Six Times a Charm

by Deanna Chase

  No, there wasn’t anything tangible fueling my discomfort. But I was determined to be present nonetheless. (This was my crisis, after all. And if I wanted to sit in on the deathly dull political chitchat and convince myself I was preventing some catastrophe, then by God, that’s what I was going to do.)

  Five minutes later I was regretting my decision. They were talking about Gallup polls and voting districts and a bunch of other political mumbo jumbo. I tuned out. I’m not even sure what I was thinking about—though I’m pretty sure demons were involved—when Stuart tapped the table in front of me.

  “Honey?”

  I jumped, my hand flying to my throat. “Timmy?” I could tell immediately he was fine. I could see him standing on the couch facing the backyard as he jumped up and down, singing “C is for Cookie” in time (more or less) with Cookie Monster.

  “No, sorry. It’s just the back door. It’s probably Mindy.”

  “Oh. Right Sure.”

  From the breakfast table you can see most of the living room, but not the back door. (Thus my odd perspective of the jumping child who was obviously, now that I had all the information, greeting Mindy in his own exuberant little way.) The layout’s the major downside of this house, actually. I have to move to the living room if Timmy is playing on the back porch—otherwise I can’t see him. Which means using the backyard as a distraction while I put away dishes doesn’t work. Not unless I want my kid wandering free in the wild like Tarzan.

  As it turns out, Stuart was right, and I opened the door to Mindy and Laura. “Hey,” I said. “Come join the party.” I noticed that Mindy was schlepping not only three paper shopping bags (Nordstrom, Saks, and The Gap), but she also had her familiar canvas duffel slung over one arm. Apparently the kid was here for the long haul.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Laura said, catching the direction of my gaze.

  I waved a hand. “Of course not,” I lied. I usually didn’t mind having Mindy sleep over. Tonight, though, I was craving peace and quiet. I had a feeling it might be a long time before I had a shot at that again. “Allie’s upstairs,” I added to Mindy. “In fact, I’d assumed she was talking to you on the phone.”

  “She was,” Mindy said. “But we figured I might as well come over. Can we really watch a movie and have pizza after we show off our clothes?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, hoping no one else could tell that I’d completely forgotten my earlier plans with Laura for a pizza and fashion extravaganza.

  Oh, well. Quiet is highly overrated anyway.

  As Mindy bounded toward the staircase with an energy I envied, Laura eyed me with curiosity. Like a reflex, I rubbed my upper lip, as if I might have an errant smear of chocolate there. “What?”

  She shook her head, looking slightly discombobulated, and I felt myself begin to worry. About what, I wasn’t sure. But of late, I was trusting my instincts. And something was going on with my friend. Something that I desperately hoped was of the nondemonic variety. “Come on, Laura,” I said. “Spill it.”

  We were still by the back door, and now I reached down to lock it, the familiar ritual all the more important lately.

  “It’s nothing. Really. Or at least it’s none of my business.”

  “What’s not?” Her comment was cryptic, but it made me feel better. Nosiness I could handle. She leaned against the wall facing me, her back toward the kitchen. Beyond her, I could hear the scrape of chairs against the tile as Larson and Stuart continued their conversation. “I feel like an idiot even saying something.”

  I held on to the doorknob like a crutch. Now that my fear had dissolved, I was both curious and amused. “Come on,” I said. “Give.”

  “It’s silly.” She made a fluttery motion with her hands, and her cheeks actually flushed. I felt my brow furrow. This was weird. Then she took a step forward, her cheeks flaming. “Is everything okay with you and Stuart? I mean, you aren’t, um, having an …” She trailed off, her head bobbing back and forth in a fill-in-the-blank kind of way.

  My mind riffled through the possibilities, my own face flushing when I realized what she had to be thinking. “Of course not!” I said. “Everything’s fine with me and Stuart. Everything’s great!” I sounded overly enthusiastic even to my ears. Everything was okay. But I still had guilt. Because even though everything was just fine in the way Laura was thinking (an affair!), I was keeping secrets from my husband. Secrets of the big, juicy variety. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

  Relief flooded her features. “Thank God. I knew it was an idiotic question. I just …” She shrugged, then shook her head, then tossed up her hands. She looked a little bit like a puppet controlled by a spastic master.

