Heart and Home (10 page)

I made my way into the
living room, where I curled up on the couch with an afghan my mother knitted
when I was just a little girl. I flipped through the channels looking for
something to watch, finally settling on a historical documentary about
Stonehenge. As I sunk back into the couch and drew the blanket up around my
shoulders, I could smell her as clearly as if she were standing right beside
me. A hint of lavender mixed with vanilla. It had been her favorite scent since
I’d first found it for her at a bath and body boutique in the city. She’d used
little else since.

Wrapped in the comfort of
her smell, I closed my eyes and tried to feel her there again. There was even
less in the way of a signal than there had been upstairs. Not even the hair on
the back of my arms stood up.

“Maybe I’m going crazy,” I
laughed. “And here I am talking to myself to prove it.”

I wondered if a possible
haunting was the type of thing Troy meant when he’d said to call if I needed
anything at all. Somehow I didn’t think so, and while I had no intention of
actually calling him, I spent the next half hour entertaining myself with
thoughts on how well that conversation would have gone over.

Chapter Ten

The Classic Cat’s Café was
just outside of Sonesville, and a refreshing change of pace. I noted that
several cars pulled in behind me, as I parked the car and drew in a deep
breath. I’d spent much of my day cleaning house and trying to think up excuses
to call Becky and back out of meeting up with her and her girlfriends. In the
end the most worthwhile excuse I could muster was uncooperative hair, and even
that hadn’t turned out so bad.

I leaned back in the seat
and told myself one drink would satisfy my obligation to Becky, and then I
could crawl back to the house like a wounded dog and wallow in my newfound
state of confusion. Neither the fun we had the day before, or the fact that I
really could use a night out with good company seemed powerful enough to dig
through the funk that had overtaken me since the string of bizarre instances
that followed me home from Becky’s Monday afternoon.

On the bright side, at least
there hadn’t been any dizzy spells or weird fainty feelings, though I didn’t
want to go counting any chickens before they hatched either.

It was just going on eight
o’clock and cars seemed to swarm into the parking lot from all directions. I
was starting to ask myself what I let Becky talk me into when a tap on the
window alerted me to her excited presence beside the car.
 

“Yay!” She bounced on the
balls of her feet and daintily clapped her hands like a little girl. I stepped
out of the car and she latched onto me and squeezed my forearm. “I knew you’d
come. We are going to have so much fun, Janice, I promise you.”

I didn’t have the heart to
make her frown with the truth about how many different ways I’d thought up to
blow her off. “Boy, this place packs them in,” I noted as a group of women
swarmed by, huddled together against the crisp evening breeze.

“It’s karaoke night,” she
explained. “A little behind the times, but still a load of fun. And they have
the best hot wings in three counties!”

“Nice.”

She looped her arm through
mine and tucked her hands into the pockets of her rhinestone studded jean
jacket. Together we started toward the bar, while Becky went on about karaoke.
“Anne Marie is a real Patsy Cline, let me tell you. Out of us all, she’s
probably the only one that can really sing, but the rest of us sure have fun
trying.”

All of my notions about
Becky had already gone up in smoke after spending the afternoon with her the
day before, but there she was creating new ones already. Where I once saw her
wilted against the shadows, now I could only imagine her shining from the
center of every group she touched. Her amazing smile and eagerness for fun were
contagious, and though I still had reservations about how much fun karaoke and
hot wings could be, I had a feeling Becky was going to make sure I never
doubted her idea of a good time again.

We flashed our IDs at the
bouncer and then pressed body by body through the crowded bar until we reached
a table near the back. Three women leaned toward the center of the table and
took turns smelling a tropical drink.

“Coconut milk, no pineapple
juice,” said the one in the middle. She was obviously older than the other two,
probably in her late thirties or early forties, and though she was definitely
on the plus-sized side, she was probably one of the most attractive women in
the entire bar. “Trust me, doll,” and to top it off, she had one of those rich,
New York accents that could melt butter. “It’s coconut milk.”

The two women who framed her
were two different shades of blonde and seemed closer to mine and Becky’s age,
if not younger.

