The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  Audrey lifted her chin, her dark blond hair brushing her shoulders. “I know. That’s what I tried telling Steven.”

  “You should have told me. I’d have been happy to help. I’ll help you now.”

  Audrey reached out, her hands closing over Millie’s shoulders. “Please understand when I tell you this, that I love you, but I don’t want your help.”

  “You want Steven’s.” Millie nodded. “I understand, honey. And I’m not making excuses for him.” But then, helpless to act as anything other than a mother, she did. “He works hard.”

  Audrey’s hands dropped from Millie’s shoulders as she said, “So do I.”

  “I know that, honey.”

  “I’m not giving up school.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to.”

  “But he expects me to do everything.”

  Shame washed over Millie because she should have realized, probably would have if she hadn’t been preoccupied with trying to “retire.” It should have occurred to her that Audrey had too much to do.

  But when she’d been Brigitte’s age, she’d helped her mother. She’d learned how to be a domestic goddess from her mother before that goddess had died… too young. But Brigitte was busy, her school activities only added to Audrey’s responsibilities.

  Audrey went on, “He expected me to be you.”

  “Me?”

  “Despite my working and going to school, he expected me to clean and cook and do everything by myself… as if I have some magical powers.” Her eyes welled with tears, her bottom lip quivering as she continued. “I don’t have any magical powers.”

  “Neither do I, sweetheart.” Just that darned tarnished tiara. But if she did have magical powers, she would have found some way to make everything right between Audrey and Steven, some way to erase all the pain and frustration they were both feeling. “I’m so sorry.”

  Audrey nodded, then turned and fled back into her bedroom. As the door shut behind her, Brigitte appeared in the hall, tears streaming down her face.

  “Grandma, please… do something.”

  Millie choked back her own tears. Despite not wanting to make promises she might not be able to keep, she nodded. “I’ll think of something.”

  And if she couldn’t come up with anything on her own, she’d ask the advice of her friends.

  Where’ve you been?” Theresa asked as Millie walked into the back of the darkened recreation room at the community center. The expansive area, with its big windows and soft carpeting, was also where they held many of their Red Hat Society chapter get-togethers. “The movie started a while ago.”

  Millie glanced at the big-screen television in front of the easy chairs they’d commandeered for the room when they’d first started Movie Night. Leonardo DiCaprio’s youthful face filled the set. She’d never been able to see him as the heartthrob others did. She would have felt like a cradle robber if she even tried.

  “I have company,” she whispered as she slid into the chair next to Kim, who had obviously not shared anything with Theresa yet. Not that she knew everything. But besides catching Steven moving in, Kim also knew that Millie had had to run an errand for him; Millie had called on her way to his house in order to cancel their dinner plans. She hadn’t been sure that she’d make it to the movie either but had decided she should just pop in and quickly explain why she couldn’t stay. She figured it was okay to leave Steven alone for a little while since he had his briefcase now.

  “Company?” Theresa asked.

  Kim leaned across her to tease, “Male company.”

  Millie couldn’t help but laugh at Kim’s teasing and the memory of Steven’s run-down of his confrontation with Dirty Harriet. “Well, yes, it is male company.”

  Someone from a row closer to the TV shushed her. Or maybe it was Mr. Lindstrom snoring. When he went into a really deep sleep, air whistled through the hair in his nostrils.

  “Where is he?” Theresa asked, twisting her neck to peer around Millie.

  “Unpacking.” She hoped, but she had a suspicion that task would be left for her to do. While she’d been with Audrey and Brigitte he hadn’t done anything but finish off the cookies she’d baked a few nights ago. They’d been a back-up, in case she hadn’t had time to bake anything for Movie Night. Well, she hadn’t had time… and now the back-up snack was gone, too.

  The shush hissed again, louder than steam pouring out of an overheated iron. Only one person shushed that loud, Mrs. Ryers, and she was probably just irritated that they weren’t talking loud enough for her to overhear. Just thinking of the misinformation she’d given them about Charles caused heat to rise to Millie’s face again, and she surreptitiously glanced around to see if Charles was sitting somewhere in the dark, too.

