Mother of Prevention (14 page)

I had called Mazi. “Look, I’ve got something to do. Can you feed the girls supper?”

“Sure, Kate. Everything all right?”

I realized my agitation was probably saturating the telephone line. “I just need a little time alone.”

“Take all the time you need,” she offered. “We’ll be right here.”

I hung up the phone and stared out the window. So now I had time alone. What was I going to do with it? I decided that I needed to celebrate our anniversary. Not the way it would have been if Neil were alive, but something to set the day apart so it wouldn’t be just another day.

I pulled out the telephone book and looked for restaurants, deciding on a little French bistro not too far from the salon. My burst of independence didn’t include a drive across town.

I combed my hair, retouched my makeup and dabbed cologne on my wrist from the tester that sat on the counter. Good stuff. I smelled like a celebration.

The restaurant was cozy without sacrificing elegance. White tablecloths, green linen napkins, waiters in black suits and white shirts and a manner that fell somewhere between haughty and friendly. I ordered coq au vin and an endive salad. The food was delicious. I tried not to enjoy it, but found that I did. I also enjoyed being alone, although it didn’t feel as if I
were really alone. Neil was there, sitting opposite me. Smiling. Eyes openly adoring me.

I lifted my water glass to him. “Here’s to nine perfect years, darling.” I drank deeply. Set my glass down. Smiled.

Clearing my throat, I made him a promise. “I’m going to make it, Neil. I’m stronger than I thought. At first I was so mad at you for leaving us, but now I forgive you. I know you didn’t want to leave us, and I know that somewhere up there you’re watching over us.

“What?” I cocked my head. “You
bought
me something? You shouldn’t!” I pretended to carefully slip the ribbon off a gold-foiled box. Opened the lid and gasped.

“This is too much!” Diamond earrings—the exact pair from Gaylord’s Jewelry window.

I brought my hand to my heart. “How did you know?”

I grinned and leaned to kiss him. Then I caught sight of the young couple seated at the next table, who were staring at me as if I’d just sprouted wings.

Straightening, I lifted the menu to cover my face and dispensed with my game.

Pretending to peruse the dessert menu, I secretly kept an eye on the young couple, who had returned to their conversation. I had a feeling they weren’t married. I also had a feeling they weren’t going to be. They had two kids with them, a boy and a girl, maybe a little older than my two. They weren’t behaving very well. The young mother tried, but the kids were on a roll.

The children didn’t like the food, didn’t like the restaurant and, what was really obvious, they didn’t like the man. I remembered the way Kris and Kelli had reacted to Gray Mitchell.

The woman glanced my way and I smiled. She reluctantly smiled back, and I knew she sensed my sympathy. Kids. They had a way of making their feelings known.

Later I had left the restaurant and drove toward home, but a mile away I pulled into a small park at the top of a hill and
turned off the motor. I could not believe this was me. Sitting alone in a parked car late at night. The Kate who left Oklahoma would never have dreamed of doing something so ill-advised.

I watched the moon bathing the Golden Gate Bridge in mellow light. The past months had brought changes not only to my life, but to me.

I had done things I’d never have dreamed of doing. Made choices I wish I’d never had to make. I let my thoughts turn to Neil and I felt a peace gently settle around my heart, as though he’d put his arm around me and said, “You’ve done well, Kate. You’re going to be fine.”

I stared at the moon for a long time before I started the motor and drove home. I had a feeling Neil would have been pleased with the way I’d celebrated our anniversary. Maybe I’d make this a tradition, getting away by myself for a couple of hours each year to take stock of life and to remember him, the love of my life.

I fingered my imaginary “gift” and thought, Well, hey. Life stinks sometimes, but it’s the best thing going.

When I had pecked on Mazi’s door and she’d opened it she’d been sporting an anxious frown. “You all right, Kate?”

“I’m fine, Mazi. Sorry to be so late. I’ll tell you all about it later. Are the girls asleep?”

“Yeah. I’ll help you carry them across.”

Mazi had taken Kelli, and I’d carried Kris. We’d stepped across the hedge and headed toward the back door. Kris had lifted her head sleepily. “Is everything all right, Mommy?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Mommy just needed some time alone tonight.”

“We were worried,” Kelli had murmured, picking up the thread of conversation.

