Authors: Lisa Samson
Club Sandwich (28 page)
Two in the morning and I’ve decided just to scrap the manuscript and begin again. Six months to write an entire novel, forty-eight columns, and six newsletters. Brian’s trying to talk me into returning to the restaurant. “I’ll even start reading that Bible if you do.” No way. The boy’s on his own.
Someone’s behind is bumping down the steps. Persy enters the kitchen. “Mom, I don’t feel good. My stomach hurts.”
He looks gray.
“Have you thrown up?”
“No.”
“Do you feel like you have to?”
He nods.
“Now?!”
He nods again and lets it fly. All over my lap.
An hour later he’s tucked back in bed, we’ve read about more
Ancient Marvels and Mysteries
, and I’m so mad at Rusty I could spit. I didn’t say “I do” for this. I thought a marriage meant mutual support, not this lone life of coping and trying and praying and grasping and sucking wind and hoping things will change.
I pray that God will change Rusty. I should pray He’ll change me, but I’m scared to do that. I’m scared of what the answer will look like. And anyway, I’m not the one who left.
Sometimes I want to take Rusty up on his RV dreams. Leave all this behind. Say good-bye to Brian and Brett and Harry. Say good-bye
to this life where I’m stretched so thin I can only do a half-job on everything. And then, poor Mom.
No sense in going to bed now.
I make a cup of tea and get back to work.
Will anyone close to me see that I need help? Will anyone notice that I give and give and get little in return?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself! That’s what they’d say.
I turn on IM.
Mitch’s button is lit up.
hi ive.
hi mitch.
you doing ok?
persy’s sick.
poor kid. poor you.
i’ll survive, you’re sure up late.
yep. pulled out the old yearbooks, believe it or not.
no way!
yep. i’d forgotten we were voted king and queen for the sweetheart prom when we were juniors,
tom webber was furious.
what a geek, ive. why did you date him for so long?
looking back now, i just can’t say.
if I’d have known you two would have eventually broken up, i’d have gone to school around here.
Oh Lord.
life never seems to work out like you think it will, does it, mitch?
I sit and wait and wait and wait for him to reply.
Finally.
maybe sometimes, though we can decide to go for it anyway. happiness, I mean.
and what makes you happy?
More time elapses. Then—
i think you probably know.
i’m still not ready to think about big changes, mitch.
i know, i know. but i’m not going anywhere. i’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
I change the subject, get back to business. But when we sign off, I shut down the computer. My hands shake so badly I can hardly type.
C
hristmas Eve, and here we all sit at the airport. Hard to believe it’s been almost six months since Rusty’s last visit. Trixie’s beside herself, singing all sorts of carols. Lyra wears a new dress she designed and made. Persy feels fine now and presses buttons on his Game Boy. I took an old Demerol left over from Trixie’s C-section and feel better than usual. Hey, you do what you have to do. And my head was killing me. I’ve got to start getting more sleep.
Here he comes. God, give me strength.
“Rusty! How did you afford something like this?”
The ring twinkles in its velvet box. A three-diamond sparkler. I’ve always wanted one of these. He takes the box, gently lifts out the ring, and places it on my finger. “I’ve saved a little here, a little there.”
It’s beautiful. I suspect his motives.
“Thanks, Rust. Hey, I think I smell something burning in the kitchen!”
I jump off the couch.
He stands up. “Hey kids! Let’s play one of those new games you got!”
Did he hear me?
I didn’t sleep with Rusty once during his entire visit. I blamed it on the novel. Yes, I confessed the venture to him, staying up late each night to work. It’s coming along. I’ve set aside any delusions of grandeur and am shocked at how easily violence pours from my fingertips. Maybe it’s not so surprising, considering my burgeoning anger. Thank goodness that tomorrow Club Sandwich meets. I need it these days. I hate to even admit that I’ve become a support-group kind of person. But with Mom up three times a night—another excuse to sleep on the couch—Brian’s letting the restaurant slip down a slope to ruin with the most peculiar menu ever heard of, and Brett’s marriage utterly on the rocks despite her selling the shop, I’m eager to hear about situations worse than my own.
Which is a bummer in itself. I can’t even feel as sorry for myself as I’d like.
I try to keep clear of Mitch as much as possible. When he looks at me with those eyes … But business is business, and I can’t avoid my boss completely.
Rusty leaves for Europe in eight days. For the first time since this circus began, I’m glad he’ll be far away. Honestly, I used to think the kids would be better off with the visits. But now, I wonder. Is a fly-by-night father better than none at all? I wish I knew.
Poor, lonely Mitch stands on the other side of the door in the bitter January cold. He called thirty minutes ago, told me to turn off Old Barbara and get dressed.
“I’ll take care of things at your house. You can just have a good time.”
I don’t know what I’ll do, but hey, an evening to myself? I’m not stupid.
I open the door. “Hey Mitch! Come on in.”
He holds out a ticket. “It’s a ticket to that comedy you were talking about. At Towson Commons.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gift card from Starbucks. “And this is for afterward.”
“What’s all this about?”
“Consider it a belated Christmas gift. You’ve seemed stressed.” He slips out of his parka and lays it across the back of the couch. “I know you, Ive.”
“Is it showing in my work?”
“Not a bit.”
Yeah. Nobody but Lou knows me like Mitch does.
Thank goodness he’s a gentleman.
I’m crying through the entire movie. A comedy. I can’t stand this. I feel guilty sitting here while they’re at home. Mitch is probably at his wit’s end with Mom. I need to get out of here.
“Home already?” Lyra asks as I let myself in through the kitchen door.
“I couldn’t relax.”
“Well, you can here. That Mitch guy is really neat. Winky loves him. They’re in the living room listening to big-band music.”
I set my purse down. “Really?”
“Yeah. That Glenn Miller is great. You’d really like it, Mom.”
Fact is, I love big-band music. Maybe I need some old-fashioned swing to kick me up a bit. I enter the party room.
“Hey guys!”
Mitch. “What are you doing back already?”
“Couldn’t sit still. Anyway, I hear there’re big doings right here.”
“Yeah. Dorothy and I are having a good old time, right Dor?”
She smiles. “You have a nice gentleman caller here, Ivy. Do your best to hang on to him.”
“Mom—”
“Let it go, Mom,” Lyra whispers in my ear. “She doesn’t know her right from her left tonight.”
“Have a seat, dear, and listen to records with us.”
A turntable sits atop the television. Next to it, a stack of records.
“Where did all this come from?”
“I brought them with me.” Mitch. “Thought your mom might like it.”
“Oh, I do! Makes me feel like a girl again. The last time I heard ’Tuxedo Junction …” And she’s off on a story.
When Mitch leaves, I thank him. “How did you know what to do?”
“My grandma lived with us when I was little, remember? It was amazing how music soothed her. These are her records. I’ll leave the turntable here for a while.”
“Thanks.”
This guy is just too good to be true.
We sit and talk long after the others retire to bed. And I unload. I can’t help it. I need this so badly.
When he leaves, he holds me, and I just can’t pull away.
