Diary of a Heretic

No Teasing

Annabelle and Colette each invited four playmates. They chose freeze dance, freeze dance, and more freeze dance as the main game. And for lunch hamburgers with lots of ketchup. 

Kevin’s mother Rebecca arrived before the party with two pink leotards, matching tutus, and magic wands filled with sparkles. After helping them change into magical fairies, Rebecca told them, “Don’t point your wands at people. Use them only when necessary.”

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] 

Annabelle and Colette skipped around, so excited that Patrice made them wait in Annabelle’s bedroom, where they could jump on the bed.

Jeanne had made a three-tiered white cake with raspberry filling and chocolate icing. Kevin fiddled in the far corner with his new high definition camcorder. “The hard drive has more memory than my laptop. Annabelle and Colette will have a DVD of this birthday that’s as fine as anyone’s made-for-TV wedding.”

Jeanne kept busy in the kitchen. She’d barely seen Kevin. Barely—a brief glance caught his smooth dark forehead and the long, animate muscles suggesting stealth and strength even in stillness.

Holding a basket of rose-shaped soaps, miniature sailboats, and rubber ducks, she stepped almost within arms’ reach. Kevin was there beside the sliding glass doors, but outside.

He hummed, pulling the glass door open and turned standing in front of her. Jeanne’s body simultaneously leapt toward and away from him, which she hoped looked like no direction. Down a step, into the September afternoon, he said, “Don’t worry, Jeanne. We’re doing just fine.” But then he gathered her hair in one hand and let the other mold the back of her neck. “Maybe,” he whispered, about to kiss her nape.

Jeanne skittered away. “Don’t tease me, Kevin, please.”

“I’m not teasing.” His voice was soft but stern. “I lost myself for a second. It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Inside, he looked around the room that was filling with children; he looked past his wife and past his mother and saw nothing.

Jeanne squatted by the mini-pool and breathed slowly, head between her knees, before setting the toys adrift. Returning inside, she opened the glass door herself; Kevin was almost hidden behind his video camera.

He recorded the children as they arrived and gave the girls presents, which Patrice whisked away for later. The lens found Jeanne crouched beside a small boy. Her silky, honey-colored hair fanned in the air when she shook her head.

She wore loose, light blue denim jeans, rolled up past her ankles, the left leg rolled slightly higher. Kevin’s mother called her into the dining room. And Jeanne flowed forward—fluid as a stream. And he could swear she smiled over her shoulder straight into the camera. The lens focused close on her breasts until she was gone. And then—she twirled out of the dining room, chimes bright in the air. He paused, confused, until he realized his mother had given her finger cymbals.

She twirled and twisted across the room, cymbals ringing to her body’s rhythm. The performance was for the children. The camera focused only on her. She crouched down again, adjusting cymbals on the children’s little fingers.

After the song, after the girls blew out the candles, Jeanne cut and arranged little pieces of cake on paper plates. The lens zoomed in when she licked her fingers. The three women ate two bites each off plastic forks. Kevin recorded Jeanne’s mouth opening and closing, laughing and swallowing.

People dispersed. Jeanne stepped outside toward the mini-pool and Kevin followed. Half hidden by the house, he scooped her into his arms and kissed her like his life depended on it. He was lightly kissing her long, beautiful neck when his mother called from the living room: “Kevin, God only knows what you’re doing out there. But Patrice needs you out front, to say good-bye to the children and their parents.” 

(To Be Continued)

She and She Agreed

Jeanne hoped her intimacy with Patrice would inoculate her from ever succumbing to Kevin. Wearing sunglasses, the mothers swayed waist deep in the O’Meara’s swimming pool and watched the toddlers float, water wings on their little arms. Half-hypnotized, Jeanne talked about marrying Paul because his love had seemed friendly and safe.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] 

At the end he wasn’t so friendly. “After Colette was born he was more about making rules for me,” Jeanne said. “Like, don’t think so much; don’t feel so much. ‘You’ll get farther skimming the surface.’”

Patrice already knew Jeanne’s late husband had wanted to change her. “Well, I married Kevin because here was a man who could go anywhere and be anything.”

Just in time, Jeanne suppressed a catch in her breath. “You’re both like that, Patrice.”

“You know that’s not true, but thanks. I’m just lucky he decided to stay here and be a dentist. Except lately it’s like he’s reaching beyond me.” Patrice laughed. “I don’t know.”

