new room. You know, I think it was almost a relief for both of us to leave that house. There were too many memories there. Ever since Andrew died, everything from the garden outside to the new dishwasher he installed in the kitchen reminded us of him."
Denise placed her hand on Katherine’s arm. "It's been a long year, hasn’t it?"
Katherine nodded. "Yes, it has." She stared into the fire. "Everything changed so fast after his car accident last summer. Sometimes it feels as if our fourteen years together never really existed. They’re more like a dream."
"Sharing a house with Darla could end up like a nightmare," Denise teased, bringing a smile to Katherine's lips. "Has she been a pain in the ass yet?"
Katherine laughed. It was rare for Denise to swear, only Darla could bring it out in her. But then, Darla had the knack of bringing out the worst in everyone. "Actually, I haven’t seen that much of her. She’s never home."
"Lucky for us. I know Chelsea loves living here. This has been so good for her."
"She’s a great kid. I can’t imagine how she ever got stuck with a mom like Darla."
"How’d I ever get stuck with a sister like Darla?"
Katherine chuckled. "By the way, who’s Darla’s current boyfriend? Is she still seeing Joey?" For years, Katherine and Denise had a private joke about Darla's boyfriend-of-the-month club. That was about as often as she changed men.
"Joey was two months and two boyfriends ago." Denise wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I don’t know what her current boyfriend’s name is. It’s not worth remembering their names unless they’ve hung around for more than six weeks."
Outside, a car door slammed and footsteps rattled on the stairs leading up to Darla’s apartment. Katherine looked at her watch. "Wow, she’s home early. It’s only eleven."
"Yeah. She probably ran out of money for drinks."
Katherine shook her head. "How did you two end up so different?"
"I don’t know. I guess our parents just raised me right and totally screwed up with Darla."
They both laughed out loud.
***
Upstairs, Chelsea passed Chris' room on her way back from the bathroom. His light was on and the door was slightly ajar so she peeked her head in. "Hi. You still up?"
Chris was stretched out on his bed, an open notebook in front of him. He looked up as Chelsea stepped in. "Yeah. I had some homework to finish."
"What are you working on?"
"That family tree stuff. I had to get some information from my mom earlier so I could finish."
Chelsea stepped over to Chris' dresser and fingered a smooth stone displayed there. "I had to get all my family information from Aunt Denise. My mom isn’t really into that stuff."
Chris nodded his understanding.
"I really like your room. You have the coolest rocks and shells. What’s this one?"
Chris rose and sat on the end of his bed. "That’s an amethyst. Pretty, huh?"
"Yeah." Chelsea continued around his room, touching the many rocks and shells. "My mom doesn’t believe in collecting anything. Except boyfriends." She laughed a little.
Chris only nodded again. "What did your mom think of your room?"
"She said it was so sweet it made her want to puke. But I don’t care, I like it anyway." Chelsea picked up a heavy stone that was cut in half, revealing brilliant purple clusters inside. "What’s this one?"
Chris came to stand beside her. He was a full head taller than her. "That’s a surprise coconut. It’s a plain rock on the outside but when you open it, there's purple or white quartz inside."
"Cool. Where did you get this?"
"My dad got it for me when he was in Arizona on a business trip."
"Oh." She set the stone down carefully and continued gravitating around the room. "It must seem weird not having your dad around anymore."
Chris shrugged, averting his eyes. "Sometimes it seems like he’s been gone forever." He sat back down on the bed. "But you know what it’s like, not having a dad around."
Chelsea shook her head. "No, it’s different for me. I never knew my dad. You can’t miss someone you've never met." She stopped a moment, looking out Chris' window at the beach below. "I miss your dad. He was pretty cool. Remember when he took us to the beach to fly kites? That was fun."
Chris smiled, remembering.
Outside, they heard a car door slam, and both kids looked in its direction, knowing it was her mother coming home.
"Well, guess I’d better go to bed." Chelsea padded to the door. "Goodnight."
Chris nodded to her as she left the room.
***
Katherine was the first one downstairs the next morning. The coffeemaker released a soothing aroma throughout the house and she inhaled deeply with anticipation as she pushed through the kitchen's swinging door.
"Who the hell are you?" Katherine shrieked as she stared at a strange man pouring coffee into her favorite mug. He looked rumpled, one shirttail hanging out of his slacks and his black, greasy hair sticking up in places. His pockmarked cheeks flushed red from Katherine’s startling entrance.
