Smart Women (13 page)

“Right,” Sara said. “But this weekend she’s had a change of heart, I guess.”

“Well . . . take whatever you can get . . . that’s my motto. And remember, Omar says,
You have the courage of your convictions now and know how to express them to bring people around to your outlook.
”

Sara and Jennifer read “Omar Reads the Stars” every day. It was a column in the
Daily Camera
and as far as they were concerned, the only reason to look at the newspaper, except for “Dear Abby,” who was sometimes interesting.

“You think that’s why she’s letting me go then . . . because of the courage of my convictions?”

“Could be,” Jennifer said.

Sara was not about to ask her mother. She would just take what she could get.

Last weekend her mother’s friend, Lewis, had come to town to see the aspen. They turned color every year at the same time, the first week in October, making the whole mountainside look like a forest of gold. Lewis brought Sara a sweatshirt that said
Minnesota Is for Lovers.
Sara didn’t tell him they had the same sweatshirt for sale at the C.U. bookstore, only that one said
Colorado Is for Lovers.
She pictured Minnesota on top of the map of the United States that she’d had to memorize the first week of school. Her history teacher had let them color it. Sara had colored Minnesota turquoise.

Sara did not know if her mother and Lewis were just friends, if it was some kind of business deal, or if Lewis was a new lover. She worried that Lewis would be like Mitch because her mother had met him in California too. But he wasn’t. He was kind of old and friendly and he showed her pictures of his grandchildren. She didn’t think Lewis was her mother’s new lover. For one thing, he didn’t stay at the house. He stayed at the Boulderado Hotel. And for another, they didn’t hold hands or anything like that.

Still, it was her mother who had suggested she stay overnight at Jennifer’s last Saturday. Sara had begged to stay at her father’s instead and that’s when her mother had exploded.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she had screamed.

“Doing what?” Sara had asked.

“Do you want to hurt me, Sara . . . because that’s what it feels like when you talk that way.”

“What way?”

“I won’t have this behavior, Sara. I mean it.”

“All right . . . I’ll go to Jennifer’s.”

So naturally, after all the noise her mother had made, Sara was surprised to find out that this Saturday she was allowed to go to her father’s for an overnight. She got up early and tiptoed around the house, careful not to annoy her mother, afraid that if she did her mother would ground her and not let her spend the night at her father’s after all. Her mother threatened to ground her all the time now. Sara didn’t even know what she was doing wrong. She tried to figure it out, but she couldn’t. Her mother didn’t get up in time to say goodbye and that was pretty weird because Mom was always up early to go running. So Sara left her a little note, saying she had gone to Daddy’s, that she’d already fed Lucy, and that she hoped Mom would have a very nice weekend.

On Saturday afternoon Sara and her father went bicycle riding. When Sara asked where he’d gotten the bicycles he said he’d borrowed them from Margo. On Saturday night they went to the movies to see
10,
which was partly funny and partly gross.

On Sunday they were wrapping cheese and bread and planning their hike into the mountains, when someone knocked at the door. It was Margo.

“I brought back the book,” she said, handing it to Sara’s father. It was his book, the one he’d written. Sara recognized the cover, without even seeing the title or Daddy’s name. “I can’t begin to tell you how moved I was . . .” Margo said.

“I’m glad,” Daddy said. “But you weren’t supposed to return it. It’s for you.” He walked over to his desk and pulled a felt-tip pen out of a mug. “Here . . . let me sign it . . .”

Sara couldn’t see what her father wrote inside Margo’s book, but whatever it was, when Margo read it, she got all mushy and she looked at the floor, as if she were about to cry.

“I wrote you a note too,” Margo said, shaking the book. A small blue envelope fell out and Daddy and Margo both bent down to pick it up off the floor. As they did they bumped heads. Then they both laughed.

“Sara and I are going on a hike this afternoon,” Daddy said. “Would you like to join us?”

Margo stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and looked over at Sara for what seemed like a long time. Sara just stared right back at her. Finally Margo said, “Thanks . . . maybe some other time. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do today.”

Sara felt relieved. She didn’t understand why her father would have invited Margo to join them anyway. Sunday was
their
special day. She was glad that Margo couldn’t go with them.

That night, when Daddy drove Sara home, he told her he’d had the best weekend and that he hoped she would come to stay for a week sometime soon.

Sara said she would like that a lot.

When she went into the house, Mom was really angry. She was almost always angry on Sunday nights now, but this night she was angrier than before. And Sara had to answer a million questions.

“What did you do today?”

“We went on a hike. We had a picnic.”

“What did you eat?”

“Cheese . . . I think it was Cheddar . . . and french bread and a grapefruit.”

“Did you go alone . . . just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see Margo?”

“Just for a minute. She brought a book back to Daddy’s house. But I didn’t see what book,” Sara added quickly.

“And what else?” Mom said. “What did you do on Saturday night?”

“We went to the movies.”

“What did you see?”

“10.”

“
10!
That’s not a movie for children.”

“I liked it. It was funny.”

“He has no sense, no sense at all.”

“It’s okay, Mom . . . really. I understood everything in it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Sara nibbled at her fingernails.

“Please, Sara,” Mom said, “stop biting.”

Mom looked out the window for a minute and Sara held her breath, hoping that that was the last of the questions. But when Mom turned around again she said, “Did he have clean sheets for you?”

“Yes. They had stripes.”

“What do you do when you’re not at the movies or hiking?”

“We talk,” Sara said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. We just talk . . . like everybody does.”

“About me?”

