Tuesday Night Miracles

by Kris Radish

  Back inside, they refresh their coffees and Kit sets out snacks and says that she wishes they could have wine instead. Leah confesses that she’d even like a bowling-alley beer, and Dr. Bayer says she also wishes they could drink something stiffer.

  “She’s human!” Grace shouts, throwing her hand to her chest.

  “Quite, Grace,” Dr. Bayer responds, not missing a beat. “I’d tell you my life story, and drink you under the table, if only graduation class was finished and I was off duty.”

  “Let’s hurry then,” Grace pipes up.

  “I wish,” Dr. Bayer responds. “Rules, you know. Let’s sit back down and then when I leave class will be over, and you can do whatever you want as long as you don’t do it angrily.”

  When they’re back in the living room sipping coffee and tea, Dr. Bayer digs down into her magic bag for something else. The women almost look afraid, but when Dr. Bayer hauls out three packages wrapped with blue tissue paper they relax.

  “No more burnings or jail time,” she tells them.

  She hands a package to each woman and says, “Open them.”

  A mechanical pencil and a notebook slip out of each package and the women look up and ask a question without saying a word.

  “It’s to help you write a new story,” Dr. Bayer explains. “Everything that happens, every thought you have, is your creation. The eraser is just in case you change your mind. That’s what life is like, but I’m here to tell you that you had better erase fast or I’ll be after you!”

  Before anyone can say anything, Dr. Bayer, who always worries that she might get emotional at the conclusion of a class, congratulates the women and quickly says she must know what they have planned for their community service. She tells them they will be getting forms in the mail and someone from the county will be making certain they fulfill that part of their obligations.

  “This is it with you, then?” Leah asks, almost in disbelief.

  “Yes, Leah. That should make you happy. You made it. This far. But there’s more, so much more to come.” Dr. Bayer was hoping no one would do this.

  Thank God Kit and Grace aren’t saying a word. They will probably be downing shots in ten minutes.

  “It’s been wonderful to go through this with someone so caring,” Leah says quietly. “This sounds ridiculous, but meeting everyone in the group almost makes me glad I made such a horrid mistake.”

  Everyone but Leah laughs, and she finally knows they aren’t laughing at her. She smiles and tells them that she’s already volunteering at the campus branch of the Ellington County Literacy Foundation. She’s working with a group of below-average readers to improve their skills. Some are campus employees and some are students.

  Dr. Bayer looks at Kit. Kit turns to look at Grace, and they both start giggling.

  Dr. Bayer wants to say, “Now what?” but she decides to hang on to her professionalism as long as possible.

  “Did we miss something?” she asks.

  “Grace and I are going to work with the women’s shelter,” Kit explains. “We didn’t want Leah to know. We already met with the director. We have some fund-raising ideas, and our first project is going to be a huge rummage sale the day after Thanksgiving, which is next week.”

  Leah is speechless.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Dr. Bayer says.

  Grace explains that Black Friday is the biggest shopping day of the year and, what with the economy still dragging its heels, they decided to play on that and have a huge benefit sale. She said they’d already filled up half a garage with everything from the furniture Kit didn’t want to discarded clothes from her daughter and their friends.

  Kit tells them that the fire department has joined forces with them and the event is going to be held at her husband’s station.

  “We figured people would love that because the kids can sit in the fire trucks and it’s going to be fun,” Kit says. “Grace’s hospital is on board, and by this time tomorrow there will be flyers all over the city. We expect to be mobbed!”

  “Are you serious?” Leah says, smiling.

  “Totally serious,” Grace says. “And, Dr. Bayer, you absolutely have to come by. Can you, please?”

  Olivia is totally taken aback. How can she say no to such a great idea?

  “Absolutely,” she says.

  “Fabulous!” Kit exclaims.

  Dr. Bayer wishes they were drinking the wine Kit wanted. What just happened? Is there no end to the surprises these women are able to create?

  Then there’s a spontaneous group hug, sprinkled with tears, and Dr. Olivia Bayer thinks she may just be in the middle of the grandest retirement party in the world.

