by Susan Schild
After her last ball, she crouched on the grass and watched admiringly as Mary Catherine hit ball after ball past the 200-yard mark. She was such a natural athlete. After one long last drive, her friend slipped her clubs back in the bag. Linny grinned. “You’ll do just fine in the tournament.”
Mary Catherine gave a shrug. “Plain old muscle memory.”
As they walked back to the pro shop to return the wire baskets, Linny thought about how she’d missed talking with Mary Catherine instead of just whining to her friend about problems. She was determined to get out of her Chicken Little crisis mode, and try to start at least trying to act normal again. She arched a brow at her friend. “How about a beer?”
They chose their rocking chairs on the long porch that overlooked the eighteenth hole. Linny twisted off the cap of her frosty beer. “How’s work? How are your men? Give me the 9-1-1.”
“It’s 4-1-1, as in information, not 9-1-1 as in emergency.” Her friend’s tone was patient and a bit amused.
Linny waved a hand dismissively, but cracked a grin. “You know what I mean.”
“Dare is taking a summer school class, working in a restaurant, and treating us like a human ATM machine.” Mary Catherine shook her head ruefully, but her eyes twinkled.
“Typical college student.” Michael Dare Kent. Linny felt a pang of wistfulness. She missed the sweet boy who was terrified of storms, called her Aunt Linny, and had a lisp. Dare had become a confident young man, bordering on cocky, with an infectious laugh and knack for barely avoiding trouble. He lived up to his name. Mary Catherine and Mike should have foregone the family middle name and picked Earnest, or maybe a sixties hippie name like Mellow. “Next time you talk to that young man, tell him to text his dear old Auntie sometime.”
“I will.” Mary Catherine stretched out her legs in front of her and crossed her ankles. “Mike’s happy as a lark since he’s working again. He’s got a glint in his eye and a spring in his step.”
“I’m so glad, girl. It’s been tough for both of you.” Mike had gone through periods of darkness and days where he didn’t get out of his bathrobe. She glanced at her friend, and felt a tug at her heart as she noted the new strands of silver in her hair. It was becoming—very Emmylou Harris.
“It’s starting to feel more normal, but we just had a big fight, over—get this—where is the best place to leave the car keys so they’re easy to find.” Mary Catherine took a long swallow. “Not one of our finer moments.”
Linny nodded sympathetically, and spoke in her best Sigmund Freud accent. “So vat vas the fight really about?”
“Money.” She grimaced. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do for the two years when Mike wasn’t working. He just spent a chunk of his paycheck on the latest phone. We need to rebuild our savings, not buy new electronics.” She waved a hand. “We sorted it out, but that man can be just as hard-headed as I am.”
“You wouldn’t do well with a weak man.” Linny sipped and thought about it. More evidence to support her theory that fighting and resolving was the way to go—that, and not marrying a man with the scruples of an alley cat. “He’s a good guy. Pat him for me.”
“I will.” Mary Catherine smiled, and shifted gears. “How’s the old dream weaving going?”
“I’m stalled on the dream list, and think I may have narcolepsy,” Linny admitted. “Every time I look at job postings, I fall asleep.”
Her friend shook her head. “It’s just too soon. Take a little time to chill. Don’t do the job search before you’ve given yourself a chance to think about you want.” She touched her middle finger to her thumb and held out her hand. “Reflect, my little cricket. This is a time to reflect.”
“It’s, ‘little grasshopper,’ ” Linny said absently, but Mary Catherine’s words had struck a chord. She felt her stomach churn. “Being unemployed makes me so nervous.”
“Of course it does. But don’t jump from the frying pan to the fire just because you’re nervous.” She nodded at four men in golf shoes who clattered down the sidewalk in front of them. “How’s your young man?”
“De-wormed and healthy.” Linny gave her friend a sidelong glance, and decided to spill about her delicious and inappropriate crush. “Roy’s vet is darling, but married.”
“Darling, huh? Mercy.” Mary Catherine stuck a foot out and jammed on the brakes of her rocking chair. She turned, and fixed her eyes on Linny. “What’s he like?”
