Cookie Cutter (5 page)

And oh, I’m staying. I smile wide because this is getting good. “Now, how can I turn down an offer like that, Cynthia?”

Beatrice squeals next to me, pointing her index finger into the air. “I’ll get the drinks!”

Iris munches on her cookie. Her eyes seem distant, as though she’s contemplating her next move. I take the opportunity of the chaos around us to snag another treat for myself. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t bother me that it seems to bother her that I’m eating her cookies. Or that I seem to bother her in general. I just can’t figure out why.

“So tell me something Iris, what is it about me that--”

“Here we are! Places everyone!” Beatrice interrupts with her friendly demand. Iris takes the opportunity to act as though she didn’t hear me.

Beatrice has got a pitcher of Sangria in one hand and a stack of red plastic cups in the other. Cynthia claps her hands together, grabs a deck of cards and sits. “You can sit next to me, Carter. There’s an extra chair in the kitchen you can use.”

I obey. I’m not stupid. Iris, however, eyes the front door like a cornered cat as though she’s trying to find a way to leave.

“Relax, Iris, it’s just a man.” Patricia nips that thought in the bud.

And now she resembles more a cat that’s about to pounce. Finally, the woman takes her seat as Cynthia deals the first hand. Beatrice gives out cups then fills them with Sangria. I take a swig to wash down the cookie because – why not? Iris doesn’t take any and when I finish my drink, I tip the cup toward her.

“Why aren’t you drinking, Iris?”

She checks her cards and rearranges them. “I prefer not to.” She doesn’t bother to look at me. It’s such a simplistic answer, really, and even though there’s no reason for me to question her, I’m not buying it.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

I shrug a shoulder. She’s hiding something. “You in rehab?” It would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

But she snorts. “No.”

I search the table for knowing eyes but everyone seems extremely engrossed in their cards all of a sudden.

“You one of those . . . Moms Against Drinking?”

Now, she looks up at me from behind her playing cards. She’s dead pan, I can’t tell if she wants to laugh or cry.  Turns out, it’s neither. “It’s Mothers Against Drunk Driving and although yes, I am one of those
moms, no, I don’t have anything personally against drinking, I just . . . prefer not to . . . right now.”

She goes back to studying the hand she’s been dealt. The room grows quiet. Cynthia clears her throat.

“Another cookie, Carter?” she offers in a small, high pitched voice.

I smile for her because it’s not her fault she happens to be card playing buddies with little Miss Cold Shoulder.

“I think I’ve had enough tonight. Thanks though.”

“Wouldn’t want a gut or anything.” Iris mumbles.

“Actually, no, I wouldn’t.”

She snorts at me again. And this time, I snort back. She rolls her eyes.

“What is your problem anyway?”

Before she can answer for herself, Beatrice chimes in. “Oh she’s had a stick up her ass ever since James left.”

And then Iris loses her shit. “Beatrice!” She slams her cards down onto the table as Beatrice moves into innocent bystander mode.

“What?”

“You just . . . why would you . . . how could you . . .?”

Iris’s eyes are blinking at a rate faster than I can count now, and her hands are flailing and it’s just like that first day I met her.  I don’t even know I’m laughing until her very heated attention moves from the elderly woman to me.

“What . . . are you laughing at?”

“I’m sorry,” I chuckle. “Really. I just, you have this sparkle in your eyes when you get all pissed off like this.”

She lets out a breathless, “What?” as the blinking stops and a scowl spreads across her forehead. It’s not an angry scowl though. Not really. It’s more like a confused scowl. Like she can’t figure out if I’m poking fun or paying a compliment.

“You know,” I wave my hand in a circle like motion toward her. “Sparkle.”

I watch it fade, the sparkle that is, as we sit there in some sort of stare down with each other. Cynthia fills my red cup back up with sangria as everyone watches the two of us and I gladly drink it but cannot take my eyes off of Iris. She wants to kill me, I can see it in her expression but it’s also like she’s looking past me, even though I know nobody is there. Instinct tells me to let it go. Iris’s expression of utter loss of self-control tonight tells me not to.

