Mother of Prevention (11 page)

Horrified, I watched fat tears run down her cheeks; her nose ran, and between squalls she blubbered something about chicken nuggets.

Gray stooped and tried to console her but she kicked out at him, catching him on the shin.

Pain shot across his face, and he quickly backed off.

“Kelli Madison!” I bent and tried to pull the child to her feet, but she threw her head back and howled more loudly. By now every eye in the place was on the ruckus.

I lowered my tone. “Kelli. Get up this instant.”

“I want chicken nuggets!” She pounded her heels on the floor and I wondered if she had suddenly become possessed while shopping.

Kris came over and made the situation worse. “Stop acting like a baby.”

“I’m
not
a baby!” The screeching jacked up another level.

I pulled Kris back and asked her to stand beside Gray, who by this time was standing way clear of the embarrassing fracas.

After several aborted attempts to calm my daughter, I decided to practice tough medicine. I knew the child was ex
hausted. She’d never acted this way in her life, but she wasn’t going to get away with public tantrums.

“Kelli, you are pushing my patience to the limit. Get up off that floor right now!”

She ignored me, continuing to wail like a fire siren. If we’d been at home I could have cut this tantrum short in a hurry, but standing in the crowded lobby of Parlyvista made the situation more difficult. I gave her shoulder a shake and frowned down at her, trying to get my point across. If this evening ever ended, I’d give her a lecture she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Kelli scrunched up her face and glared at me, and I knew at this point, anything I said would only make matters worse.

I stood up, pretending to ignore her. The provocation only made her cry harder.

“So,” I said to Gray, “did you have a good day?”

His eyes were on the squirming kid creating a public spectacle in the middle of Parlyvista’s polished floor.

A departing couple paused, greeting Gray. He shook hands with the man, and above Kelli’s screams I overheard the guy thanking Gray for handling their house closing so efficiently. I heard the conversation only because the participants were talking above my daughter’s bellowing fit.

A waitress stopped and handed Kelli a small package of saltines. She took the crackers, sobbing.

When she’d sufficiently calmed, I picked her up. Five-year-olds were too heavy for me to carry, but I felt that she needed assurance that I wasn’t going to let her starve. I also had a strong urge to march her out to the car for some “back-seat parenting.”

“Will she let me hold her?” Gray inquired. Poor man. By now he was probably longing to bolt for cover.

Kelli jerked sideways, clamping her arms around my neck. That’s how I stood for the next hour and a half, holding Kelli, shuffling her from one hip to the other. My feet were meshed with my soles now.

Eventually someone called our name; maybe it was God being benevolent. I would have fainted dead away if I’d had to stand one minute longer.

We followed the waitress to a booth, and Kris sat beside Gray. I took charge of Kelli.

Round two began when the waitress informed us they had served the last chicken strip fifteen minutes ago.

My heart pounded. Kelli was on a chicken binge and refused to consider anything else.

“I want chicken nuggets,” she said.

“Darling.” I glanced up and smiled reassuringly at Gray. “They’re out of chicken nuggets. How about grilled cheese—”

“No!”

Where had this
brat
materialized from? Not once since Neil’s death had Kelli been anything but cooperative and pleasant. She appeared to be testing her limits in front of Gray.

“Hamburger?” I tried.

She shook her head.

“Make her eat grilled cheese,” Kris said. “Kelli, they don’t
have
chicken nuggets.”

Kelli sulked and buried her face in my lap. I smiled at Gray. “Kids,” I offered lamely.

The meals were ordered. Gray even ordered appetizers, hoping to coax Kelli into a better mood. The ploy failed. If anything, the five-year-old turned more surly.

Over dinner—which Kelli refused to touch—I tried to carry on an intelligent, stimulating conversation. I knew a little about football because of Neil’s Sooner obsession; Gray was a Red-skins fanatic. We managed to keep the conversation flowing while we ate. Kris had ordered fries and a hamburger that she now picked at. The earlier corn dog had spoiled her appetite.

Kelli’s grilled cheese congealed on the plate.

I leaned over and—knowing better—tried to force her to take a bite. She gagged and hawked up a chunk, which I managed to catch in a napkin.

