Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  “Carol, are you ever going to swallow that food? We’re not having a blackout meal tonight, are we?” Jim interrupted my daydreaming with a feeble attempt at humor.

  Blackout meals used to be my specialty. Our part of the country was subject to power failure after power failure in the mid-80s. The family used to tease me that I’d take advantage of the situation by cleaning all the leftovers out of the refrigerator and slapping them together into some sort of makeshift meal before everything spoiled. Frequently, no one could identify what they were eating. Jenny and our son Mike called them blackout meals, and always eyed them with great suspicion.

  I admit that I did come up with some pretty unusual combinations – leftover hamburger with a side order of pineapple Jello was one of them. I never claimed to be a gourmet cook; I just hate to waste food.

  “No, Jim,” I replied, washing down my food with a dainty sip of chardonnay, “I can assure you that a blackout meal is not the menu tonight. Nor is all-day meat, in case you were wondering.”

  If you don’t understand that phrase, think of chewing a tough piece of meat forever and ever – all day, in fact. Hey, in those days Jim had me on a pretty strict grocery budget. No filet mignon for us.

  Come to think of it, not much had changed on that score.

  Sensing a tad of tension in the air once again, Jenny tried to lighten the mood by going down memory lane a little more. “Mom, one of my all-time favorite meals is your meatloaf. We haven’t had that in ages. Maybe now that I’m a grown-up, you’ll finally share the secret ingredient with me so mine will come out as good as yours does.”

  I laughed. “The secret ingredient is pretty simple, Jenny. It’s adding a pinch of allspice to the meat mixture. You know,” I went on, getting into the spirit of things a little more, “I remember the night we did the meatloaf poll.”

  “The what?” asked Jim, clearly confused by this reference.

  “It was one of those nights that you were out of town on business,” I said, thinking that those were the good old days. “Mike never liked meatloaf, and he used to grab his throat and roll all over the kitchen floor whenever I served it. Just getting him to eat one forkful was a major event.

  “This one night -- I guess you were about twelve, Jenny, so Mike must have been ten -- I got sick and tired of his antics and I challenged him to call his friends to see how many of them liked meatloaf. We made a deal that he could call eight of his friends, and if five or more of them liked meatloaf, he had to clean his plate.”

  “Pretty clever, Carol. Did it work?”

  “It sure did, Dad,” Jenny chimed in. “Mike was really mad when he found out so many of his buddies liked meatloaf. In fact, I think a lot of them wanted to know the next time Mom was making it so they could come for dinner. I wonder if Mike remembers that. Maybe I’ll e-mail him a little later and ask him.”

  “But he did take two hours to clean his plate,” I reminded Jenny. “And there was a lot of eye-rolling and coughing, too. I always wondered how much he actually ate, and how much he snuck under the table to feed Tuppence. She was such a great dog.”

  By now I was in a much better mood. I guess living in the past makes me feel better.

  I briefly wondered if I could use the same technique on My Beloved. What if I phoned some of our friends and took a poll about the merits of moving into an active adult community? Nah. This time, I was afraid to take the chance, unless I knew I could stack the deck and win.

  “Need any help cleaning up?” Jim asked.

  “Not tonight, Dad. I can do it. Mom and I need to catch up. I could tell she wasn’t listening to me at supper. And you know how she hates to miss anything,” said our daughter.

  “Guilty as charged,” I admitted. “On both counts. I promise I’ll hang on your every word, sweetie. I’ll scrape and rinse and you load the dishwasher.”

  Jim grabbed the evening paper and shambled off toward the family room, Lucy and Ethel at his heels.

  This is nice, I thought to myself, as Jenny and I worked companionably for a few minutes.

  But Jenny wasn’t saying anything.

  I was immediately apprehensive. Call it mother’s intuition, but I had a feeling that what she wanted to talk to me about was more important than just catching me up on school stuff.

  “Um, Mom,” she finally said. “I wanted to tell you this first, before I told Dad. I found a condo to rent today. It’s in the same complex as Mark’s. I’m moving out of the house at the end of the month.”

  Chapter 3

  If we can put a man on the moon,

  why can’t we teach him to pick up his socks?

  Whoa. Talk about surprises. I wondered if there was going to be a full moon tonight. What was it with my family and moving all of a sudden?

  Fortunately, I was facing the sink when Jenny made her big announcement, so I had a chance to compose myself before I responded. I was never any good at hiding my feelings when I was a child, and since I’ve gotten older, that’s one of the few things about me that hasn’t changed. I knew she was hoping for a positive response from me. I channeled the fantasy that what Jenny had really said was, “Mom, Mark and I are getting married,” and reacted accordingly by putting a big grin on my face and hugging her. I hoped she didn’t see that my eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful,” I lied. “I can’t wait to see it. Is it a studio, or a one-bedroom? You know, when Dad and I were first married, we had a studio apartment in New York that was so small that Dad could literally stand in the middle of the room and reach out with his arms and touch both walls. No kidding.”

  Jenny eyed me critically. She knew me too well and didn’t believe my enthusiasm for a single minute.

  “I know this is a shock for you, Mom. And it will take you some time to get used to the idea. That’s why I wanted to tell you first, before I told Dad.”

