Tuesday Night Miracles (23 page)

28

The Red Dot

J
ane is trying her best to embrace normalcy.

She has made a few real-estate calls, which went nowhere, but that was no surprise. She checked listings that other agents have and made certain she answered the few emails that had trickled into her in-box.

Then she wrote in her little happy notebook. It wasn’t much, but she did mention how it made her happy when Derrick sat and listened to her babble about the foot-and-arrow incident even if she didn’t understand what he was doing with her shoes. But then, for some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about Leah’s life.

“I almost wish I could talk to Dr. Bayer right now,” she said, staring at her phone and wondering exactly what she would say if Dr. Bayer answered.

Hello. I’m feeling funny, like I should do and know better about everything, and that maybe you are very wise and all these assignments are starting to hit home. Help me more, Dr. Bayer. Lots of things don’t make sense
.

She would like to be able to tell Dr. Bayer that what she thinks she should do is take Leah out for lunch and buy her some new clothes. She would like to ask Dr. Bayer about her life and how she comes up with these assignments, and why there are only four of them in class. She’d love to tell Grace again how sorry she is and how it really was an accident. She’d like to tell Kit about feeding those swans.

Jane knows there are areas in her life that are rough, and she also knows that she’s not really a bad person. Sometimes she doesn’t know what to say or do. Arrested development? Frightened? Confused? Or just Jane?

She realizes that she should go stand in front of the mirror for about three years to look into her own eyes. She has watched other people and other families interact, and she knows her capacity to show affection and to receive it is all but nonexistent.

Pushing herself away from her computer, she tries to remember the times her parents were affectionate. There isn’t a lot to remember. Mostly she can remember her father trying and her mother being worried about her hair, her makeup, what other people might say if they saw them—as if affection was something dirty and horrid.

“Father, why does Mother think it’s wrong to kiss and hug?” she remembers asking him.

Her father would take off his big black glasses, rub his eyes, and look at her with a smile. “Your mother is your mother, Jane” was what he usually said. But sometimes if she asked him when her mother wasn’t there he would lift her into the air, twirl her around and around, and then kiss her all over her face.

When she was away from home at summer camp, and homesick for reasons she never understood, Jane sometimes lifted her fingers to her face and made believe her father was kissing her the way he did when she was a little girl.

When Jane became insanely promiscuous during her college years, her roommate told her that it was because of how she was raised. The Tuesday-night gang would undoubtedly love to get their hands on those stories.

Jane shakes her head to stop any other memories from surfacing. God forbid someone from her past should invade this lousy section of her life.

Now what?

This is what Jane hates about not working. She has absolutely no other hobbies or interests. She has almost always had a cleaning lady until recently, she’s not a big fan of anything in the kitchen besides wine-bottle opening, she works out a bit but isn’t an avid runner, biker, or tennis player. She reads a little, but usually she’s picking up business books or industry magazines. Forget yard work—she has to keep up her nails. And it’s not like there’s a large group of unemployed friends she can call to come over and hang out.

All of these true facts usually depress Jane, but today she feels different and can only blame it on Dr. Bayer, and maybe this means she’s making some kind of progress. Who knows?

She starts to pace throughout the bottom floor of her house when she gets the bright idea to cook dinner for her and Derrick. She’ll call him right now and let him know, and when she gets home from class everything will be ready. She’ll just reheat whatever she made or keep it warm in the oven. He should be amazed. There has to be some food buried in the freezer under the vodka stash.

She calls his cellphone and the call immediately goes into his voice mail. That’s odd. Derrick rarely turns off his phone, especially when he’s at work. She knows that he leaves it on even during his meetings

“Derrick, it’s Jane. Give me a call, okay?”

Jane sets down her phone and starts rummaging through the fridge. There’s enough stuff for a salad. She crosses her fingers and starts an excursion through the freezer. Who knew? The freezer is absolutely stuffed. She can’t remember the last time she pulled open the door to look for anything besides the vodka.