  “Let her watch the movie,” Theresa said, slipping out of her chair and gesturing for her friends to follow. “I’m sick of staring at a TV. That’s all Wally does since he retired.” She led the way down the wide corridor to the center’s kitchen, turning back to Millie and Kim to add, “With his eyes closed, snoring louder than Mr. Lindstrom in a deep sleep.”

  “And she wonders why we don’t date,” Kim said with a snort. The friends knew why Kim didn’t. She was so adamant about maintaining her independence that she’d left two grooms at the altar. With her reputation of being a runaway bride, there probably weren’t too many men brave enough to take on her… and Harry.

  Millie would like to pretend she didn’t date out of loyalty to Bruce’s memory. But Bruce wouldn’t want her to be alone. She didn’t date because no one asked her, and she was too old-fashioned to do the asking herself. Of course she’d been too old-fashioned to dye her hair, too.

  “Wow,” Kim said, letting out a low whistle, as they stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. “Look at you with the new hair! Hot, very hot!”

  Theresa clapped her approval. “Gorgeous, which we knew you would be. I love the color you picked.”

  So did Millie. But the excitement of finally dyeing her hair had been eclipsed by more important things. Still, she had been a little disappointed that no one in her family had noticed.

  She could always count on her friends.

  “So Millie’s found a man,” Theresa said, dragging stools back from the kitchen’s industrial-size-granite island where an assortment of snacks and liter bottles of pop had been arranged. The white cupboards and stainless steel appliances complemented the gray granite.

  “Shall we put her out of her misery?” Kim asked, nodding her platinum blond head toward Theresa as she scooped up a handful of pretzels from one of the bowls on the counter.

  “Misery?” Theresa scoffed as she unscrewed the top of a Sprite bottle, the hiss of escaping carbonation sounding a lot like Mrs. Ryers. “I wouldn’t call it that. But my friends holding out on me…”

  “It’s my son,” Millie said, before Theresa was led any further astray with Kim’s teasing.

  To think that Millie would have—what did they call it now?—hooked up with a man! She hadn’t heard that phrase from her granddaughter or Kim; she’d picked it up from reading Cosmo at the beauty parlor. And that was about as likely to happen as Steven unpacking his own bags, especially after her humiliation with Charles Moelker.

  She reached for the bowl of M&Ms and glared at Kim before the fitness expert could warn her about the caloric intake of the colorful candies. She needed chocolate right now more than she needed to lose her few extra pounds.

  Kim lifted her hands, backing off. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

  Theresa snorted this time, or made a sound as close to a snort as she could get. Theresa was the most ladylike of them, with her silk blouses and pressed slacks. And her blond hair, in her chin length bob, was always perfectly straight, not a fine hair out of place.

  Of course Kim never had a wayward hair either. The brash platinum strands were cut too razor short to fall out of place, as if anything on Kim would dare. She bore an uncanny resemblance in appearance and attitude to that �
�Stop the insanity” woman who’d had her fifteen minutes of fame some years back.

  Millie reached up, tucking a curl behind her ear. Only her hair was out of control, despite the beautician’s efforts to tame it, in a million cinnamon-colored curls that went every which way. Right now her life felt like that, out of control.

  “Millie?” Theresa’s smooth brow puckered, and her blue eyes clouded with concern. “Everything all right?”

  She shook her head, hopelessly tousling those curls. “No, no, it’s not.”

  “Mitchell’s moving in?” Theresa asked, perching daintily on the edge of a stool. She did everything daintily, even sipping on the rim of her plastic cup of Sprite.

  “I wish it was Mitchell,” Millie said, emotion choking her voice. She hooked a stool with her ankle and dragged it closer, struggling to hoist herself up to the seat while tall Kim effortlessly settled onto the counter, pushing the bowls and bottles aside with her denim-clad bottom. Like Kim, Millie wore jeans with a lightweight, celery-colored sweater. “It’s Steven,” she admitted. “His wife threw him out.”

