The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (12 page)

Something brought my attention back to the
table. It was the girls singing.

“
Grinding… and moaning…”

“Okay,” I said, standing abruptly. I’d had
enough. “Time to go kids.”

“Already?” Cameron whined. “I don’t want to
go yet.” He’d obviously had a change of heart since I’d let him say
fart
two hundred and forty times in the last hour.

“Yep. Get your coats on. Go! Go!”

Normally, we would have walked, but I was
desperate to get rid of my extra charges. And at this point, I wasn’t sure my
legs would carry me a block and a half. Within two minutes, we had rounded the
corner and pulled up in front of Trudy’s house. It was dark, save for a faint
light glowing from the family room. Trudy was probably still lying on the couch
watching TV. “Emily and Cameron: out. Chloe and Spencer: stay here. I’ll be
right back.”

At the front door I rang the bell
continuously. If I had to, I would annoy Trudy off the sofa. It worked. She
opened the door within a matter of seconds. It was obvious she’d ignored my
suggestions to shower and get herself together. “Hi, kids,” she said weakly,
kissing the tops of their heads as they filed past her. “Thanks Paige.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen, if it’s not too much trouble,
maybe you could have the kids over tomorrow, too? It’s just hard for them to be
here with me. I’m still so weak.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Pardon me?” Trudy was surprised by my
abruptness.

“I said no. You have to snap out of it,
Trudy. We all miss Karen. We’re all devastated by what happened. I am barely
holding it together myself, but I am, somehow, holding it together. We have
kids. We don’t have the option of falling apart.”

“W-well…” she stammered. “You don’t
understand how hard this is for me. Karen was—”

“I do understand,” I barged in. “I
understand exactly how hard it is for you. And I’d like nothing better than to
lie on my couch crying for the next six months, but I can’t. And neither can
you. You have a family to look after.” And with that, I turned on my heel and
marched back to my SUV.

In the darkness of the vehicle the tears
poured silently down my cheeks. This was just great. I’d already lost one
friend to a horrible tragedy, and now I may have lost another. Maybe Paul was
right. Maybe I wasn’t being sensitive to other people’s feelings, but I was
having enough trouble coping with my own. I had never felt so alone, so
completely isolated in my grief. The secret Karen had entrusted me with was
overwhelming me. I felt confused, guilty, deceitful… And now, I not only knew
about her secret romance, but her secret pregnancy as well! I could no longer
shoulder this burden alone; I just couldn’t take the pressure. When Paul got
home, I would spill the beans. He’d be annoyed that I had been duplicitous for
so long, but he’d soon get over it. And he’d be able to provide the support
system that I so badly needed.

But my husband got home late that night. By
the time I had cleaned up the kitchen, helped Chloe with her homework and read
a bedtime story to Spencer, I was exhausted. I filled the bath with warm,
lavender scented water, and submerged myself. When Paul finally popped his head
in to say hello, I was nearly comatose. I barely had the energy to say a quick
“How was your day?” let alone a quick “Sorry I didn’t mention it before, but
Karen was having a passionate love affair and was also secretly pregnant.” My
confession would have to wait. Soon, the perfect time would come, an evening
when my mood was courageous and my husband’s receptive. But the longer I put it
off, the harder it became to reveal the truth.

The funeral was on Friday afternoon. I took
great pains with my appearance—I still don’t know why. It was inevitable that I
would become a snivelling, red-nosed basket case within moments of my arrival.
Still, I blow-dried my hair, applied my makeup, and dressed in a black skirt,
black pantyhose, and a bright pink, cowl neck sweater. Perhaps not appropriate
funeral attire, but it had been Karen’s favourite.

Paul had taken the afternoon off and would
soon be home to escort me to the service. I was grateful for his support. This
day was not going to be easy for me, for a number of reasons:

One, one of my best friends was about to be
cremated. Secondly, her widowed husband thought I was insensitive, annoying and
an obnoxious drunk. And finally, another of my best friends probably hated me
because I refused to pick up her children from school and told her she was a
bad mother if she continued to lie weeping on the couch.