“Come on, Iris.” I smile and pick up another cookie. “It’s just a game.”

I bite into the sugary goodness, fight the urge to give her any inkling that I’m stealing the rest of what’s left later on and with that, she sits, composes herself, and says, “I need two cards.”

She doesn’t engage with me much more after that, no matter what kind of snarky comment I make. A few hours and five more sangrias later and I’m out fifty bucks. Iris may not play poker, but she sure has a knack for it.

“Oh come on Carter, stay a while longer,” Beatrice pouts when I announce it’s time for me to surrender for the evening.

I laugh and wave a hand at her. “Long day tomorrow.”

“I thought men were supposed to be able to hold their liquor better than this,” Patricia says, teasing.

I’m not that bad off for Christ’s sake, so I point over at her. “Hey, now you’re bringing to question my manliness. I said I have a long
day
tomorrow, not that I’ve had a long night.”

I sneak a peek over at Iris as I stand. She rolls her eyes as she begins to pack her things. I don’t think I’m supposed to spot the smile that’s sneaking out.

“You too?” Cynthia protests.  “What has the world come to when the night is over at eleven PM?”

“You know I have things on my plate tomorrow that can’t be ignored, Cynthia,” Iris says.  “I have to get up early and-”

“I know, I know,” Cynthia says. “Here, Carter.”

She holds out a baggy full of cookies and I wink at her, tucking them into my jacket pocket.

“Here, let me get that.” I start over to Iris’s side of the table. She tries to carry everything she brought with her, less the cookies, plus the card table.

“No, no, really.”

I pick the table up by its side and tell my poker pals goodnight with a nod. “Thanks for having me, ladies.”

“Oh no, thank you, Carter.” Cynthia bats her eyelashes and I wink back.

They all grin from ear to ear as they wave goodbye.

“Fine.” Iris huffs. “Bye girls.” She kisses the three women and tells them she’ll see them soon. Beatrice whispers something into her ear and I’d swear on a Bible if I owned one, Iris blushes.

“What was that all about?” Once we’re outside on the sidewalk, well away from prying ears, I want to know what the secret it. She shakes her head and stares off into the darkness without answering me. So I change the subject.

“You stole the last of my weekend money in there, ya know.”

“Not stole, won. Big difference,” she says. “Besides, you can afford it; I know what that house is worth, and what you paid for it. It’s not like you’re hurting for money.”

If I’m not mistaken, there’s a twinge of fire in her words and regardless of my curiosity as to why she might be so fired up about my owning that house. I like this Iris.

“Why so interested in little old me, Iris?” I tease her as we approach our homes. It’s an easy way of avoiding admitting that I might actually lose money on this place. Especially if I continue playing cards with Iris.

Mental note, never play poker with this woman again.

“I’m not . . .” She lets the thought fade with the night, staring blankly over at her place.

“You want me to . . .” I motion, offering to carry the card table over to the front door for her but without hesitation, she refuses this time.

“I’ve got it from here, thanks.”

“You sure? It’s really not that big a deal,” I say but Iris won’t hear it.  She takes the table, fights to keep everything from falling and breathes heavy.

“It is to me.”

And with that, she goes. I watch her and wave, even though she can’t see me.

“Goodnight,” I say, quietly.  Then I make sure she gets inside before I go home as well.

I take the cookies out of my pocket and set them on the counter. I remove my jacket and toss it onto the futon in the front room, then I sit down onto the edge. That’s when the alcohol hits me. Who knew a bunch of little old ladies could nearly drink me under the table? Not that I’d ever admit that. I fall back into the make shift bed and let the pillow cradle my spinning head, allowing the booze to fully take over. As I begin to doze, the day washes away and a flood of my favorite moments rush through me. Like meeting the three youngest older women I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing in my life. The taste of Iris Alden’s cookies as they melt inside my mouth. The look on Iris’s face when she’s being used as a test dummy for the Heimlich maneuver. A smile pulls at my mouth. She’s not as hard core as she wants everyone to think she is. Despite her no-fun-allowed front, I know there’s a crazy, let loose kind of woman in there somewhere.

