We Interrupt This Date (9 page)

“Anything you want to talk about?” He looked
so concerned and the lump in my throat got so big it threatened to
choke me.

“I’m fine,” I said in a husky voice. It was
sweet of him to offer and exactly like the Jack I remembered.

We reached my minivan, and before I could
unlock the door, Jack said, “Nic, let’s not lose touch again.”

“Good idea.” We exchanged numbers, me writing
his down on the back of a Piggly Wiggly receipt. “Maybe when your
girlfriend gets here we can go out to dinner or something.”

Before he could respond, I quickly added, “Of
course, I’ll bring my boyfriend along.”

I couldn’t let him—or his girlfriend—think I
was trying to be anything more than a friend or that I was so
pathetic I didn’t have anyone. But my boyfriend? Who was I going to
enlist to play that part? Herman-don’t-judge, perhaps?

We stood awkwardly, staring at each other in
the dim light cast by a street lamp that needed its bulb replaced.
I wondered if Jack could read my mind. Then he leaned forward and
brushed a kiss across my cheek.

“It was great seeing you again, Nic.”

Our eyes met and I felt a little lurch in my
heartbeat when his lips formed that endearing smile I’d noticed the
first time I ever saw him. Maybe my heart was trying to tell me
something. Maybe my heart was saying I’d been lonely long enough
and here was someone I could be with. Except he already had
someone. And he didn’t like me that way. And being lonely was no
excuse for falling in love.

“You, too, Jack.”

I watched him walk away and then I sat in my
car staring at the night sky through my streaky windshield that
made the stars blur into pale blotches. A deep longing for
something in the past had pushed its way into my soul. I wasn’t
sure what I wanted, but I knew whatever it was had made me ache
inside.

Somehow I had mentally assigned Brenda,
Odell’s niece, her uncle’s intellectual capacity. Though there was
a definite family resemblance in her stocky build and she had her
Uncle Odell’s droopy eyes and wide nose, she proved to be pretty
sharp. If she hadn’t been as obnoxious as her uncle was, I might
have liked her.

When I complimented her on how quickly she
caught on to the bookkeeping system, Miss Brenda straightened her
back and announced, “I took secretarial training at the community
college in Spartanburg. Of course, I’ll be making a lot of changes
after you leave.” She swiveled her head from side to side.
Something about the way she stuck out her lips gave me the idea she
wasn’t happy with the way I’d arranged the desk and chairs. For a
second I went defensive, but then I reminded myself that soon this
would be Brenda’s domain.

Despite her trainability, I gave in to moping
through a good part of the day, listening to my mind screaming at
me that I was soon to be sans paycheck. The troubling thoughts were
momentarily silenced when Jack called and invited me to lunch on
Friday. We still had, he reminded me, a great deal of catching up
to do.

Patty scooted into my office as soon as I put
the phone down. Excitement had her eyebrows practically dancing a
tango.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard the last
part of your conversation. Was that a man inviting you to
lunch?”

Not eavesdropping? She’d been lurking outside
my door like a spy too lazy to find a real hiding spot. I glanced
pointedly at Brenda who’d just come back from Odell’s office. Patty
didn’t take the hint. I guess she figured that since I was leaving
it didn’t matter if Brenda told Odell about me taking a personal
call.

“It’s not a date. Jack’s an old friend who
moved back to town recently, so it’s only polite for me to catch
him up on how the area has changed over the years.” Right. Lunching
with Jack was all about manners.

Patty held her arms straight up toward the
ceiling. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she aimed the slits about a
foot over my head to stare at the wall behind me. Then she started
swaying her hips like a belly dancer warming up for a performance.
“Right. Right. Susan, it’s good news. The Universe told me Jack is
your destiny, and I am just soooo happy for you.”

“It spoke to you without benefit of the
tarot? Despite the newsflash from the beyond, Patty, you can rest
easy. Due to a complete lack of chemistry between us, which he was
quick to remind me of last night over coffee, Jack and I are
nothing more than friends. Besides he has a girlfriend.”

“The Universe doesn’t lie,” Patty said in
tones of deepest respect. The bell at the front of the store rang,
and she scurried back to her register to wait on a customer.

