Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

  Oh, yeah, right. Drag me into it.

  “Maybe you’d have more room to let Sailor run in the living room,” I offered.

  “He can’t run as fast on carpet.” Dad tossed the ball again.

  Mom folded her arms and primmed her mouth. “All right. If someone falls over that dog and hurts themselves, my conscience is clear.”

  Dad took the ball from Sailor and tossed it again. “A clear conscience is the result of a poor memory.”

  Mom stared at him, mouth agape for a couple of seconds. “My memory is just fine, thank you, and I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

  She took a pan of brownies out of the oven and slapped them down on the countertop.

  Dad feigned a sigh. “Of course not. We’ve been married for forty years and in all that time you’ve never let me have an opinion.”

  The doorbell rang and I went to answer it, counting to ten. I loved my parents, but they were really getting on my nerves. I opened the door and stared in dismay. Mrs. Ervin. And a young couple who looked to be in their early twenties.

  “Uh…” Brilliant, Kate. Get with it. “Mrs. Ervin. Hello.”

  “Mrs. Madison, this is Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Himes. They’d like to look at the house. I usually call first, but we happened to be in the neighborhood…”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” I stepped back out of the way. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. I’m trying to get packed to move.”

  The front room looked like the aftermath of an Oklahoma tornado.

  Mrs. Ervin appeared apologetic. “I tried to call, but the line was busy.”

  “It was?” To my knowledge no one had been using the phone. I left the Realtor to give the grand tour and went to the kitchen. “Dad, will you go pick up the girls for me? I can’t leave right now.”

  “Sure.” He got up and reached for his coat. I walked over to lift the receiver. It was off the hook. How about that? I turned to face Mom. “Who used the phone last?”

  “I did.”

  “You leave it off the hook?”

  She nodded.

  “Is there a reason why?”

  “You’ve got so much on your mind, I thought I’d give you a little breathing space. If anyone wants you they’ll call back.”

  “What if the girls had needed to get in touch with me?”

  Her cheeks pinked. “Well, I never thought of that.”

  “So next time think and leave the telephone alone!” I realized I’d been a bit abrupt. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that I want the girls to be able to reach me.”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll just tell people you’re not talking on the phone at this time.”

  “No, don’t do that, either.” I caught myself and turned down the volume, not wanting our visitors to think I’d slipped a cog. “Look, Mom, don’t be so helpful, okay?”

  The Himes couple appeared in the doorway and I forced a smile. They looked around the kitchen, opening cabinets, checking out the sink. I bit my tongue. I really wanted someone to buy this house, so I’d have to put up with what seemed like an invasion of privacy. They left and Dad arrived with the kids. We ate our fat-laden dinner in comparative quiet. Mom wasn’t speaking to either me or Dad. The silence was heavenly.

  The next morning Mom insisted we tackle Neil’s clothing. I wasn’t ready for that. “No. Not now. We’ve got enough to handle. I can do it later.”

  “You’ll never heal as long as you are sharing a room with his things. The quicker you get rid of them the better.”

  I supposed she was right, but I wanted to wait and do it myself.

  “Kay, leave Kate alone,” Dad ordered. “She’ll do it when she’s ready.”

  Up went Mom’s eyebrows. “Now, Frank, you can’t really expect me to leave Kate to take care of such a painful task by herself.”

  “No, I don’t expect that, but I think it would be best if you did.”

  “Kate isn’t thinking straight at the moment—we have to do her thinking for her. Now, I know what is best in this case.”

  I stood back and listened to them do battle as if I wasn’t standing in the same room. Yada, yada, yada. Finally I couldn’t take any more. “All right. I give up, Mom. We’ll do it today. Happy?”

  Mom sniffed. “I think that’s a wise decision, darling. I’ll get the boxes.”

  I steeled myself to go through the ordeal. Actually it wasn’t as bad as I expected, because Mom did most of the work. When we had the boxes packed, she wanted to call the Salvation Army right then and get the stuff hauled out the same day. I gave in on that, too.