Annabelle wailed. “Colette, stop!” She’d splashed water in Annabelle’s eyes—that was Jeanne’s guess. “We should go,” she told Patrice. “The girls are tired.”

Leaving was a relief. Hearing about Kevin stirred up too much guilty pleasure. She might love Patrice more than herself and still do wrong.

Hearing about Kevin’s friend Hal, who Patrice admitted was oafish and odd, felt comforting, however. Jeanne might adjust, spending time with an unattractive, unthreatening man. Every year Patrice invited Hal to Thanksgiving. This year Jeanne and Colette were invited, too.  A plan nobody need consider for months. 

After Labor Day weekend, the mothers took the girls to their favorite playground. “I haven’t told Kevin about Thanksgiving,” Patrice said. “But yesterday I suggested we might all go out, me and Kevin and you and Hal.”

“We’re still on for the girls’ birthday, I hope.” Jeanne wanted to celebrate Colette and Annabelle’s third birthday with a double party. Colette would be so delighted—it might become her first clear memory.

And, Jeanne was just being ridiculous about seeing Kevin—it was inevitable. Still, it would help if there were lots of people there.

Patrice shifted her weight on the park bench. “Hal wouldn’t belong at the three-year-olds’ party.  He really is strange. Anyway, here’s the thing: all I did was suggest some kind of informal double date, and Kevin acted like I was committing a crime.”

“Oh no,” Jeanne said.

“He said Hal has obsessive tendencies. They went to high school together. Hal was always a hard luck case and Kevin helps him out. He’s been rotating dental patients, giving Hal work. But I guess Hal gets on everybody’s nerves. Maybe Kevin’s especially, I don’t know.”

Jeanne rummaged through her purse. “I don’t need to start seeing anyone. It’s kind of mean, me thinking this guy Hal might be good because, from what you say, I’m in no danger of getting into anything serious.”

“Sorry if I was pushy.” Patrice watched as Jeanne twisted her hair up with a clip.

“You weren’t pushy.” Jeanne let a foot swing in the air. 

Patrice squinted at the sun hovering along the tree line. Her husband loved to help people. Life came to him so effortlessly. Everybody liked Kevin; everybody loved him. And Kevin always gladly donated a minute or two, a name and/or number—no big deal. But when he lent a hand to Hal, an attitude sneaked in. Patrice hated noticing such a petty difference, but she couldn’t help it. With Hal, Kevin played the big brother. It wasn’t casual. It was Kevin exerting subtle power.

Jeanne’s gaze followed Patrice’s. They turned and nodded—hours of light left but summer was over.

(Click here to read the next episode)

In the Shadows

For several weeks, Kevin did wait in the shadows, as promised. Because there was no other way.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.] 

Jeanne adjusted to her new life, working nights at the 911 facility so immediately and thoroughly that after a week the routine felt permanent. She might have always read to Colette after dinner and waited for Giselle the babysitter who arrived at eight p.m. And soon after that, always, she drove past the O’Meara’s house to the secured building. She answered emergency phone calls and studied for her certification, while a supervisor slept in a leather lounge chair.

Between six-thirty and seven a.m., Jeanne returned home. The babysitter was usually awake but Giselle didn’t mind if Jeanne had to wake her before sending her away—daytime now. After cleaning the house a bit, she woke Colette. They ate breakfast together and prepared Colette for nursery school. At eight-thirty, Jeanne took her little girl with bows in her wispy blonde hair to The Petite Academy. She said hello to Patrice, who was busy welcoming everyone, and drove home to sleep.

She was supposed to collect her daughter at noon. But Patrice often and then almost always and soon routinely invited Colette to lunch at their house, where she played with Annabelle until one-thirty or two.

Patrice and Jeanne were such good friends by now that Jeanne never questioned the arrangement. Dark brown Patrice was her true sister—opposed to unpleasant and long gone Patti. So naturally, Patrice helped out, giving Jeanne an extra hour to sleep.

It was Kevin who asked, “What is this, Patrice? Every day?”

Kevin always knew when Jeanne had visited. He opened the front door after work and the air fluctuated. He caught a suggestion of chimes, bells that faded away the instant he stepped inside—an outlandish notion. “What happened today?” he asked. And Patrice or Annabelle would recite their activities, which either involved Jeanne moving and laughing through these very rooms—or not. 

