Once More with Feeling

by Cynthia Baxter

  “They’re boas.”

  “Boas? As in boa constrictors?”

  “Yes,” said Emily. “Please hold one!”

  Laura swallowed hard. “I’ve never held a snake before. I wouldn’t want to hurt them.”

  “You won’t,” Emily assured her. “Just sit down and I’ll put Nathan on you. He really likes crawling around on people. Just hold out your hands like this.... There!”

  Laura sat very still, her mouth stretched into a stiff smile as she watched the baby boa slither around her wrist, through her fingers, onto her lap.

  “See? He likes you!” Emily announced triumphantly.

  Looking up and finding all three of Cam’s children watching her with approval, Laura felt it was almost— almost—worth it.

  At least one thing’s becoming increasingly clear, she thought, bracing herself as Nathan began crawling up her forearm. This must be love.

  * * * *

  “Hello, Appleton Realty? I’m calling about your ad in today’s paper for the two-bedroom in Clover Hollow....”

  Laura doodled nervously on the classified ads page of the Sunday paper as she listened to the nameless, faceless real estate agent at the other end of the line describe an apartment that sounded ideal. Brand-new kitchen, washer and dryer, gas and electric included ...

  “By the way, how many people is this for?” the agent asked, cutting into her own spiel.

  “Two.”

  “A husband and wife?”

  “No, my son and me.”

  “Son?” Her tone suddenly had an icy edge. “How old?”

  “Almost nine.”

  “Sorry. The landlord specified no children.”

  Before Laura had a chance to protest, the line went dead. Laura’s doodles went from decorative curlicues to angry slashes that spiked out from the classified ad that began Too Good to Be True!

  Laura rubbed her eyes. Her fifth phone call ... her fifth rejection. She was learning quickly that when it came to renting an apartment, having a child was even worse than having a bad credit rating.

  It’s not enough that I’m moving out of the only home I’ve known for ten years, she mused, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. Now I’m finding that even the wretched apartment I’ve been imagining in my worst nightmares is beyond my reach.

  Disgusted, Laura threw down her pen. She stood up, intending to fill her cup from the coffeepot. But she walked past it, and instead wandered through the house.

  She was seeing it the way it had looked the first time she’d seen it. She and Roger had been living in Manhattan then. One balmy Sunday afternoon in early May, on a whim she’d opened the Times to the real estate section, running down the Long Island column. She wasn’t a serious shopper. In fact, she practically dared one of the ads to catch her eye,

  YOUNG COUPLE’S DREAM. The catchy headline made her heart flip-flop. She held her breath as she read on. Two-bedroom starter house, one and a half baths, charming garden ... Even the price sounded just right.

  Her thoughts were racing as she glanced over at Roger, stretched out on the couch in the living room of their one-bedroom apartment. When she’d lived there alone, she’d luxuriated in all that space. But ever since he’d moved in, a curse had befallen it: every day, those three and a half rooms grew smaller and smaller.

  Perhaps her new interest in real estate was a result of the Twilight Zone-esque manner in which the walls of the apartment were closing in on her. Or maybe it was just that she’d recently turned thirty. At any rate, the nesting urge had hit her hard. All of a sudden she caught herself fantasizing about vegetable gardens, kitchens with breakfast nooks, and big bay windows just the right size for spray-painting snowflakes.

  The biological urge to choose wallpaper had apparently bypassed her husband.

  “A house?” Roger had said the first time she’d brought it up, his face twisting into a scowl. “You have no idea what being a homeowner entails. Overflowing cesspools. Freezing pipes. Leaks. Termites. Real estate taxes.” Shuddering, he added, “People like us are much better off renting.”

  And so she’d thought long and hard before finally daring to say, “Roger, listen to this.” Immediately she launched into an animated reading of the four-line ad.

  Much to her amazement, he responded with, “Sounds interesting. Want to check it out?”