  Maybe it was best to get the painful reminders out of the house before the girls came home. I thought I was fine with it until I saw Neil’s golf clubs sitting by the front door. The shock was like a giant hand squeezing my heart. Dad saw my face.

  “What’s wrong, Kate?”

  I shook my head and he followed my gaze. “The golf clubs?”

  Sighing, I nodded and blinked back hot tears. He patted my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking of taking up the game. I’d feel right honored to have Neil’s clubs, if it’s all right with you.”

  I dissolved in his arms as the Salvation Army truck pulled into the drive. Mom went to the door and Dad carried the golf clubs upstairs. I went to the kitchen, where Sailor licked my hand.

  Surprisingly, the slobbered comfort worked.

  Our pre-Thanksgiving day dawned clear and cold. Mom insisted on using Grandmother’s dishes for the celebration even though they were already packed. I protested, but she unpacked them anyway. All 125 pieces. I clamped my lips together to keep from saying what I thought, and reached for a dish towel. All 125 pieces would have to be washed and dried.

  She handed me the gravy boat and I don’t know what happened, but it slipped right through my hands to crash in a thousand pieces on the floor.

  Mom dissolved in hysterics. “My mother’s gravy boat! How could you, Kate? Do you have to be so clumsy?”

  Dad picked up the pieces. “Calm down, Kay. It was an ugly bowl anyway.”

  “I can’t believe you broke the gravy boat,” Mom raged. “You can’t buy that pattern anymore.”

  I snapped. “You’re the one who insisted on using the best dishes. I wanted to use paper plates.”

  That stopped her. She looked horrified. “Paper plates for a Thanksgiving dinner? That’s sacrilegious.”

  Dad walked out. I calmed Mom down and went looking for him. He was sitting on a park bench two blocks away. I sat down beside him, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets. What had happened to my sane life? “You all right?”

  He nodded. “You know, I love your mother, but there are times I’d like to string her up like a plucked goose.”

  I grinned. “Me, too. She is a bit overwhelming at times.”

  “That’s an understatement.” He turned to look at me. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?”

  I nodded. “It’s been really bad. Sometimes I’ve felt like I couldn’t handle it, but somehow I seem to muddle through.”

  “It’ll get better. Trust me.”

  “I don’t know. For the first time in my career I gave a bad haircut yesterday.”

  He laughed. “Now, that is bad.”

  I grinned. “The woman I gave it to thought so.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, then he got up. “Well, we’d better go back before Kay starts hunting for us.”

  “Dad, I appreciate all she does. It’s just that…”

  “I know. She doesn’t know when to stop.”

  “Or when not to start. We still have our Thanksgiving dinner to get through.”

  People had started arriving by the time we got back to the house. Kelli was fascinated by her teenage cousin Lora, mainly because Lora sported a nose ring. I don’t suppose Kelli had ever seen one except on TV, and I hoped seeing the real thing would erase any secret longing she might harbor. I was fairly sure Lora hadn’t attended Neil’s funeral. Even as distracted as I had been at the time I’d surely ha
ve noticed that ring.

  Kris was at her seven-year-old best, showing people where to put their coats and the steaming dishes. The relatives had brought food. Dad put up folding tables and carved the turkey. Mom bustled around telling everyone what to do.

  Dad asked the blessing, and I thought of all of these good people who had put their own plans on hold to come to “support me.”

  I thanked God for family and for friends.

  Maybe I was slowly working at finding my way back.

  After everyone left I went up to my bedroom, which had been cleansed of every visible trace of Neil. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, summoning up his memory. His touch. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way he smelled after a hot shower.

  My mind knew that wherever I lived, Oklahoma or California, Neil would be alive in my memory.

  Now, if only I could make my heart believe it.