Gray looked in the other direction.

Diners were starting to vacate tables by the time we ordered coffee. The girls sat quietly. Kris nodded off once. I finally relaxed enough to thank Gray again for helping us purchase the house, although I was fairly certain that by now the man considered the Madison family a notch below the Munsters.

“My pleasure. My wife and I never had children, but if we had, I would have liked to have raised them in that particular home.”

“Well, it is lovely. It needs a few repairs…” Roof, heating and air-conditioning—but I did get a bargain.

“All houses that age need repairs,” he assured me.

He took a sip of coffee, and a French fry missile hit him squarely between the eyes. He blinked, choked and set the cup back on the table.

I wasn’t sure I’d seen what I thought I’d seen. I glanced at Kelli. She was sitting up, pretty as a picture, refreshed now.

“Did I tell you that I hung a new kitchen border this morning? It’s blue with—”

A second missile hit his left cheek and stuck.

Aghast, I caught Kelli’s movement from the corner of my eye. She was
throwing
food. I jerked around to face her, wishing we weren’t in a crowded restaurant. I seldom disciplined my children in public, but Kelli was pushing it. She knew better than to behave like this.

“Kelli!” I snapped.

She turned innocent eyes on me. “Yes, Mommy?”

“Did you
throw
that French fry?”

Her guiltless look said I must be hallucinating.

I wanted to jerk her out of that booth and give her a timeout she’d never forget—or give her a strong talking-to, whatever it was the baby books suggested these days. I shot her a stern look, trying to convey the “just wait until we get home” message. She glowered at me, her mouth twisted into a pout. I reached over and touched my napkin to Gray’s cheek, mut
tering an apology. “I am so sorry. I have never seen her act this way.”

He took the napkin and finished mopping grease off his face.

Kelli suddenly bolted upright, knocking over her glass of soda. The dark fizzy liquid shot across the table and ran a foamy stream into Gray’s lap. He sprang to his feet. The table china rattled and I reached out to steady Kris’s water glass, in the process upsetting my coffee cup. Now two stains zigzagged across the white linen cloth. I could hear a steady stream splattering the floor. The couple in the opposite booth signaled for their check.

Seizing the opportunity, Kris picked up a fry and zinged it at her sister. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Stop that right now.”

She ignored me.

French fries flew.

Groaning, I buried my face in my hands and prayed for a hole to climb into and shut behind me.

After baths that night, I sat my girls on their beds and prepared to deliver the riot act. Matters like this were usually left to Neil, but now I had to fight the battle. When Gray had left the restaurant he had an ugly stain on the front of his trousers. Of course I’d profusely apologized. Needless to say, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about his calling again.

Not in my lifetime.

My eyes focused on my daughters. Fresh from their baths, hair curling around their cheeks, they looked like perfect angels. I hardened my heart. They had to understand just how rude they had been tonight.

“I cannot
tell
you how disappointed I am in your behavior.” Disappointed was too mild a word. I was furious. And it felt good. I’d cried so much it was a relief to experience an emotion that had nothing to do with grief.

Kelli, repentant now, gazed at the floor with lowered lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Kelli. You have never acted this way before. Mr. Mitchell will think you’re a hooligan.”

She stared at me vacantly, swinging her feet. “Uh-uh.”

“What do you mean, uh-uh? What else could he think of such rude behavior?”

She looked up. “
You
told him we were Irish.”

Kris rolled her eyes. “That’s not the same as hooligans, goofus.”

Kelli took a swat at her. “Don’t call me goofus!”

“Stop it!” I trapped Kelli’s hand in midair. “Young lady, you are out of control!”

Kelli shrugged, dropping her head to the pillow. “I want my daddy.”

“Well, you can’t have your daddy!” My breath caught, and I suddenly couldn’t speak for the tight knot in my throat. Kris sat looking at me like a thundercloud about ready to explode.

I fought my anger. “You can’t…have your daddy.” And neither could I. I gathered my girls into my arms, and we had a solid cry. Certainly not our first, nor the last, but the bouts were getting more evenly spaced. If I concentrated hard enough I’d count that as today’s blessing.