  “Laura …”

  “Well, I didn’t know what to think. I saw you in the yard sparring with that older man, and you guys looked so familiar, and I just thought that something must be going on.”

  Something was, but not that. “If you’d found me crawling around under the house, would you have assumed I had a thing for the plumber?”

  “Hardly. But your fencing partner didn’t seem like the butt-crack type.”

  “Don’t dis plumbers,” I said. “You’ll find yourself with a backed-up sink on Christmas Day, and then where will you be?”

  “I take it back,” she said, holding up three fingers in typical Boy Scout fashion. “But what were you doing?” I mean, fencing in the backyard with that man? I didn’t know you fenced. And you weren’t even using swords.”

  “Fencing?” Stuart’s voice. Followed quickly by the man himself as he stepped into the living room from the kitchen, Judge Larson at his side.

  I stifled the urge to curse, and pasted on a happy-homemaker smile as I considered all the possible lies I could tell. None sounded very convincing.

  Laura was still facing me, and she mouthed I’m sorry, before turning around to face Stuart. I could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened a half second later that she hadn’t expected to see Larson there, too. And I couldn’t really blame her when the words “Oh, you,” flew from her lips.

  I cleared my throat. “Laura Dupont, meet Judge Mark Larson.”

  Because Laura is well trained, she moved toward him, her hand held out in greeting. If I’d hoped that such pleasantries would distract Stuart, though, I was sadly disappointed.

  “This may sound naive,” he said. “But why on earth were you two fencing? Were you fencing?”

  “Ah,” I said, and then closed my mouth, realizing I had nothing to say. I twisted slightly, looking to Laura for help, but she’d already dropped Larson’s hand and was now backing toward the stairs. “I’m going to go check on the girls,” she said. Yeah, Laura. Thanks a bunch.

  I returned my focus to the problem at hand, a rather lame “um” the only response I could come up with. Not exactly at my bullshitting best. Larson laid his hand on Stuart’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He was pulling out all the grandfatherly stops, and I figured I owed him one for that.

  “Self-defense,” Larson said, and I decided we were now even. That response I could have come up with.

  “Self-defense,” Stuart repeated.

  “Right,” I said, because now that he’d put it out there, I was stuck. “And, um, exercise.”

  Stuart continued to stare at me, his expression perplexed but interested. Fortunately, I saw no signs that he was contemplating having me committed or, worse, that he thought I was having an affair with Larson (where the heck did she get that idea?).

  The silence hung there, and I kept waiting for Larson to fill it. When he didn’t, I jumped into the breach. “It’s a crazy world out there. And, um, I should know how to take care of myself.” Since Stuart was still silent, I rushed on, warming to my theme. “You’re working longer hours, staying late to confer with Clark, and I’m home alone with the kids.” I started ticking points off on my fingers. “Allie will have tons of after-school activities this year. I’ll be picking her up late—with Tim in the car. It just seemed reasonable tha
t I be prepared.”

  “And so you were fencing with Judge Larson?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, just confused. I couldn’t really blame him for that.

  “Ah, no. Self-defense classes. I’m going to sign Allie and me up.”

  “Oh, awesome!” Allie’s voice echoed from the stairwell, and a moment later my own little Britney Spears appeared, decked out in a too-tight T-shirt that plunged so low I could see the lace of her bra and stopped so high I could see her belly button, form-fitting black Lycra pants that clung to her hips (and the rest of her), and white Keds with lace-topped socks. Fortunately, I didn’t see any evidence of tattoos or body piercing.

  I scowled at Stuart as she made her way over, Mindy and Laura bringing up the rear. “This is your idea of a school wardrobe?”

  He held up his hands and took a step backward away from me. Smart man. “I just drove and paid.”

