Tuesday Night Miracles (29 page)

And maybe some of them would come in handy right now, because Olivia is thinking about miracles. Even as she remains hopeful that the wild adventures of the past evening will induce even more changes, she knows that a miracle might also be needed.

“Miracles,” she whispers after the second to the last sip. “Maybe it’s not too late to believe in miracles.”

Olivia is about to take her last sip, wobble to her feet, shuffle out the door with Phyllis, and fall into bed when she is hit by an unmistakable wave of loneliness.

She sets down her glass, places her hand over her heart, and feels an ache rise up from the center of her stomach that begins creeping toward her eyes.

Instinctively, she picks up the cellphone and is about to dial when she realizes that the one-hour time difference between Illinois and Florida is meaningless because it’s close to 3
A.M
. Olivia realizes more each day how alone and lonely she has become. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to just turn a bit and say out loud to someone what she wants to say now? She sets down the phone, struggles to her feet, and then somehow manages to get on her knees; she buries her face in Phyllis’s fur.

“Oh, Phyllis,” she sighs, almost in tears. “I need a miracle, too. Maybe a miracle for five is what we should ask for. Maybe I’m just as afraid of change as my Tuesday women.”

Phyllis is no dummy. She curls around Olivia, who is almost lying on top of her, and dares to lick her face. This is usually a no-no, but Olivia rarely climbs into Phyllis’s dog bed. Something is up. First there was the late arrival, then all those dog treats, and then Olivia didn’t go to sleep but came to sit in her chair. Now she’s on the floor.

After a few minutes, Olivia gets up and Phyllis hesitates before she joins her at the door.

“Come on, sweetie,” Olivia says.

Phyllis can tell by the tone of Olivia’s voice that something else is going on. Even though she has to go to the bathroom really bad again, she walks over to the door, sits down next to Olivia, leans against her left leg, and tips her head three times into Olivia’s knee.

To Olivia it feels as if Phyllis is giving her a gentle and very sweet nudge. Olivia is also certain that Phyllis can tell when she’s a bit sad.

And if Phyllis could speak humanlike she’d say, “Change is good, Olivia, especially if we can go back to that place where it’s always warm.”

Then Olivia pulls open the door and a cold blast of reality hits both of them.

35

An Inch at a Time

I
t has been four days since Jane was attacked in the alley just moments after Grace slapped her during class. That also means four days in a row that Grace has worked diligently to keep herself distracted from those two horrific events.

She was doing pretty well at ignoring her uncontrolled burst of anger, Jane’s bloodied face following the attack, and the swell of emotion that has been riding her like a Wyoming cowboy. Pretty well, that is, until she opened up her email five minutes ago while working in her back bedroom office and discovered an email from Dr. Bayer.

An email with new instructions for the Tuesday-night gang of five:

Hello, Ladies,

I trust you have all settled in following Tuesday’s very wild evening. Jane appears to be doing well even though she reports that her face “still looks like a raw roast that has been run over by a tank.” Thank you for all acting so bravely. I know we are going to have a lot to talk about this week. Instead of a private assignment, I think it’s crucial we come together and talk.

In keeping with that, let me remind you that before the wild episode in the alley you were supposed to talk about what you have in common. Obviously that didn’t happen, and because of that you now have three assignments for this coming week:

1. Keep up the journals. They are more crucial than you know.

2. On a separate piece of paper, write down some things you think you may have in common with the other women in the group. After last week this should be easy.

3. You must also bring in another list. On that piece of paper please write down what you admire about yourself.

These are not easy assignments, but I know you are up to the task. Keep an open heart, try not to worry about what anyone else might think, and please be honest. This journey is all about self-discovery or rediscovery, but I know you have already figured that out. Right?

Now, about the meeting place. This group has already broken so many rules we may as well break another one. Kit has graciously offered to let us meet at her house this week. It was impossible for me to find a safe place in the same area and going back to the Franklin Building is out of the question.

Kit’s address is 24 South Brickley Street. Kit assures me there will be plenty of street parking. Leah, please see if the van will drop you off and one of us will return you.

Get to work.

Sincerely,

Dr. Bayer

Grace slaps the side of the computer with her left hand, so that it sounds as if she’s spanking it, and shouts, “Crap!”

Kelli can hear her from the other side of the house. “You okay, Mom?”