  Chapter 7

  So now I was testing emotional waters, slowly but surely starting to function again. For weeks now I’d ignored offers from friends to get out of the house on the weekend, see a movie, have tea. So I chose the safest method—tea. With my friend Livvy Mills. If Livvy couldn’t lighten my mood, then no one could. I asked Sally Fowler to keep an eye on the girls, and the following Saturday afternoon, while Neil’s parents were at the movies, I dressed in tweed slacks and a cardigan, put my hair in a ponytail and put my best face forward for the outing. The Millses had been “couple friends” at church. Neil and Tom got along well, so we’d attend functions together—concerts, picnics, Christmas cantatas and children’s programs. At least once during the week, Liv and I would get together and hash over our children’s antics or some menial problem we’d encountered. I hadn’t been alone with Liv since the accident.

  We met in our favorite haunt—a refurbished brownstone, now a tearoom and bakery. The establishment’s coconut cake was to die for.

  We hugged and said all the things we usually said, but I knew Liv was being overly bright, overly bubbly. A regally tall and polished brunette, she never had a hair out of place. She wore large jewelry and more makeup than I ever dared to wear; she was drop-dead gorgeous. I guess she didn’t want me falling to pieces on her in a public place, so I promised myself I wouldn’t. Today the fog wasn’t so dense: I could actually blow my nose without breaking down into fits of weeping.

  We ordered tea with 2 percent milk. The waitress recognized us, and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Will you ladies be having your regular?”

  I nodded, glancing at Liv. “Chicken salad,” we parroted. They made the best in town.

  “So many calories,” Liv fretted when the waitress walked away.

  “Calories are the last thing you need to worry about.”

  “Look who’s talking. Miss Walking Stick herself.”

  I thought about the way my slacks fit me like a grain sack today. I’d lost weight—the last thing I needed. I was metabolically blessed; I could eat anything, anytime and still lose weight. Friends said they would kill to have the problem, but for me, gaining weight was as grueling as losing it was for them. What a problem, huh?

  We chatted, carefully avoiding Neil’s name. People did that—as if by avoiding the obvious they could turn back time. All I wanted was to talk—to remember my husband and the good times. It wasn’t fair that a young, vibrant man like Neil could be so easily consigned to past tense.

  Liv squeezed her tea bag dry with a spoon, and wound the string around the handle before placing it beside her cup. “Why do I feel so awkward? I came today with the intention of cheering you up, but I feel like a clown trying too hard.”

  I smiled. “You are a clown, Liv.”

  “I’m serious.” She leaned forward, grasping my hand tightly. “I want to help—I need to help you. What can I do?”

  “Let’s see,” I deadpanned. “For starters, you can lend me a couple of hundred thou.”

  Liv stared at me vacantly. “Dollars?”

  I nodded. “Dollars.”

  “What in the world do you need two hundred thousand dollars for? Neil left insurance, didn’t he?”

  Ordinarily that would be personal information, but not between me and Liv. We’d once even told each other our present weight. Now I had to break it to her about the move; I’d told no one about my plans except Mom and Dad, and cautioned the kids to keep quiet until I could inform friends and Neil’s parents. While I talked, tears bubbled to Liv’s eyes.

  “You’re moving to San Francisco?” she whispered.

  I nodded, tightening my hold on her hand. “I have to.” I explained about the problem with my right eardrum, and how I couldn’t fly regularly for maybe a long time. “Maria arranged to transfer me to a La Chic in the Bay Area. The girls and I flew out there to house hunt.”

  Liv fumbled for a tissue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I am telling you—now.” I sighed and took a sip of tea. “My life has changed so quickly I haven’t been able to keep up,” I apologized.

  “But California. I’ll never get to see you!”

  “Sure you will—you and Tom and the kids can fly out whenever you want.”

  “Oh, right.” She blew her noise on the tissue. “Six round-trip airfares to California, at today’s fares. We’ll be there every weekend.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s going to be hard on me, too.” Harder, actually. Who would I pour out all my trivial problems on? I realized now that up until weeks ago my problems had been trifling.

  “We have e-mail,” I said.

