Elsa is equally thrilled to hop out of the car, and patiently allows me to attach her leash to her collar for the short walk to the play area. We meet up with Claire and Dixie, and we both stare at the problem neither of us had anticipated. We have one fairly larger dog and one midget. The dog park divides the dogs into separate areas based on size. The owners of the Yorkies, Chihuahuas, and wiener dogs are not going to be comfortable with Elsa’s big paws swatting at their babies, trying to play. And Dixie would be a mid-morning snack on the other side. I watch the huge dogs running fast and play fighting, and decide that even Elsa would feel threatened over there. It’s a beautiful day and both sides are packed.
“Let’s just take them for a walk?” Claire offers this compromise and I readily agree. Both dogs are anxious to move, and this way Claire and I will also get some exercise. Plus, the nosy dog owners won’t be able to hear our conversation, and we won’t be interrupted with questions about the breeds, and the dogs sleeping and pooping habits (Claire warned me about dog park socialization). As we solidify our plan, Elsa starts sniffing Dixie, who immediately rolls over onto her back and looks away.
Claire rolls her eyes at her baby’s antics. “She’s tough until a big dog comes near. Then she’s a little baby.” Claire bends down to rub Dixie’s exposed belly and chest. “You’re so silly. This nice fluffy doggie just wants to kiss you.”
I stick my finger in my mouth in a mock gag.
“Oh, shut up. Like you don’t say stupid things to your cats.” Claire stands up and brushes off her knees. “And cats are just creatures who want you to take care of them, but secretly hate you and feel superior to your human nonsense.”
I let that go as Claire is such a die-hard dog lover, and she just can’t comprehend the love of simple, independent pets. Changing the subject, I say, “I’m glad we’re walking. If I’m ever going to fit into that bridesmaid dress for your wedding, I need some exercise, and to sew my mouth shut.” Elsa is pulling me forward a bit, but Dixie is practically dragging Claire. Her tiny legs are moving so fast it almost looks like they’ve become motorized.
Dixie is also compelled to abruptly slam on her brakes when confronted with a delicious smell. As we halt abruptly, and almost trip over the dogs, Dixie and a less enthusiastic Elsa begin sniffing around the bushes, no doubt receiving messages about the other dogs who were here earlier. Blue and Jewel would snicker at the stupidity of canines.
Claire shifts Dixie’s leash to her left hand and fishes her phone out of the pocket of her bright pink capri leggings. Ignoring my weight comment, she says, “I have not heard from Violet since yesterday, and I have important questions about the weather for our date.”
I suppress a smile, but Claire catches the slight upturn of the corners of my lips, and frowns.
“I’m sorry, but how can Violet know what the weather will be like on your wedding day? She’s not a genie in a bottle or a psychic, and she’s busy. Yesterday was Saturday. It’s June. The most popular wedding month of the year. Jeez, I’m a commitment phobic middle-aged single girl, and I know that.”
The dogs respond to our gentle tugging, and we are off down the path again. Well, Elsa responds to gentle tugging. Dixie was close to airborne when Claire pulled on her to start up her motor.
“I just like a little attention for my money. Oh, and we decided to nix the jumping pictures for the wedding. Brandon was right. After our fight on the kayaking trip, he felt so bad about me almost drowning, that he agreed to a jumping engagement picture. We looked so ridiculous I peed my pants laughing. Brandon looked like an escapee from a mental hospital.” She laughs again, crossing her legs awkwardly as she tries to keep up with her speedy pup, presumably to hold in her pee. “I guess jumping pictures really are for teenagers. So since when are you commitment phobic?”
“My mother was kind enough to point out my tendencies to run from man to man, and my reluctance to settle down.” I pause and add, “And she also pointed out that I am developing the condition known as blubber ass. Hence the need for some exercise.”
“She didn’t say you have a blubber ass!” Claire laughs and lets out an exasperated sigh as Dixie stops to chase a bug, slapping it with her little paw. She should come to my new home—she could go wild with the bug slapping.
