Linny's Sweet Dream List (11 page)

As usual, Mary Catherine rarely wasted time with hellos. “Lin, just got drafted to play in the Bar Association golf tournament. Haven't played in two years. Come hit a bucket of balls with me tomorrow. Keep me from embarrassing myself.”

Linny grinned. “Whacking some balls sounds like a great idea.”

S
unday morning, Linny heard tires crunch on the driveway and, peeking out the window, groaned when she saw it was her mother's Buick. She'd been avoiding Dottie's calls since she'd gotten let go on Thursday. Grabbing a robe from the hook, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair and swung open the door. “Morning, Mama.”

“Good morning,” she called. Wearing a floral church dress and white sandals that Velcro-ed shut, her mother pulled several Tupperware containers from the backseat of the car, and mounted the steps to the trailer. Giving Linny a tight little smile, she handed her the plastic dishes. “I tried to call, but your answering machine must be broken.”

Linny saw a flicker of hurt cross Dottie's face and felt ashamed. “I'm sorry, Mama.” As she took the dishes, she peered more closely at Dottie and saw that her hair, which was sprayed into a helmet for church, was the color of blush wine. “Mama, I think Joseph made your hair sort of pink-ish . . .”

“No, it must be the light. He gave me a new rinse called Champagne Dreams.” She patted a poof on the side of her head.

Linny felt a wave of protective tenderness. “Come on in. You need to meet Roy.”

As Dottie cradled Roy, she gave Linny her first unguarded smile of the day. “What a sweet boy,” she crooned, and lowered herself stiffly onto the couch with him.

Linny grinned. “He is, isn't he?” She sat beside her mother, crossed her legs, and enjoyed watching the two of them. Dottie lavished him with pats, and when she slowed, Roy butted his head against her hand insistently. “What did you bring me?”

“Hamburger Helper, macaroni and cheese, and banana pudding.”

“You're good, Mama.” Linny was touched. Her mother had brought her comfort food. She paused, holding onto Roy's warm paw. “You heard about the mess with work?” Linny braced herself. If Dottie swung into full church lady mode, offering platitudes about God never putting any more burden on a person than she could handle, or endurance-producing character, Linny might say something she'd regret.

“Kate told me,” Dottie said evenly. “If you'd given me the chance, I would have told you to let it go, like mud off a duck's back.”

Feeling a wave of relief at her support, Linny also fought a smile at Dottie's mixed metaphor.

Her mother bussed the top of Roy's head, turned her faded blue eyes to Linny. “You'll find another job, shug.” Her mouth tightened. “I was always telling your daddy that work was not the most important thing in life, but you couldn't tell that man a thing.” She shook her head and patted Linny's knee. “I just want you to be happy.”

Linny felt a twinge of uneasiness at the criticism of her father at the same time she was reminded of how genuine and lovely her mother could be. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she grasped and squeezed her mother's hand. “Thank you, Mama,” she said softly.

Dottie patted her hand briskly and rose. “Off to church. If Hattie Burke douses herself with that strumpet perfume again this morning, I'm changing pews.” She shook her head looking exasperated, and gave a little wave as she headed for her car.

 

At Tee Time's driving range, Linny twice whiffed the first ball she tried to hit and then missed again. Red-faced, she glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed. The man at the practice tee next to her took a powerful swing, but just grazed the top of the ball. It barely rolled off the tee. She suppressed a smile. At least she wasn't the only one who hit like that. But as she continued to swing, memories came flooding back to her. She and Andy had liked going to the driving range after work. Wistfully, she remembered the warm summer evenings and the companionability of standing beside her husband as she hit balls. Andy always looked relaxed and graceful as he swung a club. He'd been Mr. Golf Team in high school and had coached her, “Keep your head down. Slow on the back-swing. Let the club do the work.” She imagined him coaching her now and, slowly, her confidence increased. She squarely struck the last third of the bucket. Though not long, her drives were straight. The thwack of a solidly hit ball felt as good as it sounded.