“Nothing to worry about. How about hot chocolate before we go to bed?”

The girls had come alive. “Can we stay up and watch television?” they’d asked in unison.

“Not a chance. Tomorrow is a school day. One cup of chocolate, then off to bed you go.” Mazi had deposited Kelli, and I had put Kris on the porch step as I hunted for my keys.

The two girls had raced ahead inside ahead of me.

I’d glanced up at the moon one last time. I had worried and dreaded this day for weeks; all my fears had been for nothing. I’d had a lovely anniversary.

And I loved my pretend earrings.

And until this moment I had never told another soul about my make-believe anniversary.

Not even my daughters.

Week three of January I decided to treat myself. I had worked so much overtime that I figured the salon could do without me for a few hours. I was looking for new bills as the postman arrived with a handful. I liked the way he looked—sandy hair, not really tall, but muscular and with eyes as blue as the bay on a sunny day. I liked his manner, too. There was something about him that said he would be dependable. Not flashy, just an all-around good Joe.

Golly, Neil. I’m moving along too fast now, darling.

“Morning, Kate.”

“Good morning, Lee.” I’d bumped into him several times and we had gradually progressed to first names. I felt comfortable with the familiarity.

“You doing all right?” he asked.

I sighed, and suddenly I found myself telling him how much I missed Oklahoma.

He leaned against the side of the porch railing. “I’m a transplanted Texan myself. I still miss it. My boys live there, you know.”

I didn’t know. “I think the worse part of moving is leaving your friends behind. I really miss my neighbors and my church family. I’d never realized how long it takes to make new ones.”

He gave me a friendly grin. “Someone like you shouldn’t have trouble making friends.”

“No. I guess I don’t, but you only make one at a time. It takes a while to gain back as many as you’ve lost.”

He laughed. “Are you keeping score?”

I blushed, thinking I must have sounded like an idiot. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

His expression turned serious. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve got a few friends here, but nothing like I had in Dallas.”

I’d told him about Neil and our life in Oklahoma, but he’d not said much about his past. I drew a deep breath and asked a question I would never have believed I’d have nerve enough or even want to ask.

“Have you remarried?” Maybe I needed to know that a person could start over when the time was right.

He studied the toe of his shoe. “No, never remarried.”

Why had I asked? When would I learn to keep my thoughts to myself? This was a subject that he probably didn’t want to talk about.

He shook his head. “The ex said I stifled her ‘artistic nature.’”

“Really.” I didn’t know her, but already I’d formed a preconceived notion—I wouldn’t like her.

He flashed another boyish grin. “You heard right. I stifled her artistic nature. She took a few art classes and suddenly she was Rembrandt reincarnated.”

“Did she have real talent?”

He shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t see it, but she found someone who could. She eventually ran off with an artist. Last I knew they were both eking out a living in SoHo, painting desert sunrises.”

“Well, to each his own,” I said. There was no accounting for taste. “Tell you what—we have a singles group at church. Why don’t you join us sometime? I think you’d enjoy the class.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have much free time. I’m moonlighting at the post office while I do my real work on my time off.”

His real work? What would that be? I must have looked confused, because he explained.

“I’m writing a novel.”

“Oh. Well…that must be fun. What’s it about?”

“Gophers.”

I blinked, sure I’d missed a turn somewhere. “Gophers?”

He nodded, his eyes alive with excitement. “See, it’s an imaginary kingdom. There’s a king gopher and a queen gopher, and they have all kinds of problems.”

The first of which would be that they were gophers. “I see. It sounds…interesting.”

“It’s real cutting edge. Nothing else like it out there.”

Yep, you could put money on that. “When will it be finished?”

“I’m working on the final chapters now. Then I’ll get an agent and sell it. I don’t anticipate any trouble finding a publisher. Mark my words, it’ll be the next Great American Novel.”

And I’d dance
Swan Lake
at the first Barnes & Noble autographing.

“You want to read it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It sounds great, but I have so little time.”

“That’s okay. I understand, but if you ever get a few free minutes, just give me a call and I’ll run it over.”

“I’ll do that, Lee. But now I have to get busy. I’ll see you around.”

I took the mail and hightailed it out of there before he offered to drive home and fetch the manuscript. I was lonely, not desperate.

“G
uess who!” Mazi was framed in my doorway, arms loaded with packages.

