Not Your Everyday Housewife (20 page)

“And what about you,” she said, between tears. “Why don’t you call her?”

“I can’t. All I can do is wait.”

Cyn parked her car in the driveway and turned off the ignition. She stared at the tan and brick colonial where she’d lived for sixteen years. A film of white still blanketed the roof’s dark shingles, leeching onto the siding and front steps in sporadic, lazy intervals. Clumps of curled Kale leaves lay shriveled in deep terra cotta pots near the front door, in stoic honor of Cyn’s absence.

She wouldn’t be sitting in the driveway with her green bean casserole on the seat beside her if her oldest daughter hadn’t called yesterday. When was the last time Kiki had asked her for anything? It was an odd, desperately angry yet pleading conversation, with Kiki spewing out bits and pieces of half intelligible phrases, but the emotion thrummed hard and fast beneath the words. Need.

So, Cyn had agreed to join the girls and their father for Thanksgiving dinner. Janie had asked to spend the night with her father so she could help get everything ready. Once Cyn dropped Janie off, she spent the next hour fumbling through her closet, throwing outfits on the bed, and finally settling on a lavender sweater, (normal size), gray cashmere slacks and her new pearls.

But now as she gathered her purse and the casserole, she wished she’d left her hair natural. Would Sam notice? Of course he would, engineers always noticed the details. It was the big picture they usually missed.

And what
was
the big picture?

Cyn shoved open the car door and stepped into the brisk late afternoon air. She’d made it five steps when the front door flew open and Janie hurled herself outside. “Here, let me help you.” She grabbed the casserole and leaned up to give Cyn a peck on the cheek.

“What, no sweats?” Cyn laughed, eyeing her daughter’s black slacks and pink turtleneck. She’d even pulled her hair up in a high ponytail with a pink ribbon.

Janie grinned. “This is a special occasion. Besides, I’m saving the sweats for after I stuff myself. You look pretty fancy yourself.”

“Thank you.” Cyn ran a hand through her hair, wishing again for her own color.

“Wait until you smell the house,” Janie said over her shoulder. “I’m dying to dig into the pumpkin pies.”

Janie was right. The smell of turkey and pumpkin teased her nostrils the minute she stepped over the threshold. A million questions bounced through her head as she slid out of her coat and followed Janie into the kitchen. Had Sam tackled homemade stuffing too or was it Stouffer’s? And the gravy? Did he remember to strain it? Had he used the Betty Crocker Basics cookbook his mother gave them for their wedding?

The first thing she encountered as she entered the kitchen was her husband’s behind. He was bent over the oven, basting the turkey.

“Hi,” Kiki said from her position at the counter where she sat peeling potatoes. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” Cyn wanted to fold her oldest daughter in her arms and tell her just how much she missed her but the hands off expression on Kiki’s face kept Cyn away.

Sam closed the oven and turned toward her. “Hi, Cyn. Happy Thanksgiving.” He stood there, glasses fogged from the oven, looking handsome and vulnerable, obviously trying to decide what to do.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Sam.” It seemed natural to go to him, lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His aftershave tickled her nose and brought back memories of them together. In bed. Cyn cleared her throat and moved several feet away, presumably to inspect the pistachio salad on the counter.

“This looks good. Who made it?”

“Shea,” Sam said.

“Shea made this?” Cyn wanted to ask why but clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t seen Shea or Derry since they’d made an impromptu visit to her condo a week ago. Shea had called twice and Derry three times but Cyn erased the messages.

It was so much easier that way.

Wasn’t it?

“Derry made the pumpkin pies,” Kiki said, sliding her a glance.

“Derry?” Cyn lifted the aluminum foil on one of the pie plates. Even Cyn had never made crust this golden. And look at the rolls. “Derry made these, too?”

“She did,” Sam said. “I guess the hours in the kitchen with her friend Tula Rae paid off.”

“I guess,” Cyn murmured, tucking the foil gently around the pie plate. “Why did they do this?”

“They didn’t want us to eat Chef Boyardee for Thanksgiving,” Kiki said.

“Why wouldn’t they do this?” Janie asked. “Aren’t they your friends?”

“Yes, of course they are.”

“Well, they were just being friends,” she said matter-of-factly.

Guilt pricked Cyn. She should’ve called them back, but she’d been so busy systematically demolishing her old life that she hadn’t wanted to risk it.

Sam handed her a glass of Chablis and asked, “Did you know Shea kicked Richard out?”