“He’s a big guy, twinkle in his eye like Brad Pitt or Channing Tatum.” She sighed, remembering. “I just keep saying and doing clumsy things around him.”
“Ah.” Mary Catherine’s chair resumed speed. “That’d be a good sign if he was available.”
Linny’s face flamed as she thought about it. “Last night, he said he was sorry about my being recently widowed, and I told him I was fine and dandy.” She threw up a hand in exasperation. “I mean, I sounded cheerful.”
“You get sick of hearing sympathy when Buck was a rat.” Mary Catherine’s chair slowed down again and she looked thoughtful. “How did the back of the vet’s neck look?”
Linny tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. “Unkempt.”
“Yesss!” Mary Catherine said with a triumphant grin.
Linny sat at the kitchen table with her notebook in front of her, twirling a lock of hair and trying to rev up interest in her Sweet Dream List. She doodled stars, lopsided horses, and mutant trees as afternoon sun streamed in the window behind her. ‘No more involvement with layoffs,’ she finally scrawled, but immediately scolded herself for writing the obvious. But this morning’s message from Indigo reverberated in her brain, and she bossa nova-ed through belittling thoughts with the bobcat goddess. She wrote faster, rusty at first but with her slanted cursive picking up speed as she moved down the page. No more dealing with sad people. No more working around people in crises. No more traveling for work, if at all possible. No more office politics. She sat back, read what she’d written, and felt a heavy sense of futility. Good grief. Unless there were openings in the world of Oz, no employer could offer her that. She gazed out the window at the cotton fields. Roy ambled in and licked her foot with a sandpaper tongue. She pushed him away, but he seemed even more determined to bathe her ankle.
She tossed down her pen. “Come on, buddy. Let’s blow off some steam.” In the yard, she tossed Roy a tennis ball, but he only seemed to get the catch part of fetch. He’d hurtle over the tennis ball, skid to a halt, and trot off with the neon ball to a shady spot to savor his prize. Her phone rang, and she scooped it up.
“Linny, this is Craig Lyman.”
She took a deep breath, remembered all the new dream weaver experimentation and said pleasantly, “Hey, Craig. Nice to hear from you.” With the phone to her ear, she perched on the step and listened.
Half an hour before she was to meet Craig on Monday evening, Linny discarded yet another outfit. Her stomach was in knots. When Craig had called, he’d sounded just as normal and nice as he had at the cookout, but Linny’s nerves made her extra critical. Had his deep voice sounded affected? Maybe too many people had told him he had a great voice, so he made sure he amplified it. Now that she thought about it, he sounded like Jim Nabors did when he sang the national anthem. She breathed out, exasperated with herself.
She pulled on black stretchy pants with a panel in the bottom that was supposed to move everything northward. Flat bottoms were the curse of the Taylor women. Her back to the dresser mirror, she craned her neck to check the migration, but decided it was nothing to write home about. Dang. Next she pulled on a V-neck cotton shirt that she hoped was slimming. As she stretched it further down her hips, she sucked in her stomach and reviewed her phone call with Craig, trying to figure out what had put her off.
Ah, she had it. When he asked her out to supper, he’d said, ‘I thought we’d try The Phoenix, that trendy new restaurant downtown.’ She knitted her brow as she slipped on an earring. Men shouldn’t use the word trendy. It just wasn’t right.
She needed to work on her attitude. Exhaling loudly, she tilted her head for one more look in the mirror, and decided that this outfit was the best of the lot. Maybe Craig would have the nearing-forty-years-old nearsightedness, and she’d be a blur to him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Linny gave herself a mental shake, poured herself a glass of ice water and thought about it. She was scared. Buck’s unfaithfulness had left deep cuts to her self-esteem that hadn’t healed over yet. She shook her head in chagrin, knowing she was criticizing Craig just in case he didn’t like her. Giving herself a little Indigo hug, she talked to herself. “Relax. This is an experiment. He’s just a new friend. You don’t have to like him, and he doesn’t have to like you.”
When Linny walked into The Phoenix, she saw Craig at the bar and was struck again by his good looks—sandy blonde hair, even features, and Caribbean blue eyes.