“She didn’t use that term, but she pointed out that baked goods are never a girl’s best friend.” I raise my eyebrows to emphasize the blubber ass insinuation. “She’s right, anyway. I’ve stopped wearing sexy lingerie and leaving the lights on lately. Not that there’s been much action. Now with Luke…”
“You keep saying that you aren’t interested in Luke, but you sure do mention him a lot. Didn’t you see how enthralled he was with Violet the other day?” The dogs are moving at full speed now and we are walking faster to keep up. Elsa is an energetic animal, and Dixie is doing her best not to be outdone by the big girl.
“Violet was drooling. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about it. He might actually be good for her. He’s a bit cocky, but he may have changed his ways.” I replay his comments about Steve and the way he rushed to Claire’s attention. That, at least, was genuine.
“Maybe he didn’t give her enough attention, and that’s why she moved on to Brandon.” Claire’s tone darkens a shade.
“You can’t possibly think that Violet was hitting on Brandon. She’s a wedding planner. It wouldn’t be very good for business to steal the grooms from her brides, would it?” I glare at her as the dogs lead us down the hill that leads to the sparkling blue pond on the other side of the park.
Now Claire is almost falling over Dixie as the gravel path and incline cause Mommy and dog some challenges. “I don’t really think it, but it’s hard not to be jealous. She’s younger and…actually I’m surprised Luke was interested at all. Doesn’t he prefer older women?”
“Hmm…what?” I was just daydreaming about one time Luke and I visited this park and took out a canoe…no dogs, scary memories…just Luke’s hands and lips…but that was before he moved in with his big, stupid recliner and… “Sorry, I was just thinking of something I have to do later.”
“Don’t tell me that’s call Luke?” She won’t ever let me off the hook.
“I would rather not talk about that right now. Isn’t there anything else we can discuss?” We reach the lake and decide to tie the dogs to the benches and sit a moment. “Like the seating chart for your wedding? Isn’t your father refusing to sit with your mother’s brother or something?”
“Your life is much more fascinating than mine. So you haven’t told me a thing about the move, other than that it went smoothly. Have you guys made any changes yet?”
I sigh and stare out at the water. “Not yet. Well, he hung a couple of pictures of mine and made space in the closets. I did throw out stuff in my bathroom, like her deodorant and shampoo, and a bunch of other personal things I can’t believe he hadn’t gotten rid of. His method of coping seemed to be closing the door and not going in that room.”
“That’s some progress. Did he get mad over that incident?”
“No. Not mad. He acted weird, though. Avoided talking about it. At first he tried to convince me that I might want to keep some of the stuff, it was…useful.”
Claire’s eyes widen at this comment. “Why would you ever want someone’s old toiletries, even if they didn’t belong to your boyfriend’s dead wife? You have your own shampoo and body lotion.”
“I don’t know. It’s all bizarre. I feel guilty over even wanting things to change, as if I should be satisfied with living amongst her memories, their memories. Every time I try to bring it up, I sound cold and unsympathetic, but it would be worse to break up with him over it, and never get to the bottom of this situation.”
“You are absolutely being reasonable. No one would want to live like that, and if he expects you to, then he’s being unfair, and he is not ready for a relationship with a woman. He should be in therapy.”
“I have never known anyone who died. Other than gr
andparents, and because my parents are older, they died when I was young. I’ve been very fortunate, but I don’t know the rules.”
“I’m kind of in the same boat. I have a huge extended family, and people die, but it’s never anyone I’m close to. As a child, my parents always seemed to be going to funerals in the city, and my mother constantly complained about the excessive post-funeral partying of the Irish Catholics.”
“Noreen was Irish Catholic, but I don’t think she practiced her religion, and Steve isn’t religious at all.”
Claire reaches into her bag for treats, handing them out to an insatiable doggie duo. “Too bad I didn’t date that widower my friend Jane and her husband tried to set me up with. Remember?”
“You mean Mike’s friend who wore the cowboy hat to the Christmas party?”