“Mazi, you have got to stop this.” Shaking my head, I opened the door wider to allow access to her and the bulging shopping bags. “You are shamelessly spoiling my children.”

“So?” She shrugged. “Isn’t that what children are for?”

A typical grandparent assumption—or one from a lovely, giving woman who longed for her own brood but had never been able to conceive. I trailed her into the living room and watched while she set the various shopping bags and colorful sacks on the coffee table, then peeled out of her light jacket. Outside a faint drizzle cast a gray pall over the city where little cable cars reach halfway to the stars. February had arrived with no letup in gray skies.

“Other than mall pillaging, what else have you accomplished today?”

I plumped a sofa pillow and stacked a mound of Kelli’s picture books before I sat down cross-legged on the couch. Three perms, a highlight and six cuts had cleaned my plough. The salon was always busy holidays, but with Valentine’s Day looming every client on my book needed attention.

Kicking off her three-inch patent leather heels, Mazi dropped into my overstuffed floral print and sighed. “Other than spending money? Zip. What about you?”

I told her about my hectic workday. She said I worked too hard, and the sincerity in her voice made me weepy—not an uncommon state, you understand. Instead of easing, my grief had only been getting worse. Nights longer. I’d stopped counting the times I’d reach for Neil and he wasn’t there beside me. Warm. Loving.

“Work distracts me.” I picked at a loose thread. I deliberately made my days long and arduous so that when I got home I’d drop into bed so tired I’d pass out and I wouldn’t think about anything.

The plan hadn’t worked.

We sat in the gathering twilight in silence. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t tell Mazi or her me; we were wounded soul mates—she by a husband who apparently cared little, I by widowhood. So now our silences were comfortable—not the solitary kind of stillness that occupied my waking days and sleepless nights, but compatible without words.

Mazi studiously examined a red acrylic nail. “I could eat the north end of a southbound horse. Got any of those wheat crackers?”

“Sure—and there’s cheese, I think. Unless Kelli found it. Get me a hunk while you’re up.”

Mazi shoved her way out of the cushion and moseyed into the kitchen while I leaned back and studied my stocking feet. Apparently today she was eating. I never knew. Some days she ate more than I did and others she ate lettuce like a rabbit. I supposed that was how she maintained a neither slim nor full
figure. I needed to cut back on my own snacking. I’d finally started gaining weight after being a beanpole all my life. I’d put on all I’d lost after Neil’s death, and then some.

Within minutes she was back carrying a tray of provolone and crackers. Two cans of diet soda accompanied the late-afternoon snack. I hate diet soda; I read somewhere once that the chemicals made you fatter than sugar.

“This stuff’s going to kill you,” I warned when Mazi popped a tab and handed me a can.

“I know, but I’ll go happy.” She scooped up a cracker and cheese and dramatically devoured the snack, shaking her stylish bob with ecstasy. “Ummm, ummmm,
ummm.
”

Grinning, I reached for a cracker, too tired to chew cheese.

“You should have been with me today. We’d have had a ball together.”

“Oh…you know me. I’m not all that interested in shopping, and besides, I can’t afford it.”

Her eyes softened. “I know. I wish I could help.”

I shrugged. No one could help.

She dropped back onto the chair, now holding a fistful of crackers and cheese, and blessedly changed the subject. “I found this new makeup foundation. ‘Sweet,’ as Kris would say. One of the salesclerks offered to give me a free makeover and—voilà—chic, no?”

“Beautiful.” Mazi was blessed with a flawless complexion. I admired the clerk’s artistry. Her skin positively gleamed with a tan light. She was a true winter palette. Gorgeous brown eyes, brown hair, so dark it was nearly black. I couldn’t help but wonder why her husband chose to spend so much time away from home. With no children, only the two of them, you would think they would be closer than ever. She had once confided that Warren could come home more often, but frequently chose not to. I knew my friend had to be puzzled and hurt by her husband’s lack of interest, though she vowed she was very content.

“I have my shopping,” she contended when I asked. “And now I have you.” Her eyes would glow with real affection when she spoke about our friendship. I had the faint impression that true friends had eluded Mazi, that she’d shut herself away in a world of shopping and phone-sitting, waiting for her husband’s infrequent calls and even more infrequent visits. If you ask me—which nobody had or likely would—Mazi was a neglected wife. Her husband was a cold fish, but one she openly adored.