He stood, and flashed a sweet smile. “Hi, Linny.”
Momentarily dazzled, she stammered, “Hey. Hi, Craig. It’s good to see you.”
“You look great.” He reddened slightly as he paid his compliment.
Again, there was that hint of vulnerability that was endearing. She smiled, and her shoulders dropped.
They settled in at their table in front of a large window, and Linny gazed out onto a cobblestone street lined with a row of shops, each doorway festooned with striped awnings.
Looking bored, a tall, pale young man with a lock of hair falling artfully across one eye glided up to the table. He recited, “My name is Stagg, and I’ll be your waiter for tonight’s dining experience. I’ll be back in a moment with the wine list.” He slid away.
Oh, Lord. Linny rubbed her eyes. Stagg? A dining experience? And was it too much to ask that a server smile or make eye contact . . . at least with the one eye? She glanced at Craig to see if he’d noticed, but he was looking around the restaurant with bright interest.
A few moments later, Craig and Stagg bonded over the wine list. Their discussion of the various merits of the wines was serious, and grew competitive; when one called a wine “flinty and strong-willed,” the other countered, describing it as “fulsome, with a leather and lace dichotomy.” She shook her head, half-amused and half-irritated. Stagg finally trumped Craig when he described a cabernet as “winsome, with poignant undertones.”
Linny smirked, picturing the actress Shailene Woodley, not a bottle of wine.
“Great adjectives.” Craig pointed at the waiter, grinning. “You must have been an English major.”
Stagg ducked his head, blushed and smiled in acknowledgement. The too-cool attitude was gone. Linny found herself warming to Craig, and even liking Stagg.
Their window seat was perfect for people watching. The middle-aged man looking snappy in the pink and white seersucker suit had to be an attorney. Who else would have the courage to wear that getup? As his companion—a plump brunette—stepped up onto the curb, he guided her, his hand on the small of her back. Linny sighed. Andy had been protective of her, and she sure missed it.
Glancing at Craig, she watched him breathe in the wine in his glass, swish it around in his mouth, and swallow. Her irritation was back. All that fuss! She returned to the show. A tall, leggy young woman carrying several shopping bags skipped out the door of a shop, and smiled up at her companion, a man in jeans. As they strolled by the window, Linny gasped quietly. Jack Avery was squiring the young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She felt a burn of seething anger, and thought about Buck and the girl named Kandi. Oh, yes. She knew all about married men’s young girlfriends. She was probably named Velvet or Bunny and made him feel like a big shot.
As they passed the window, Velvet/Bunny dropped a bag and Jack bent to pick it up. As he rose, he gazed directly in the window at her, taking in Craig and the candlelight. He smiled a knowing smile, gave her a little salute, and turned back to the girl.
Linny flushed scarlet. He had a lot of nerve, a heck of a lot of nerve. Hoping she was still in Jack’s line of sight, she turned to her date, threw her head back and laughed, as if he’d said something witty. Craig looked puzzled but pleased. She glanced again, and the two were gone.
She took a gulp of wine and tried to compose herself. She was mortified that Jack had seen her on a date, perpetuating his merry widow notion. Also, she was crushingly disappointed in him. He’d seemed like a man with heart and depth, and he’d turned out to be just another married hound dog trying to stave off midlife by chasing girls. She sighed quietly and sipped her poignant wine.
Craig cocked his head and unleashed his smile. “Now tell me more about you. You said you were newly single. How long were you married?”
Linny tried to push cheating men out of her brain and sound breezy. “Oh, not that long.” She shook her head and went for a regretful look. “Turns out, we just didn’t have that much in common.” For example, he didn’t believe in monogamy and Linny did.
“I gotcha,” Craig replied, nodding vigorously. “My wife . . . ex-wife I mean . . .” He colored, and went on. “We married right out of college, and after sixteen years, just grew into two very different people.” He talked about his kids and his work, and asked good questions about her. He was a skilled small talker. After a few moments, she started to relax, but retreated into her critical, assessing mode when Craig referred to his physician’s assistant work as “the lifesaving business.”