Trouble was I still wasn’t trying hard enough. It bothered me that the only way I could break my pattern of bawling about everything was to get upset at my daughters. Was that normal? I didn’t want to admit how angry I had been. The girls had been through a great emotional upheaval, losing their father and moving away from everything familiar. I didn’t like the way I had behaved tonight, either.

But since God supposedly knew all and saw all, how was I going to hide something like that from Him?

I
dropped the girls off early Monday morning and drove to La Chic, dreading whatever this day would bring. I was used to the Oklahoma City salon, where under Maria’s experienced management all the employees worked together in relative harmony, and the customers were an extended part of the family.

Things were different in San Francisco. Tremors were as common as mounting garbage sitting at the curb.

Every customer at La Chic was convinced she was descended from royalty. I wondered if I could ever get used to the demands. I missed Rody and my other clients. Missed the gabfests we’d had while I was cutting their hair. I actually missed the hot, sultry Oklahoma weather. Given another week, I could probably work up nostalgia for an Oklahoma tornado.

I braked for a red light, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. My first appointment would arrive in thirty minutes. I’d barely have time to turn on the curling irons and do the
shop paperwork before Mrs. Josephine Hinkle, self-appointed overseer of San Francisco society, would sweep in on a fragrant cloud of perfume. Mrs. Hinkle would personally supervise every brush stroke, every scissor snip and every strand of her shampoo, trim and set. This would be my second time to do Mrs. Hinkle’s hair and she was royal, all right—a royal pain. She was almost as fussy as Angel, the sparkly-collared pug she carried everywhere.

Lisa, one of the stylists, claimed Mrs. Hinkle had even carried Angel into church once. Evidently her fellow members had taken a dim view of sharing their worship service with a dog and Mrs. Hinkle had taken Angel and left, never to come back. A clear case of
love me, love my dog,
which would have been a lot easier if they hadn’t been so much alike.

The narrow parking lot next to the salon was nearly full, mostly with cars belonging to people who worked at the strip mall across from the salon. I’d have to do something about them taking our space. Parking was at a premium, I knew, but I needed this lot for my customers. I locked my car and walked to the front entrance wondering what major crises I would encounter today. Every day brought a skirmish of some kind.

The stylists were as independent and temperamental as Hollywood divas. So far I was getting along with them, which was a good thing, since it was the holiday season. San Francisco must hold the record for parties. Our appointment books were filled with people begging to be fitted in.

I pushed the door open and walked in to find Mary, Kitty and Brittany screaming at each other. Lisa cowered in the background looking as if she was close to tears. I considered joining her until I remembered I was in charge. I hadn’t a clue what this catastrophe was about, but I
was
reminded of a picture I had seen once of a herd of ducklings followed by a frantic mama duck. The inscription read, “There they go, I must catch them. I’m their leader.” Well, as the leader of this menagerie I was clueless regarding the current donnybrook.

I glanced at Lisa, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner, trying to convey the notion that someone needed to fill me in on what was happening. She sort of whimpered, which didn’t do much to boost my morale. We didn’t have time for this. Our first appointments would be arriving soon. I would prefer the client didn’t walk into a contest between three of my top stylists over who could scream the loudest.

“You couldn’t do a decent
trim
if your life depended on it,” Mary screeched. Her green eyes sparkled with fury. “A pre-schooler with a pair of dull scissors could beat you any day of the week.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kitty snarled. “Well, you’ve missed your calling. You’d make an excellent dog groomer.”

Short, wide and pugnacious, Kitty had a knack for going straight for the jugular.

Brittany, tall, thin and artificial in almost every conceivable way, apparently determined not to be outdone, planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Will you two shut up? I not only am the top stylist in this salon, I have seniority.”

“Well, you know what you can do with your seniority.” Mary grabbed up her bag and headed for the door. “I don’t have to take this kind of treatment. I quit.”

“Quit?” I moaned. “Mary, wait a minute.”

“That works for me.” Kitty headed for the door, leaving Brittany standing alone.

Brittany transferred her gaze to me. “This is a crummy place to work,” she announced. “I can do better.”

The door slammed behind her and I turned to Lisa, feeling as if I had taken a sharp blow to the stomach. “What was that all about?”