I had a feeling she wanted to light a candle,
but Odell doesn’t allow lit candles in the shop. I glanced at
Brenda. Her mouth hung open, and she was fingering a little gold
cross hanging around her neck.

“Don’t mind Patty,” I said. “She’s harmless
and her predictions are about as accurate as what you read in the
tabloids.”

“I don’t read the tabloids.” Brenda sniffed.
“But I’m well able to deal with difficult co-workers.”

“I’m sure.” The secretarial school I’d
already grown sick of hearing about must have had a required class
on the subject.

I’d planned to stay late to work with Brenda,
but she had errands to run and I had no doubts she was planning to
lay in a supply of new office decorations. I was able to leave
promptly at five, my usual quitting time. I made a side trip to
Publix and pulled into my driveway exactly forty-five minutes
later. I was not surprised to see Mama’s aircraft-carrier-sized
green Cadillac taking up most of my driveway. She’d invited herself
to supper, no doubt prompted by the fact that I’d finally worked up
the nerve to phone her last night with the announcement about the
new job. She’d reacted predictably, which meant I’d had to drink
about a gallon of herbal tea.

I shouldn’t say I’d worked up nerve. I didn’t
need Mama’s permission to rearrange my life. What I needed, rather,
was enough time and energy to listen to her wear herself out trying
to get me to stay in my safe little world, a world much like hers.
It was a world I’d been resigned to inhabiting until yesterday when
I’d woken up and met the new me. Now I picked up my two grocery
bags and marched to the front door, determination showing in every
stride. Mama yanked the door open before I could do more than point
my key at the lock.

“I carried in your mail. It’s on your desk on
top of all that clutter. Your electric bill would be lower if you’d
reset your thermostat. And there is a huge packet from Veronica
about the Blackthorn House. I’m quite sure that does not bode well,
but it is not like me to interfere, so I won’t say a thing about
it. You really should keep your refrigerator stocked. I was going
to finish making dinner, but you don’t have a single tomato for the
salad.”

“I bought some.” I held up the bag on my
right. A couple of reddish globes shone through the opaqueness.

“And no bread.” She sighed with profound
weariness and then shook her head vigorously, a move that didn’t
have any effect on her lacquered hair. The Chihuahuas hovered in
the background, growling softly at my incompetence.

“Bag on my left.” I looked down and wriggled
my eyebrows at the closest Chihuahua, a little tan number named
Tiny that seems to think he’s a lot bigger than he really is. He
curled his lip.

“Don’t tease my babies.” Mama was already
pulling the bags out of my hands. “I’ll have supper done in ten
minutes.”

I didn’t want her to have supper done. This
was my house, my state of the art kitchen, and my life. But,
judging from the delicious smells wafting toward me, it was too
late to tell Mama to sit down and have a cup of tea while I did my
own cooking.

I took the only way out, nodding and stepping
carefully around the Chihuahuas as I moved toward the hallway. I
concentrated on my yoga breathing.

“What’s wrong? Your lips are pulled together
like purse strings and at your age there’s a serious chance of
wrinkles if you hold that expression. I declare, you look like
someone shoved a sour lemon down your throat.” Mama pulled me
around to face her and peered into my face.

A sour lemon? Was there any other kind?

“I’m good, Mama. Give me a minute to change
and I’ll help you in the kitchen.” If I made my voice any more
cheery, she’d think I was trying to sell her a beach condo.

She waved a hand at me and reversed
direction. Mission accomplished. I’d gotten safely in the door and
past Mama and her mini guard dogs without getting into an argument.
I was saving myself for later when Mama went into high gear over my
upcoming career change, a high gear made higher by the fact that
she’d had all day to prepare her argument.

Mama considered herself a gracious southern
lady, a member of the club made up of women with accents that
sounded as if the words were dipped in honey and stretched out into
extra syllables. Like all of them, Mama was tough as old leather.
She was a strong woman who’d survived widowhood—my father. And
desertion—my sister’s father. She’d managed a career as an
accountant’s secretary, raised two girls, and retired comfortably
with her dignity intact.

