Antiques Maul (21 page)

Quickly I got up from the table and followed Mother to the front door, which she opened onto a trim, middle-aged woman with short brown hair and casual clothes. The lady looked pleasant and unpretentious enough to join our little party, but I wasn’t enamored of the idea, particularly since I didn’t know why she’d been invited.

Then my eyes traveled down from her face to her navy blue sweater, to the brown slacks, and the Nike-clad feet…where Brad Pit Bull, on a leash, sat patiently, his tongue lolling.

Mother was saying, “Brandy, this is Jane from the animal shelter.”

And Jane was smiling. “Hi, Brandy. I want to thank you and Vivian for your willingness to—”

“Mother!” I spewed. “We’re not…
he’s
not…you
haven’t
…?”

Mother said cheerfully, “Now, dear, we’re not adopting Brad Pit Bull…”

“Thank God!”

“…merely pet-fostering the misunderstood creature until Jane can find a more permanent family.”

I was aghast. “What about
Sushi
? You
know
she’ll have a conniptions fit.”

“Nonsense,” Mother said dismissively. “The little darling will get used to having a big brother around. And you will, too, dear. You also never had a big brother.”

“But will
he
think of Soosh as a little sister?” I asked with trepidation. “And, if so, will he have incest on his mind?”

Jane said, “Brandy, Brad’s been fixed. Not to worry.”

Mother put hands on hips. “Brandy,
you
have a pet…why shouldn’t
I
? Even if it’s only temporary.”

During this entire exchange, Jane from the animal shelter remained steadfast, smiling pleasantly, sure that the outcome would be in Mother’s favor. Brad Pit Bull wasn’t so sure, his head tilted, his expression pitiful, as he listened intently during the determination of his fate by a species deemed to be superior to his (though sometimes I wonder).

And Sushi?

By now she had smelled Brad, and come running from the dining room, trotting right up to our guests. The two dogs faced each other and began doggie-speak. This is my best translation:

SUSHI
. What are
you
doing here?

BRAD
. Bitch, I was invited. (“Bitch” meaning female dog, of course).

SUSHI
. Well, you’re not staying, if that’s what you think!

BRAD
. Don’t get your cute little tail tied up in a knot…. Say, what’s wrong with the peepers?

SUSHI
. I’m blind, you moron.

BRAD
. Gee, that’s a tough break. Maybe youse could stand a strong dog around.

SUSHI
. I already
have
a dog-friend!

BRAD
. Funny. Don’t seem to see her around.

SUSHI
. It’s a
he
, and he works for the police station, and it just so happens he’s
crazy
about me.

BRAD
. Okay. I ain’t askin’ you to have my puppies. I got a bad feelin’ I’m shootin’ blanks, anyway. Hey, I just want us to be pals.

SUSHI
. Well…maybe…as long as you put it
that
way…

BRAD
. As long as I’m here, cutie-pie, why don’t ya show me around the joint?

SUSHI
. All right…but keep your paws to yourself. And if I catch you tryin’ to mark
my
territory…

BRAD
. Sure, sure, sweet-cheeks, whatever you say.

SUSHI
. We’ll start right here—this is the living room. Keep off the needlepoint furniture….

While Sushi took Brad Pit Bull on a nickel tour, Mother and Jane moved to the couch, where the latter gave the former instructions on her role as foster pet parent. I stepped out onto the porch for some much-needed fresh autumn air.

After a moment, the screen door swung open and Roger slipped out to join me. He placed his hands on my shoulder, and—to my utter shock—bent and kissed me, warm and sweet, like it used to be.

When our lips parted he looked deep into my eyes and said earnestly, “Jake’s welfare and happiness are more important than anything that happened between you and me, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Where our son is concerned, we’re a team now…not adversaries.”

I nodded. “I’m…I’m sorry I made such a mess of things.”

His one-sided smile was melancholy. “Perhaps…you were too young. I’m not letting you off the hook, mind you…but, well, maybe our marriage was ill-fated because of the difference in our ages.”

“The age difference didn’t stop us from producing a terrific kid.”

“No, it didn’t. And Jake’s great. Not perfect, as we’ve seen, but considering the competition? We produced one of the good ones.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

He put a finger under my chin and lifted it. “And, Brandy? We must do everything we can to make sure he has the best life possible…. And to do that, we have to be supportive of each other.”

This logical side of Roger had been a lot of what made me fall in love with him, eleven years ago. I got on my tippy toes and kissed him back—on the lips, not passionate, just friendly, sealing the peace treaty.

As I pulled back from Roger, I noticed Brian watching through the screen door. How long he’d been there, I didn’t know.

Brain stepped out on the porch.

He stood there awkwardly, eyes on Roger, then on me. “I, uh, have to report back to the station.”

Roger went over to him and held out his hand. “I want to thank you, Officer Lawson, for everything you’ve done. I really do appreciate it. We made a pretty good team, I think.”

“Me too. But we’re nothing compared to the Borne girls.”

“No,” Roger admitted. “Nobody is.” Then he looked back over at me. “And I know when I return to Chicago, I’ll be leaving Brandy in good hands.”

My ex was just being pleasant, of course. But something in and around his eyes told me it was okay that I move on. That first kiss had been nostalgia; and nostalgia just wasn’t what it used to be….