  “Don’t be silly, honey. You know how much we like Mark. And I’ve tried very hard not to interfere in your relationship.” Well, I had. If I hadn’t succeeded, I’d done my best.

  Honest.

  “But having you home for a while has been great. I confess I got used to having you here. I don’t mean to be selfish, but I am. I can’t help it. At heart, I’m just a selfish only child.”

  Jenny laughed. “No need to be so hard on yourself, Mom.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I know you and Dad like Mark, despite the rocky way our relationship began. But this doesn’t mean we’re moving in together. I made that mistake with Jeff, and look how badly that turned out.

  “Mark and I don’t want to rush into anything. He’s been burned, too, remember? Worse than I’ve been, actually. His fiancée practically left him standing at the altar. We decided that if we live close to each other, we’ll have a chance to get to know each other better. You know what I’m talking about, right? More privacy? But we’ll each have our own place to go back to if we want to.” She flushed a little as she explained this to me.

  Heck, I knew what she was talking about. My Beloved and I had been young once, too. I’d heard this arrangement referred to on one of the talk shows recently as “neighbors with benefits.”

  “When can I see it, honey?” I asked, recovering my composure and showing the hoped-for enthusiasm. “When did you say you’re moving in? Do you have to paint first? How does that work with a condo?”

  Oh, stupid me. “I just realized. Mark will be the one to help you with all this.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mom. Of course I want you to see it, as soon as we can get in. It’s rented now, but the tenant is moving out at the end of next week. And you know I’ll depend on you for decorating advice. Men aren’t so good at that kind of stuff. Even Mark.

  “We’ll make a date and go over as soon as we can. Now, I’m going to break the news to Dad.”

  I sure hoped Jim took it well. Jenny was the apple of his eye. Not that he didn’t love Mike. But there’s something about men and their daughters. Their little girls. It was ha
rd for My Beloved to see Jenny grow up.

  I had to hand it to my sensible daughter, though. This idea of living “together but separately” made a lot of sense. I briefly wondered if our marriage would perk up, recapture some of that old zing, if each of us had our own private space. Despite the fact that our house was large, now that Jim was retired and home more, we often seemed to be occupying the exact same place at the exact same time.

  All of a sudden, I had a brilliant thought. Wouldn’t it be fabulous if My Beloved and I each had our own master bedroom suite? Hmm. I wondered if those active adult communities Jim was researching had two master suites.

  Maybe this was worth pursuing. We could each have our own space – mine extremely neat, My Beloved’s extremely messy – and neither of us would intrude on the other’s. Wow! Just think of the arguments we wouldn’t be having – “Carol, I put my car keys on the dresser. Did you touch them? Damn it, I hate it when you move my things.”

  “Jim, can you puleeze pick up your dirty socks and throw them in the hamper? Is that too much to ask? A little common courtesy? If your poor dead mother could see what a slob you are, she’d be shocked.” And be fed up, as I was, with picking up after him.

  Wait a minute. What was the matter with me? Was I actually considering the “M” word too? Well, what could it hurt if I were to take a quick peek at Jim’s retirement magazine?

  Just to improve my knowledge.

  In case anyone asked my opinion.

  While Jenny was talking to Jim, I finished cleaning up in the kitchen. My Beloved had left his new magazine on the hall table, so I scooped it up and put it away in the cutlery drawer for a private read after he went to bed. I didn’t want to answer any questions about my sudden interest in it. Especially in case what I saw really turned me off.

  I heard low voices in the family room, then laughter. It sounded like all was going well for Jenny. At least Jim wasn’t raising his voice and telling her he thought her plan made no sense. I knew he liked Mark, and if he had to give up his little girl, which was inevitable, at least it would be to someone we both knew and trusted.

  Not that that mattered, of course. I was smart enough to know that parents can object to a grown child’s decision, but keeping mum is the best tack to take most of the time. We were lucky our kids let us know what was going on in their lives most of the time. So many kids these days didn’t.

  Since the coast seemed to be clear, I carefully eased the cutlery drawer open and retrieved the magazine. I scanned the table of contents, and realized most of the stories and ads seemed to be about communities in the South and West. Florida, of course. Texas. Arizona. North Carolina. There was one article on eight terrific low-tax towns for retirees. I was sure that Jim would read every word of that one. Jeez, didn’t anyone want to retire in the northeastern United States?

  There was a classified section in the back of the magazine, and I was interested to see that there was a handful of active adult communities listed in Fairfield County. And there were many more on the Connecticut shoreline north of New Haven.

  But I sure didn’t want to live at the shore. Hordes of tourists in the summer and sidewalks rolled up in the winter. No thanks.

  Some of the southern communities looked pretty enticing, with their swimming pools and golf courses and tennis courts. Not that we played golf or tennis. Nor did I intend to learn either sport at this stage of my life, and I doubted whether Jim did. He always made fun of men who spent every waking moment on the golf course. We did enjoy swimming, but the beach in Fairport during the summer months and the YMCA community pool in the winter answered all our needs in that department just fine.