At first, learning that Jeanne had been in his home—when he was not—disturbed him. But after Kevin identified the disquieting sensation, he anticipated it. When it became routine, he took secret pleasure in it. And if the women and children had met somewhere else that day, gone shopping perhaps, a kind of gloom settled inside him.

All this in a matter of weeks. Jeanne and Patrice shared such a fast fondness that Patrice arranged get-togethers during the weekends too. Kevin couldn’t be bothered joining them. He played more tennis than usual (more than he wanted.)

And after a while Patrice felt apologetic. There was no good reason why Kevin should disapprove of her new friend. He had met Jeanne first and rented the bungalow to her. He had arranged for the overnight job, which whether he knew it or not, met her primary requirement—allowing her to be with Colette during the day. But he grimaced whenever Patrice mentioned Jeanne’s name. It annoyed him—the every-day playdates for the girls and the mothers’ constant updates and outings.

One solution, Patrice thought, might be if Jeanne started dating someone. Then the four of them could go out. Driving home from a Sunday visit to Kevin’s mother, Patrice wondered out loud if Jeanne and Kevin’s friend Hal might like each other.

“We could introduce them, and if they seemed up for it, try a double date thing.”

Kevin didn’t respond at first. Without glancing at his wife, he exited the turnpike and pulled to the side of Country Club Road. “Absolutely not, Patrice. You don’t know Hal. It’s not a matter of him being socially awkward. Mentally, he’s ill equipped.”

Annabelle whined, saying, “Why are we stopped?”

“Your daddy and I are talking.”

“You can talk and keep driving.” Annabelle kicked the car seat.

“I guess, honey,” Patrice turned around and smiled. “But I guess…this is serious.”

(Click here to read the next episode)

Crazy Women

When Edward and his family finally arrived, the receptionist said Mrs. Nesbitt would receive them in hour.

As always, the family waited at the McDonald’s across the highway.

The nursing staff refused to prepare residents before guests arrived, because getting the elderly patients cleaned up, dressed, coiffed, and settled involved strenuous maneuvering. And often the expected visitors failed to show up.

Inside the grimy franchise across the highway, Edward’s wife Amy conceded that McDonald’s coffee wasn’t bad.

Grant and Diana, who were approaching their teens, hooted. “Really, Mom? You think it’s safe to drink coffee here?”

She laughed. “I suppose I was prejudiced against it.”

Edward, however, imbibed nothing. He acted disinterested unless someone suggested his grandmother was slipping into dementia. Or if the thought occurred to him unbidden. “Grandma never misses a trick. Her mind is sharper than ever.”

Amy signaled her children—don’t contradict him or you’ll be sorry.

After phoning the facility and learning it was time, the family hurried through the living areas, averting their eyes from the communal rooms, where contorted bodies were strapped into padded furniture. Reaching Victoria’s dismal, sick-smelling room seemed like an oasis.

“So lovely to see you!” Amy kissed Victoria’s papery cheek and gestured that her children do likewise.

Despite trouble speaking or swallowing, Victoria wanted to give little Diana a bottle of vodka, hidden behind a curtain. “Open it now, honey, because somewhere it’s cocktail hour.”

“Yes, but not for nine more years,” Edward yelled into his grandmother’s ear.

Grant elbowed his sister and whispered. “Sharp as a tack.”

Before long, Amy half-carried, half-dragged Victoria to the minuscule bathroom. Victoria wasn’t heavy, just stiff as stone, crying and moaning whenever Amy moved her.
Adult diapers filled the bathroom shelves but Victoria insisted the nurses were joking.  Nonetheless she cringed with apologies as Amy cleaned her. “Hush, this is nothing,” Amy said, “compared to when the kids were babies.”

Mission half-accomplished, Amy heaved Victoria, who moaned and groaned, into her recliner. Hands flailing, Victoria snatched at the tissue Amy offered and spit into it.

From next door a woman screamed, “Save me! Someone! Get me out of here!”

The nurse appeared. “Sorry about the crazy woman next door. Just don’t listen to her.”

“Save me!” the woman yelled. “Get me out of here!”

“Victoria,” Amy said, “this isn’t right. Please, come home with us.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Victoria said. “You can’t mean it.”

“Amy, have you lost your mind?” Edward demanded. “Victoria needs expert care.”

The crazy woman continued screaming.

“I’m ready to save you, Victoria. The lady next door does not sound crazy to me. If I woke up her body? In her bed here? I’d scream, too.”

“That day will dawn,” Edward said.