“No. We never talk about you.” Sara wasn’t sure she should have added that, but she thought it would please her mother. Also, it was mostly true.

“Why not?” Mom asked. “Why don’t you talk about me?”

“I don’t know. We just don’t.”

“Are you afraid to talk about me in front of him? To tell him how much we love each other?”

“No,” Sara said, “I’m not afraid.”

“Good.”

“I just wish you wouldn’t ask me so many questions every time I come home from Daddy’s.”

“Why?”

“I just wish you wouldn’t . . . that’s all.”

“I don’t understand that, Sara. I really don’t,” Mom said. “When two people are as close as we are it’s only natural for one to ask the other about what’s going on. Aren’t you curious about how I spent my weekend?”

Actually, Sara wasn’t.

“You should be curious and interested,” Mom continued, “because you love me and you care about me. Don’t you . . . don’t you love me, Sara . . . and care about me?” Now Mom had tears in her eyes and her voice had turned to a whisper.

So Sara said, “Yes, Mom. Did you have a nice weekend?”

“No,” Mom said. “I was very lonely. I missed you very much.”

“What did you do?” Sara asked.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t you go out with your friends?”

“No.”

“How come . . . last weekend when you went out with Lewis you had fun, didn’t you?”

“That was different. Besides, Lewis lives in Minneapolis.”

“I know, but you have lots of friends here. You used to go out with them all the time. So how come you don’t now?”

“I guess it’s because I miss you too much, Sara. I just can’t get myself together when you’re gone.”

“You should try, Mom. Jennifer says that when she goes to stay with her father her mother has a really good time. That’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re divorced.” Sara didn’t get it. Her mother never complained about being lonely when Sara slept over at Jennifer’s.

“Well,” Mom said, blowing her nose, “that’s not how it is with me. But I did go out for a few hours. I went to a party at Clare’s house. She’s back from her trip.”

“Was it a nice party?” Sara asked.

“Yes. Clare’s parties are always very nice. I met Clare’s ex-husband there. They’re thinking about getting back together.”

“Do you think you and Daddy will ever get back together?”

“Would you like us to?” Mom asked.

“Well, if you did, then you wouldn’t be lonely.”

“That’s right. And I wouldn’t have to share you, would I?” Mom smiled, a funny lopsided smile, and Sara couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

Sara felt very tired. She yawned. “I’m going to get ready for bed now.”

When her mother tucked her into bed she smoothed the hair away from Sara’s face, kissed her forehead, and said, “I love you, Sara.”

“And I love you.”

“For how long?” Mom asked.

“For always and forever,” Sara said, closing her eyes.

“That’s how long I’ll love you too,” Mom said, turning out the light.

When her mother was gone, Sara rolled over in her bed. She felt frightened. One minute her mother was full of anger, the next she was telling her how much she loved her. Sara didn’t know what to expect anymore. She felt like a top, spinning and spinning, waiting to fall, but not knowing where or when she would.

14

B
.
B
. HAD WORN A NEW DRESS
to Clare’s party, purple with a red sash. From across the room she looked sensational, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall of Clare’s bedroom. But up close, her face looked drawn and thin and she had had to use makeup to hide the black circles under her eyes.

She was glad that Clare was back in town. Surprised at the news about her ex, or whatever he was, since they weren’t formally divorced, but curious too. Clare had always said that she and Robin had had an almost perfect marriage, until he’d gone crazy and run off with the Doughnut. An almost perfect marriage. She and Andrew could have had that too. Clare had asked her once what had gone wrong with her marriage and she had thought about telling Clare about the accident, about Bobby, but she found she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk opening the wound again, couldn’t expose herself to the pain, so she’d said,
Oh, the usual . . . we married too young
 . . . and Clare had nodded.

Robin Carleton-Robbins looked like the photos she’d seen of him at Clare’s house. Tall, angular, with dark eyes, a slight stutter, and a soft accent. He seemed shy and unsure of himself at the party. Clare had told everyone that he had come to town for a visit with Puffin, but B.B. knew the truth. That Clare and Robin were thinking about getting back together.

Maybe that’s what she should do too. Try to make a go of it with Andrew. It wouldn’t be easy, she knew, and she had mixed feelings about taking Andrew back. On the plus side, she would no longer have to worry about sharing, or even losing, Sara. And Andrew was still attractive. She was sure she could get him to trim his hair and shave his beard. And she would buy him some decent clothes at Lawrence Covell’s. Andrew was a successful author now, about to write his second book. He should look like one. Not that she had read his book, or ever would, but she knew that it had been well-reviewed. On the minus side, Andrew was still Andrew. She was never going to be able to change him or trust him. And he would never adore her, never want her the way that Lewis did. And between her and Lewis there was no destructive history. No pain. So she just didn’t know.

Her mother had phoned several days ago, hinting that she was the reason that Andrew had come to town.

“Are you giving him a chance, Francie?” her mother had asked. “That’s all I want to know.”

“A chance at what?”

“Getting back together.”

“What makes you think he wants to get back together?”

“Why else is he in town?”

“To be with Sara.”

“That’s not all of it . . . believe me,” her mother had said.

“Do you know something, Mother? Did he say something to you before he left?”

“I know what I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That a woman shouldn’t be by herself.”

“Mother . . .”

“Let me finish, Francine. You’re a big-time businesswoman and I’m proud of you. I couldn’t be more proud. But in the long run a woman has to have more . . . a woman has to have a man.”

“Mother . . . I don’t . . .”

“You don’t want to hear it because you know it’s true.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” B.B. said.

“What do you want to talk about, Francine . . . the weather?”