“Ladies,” Becky’s arm
swished behind my back and pushed me toward the table. “This is Janice,
Chandra’s daughter.”

They all started talking at
once, a melee of chatter about my mother, how they felt as though they already
knew me having scrapbooked with her. Finally the New York doll in the middle
cleared her throat, and said, “Janice, Honey, your mother was the light of our
scrapbooking get-togethers.”

“Hear, hear,” the natural,
caramel-blond on her left lifted her glass. “Her laughter and her blueberry
streusel cake are going to be sorely missed.”

The platinum-blond to her right
raised a glass as well, and the three of them chimed together, “To Chandra,”
and then took a drink.

“I see you three didn’t
waste any time getting started.” Becky shook her head and pulled out a chair
for me.

“I’ve been waiting for this
night since last Wednesday morning,” New York said, raising a cigarette to her
lips and then lighting it. Her nails were perfectly manicured, only adding to
the stunning persona she cast, and while smoking in general always seemed so
silly to me, it made her classier somehow. “How rude are we?” she lowered the
smoldering cigarette. “Janice, I’m Lydia, this is Anne Marie,” she tilted her
head to the right.

“And I’m Tracy, your
friendly neighborhood designated driver.”

“This week anyway,” Anne
Marie laughed.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I
sunk down into the chair beside Becky.

Before anyone had the chance
to say anything else, a waitress appeared and asked what Becky and I were
drinking. I was no stranger to alcohol, but I didn’t drink on a regular basis,
so I started out with a bottle of Yuengling Lager.

“And can I see a menu,
please?”

“Sure thing,” she slipped
away from the table, returning us to the awkward state that always seems to
occur when someone new infiltrates a comfortable group.

“So, Janice,” Tracy started.
“You write for the
Tribune-Review
?
That must be some job.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s a
good job.” I managed to refrain from adding that my boss was a maniacal tyrant
who cared about nothing beyond deadlines, and since my mother died I was
beginning to doubt my place at the
Tribune
.

Lydia shook her head, “I
bet, I bet. All that excitement, and you a firsthand witness.” She shook her
head. “I haven’t had an exciting job in so long that I swear, I could start
working as a supermodel and two weeks into it, it’d probably bore the hell out
of me.”

“Not me,” Tracy flipped her
hair dramatically. “I’d stomp that runway until it crumbled to the ground.”

Laughter circled around the
table.

“Didn’t you go to school for
journalism, Janice?” Becky asked.

“Yep,” I beamed excitement,
not even realizing that my mother probably told them my entire history over
scrapbook scissors and photo corners.

“How did you manage to get
into such a big paper right out of school?” Lydia asked.

“Well, one of the professors
I worked with on both the university magazine and newspaper just so happened to
be friends with the editor. I probably only got into the interview on his
recommendation alone, but Cal and I hit it off real well, and he sort of took
me under his wing.”

“Oh, wow,” Becky said. “Sounds
like you were in the right place at the right time.”

“Sounds more to me like
she’s following her calling,” Lydia said. “You’re one of those disgustingly
brilliant people who were born knowing what she wanted to do with her life, and
every step of the way has probably been incredibly easy based on that knowing.”

“Lydia,” Becky’s laughter
was full of scolding disbelief, but I didn’t mind. I actually admired how bold
she was.

“No, it’s okay.” I smiled to
show her I wasn’t offended. “It’s true. When I was eight years old, I got one
of those plastic Fisher Price typewriters for my birthday and started making
household newspapers for my dad to read when he came home from work.”

“That is so cute,” Becky
leaned sideways to admire me thoughtfully. “Your mom told stories about you all
the time, but that’s one she never mentioned.”

“Thank God for that.” I
reached for my beer and swallowed the bitter reality that rose in the back of
my throat like an emotional onset. “I can’t believe half of the things she did
mention sometimes.”

“She loved you so much,”
Becky reached over and laid her hand on top of mine.
 

Lydia blew cigarette smoke
up the side of her face from a looped lower lip and shook her head. “You don’t
know me from Eve, Honey, but I knew your mama, and Becky’s right. There was
never a woman more proud of her daughter than she was of you.”