First she decides to throw out everything that looks as if it’s been inside since the beginning of time. Old vegetables, packages with one or two buns, something that must have once been a slab of lovely pork or beef. When in the hell did all this food even get into the freezer? She keeps digging until she finds a normal-looking beef roast.

While it rests on the counter she tries Derrick again, and there is still no answer. She shrugs but is puzzled. Then again, when had she last called him at work or—not at work? If she stopped to think for a moment, Jane would realize that she never thought about needing Derrick. But she often thought of having him.

It takes her a good ten minutes to locate a slow cooker she has never actually used, and then tries to remember how to use the damn thing. Then she calls Derrick one more time, and when he doesn’t answer she decides to call his assistant. It’s past lunchtime, and it’s not like him to let his phone battery die or to leave the phone anyplace that isn’t within reach of his right hand.

Ronald answers immediately. “Hello, Jane. Nice to hear from you.”

“Is Derrick there?”

He’s quiet for several seconds.

“Lunch with you, Jane darling. He’s not back yet. Did you forget your phone in his car again?”

Jane almost drops the pot roast on her right foot.

“Oh,” she all but whispers. “No. Just. Well. Never mind. Have a great afternoon.”

She hangs up the phone and feels her stomach lurch into her throat as if she might swallow half of her own body.

Jane plops the roast on the counter and has absolutely no idea what to do next. She can’t imagine Derrick having an affair. Can’t imagine him lying to her, sneaking around, being with another woman.

Jane doesn’t move for a very long time. She stands with her hands on the counter, and when she looks at them she realizes that she’s shaking. The kitchen is littered with old vegetables, hunks of freezer-burned meat, random pieces of bread and hot-dog buns. The kitchen looks the way she feels.

Jane is absolutely devastated. This has to be a mistake.

She turns and walks through the kitchen and takes the stairs to the bedroom two at a time. Screw the sadness. She is now absolutely livid.

Where to start?

First she moves to his side of the bed. She opens the small drawer on the nightstand and finds nothing but a few pens, some ChapStick, a half-empty water bottle. There are no cryptic notes from a lover.

She sits on the bed for a few moments and imagines Derrick with another woman, in bed, kissing her face, talking softly, touching her hair, kissing her breasts.

“He couldn’t,” she tries to convince herself. “I know I haven’t been perfect, but he wouldn’t do that to me. Not now. Not when I’m trying so hard.”

Before she can get up again, Jane imagines that Ronald made a mistake. Derrick isn’t having lunch with Jane but with Jim or James or John. The names are similar. She can’t imagine Ronald writing down the word
wife
.

Then again, Ronald is totally devoted to Derrick. He would cover up for him, most likely lie for him. Was she supposed to have lunch with Derrick today? Did she even talk to him this morning?

Jane drops her head into her hands. She’s trying to remember the last time they even talked for more than a few minutes. Hello? Goodbye? Tuesday night when she woke him up after she’d shot Grace in the foot.

It’s too much to think about now.
Look for clues, Jane. There’s got to be something. He did not ask you to have lunch with him today
. Or did he?

There are so few places to look for anything. His golf bag? The drawer with his shaving gear? Suit-coat pockets?

“This is like a damn movie,” she says out loud. “Am I losing my mind?”

But she can’t stop looking.

Jane looks in Derrick’s shoes, in his underwear drawer, under the mattress, and under the lamp. This must be how Grace feels with her teenage daughters. How do people live like this?

She finally gets up and stomps down the stairs again, and starts looking all over the first floor. Jane starts in the living and then goes back to the kitchen, where the whole mess started, and decides to stop.

“I’m overreacting,” she tries to convince herself.

The kitchen is a total disaster, and Jane is absolutely exhausted from doing what? Running through the house? Acting like a damn fool? Get a grip!

She spends the next hour totally cleaning up the kitchen. She throws out all the food from the freezer, cleans off the counters, shoots the makings for a salad back into the refrigerator. Just as she decides to finish making the roast the doorbell rings.