After her last ball, she crouched on the grass and watched admiringly as Mary Catherine hit ball after ball past the 200-yard mark. She was such a natural athlete. After one long last drive, her friend slipped her clubs back in the bag. Linny grinned. “You'll do just fine in the tournament.”

Mary Catherine gave a shrug. “Plain old muscle memory.”

As they walked back to the pro shop to return the wire baskets, Linny thought about how she'd missed talking with Mary Catherine instead of just whining to her friend about problems. She was determined to get out of her Chicken Little crisis mode, and try to start at least trying to act normal again. She arched a brow at her friend. “How about a beer?”

They chose their rocking chairs on the long porch that overlooked the eighteenth hole. Linny twisted off the cap of her frosty beer. “How's work? How are your men? Give me the 9-1-1.”

“It's 4-1-1, as in information, not 9-1-1 as in emergency.” Her friend's tone was patient and a bit amused.

Linny waved a hand dismissively, but cracked a grin. “You know what I mean.”

“Dare is taking a summer school class, working in a restaurant, and treating us like a human ATM machine.” Mary Catherine shook her head ruefully, but her eyes twinkled.

“Typical college student.” Michael Dare Kent. Linny felt a pang of wistfulness. She missed the sweet boy who was terrified of storms, called her Aunt Linny, and had a lisp. Dare had become a confident young man, bordering on cocky, with an infectious laugh and knack for barely avoiding trouble. He lived up to his name. Mary Catherine and Mike should have foregone the family middle name and picked Earnest, or maybe a sixties hippie name like Mellow. “Next time you talk to that young man, tell him to text his dear old Auntie sometime.”

“I will.” Mary Catherine stretched out her legs in front of her and crossed her ankles. “Mike's happy as a lark since he's working again. He's got a glint in his eye and a spring in his step.”

“I'm so glad, girl. It's been tough for both of you.” Mike had gone through periods of darkness and days where he didn't get out of his bathrobe. She glanced at her friend, and felt a tug at her heart as she noted the new strands of silver in her hair. It was becoming—very Emmylou Harris.

“It's starting to feel more normal, but we just had a big fight, over—get this—where is the best place to leave the car keys so they're easy to find.” Mary Catherine took a long swallow. “Not one of our finer moments.”

Linny nodded sympathetically, and spoke in her best Sigmund Freud accent. “So vat vas the fight really about?”

“Money.” She grimaced. “We've got a lot of catching up to do for the two years when Mike wasn't working. He just spent a chunk of his paycheck on the latest phone. We need to rebuild our savings, not buy new electronics.” She waved a hand. “We sorted it out, but that man can be just as hard-headed as I am.”

“You wouldn't do well with a weak man.” Linny sipped and thought about it. More evidence to support her theory that fighting and resolving was the way to go—that, and not marrying a man with the scruples of an alley cat. “He's a good guy. Pat him for me.”

“I will.” Mary Catherine smiled, and shifted gears. “How's the old dream weaving going?”

“I'm stalled on the dream list, and think I may have narcolepsy,” Linny admitted. “Every time I look at job postings, I fall asleep.”

Her friend shook her head. “It's just too soon. Take a little time to chill. Don't do the job search before you've given yourself a chance to think about you want.” She touched her middle finger to her thumb and held out her hand. “Reflect, my little cricket. This is a time to reflect.”

“It's, ‘little grasshopper,' ” Linny said absently, but Mary Catherine's words had struck a chord. She felt her stomach churn. “Being unemployed makes me so nervous.”

“Of course it does. But don't jump from the frying pan to the fire just because you're nervous.” She nodded at four men in golf shoes who clattered down the sidewalk in front of them. “How's your young man?”

“De-wormed and healthy.” Linny gave her friend a sidelong glance, and decided to spill about her delicious and inappropriate crush. “Roy's vet is darling, but married.”

“Darling, huh? Mercy.” Mary Catherine stuck a foot out and jammed on the brakes of her rocking chair. She turned, and fixed her eyes on Linny. “What's he like?”