And Victoria added: “He’s right, my dear. You’re next.”

(This originally appeared in The View from Here online, and then in issue 12 of magazine’s print version.)

Free Fall from 10,000 Ft.

The sporting goods store in Chicago fired Quinn after three months; not only was he uninterested in fishing and rock climbing but he hung around listening to his iPod and paid no attention to the customers.

Quinn’s best friend Winston had dropped out of college downstate to live in a trailer and work on an assembly line.

They hadn’t seen each other in months when Winston phoned. “I have two words for you, Quinn: sky diving.”

Having joined an aviation club, he whistled. “You gotta try it.”

“I do?”

“This rich guy Dowling will lend me his C-182 since I got my pilot’s license.”

Next Thursday, Winston called again. “All Dowling said was—don’t get caught. I bought him a beer and he handed me the Cessna’s keys. We’ll take it up Monday when the center’s closed.”

Quinn paused.

Winston said, “I’m telling you, Quinn, the rush is phenomenal.”

“All right.” Quinn had read in a sports magazine that sky diving was nowhere near as dangerous as people imagined.

He arrived at Winston’s Sunday afternoon.

“Turns out that because this is clandestine, you won’t have an automatic safety line, Quinn. But who forgets to pull the rip cord?”

Wearing Winston’s jump suit and helmet, Quinn practiced jumping from the trailer’s back door into bales of hay.

“Belly first, back arched,” Winston said. He would be both pilot and jump master. “The jump master’s essential,” Winston said. “He asks, ‘Are you ready to sky dive?’ and unless you say ‘yes!’ we fly home; no worries. Then I’ll ask again, “Quinn, are you ready to sky dive?” And if you don’t answer, ‘Yes!’ both times, it’s no go. 

“It’s easy,” Winston claimed as they drank beer and listed to Foo Fighters. “Brace, reach, and release. Brace inside the plane’s open door; reach for the wing’s strut, and release. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Quinn continued leaping belly first into bales of hay.

“Pretend the hay is the atmosphere at 10,000 feet,” Winston said. “The silence is amazing. When your altimeter reads 3,000, pull the rip cord. Then steer by pulling the guide lines.”

“Last thing,” Winston said. “Packing the parachute is critical. Never trust another guy with it.” That said, Winston packed the parachute. He demonstrated every fold and Quinn did it exactly as shown. Except Winston redid it.

Overnight, Quinn wondered about trusting Winston with his life. Winston had slept with Quinn’s girlfriend once. Back in Little League, he yelled, “Out,” when Quinn was safe. He copied Quinn’s homework and stole his CDs.

Small stuff. Even the girlfriend, because they were drunk and Quinn was home with the flu.

Monday afternoon Winston yelled the jump master’s questions from the pilot’s seat. Quinn answered, “Yes!” twice. Then he braced in the door, reached for the wing’s strut and released.

(This originally appeared in The View from Here online, and then in issue 10 of magazine’s print version.)

A Great Sale at Saks

Before going to college, Sophie suggested her parents take up jogging.  “Run outside together. Wearing bright outfits. Nobody will suspect money’s tight.”

But social tricks that worked in Oklahoma only intensified her loneliness in Chicago. The university was huge. Nobody talked to her. Sophie might be invisible.

A straight-A student on scholarship, she watched videos in lecture halls. Afterwards the teacher called for questions. Sophie always raised her hand, which went unnoticed.

Thank goodness, Sophie’s (paternal) grandmother invited her to dinner. Lucinda hadn’t seen Sophie since she was a baby. The restaurant was so fancy Sophie drew back a second. The man issuing them in knew Lucinda’s name.

“Striking resemblance,” he said, touching Sophie’s shoulder. “Like your grandmother, you’ll only grow more beautiful, not less.”

“Albert, please.” Lucinda told Sophie, “Never listen to flattery. Besides, I was never beautiful. Interesting, people said.”

Lucinda was so keen and glamorous; Sophie forgot her horrible homesickness. They discussed financial scandals and the Mid-East.

Every Sunday, Sophie ate dinner with Lucinda, usually in her apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. Monday through Saturday, though, Sophie’s loneliness grew worse. Students who sat beside her in class would stare into space rather than say hello.

On the phone, her parents seemed to have forgotten who Sophie was. They never said they missed her or recalled anything about her. They didn’t even ask about college except to wish they’d had her chance. Instead, the topic was television.