“No, she didn’t,” Cyn said, “they got back together.”

“Not as of this morning when she brought over the pistachio salad.”

“You’re kidding? She kicked him out?” Maybe that’s why Shea called her, for help. And she’d erased the messages.

“I guess she’d had it.” He sipped his wine and dropped tidbits as though he were discussing a character on
All My Children
.

“Richard is the father of Tanya Madison’s baby,” Janie said.

“Janie, how do you know such a thing?” Cyn set her wineglass on the counter and stared at her youngest daughter.

Janie shrugged and said, “Shea told us. She’s selling her house, too, and making her kids go to a cheaper school.”

Kiki snorted. “Spoiled brats. They always thought they were better than everybody just because they got to go to Georgetown.”

“And guess what else?” Janie’s face lit up as she relayed more information. “Shea’s quitting her job.”

“What?” Her youngest daughter clearly relished watching her mother’s growing confusion.

“And she’s moving away,” Janie paused for effect, then added, “to Ogunquit.”

“Sam?” Cyn turned to him, and asked in a small voice, “Is this true?”

He nodded, and from the disjointed recesses of her mind, she noticed he needed a haircut. After so many years, some things imbedded themselves on a person’s memory and would not be erased.

“I don’t understand…”

“How could you?” Kiki said from behind her. “You haven’t been here.”

“Kiki.” Sam’s voice held a firm no-nonsense tone.

“It’s okay,” Cyn said and turned toward her oldest daughter. “You’re right, Kiki, I haven’t been here. But I’m only ten minutes or a phone call away.”

Kiki shrugged and threw another potato into the colander. “If you didn’t know about Shea, then I bet you don’t know about Derry either.”

“What about Derry? Is she okay?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“What?”

Kiki smiled at her mother’s response. “That’s right. Pregnant. Knocked up.”

“Kiki. Enough.” Sam threw her a warning look.

Kiki ignored him and picked up another potato. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re not around. You miss out on everything and then, heck, you’re no good to anybody.”

The rest of the afternoon was a disaster. Kiki fell into her sullen, non-talkative mode and only spat out catty remarks. Janie burned the dinner rolls
and
spilled half the gravy boat on the white tablecloth. Even with the help of the Orange Blossom Maid-for-You mixer, Kiki’s mashed potatoes lumped together and Sam forgot to add eggs to the stuffing which made it drier than sawdust. And he wouldn’t stop apologizing for the mishaps, as though her decision to stay with him was based on the grade of the meal.

Kiki ran to her room as soon as she shoved the last dish in the cupboard with a hurried, “See you later.”

Sam wiped off the drain board and stored it under the sink. He’d refused to let Cyn do more than find Tupperware for the leftovers. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to have no household responsibilities, to be a spectator rather than a constant participant in daily duties?

“This whole thing has been pretty rough on Kiki.”

“I’d like to talk to her, Sam.”

His kind, gray eyes settled on her. “I can’t guarantee she’ll talk to you. She may not even be civil.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to subject yourself to that?”

She nodded.

“Okay.” His voice gentled and he reached out to clasp her hand quickly before releasing it. “Good luck.”

Cyn made her way up the stairs and down the hall to Kiki’s room, careful to avoid glancing into the master bedroom as she passed it. When she reached Kiki’s room, she knocked softly.

“Go away,” came a muffled noise from inside.

“Kiki, I need to talk to you.”

“Go away. You don’t want to be here, so go!”

Cyn jiggled the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Globs of light shone from the orange and pink lava lamp on the bedside stand. She inched her way into the room, stepping on wads of clothing and jumbled heaps of shoes and belts until she reached the bed. She knelt down next to her daughter and whispered, “Kiki, can we talk? Please?”

“You said it all when you walked out on Dad and me,” she mumbled against her pillow.

“No, no I didn’t. I love you, honey, and this has nothing to do with you.”

Kiki turned her head toward Cyn and asked, “What about Dad? Do you love him, too?”

“I’ll always love your father.”

“Just not enough to live with him?”

“I don’t know, Kiki. We have a lot to work out.” Cyn laid a hand on the bed next to Kiki’s arm. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you and be part of your life.”

“Right.”

“Why does it have to be so hard between us?” Cyn tried to keep her voice even but the pain of her daughter’s rejection filled her lungs. “Why can’t you let me in? Please?” Cyn didn’t realize her face was wet until her daughter reached up and swiped at a stray tear.