Ever the gentleman, Craig walked her to her car after supper, but his breath carried the garlic smell of the scampi he’d eaten, and she drew away from him. Be nice, she admonished herself. This is a nice man. But she couldn’t help it; he just seemed like a guy who was trying too hard.
She unlocked the doors, and he took her hands in his. “I’d like to see you again.”
She looked into his azure eyes, tried to ignore the garlic by breathing through her mouth, and felt . . . nothing. Not one iota of attraction to him. What was wrong with her? Gently, she extricated her hands from his. “You seem like good guy, but I am newly . . . single and not sure I’m ready for dating. Could we maybe do some things together casually as friends?”
“Friends?” He leaned against the Volvo and gave her a speculative look.
“Exactly.” She exhaled, relieved to have said it.
“We can do that. We are both too old”—he smiled apologetically, correcting himself—“too smart to jump into something fast anyway.”
But did his eyes narrow in interest? Good grief. Had she just gotten more appealing because she didn’t seem interested in him? She said a quick goodnight, and slipped inside the car. As she pulled away, she shook her head in exasperation. The ones you weren’t interested in wanted to take a swan dive off the high board for you, and the cute ones were married and escorting jailbait.
Midweek, a note from an old colleague buoyed her. Miriam Cason was the Director of Professional Development at a software company, and apparently had heard about Linny’s departure from Kipling. Her note read:
Linny,
Hope you’re well. I need a trainer to do some team building with our Sales and Marketing folks. Do you have a colleague you could recommend to us?
Best,
Miriam Cason
Maybe this was it, the sign she’d been looking for. Her thoughts raced around her brain madly. Maybe she could become an independent-management-consultant-trainer type person. She’d work out the title later. She could set her own hours, and only take on the work and the kinds of clients she liked. Her heart raced. Maybe this was the key element to the work part of her Sweet Dream List. Heart racing happily, she scooped up Roy and did a little waltz with him around the small kitchen. After a moment, she typed back feverishly, asking to be considered for the work, and a response came almost immediately. Linny held her breath as she read the woman’s reply. She exhaled exultantly. Miriam agreed to meet with her.
Thursday morning, Linny woke up, exhausted from a night of restless sleep that was punctuated by strange dreams. In the last one, she was a bag lady behi
nd the wheel of a motorized shopping cart, tooling through downtown Raleigh. She sat up with a pounding heart and saw the clock. Good lord. Her meeting with Miriam was at 9:00 a.m. and it was 8:05. She bolted from her bed.
Linny showered, but had no time to put on makeup or blow-dry her hair. After frantically trying on and discarding three pairs of pants and two skirts, it dawned on her. The zesty-cheese-puffs and M & Ms-with-almonds diet meant some of her best work outfits didn’t fit. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was 8:30. If she hit no traffic and all the lights were green, she might make the meeting.
She raced out the door, slid into the Volvo, and careened down the driveway and hit paved road before she realized she’d not patted the Lucky Duck. Dang it. On the bypass, her breathing grew shallow as she saw the red tail-lights of a late rush hour.
When she called from the car to say she was running late, Miriam’s voice was crisp. In a skidding Dukes of Hazard move, Linny shot into the parking lot and was close to hyperventilating with anxiety. She was always on time. “Fifteen minutes late. Bad form. Rookie mistake,” she muttered to herself as she hurried to the main entrance.
When she arrived in the office, breathless from her race walk from the reception desk, Miriam was cool. “We’ll need to keep this brief. I have a nine-thirty meeting.”
Linny flushed as she apologized, and pushed a damp lock of hair back from her face. She was still breathing hard, partly because her pants were so tight. “So can you tell me about your group and what you want to achieve in the team-building program?”
Miriam’s guarded look disappeared, and she grew animated as she discussed infighting that had gotten so bad that even customers were noticing. “It has to stop. In this business environment, there’s no room for this nonsense.” She cocked her head. “Frankly, I was surprised you said you’d like to be considered for the job. I thought at Kipling, you worked with engineers and technical types.”