  “We’re really gonna take a self-defense class?” Allie asked, clamoring to a stop beside me. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding,” I said, already wondering when I’d find time to sit Allie down for the this-is-not-appropriate-attire conversation.

  “I’m so psyched,” she said. “And you’re really going to do self-defense stuff, too, Mom? Like kicks and everything?”

  I tackled the righteous indignation part of the equation first “Yes, I’m really going to do it. What? You don’t think I have it in me?”

  “Well, you know. You and Stuart are old.” She shrugged. “No offense and all.”

  “None taken.” I glanced at Stuart pleased to see that the perplexed expression had now been replaced by amusement.

  “Apparently your mother isn’t completely crippled by the ravages of age yet,” Stuart said. “She and Judge Larson put on a little fencing exhibition earlier for Mrs. Dupont.”

  “Very funny,” I said, even as Allie said, “No shit?” then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops. Sorry!”

  “Allie!” I said, more happy for the diversion than I was upset about her language.

  “You were really fencing?” All remorse about her language had died, drowned by waves of curiosity.

  “Yes.” I could hardly deny it much as I might want to.

  “That’s so cool.”

  I beamed. My fourteen-year-old thought I was cool. Old and creaky, but cool.

  “Why?” she asked.

  The glow from offspring adoration faded, replaced by the frustration of being interrogated. I sighed. “I already explained to Stuart. Woman. Alone with children. It just seemed—”

  “No, no. I heard all that. I mean, why fencing. And why with him?” She avoided looking at him, and from her tone, you’d think it was Larson who was the spawn of Satan.

  “Allie.” There it was again—my Shocked Mother Voice. The second time in so many minutes. I turned toward Larson. “She’s fourteen,” I said, by way of explanation, even as I wondered if she’d overheard Laura’s suggestion of an affair.

  “Mo-ther.”

  “Alison Elizabeth Crowe,” I said. “Did you lose your manners at the mall?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t tell me.”

  She drew in a long, labored breath, then tilted her head up to Larson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything personal, really. I just…I mean…well, why’s my mom fencing with anybody?”

  “A very good question,” Stuart said, and Allie moved two paces closer to him, apparently sensing an ally. Laura and Mindy, I noticed, had faded backward into the living room and were now staring at the television, as if they were as enraptured by Elmo and the gang as my son. Cowards.

  “I really don’t understand why everyone’s so worked up about a little fencing,” I said.

  “Kate simply mentioned her plan to take a self-defense class,” Larson said, his voice coming off smooth and reasonable compared to my high-pitched protestations. “I told her I used to fence, she asked if a fencing class would be worthwhile for her purposes, we started chatting, and before we knew it, we were sparring with the cleaning products.”

  Stuart frowned. “Cleaning products?”

  “Swiffer handles.” Laura volunteered the info from across the room. Apparently she wasn’t as absorbed in Sesame Street as I’d thought.

  “Why—”

  I held up a hand, cutting Allie off. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, Judge Larson was kind enough to show me a few fencing moves. It seems like a fun sport, but not nearly practical enough.” That was true, actually. While this conversation had started as a giant bullshit session, it also underscored one undeniable truth—this world is filled with dangerous people, of both the human and demonic variety. My little girl was growing up (too fast, if that outfit was any indication) and if she was going to be out there in the world, I wanted her as safe as possible. Why not teach her to kick a little butt? I figured that was the least a concerned mother could do.

  I aimed a measured look at Stuart and Allie. “We’ll start classes next week,” I said. “Kickboxing or aikido or something. I’ll look into what’s available.” What I really wanted was a sensei who could teach her all the basics—and who could work with me on an advanced level when Allie was in school. Not likely, but I could hope.

  “You really mean it?” Allie asked. “I’m gonna go out for cheerleader, so we have to make sure the class times are okay, but oh, wow, this is so cool!”

  “Glad you think so.” Who knew the promise of working up a sweat would be so appealing?