Lucinda served poached salmon and fresh peas. She had traveled the world as a museum curator. All the men she loved broke her heart in the end. And those that loved her developed tedious habits.

In November, Sophie arrived late but Lucinda didn’t answer when Charles the doorman rang her apartment. “Come back in ten minutes,” he said, “maybe she forgot.”

The wind off the lake pushed her backwards. Cars raced past but no other people occupied the sidewalks. What if Lucinda was dead? Sophie staggered around a corner. Stop being ridiculous! But fear surged through her bloodstream. She walked as far as the hospital. Lucinda might be in there—in intensive care. Heart attack or—Sophie couldn’t think what calamity might strike an old lady. A stroke!

She pretended not to panic. Approaching Lucinda’s building, Sophie held her breath. Inside, Charles rang the apartment. Still no answer though.

She tore away before he witnessed her weeping.  

She didn’t remember returning to school. Only worrying if she should call the police. She didn’t out of fear. Like if she called, it would be true. Her pillow muffling her sobs, she didn’t notice her phone ringing. But later she heard the voicemail.

“Sophie darling, sorry I missed you. This great sale at Saks delayed me. See you next week.”

(This originally appeared in The View from Here online, and then in issue 10 of magazine’s print version.)

Non-fiction: Seeing Family in Illinois

My sister who lives in Champaign, Illinois has invited me to visit. She's an equestrian and I'll attend a few horse-back riding events. Monday she and her husband and son and I are driving to Chicago where we'll see my other sister, her husband, and my niece. Of course, my parents will be there and will no doubt take us all to a fancy restaurant. Meanwhile, Manny's visiting his parents, also in Chicago. We may see each other in passing, but probably not.

While I'm away, I will yet again post a few super-shorties, originally written for Mike French's literary zine, The View from Here. The U.K. based print and on-line literary magazine has grown amazingly its first year. It continues to offer author interviews, book reviews, Exclusively Independent News, cartoons, articles and behind the scenes features. My mini-stories are now accompanied by full-fledged fiction thanks to TVFH merging with Hiss Quarterly, bringing editor Sydney Nash on board. Click on the tab labeled “the front view.” This and more is available in a fat, glossy print version, which you might want to order here.

Count on three "fewer-than-500-word" stories during my six days away. My productivity fell off for a month or so. But I'm back to dreaming them up and cutting them down to the word count. Bit of a trick trying to get a semblance of a story, characters I care for, some revealing dialogue, and a little flow to the prose.

It'll take you no time to see if I managed this, or almost. And if I did not, you will be able to tell at a glance. Unlike me. My judgment, after I've finished a story, is so dim, I can barely see the words. And I can never hear them.

As I've said before, I'm grateful to anyone who reads my fiction. And sometimes a comment sends me on a path I might never have noticed otherwise. Every comment turns on a light or two so I can figure out (more or less) where I am.

Ask Patrice

Patrice and Annabelle presented buoyancy, and Jeanne and Colette reacted in kind.

The little girls ate two bites of their quarter sandwiches and ran off to jump on a springy platform. Their mothers called them back. “Drink a little more milk.”

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Patrice O’Meara’s voice carried a soft, intrinsic music. As she and Jeanne ate chicken salad, she asked, “Do you think it’s enough to aim for solid contentment? Or, should we hold onto deeper hopes and risk disappointment?”

Jeanne laughed. “I worry about that all the time! But everybody before you was like—‘what’s wrong with you?’”

“I know,” Patrice said. “And bad enough when it was just me. But now I’m setting an example.” She nodded at Annabelle.

For once Jeanne wasn’t alone. A tiny pouch of loneliness disappeared.

At dusk, preparing for home, Colette threw a tantrum. She cried and kicked sand at Jeanne. During her brief time-out, while Annabelle sat quietly, Jeanne confided relief. “Colette has not so much as whined since Paul died. She says, ‘Don’t worry, Mommy,’ and pats my back the way I pat hers.”

If the girls weren’t so tired, the mothers could have talked all night. But later, Jeanne realized she hadn’t gotten the babysitter’s phone number. She had asked first thing and Patrice said, “I’ll give you Giselle’s number before we leave.” But they both forgot. 

So Jeanne didn’t have anyone to stay with Colette while she interviewed at the 911 office. And she wouldn’t have an overnight babysitter if she got the job— working at the emergency center starting Monday night.