I’d win the argument, though. Of
course, me winning meant that Mama would finally throw up her hands
in defeat and blink her eyes at warp speed, leading me to believe
she wanted to frown, but didn’t dare risk the wrinkles. Then she’d
say in that low, melodious voice of hers, “You mark my words, Susan
Nicole Caraway, you are making a large mistake, bless your heart.
A
very
large
mistake.”

She’d gather the Chihuahuas and dump them
into the straw basket--woven by a Gullah woman--that she called her
purse. Then she’d stagger out to her Cadillac leaning sideways from
the weight of the little dogs.

I thought of this now as I changed from
business casual into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt sporting the
logo from some metal band Christian pretends to like. Mama never
really gets angry, doesn’t raise her voice. Voice-raising isn’t
ladylike. Even when she reminds me she said to mark her words—such
as when the minivan I’d bought against her advice developed a
problem with the radio—she is always ready to pitch in and help
pick up the pieces. Mama is fond of saying, “There is no love
greater than a mother’s love for her offspring.”

I’ve given up trying to get her to say
children instead of offspring. Offspring always makes me think of a
science experiment involving genetics and multiple generations of
albino lab rats that specialize in running mazes.

I ran my fingers through my hair and padded
barefoot down the hall into the kitchen. I discovered that Mama had
already fixed salad and garlic bread to go with the vegetarian
lasagna she’d baked earlier.

The table was set and Mama had brought white
carnations for a centerpiece. She’d arranged them in a bowl so they
sat low between the salad and a pitcher of iced tea, all the better
for her to see me from the opposite end of the table. A gracious
lady always has flowers in the house, I’ve been told a million
times, and plastic flowers don’t count.

Somehow I’ve never managed to become a
gracious lady. Mama has to keep reminding me I’ve fallen short and
my sister hasn’t even made the effort, and Mama doesn’t know why
she keeps trying with two daughters who are simply doing their best
to torment her into an early grave.

I waited until she locked the Chihuahuas on
the back porch with a bowl of tiny kibble, a food recommended by
Mama’s best friend, Lydia Freeman. Lydia is a Chihuahua breeder
active with the local dog rescue organization. She has a Cadillac
identical to Mama’s, except for a bumper sticker that reads, “If
you don’t rescue, don’t breed.” Before I knew she raised dogs, I
had no clue what the bumper sticker meant—I thought Lydia was
simply anti-sex.

Mama carried the food to the table. We ate,
chatting about the new gift shop near Calhoun Street, and how
Ruthie Ames’ daughter Cindy, who was as flaky as her Aunt Lou’s pie
crust, had dropped out of the College of Charleston to “go find
herself in Idaho.”

“Can you imagine?” Mama said, dabbing her
lips with her cloth napkin. “If she can’t figure out where she is
right here in the city where she was born and raised, then there is
no hope in Idaho where all the people are roughnecks. No hope at
all.”

I knew Mama was thinking of my younger sister
DeLorean as much as she was thinking about Cindy Ames. DeLorean had
gone to LA a couple of years ago--not to find herself, but to let
LA find her. So far, all she’d managed to do was move in with a
stuck up movie producer and have a baby. There seemed slim chance
of her ever being discovered, if that’s what she really expected. I
doubted if even DeLorean knew what she wanted out of life.

But then, I was one to talk. Married for
nineteen years, divorced for one and I was finally getting around
to figuring out I didn’t want to be stuck in a loan office
answering phones and soothing the feelings of entitlement-minded
customers. I wasn’t sure that running ghost tours was what I wanted
to do either, but I’d been forced into the situation and maybe that
was what Patty’s Universe had had in store for me all along.

“Mama?” I got up and started filling the
dishwasher. “I hope you’re not still upset about my phone call last
night.”

“Your phone call?” She made phone into
two-syllables. “You mean that nonsense about selling the house to
live in a bed and breakfast and going off to hunt for ghosts like
some common street person with pagan beliefs? I’ve raised you
better, the good Lord knows I have, and by now you’ve surely to God
realized you simply can’t do such a thing. I mean, people will
think you’ve been mentally unhinged by the divorce, positively gone
around the bend and that you need help before you ruin your life
entirely. Though no one could blame you after T. Chandler dumped
you for that gold digging home wrecker with the huge bosoms. I’m
sure they were fake; pure silicon--or is it carbon they’re made of?
What was her name?”