The Cinderella List

by Judy Baer

  Chapter Three

  Still giddy from the previous night, Marlo decided to stop at her sister’s house for a cup of coffee before heading to work. When she swung into the driveway of the tidy white bungalow not far from her own, respect for Jenny and Mike, who had worked so hard to make this a safe, loving home for Brady, always surfaced.

  No one who had not experienced it for themselves understood the struggle and pain that had transpired behind these windows with their blue shutters and yellow trim. Yet flowerboxes filled with a madcap assortment of red flowers, mostly geraniums, made the house look as though it belonged in a lighthearted film.

  It was a good house in a pleasant older neighborhood, but Marlo knew that Jenny longed for something bigger, for her day-care children, but she and Mike chose to spend every extra penny they earned seeking help for Brady, who had been oxygen deprived at birth. Marlo didn’t blame them. No one with a heart could resist Brady. He was certainly her own biggest weakness—he could reduce her to mush with one gleeful smile.

  The day of his birth was still etched into her mind like carving in stone. A protective bond had formed between them that day that couldn’t be broken. Marlo knew she’d do just about anything for her little nephew—especially anything that would make his life simpler and more enjoyable.

  She rang the doorbell, opened the door and walked inside knowing that her sister had already been up for hours. The day care she ran opened at 6:00 a.m. for early arrivals.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Jenny called. “You’re just in time to help me cut sugar cookies.”

  Marlo kicked off her shoes—Jenny hated dirt on her carpet—and headed toward her sister’s voice. Jenny was at the large island rolling a sheet of cookie dough. Cookie cutters in the shapes of bucking broncos, cowboy hats and a cowboy on a horse littered the area. The sweet aroma of vanilla permeated the kitchen.

  “Hey, sis,” Marlo greeted her. “How are you this morning? You look tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night. The little hamster wheels in there just wouldn’t quit whirling. I kept thinking about my day-care kids and Brady.”

  Marlo looked out the door to see Jenny’s day-care brood playing outside in the grass. They were laughing and running with red, blue and green balls, bouncing them off the ground and each other. Several had one hand in the air, swinging it in a circular motion. Brady, meanwhile, sat just outside the French doors to the deck, intently watching the other children.

  “Why isn’t Brady playing, too?”

  “He’s afraid.” Jenny’s chipper demeanor slipped a little. “He’s okay when everyone is inside and I keep the din down to a dull roar, but the minute the kids go outside, he refuses to join them. It’s progress to get him onto the deck.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Marlo asked calmly, suppressing the prick of sadness she felt at her sister’s statement. She picked up a cutter and began to press out cookie shapes and lay them on baking sheets.

  “He took a tumble and got a nasty scratch on his elbow last week and he’s refused to have anything to do with the kids when they are running ever since.”

  Marlo stared out the window at the back of her small nephew. His slender neck and frail shoulders didn’t look strong enough to hold the beautifully shaped blond head covered with baby-fine curls that always smelled of strawberry-scented shampoo. He appeared as fragile as the hummingbird currently dipping its beak into a nearby feeder. His white-blond hair and porcelain skin gave him the appearance of an otherworldly being, an angel, delicate and easily broken. It was no wonder, Marlo mused, that Jenny didn’t push him to play with the other little rowdies on the grass.

  Jenny wiped her hands on a towel and moved to stand by Marlo. “It breaks my heart,” she said softly. “It’s my fault he’s not out there playing with those kids.”

  “Don’t be a goose,” Marlo said sternly. Even though she empathized deeply with her sister’s pain, one of them had to remain clear-headed. “Of course it’s not your fault. It’s terribly unfortunate but the fact is that children can be injured in childbirth.” Gently, she reached for her sister’s hand. “No one blames you for Brady’s issues.”

  “Well, they should blame me.”

  “Oh, Jen…” Marlo had prayed fervently that the unproductive guilt Jenny harbored be removed from her, but it was obviously not happening yet. What made it all the worse was Jenny’s seeming inability to turn what had happened over to God. Instead, she continued to blame herself, never allowing the wound to heal.