“Yep.” Claire shakes her finger at Dixie to signal no more treats. Elsa lays back down in the sun and watches Dixie continue to hop and beg.
“Didn’t you say he didn’t get along with his wife and then she died?”
“Yes, that was it. You have a good memory. That made the whole widower thing even worse. Or at least it did at the time. If I had dated him, I could have gathered some clues that you could use now. I bet he didn’t have a single picture up, although he had kids. Do you think Noreen and Steve had a good marriage?”
“I would guess so, but she did do some weird things. I told you about the bugs in the china, right? And her daughter went to live with her father because she wasn’t getting along with Noreen.”
“You know, we could speculate all day, every day, and it isn’t going to get you closer to the truth. However, not everyone who died was a great person. Mean people die, too. Whack-jobs. People in bad marriages. Maybe he feels guilty for something he did when she was alive. Or maybe he feels guilty that he doesn’t miss her enough. You have to admit that the speed with which he was back out in the dating world does not match the physical evidence of his mourning.”
“For a blonde, you’re fairly smart.” I flinch as I expect to be pelted with dog cookies, but then again that would start a riot. “Seriously, you could be right about any of this, but I have to talk to him. Shit.” I put my head between my legs, but jump back upright when Elsa takes this as an invitation for a kiss. Yuck…
Claire laughs at my distaste for dog slobber, and we gather up our stuff and start walking back. This time the furry girls are moving a little slower. I guess napping in the sun has relaxed their bodies and spirits.
I quietly begin. “There is something else.” I bite my lower lip.
“What?” Claire leans towards me to hear me over the pitter patter of paws on the path.
“Noreen has to hate me being in her house. With her husband. In their bed. Don’t you think?”
“You don’t think she would want him to be happy? If she loved him, she would. Or else she was a shitty person, and she isn’t looking down on you. She’s looking up.” Claire’s eyebrows rise up far enough to appear above her glittery purple sunglasses.
My heart flutters at the “burning in hell” reference. “Claire, that’s bad, but I do think she would be jealous. Steve told me that she was always questioning him about his students and colleagues, convinced his after-hours tutoring sessions and department meetings were suspicious.”
“Then she wasn’t trusting. From what I can see, Steve is the faithful type.” Claire stops as we reach our cars in the parking lot, and starts fumbling in her backpack for her keys. I take Dixie’s leash to free her other hand. “And if there is romantic love in heaven, I’m sure she has a new boyfriend by now.”
All the way home I picture ghosts and angels going on dates and having sex.
And I picture Luke, who I just texted in the parking lot, and agreed to meet tomorrow…at his hotel.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
To clarify, I am meeting Luke in the hotel lobby at the bar. And since he lives at the hotel, it’s actually a public place. As long as I stay away from the elevators, I’ll be fine…which I clearly will. I am only meeting him to get him off my back.
I am sitting in line at the carwash now because I have been neglecting my vehicle’s maintenance. Basically I am driving around in a dumpster on wheels. If Luke sees my car looking this grimy, he will have something to say. His cars always look the same as they did in the showroom. Perfect, just like him.
Last night I finally got up the nerve to talk to Steve. Okay, that is only partially true. It was after midnight, and we were in bed, and I was whispering. My heavy sighs eventually prompted him to ask me what was wrong, which is every man’s nightmare.
I held my distress in all day, through the sorting of all of Noreen’s jewelry—from the junkiest costume crap right up to the diamonds and rubies. Ruby is the birthstone for July. Several times he looked like he was going to ask me if I wanted some of her treasures, but my body language must have been enough to ward off his inclination to go down that road. Every time he asked me what he should do with various pieces, I kept putting them in the Goodwill pile, or in some cases—the trash pile. As for the good jewelry, she has a daughter, a mother. He has a sister. Just handling some of it made my skin tingle, and obviously not in a good way.