She drops her pen, walks to the door, and is greeted by an adorable-looking messenger.

Another assignment from Dr. Bayer! Jane is actually excited as she rips open the envelope. She finishes reading it and is laughing so hard that the letter drops to the floor and she drops down, giggling like a little girl, right next to it.

29

The Blue Dot

K
aren has been trying for three days to have a conversation with Grace that lasts more than three seconds. She’s worried about her best friend, and she also misses her very much.

Grace has been limping through her house as if she’s on a major deadline. She has taken an afternoon off to try and get her house and a small portion of her life organized and, truth be told, she’s trying hard to be more gentle with herself. It doesn’t help that she tripped at work and twisted the foot that was already injured. Thanks a lot, universe.

When Grace finally answers her cellphone, she does so because she needs to sit down and take a break. Her foot is swelling, there’s a river of sweat rolling off her face and back, and she can feel the damn headache about to start punching her in the side of the head.

“Baby!” she shouts as she pushes her phone’s on button.

“Don’t baby me, you jackass. I miss you! Can we talk for a while?”

“Excellent idea. Kelli has disappeared, and I’m trying to get some order in my life over here.”

“Good luck with that, Ms. Calamity.” Karen chuckles and immediately Grace’s spirits lift.

Grace imagines that the whole world sees her this way. A bumbling nurse who has two wild daughters, a front yard that looks as if it’s been blown up in the war, a car that needs a muffler, and a heart that needs so much TLC it’s a wonder she can smile.

“Gosh, Karen, I am one exhausted lady.”

“I wouldn’t call you a lady but you are a great woman, even if you don’t think so. Ladies wear nylons and stuff. They also use hair spray and place mats. You ain’t no lady.”

Grace laughs at her wicked friend. Where would she be without Karen? Karen with the eager smile who always seems to know exactly when to call, what she needs, how to lift her spirits. No man has ever made her feel this way. Maybe there’s something to this lesbian thing.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” Grace says, still laughing.

“Absolutely not. You’re usually too busy spying on Kelli.”

“Your turn is coming.”

“Yes, it is. I can smell it in the air. Daughter number one got her first period.”

“Seriously?”

“Can’t you hear me sobbing all the way over there?”

“Did you have the party?”

The party is something Grace did with both of her daughters. When they started menstruating, Grace dropped everything. Unfortunately they both started their periods while they were at school and, fortunately, they both called Grace, who rushed to pick them up even though she was at work. Then they celebrated their entrance into womanhood by going out to eat, holding hands, talking about how glorious it is to be a woman. Those days seem like hundreds of years ago now. Hundreds and hundreds.

“That’s part of the reason why I’m calling. She wants you to celebrate with us.”

Grace sits up in her chair and drops her throbbing foot onto the floor.

“Me? I’m just an old lady. Are you serious?”

“Oh, Grace! My girls adore you. They can talk to you. Remember the night we sat on the couch and you showed them what their reproductive organs look like in your medical book? They still talk about that.”

Grace wonders if those girls would love her if they heard her scream at Kelli, or if they knew what a struggle it’s been for her to accept the sexuality of her older daughter, or if they knew she was attending anger-management class. Does anyone in the world but Karen know who she is and what she’s really like?

Inside of her terribly wide heart, Grace wants to be a better mother, nurse, friend. Forget the daughter part. She’s tired of trying to win that award. She adores Karen’s two girls, loves the way their lives are blended in with hers, and yet a part of her feels as if she doesn’t deserve their love and kindness.

“Grace?”

“I’m here, honey. Just tired. This headache.”

“Grace, have you checked your blood pressure lately?”

Grace opens her eyes as wide as small saucers. Oh, my God!

“I never thought of it. But I have the classic symptoms. Shit!”

“Grace, you are a nurse, for the love of God. You are in menopause and under tons of stress. Promise me that you will have someone check it tomorrow? Promise me that you will try and relax? And I’m counting on you to be here Sunday night with Kelli for the Menstrual Hut celebration.”

