The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (13 page)

Somewhat thankfully, the congregation got
to their feet. “Well…I’m dying for some cake,” I said to my husband, by way of
explanation as I launched myself into the aisle. There was no way Javier would
stick around to make small talk with Karen’s friends and relatives. What would
he say? “Yes, I will miss Karen terribly. She gave the best head.” I had to
intercept him before he left. Unfortunately, the other mourners were not
experiencing the same sense of urgency. The line inched forward, stopping every
few feet to let another row of people into the aisle. I craned my neck to see
if I could spot Javier. It looked like he was already gone.

“Hi, Paige,” a voice behind me said.

I turned. “Trudy!” How had she gotten from
the pulpit to row six so quickly? “Uh—how are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m better—thanks to you.”

Was she being sarcastic? I couldn’t tell.
“Look, I’m sorry if I was hard on you. I’d had a difficult day and I shouldn’t
have taken it out on you.”

Trudy smiled. “I needed that kick in the
pants. You did me a favor.”

“Really?”

“I was wallowing in self-pity. All I could
think about was how much I missed Karen. When you confronted me, it really
shook me up. I was hurt and angry at first, but then I realized that falling
apart wasn’t going to help Doug. That’s when I decided to get off the couch and
get busy.”

“Great.”

“Carly and I have been working non-stop on
the funeral preparations—baking, organizing dishes and flatware, making a photo
collage of Karen…”

I suddenly felt completely left out again.
“… I could have helped, too,” I said in a small voice.

“It’s okay.” She squeezed my forearm. “We
know you’ve been having a hard time with this. I’m just sorry that I was so
self-absorbed that I couldn’t see how much you were hurting.”

“Umm… Thanks.”

She reached out and hugged me then, even as
we continued to inch up the aisle. “I love you, friend,” Trudy said.

“I love you, too,” I replied, a little
awkwardly. We were in the midst of a throng of neighbours and acquaintances,
after all.

Trudy released me. “If there’s one thing
this tragedy has taught me, it’s to let the people you love know it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Oh! There’s Jane,” she said, waving toward
our friend, still working her way out of her pew. “Excuse me, Paige. I think
that girl needs a big hug right about now.”

For a few seconds, I watched Trudy struggle
against the flow of well-wishers toward Jane. I also glanced at Paul, who
appeared to be in deep conversation with Ed Winofsky from the golf club.
Seizing the opportunity, I forced my way through the crowd. Turning my body
sideways, I bumped and jostled my way out of the church, mumbling a continuous
stream of
excuse me’s
as I went.

When I finally reached the lobby, I scanned
the room for Javier. Dammit. I was too late. I rushed toward the exit door and
burst out into the silent parking lot. Hugging my arms against the autumn
chill, I scurried toward the rows of parked cars, hoping to catch him just
about to leave. My eyes roved back and forth, looking for an occupied vehicle.
What would Javier drive? I envisioned a beat up pickup truck, or a rusted 1983
Honda Civic hatchback. But what met my eyes was a sea of large, pristine SUVs
or family sedans, all of them unoccupied. Dejectedly, I turned back inside.

As soon as I entered, I was met by my
husband. “Where were you? I was looking for you.”

“I just needed some air,” I lied. “Sorry. I
should have told you.”

“It’s okay. Doug and everyone have gone
downstairs for tea and cake. We should pay our respects.”

“Of course.”

We followed Carly and Trudy’s pink,
construction-paper arrows, until we arrived at room nine. Greeting us at the
doorway was the photo collage Trudy had mentioned. I stopped to look at Karen
as a toddler; an awkward girl of about twelve with braces and a bad perm; a
pretty teenager looking tanned and lanky in cut-offs and a green T-shirt… There
was her wedding picture… And a photo of Karen surrounded by Trudy, Carly, Jane
and me, taken at a New Year’s Eve party two years ago. I felt the familiar lump
of emotion forming in my throat. Tearing my eyes from the memories, I entered
the room.

