Club Sandwich (24 page)

The Crack Pot. Maybe we should meet there. It would be fitting for me. The place looks like a dump, but they make great seafood. Sounds just like me. “Okay. How about nine thirty?”

“Great. See you there.”

Off he goes, all businesslike and professional and real. And there. Mitch in the actual flesh. I shouldn’t compare him to Rusty. I shouldn’t wish my husband were more normal. But I can’t help myself. Yeah, Ivy, you thought being with the artsy type would be so cool.

Man.

As I hurry into the day care, the director stops me. “Mrs. Schneider?”

“Yes?”

She lays a hand on my arm. Oh no, here it comes.

“We had a bit of a problem with Bellatrix today.”

“I’m sorry.” One of these days, I’m just going to have “I’m sorry” tattooed on my forehead. It would make things so much easier. “What did she do?”

“Does she normally take her diaper off?”

“I wouldn’t say
normally
.”

“Well, she did it several times today. All the toys are going to have to be disinfected, and there’s a fee for that.”

“How much?”

“Fifty dollars.”

I root for my checkbook. “At least she didn’t hit someone over the head today.”

Unfortunately, the director doesn’t find that at all funny.

Trixie runs into my arms after the transaction and kisses me all over the face. I kiss her back, and we smile at each other. She smells clean and sweet. I hold her hand as we leave and rest under no delusion that the staff isn’t glad to see her go.

I’ve decided on a venti caramel macchiato. Whole milk, lots of sugar and fat. Yes ma’am. Mitch orders the same.

“You’re my kind of gal, Ive. These women that drink skim stuff drive me nuts.”

“Well, it’s a special occasion. I’m celebrating the fact that I’m here as Ivy Starling, writer and friend, and nothing else.”

“Great. Grab a couple of chairs, and I’ll wait for the drinks.”

I sink into a plush, mustard chair and close my eyes. I need more of these moments.

Mitch wears jeans and a heavy T-shirt. Still slender, he sports a nice flat stomach, a good tush. Fine red-blond hairs soften his arms.
I should flee. But he’s just a friend. Nobody would blame me for feeling this way, if the feelings remain only that. We all experience unwanted physical attraction at times. Usually it’s over men on television and movie screens. Sometimes it’s for real.

I was a fool to let him go. He loved me once.

Keep it business, Ivy, and get thee behind me, Satan!

My own feelings scared me so much I purposely didn’t comb my hair or put on lipstick. I mean, infidelity is a big sin. A big, big sin. And it’s got to start somewhere right?

“So what’s up, Mitch?”

“I’m thinking about starting a newsletter.”

“Oh yeah? For international business?”

“No. It’s an organization I’m trying to start called MOMS.”

“Moms?” That sounds like something I know a little about.

“Yeah, actually, M-O-M-S. It stands for Mothers Off Main Street.”

“And the purpose?”

“It would find jobs for women who need to work but want to stay home and raise their children.”

“Telecommuting stuff?”

“Primarily. Bona fide assembly work, too. None of that envelope-stuffing malarkey. I’ve already contacted twenty major corporations who’ve agreed to participate.”

“Makes sense. Less overhead for them. And did you actually just use the term malarkey?”

He laughs. “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. Anyway, the plan works for everyone.”

“That’s what you need.”

He sips his drink. “Everyone needs a little incentive. So what do you think?”

His eyes are so deep. And he’s sensitive and caring and wants to give back to the community.

He gets better and better every second. Lord, help me.

“Sounds fabulous.”

“I’ve got a couple of people interested in doing research, and a lot more corporate ins. All you’d have to do is the writing and, if you’re able, format the actual newsletter.”

“What kind of circulation are you talking about?”

“Twenty thousand to start. But we’re hoping to get a real Web presence going. And we’ll definitely want to send the newsletter out by e-mail, too.”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

“Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. I’m figuring this is going to take you around four hours a day. If you’re still the fast worker you used to be.”

“I’m faster.”

“I figured.”

“Motherhood will do that to you.”