Patrice phoned at breakfast. “It’s my fault, Jeanne. Bring Colette here this afternoon. And if you want to swim, come early. Kevin has to accompany you to the four o’clock interview…No, it’s the procedure. He’s authorized to know the building’s ‘undisclosed location.’”

“Thank you. I’ve got errands. So is three-thirty good?”

Good enough.

Jeanne twisted her hair up. Since it was overnight work, she wore linen slacks and buttoned a long sleeved cotton top despite the heat. Arriving at the O’Meara’s, she and Colette checked the backyard where Patrice and Annabelle were playing in a sparkling turquoise pool. Colette tore off the dress covering her bathing suit and scrambled in without floaties.

Kevin suggested Jeanne ride with him—the place was only a few blocks away.

Jeanne acted steady without looking at him. “Better if I follow in my car. No matter how close it is. Everything’s new to me.”

They drove around two corners and down a straight, unpaved road. Kevin parked beside a vast stand of flowering oleander. “It’s around the hedge and down the road. Ordinarily, you should park in front. Okay, though if we walk a bit?”

Jeanne turned around, looking up at the washed-out sky. “Uh, Kevin—” She searched for a way to begin.

Staying arm’s distance, Kevin stepped in front of her and pressed an index finger on her shoulder tops. “Jeanne, you don’t need to explain anything. I’m sorry for coming on strong. But you have no idea how much I want you. I have never wanted anyone so bad, never.”

Nervous—and surprised—she giggled.

Kevin nodded. “You’ve heard it a million times. But this isn’t normal for me. Ask Patrice. I’m devoted to my family. Except for you and until you.”

She giggled again. “Kevin, you really want me to ask Patrice if other women don’t affect you?  Until now—until me?”

He smiled an amused, besotted smile. “Good point. Don’t ask Patrice. But see what I mean? I can’t concentrate on anything but you.”

She sighed, her face hot. “You’re married to the nicest women I’ve ever met. But it doesn’t make a bit of difference. Which tears me apart. Then, too, my husband just died.”

“I know, Jeanne. This was supposed to be an apology. It’s just that I’ll wait in the shadows no matter how long it takes. You’ll see.”

(Click here to read the next episode)

All or Nothing at All

Unable to sleep, Jeanne decided her desire was worse than her grief. Kevin made her desperate, and that wasn’t even considering the complication of him being married. He smiled and she… Jeanne rose to get her headphones in the living room. She had downloaded a Billie Holiday song last year.

    “…Don’t smile or I’ll be lost beyond recall…”

Too bad she couldn’t sing. And even if she could, she couldn’t just start singing about: “The kiss in your eyes and touch of your hand…” Her need seemed psychotic.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Saturday morning, Jeanne set up the sprinkler for Colette. In her new bathing suit Colette jumped through the lazy wave of sprinkling drops.

“Come on, Mommy.” She pulled Jeanne’s hand, getting her out of the hammock. They stayed in the spray until Jeanne’s hair and gauzy white sundress were drenched.

A hundred degrees, the sun searing, Jeanne coaxed Colette back into their air-conditioned rooms with two new Dora the Explorer DVDs. She phoned Patti who was in Denver. David had accepted the job and was in Eudora loading a U-Haul.

“Jeanne, good-bye. The decorator’s here.”

“You bought a place, already?”

Patti hung up. What did Jeanne expect? She was crying, though, a burst of tears she couldn’t hide from Colette, who climbed into her lap.

“Are you hurt, Mommy?” 

“Just sad, honey, but I’ll get over it.”

“When I’m sad,” Colette said, patting her mother’s back, “I get over it, too.”

Colette watched the DVDs, followed by cartoons, while Jeanne struggled with regret, longing, loneliness, and guilt. She shouldn’t have taken off without bringing their things. She didn’t have a picture of Colette as a baby. She didn’t have a picture of Paul.    

Without enough sleep, everything looked threatening. Except Jeanne was used to not sleeping. And starting Monday, she would work nights at a 911 center. Kevin had assured her the Police Chief and the 911 supervisor had the job waiting for her. But she was afraid of Kevin. And afraid of herself.

Patrice O’Meara, Kevin’s wife, phoned later that afternoon, interrupting Jeanne’s fretful pacing. “Annabelle’s been stuck in the house because it was too hot even to enjoy the pool. So now that it’s cooler, I thought we might meet for a picnic dinner. Let Colette get to know Annabelle before she starts preschool on Monday.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Kevin suggested we take a picnic to that park a few blocks from you. He said you probably haven’t discovered it yet.”