Amidst the throng of familiar faces milling
about, I sought out Doug. We hadn’t spoken since the day after Karen’s death
(I’d sent Paul over with Janet’s slightly squished orange poppy seed loaf). I
didn’t relish seeing him after my past behaviour, but decorum demanded it. And
I wanted to give my condolences to Karen’s mom and brother, whom I had met one
Christmas years before. With Paul’s hand supportively at my back, we went to
the grieving widower.

“…Doug,” I said hesitantly. He appeared to
be in deep conversation with Karen’s brother’s wife.

“Oh, hi Paige,” he said. Was it my
imagination, or had a scrim of detached coolness descended over his eyes?

“We just wanted to give you our
condolences… again.”

“Thank you.”

I let Paul take over, and moved on to kiss
Karen’s mother and immediate family. But I was not up to small talk.
Emotionally, I was exhausted, and yet mentally, my mind was racing. If only I’d
had a few minutes to talk to Javier, to get a feel for the kind of man he was.
Was he capable of killing Karen? Or was he so distraught by her death, that he
would risk attending her funeral just for a chance to say goodbye? If that
turned out to be the case, then I’d have to interrogate Doug further. Although,
he already thought I was a complete weirdo. I didn’t see how I could gain any
further information from him without him taking out a restraining order.

And then, I saw him. I had to blink my eyes
to ensure they weren’t playing tricks on me, but there he was. Javier had not
sneaked off. He was just across the room, pouring himself some coffee from the
stainless steel upright urn. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee,” I mumbled to
Carly, who was standing closest to me. I made a beeline for Karen’s lover.

Thanks to my swift movements, he was still
stirring the sugar into his coffee with one of those tiny brown plastic straws
when I approached. “Hi,” I smiled pleasantly, as I reached for a Styrofoam cup.

He looked up briefly. “Hi.” It was not an
overly friendly greeting, but not dismissive either. I was going to have to
approach my subject very carefully, play it cool… If I was too aggressive, I
might scare him off.

“So…” I smiled at him as I reached for the
minicreamers. His face really was full of character. “Did you know Karen well?”

“We had gotten close… over the last few
months.”

“Oh.” I had expected more of an accent. In
fact, if he had one, it was undetectable to me. But maybe Karen had been
exaggerating his Spanishness for effect? Besides, love was blind. One woman’s smouldering,
sensuous Latin-lover was another woman’s averagely pleasant guy. “It was such a
shock,” I continued. “Her…
accident
.”

“Terrible,” he replied, taking a drink of
his coffee. “She was still pretty young.”

Pretty
young? Karen hadn’t mentioned Javier’s age, but it was now evident that he was
only in his mid-twenties. Wasn’t that the most passionate and impulsive time of
life? A young man of twenty-five would be much more likely to violently lash
out at his lover than a more seasoned, fortyish guy, like Doug, right? I had to
engage Javier further.

“Do you know many people here?” I asked,
innocently.

Javier picked up a date square and stuffed
it in his mouth. “Not really.” He mumbled.

“Well, I’ll stay here and keep you company,
if you like. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“…Sure.” He gave me a bemused smiled. He
had nice eyes, but I wasn’t really picking up any smoulder in them.

“I was really close to Karen, too.” I said,
leadingly. “She told me a lot of things…”

“Yeah?” He reached for a butter tart. Maybe
the poor guy had stuck around because he was starving?

“Yeah… she told me things that no one else
knew.” I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “
Secrets
…”

He looked at me for a second, and then
nodded slowly.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to
talk here. Maybe you could give me your number?” I began to dig in my purse for
a pen.

“Well…” Javier said, looking around
nervously. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

“I can be very discreet.”

“… Okay.”

“What’s going on here?” The woman who spoke
was about Javier’s age, several inches shorter than me and very curvaceous. She
had long, wavy dark hair, and wore bright red lipstick.

“Oh… hey babe,” Javier said, putting his
arm around here quickly.