“And you’ll be our first placement. Get you out of that restaurant.”

Wow. That’s true! And Trixie out of day care. Although maybe I’ll leave her in for a couple hours a day to get work done. Rusty’ll take this as license to stay away, though, but hey, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. You can’t sit around twiddling your thumbs getting angrier and angrier while the world passes you by and you age day by day, and my goodness, Ivy!

“Four hours sounds right. Probably a little more nearing press date.”

“Of course. Let’s talk money, then. You’re an experienced writer, so how does four a month sound?”

“Well, that’s a little low. I make considerably more than that from the bistro.”

“More than four thousand? I had no idea it was doing that well! Good for you. I guess I could go up to four-five.”

Four
thousand?
Keep your mouth shut, Ivy. Keep the shock from overloading your expression. “You’ve got a deal.”

“Great. I’ll have my assistant draw up the paperwork, and we’ll get started at the beginning of September. Can we get the first issue out by November?”

“Absolutely.”

He puts out his hand. I take it. We shake, and oh, how good the warmth feels. I hang on to it for a couple of seconds and squeeze. “I’m glad you came back home, Mitch.”

He squeezes back. “Me too, Ivy.”

“Now why can’t they have a picture of these glass fortresses?”

Persy and I lay on the bottom bunk together. I have a rule. My kids can stay up as long as they want provided they are reading. This must be a great book. It’s eleven o’clock.

“I agree, Perse. And if there are as many as they say, why not give us a look-see?”

“I know. Can we go to Scotland someday to see one?”

“I hope so. That would be really cool.”

“Castles of melted rock.” Dreamy-eyed boy, lost in some imaginary battle with an imaginary magic sword in front of some glass castle.

This is good. I can understand this conversation. When he gets going about Mario and Wario and Sonic and, heaven help us all,
the legion of Digimon characters, I just nod and smile, nod and smile.

“Persy, how are you doing with Winky and all?”

“Fine.”

“You know, the reason she acts differently sometimes is because she’s sick. Deep inside, she’s really the same old Winky.”

“Okay. Hey, look at this huge mound in England! A hundred and thirty feet high! Let’s read this one. Oh, wait a minute, look at this crystal skull!”

I guess we all escape in different ways.

This isn’t going well.

Maybe it was too early. Maybe waiting until after the lunch rush to broach the house-buying subject would have proved more prudent.

“Just think about it, Mom. That’s all I’m asking. I’m really not trying to take anything away from you.”

“I’m just concerned about your brother and sister and their share in this.”

“Well, we’ll have to take out a mortgage. You’ll get the cash, and you can distribute it to them.”

She nods. “I feel a little queasy right now. How about some soup?”

“Okay.”

“Maybe you can get your grandfather to come over and make a pot of his chicken dumpling soup.”

What good will it do to remind her Grandpop’s been dead for ten years?

“That sure is good soup, Mom.”

I could use some myself about now.

Persy’s laying in bed,
Ancient Marvels and Mysteries
resting on his chest again. I slide under the covers, settle another pillow behind my head. “I’ve got a present for you. Just something little.” I reach into my front jeans pocket. “Here.”

He accepts the disc of amber. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yep. Remember that part in your book about looking at sunspots?”

“Yeah.” His sensitive fingers run over the smooth surface. “Too bad it’s nighttime.”

“I know. But it’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow.”

“Cool.”

“Don’t you wonder what people thought those spots were when they looked at them for the first time?”

“I’ll bet they thought the sun was burning out.”

“And that some god was angry with them.”

“That would be scary.” He holds the amber up to the lamp on his nightstand. “It’s a good thing God’s not like that, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, a lot of people think He’s sitting in heaven, ready to zap us with lightning bolts.”

“Like Zeus.”

“Exactly.”

“Bennie next door says his grandmother’s always zapping him for all sorts of things.”

“Makes Winky not seem so bad.”

“I feel sorry for Winky. She was throwing up again, wasn’t she? I heard her in the bathroom after supper.”

“Yeah. She seemed to be fine when I drove her home, though.”