But I steeled myself for the occasion.
Taking in my reflection in the bathroom mirror boosted my confidence a little.
Karen had always gushed over this sweater, commenting on how the bright colour
brought warmth to my skin and made my cheeks look fresh and rosy. It was a
tribute to my friend, the fact that I was wearing this outfit to say our final
goodbye. As I thought about Karen, a small, wistful smile found its way to my
lips. At that moment, I felt glad that I hadn’t divulged her secret to Paul.
Karen was a kind, sweet and special friend. She was a wonderful person who had
made an error in judgment. If I could, I would keep the rest of Aberdeen Mists
from remembering her as some out-of-control nympho.

The sound of Paul’s key in the lock
summoned me downstairs. “Hi,” I greeted my husband. “We’d better get going.”

“Okay. Why don’t you go get changed. I just
need to pee and brush my teeth.”

“I am changed.”

“Oh…. That’s what you’re wearing to the
funeral?” He stared at me like I was wearing nothing but a bra with the nipple
cut out.

“Yeah,” I replied uncertainly. “This was
Karen’s favourite sweater of mine. I thought I would wear it as a sort of… tribute
to her.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think I should change?”

“No, no,” Paul said, brushing past me. “I’m
sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I can change!” I called after him, but he
was already upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the
parking lot of St. Matthew’s United Church, already burgeoning with
well-wishers. Paul and I made our way silently up the walk, stopping only
briefly to clasp hands or plant perfunctory kisses on cheeks. In my bright pink
sweater amidst a sea of black mourners, I actually did feel like my nipples
were poking out. But I managed to hold my head high as we filed in to the
church, taking a seat in a pew several rows back. The room was filling quickly,
evidence of Karen’s popularity, but the front of the church remained empty. Obviously,
the first few rows were reserved for Karen’s family. Jane blew me a kiss from
her seat just across the aisle and one row ahead. She wore a demure but
stunning black suit, her nipples safely tucked away from view. Her husband
Daniel, distinguished in his charcoal ensemble, nodded an acknowledgment, his
hands busy clutching Jane’s in support.

As we waited for Doug and the family to
arrive, I scanned the room. There was no sign of Trudy… or Carly for that
matter. Oh no. I hoped my outburst the other night hadn’t upset Trudy so much
that she was unable to attend. Perhaps Carly was with her, comforting and
consoling her. She was probably telling her how rude and unsympathetic I had
been to Doug and “not to take it personally”, because, obviously, I was the one
with the problem, not Trudy. Maybe they were going to have their own, private,
“close friends only” service for Karen—a service that I, of course, would be
excluded from.

“Who are you looking for?” Paul whispered.

“Oh… just Trudy and Carly,” I replied.
“It’s getting late. I thought they’d be here…” Something caught my eye. It was
a man, entering alone, and awkwardly taking a seat in the second to last pew.
Why he grabbed my attention, I’m not exactly sure, but he seemed so out of
place, even uneasy in his plaid, dress shirt and pressed, black jeans. And it
was odd, him being alone. Everyone else had come in couples or clusters. Oh my
God! My body tensed as the sudden realization hit me.

Paul leaned over. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” I swung my head around to face
him. “Nothing. Why?”

“You seemed startled or something.”

“No. I’m fine.” I smiled to appease him.
“Just wondering where those two are… Carly and Trudy.”

“They’ll be here,” he replied
indifferently, staring ahead.

I forced myself to face forward, even as my
mind raced with this sudden revelation. The stranger at the back was Javier! Of
course it was! If he really loved Karen as she said he did, he would want to
come and pay his respects. The Spanish were a religious and ceremonious people,
were they not? God, what did I know about the Spanish? But I did know that some
people needed the closure of a funeral to say goodbye to a loved one. I had
also watched enough detective shows to know that even murderers sometimes
showed up at their victims’ services.

I looked over my shoulder again. He wasn’t
exactly what I had expected, but it had to be him. He had thick dark hair and
tawny, Mediterranean skin. His eyes were dark, but from this distance, it was
hard to tell if they smouldered or not. Javier was a little…
beefier
than I had expected, but he had broad shoulders and his face did have a lot of
character. Yes, I could see how Karen would have been attracted to him. There
was something so unique, mysterious and … foreign about him. He would have been
hard to resist.