"I…I…Darla said I could come down and have some coffee."
Katherine’s initial fear turned into full-blown anger. "Darla said you could come down here?" she yelled.
"Yeah, I did. So?" Darla stood at the bottom of the stairs, her short, low-cut, red nightie barely covering her vol
uptuous breasts. The glossy red, high-heeled slippers and painted smirk on her face were too much for Katherine.
"How dare you bring a strange man into my house," Katherine shouted over the man’s head. "This isn’t some brothel where you can bring in scum off the street."
Darla merely laughed.
Katherine fumed. "Get out of here!" she spat at the man, her eyes spitting fire. "And give me that mug." She snatched the coffee mug out of his hand and threw it in the sink. It shattered against the white porcelain.
"What’s all the yelling about in here?" Denise wandered onto the scene still wearing her pajamas, yawning. When she saw the strange man standing next to Katherine, her eyes widened. "Who’s he?"
"He's your sister’s latest fuck," Katherine spat out.
Denise looked from him to Darla, and back at him again. Her face puckered in disgust. "Ewww."
The greasy-haired stranger was so startled he couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. " I...I better leave," he stuttered as he tried to tuck in his loose shirttail with trembling hands. "B...B...Bye, Darla." In a split second, he was out the door.
Darla stood on the stairs and let out a loud, shrill laugh. "You sure scared the hell out of him."
Katherine wasn’t amused. "Don’t you ever bring a strange man into this house again. Do you understand? Ever!"
"I didn’t realize this was an all-girls dorm," Darla said.
"This isn't a joke," Katherine shot back. "We have kids in this house. What if one of them had found him down here?"
"So, what if they had?"
"What the hell is wrong with you? God, Darla, he's a scum bag. I can’t believe you let that thing in your bed, let alone in my house," Katherine responded.
"What difference does it make? One man is just the same as the next."
"You're such a whore." Katherine stood her ground by the sink as silence embraced the room.
Denise sat quietly at the kitchen table, her eyes darting between the two women, waiting for someone to say the next word.
Darla's painted hazel eyes sparked with Katherine's plain brown ones. Slowly, Darla's arched brow rose higher as indifference spread over her face. "So, what if I am? At least I know how to have fun. Maybe you two wouldn’t be so uptight if you got some once in a while."
"Shut up, Darla," Katherine warned between clenched teeth.
"No, I mean it," Darla continued, haughtily. "You’ve been the faithful widow long enough. A little roll in the sack would be good for you. It might just calm those nerves."
"I said, shut up, Darla."
"And as for my little virgin sister here, any sex would be better than no sex. Thirty-six is getting a little old to be saving herself."
"I’m not a virgin," Denise said softly, staring at the table.
"Leave her alone, Darla," Katherine warned.
"Oh, please. She never dates, let alone has sex. She’s afraid she might actually enjoy it."
"I’m not a virgin," Denise said a little louder.
Darla laughed her wicked cackle again.
"I said, leave her alone!" Katherine exploded. "Just shut up! I’ve had enough." She stepped up to the table and stood protectively beside Denise. "Don’t you ever bring another man here again. I mean it."
Darla gave her a smirk, then headed back upstairs.
Katherine sank into the chair next to Denise, still shaking from anger. "I could kill her," she said.
"I’m not a virgin," Denise said quietly, one more time.
Katherine looked over at her friend who had been taunted by her sister for thirty-six years. Her heart went out to her. "I know," she told her, patting her arm.
***
Katherine managed to hold back her anger as she fed the kids' breakfast and herded them out the door for school. But she fumed all over again when she saw her broken coffee mug in the sink, and again when she saw the disheartened look on Denise’s face as she left for work. Poor Denise, who lived inconspicuously in her outrageous sister’s shadow. Katherine knew that part of the reason Denise didn’t go out or date much was because she didn’t want to be considered a slut like her sister. Yet, Denise was bullied by her sister because of it.
Katherine tried to put the morning’s events out of her mind as she drove to the Journal’s office. The streets of Ballard were quiet, as usual, with no one rushing about as in their parent city of Seattle. Parents drove their children to school and local shopkeepers headed to work in the same leisurely fashion they had for over one hundred years. The suburb was rich in local history. Settled by sturdy Norse and Swedish ancestors, it retained its thick Nordic heritage just as some of the old-timers retained their accents. There were a million stories to be told in this one quiet town, and Katherine wanted to be the one to tell them. She planned to speak with the editor about assigning her more important pieces, and to even suggest a few of her own. She was tired of the board meetings and mindless pieces. She wanted to expand her writing. And Katherine needed all her wits about her if she was going to talk to her editor, Earl.