Then we tackled the countless boxes of greeting cards they gave each other. How he thinks it is appropriate, fair or reasonable to ask me to do this, I just can’t imagine. Steve is normally a smart guy, but as I recalled Claire’s words from our walk that morning, he must feel guilty. But is he guilty because of something he did? Didn’t do? For not caring enough then? Now? Or is he still in shock or denial, or in one of those early phases of grief? Is he going to freak out one day and take to his bed with a bottle of gin and push me aside?
Fortunately we were able to get through a fair amount of her personal belongings, and bag up about ten large trash bags full of stuff to take to Goodwill. We also identified a few pieces of furniture to sell in her office, after we cleared a path to get in there. He started to ask if I wanted her easels and he quickly changed the subject after he saw my face. He seemed to understand the need to relocate the tortured bug.
I asked him why he didn’t ask her mother or his sister to help him with all of this, and he said they couldn’t handle it. And I can? I hate to compare my discomfort to that of a grieving mother, or a widowed woman reliving her own loss. But holy shit, even if Noreen isn’t plotting my demise from wherever the hell she is, she certainly should be. I have no business looking at her personal things, and seeing Steve’s connection to her memory has done nothing for my confidence in our future.
So after a full day of this emotional agony, I was sighing frequently. By bed time it was almost bordering on hyperventilation. I don’t take sleeping pills, so I knew I would toss and turn all night. After we stopped talking about benign stuff, like his new classes for summer session, and my morning with Claire, his breathing started to slow and I knew he was succumbing to slumber after working hard all day.
He couldn’t ignore my tension, and asked me what was wrong. After about five attempts at phrasing that question, and rubbing my back, I said, “This was just hard for me today. Going through all of Noreen’s stuff. There’s so much of it, and the pictures. I don’t understand what it all means, and I need to feel like this is my home, too, if I’m going to live here and—”
He turned me around and made me face him, even though it was almost completely dark in the room. He pulled me close and said, “I’m sorry, Love. I know I haven’t done enough work on the house. It was just easier to wait, and now I guess I waited too long.”
He paused and I fought back tears. TEARS! I never cry.
“We made some good progress today, right?” He gently pushed me back, still trying to assess my reaction in the dark.
“Yes, I guess we did.” As I felt the hot, unfamiliar tears, and Steve’s comforting arms around me, I heard more reassurance in his words than he was offering. What is he sorry for? I let him off the hook because it was late and I was scared. I didn’
t ask for promises to take down pictures, to make this place our home. I accepted that he was trying. I was too afraid to ask the hard questions. Does he miss her? And the most terrifying question—if he feels guilty, is it because of me? Is he ashamed of being with me in the face of his wife’s memory? Do the pictures tell Noreen, wherever she is, that she will always be number one? Are they protecting him as a force field in defense of his duplicity?
Needless to say, Steve fell asleep and I was awake all night.
Now the line has started to move at the carwash and I inch forward. Steve has a class tonight, so I thought this would be a good time to get Luke out of the way. I have more than enough on my plate at home.
Speaking of plates, this morning Steve mentioned his sister, Eve, is coming for dinner this weekend, so now I have a menu to plan. Finally something I’m good at on my agenda. Maybe I can unload some jewelry or collectibles off on her. There’s a whole curio cabinet full of ceramic frogs.
As I approach the car wash attendant, she informs me that I can’t go through with the “thing” on the back. Apparently she has never heard of a bike rack. Steve put it on my car yesterday in anticipation of all the biking I am (not) going to be doing. I would love to rip it off and throw it on the highway, but Steve would notice.
Luckily he didn’t ask if I had any plans tonight. Frankly, I am planning on staying out until close to the time Steve gets home so I don’t have to be alone in that house. Just a few weeks ago my life was stable and peaceful. It’s all Jeff’s fault for making Megan get rid of the dog. Or maybe this was all inevitable.
After suppressing a litany of curse words that I would like to unleash on this unsuspecting girl, I back my car around the others who are waiting and speed off in my sporty trash can.
Luke is staying at a trendy hotel near my condo, just a few miles from the TV station where he films the news.
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