“You’re going to make her
cry, Lydia,” Tracy leaned into Lydia’s shoulder.

“And then she won’t want to
party with us ever again,” Anne Marie added.

Becky perked up and blurted
out, “Ooh, Janice, Lydia used to be a Rockette in New York City. Isn’t that
cool?”

“Oh yeah?” Just one look at
her and I easily imagined her in that former glory, the charisma and grace
still clung to her like a silk scarf.

“Yeah,” she winked, “but I
gave it all up for two kids, a lazy husband and a cozy job in real estate.”

“Doesn’t she make motherhood
sound glamorous?” Anne Marie’s laughter actually managed to make me feel closer
to a table full of strangers, and it was the second time in the last two days I
felt a sense of companionship that had been seriously lacking from my life.

The one beer I’d promised
myself would be enough turned into two, and then there were the mixed drinks,
and against my better judgment, I even found myself up on stage with the other
ladies laughing hysterically through “Love Shack” by the B52’s. The weight of
Becky’s arm across my shoulders felt so comfortable, and maybe it was the
alcohol, but I almost broke down and cried when she leaned in and said, “I am
so happy you came out with me tonight. I’m having so much fun with you.”

“Me too,” I hugged her neck.

I felt looser and freer than
I had in years, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when the fates threw a
strange wrench into the evening just around the time the crowd started to
dissipate. The karaoke DJ started to pack up around eleven, and one of the
kitchen staff took over the music for the night. It wasn’t even half-past
eleven when Lydia decided to call it a night. Under the guise of stopping at
the bathroom on the way back, we walked her out to wait for her cab with her.
Huddled close together under the awning, Becky’s and my breath poured out of us
like smoke as Lydia ducked into her taxi.

“I mean it, girl,” Lydia
reached out and took my hand. “Next time you’re in town, we’re gonna do this
again.”

“Absolutely,” I promised,
swaying unsteadily close to Becky.

The shadowed outline of a
man came walking toward the entrance, and though I couldn’t see him clearly, I
knew that it was Troy and my knees buckled just a little from that strange
weakness that seemed to come over me in his presence. I wasn’t drunk, but I was
tipsy enough to feel the self-conscious tendrils of my curious line of
questioning at Becky’s the day before trickling down my spine. She hovered
beside me, saying goodbye to Lydia, and I hoped like hell she wasn’t drunk
enough to spill my secret crush.

“Ladies,” he tipped his hat
as he approached. He seemed to pause in his recognition of us before he tilted
his head slightly to the left and added, “Janice.” The mischievous presence of
his grin brought to light those to-die-for dimples, and I couldn’t stop my
fingers from clutching tighter to the sleeve of Becky’s jean jacket.

Ladies… and then Janice?
What was that supposed to mean?

“Hey, Troy,” Becky pushed
the taxi door shut and swayed back into me.

Lydia waved to us from
within as the car pulled away, and I used her departure as an excuse to look
away from Troy. I could sense his gaze on me, though I could barely see it from
the corner of my eye.

Troy stepped up onto the
curb, and though I was desperately avoiding eye contact it was growing more
impossible by the minute. “You bring Janice for the karaoke?”

Becky grinned. “Among other
things. Why don’t you come on in and buy us a last round of drinks?”

I couldn’t believe what she
was doing, or even worse, what she was insinuating. I tried to remember how it
happened the day before, at what point she’d broached the subject about us
going out together, if it was before or after I brought up Troy. My memory swam
against the alcoholic current as we slipped back into the bar, and I excused us
from Troy to draw Becky into the bathroom. Behind closed doors, I checked the
stalls for privacy, and then turned to face Becky.

“Becky Kaufman, you knew he
was going to be here?”

“No,” worry-lines creased
her brow as she lifted a hand to her temple and shook her head. “I mean, I
didn’t know for certain, but I had a hunch.”

“Becky!”

“What? Please, Janice, don’t
be mad.”

“Mad? Becky, those questions
I asked about him yesterday… the comments too, that was just between us.”

“Of course it was. It still
is. I swear, I didn’t even tell Marty, and I tell him everything.”

“You swear?”