More moments push through. About how good it was to hear Frank’s voice earlier and how, countless number of times in my life, I’m glad he’s in mine. How he’s even related to my father? Good memories fade and the sour ones enter.

Arguments, bitterness, judgments, disappointments.

I close my eyes and let myself go to sleep. Maybe they won’t be there in the morning.

Chapter 5. Iris

Sirens blare and wake me from a dead sleep. I dart from the bed with blurry eyes and foggy thoughts of one thing. One person.

Ally
.

It’s not until I’m at the bedroom door, preparing to frantically run out of the house in my sleeping shorts and tank top to see what’s going on, that I realize it’s just my alarm clock going off. I head back to the bed.

“Ugh.”

I swear
I just went to sleep. The sun rises far too early on the weekends, in my opinion. It’s like hours were literally stolen right out of the night. Probably by Carter Blackwell. I curse myself for letting him enter my groggy thoughts first thing in the morning. I’ve let enough men dominate my brain in the past; I don’t need to continue repeating the same mistakes. My pep talk doesn’t work so good as I spend another ten minutes or so trying to get that Boy Scout smile of his out of my head.

“Later, mom!” Ally’s voice bellows from somewhere in the house. And now I’m back to darting from the bed.

“Where is it you think you’re going, Missy?” I stumble through the living room, before she gets the chance to leave the house.

“Mrs. Downing is here.” She says it like I’m supposed to know this. I’m still running a blank. “You said I could go to the beach with them?”

I blink the sleep away. For the life of me I can’t remember this conversation. She must have asked me when I was half conscious.

“I need you today, to help with carnival prep.”

“M
ooooooom
,” she lets the “oh” in Mom draw out for.ev.er. “I’m already packed.” Her body slumps. The silent whine. “Mrs. Downing is out front. I told Karen I was going – and this is probably our last
chance for any halfway decent sun before it starts getting cold out.”

It’s already cold out
.
I mean yeah, we’re looking at upper seventies today, and granted, to a teenager that’s golden but to the woman who’s been running cold ever since the birth of her daughter, it’s too chilly for my taste. I sigh. She will never stop. And chances are, I did tell her she could go. I’ll be marked as the Devil if I make her stay and then both
our days will be ruined.

“Fine,” I concede. “Go.”

Before I can say another word, she’s gone.

No kiss goodbye, no hug.

Nothing.

“Don’t forget to put sunscreen on!” I yell after her as I wave to Janice Downing.

“Oh my God, Mom. Seriously?” Ally groans as she slides into the backseat. Once she’s in, the neighbors two blocks away can hear her scream with laughter.

“See ya later, alligator.” As the car drives down the street, I’m nostalgic. We used to say the rhyme to each other when I would drop her off back in elementary school. I’d say my line, and then, without fail, Ally would recite hers.

After a while, crocodile
.

I forget when she stopped saying it back. Tears prick at my eyes and I head inside before anyone can see me making a fool of myself on the front porch.  Unfortunately, someone has already spotted me: His name is Carter Blackwood. He waves but I’m not in the mood for sarcastic hand gestures, so I step inside the house and close the door. After a minute or so of agonizing contemplation, I peek out through the front window’s curtain to see if he’s still there. He’s not.

There’s a lot to do today. I head for the bathroom to get a shower because at this point I’m already behind. However, the phone rings and because I’m hoping it’s my daughter saying she’s so incredibly sorry for leaving the way she did, I answer it. My throat tightens when I see it’s not her. It’s just a reminder of one of the men who dominated my brain, previously.

“James?  Why are you calling here so early?”