  48

  Gobble Gobble

  The second Olivia opens her front door, Phyllis can smell turkey. It’s Thanksgiving afternoon, and the entire world smells like slow-roasting hens. Phyllis starts drooling and could almost faint with happiness. Are they going someplace to eat meat?

  Olivia has her head down. Phyllis jets past her and circles the trees so fast she almost forgets to go to the bathroom. It’s absurdly bright and gorgeous outside. This holiday offers a sparkling late-fall afternoon where the leaves are still swirling, the world is topped with a solid blue sky, and there’s not a single reason to be unhappy.

  Unless you’re supposed to go to your cousin Bill’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Cousin Bill, who attacks the world through his conservative and very loud mouth in such a way as to obliterate every other person or thought. Cousin Bill, who lives two hours away, expects Olivia to bring all the drinks—at least a case!—and is actually such an old-school redneck that he often calls his wife “the little woman” and smacks her on the rear end about every five seconds.

  Bill is also Olivia’s closest living male relative. He has helped her numerous times when she needed heavy lifting or advice that had something to do with machinery or engines. His kids adore him, his wife appears perfectly happy, but on this holiday afternoon Olivia isn’t certain she can take him.

  Or maybe it’s her.

  Phyllis has circled the trees and taken care of her business in record time. She’s standing in front of Olivia, wagging her tail so fast that it’s almost become invisible. The holiday smells are driving her insane. She’ll eat anything! Potatoes! Corn! Gravy! Pie! Please!

  “Honey, I don’t want to go to Cousin Bill’s,” Olivia whispers to Phyllis. “Is that bad?”

  Phyllis just keeps wagging.

  The truth is that Olivia had tons of Thanksgiving invitations. Friends, her sister in Ohio, people from work—even Kit and Grace wanted to know if she had a place to go. Does she look that lonely? Ever since her daughter took off for a remote fishing village in Alaska, holidays have never been the same.

  Of course, the best invitation came from Florida, and she’s already been on the phone with that lovely person for an hour hashing over her choices for the day and admitting that the Florida sunshine sounds absolutely lovely, even when the Chicago skies are blue.

  Phyllis is stunned when they go back inside and Olivia shuts out the smells. Are they not getting into the car?

  Olivia crosses the fingers on her left hand, just as she did when she was a little girl and about to tell a white lie. She dials Bill and tells him that she doesn’t feel well, apologizes, and promises to call soon.

  Phyllis is sitting at her feet, looking as if she’s about to cry. Something is going on, and she’s hoping it has nothing bad to do with the food she’s been dreaming about.

  It’s impossible not to laugh at her, which is what Olivia does as she dials the restaurant several streets over and orders a full Thanksgiving take-out meal. She’s suddenly feeling like a very happy hermit.

  Olivia decides to leave Phyllis at home and hop in the car to get dinner. Phyllis almost jumps out the window when she hears Olivia drive away. Heartsick, she throws herself against the front door and decides to stay there for as long as it takes.

  The restaurant is absolutely packed. Don�
�t people cook anymore? Just before she’s about to go back home and walk to the restaurant because there is no parking, someone pulls out and Olivia slides her car into the tiny space.

  Getting out of the car is tricky because the spaces are so small but she manages to open the door and then as she is sliding out she can hear her car door graze the car next to hers. Unfortunately, the man who owns the car hears it also.

  Olivia is bending over to make certain there are no marks when someone behind her yells, “Who the hell do you think you are, lady?”

  “I’m so sorry. It’s so close here and I bumped your door. It looks fine, though.”

  “You’re paying for this,” he yells, stepping closer. “I’m calling the police!”

  The man is clearly angry. Angry! Is there no getting away from it? Can a woman not even get a turkey dinner without having someone flip out?

  “Sir,” Olivia says, trying to reason. “Come look. Nothing happened.”

  The man is large enough to tower over her, and he’s standing so that her door is blocked and she can’t move.

