Time Off for Good Behavior (22 page)

“
Yeah, sorry about that. I just needed some time to get my head together. But I think I
’
m better now. I think I
’
ve hit on what I
’
ve been doing wrong, which is pretty much everything.
”
I rambled at the speed of light. S
he crossed her legs and stared me down.

“
Then I guess you
’
ll be okay if I talk to you about Walter?
”
she asked.

I froze at the sound of his name. Although I had been thinking about him, weaving him into my hopeful vision of the future as I examined my past
, the sound of his name cut a swath through my gut, and I deflated a little.

“
I saw him today,
”
she said.
“
He
’
s worried about you.
”

I looked at her.
“
Did you tell him I was here?
”
My throat tightened just talking about Walter.

Elizabeth shook her head.
“
No
. I told him I
’
d talked to you and that you were okay.
”

“
Thanks,
”
I said softly. I lay back across the bed, my feet tapping nervously on the floor. We both stared at the ceiling.

“
You gonna tell me what happened with you two?
”
she asked.

“
Not now,
”
I said,
still staring.
“
I have too much to do.
”

“
Like what?
”
she asked.

I turned to face her.
“
You got any more of those sticky notes?
”

Elizabeth nodded and excused herself, returning five minutes later with two Diet Cokes, some markers, and two packages of stick
y notes. She pulled one marker cap off using her teeth and let out a garbled
“
Let
’
s get cracking.
”

“
What do I do?
”

She scribbled on a sticky note and held it up for me. It said
“
Get a job.
”
She spit the pen cap onto the floor and pulled the note off the pa
d, slapping it on my wall.

“
A reinvention of self is half commonsense planning and half blindly following out-of-nowhere hunches,
”
she said.
“
First, we do free form. Just write anything that comes to mind that you might want to improve about yourself.
”

“
I
don
’
t have that kind of time,
”
I said.

“
Let me finish. Then, when you
’
re done, evaluate what you
’
ve written. You
’
ll see some patterns develop. Then you whittle it down to about ten things you really need to do. You do them and boom
—
you
’
re a brand-spankin
’-
new Wanda.
”

I stared at her.
“
And this worked for you?
”

She shrugged.
“
I
’
m a work in progress. Get writing, girl.
”
It was after eleven when we stopped, sitting Indian-style on the floor, surrounded by scrunched-up notes, staring at a wall speckled with squ
are, sticky, yellow directives that were supposedly going to change my life.

“
Am I crazy for wanting to do this?
”
I asked.

“
We don
’
t like the term
crazy
,
”
she said.

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. We were quiet for a moment, then Elizabeth spoke up
again.
“
I wish you wouldn
’
t wait to talk to Walter. He
’
s really worried about you, you know.
”

“
Can
’
t. Gotta go one step at a time. If he doesn
’
t want me when I
’
m done, then I
’
ll have to live with that. But if he takes me back now, I
’
ll never do this. And
I need to do this.
”

I sat forward and looked at her. She was staring at the wall of sticky notes.
“
Promise me you won
’
t say anything to him. Just that I
’
m okay and he shouldn
’
t worry. Please, Elizabeth.
”

“
Okay. You
’
ve got my word.
”
She sighed.
“
So what are
you going to do first?
”

“
I don
’
t know,
”
I said, my eyes grazing over the wall of tasks.
“
It
’
s kind of overwhelming. Maybe you should pick one at random for me?
”

“
Sure.
”
She pulled herself onto the bed, covered her eyes, and grabbed a sticky note off the w
all. I stood up and took it from her.

“
This one should be easy,
”
I said, laughing and showing it to her. She cocked her head to read it at an angle.

“
Get a job
,
”
she read.
“
Looks like you
’
ve got a big day tomorrow.
”

I smiled.
“
Looks like.
”

She got up and g
ave me a hug.
“
Blueberry pancakes. Six-thirty. You
’
re not there, I
’
m coming in after your ass, and I promise it won
’
t be pretty.
”

Chapter Seven

“
Kids, this is Wanda. She
’
s going to be staying in the apartment over the garage for a while.
”

I nodded at the
children and gave a grunt to the effect of,
“
Good morning.
”
I
’
m not a big morning person.