Earl Reeves sat behind his cluttered desk, the phone grasped tightly in one hand and the other hand clumsily typing on the computer keyboard as Katherine approached him. He was the epitome of the overworked, underpaid, newspaper editor with the paunch to prove he’d spent too many years behind a desk. Katherine noticed the stained coffee mug, half-full, surrounded by dried up coffee spots from being slammed down on the desk once too often. If the coffee and cigarettes didn’t eventually kill this man, the stress would.
As Earl slammed down the phone, Katherine took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve. "Do you have a minute, Earl?"
"A minute is all I've got," he replied brusquely. "I have to find a reporter to send up to the Mayor's office and get his version of why the sewer system went haywire in town. What do you want?"
Katherine jumped at the chance before her. "Send me, Earl. I can go."
Earl shook his head. "I’ll send Rob. He's covered stories at the Mayor’s office before."
Katherine looked up at the story board behind Earl. "Rob’s at the Chittenden Locks on a story," she told him. "I’m not doing anything. I can go right now."
"No, Katherine. Not this time," Earl said firmly.
"Then when, Earl? When will it be a good time to send me on stories besides board meetings? I’m ready to move on to other things."
"You’re not ready yet. Maybe in a couple of months."
"A couple of months?" Katherine asked, exasperated. "I’ve been here a year-and-a-half. I’ve only done a couple of profiles and interviews in that time period. I want to do more, Earl. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t."
Earl stared hard at Katherine. "Okay, Kathy. The truth is, your writing is flat. It’s okay for board meetings and the like, but for actual articles or stories, it lacks style."
Katherine’s face dropped at his complete honesty. She’d graduated from the University of Washington with a 3.9 grade point average in journalism. All of her teachers had told her she had the potential to be a great writer. And here sat her editor, telling her she couldn’t write worth a damn.
"How am I supposed to acquire any style by writing up board meetings?" she finally asked.
Earl heaved a heavy sigh. "Listen, Kathy. You’re a good writer. I wouldn’t have hired you or kept you on if you weren’t. You’re just lacking the right touch, okay? Maybe it will come to you in time. Or, maybe you should take a refresher course at the college to get yourself revved up. But until I see some change, I can’t send you on other stories."
Katherine didn’t know whether to be angry and quit or break down in tears. She didn’t do either. "Okay, Earl. I’ll see what I can do," she said in a defeated tone and walked out of the office.
***
Katherine thought about Earl's words all the way home. Once there, she went straight up to her office, turned on her computer, and stared at the screen for a long time. Flat. How could he say her writing was flat? It wasn't like she was an amateur at jo
urnalism, but Earl treated her like one. True, she'd never held a job at a real newspaper before, but special interest articles had always been her specialty. She had interned at a local regional parenting magazine out of college, staying on as a feature editor for over a year. After Chris was born, she freelanced for regional parenting publications across the country. Although she'd never broken into the high-scale glossy magazines, she'd written many informative articles on family life and parenting that editors had complimented her on. But she'd become frustrated with freelancing because the pay was low and the editors usually wanted her to change articles until they lost their entire meaning or purpose. That's when she'd decided to start her novel. After she'd finished it, she'd sent it out to numerous literary agents and publishers, but to no avail. Soon, the years passed quickly and then Andrew's accident changed everything. She'd been thrilled when the job at the Journal had come along, but now, once again, she was at a stalemate.
The screen saver popped on breaking into Katherine's thoughts and she stood and stared out the window at the beach where the ocean waves gently hit the shore. She did this all afternoon, staring from screen to beach, beach to screen, not writing a single word. When she heard the kids come home from school, she snapped off the computer and headed downstairs, thanking God for the diversion.
Later that evening, Katherine sat in the living room bay window watching the sun stretch long rays over the water as it settled in for the night. She had greeted the kids, given them snacks, supervised their homework, and prepared dinner. Those were things she did well. Not like writing, which she obviously knew nothing about. As she sat there, wallowing in self-pity, Denise came in from the kitchen.
Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel Page 2