She shrugged. “Artistic differences, they said.”

I rubbed my temples where a definite headache had started to bloom. “Artistic differences? What does that mean?”

“I guess it means they each thought they would get the manager’s job and then you came along.”

“Oh.” I chewed on that for a minute. “What did that have to do with today?”

“They were arguing over who would get the job when you quit.”

“I’m supposed to quit?”

Lisa smiled. “I never said that.”

“But they did?”

Lisa shrugged. “You’re from out of town. Oklahoma, of all places. No one really
comes
from Oklahoma, according to them. You haven’t seemed happy. They felt it was a foregone conclusion you’d give up and go back home.”

“What do you think?”

She grinned. “I think you’d better get busy and find three stylists to hire or we’re going to be burning the midnight oil, and I happen to have a date with a real hunk. You wouldn’t want to make me cancel, would you?”

I caught a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Definitely not. Any suggestions?”

“You might try the beauty school on Elm Boulevard. They turn out pretty good graduates.”

“Thanks. Can you do Mrs. Hinkle for me this morning?”

“Not a problem—as long as I get off by six.”

“Not a problem.”

I headed for the office and the telephone as the door opened behind me. I didn’t look back. Lisa could take on Mrs. Hinkle with my blessings.

Life rolled along. My new life. The one I’d started over and that was supposed to be good. I was putting in eighty hours a week. Kris and Kelli hardly saw me, and when I was home I was so exhausted I could barely function. I had hired three new stylists and they tried, but we were still having trouble keeping up with appointments. It seemed every client was fussy, dissatisfied and in need of extra service. We fell further and further behind.

I couldn’t have survived without Mazi. If she hadn’t been there to take up the slack, my daughters would have felt like orphans. She fed them, saw that their clothes were clean and helped with homework while I walked like a zombie through their lives, too tired to comprehend what was going on around me.

Mazi was at the house this evening when I got home. “Hey, girls, look who’s here. It’s Mommy!”

At this point I wasn’t sure of my identity.

“Hey,” I muttered, trying to be upbeat and not whine.

My cheery next-door neighbor had chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese on the table. Kelli must have planned the menu. I had to start taking a bigger interest in my children’s lives. I ran my hand through my hair. “Oh, Mazi, what am I going to do? My daughters are growing up without me.”

She leaned over in the process of dishing up macaroni and gave me a much-needed hug. “It will get better, Kate. Really it will. Give it time.”

Time? There wasn’t enough time left in this world to put my life back together.

We ate supper, and Mazi walked the girls through their homework while I took a bath and pulled on a pair of jeans and faded sweatshirt. Later I strolled through the living room and saw that the three were watching a Three Stooges tape, drinking hot chocolate and eating popcorn. I stood just inside the door watching them, feeling like an outsider. I missed my time with the girls.

I missed Neil.

I missed my old relic of a stove.

Sailor sniffed at my ankles. Even the dog seemed to be suspicious of me.

The next day I called Mazi in a panic.

“Hold on—slow down. What’s the problem?”

I glanced at the clock. “I’m in a bind. Could you help me out?”

“Of course, hon. Just tell me what you need.”

I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for this woman who had rapidly become my best friend.

“I have to drop Kelli by school, and two of the stylists called in sick, which I doubt since I overheard them talking about taking a day trip shopping for antiques. Kris really is sick, though. Could you take her to the doctor?”

This was breaking my heart. I had never allowed anyone, not even Neil, to take my children to a doctor without me. I had always been there to comfort and take care of them. I realized Mazi was talking.

Her voice sharpened. “Kate? You there?”

“I’m here. My mind was wandering.”

“Well, call it back home.” Her rich, deep contralto warmed. “I’d love to take Kris. Just tell me where and when.”

“Dr. Harvey Wilkins. He’s a pediatrician.”

“No problem. His office is in the same building as my doctor. Don’t worry, Kate. I’ll take care of her.”

“I know you will. I owe you one.”

“No, darlin’, you don’t owe me anything. Friends are there for friends.”

“And you’re a real friend.” I hung up the receiver and thought,
Well, God, there’s another one in Your column.