There was a discernible shift in the crowd
as Karen’s significant others entered the church. Necks craned, then snapped
forward, eyes darted then returned to the front. No one wanted to be caught
gawking as Doug walked slowly in, flanked by a woman who had to be his sister,
and Karen’s diminutive mother. Following them was an assortment of siblings,
aunts and cousins, and then Trudy and Carly. Don’t ask me why, but their
inclusion in this “inner-circle” irked me a bit. Jane and I had been just as
close to Karen as they were. We were every bit as devastated by her sudden
passing, and yet we were seated in pews five and six, respectively. And there
were Carly and Trudy, easing into the second row, close enough to reach out and
pat Doug’s back consolingly, which they did periodically.

But when the minister appeared on the stage
and began to speak about “a beautiful young life cut short” any feelings of
jealousy or envy dissipated. My focus was on saying goodbye to my friend, my
sweet and beautiful friend who was leaving us much, much too soon. Karen should
have been sitting there, beside me. We should have been paying our respects to
some elderly lady who had lived a long, rich life, full of children and
grandchildren. It was so wrong to be saying goodbye to a vital, young woman, on
the brink of motherhood. That reminded me—somehow, I had to speak to Javier
before he slipped away.

Finally the minister’s long-winded and
rather generic sermon was over. I had endured it with great composure, having
shed an ocean of tears in the privacy of my own bedroom. I was touched to see a
silent tear trickle down my husband’s cheek. I gave his hand a comforting
squeeze. “Now,” the minister said, “I’d like to introduce a dear, dear friend
of the departed’s…Carly Hillman.”

Again, I felt an uncomfortable twinge of
jealousy as I watched Carly make her way to the pulpit. Of course, she was a
perfectly appropriate representative for our group of suburban friends, so why
was I feeling so perturbed? It was juvenile, I knew, and somewhat disturbing,
but I couldn’t seem to help it. I was perplexed as to why this sudden tragedy
was making me feel so… petty. Weren’t these life-altering events supposed to
make you more accepting, more patient, more “don’t sweat the small stuff”? It
seemed to be having the reverse effect on me. I felt almost… possessive of my
friendship with Karen.

Carly addressed the congregation. “Hello
everyone. Thank you for coming today to celebrate the life of our special
friend… daughter… sister…
wife
.” She looked tenderly at Doug then. From
my vantage point I could just see his profile. He was staring straight ahead, a
steely set to his jaw. Carly continued. “Not long after I met Karen, I suffered
a tragedy of my own. My husband of just ten months left me for an older woman
with two children. I was devastated. I wasn’t sure I could go on, but Karen
came to my rescue. She refused to let me fall apart, because… that’s just the
kind of friend Karen was…”

Of course, I completely understood why Doug
hadn’t asked me to speak at the funeral. He was probably afraid I’d show up
drunk and spout inane gibberish about families and babies and who really needs
them anyway… And it wasn’t like I was really a
fan
of public speaking
but… I don’t know. In a way, it would have been nice to at least have been
asked. It would have been a gesture that validated the friendship I’d had with
Karen. It might even have made the burden of secrecy I was carrying, a little
less heavy.

“…Karen touched all of our lives, every one
of us here today. In my case, she actually changed my life… maybe even
saved
it… and for that, I will always be thankful. I will always…” She stopped for a
moment, as her emotions threatened her voice. “I will always love her.”

Carly stood silently for a long moment, the
tears she’d been holding in check now streaming down her face. The crowd
shifted awkwardly, unsure of whether she was going to compose herself and
continue or if the eulogy was over. I was vaguely aware of a rustling in the
second pew and watched as Trudy moved to the stage. Tenderly, maternally, she
put her arm around our distraught friend and leaned in to the mike. “Thank you
everyone, for coming today. Your attendance is a tribute to Karen’s memory.
There will be tea, coffee and cakes served in room nine. Just go down to the
basement and follow the pink arrows with ‘Remember Karen’ written on them.”