  I sighed deeply, lost in thought. Could Jim and I ever be happy in one of these places? I was not ready to discuss any of this with My Beloved. Not yet. Maybe, not ever.

  “So which ones do you want to check out, Carol?”

  I jumped guiltily. “Jim, you snuck up on me. I thought you were talking to Jenny.”

  “I was talking to Jenny, and even though I’m not thrilled with the arrangement she and Mark have worked out, at least they’re not moving in together right away. And don’t try and weasel out of this. I saw you flipping through the retirement magazine. You can’t deny it.”

  I was flustered, yes indeedy. Way to go, Carol, I congratulated myself. The one conversation you did not want to have seems to have started, thanks entirely to your stupidity.

  Jim chuckled. “I knew that if I got that magazine you wouldn’t be able to resist looking at it. You just love seeing how other people live. You fell right into my little trap.”

  Huh? Had My Beloved set me up?

  Jim reached out and took the magazine from my hand. “Come on, what do you say? We haven’t looked at real estate together in over thirty-five years. We’re not too old to have a new adventure or two.

  “Besides, I made appointments for us to see two of them tomorrow. It’ll be fun just to look. For the hell of it.”

  And he walked out of the kitchen whistling, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

  Chapter 4

  In my next life, I’m gonna get organized!

  The next morning brought gray skies and drizzle, what the Irish would call “a soft day.” The color of the sky perfectly matched my mood. I’d had a restless night in our big four-poster bed, my sleep punctuated with dreams of strangers knocking on our front door, moving vans, and my purse being stolen.

  The purse dream is one I have quite often. I read a book on interpreting dreams a while back, and apparently, the purse is the symbol of a woman’s identity. It makes sense when you think about it, because of all the stuff we cart around in them. Anyway, dreaming about losing one’s purse is supposed to mean a woman is subconsciously worried about losing her identity. Food for thought.

  My friends disagree with this interpretation, however. They claim that dreaming about losing your purse means you’re afraid of losing your memory, not your identity. Which also makes some sense. How many times recently have I walked from one room into another, and then have completely forgotten why I walked in there in the first place?

  And I’ve also noticed my communication skills have lessened since I’ve gotten older. Nouns, for instance, seem to gallop right out of my head much too often. Fortunately, my friends are mostly the same age, so we have the same memories and we can fill in each others’ blank spots.

  Jim’s side of the bed was still warm, so he hadn’t been up very long. I hoped he’d put the coffee on. One of the perks – forgive the pun – of having My Beloved retired was that he made the coffee every morning. I hated to admit it, but he did make better coffee than I did.

  I stared at the window overlooking our front yard and contemplated my options, none of which were appealing. I’d been so mad at Jim last night that I deliberately stayed up and watched a late movie, so we didn’t have to talk about his plan to kidnap me and whisk me away to see some active adult communities today. By the time I came upstairs to bed, he was sawing wood like a chainsaw.

  I didn’t want to start the day with a fight with My Beloved, but damn it, I wasn’t going with him to check out those places. I wasn’t old, and I wasn’t moving. That was all there was to it.

  I heard the furnace groan and then kick in. I knew exactly how it felt. I was groaning too, because it was time to face Jim and get an unpleasant conversation over with.

  I was splashing cold water on my face and counting my new wrinkles in the bathroom mirror when I hear Jim come back into our bedroom.

  “Hi honey,” he said. “You should have stayed in bed a little longer. I brought you breakfast.”

  Huh? Was my hearing failing me too? My Beloved had brought me breakfast? I hadn’t had that treat since Mother’s Day 20 years ago. Boy, was he buttering me up. Well, he wasn’t going to get on my good side that easily.

  I tried to ignore that niggling little voice inside my head reminding me that Jim was using the same underhanded method on me that I’d used
on him for years. It sure felt different to be on the receiving end.

  I decided I could eat and make my position crystal clear at the same time. I knew how to play this game.

  “This coffee’s delicious,” I said to Jim, taking a sip and trying hard not to spill it. “Thanks for bringing it up to me, and for the cereal, too. But don’t think this is going to make me change my mind and go with you today. I’m really mad at you for making these appointments without talking to me first. I thought we made decisions like this as a couple.”

  I slammed the coffee cup down into the saucer – fortunately, it wasn’t my good china -- and gave him a withering look.

  Jim threw up his hands in a motion of defeat. “Carol, you’ve got this all wrong. I did it as a surprise for you. I thought you’d love the idea. It’ll be an adventure. We’re not going to buy anything, for God’s sake. We’re just going to look at a few places. Get some ideas. Maybe we’ll even go out to lunch.”

  Out to lunch? Jim’s idea of going out to lunch was my packing sandwiches for the car and eating them while we were driving.

  Then I remembered those beautiful places I’d seen in Jim’s glossy magazine. Was it possible that communities like that existed around here? With – gasp – two master bedroom suites?

  What the heck. I’d go along with him, just this one time. I’d just keep repeating my mantra – two master suites, two master suites, two master suites.

  My Beloved reached over and squeezed my hand. “This is a good idea, Carol. You’ll see. It’ll be fun. We haven’t gone house-hunting in such a long time, not since we were first married.”