“Just wanted to check in on you, that’s all. Is that a crime?”

Right
.
Like my ex-husband has done one selfless thing for me in I don’t even know how long.

“Check in on me?”

“Ally bear said you were having some sort of mid-life crisis or something.”

“She what? When did you talk to Ally?”

“Last night when you went over to play cards with those old bitties you hang out with.  You know that’s not healthy right?  You should find some friends your own age, Iris.”

I really hate it when he calls them that. They’re younger than most twenty year olds I know.

“James, who my friends are is none of your business anymore – and they are not old bitties; they’re fun, and they get me.”

They do. Not many people can say that.

He snorts. “Get you?”

I know precisely how this conversation is going to go from this point.  He tells me,
“Well I’m glad somebody does,”
and I say,
“Screw you James,”
then he continues to get me riled up. I let
him.  I yell and scream and he tells me all the reasons he left, then I spend the rest of my day wallowing in self-pity via a showing of
Gone with the Wind
and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, even though I hate cherries and despise paying that much for ice cream. I don’t have time for self-pity today. Or
Gone with the Wind
.

“I’m not having a midlife crisis, James,” I say. “I’m not even forty yet, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s right around the corner though.” He laughs.

Ass
.

“I’m busy, I have to go.”

I end the call before he can say another word. It’s not something I would normally do but the pitch of his voice makes me feel as though I have the potential of ending up on an episode of
Snapped
one day. Since that type of notoriety would cause me to miss out on Ally’s everything, I breathe in several long, controlled breaths, before I move on.

The air feels thicker though, despite my attempts at forgetting James. Even though it’s been over a year since our divorce was final, I still feel his controlling personality hit too close to home at times. I wouldn’t give up Ally for the world but because we have her, he will never be fully out of my life; that knowledge makes my chest tighten. My feet move quickly down the hall for that shower I need to take. I’m anxious to move away from the thoughts I’ve let slip in. The conversation lingers with me and I wonder why in the world Ally would think I’m having a crisis of some sort.  Not to mention why on God’s green earth would she tell her father? I turn the shower on, test the temp, get undressed and step inside the glass walls of the only peace and quiet I’ll have today.  The entire time I try to think of how Ally has come to this conclusion, and then it hits me.

My forgetfulness. It must be my forgetfulness
.

It’s not like me to draw a blank on picking her up, or having a simple conversation with her, even. The child probably thinks I’m in the beginning stages for Alzheimer’s or something. I laugh. That’s it. That must be it. Just a young girl’s imagination getting the best of her because of a few hiccups on my part. I let the hot water take me away for a few minutes, then I don’t waste another second on James or his stupid opinion of me.  For today at least.

* * *

“Meg!”

I wave to my good friend, neighbor, and Spangler Event Committee co-chair as I rush across the now empty field. This is where we’ll be hosting our third annual fall carnival in a few short weeks. We’ve pretty much got everything taken care of, but today we’re staking out where everything is going to go and there are a few loose ends to tie up. Including, but not limited to, a vandalized fence in the back corner of the field, where, I’m fairly certain, hooligans are planning on sneaking in without paying.

Oh my God.
Hooligans
. Seriously? Maybe I do need more friends my own age.

“Sorry I’m late.” I catch up to Meg.

She waits for me and reaches out an arm to put around me when I’m close enough. Then she squeezes a little. “I was getting worried about you, honey, what’s up? You sick?”

“No, no, I just . . .” I wave a free hand. “I had this thing with Ally first thing, and then James
called, and--”

She quickly puts a hand up to stop me. “Up, bup bup. Say no more, I get it.”

I smile and we giggle together. It feels good. It always does when I’m around her. She has this way of making me laugh through my pain. Specifically, through dealing with James.

“Moving right along,” she says. “I um, kind of had to hire someone for that fence problem.”

I can tell by the way she drags her words out that she is not looking forward to telling me this news, which means it’s probably going to cost us. My shoulders slump. We’re already way over budget.