  Is this a test from the universe? Is she supposed to be a clinical psychologist now or get a gun out of her purse and shoot this dumb-ass man in the foot? Should she get some chairs and start a holiday session in the parking lot?

  Olivia really wants to slap him upside the head. Really. Really. Really. She has one hand on the door and the other hand desperately wants to rise when a woman, most likely his wife, yells, “Jack, for God’s sake, shut the hell up!”

  Jack turns white. Then he spins around.

  “I told you not to have three drinks at dinner,” the woman bellows. “Get in the car and be quiet. The door is fine.”

  Long after they’ve driven off, Olivia stands at the back end of her car as if waiting for a bus to pick her up. It’s always going to be like this. If she stays here, if she keeps herself inside this life, there are going to be angry people everywhere, more groups, clients up the wazoo—and Dr. Olivia Bayer is always going to want to fix them.

  Every single time.

  When Olivia gets back home, Phyllis is dead asleep. She lets out a little bark when Olivia pushes open the door and catches her on the rear end.

  “What are you doing, silly dog?”

  Before Phyllis can shake her head to wake herself up, she smells the food. Holy cow! She starts to jump up and down, and she looks so absolutely ridiculous Olivia can’t stop laughing.

  “Phyllis, honey, get a grip!”

  Phyllis can’t get a grip. She’s so happy that she sidesteps while Olivia puts down the food, gets a festive plate from the cabinet, sets the table, and makes herself a holiday drink before she uncovers the food or bothers to take off her jacket.

  Phyllis stands guard while Olivia takes a sip; she soon realizes that if she doesn’t give Phyllis something the poor dog might have a heart attack.

  She lifts up the cover of the dinner tray, snips off a small piece of turkey, and lets Phyllis take it out of her hand.

  “It’s a holiday, sister,” she says. “Don’t get used to this kind of service.”

  Then Olivia picks up her drink and walks over to look out the front window. She absentmindedly puts her hand in her coat pocket and finds the Long Journey Room card that she slipped into it the night she was at the jail.

  And she smiles as she realizes that she’s looking south and so wishing at this moment that she had already left the room.

  49

  Reality Is a Piece of Cake

  It’s eight in the morning the day after Thanksgiving, and Kit has already set up the tables at the fire station, filled them with clothes and an assortment of treasures, and made a huge pot of coffee which she has plugged into the outside outlet, when Grace backs her car up the sidewalk and jumps out the door.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she yells as three other women get out of the car and follow her. “I totally forgot how hard it is to live with a mess of women and one bathroom.”

  It looks like a small parade as the trunk is popped open, boxes are pulled from everywhere, and all four women march toward Kit.

  “This is my daughter Kelli, my daughter Megan, and—” Grace has stopped in midsentence and appears to be searching for a word. “Well, I suppose Jenny is my daughter-in-law. Is that right?”

  Megan starts to laugh. “I guess you could say that,” she says, setting down her box of treasures. “We’re not that big on the whole gay-marriage thing considering divorce statistics. No offense, Mom, but you can still call Jenny your daughter-in-law. That’s sweet.”

  “Well, my marriage did bring me you and your sister, so that’s one good thing,” Grace decides. Then she stops again, as if she wants to change her mind. “Most days it’s a good thing.”

  “Oh, Mom!” Kelli shouts. “That’s not nice!”

  “It might not be nice, but it’s true.”

  “Girls!” Kit finally says, clapping her hands as she laughs. “No fighting! Dr. Bayer might show up and revoke our diplomas.”

  Kit is determined to have the rummage sale of the century. She quickly orders Grace’s girls to go post signs on every corner for four blocks. She hands Grace stickers to put prices on what she has just brought, and she stops in mid-stride when Grace asks her how Thanksgiving dinner turned out.

  “It was quiet,” Kit says, lowering her head but still smiling. “My daughter didn’t make it. It was just Peter and me, but we spent a lot of time talking and we—I’ll tell you later, but I think our lives are headed in a new and very interesting direction.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Later! How was your Thanksgiving?”