“That’s true. We haven’t. Is Kevin—” Jeanne paused with dread, “Is he joining us?”

“No. He’s playing tennis with a dentist he knows from high school. The playground’s in the middle of a tangle of little side streets. Best if we just walk from your place.”

Patrice and Annabelle O’Meara knocked on the door twenty minutes later.  Colette said “hi” to Annabelle and raced her new friend to her new bedroom. Jeanne and Patrice peeked in. The little girls giggled, jumping on Colette’s new bed.

“I hear they share the same birthday,” Patrice said. She was darker than Kevin, a few inches shorter than Jeanne, with almond shaped, gleaming eyes. She wore her hair pinned in a tight knot on her head like the dancer she was.

“Emphasis,” Patrice laughed, “on the was. In real life, I teach and run a pre-school but Kevin always says I’m a dancer. He’s never seen me dance. I guess he likes the idea.”

“Patrice, do you want a glass of lemonade before we leave? Or white wine?”

“A little white wine right now sounds inspired.”

 

(Click here to read the next episode)

Pretence of Normalcy

Jeanne and Colette looked in the cupboards. The kitchen contained pots, pans, flatware, dishes, a pitcher and tall glasses. The laundry room, which also stored gardening supplies, opened into the backyard. Jeanne swung Colette in the hammock a few minutes.

Inside again, they spent a while in each room and Jeanne imagined for Colette how their life would run day to day—in Colette’s bedroom and Jeanne’s with dimity curtains on the window; the things they would cook and eat (“We’ll need to buy cookbooks,”); Jeanne would buy flowers to grow near the front door. “Geraniums,” she said. “You can pick which ones, Colette. Red, pink, or white.”

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

Jeanne poured them each a glass of water. “Ready to go shopping, honey? We need groceries and clothes, books, music, maybe some DVDs.”

“And the sprinkler?” Colette had noticed one in the lawn. Tomorrow she wanted to run through the spray of water same here as at home.

“This is home now. We’ll get you a bathing suit.”

Saying, “This is home,” chilled Jeanne’s bones. Settling in here where the former occupants had left no trace, not even hair-bands or hand lotion or a box of baking soda, unnerved her.

Driving away from her old life had been easy. But the easier Kevin made starting a new life, the dizzier Jeanne felt. She and Colette should rejoice in so much promise ahead. But Jeanne recognized in the pristine air traces of nameless betrayals.

Kevin had drawn maps with numbered directions to the grocery store, to Wal-Mart, and J.C. Penny’s. Finding a paper clip in his brief case, he had attached his business card with his cell phone number. “Call any time with any question. Any question.” He would return at noon with the spare television.

Jeanne bought entire starter wardrobes for herself and Colette, without either of them bothering to take clothes off and try others on. If they weren’t right, Jeanne would return them. But they were fine; she could tell. She bought sheets, blankets, two comforters, and finally, the latest laptop.

At Hy-Vee she bought flour, sugar, spices, and herbs, plus fresh groceries for the week. 

When Kevin arrived the next day, Colette had already eaten her lunch and was sucking on a cherry popsicle. Jeanne and Kevin ate tabouli and gazpacho soup she had made last night. Thanking her, Kevin covered her hand. Then, excusing himself, he left the room. Jeanne was standing near the built-in bookcases when he returned, asking to see her laptop.

Naturally, the cable installer was late. Jeanne’s face kept bobbing too near Kevin’s. She grew elated looking at him until she realized what she was doing. Embarrassed, she inched away from him and stared at her hands. Except Kevin soon slid back into view. Her eyes kept drifting toward his generous mouth.
Colette was jumping on the couch and Jeanne’s lapse in respect startled her. “Honey, don’t jump on the couch here. It’s new.”

Kevin waved his hand. “Let her jump. Annabelle jumps everywhere.”

Finally, a pimply young man arrived and hooked up the television. Kevin wanted Jeanne to have the gamut of channels—he’d pay for it. No, she would.
Jeanne didn’t watch much television but couldn’t argue. Her pretense of normalcy was too exhausting.

So she let Kevin pay for cable TV. After which, he apologized for leaving so soon, but he had clients waiting. Jeanne followed him to the door but somehow he managed to lay his palm gently between her shoulder blades. If weren’t for Colette and the cable installer, Jeanne would have sunk to the floor.

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