“He's a big guy, twinkle in his eye like Brad Pitt or Channing Tatum.” She sighed, remembering. “I just keep saying and doing clumsy things around him.”

“Ah.” Mary Catherine's chair resumed speed. “That'd be a good sign if he was available.”

Linny's face flamed as she thought about it. “Last night, he said he was sorry about my being recently widowed, and I told him I was fine and dandy.” She threw up a hand in exasperation. “I mean, I sounded cheerful.”

“You get sick of hearing sympathy when Buck was a rat.” Mary Catherine's chair slowed down again and she looked thoughtful. “How did the back of the vet's neck look?”

Linny tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. “Unkempt.”

“Yesss!” Mary Catherine said with a triumphant grin.

 

Linny sat at the kitchen table with her notebook in front of her, twirling a lock of hair and trying to rev up interest in her Sweet Dream List. She doodled stars, lopsided horses, and mutant trees as afternoon sun streamed in the window behind her. ‘No more involvement with layoffs,' she finally scrawled, but immediately scolded herself for writing the obvious. But this morning's message from Indigo reverberated in her brain, and she
bossa nova-ed through belittling thoughts with the bobcat goddess.
She wrote faster, rusty at first but with her slanted cursive picking up speed as she moved down the page.
No more dealing with sad people. No more working around people in crises. No more traveling for work, if at all possible. No more office politics.
She sat back, read what she'd written, and felt a heavy sense of futility.
Good grief.
Unless there were openings in the world of Oz, no employer could offer her that. She gazed out the window at the cotton fields. Roy ambled in and licked her foot with a sandpaper tongue. She pushed him away, but he seemed even more determined to bathe her ankle.

She tossed down her pen. “Come on, buddy. Let's blow off some steam.” In the yard, she tossed Roy a tennis ball, but he only seemed to get the
catch
part of fetch. He'd hurtle over the tennis ball, skid to a halt, and trot off with the neon ball to a shady spot to savor his prize. Her phone rang, and she scooped it up.

“Linny, this is Craig Lyman.”

She took a deep breath, remembered all the new dream weaver experimentation and said pleasantly, “Hey, Craig. Nice to hear from you.” With the phone to her ear, she perched on the step and listened.

 

Half an hour before she was to meet Craig on Monday evening, Linny discarded yet another outfit. Her stomach was in knots. When Craig had called, he'd sounded just as normal and nice as he had at the cookout, but Linny's nerves made her extra critical. Had his deep voice sounded affected? Maybe too many people had told him he had a great voice, so he made sure he amplified it. Now that she thought about it, he sounded like Jim Nabors did when he sang the national anthem. She breathed out, exasperated with herself.

She pulled on black stretchy pants with a panel in the bottom that was supposed to move everything northward. Flat bottoms were the curse of the Taylor women. Her back to the dresser mirror, she craned her neck to check the migration, but decided it was nothing to write home about.
Dang
. Next she pulled on a V-neck cotton shirt that she hoped was slimming. As she stretched it further down her hips, she sucked in her stomach and reviewed her phone call with Craig, trying to figure out what had put her off.

Ah, she had it. When he asked her out to supper, he'd said, ‘I thought we'd try The Phoenix, that trendy new restaurant downtown.' She knitted her brow as she slipped on an earring. Men shouldn't use the word
trendy
. It just wasn't right.

She needed to work on her attitude. Exhaling loudly, she tilted her head for one more look in the mirror, and decided that this outfit was the best of the lot. Maybe Craig would have the nearing-forty-years-old nearsightedness, and she'd be a blur to him.

“What's wrong with you?” Linny gave herself a mental shake, poured herself a glass of ice water and thought about it. She was scared. Buck's unfaithfulness had left deep cuts to her self-esteem that hadn't healed over yet. She shook her head in chagrin, knowing she was criticizing Craig just in case he didn't like her. Giving herself a little Indigo hug, she talked to herself. “Relax. This is an experiment. He's just a new friend. You don't have to like him, and he doesn't have to like you.”