  “If I hadn’t been so determined to tough out most of his labor at home, they might have known the umbilical cord was twisted and compressed. But no, not me. And look what it did to Brady.”

  Brady had been born oxygen deprived—hypoxia, Marlo thought they had called it—and the still, pale infant had been whisked away to a neonatal intensive care unit as soon as he was born. The result had been this beautiful, delicate boy with a lowered IQ, slowed language skills, poor balance and coordination and a marked inability to concentrate. Jenny had never forgiven herself. Marlo wished her sister would focus more on Brady’s precious qualities—his loving personality, his perpetual good cheer, his sensitivity, the traits that made Brady who he was—and less on those other qualities.

  “Babies are born in traffic jams, on kitchen tables and, in some countries, right in the fields. Childbirth is a natural process, Jenny, not an illness. How could you have known what was happening?”

  “I’m his mother. I should have known.”

  Marlo’s own chest tightened when her sister talked like this. “Forgive yourself and go on. God forgives us. If He can do that, then you should, too.” After five years, Jenny still hadn’t let go of her guilt and turned it over to God.

  “Give the boy some credit for knowing himself, Jenny. He’s not ready for roughhousing right now. Better he sit on the porch than get hurt.” Marlo ground a cookie cutter hard into the soft dough. She hated sounding unsympathetic, but sometimes it was the only way to snap her sister out of this mood of blame.

  “I don’t want him to be a porch-sitter for the rest of his life!” Jenny dug for a tissue in her pocket, turned away and blew her nose.

  When she turned back to Marlo, her cheeks were flushed. “You’re right and I know it, sis, but sometimes…”

  The damage to Brady’s brain had left him with weak reasoning abilities and powers of logical thinking. Occasionally he was impulsive and unable to absorb the idea of consequences. Sometimes this worked in his favor, other times it did not, such as the time he’d decided to test what his mother meant by “hot” on the stove and came away with a second-degree burn on the palm of his hand. Other times he was abnormally cautious, like today.

  His attention span was brief; he cried easily and was susceptible to perceived slights. But there were gifts, as well. Brady was exceedingly sensitive to people’s emotions. More than once, when Marlo was feeling down, he’d given her a perceptive hug and a pat on the arm. “It’s okay, Auntie Marlo,” he’d say. Sensitive Brady could read and identify with another’s hurt or pain, and yet he couldn’t count past five.

  “His irrational fears are getting worse,” Jenny continued. “Next, we’ll have an agoraphobic on our hands, as well.”

  “Aren’t you the cheerful one today?” Marlo finished laying cookies on the baking sheet and put it into the oven. There was no point pursuing this line of conversation further, so she changed the subject. “I take it that this is cookie decorating day?”

  “A cowboy theme. The kids outside are pretending to rope cattle.” Jenny poured Marlo a cup of coffee and pointed to the kitchen table and chairs. “Sit.”

  They sat and Jenny stared into her cup a long time before continuing. “We can live with his disabilities, but not with his fear. The doctors say that someday he could hold a job, but not if he’s afraid of every unexpected sound or movement.”

  “He’s not six yet. He has time to learn.” Perpetual optimism was another trait Marlo had learned from
her aunt Tildy.

  Even if she hadn’t believed in Brady—and she did—she would never admit it to Jenny. Sometimes she felt as if she were propping up the entire family, and it was an exhausting endeavor.

  “But how? And when?”

  Brady, hearing the voices in the kitchen, left his perch on the deck and came inside. His pale, angelic features made Marlo want to scoop him into her arms and ward off the outside world that was so alarming to him. Instead she put out her hand for a high five. “Put ’er there, buddy. Wassup?”

  Brady giggled. “You talk funny.”

  “Why aren’t you playing with your friends?”

  “Too hard.”

  “You mean they play too hard?”

  He nodded fervently, his blond hair bouncing.

  Marlo loved this little boy beyond words. She’d rocked him for hours on end when he was a newborn, allowing his exhausted parents to sleep. Marlo had patiently helped Brady learn to walk, while all Jenny could talk about was what might happen if he fell and hurt himself. Ultimately, she’d been the one to pry Brady from his mother’s protective clutches long enough to pet the neighbor’s dog, go down a slide and splash in the baby pool at the park. His life needed no detours.