I was stunned! I could not believe that
Javier brought a date to Karen’s funeral! Had he gotten over her so quickly?
Had he been involved with someone else all along? Did that raise or lower the
probability that he had killed my friend? “I was just talking to this lady—a
close friend of Karen’s.”

“Yeah,” she snapped, glaring at me. “So I
see. Hands-off, lady. He’s taken.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” I said. “I’m married.” I
pointed furiously at my wedding ring. “I’m not interested in Javier—that way. I
just wanted to talk to him about—”

“Javier?” She gave a humourless laugh then
turned to her boyfriend.

“First you turn up late, and now I catch
you playing some kinky game with this…
woman
. God, you didn’t even tell
her your real name!”

“I didn’t tell her any name,” Javier said,
his voice full of fear. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. She just came
up and started making moves on me.”

“Making moves on you?” I was outraged. “I
wasn’t making moves on you. I was…” I stopped mid-sentence. Oh shit. Oh shit,
shit, shit. “Your name isn’t Javier?”

“George.”

His girlfriend spoke. “I’m Leslie, Karen’s
cousin from Montana. We just moved to Denver a few months ago. Karen and I were
just reconnecting when… she had her accident.”

“I—I’m sorry, Leslie…” I stammered. “I
wasn’t making moves on George.” I turned to him. “I wasn’t George. Honestly. I
thought that you were a friend of Karen’s who didn’t know anyone else here. I
was trying to be friendly.”

“Whatever,” Leslie held up her hand. “It’s
pretty pathetic trying to pick up a guy at a funeral.”

“I wasn’t,” I cried. “It was a
misunderstanding!” But they turned and walked away from me. My cheeks burned
with humiliation.

“Everything okay?” Paul appeared at my
side.

I turned to him. “Fine. Fine. I’m just a
little… upset, that’s all. Would it be rude if we left now?” I suddenly felt
overwhelmingly weary, sad and confused. It was more than I could cope with,
this knowledge of Karen’s affair. I wanted to be blissfully ignorant, naïve to Karen’s
duplicity like everyone else was. I wanted to make butter tarts and photo
collages and grieve for my friend properly. Instead, I was consumed by the
mystery surrounding her death. Trudy was right. I was having a really hard time
dealing with this.

Paul took my arm and kissed the side of my
hair. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home.”

As the days passed, I grew stronger. If
there was one thing my humiliating encounter with George had provided, it was a
new sense of determination. I had to meet the real Javier. I had to talk to
him, to gain an understanding of his feelings for Karen. I’d let too much time
pass to confess to Paul or Jane or Carly: I would have to handle the situation
on my own. I would meet with Javier, and if he sparked even one iota of
suspicion in me, I would go to the police. But, if he seemed genuine in his
grief, I would let the whole thing go, chalk Karen’s death up to a tragic,
freak accident. It was decided. Of course, I’d keep a close eye on the way Doug
spent the life insurance money. Any new sports cars or hot tub installations
would definitely signal cause for concern.

I turned my attention back to the deserted stretch of
highway before me. A light snow was beginning to fall, tiny flakes whipping
through the air and landing on the windshield with small, wet plops. I flicked
on the wipers. They dragged against the largely dry surface of the glass with
an unpleasant squeak. From the backseat, I heard the muffled sobs of my
daughter. While my words of consolation had previously fallen on deaf ears, I
decided to try again.

“Honey,” I said sympathetically. “Your new glasses look
great. You look really beautiful and so grown-up.”

“I look like a nerd!” she screeched.

Mr. Dennison had been right. Chloe was having a really
difficult time accepting her new, bespectacled appearance. Unfortunately, I was
too embarrassed by my previous flirtatious behavior to take him up on his offer
of support. But it was okay. I was fairly sure I could handle this on my own.

“No, you don’t,” I said, cheerfully. “You look smart.”

“Mom, I don’t want to look smart. I want to look cool.”