  Before she has a chance to answer, another car pulls up and a tall, handsome man gets out and waves to Grace.

  “Evan?” Kit asks.

  Grace’s smile could light up a large cave. “I invited him to dinner yesterday. Was that brave or what? He wants to help out today. I’m tired of saying no.”

  “Good for you, Grace,” Kit says as Evan takes boxes out of his car and walks toward them.

  “Evan, Kit. Kit, Evan.”

  Evan is delightful, and clearly smitten with Grace. Kit decides that she would have loved to have been a silent observer during dinner. Good for Grace! She’s finally embraced her daughter and her daughter’s life, and taken a step toward her own happiness. And she hasn’t been struck by lightning.

  Kit ponders her own accomplishments as Evan and Grace unpack boxes and commence giggling as they bump into each other and make-believe-argue over prices for everything they need to put stickers on.

  She’s happy for Grace and her daughters, but seeing them together also makes her own heart ache. Kit understands that it’s impossible for her daughter to share every holiday with her, but her absence at last night’s terribly lonely dinner has left an ache that she can’t seem to erase. Peter, with all his wonderfulness, has tried to tell her she has always been a great mom.

  “I’m not going to lie to you about mistakes either one of us made, Kit,” he said, gently holding her hands. “No parent is perfect. Our daughter loves both of us. It hasn’t been easy for me to let her go, either.”

  How did Peter get so wise? Kit so wanted to believe him, and even as she knew she was moving forward she still wanted a chance to ask Sarah to forgive her, to tell her daughter that she was sorry for anything that she had said or done when she had been angry. Peter totally supported her decision to seek counseling and to take more time off to focus on herself before she went back to work, which wasn’t even necessary now, considering the inheritance from her parents.

  And then, while Peter ravaged her pumpkin pie, something shifted inside Kit. It was a small idea that had grown larger each day until she blurted out her thoughts. Peter, unfazed, totally agreed, and then they talked for hours while the gravy got cold, the turkey cooled, and their new plans made them absolutely three steps beyond happy. Now Kit has to sit on her own tongue. She wants to tell everyone. But not yet. Not until the sale is
in full swing.

  And where is Peter? Damn it! He jumped up before she could even finish her coffee, grabbed his coat, and said he would meet her at the fire station. She needs him to open the doors so they can have access to the restrooms and bring out the rest of the items for the sale. She thought he was coming straight to the firehouse, but his car isn’t in the lot behind the garage. Men!

  Kit is growling when a mess of cars park one after another on the street and a herd of women who look like stalkers start swarming toward the tables.

  “Hey!” Kit shouts, as Grace rushes forward. “The sale doesn’t start for another hour! We aren’t even set up yet!”

  Grace senses danger. The women act as if they haven’t even heard Kit. They’re pushing around the tables and fondling dishes and old jeans as if they own the entire block.

  “Excuse me,” Grace says. “We would really appreciate it if you would please come back when we’re ready.”

  A tiny woman carrying a huge red shopping bag finally looks up. “We do this all the time, honey,” she says, as if that is supposed to make everything okay. “Just don’t mind us.”

  Don’t mind us? Kit and Grace exchange glances, and it’s clear that they’re are both an inch away from grabbing all the marauders by the neck and throwing them off the street. Grace closes her eyes and imagines what would happen next if Jane were there. She almost misses Jane’s smart mouth and sassy attitude.

  This could go either way, and Grace is wondering if it isn’t some kind of test. Did Dr. Bayer send these women over here to rile them up? Are these shopping-bag bruisers even worth it? If these women roam the city with their rummage-sale swagger, maybe it’s because they have nothing else to do. And wouldn’t a brawl at a domestic-violence fund-raiser be one of the most ridiculous things that could happen? Grace actually snorts, thinking about what that might look like.

  Before she can say or do anything Kit steps it up. “Go ahead and look, ladies,” she says, surrendering. “We’re here to sell. Grace, do you think Evan can be our banker? He’s an accountant, isn’t he?”