He had been good to me, giving me a friend like Mazi. So far, she was my only friend in California. Alissa kept the girls while I was gone. She was sweet and friendly, but she was so much younger that we had little in common except the girls, and besides, there was a difference between friend and friendly. Mazi was a
friend.

Work started to run more smoothly. The new stylists began to settle in, but I was learning running the salon was different than just working
in
the salon; being in charge set me apart. Exactly what I didn’t need. I understood now why Maria always seemed different, more aloof, not a part of the group. It
wasn’t smart to be overly friendly with someone you might have to discipline or even let go.

The days passed somehow. Christmas was next week. When I did have a little free time I had too much to do at home to indulge in much self-pity.

Kris had turned out to have strep throat. Mazi filled her prescription and nursed her back to health. My kindhearted neighbor filled in for me at Kelli’s preschool aquarium visit when I got tied up at the salon. She picked up the girls at school, dropped off dry cleaning, made sure we had milk and bread, and stayed late many evenings until I got home. The girls adored her. So did Sailor. Alissa missed the extra money.

I was jealous.

While doing some emergency shopping, I passed the boutique where Mazi liked to shop. There in the window was a handbag she had raved about. Mazi dressed in the latest fashions whether it suited her or not, and most of the time her choices were rather far out. The bag was tall with patches of faux-fur animal print: tiger, leopard and something else with spots I didn’t recognize, interspersed with patches of some velvety-looking ethnic print in shades of brown. An irregular brown leather fringe hung along the bottom of the bag and a fluff of black feathers circled the opening.

Actually it was pretty awful, but characteristically Mazi. I eyed a second bag that I considered even more far out. Smaller, black with hot-pink lip prints scattered over it. I shuddered and went inside. There was only one faux-fur bag left, not counting the one in the window. I squinted at the price tag and gulped. Mazi didn’t shop at inexpensive stores. I’d never in my life paid that much for a bag, but I owed the woman big-time.

I took the bag home and tried to plan how to give it to her, finally deciding to take her out to dinner. She accepted the invitation with exclamations of pleasure, as usual. We chose a
small Italian restaurant about ten minutes from where we lived. The place was crowded and there was an enticing scent of tomato and basil and Parmesan. I sniffed appreciatively. One of the things I did like about San Francisco was its selection of really good eating establishments.

The girls ordered pizza, and I chose pasta primavera. Mazi settled on fettuccine Alfredo. The waitress brought my iced tea and the girls’ sodas. Mazi, who hadn’t ordered anything to drink, smiled brightly.

“This is such a special treat and I’m feeling festive. I think I’ll eat a whole dessert tonight.”

“My treat.” I grinned. “Knock yourself out.”

“Oh…” She suddenly backed off the impulse. “I shouldn’t. Warren thinks I’m too fat now.”

“He said that?” I couldn’t imagine Neil saying such a thing—even if I had to stop by the stockyard to weigh myself.

Kris’s eyes were round as saucers and Kelli wore my mother’s expression of deep disapproval. She looked like a little carbon copy of Neil, which at times comforted me and at others broke my heart. She had a lot of her father’s mannerisms and behavior, but somewhere inside her was a hard core of the woman who had raised me.

Now she frowned at Mazi. “You’re not fat. You’re just fluffy.”

“Kelli!” I reprimanded.

“Well, you know. She’s not
fat.
”

Mazi bent forward and grinned. “That’s okay, sweetie. I know what you mean. I’m a little pudgy, but I’m healthy.”

I watched as she slathered bread thickly with butter. “I’m going to hate myself when I get on the scales in the morning.”

The waitress refilled my iced-tea glass and brought more butter. The girls were nodding off, and I decided we’d better eat while they still had their eyes open. I handed Mazi the brightly colored gift sack and her eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

“Just a little something from the three of us.”

She opened the sack and peered inside. “Oh, Kate.” She shut the bag, and then opened it again to look inside. “It’s the exact bag that I wanted.” She raised her eyes to mine. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Because you’re you.”

“But I don’t understand why you would do this for me.”

“Because we love you,” Kris said.

“We love you lots,” Kelli echoed. “You’ve made our life bearable.”