Spousal neglect had not hindered her; she was a bubbly, overachieving fireball most days. It wasn’t uncommon for me to get up in the middle of the night to check on Kris or Kelli and notice lights burning in Mazi’s house. She had a passion for housecleaning into the wee hours of the morning, although I couldn’t see how eighteen hundred square feet could possibly require so much maintenance. I sometimes didn’t touch the house for a week, but then I would have to get a shovel and dig my way out. Mazi cleaned or baked or shopped incessantly. She made me tired to watch her. How she carried those extra pounds that she was always trying to lose was a real puzzle.

She bit into her third piece of cheese. “So I had the makeover. Of course, I loved the product so much the clerk sold me on the whole line of skin care. Then I made the mistake of looking at eye shadow, and then these new slanted brushes. From there I moved to lipstick, then blushers.”

“Then perfume,” I said, now familiar with Mazi’s peccadilloes.

She nodded. “Fragrances.”

“And the sum total of this afternoon’s damages?”

“Four hundred and twenty-seven dollars.” She shook her head. “Warren will shoot me. My makeup drawer looks like Imelda Marcos’s shoe closet.”

I laughed. “And this from a girl with a military background?”

“Daddy might be a retired admiral, and Mom a navy nurse, but I’m afraid the discipline they tried to instill in me didn’t work. The word isn’t in my vocabulary.”

I knew she spoke the truth; I’d seen her makeup drawer. And the boxes of shampoos, conditioners, gels, spritzes and sprays she’d purchased, used once and discarded.

Then there were the lotions: creams, spray-ons, oils, moisturizers and hand-pump concoctions promising overnight skin renewal. Oh—and the bath washes. Tubes and tubes and bottles and bottles of shower gels and nonsoap soap. A shrink would say Mazi was searching for something, but in my amateur opinion, it wasn’t makeup, shampoo, conditioner, lotion or shower gels. I believed Mazi’s endless quest for something went much deeper.

She polished off the remainder of the cheese and crackers, and stretched her legs out before her, legs fashionably attired in black hose. “I wish I hadn’t eaten that.”

“Skip supper,” I suggested. If it hadn’t been for Kris and Kelli I could have lived on peanut butter sandwiches—and frequently did.

With a sack of peanut M&M’s thrown in for additional protein.

Mazi’s gaze traveled the homey sitting area. “Where are the kids?”

“One of Kelli’s classmates is having a birthday skating party. Kris was invited to crash the activities.” Yawning, I stretched, feeling the inevitable 6:00 p.m. slump. “Want to share a salad?”

“Nah—I’m full.” Mazi sighed. “I have some cold meat loaf I’ll eat later. Talk to the postman today?”

“You mean our postman who’s writing the Great American Novel?” I looked up. “He’d already been here by the time I dropped Kris and Kelli by the rink and got home.”

“Too bad.” She grinned. “You notice the abs on that man?”

I was a little surprised by the observation. Mazi was straight as an arrow and never looked at other men. Oh, she’d been flat
tered at the singles mixer, but she’d made certain the men knew she was married.

Maybe she wasn’t as crazy about Warren—oh, that was nuts!

So a woman window-shopped; that didn’t mean she was buying, even from a woman who was a shopaholic. Still, the remark seemed odd coming from her. To hear Mazi tell it, the sun rose and set on Warren. Me, I wanted a man to come home to every night or at the very least, a man who came home occasionally.

Mazi didn’t have either.

Days passed uneventfully. Gray Mitchell hadn’t called again. I laughed—nonhumorously—and stacked a cereal bowl in the dishwasher. Did I dare wonder why? A harridan alone, raising two hooligans who acted as though they had come straight from the bowels of the Land of No Discipline…

I caught my bitter thoughts and realized that lately I’d become a shrew, thinking horrible thoughts about my most treasured blessings. An honest-to-goodness, full-fledged, card-carrying shrew. I wouldn’t trade my children for five Gray Mitchells, as nice as he was, so why was I blaming my kids for my lack of appeal? Wait. Not a lack of appeal. I wasn’t a troll. I was a young widow, semiattractive, good bone structure but fallen arches, doing the best I knew how to raise two young daughters.