  Perhaps it was because it was a warm spring day, with crocuses just beginning to peek their purple and yellow heads out of the ground. Maybe it was the way the sunlight streamed in the through the kitchen window, like a scene out of a Windex commercial. Or maybe once Roger realized that owning his own home was a real possibility, even he was unable to resist.

  The house itself was charming. From the start it seemed to invite them in, throwing its arms around them and snuggling up close. Now, walking slowly through the dining room, Laura remembered the flowered wallpaper that had covered the walls, big yellow cabbage roses splashed across a pale blue background.

  The print made her cringe. Her mind had clicked away, trying to decide which neutral shade of paint would work best in that room. Even so, looking at that wallpaper that day, she’d appreciated the fact that this house had been some other couple’s refuge, a place that long before had been decorated to fit their taste. Now it was her turn. The maze of rooms waited for her and Roger to put their imprint on it, to make it into their home.

  There was another reason for wanting to buy a house. She’d imagined that changing their status from apartment-renting city slickers to a suburban couple who owned a snow shovel would bring Roger and her closer. Perhaps if they had something to build on, a dream to work on together ... That same image of all those families, snug and happy in their warm houses as Laura the little girl peeked through their windows, gave her hope. Maybe all they needed to be a real family was a real home.

  Yet thinking back over the years as she wandered into the living room, running her fingers along the nubby fabric of the drapes, she understood that even though she’d worked long and hard to make this place feel like home, it never had. There was too much unrest here, too much unhappiness. The feeling that things weren’t quite right couldn’t be covered up with paint or carpeting or a brand-new layer of wallpaper.

  No, Laura realized, sinking onto the couch, taking a good hard look around, this wasn’t her home. And just as she’d told Gil, it was time to let go.

  She sat still a few minutes longer, trying to conjure up some feelings of regret, to dredge up something positive from her past, some sweet memory to cling to. When she realized her efforts were futile, she pulled herself up and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Hello, North Shore Realty? I’m calling about your ad....”

  * * * *

  “Just wait till you see this place, Ev. You’re going to love it.”

  Laura threw open the door of the apartment on which she’d just signed a one-year lease. Finding it had been a tremendous relief, after the others she’d seen on her quest for a new residence. Her worst nightmare about where she and her son might end up turned out to be quite plausible, she discovered once she began making the rounds.

  The first apartment she’d looked at wasn’t technically a basement; it only acted like one. It was on the first floor of a small apartment building—one that happened to be way below street level. Looking out the living-room window, she couldn’t see the cars she heard whooshing by; she saw only piles of dirt.

  The second one was considered a three-bedroom. What that meant, in real estate-ese, was a maze of tiny rooms, each of which was just big enough to squeeze in a single bed. Aside from the fact that it presented a true decorating challenge—especially for someone who owned dressers— she couldn’t help noticing that three or four mousetraps had been discreetly pushed under kitchen cabinets. She decided to keep looking.

  Numbers three and four weren’t much better. By the time the real estate agent begrudgingly brought her to the last address on her list, Laura was close to tears. And so she was relieved when
she found herself on the second floor of a private house, a perfectly symmetrical arrangement of four square rooms. Not only were there two bathrooms, wall-to-wall carpeting, and a kitchen that looked as if it was actually meant to be used, there were no signs of any furry roommates. After what she’d been through, this one seemed nothing short of Barbie’s Dream House.

  Walking around the empty rooms, she’d instantly begun imagining her own things filling the bare space. The couch would fit right in there, the Matisse poster would be perfect on that wall.... If she squinted just so, Laura could actually picture herself living there.

  When she saw the room that would be Evan’s, she was sold. It was big and bright, with two good-sized windows. There were also built-in bookshelves, enough to store a good portion of his toys, books, and space-age video equipment.

  Now, looking at the apartment through her son’s eyes, she wasn’t so certain. On her first trip, she hadn’t noticed that the bathroom door didn’t quite close. Or that the window in her bedroom had a tiny crack in the glass. Here a scratch, there a dent... Still, she glossed over it all as she went from room to room—manically chattering away. She drew Evan’s attention to all the good points, giving him more of a hard sell than any self-respecting real estate agent would have dared.