“Seriously? I was hoping we could just, you know, patch it up with something someone already has laying around.”

“Don tried to go that route earlier, but when he made his lame ass attempt, well, it turns out there’s dry rot damage and more of the fence just kinda . . . came down, so . . .”

She makes an air bubble with her cheeks and lets the rest of her sentence hang there in the air for me to fill in the rest of the blanks.

“Fine,” I say. Because honestly, what can I really do about it anyway?

“We were lucky to find anyone who was available to come fix it on such short notice. Everyone was booked – all week,” Meg says as we approach the work area. “I haven’t met him yet, I was just on my way back there to say . . . hi.”

The closer we get, the better view of the workman Meg gets, and when we’re right up on him, I can clearly see who it is now. “Are you kidding me?”

“Hmmm?” Meg frowns as she hums.

Me too. If the fact that this man is here isn’t enough to throw me off guard, the way he’s dressed is. Or maybe I should say, the way he’s not dressed, seeing how he’s shirtless.
And sweaty.
My head tilts, ever so slightly.
And so very lean.

“Helloooooo?” Meg lowers her voice and nudges me. “What’s wrong?”

I’m gawking, but only a little bit. Meg’s elbow jump starts my brain again and I straighten myself.

“Nothing, it’s just,” I huff out a laugh because seriously, I cannot get away from this guy for the life of me.
Him or his glistening sweat.

“He’s cute right?” she whispers with a seductively playful nudge.

I push her away and go back to resentfully ogling my neighbor. Oh God. I am an ogler. If Carter Blackwood notices us as we approach, he certainly doesn’t show it. Not until she speaks, anyway.

“This oughta do it for now.” He grunts when he pulls another board free. “But you should know it goes on for about two-hundred feet that way.” He points to our right.

I look that way, shielding my eyes from the morning sun. “It looks fine to me.”

With that comment, Carter stops working. His head lifts and his shoulders rise, then fall - like he’s taken a deep breath and let it go. Although he’s still faced away from us, I’m sure I see his ears move, like he’s smiling, maybe. But why would he be smiling?

“Good morning, Iris,” he says with a gravelly tone. He stands and wipes his hands on his jeans while he turns around to greet Meg as well. When he sees her, he looks stunned for just the briefest of moments before gathering his wits again.

I’m not surprised, she’s beautiful.

“Carter Blackwell,” he says, extending his hand out. His smile is easy now, like one of those country singers who’s about to whisk her off her feet and into his bedroom. Or kitchen counter, maybe.

His eyes slide to mine and I panic. Did I say that out loud? Did he hear that? I really hope he didn’t hear that. I’m trapped in his gaze and I want to escape but I don’t know what to do. Look away? Run?

I’m about to do just that when he winks. And I am baffled. What was that for?

“You two know each other?” Meg asks with a slow draw.

“Oh we’re great friends, Iris and I.” Carter’s smile is wry with evil lurking around it. He knows we’re not friends and I’m quick to diffuse him.

“No we’re not.” I give my friend a reassuring shake of my head. Being friends with men leads to being more than friends, which leads to more serious things and then the next thing I know, I’m being controlled again.

Not going to happen. “He’s just flipping a house across the street.”

“Oh really?” he says. “What was last night then?”

This comment, the way he says it, and I’m sure he did this on purpose, is very misleading and it throws Meg into full blown gossip monger mode.

“Do tell,” she says in her mocking sexy voice and a cock of her eyebrow.

“It’s—” I choke trying to explain. “Nothing.” I laugh and it comes out as more of a cracked meow. I clear it out. “Really.”

“Oh, she played me like a pro.” Carter leans in. He’s telling her a secret. One he ensures I can hear as well. “I’m lucky to have all my parts this morning, if you know what I mean.”

He nudges Meg and winks at her. I can only watch in horror as the two of them joke. It’s not until Meg slaps my arm that I realize, my mouth is hanging open. What is it with this man?