Elizabeth put the pancakes on the table, and the kids descended on them like vultures. Alex was a hair-in-the-eyes teenager; I
’
d place him at about fifteen. Based on
his T-shirt, jacket, and backpack, he had something of a Nike obsession. He seemed the quiet, contemplative type. Kacey, a pixieish pre-teen with brown hair and the brightest blue eyes I
’
d ever seen, looked to be about twelve. She was not so quiet.

“
I lik
e Avril Lavigne and Justin Timberlake. Do you like Justin Timberlake?
”
she asked. Elizabeth put a cup of coffee in front of me, God bless her.

“
Leave Wanda alone, Kace,
”
she said, sitting down next to me.
“
She
’
s not used to being up this early in the morni
ng.
”

“
Even if I did like Justin Timberlake, I wouldn
’
t admit to it,
”
I said, reviving slowly as the caffeine blasted the sleep out of my veins.

“
What
’
s
‘
Wham!
’
?
”
she asked. I looked down at my T-shirt, where George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley gave cracked,
ironed-on smiles.

I lifted my coffee and took another sip.
“
You
’
re better off not knowing.
”

“
The blond one
’
s kinda cute,
”
she said with a shrug. I gave her points for generosity.

Elizabeth waved her hands at the kids.
“
Hurry up; eat. You
’
ll miss the bus,
and I don
’
t have time to take you in.
”

The kids inhaled their breakfasts and gave their mother swift kisses before heading out the door. I watched them go, then leaned over to Elizabeth.

“
Did I just see a soldering iron hanging out of Kacey
’
s backpack?
”
I
asked.

Elizabeth smiled.
“
She
’
s doing some kind of presentation at school. Kacey
’
s an engineering wunderkind. To date, she
’
s fixed the VCR, the clock on the coffeemaker, and my electric toothbrush. My biggest fear is she
’
ll grow up to be a Hooters girl.
”

I
nodded, thinking of my mother and how she must have felt watching all my potential strapping itself to the back of George
’
s motorcycle.

“
So you got a big day?
”
I asked, finishing my coffee and starting in on the pancakes.

“
Yeah,
”
she said.
“
I
’
m going down
to the radio station.
”

“
Radio station?
”
I asked.

She leaned forward, her voice quiet and excited.
“
I didn
’
t want to say anything because I didn
’
t want to jinx it, but I
’
m pitching a radio show.
”
She giggled. And she hadn
’
t cursed once all morning. I
’
d bee
n too self-obsessed to notice the change in her until now.

“
No way,
”
I said, a stab of jealousy hitting me. I was the one with the wall full of sticky notes staring me down at night, and Elizabeth was the one whose life was changing.
No fair! No fair!
my i
nner child whined.

She laughed.
“
I started being straight with my clients about a week or so ago. You have no idea what it
’
s done for me. I can breathe again.
”

Good for her.
“
Did any of them leave you?
”

She shrugged.
“
One or two. Good riddance. But one of
my clients referred me to her friend who is the promotions manager at that new all-talk AM station. We
’
re meeting today to discuss me having my own show.
”

“
Holy crap,
”
I said, stabbing at my pancakes, willing my inner child to mature to the level of at lea
st an inner preteen.
“
That
’
s great.
”
I hoped I sounded sincere, because part of me was. The part that was not a big baby and a rotten friend, that is.

“
I really have you to thank,
”
she said after a moment of silence.

“
I didn
’
t tell you anything you didn
’
t
already know.
”

“
No,
”
she said,
“
but you saw me standing on the ledge and you pushed me over. Thanks.
”

We looked at each other. It was a nice moment and at the same time a little uncomfortable. Our friendship had been forged on the ground of each of us bein
g bitter and angry. This change in Elizabeth might upset that balance.