  “So,” she finally asked, ready to burst, “how do you like it?”

  Evan shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Okay? Is that all?” Laura’s spirits drooped. “But your

  room is so big. And there’s all that sunlight, and all those

  shelves “

  “I like our house better.”

  “Oh, Ev, you’ll still live in the house part of the time. But when you’re with me, we’ll be here. We’ll make this our home.”

  Please like it! she was tempted to exclaim, throwing herself at his size-four feet. Say it’s all right. Tell me I did the right thing.

  But she remained silent as she watched him shuffle from room to room, cloaked in gloom. She swallowed her misery, wondering if she could get out of the lease. After all, they hadn’t moved in yet. Maybe if she pleaded or argued or threatened to hire a lawyer ...

  “Hey, Mom! Check this out!”

  Laura was snapped out of her anxious reverie by Evan’s cry. He actually sounded excited—in a positive way.

  “Look over there! Out that window!”

  “What? Where?” Craning her neck to see over the kitchen sink, all Laura saw was her car, parked in the driveway. That, and the man who lived downstairs, ambling down the front walk, toward the street.

  “You didn’t tell me this place had a dog!”

  “I had no idea—”

  But Evan had already taken off, bounding down the stairs, out of the house.

  “Hey, mister! ‘S that your dog? Can I play with him? Can I walk him? What’s his name?”

  Laura watched as a black-and-white spotted mongrel came loping toward Evan, a tennis ball in his mouth. Their friendship was instantaneous. Walt Disney himself couldn’t have done a better job of creating the scene: a boy and a dog, two pals who acted as if they’d spent their entire lives searching for each other.

  She’d locked up the apartment and was heading toward the car when Evan came running over.

  “Are we leaving?”

  “For now.”

  “But we’ll be back, right?” Evan asked anxiously.

  “As soon as we can pack up our stuff.”

  “Mr. Ross said I can walk Spooner anytime I want,” Evan told her, scrambling into the backseat. “He’s a really smart dog. He can sit and beg and roll over . . . and boy, can he play ball!”

  “He sounds like quite a pup.”

  Evan turned around as she drove away, looking back at the house longingly. “That place is pretty neat.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I think my room at your house is bigger than my room at Dad’s.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  He was silent for a while before saying, “Hey, Mom?”

  Laura peeked at him through the rearview mirror. “Hmm?”

  “I think it’s gonna be okay, you and me living here.”

  “You know, Evan,” she said sincerely, catching his eye in the mirror, “I think so, too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Have you got it? I got it. Higher, now more to the right ... watch that corner....”

  With a loud bang, the edge of the love seat crashed against the corner of the house. Laura cringed, wondering which was worse: smashing the arm of the couch or taking a few shingles off what was about to become her new home.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Not bad at all,” Cam assured her. He was at the rear, bearing most of the weight as the two of them struggled to lug up to the second floor a piece of furniture clearly never intended to ascend a flight of stairs. “Just a little tear. You can hardly see it.”

  “I’d been thinking about slipcovers, anyway.”

  “Hey, if this is the worst casualty of the move, you’ll be lucky.”

  “Lucky,” Laura muttered, hoisting the love seat with every last bit of energy she had. All her muscles ached, some she’d never dreamed she possessed. She was covered in sweat, though the temperature on this November afternoon was just hovering above thirty-two degrees. Still, it was warm enough to keep the persistent drizzle from freezing. The only thing worse than moving all her worldly possessions in the rain, she told herself, would have been moving them in the snow.

  At least the truck’s almost empty, she thought, trudging across the lawn one more time. A few more trips and we’ll be done.

  “I’ll get those lamps.” Cam hopped into the Ryder truck.

  “Great. I’ll finish off these toys.”