  “Come here and give your auntie Marlo a kiss, Brady boy. I’ve got to get to work.” She tapped her cheek with her finger and, giggling, Brady complied.

  “I love you, little buddy,” Marlo whispered as Brady’s soft breath skimmed her cheek. Brady threw his arms around her and hugged her tight.

  “You’re late,” Lucy said when Marlo finally arrived at the Divas’ kitchen. She was putting together leafy spinach salads with sliced hard-boiled eggs.

  “I stopped at Jenny’s for a cup of coffee.”

  “How is Brady doing? Last time I talked to your sister she said that she was afraid he might have strep throat.”

  “A false alarm, fortunately, but with him, she never knows.” A wave of tenderness swept over Marlo. “The child never complains about anything.”

  Sometimes she wondered if she were being fair to Jenny by accusing her of being too cautious. Her sister simply couldn’t resist being overprotective of her darling boy.

  “Someone called for you this morning,” Lucy said with studied nonchalance.

  “Did you take a message?”

  “I did not. I told him that if he wanted to talk to you he should show up here.”

  “It’s not that health food distributor again, I hope. There’s nothing like a reformed snack-food junkie to be a high-pressure salesman.”

  “No, not him. Better.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled with delight, giving rise to a suspicious foreboding in Marlo. Lucy was up to something.

  “I don’t have time to play around. Who called?” Before Lucy could answer, Marlo’s eyes widened as Jake sauntered through their front door. Her heart did a traitorous flip. She willed herself to be calm.

  “You can thank me later. Right now, I think I’ll just slip into the storeroom and rearrange the supplies.” With a wink, Lucy disappeared, leaving Marlo alone with the gorgeous Mr. Hammond. Marlo didn’t know whether to pop Lucy in the nose or hug her.

  “I brought your check.” He tucked his hand into an inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a long white envelope.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to make a trip out of your way. You could have mailed it.” She was, however, glad he hadn’t. He was just as gorgeous as she remembered—and as sophisticated and charming, too. His smile was easy and his eyes intelligent-looking. She gave herself a little mental slap. What was she doing fantasizing about a client? She knew perfectly well what she was doing. She was comparing him to the List, and so far Hammond was a very good match. A very good match, indeed.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you sure you want to do this? Two devastating humiliations in one week might be too much for you.” Lucy looked at Marlo with an expression that was half genuine concern and half repressed amusement. “We can postpone the Bridesmaids’ Luncheon until you’ve recovered from your faux pas at the Hammonds’ the other night.”

  Marlo turned an attractive shade of pink. “I must be thick as a brick to have blurted out what I did.” Despite Jake’s graciousness and avoidance of her error, thinking about it made her cringe. Studs…horses…what else?

  “But he laughed, Marlo. He thought it was funny.”

  Sense of humor. Check. “Then he’s a better man than I am.”

  “That goes without saying.” Lucy turned around and the enormous sunflower-yellow bow on her backside almost brushed an entire row of swan-shaped cream puffs off the counter.

  The annual Bridesmaids’ Luncheon that Lucy and Marlo were hosting for their friends had started after Marlo had been asked to be a bridesmaid for the fourteenth time. It had begun half in jest and half because her friends had chosen the dresses with the deluded hope that they might be worn again. All had overlooked the fact that no dress ever worn by someone playing second fiddle to a woman in white lent itself to a second wearing.

  Marlo had taken lemons and made lemonade by hosting this luncheon. She and Lucy required that everyone come in an old bridesmaid dress, and wear their hair in whatever fashion that particular bride had requested—an unflattering chignon or French twist, usually.

  They served things like chicken Kiev on a bed of watery, undercooked wild and white rice, or minuscule medallions of beef on reconstituted mashed potatoes, duplicating typical wedding food as best they could. It wasn’t truly authentic, however, since they refused to leave the meals on the counter until they’d cooled off before serving them.