  “That’s a lot of activities,” Stuart said, looking not at Allie but at me. I tempered the urge to tell him that I was a hell of a lot more concerned about my daughter staying alive than I was about her grades. He had a point, though, and part of my pissy knee-jerk reaction was that I hated when I made a Responsible Parent misstep. (And, yes, I know that’s one of the reasons that having two parents is a good thing. But—dirty little secret time—no matter how much I love Stuart, Allie belongs to Eric and me. She just does. So I always get a little tense when Stuart picks up the parental slack where Allie is concerned. Stupid and unfair, I know, but there you have it. And if Allie ends up revealing all on Jerry Springer some day, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.)

  “Mom?” I was getting the puppy-dog look now.

  “Stuart’s right,” I said. “If your grades fall, something will have to give, and since I think this is important, that something will be cheerleading or drill team or drama or whatever activity you’re fascinated with that week. Understood?’

  Her head bobbed. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  I tried to look stern. “So long as we’re clear, we can start the classes. But this is high school, kiddo. It’s a whole new ball game.”

  “I know.” She crossed her heart “Really. I’ll totally be Study Girl. You’ll see.” She cocked her head toward the living room. “Can Mindy take classes with us?”

  Mindy had been tickling Tim, but now she leaned forward, my apparently boneless child limp across her lap as he squealed for “More tickle! More tickle!”

  “Can I, Mom?” she asked, turning her own set of puppy-dog eyes on Laura. “Pleeeeze.”

  “You could come along, too,” I said to Laura, already into the idea of Laura and Mindy joining the party. So long as I’d decided to get my daughter into fighting shape, I might as well help our friends gain that competitive edge, too.

  “Not bloody likely,” Laura said. “But if you’re willing to schlep two kids, I’m willing to fork over her tuition.”

  “Whoo-hoo!” Mindy gave Tim another big tickle, then escaped out from under him to half-run, half-bounce toward Allie.

  “You sure?” I said to Laura.

  “I can barely get through the basic twenty-minute Pilates workout. I think kickboxing is a little beyond me.”

  I’d encountered Laura’s philosophy of exercise before—basically, Laura considered pushing the grocery cart from the checkout stand to the car to be a killer aerobic workout—so I knew better than to press. “Okay, girls,”
I said. “Looks like you’re going to be mixing it up pretty soon.”

  As Allie and Mindy leaped around the room, kicking and chopping at each other like rejects from the next Charlie’s Angels movie, I shot a quick frown at Larson. A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. I grimaced. How nice that he was amused.

  We’d started something this afternoon, he and I. Something I was going to have to finish. I was looking forward to spending more time with Allie (doing something where I was cool); I just wished the impetus for this new endeavor hadn’t been my fear that one of Goramesh’s minions would decide to pay her a little visit after school one day. I forced myself to ignore that possibility for the moment and focus only on the upside of the situation. Bonding with my kid and getting some exercise to boot. There’s nothing like a little demon activity to get a girl back in shape, I always say. And after a few heavy-duty training sessions, I should be able to squeeze back into my size-eight jeans. That’s a perk, right?

  I mean, really. Who needs Pilates when you’ve got a town full of demons?

  ***

  After much rapturous bounding around the living room, the girls finally settled down and the afternoon took a right turn toward normalcy. Stuart and Larson adjourned to the kitchen, and I suppressed my urge to follow and eavesdrop. If things went down the way we expected, I was going to be trusting Larson with my life; the least I could do was trust him to keep his mouth shut around my husband.

  Besides, Laura’s whole purpose in suggesting this little get-together was to check on my mental health in the wake of my Eric-dreams and my lunch with Eric’s “friend.” I could hardly abandon her for the political babble going on in my kitchen.

  “Is that him?” she asked, while the girls were upstairs putting on outfit number one for the First Ever Crowe-Dupont Gala Fashion Show.

  “Him who?”

  “Eric’s friend. Is Judge Larson the one you had lunch with?”

  “Oh.” I quickly debated what the best lie was, realizing as I did so that in the space of twenty-four hours, my ability to bullshit had improved dramatically. “Yeah, that’s him.”