  Laura lifted a pile of games out of the back of the truck. Firmly she clutched Monopoly, the foundation of a leaning tower of kiddie entertainment. Balanced on top were Candyland, Life, and half a dozen others. At the pinnacle were a pair of five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzles, one a picture of Snoopy having a meaningful dialogue with Woodstock, the other the four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles doing serious damage to their arteries by devouring a pepperoni-and-sausage pizza. She shuffled toward the house, marveling over how heavy all those cardboard boxes filled with nothing more than plastic pieces and bits of paper were.

  Cam reached the door before she did. Juggling two living room lamps, he propped it open for her. “Are you sure you can manage?”

  “Yup. I’ve got it.” Moving in slow motion, she began her ascent.

  “Here, let me help you—”

  “No, really,” she insisted, feeling her way with her toe. “I’m fine.”

  She’d just reached the second-floor landing and was about to bend over to deposit her load on the floor when she felt it shifting. Still clutching Monopoly, she watched in horror as the entire stack of cardboard boxes tumbled down the stairs, their contents flying. A thousand cardboard puzzle pieces mixed with pink and blue plastic cars, Candyland cards, Chinese checkers marbles, and dice.

  “Oh, no!” Laura moaned.

  Dropping Monopoly on the floor, she sank to her knees. A jolt of pain shot through her. One of the Monopoly pieces, a tiny silver top hat, was embedded in her knee. She covered her face with her hands, succumbing to a crying jag she realized had been floating close to the surface all day. Then she felt Cam’s arms encircling her, the softness of his beard against her cheek, and she opened her eyes.

  Chaos surrounded her. Boxes were piled up everywhere. They covered the kitchen counters. They lined the walls of every room—even the bathroom. She’d packed in a hurry, tossing things into whatever box they fit into. Towels were stashed with mixing bowls, bottles of shampoo with Play-Doh, cookbooks with pillowcases. At the time her method had seemed to make sense. But here at the other end of the one-mile trek to her new home, she realized the contents of each box would need to be sorted out before being tucked away.

  As if that task weren’t daunting enough, th
e apartment itself had a long way to go before it would be livable. The bathroom and the kitchen needed a scrubbing. No curtains were hung, no pictures, not even a calendar. Her furniture looked much too big, and much too plentiful, for the compact rooms. Besides, none of the pieces were in quite the right place. Lamps had been set down unceremoniously on the floor of the hallway, end tables were clustered in Evan’s room. Somehow the kitchen table had ended up in the living room.

  Yet the turmoil of the apartment, Laura knew, was only partly responsible for reducing her to tears. Nor could she blame the stress of leaving the familiarity of her house and moving into a place where she couldn’t even find the electric sockets. Three days earlier, the paperwork on her divorce had been finalized.

  She’d expected to be matter-of-fact about it. Instead, she was overcome with a dozen different emotions, ranging from relief to sadness to fear. She tried to push them inside, to busy herself by throwing out a decade’s worth of telephone bills and finishing off an entire freezer full of food.

  Now, suddenly, all the emotions she’d tried to ignore were rising to the surface, jumbled together. She realized that while she’d tried to believe that the pieces of the puzzle that constituted her life were starting to fit together, in reality they were no more organized than the Snoopy-and-Woodstock puzzle at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I can’t do this,” she gasped, her voice muffled by Cam’s shoulder.

  “Can’t do what?”

  “I can’t live here. This doesn’t feel like home. No place feels like home. I don’t live anywhere. I don’t have a life. Everything that was familiar is gone.”

  Cam kissed her gently on top of her head. “You must be exhausted. We’ve been lugging stuff all day. Tell you what. You go lie down, and I’ll do something about dinner.”

  “I can’t lie down,” she protested. “There’s too much to do.”

  “Just twenty minutes,” said Cam. Glancing around, he added, “Now all we have to do is find the bed.”

  Laura hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she lay down and closed her eyes. Almost immediately her aching muscles melted into the mattress. Succumbing to the thick sleep that wrapped her in its insistent arms was a relief.