  These were her best friends, her most trusted confidantes. They wouldn’t share her family gossip with any one. But still she hesitated a moment. This wasn’t her life she was talking about; it was Steven’s and Audrey’s. She drew in a deep breath, then spilled the bits and pieces she knew about their marital woes.

  Her friends were silent for a moment, then Theresa said, “Wally and I would have never made it to our first anniversary if I’d thrown him out for not doing housework.”

  “Are you sure that’s why?” Kim asked Millie.

  “That’s what Audrey said. I knew there was a strain in their marriage. I just had no idea…”

  Theresa sighed. “The mother is always the last to know.” Her comment wasn’t a flip generalization. One of her daughters had gotten divorced, and Theresa hadn’t known about the marriage trouble until the ink was already dry on the decree.

  Millie reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand, regretful that she’d brought up Theresa’s pain but grateful for her support. “I just hope it’s not too late for Steven and Audrey.”

  “As long as no one’s filed yet, there’s hope,” Theresa assured her.

  Kim laughed. “If there’s one thing Millie always has, it’s hope.”

  Millie’s heart warmed, as she took more pleasure in that compliment than the ones over her hair. But she wasn’t exactly sure Kim intended her remark as a compliment. Her friend confirmed this when she added, “Or should I say ‘hopeless,’ as in hopeless romantic?”

  Millie tipped up her chin with pride. “Guilty,” she admitted. And unrepentant. “If Pop can find love again at eighty years old…”

  “So is Mitchell married off yet?” Kim teased.

  She shot Kim a mock-fierce glare, as she scooped up another handful of M&Ms. “No.”

  “We’re not talking about Mitchell,” Theresa reminded them. “We’re talking about Steven.”

  Millie would rather talk about her baby, though. It was a little less depressing. “I’d thought he might be getting close. But his latest girlfriend dumped him.”

  “Was this Heather?” Theresa asked.

  Millie nodded.

  “Well, at least they weren’t going out long.”

  “He never goes out with any of them very long,” Kim pointed out, not that she was in a position to call the kettle black. Her crooked smile acknowledged this before Millie could say anything.

  “He’s such a good looking young man,” Theresa said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t understand it.”

  “He says it’s because women want the nine-to-fivers, not someone who travels as much as he does.”

  Theresa lowered her gaze, staring at her hands folded on the counter, as she shared, “I miss those times when Wally had to travel for business.”

  “If I’d ever gotten married, I would have preferred a traveler to the nine-to-fiver,” Kim admitted, “always underfoot.” She shuddered. “It’s easier to understand Audrey getting sick of Steven not helping around the house.”

  Not for Millie. “It is?”

  “Sure, I’d hate living with a slob—”

  “Kim!” Theresa interrupted their outspoken friend.

  Millie dismissed Theresa’s concern with a dismissive wave. She couldn’t get offended at the truth. With just the few boxes he’d brought to her condo, Steven had already made a mess in the basement. Nothing like Mitchell’s apartment, but she had a queasy feeling that in time it would be just as bad.

  An incredible realization came over Millie, churning the M&Ms in her belly. “Oh, my, it just occurred to me why Mitchell’s still single.”

  “Because he’s smart,” Kim said with a quick laugh.

  “No,” Millie said, “because he’s a slob just like his brother.”

  That was why Mitchell kept getting dumped. Not because of his long hours, but his big mess.

  Chapter Three

  “The male is a domestic animal which, if treated with firmness and kindness, can be trained to do most things.”

  —Jilly Cooper

  My sons are slobs,” Millie said again, feeling none of the mother’s pride she usually felt for them. Instead she felt as if she were attending a support meeting and was confessing her most humiliating weakness. It was only right that it would be her children; they’re always a mother’s biggest weakness.

  “Millie…” Theresa said with a soft, sympathetic sigh.