  “It isn’t the same.”

  “The phone lines still work. I have unlimited nights and weekends on my cell phone.”

  She sniffled. “It’s not the same.”

  And it wasn’t. But then I’d learned the hard way nothing would ever be the same.

  The waitress returned carrying two plates of chicken salad. Conversation momentarily ceased; we busied ourselves dabbing dressing on the accompanying lettuce-and-tomato salad. I knew Liv was hurt and confused that I hadn’t told her earlier about the move. Maybe I had thought I’d back out—chicken out—but so far I’d held it all in with the hope of a new beginning.

  “So did you find a house?” she asked.

  “Nothing that I can afford. Do you have any idea how much the average house costs in the Bay Area?”

  “Two hundred thousand?”

  “Down payment,” I said.

  “Mercy. Have you got that kind of money?”

  “Do I look like I have that kind of money?” With both salaries, we’d barely been able to make ends meet.

  “Then how are you going to buy a house? What about an apartment? Wouldn’t that be smarter? An apartment, then if you don’t like it there you can move back here where you belong.”

  “I don’t want to raise the girls in an apartment.” I couldn’t think of anything worse: cramped living space, thin walls, no garage—at least in any unit I could afford.

  “Then what will you do? Neil had death benefits, didn’t he?”

  “Of course he did, but it’s not a fortune. I’ll have to invest carefully—and you know how squirrelly the stock market is these days. I’ll have to put some of it back for Kris and Kelli’s college fund, and everything is so expensive.”

  “Yeah, but I guess you could argue a house would be a sound investment—especially in the Bay Area.”

  I nodded, agreeing. “Our house should bring over a hundred thousand. We still owe eighty thousand on the mortgage.”

  “So that means you have to come up with…” Liv paused. “You got a calculator?”

  I sighed. “No need. The amount is too much.”

  “What about your parents—or Neil’s parents?”

  “I wouldn’t think of asking either set for money. They’re both living on fixed incomes.”

  “Yeah, but your dad has to be loaded,” she joked. “He’s a retired dentist, isn’t he?”

  “Forget it, Liv. I’m not asking my parents to help.�
� I bit into my roll—or tried. The crust was hard as brick. The last thing I needed was a dentist bill.

  “I think the whole idea of moving is nuts. You should stay here. It’s not fair to uproot your children and drag them off to another state where they won’t know anyone. All of their friends will be back here. With your reputation, you can get a job in any salon in Oklahoma City.” She bit into her roll, and frowned.

  I glanced up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh-oh,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  Her eyes darted around the crowded room. “Oh no, oh no, augh!”

  “What?” I leaned forward, trying to spot the problem. The roll was stuck between her teeth, but she didn’t appear to be chewing.

  “My upper denture just split in half.”

  “Your—?” I broke off with a rude snicker. I knew the situation wasn’t funny, but I also knew how sensitive Liv was about the artificial appliance. In her teens, she’d been in a bad car accident that had thrown her through the windshield. She was lucky to have survived the incident with nothing more than two broken ribs and dentures. But to Liv dentures meant decrepitude, and the touchy subject had been a long-standing joke between the four of us. And now my beloved, ultraper-snickety friend was sitting in a hotsy-totsy teahouse, toothless as a gold-mining hermit.

  “Spit it out in this.” I pressed a linen napkin into her hand.

  She shook her head passionately. “I have to take it with me.” Her voice sounded funny—not like Liv. She lisped. Big time.

  “Then I’ll get a paper napkin.”

  “Hurry,” she muttered. “And do it discreetly!”

  “All right.” Did she think I was going to waltz up to the counter and announce that my friend had a mouthful of broken denture?

  I got up from the table and casually sauntered to the front. Our waitress was busy with another table, so I asked the first face I encountered. “Could I have some paper napkins?”

  The girl smiled. “We don’t have paper napkins. Linen napkins are at your table.”

  Nodding, I smiled faintly. “No paper napkins?”