I asked Brian, “Mind if I escort you to your car?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Roger headed back into the house, and Brian and I went down the front steps together. As we walked I could almost hear what he was thinking.

Does she still love him? Are they back together? And where does that leave me?

To clear up the one dark cloud hovering over us in an otherwise cloudless blue sky, I asked, “Why don’t you come over some evening next week? Say, Thursday? Jake will be back home with his dad, by then…and Mother will be off to her mystery book club meeting.”

Brian’s puppy-dog brown eyes seemed to like the bone I’d thrown him. “You mean it?”

“Sure. I think we’ve been sniffing around each other long enough, don’t you?”

He smiled, showing off his dimples.

We were at his car. I put my arm in the crux of his. “Tell you what,” I said, leaning against him. “I’ll even cook for you.”

The dimples deepened. “Well, I’d like that. Yes, by all means.”

“Italian okay?”

“It’s my favorite.”

“Good. I have this yummy old family recipe for spaghetti….”

If Brian could stomach
that
, we might have a sporting chance together.

Brian had barely driven away when another car pulled in, a black Mercedes.

I was thinking,
Who in the world…?

And then Troy Hanson, the antiques picker, stepped out and called, “Brandy—hi!”

Well, my B-cup runneth over. Another hunky male had come calling….

“Hi!” I called back.

He was in a powder-blue polo and black slacks and Italian loafers, and he looked great, from his dark pomaded hair to the fashionable two-days’ growth of beard.

He made a little jog up to the porch and joined me.

“Hope you don’t mind my dropping by,” he said.

“Not at all.”

“I was in town checking out an estate sale, and wondered if you still had that rolltop desk.”

Clearly he was using the desk as an excuse to see me again….

“Well, we do. But I’m not sure when it’s going to be released to us by the authorities. Everything’s on hold, because of Mrs. Norton’s death.”

“Yes. That was a shame. A real tragedy. Well.” He got a card out of his pocket. “Let me know if it comes available. I’ll make you an excellent offer, one nobody can beat.”

Well, maybe it
was
the desk he was interested in….

“You mind my asking,” I said, “what it is about that desk that’s so important to you?”

Those piercing eyes narrowed and he let out an embarrassed little laugh. “Well, I guess I did misrepresent things a little. I am a picker, and I do have clients…but that particular desk? It’s exactly what my partner, Bruce, and I have been looking for, for a little alcove in our apartment.”

“Oh.” Should’ve known from the Italian loafers.

“Let me know!” He winked, said, “
Ciao
.”

And ran to his Mercedes and was gone.

I returned to the house, where Mother was showing Jane the album of autographed movie stars she had collected over the years; Roger was giving Peggy Sue some investment advice at the dining room table; and Jake was in the kitchen playing with Sushi and Brad Pit Bull.

Jake looked up with a grin. “Hey, Mom!”

“Hey.”

He left the dogs, who were flirting, and came right up to me. “Listen, uh…you were great today. This morning.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean—you really went all out and stuff.”

“Well, you’re my kid. I’m your mother. I love you.”

“Yeah, uh, well, me too. And I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk and all.”

“No problem.”

“Can I tell you something? Something private?”

“Sure.”

“Promise not to tell Dad?”

“I promise—as long as it’s not something else you found in that secret compartment.”

“No! Not that. Nothing like that.” He looked around to make sure nobody could see or hear us. “I just wanted to say…I kinda hate to leave. I like it here. It’ll be cool, next break, staying with you guys.”

And he gave me a hug.

Funny thing, I didn’t even tear up. Not a drop.

And if you believe that, Mother and I have a number of nice things at very reasonable prices in our booth at the mall that I’m sure you’ll adore.

Exhausted, I sneaked off upstairs to plop down on my bed for a nap. I had been conked for a while, when my cell phone trilled on the nightstand.

I fumbled for it and checked the number.

Tina.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “Heard you’ve been through quite an ordeal! Jake all right?”

“Everything’s hunky-dory,” I said sleepily. “Tell you all about it later over a latte…. Right now I’m way too tired. Forgive me?”

“Always.”

The silence lingered.

“Everything okay on your end?” I asked out of courtesy.

“Uh, kinda not really…. There’s just something…I just didn’t want you to hear this from anybody else.”

I sat up, suddenly wide awake. “What, Teen?”

Deep breath. “Don’t get all weird on me, sweetie, but it looks like I, uh…I have cancer.”

“Oh my God….”

“No, no, be cool! It’s early
stages
. Good prognosis.”

I breathed a sigh. “Well, thank God you got that mamogram.”

“Funny thing is, it’s not that…it’s cervical. See, I had a Pap test last week.”

I tried to process what this meant to my best friend and her husband who so desperately wanted children.

“How’s Kevin taking it?” I asked.

“He’s a rock, or anyway he’s pretending to be. But he’s taking time off from work to go through this with me…. In fact, we’re leaving in a few minutes to see a specialist. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Tina?”

“Yes?”

“I’m here for you…you
do
understand that? Whatever you need, whenever you need it, whatever it takes…day or night.”

“Thanks, Brandy. I knew…knew I could always count on you.”

I returned the cell phone to the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a clubbed baby seal.

Mother entered the room.

“Fan mail from some flounder,” she said in her best
Bullwinkle
cartoon voice. She tossed a letter in my lap and traipsed out, still in her witch’s garb—would she ever take it off?