  Every year, when the guests began their yearly conversation about disbanding the Bridesmaids’ Luncheon, Marlo would bring out the pièce de résistance, the item that brought them back year after year in their flouncy fashion disasters—the wedding cake. Few of her friends had tasted their own wedding cakes, other than for the obligatory shove-a-piece-into-each-other’s-mouths photo. This year the cake was carrot cake, layered with melt-in-your-mouth vanilla cheesecake, cream cheese frosting, walnuts and slivers of grated carrots.

  Lucy eyed Marlo critically. “Speaking of dresses, you haven’t changed yet. Let me handle the kitchen. It’s not that hard to scorch one pan of food and undercook another. Do you think the carrots have been boiling long enough? Is there any color left in them?”

  Lucy edged Marlo toward the bedroom, where an array of fashion disasters awaited. “You should wear the pink tulle you wore to your sister’s wedding,” Lucy advised. “It enhances your skin.”

  “It makes me look like a gob of cotton candy.”

  “There are worse things. I have a dress that makes me look like an Eskimo Pie.”

  Marlo dropped onto the edge of the bed. “At least we’ve been able to go through most of these wedding traumas together. You’re a good friend, Lucy. I don’t tell you how much I appreciate you nearly often enough.”

  “I’m guilty of that, as well. You are the most loyal, supportive, enthusiastic person I’ve ever known. I hope you find that Prince Charming you are looking for, Marlo. You deserve it.” Then Lucy glanced at the clock. “You’d better get ready. The doorbell is going to ring in five minutes.

  “By the way, did you find a present to swap?”

  Marlo regretted ever starting the regifting portion of the party. She was running out of things in her house as useless as her bridesmaid dresses.

  “I have a set of knives that probably can’t cut through air. It’s the best I can do since I don’t have any wedding gifts I want to get rid of.” Marlo leaned heavily against the doorjamb. “It’s getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that I’m one of the last single women in the group.”

  “Whatdayamean? I’m single,” Lucy protested.

  “You don’t count. Your man is doing a tour of duty overseas.”

  “Don’t forget Angela, our beloved professional woman, control freak, neatnik and germaphobe.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “No man in his right mind would t
angle with Angela.”

  Marlo didn’t want to admit it to Lucy, but misery does, indeed, love company. Instead she headed toward her bedroom, took the pink confection out of her closet and put it on. Jenny had desired a Cinderella wedding, handsome prince and all. Unfortunately her brother-in-law, Mike, had looked more like a miserable, depressed marshmallow than a prince, in his white tuxedo.

  An errant thought popped into her mind. What would Jake Hammond look like in a groom’s white tuxedo? He’d carry it off, no doubt, just like he seemed to do with everything else. That, she realized, was something she should not dwell on, and she hurried to put on her makeup.

  Marlo was barely dressed when she heard a commotion at her front door. Three women in billowing skirts were trying to break in. Tiffany came through first, in black tulle, looking as gloomy as if a funeral dirge were droning in the background. Jenny flitted in next, wearing a burgundy sheath with black lace inserts in the front and back, which made her look as if she was wearing a nightgown. She stood on tiptoes and gave Marlo a peck on the cheek. “You look stunning as always, sis.”

  After Jenny, Linda arrived in a diaphanous chiffon number and Becky in royal blue. Christine, looking sour, refused to remove her jacket to show everyone what was underneath, citing ten extra pounds and several safety pins holding the dress together. Angela in Kermit green looked as tart as a lime.

  “More proof that Angie will never find a man who can tolerate her,” Lucy whispered to Marlo, and received a poke in her ribs for the effort.

  The Bridesmaid Club had arrived in full force.

  “How’s your love life, Marlo?” Linda inquired over the last of her chicken Kiev.

  This was the moment Marlo had been dreading—more so this year than others. Inevitably, when the luncheon conversation waned, her love life became the topic of choice. Her friends’ favorite activity was living vicariously through her dates. After a few years of marriage, they were beginning to view dating as a blast from the past and wanted to be reminded of how wonderfully romantic it was. They’d obviously forgotten the actual realities of dating—being fixed up, stood up or waiting by a phone that didn’t ring. In Marlo’s experience, dating could only be romanticized in hindsight.