And I resented my condition like anything.

I dumped soap in the dispenser cup and slammed the door. The gentle swish of water filling the appliance penetrated the silence. The girls were asleep; Mazi was home in bed nursing a head cold. That left a long, empty night stretching ahead of me.

Channel surfing is an art. Honestly. There should be some sort of contest where contestants vie for prizes on how long it takes to surf from, say, local stations to Fox news without a single glitch. A challenger should master navigating swiftly and
uninterruptedly through fast-talking evangelists, steak knives, the weather channel,
Mayberry
reruns,
M*A*S*H
reruns,
Cheers
reruns,
Matlock
reruns—oops, another fast-talking fellow, talking heads, talking heads, talking heads.

I tossed the remote aside and stared at the illuminated screen.
God, it isn’t fair. I’m thirty-two years old! Other thirty-two-year-old women are putting their children to bed, then settling down in their husband’s arms for adult companionship. How long can one woman discuss the pros and cons of Barbie hairstyles?

I tried to remember the times I’d actually had time or Neil had invited me to “settle down in his arms” after a long workday. Lately I’d had trouble recalling the past. Yesterday I’d had to think for a moment about the tiny mole on Neil’s cheek. Was it on the right or left side?

I lay down, cradling the sofa pillow, holding on to something. Despite my good intentions, prayer didn’t help; I felt my pleas went no higher than the ceiling fan.

Work didn’t help. I’d worked so many hours lately Kelli had naively asked if I now lived at the salon. They missed their dad something fierce, but in their youthful way they had accepted that Neil was with God.

Why couldn’t I be so generous?

I rolled off the sofa and picked up the two-day stack of mail. Bills. Utilities. House payment. My eyes wandered the cozy living room. I couldn’t afford this house. I had lived here almost three months and already I knew that I didn’t have the energy to maintain the lawn, and I sure didn’t have money to hire a gardener. Kris could help when she was older, but the grass was going to be over the roofline in five years.

Buying the house had put a severe pinch in my income. I didn’t dare use Neil’s insurance; I’d safely tucked that away in an annuity for leaner days, though I couldn’t imagine times any thinner than right now. Everything—utilities, food, property taxes, gasoline, everything—was higher in California. Even a simple movie and popcorn turned into a penny-pinching con
test. One bag of corn, one drink and three straws; I wasn’t used to this.

Even tithing had gone awry. Neil and I had always given God a tenth of our income; yesterday I’d found in my wallet three folded checks written to the church—on hold until I caught up on bills. IOUs to God. Of course, since I wasn’t going to church all that much, I thought maybe it didn’t matter, but then in my heart I knew this was just another check mark for indifference.

Well, fine, I thought, pitching the unopened mail back onto the desk. So my faith wasn’t strong enough to believe in His provisions. Why should it be?

I was talking to God now, not me.

“You promised to meet my needs and You haven’t.” I was stunned when I realized I’d spoken the words out loud.

Hateful thoughts poured out of my mind. Unreasonable finger-pointing. Even as I made the silent accusations I knew—I
knew
—that if anyone had reneged on promises it was me.
Oh, God, if You’ll only get me through Neil’s death I’ll never ask for another thing.

Oh, God, if You won’t make me fly again I’ll never ask for another thing.

Oh, God, please keep me safe and I’ll never ask You for another thing.

If I couldn’t blame God, then I had to have somebody to blame, because none of this was my fault. I’d been a devoted wife, a doting mother, a reliable employee, an avid churchgoer and where had it gotten me?

Into a house I couldn’t afford, alone, frightened half out of my wits, with a wallet full of IOUs to God.

That’s where.

Early-morning sunlight streamed through the panes of La Chic. I opened this morning flashing a cheery smile at the first two clients of the day.

“Susan is running a few minutes late, Mrs. Watts. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some, dear.”

“You, too, Mrs. Stone?”

“Me, too, dear.”

I brewed a pot, then poured coffee into two china cups—one black, one with sugar and cream—and carried them to the two ladies now happily chatting. Two women—with husbands and nothing more to do than keep a hair appointment.

It’s not fair, God.
Somehow I had to pull out of this pity party I’d fallen into. I’d thought I was doing better, but now I seemed to be slipping back into my old pattern of worrying and feeling sorry for myself.