“I’m just fine,” Grace shouts back.

A few minutes pass, and then Kelli appears at her door cradling a cup of something steaming.

“You’ve been in here a couple of hours and I thought you might like some tea,” Kelli says, setting the cup down next to Grace. “This green tea is supposed to be loaded with great stuff. Antioxidants and shit that helps people like you who are always under a lot of stress.”

Grace is shocked into happiness and smiles, thinking that now she has something to write for the relentless Dr. B. She circles her hands around the cup, feels the warmth moving into her fingers, and fights back tears. To make her feel even happier, Kelli plops down on the old stuffed chair that Grace inherited when her parents downsized and moved into a condo. Her father dropped it off and acted as if he was bringing her a bag of gold, and even though she hates it, Grace can’t bring herself to throw it away.

Kelli throws her feet over the arm of a chair, puts her hands behind her head, and asks her mother how she’s doing.

Grace sips her tea, which is the perfect temperature, and wants to savor every second of this unexpected pleasure. When did the tea even get into the house, and how long has Kelli been drinking it? And why hasn’t Grace dared to ask her about the packed suitcase?

It’s hard for Grace not to be suspicious. In the past, when Kelli has been kind it has usually meant she had bad news, needed money, wanted to go someplace she knows she shouldn’t go, or has just come back from someplace she should not have been. There is, of course, a big chance that Kelli is simply being nice.

“Thanks for the tea, sweetie. How are you?”

“Getting slammed with exams before the Thanksgiving break even though it’s weeks away,” Kelli says, sighing. She hesitates a few seconds and then asks, “Mom, Evan? What’s the deal?”

Grace almost spews her delicious tea all over her computer monitor. This is not what she expected; she’s far from ready to discuss the tender issue of Evan.

“He’s a nice guy I work with,” she lies.

“Mom, duh. I’m not stupid. He’s crazy about you and he seems like a really nice guy. I thought you should know it’s no big deal.”

No big deal? Hot tea? A real conversation? Grace looks at her reflection in the computer screen for a second to make certain she’s really alive.

“Thanks, honey,” she manages to squeak out, taking off her glasses with one hand and rubbing her eyes. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Kelli pops up, leans over the desk, and says, “If you need any advice or help with that do
not
ask me.”

“Why?”

“I broke up with my dipshit boyfriend. The one you hate,” she reveals. “How could I be so stupid? He was dating someone else the entire time he kept saying he loved me.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” Grace sets down her tea and puts both hands on top of Kelli’s arms.

Kelli is quiet for a moment, and Grace is trying hard to remember the last time she had such an intimate, lovely, open conversation not just with Kelli but with her other daughter, Megan, as well. A year? Two years? Where has the time gone? Where have I gone?

Kelli doesn’t move. Grace knows that Kelli has friends who are now her confidantes, and that’s how it should be. Even with the natural progression of life it’s still not easy for a mother to watch her daughters slip into adulthood. Grace now realizes that her big singles night and even the needlepointing were all meant to help her deal with more than just her anger.

A part of her knows that she’ll also always have Kelli—no one can take that away. And Kelli’s apparently smarter than she is about some things. She’s figured out that Evan has become more than just a co-worker and that perhaps he would like to become even more.

Grace suddenly feels like a complete fool for wasting so much time, for doubting Kelli, for running in place. Dr. B. is a genius!

Kelli finally lifts up her head and says, “I’m over it, Mom. Don’t worry about it. It’s his loss.”

Grace doesn’t want this moment to end. She doesn’t want Kelli to pull her arms away, doesn’t want her to stop talking, doesn’t care how many more questions she gets asked, doesn’t remember what she was doing ten minutes ago.

“Can I ask you something, Kelli?”

Kelli shrugs and says sure.

“Except for pretty much the past five years, have I been a good mother?”

Before she answers, Kelli starts to laugh. She lifts up one hand and puts it on Grace’s shoulder. Then she bends down so that she can look directly into her mother’s eyes.

“Mom, you crack me up,” she says, laughing even louder. “Let’s see … except for the menopause crap and bashing in the car and not being able to accept that fact that my only true, loving sister has met a remarkable woman who loves her very much, yeah, you’ve been absolutely fantastic.”