  Kim laughed. Of course she could be smug. She had no children. “All men are slobs. That’s why I could never bring myself to marry one.”

  “You should have realized that before you got as far as the altar,” Theresa said softly, with a teasing glint in her blue eyes. “Heck, before you accepted the rings…”

  Kim shrugged, totally unrepentant. “Yeah, but I kept thinking I could housebreak one. Then I realized it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  Millie laughed despite herself. “Housebreak? I don’t know if I would call it that. But maybe I should have taught my sons to do some housework.”

  Then she dismissed the thought. Women hadn’t taught their sons those kinds of chores back when Mitchell and Steven were young. And she had seriously considered taking care of the house, and all the men living in it, her job. Until now she hadn’t realized it was the type of career from which it was hard to retire. If she’d known then… she might have chosen another profession. No, she’d loved it and hadn’t wanted to share her responsibilities with anyone.

  “How old is Steven?” Kim asked.

  “Thirty-six next month.”

  “And he’s been married how long?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “Don’t worry about it. His wife had fifteen years to housebreak him. She should have been able to train him in all that time.”

  Theresa shook her head. “I’ve had Wally thirty years and I haven’t managed to train him. He still hasn’t figured out how to lift the lid on the hamper and put his dirty clothes inside instead of leaving them on the bathroom floor. The man made a fortune teaching others how to run their businesses, but he can’t learn how to pick up his stinky socks.” Color flooded her cheeks when she glanced up and caught her friends staring at her. “Sorry…”

  “You’re not packing Wally’s bags, are you?” Kim asked.

  Theresa’s blush deepened. “And send him where? His mother only has a tiny apartment that she’s already sharing with her sister.”

  Millie wondered if she was joking. Ever since Wally had sold his business to the consultants he’d trained, Theresa had been frustrated with having a prematurely retired husband constantly underfoot. She hadn’t said that much about it, but it was clear she wasn’t happy.

  Kim must have sensed Theresa’s frustration, too, because she sounded serious when she suggested, “He could live with one of your daughters.”

  “And they would never speak to me again.” Theresa sighed. “No, I’m stuck with the dirty cloth
es and the old black and white westerns…”

  “You’re only stuck if you want to be,” Kim advised as she picked up a water bottle and twisted off the cap.

  Theresa frowned at their friend. “Weren’t you listening? My daughters would disown me.”

  “I’m not talking divorce,” Kim assured her.

  “Murder?” Theresa asked, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. She obviously thought Kim was joking.

  But one never knew with Kim.

  Millie had another idea—like she’d had when school budget cuts had cost Kim her job. She only hoped she wouldn’t wind up regretting this idea like her aching muscles made her regret her earlier one. “Classes.”

  “What?” Theresa asked.

  As the idea formed, Millie’s excitement grew. It was perfect. She’d promised her granddaughter she would try to think of something. And she had.

  Or maybe she’d picked up on Kim’s brainwave. “Classes. Isn’t that what you were thinking?”

  Kim shrugged. “I was kind of leaning toward murder.”

  Millie laughed. “C’mon.”

  “I don’t know about official classes,” Kim said, “but I really believe they can be retrained, if someone’s willing to put in the time and effort. You’re never too old to learn something new.”

  Theresa snorted, a little ladylike expulsion of air. “You have met Wally, right? He’s the ultimate old dog. He won’t learn any new tricks.”

  “Tricks?” Millie considered the word. “I suppose we could teach some of those. Cooking shortcuts. Laundry tips, that kind of thing. They have so much to learn. We’ll have to meet more than once a week.”

  “Here?” Kim asked.

  “Yes, the kitchen’s great.” Millie coveted all the counter space and the industrial-sized appliances. “It’s the perfect place.”

  “You’re serious?” Theresa asked, her blue eyes brightening with interest.

  Millie nodded. “We’ll concentrate on cleaning skills. Or maybe cooking. We’ll have to cover grocery shopping, too. Spring cleaning.” She sighed at the enormity of the task. “We’ll have to work up a lesson plan.”