Karen hangs up before Grace has a chance to say anything. She wants to tell her yes, but that’s unnecessary. Karen is Karen, and she knows Grace will obey.

Grace sits very still. She places her hand over her heart and can actually feel the wild thumping, as if her heart is trying to pound itself right out of her chest. Sweet Jesus! High blood pressure is a huge silent killer of women. It’s dangerous, horrid, and something she should have thought about much sooner. She’ll have someone check it tomorrow. It’s unlikely she can get away without medication. Damn it. Just damn it.

She drops her head into her hands and sees her world as a top that has been spinning for a very long time. Something has to give, and apparently it’s her blood pressure. Maybe she’ll call her new singles pal, Val, and arrange a weekend at the cabin Val invited her to. The mere thought makes her heart slow.

Grace fights an urge to lie down on the couch and sleep for the next five hours. When was the last time she didn’t set her alarm? When was the last time she used vacation time for a real vacation?

When Megan was a junior in high school, Grace forced the girls to go with her to a cottage in Northern Wisconsin for five days. She used her income-tax refund to pay for the cottage, gas, and food, and even though both girls whined like homesick puppies all the way to the cottage, they had a blast once they got there.

There was a boat to use, the weather was perfect, and there were zero arguments. There were also boys staying at the next cottage. Grace realizes now she should have figured out something was up when Megan kept talking about the sister of the boys and not the boys themselves. Duh!

Even now Grace believes that if she had not talked trash about their father, if the girls had had some kind of decent male role model, Megan would not have declared herself a lesbian. Kelli thinks her mother is an ass when she talks like that.

“I like boys, Mom,” she has said more than once. “Some people are just gay. Get over it. It’s no big deal. It wouldn’t have mattered if we had had a father who hung around. I have, like, six friends at school who are gay. Stop obsessing.”

If only she could. And part of the obsessing is worry over what her own mother will think, say, and do when she finds out. She’ll probably hire a firing squad.

Grace shakes her head to toss out any bad thoughts. Enough! She does a few deep-breathing exercises to try and slow her heart even more, and forces her mind go to someplace soft and sweet.

High blood pressure! What next? Grace struggles to get up and wonders for the tenth time where Kelli might be at this moment. Is she running around with her friends? Did I forget something? How nice it would be if Kelli were there to help her with some of the household chores.

Grace calls her while she’s thinking about it and, to her great surprise, Kelli picks up.

“Yo! Mama! What’s up?”

“Am I supposed to know where you are?”

Kelli’s sigh could knock over a large horse.

“Mom, go look on the kitchen table. Go on. I’ll wait.”

Grace hobbles over to the table. Tucked under the salt shaker is a small note from Kelli:

Helping out at the volleyball fund-raiser tonight. Will call
.

“I didn’t see it,” Grace says, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry. What’s the fund-raiser for?”

Kelli sighs again.

“The art department. So we can do the museum tour.”

“Oh.”

“Mom, I know you have a lot going on. You need a break.”

Grace laughs. “No kidding, Kelli!”

Kelli says, “I love you, Mom,” and Grace is smiling like crazy.

Then she decides to go down the hall and start some wash. She stops in Kelli’s room on the way to look for stinky clothes and is shocked to see that the room has been picked up. The bed isn’t made and the blinds are down, but the room has had some serious attention. Grace feels ten pounds lighter. She walks around the side of the bed to pull up the shade when her one good leg hits something she hasn’t been able to see.

When she bends down, she realizes it’s a suitcase. She clicks it open and discovers that it’s packed. Is Kelli planning to run away? It can’t be! Maybe it’s left over from the boyfriend incident.

Grace decides to ignore the suitcase, and kicks it back under the bed just as the doorbell rings. She peeks out the window and sees a messenger-service car. What in the world?

She pulls open the door, takes the crisp white envelope, and knows right away it’s a new assignment from Dr. Bayer. Grace is absolutely not prepared for what she reads, and the moment she starts laughing her headache disappears and she forgets all about the packed suitcase.