Grace likes half the answer. Before she can say anything else, Kelli stands up, puts her hands on her hips, and adds, “You know, Grandma has always been such a bitch. I’ve rarely seen her be nice to you, and I’ve always wondered how you turned out so great.”

Now Grace is totally overcome. What in the world should she say now? She feels as if her heart is dancing right through her skin, and that it may burst from her chest at any moment. Should she push her luck and ask more questions?

Kelli helps her without even knowing it.

“Mom, you worry too much. You need to take a breath and let go of whatever it is that makes you do things like swear and hit your computer. And Evan? Mom, get on that. He’s hot.”

Then Kelli bends over, kisses her mother on top of her head, and backs out of the room laughing. But Grace, emboldened by all the affection, stops her.

“Kelli, were you going to run away?”

Kelli turns around, walks back into the room, puts both hands on her mother’s desk, and looks her mother right in the eye.

“Were you in my room?”

“I opened the blinds the other day, and when I did I stumbled against a packed suitcase. I wasn’t snooping.”

Kelli closes her eyes. Grace isn’t breathing.

“Mom, that suitcase has been there for, like, six months. And, yes, I was going to run away. You can be mean, and now that Megan is gone I’m the one who gets your stuff. You know?”

Grace nods.

“Then in health class we talked about menopause and it made me think about you and everything that has happened, and I know I’m not perfect and I’ve contributed to your hot flashes and shit—I mean stuff,” Kelli says, half smiling. “I just forgot to unpack it because I’m a pig, right?”

Grace nods. “You are my little piggy and I’m sorry, Kelli. Don’t leave me yet. I still have shit—I mean stuff—to yell at you about.”

Kelli smiles and backs out of the room. Grace feels as if she has just received a reprieve from the firing squad. She is absolutely filled with joy, and it was so easy!

It takes a while for Grace to catch her breath and she closes her eyes. When she opens them again she sees Dr. Bayer’s assignment glaring at her and she’s now eager to get into it.

Then Kelli yells from the living room, “I forgot to tell you, Megan called and wants to know if you’ve made a decision about Thanksgiving and to please call. I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Grace hears the television go on and she folds her hands and drops her head on top of them as her mind swirls in twelve different directions.

Not so far away, Leah is standing at the kitchen sink imagining what Kit’s house must be like. In three days she’ll know for sure, but for now, as she waits for her turn to use the bathroom with the shower, and her children are tucked into the bed they share and looking at books, she’s almost giddy with excitement.

Leah can’t remember the last time she was inside anyone’s home. Even though she tried, she never considered her last tiny four-room apartment a home. Even the room the children shared wasn’t safe no matter what she did or how hard she tried.

The simple thought of that apartment and what happened there becomes a physical pain that shoots through her entire body. Leah leans into the counter, closes her eyes to chase it away, and tries to focus on Kit and her house.

Surely it must be painted in lovely muted colors and there will be curtains in the kitchen. Leah imagines a fireplace, a wooden staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, furniture that has been worn thin at the edges from Kit’s own family. The kitchen will have a window even larger than the one she’s looking out of, and perhaps Kit will have some candles burning, braided rugs on the floor, the smell of fresh coffee brewing in one of those black-and-silver coffeemakers.

Maybe Kit’s husband will be there. He will be tall, and for some reason Leah thinks that he’ll be wearing a soft printed flannel shirt and will hold open the door and usher her inside with a warm smile. Then he’ll politely slip out the back door without anyone noticing.

Someday, Leah thinks, she will have a house and a fireplace, and no matter how old the kids are she’ll get them the sandbox. Maybe if she gets to see a house that is a home and be inside it for a while it will help her, give her even more courage, push her to get through the anger class and allow her to barge into the world the way she has always dreamed of barging into the world.

She can hear the shower go off in the bathroom, and she walks down the hall to check on Jessie and Aaron. They’re both engrossed in their books, but they look up when she peeks in and wiggle their fingers at her in a half greeting.

No matter how many times she sees them like this they always take her breath away. And no matter how many times she looks at them she still wonders if she can be enough for them.

Leah didn’t believe it when Cindy told her that all mothers get tired and want to be alone and worry that they’re not being and doing enough for their children. “We all want to run away sometimes, Leah,” she said. “Motherhood, even under the best circumstances, can be exhausting. Stop being so hard on yourself.”