“No matter what I did, it never seemed to be good enough for you,” Kiki said, her voice breaking. “So, it was just easier to stop trying.”

Cyn reached out and smoothed Kiki’s hair from her face. Her fingers traced the new stud in her daughter’s right ear but she made no comment other than, “Oh, Kiki, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m smart, I know that, but everybody thinks I’m some prodigy who’s never going to make a mistake and who has to be so good all the time. Jesus, sometimes I just do things because I’m tired of acting the part.”

“Like having sex with Brad?”

“What?”

“Janie told me about the condoms in your underwear drawer, remember?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Cyn sucked in a deep breath and said, “If we’re going to start over, we have to be honest with each other. I’d rather have the truth, no matter how bad.”

“I didn’t have sex with him,” she said again.

So, the condoms were for a friend?
Cyn kept her mouth shut and waited.

“I was thinking about it,” Kiki admitted, “and then this thing with Dad and that woman happened and it totally grossed me out.”

“I see.” It was still hard to think of Sam with another woman.

“So, I’m not ready for that right now. I’ve got enough to deal with.”

“Good.” Cyn looked at her daughter, framed by the orange-pink glow of the lava lamp and saw the neediness in the young girl-woman.

Kiki swiped at her eyes and said, “I’d like to start visiting at your house, if that’s okay.”

“That would be wonderful.” Then Cyn smiled and added, “Janie’s going to be a busy girl cleaning her junk out of the spare bedroom.”

“I can help her,” Kiki offered.

“You will?” The offer was a shock and a revelation.

Kiki shrugged. “Sure. What’s family for, right?”

“I think your sister misses you,” Cyn said, picturing Janie wandering around the condo or flicking through TV channels.

“I kind of miss her, too, but don’t tell her.” Kiki sniffed and said, “Mom, I’m the one who told Dad not to tell you about Janie being the one who was driving. He was all ready to tell you, but I said it would only be worse if he did and then Janie might never get her license.” She took a deep breath, blew it out, “He hated lying about it.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“And the other”—she hesitated then went on—“the woman, I know it was wrong but he stopped before anything horrible happened. He walks around the house playing
Wind Beneath My Wings
when he doesn’t think I’m home. And I caught him holding one of your T-shirts. And I swear to God he sprays your perfume every night before he goes to bed because I smell it. It’s like a piece of him is gone and he doesn’t think he deserves to get it back. Maybe he thinks you don’t need him now that you’ve got all this money and all these
things
. I mean, we both know he could never buy you that kind of place. Dad buys mixers for your birthday, not pearls and designer clothes. And he’s a little dorky in an absent-minded professor kind of way, and—”

“I love my mixer,” Cyn blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back a fresh flood of tears.

“Then give him another chance, Mom. Please?”

Trader Jen’s blared with its usual jamboree; screeching toddlers, clanging pots, chatter- saturated booths amidst a bevy of young mothers and older, childless groups.

Cyn, Derry, and Shea sat near the far end of the restaurant in a semi-secluded booth surrounded by terra cotta planters stuffed with peace lilies and three pictures of James Dean.

Cyn had set up lunch, ironic since she hadn’t returned Derry’s or Shea’s phone calls since the afternoon they visited her new condo.

Maybe the news of Shea’s pending divorce was a wake-up call or it could’ve been Derry’s pregnancy. Whatever the catalyst, Cyn sat across from them now decked out in a tailored, white wool dress and a black and white silk scarf, looking like Sophia Loren on Wall Street. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of a napkin, trying hard to maintain her composure.

Shea recognized the early warnings of a major meltdown—fidgety, picking fingers, shifty glances, staccato conversation. It was all there and if she and Derry didn’t dig in and root out the real problem, pronto, then calm, level-headed, Cynthia Cintar would explode into a gazillion pieces like one of those meteors Shea read about in the National Enquirer.

There was no time to lose.

“I’m glad you called us today, Cyn,” Shea said, working her lips into a soft smile. “I needed a day off anyway.”

Cyn shifted in her seat and darted a glance in the direction of Shea’s neck. “Thank you,” she managed. “I do appreciate it.”

“So do we,” Derry said, sipping an iced tea. “We’re thrilled you remembered our phone number.”

“We know you’ve been busy and life’s crazy right now,” Shea said, trying to smooth over Derry’s comment.

Derry wasn’t going to be so easy on Cyn. “Too busy for friends or family from the sounds of things.”

Shea shot Derry a warning but of course, she ignored it. Since announcing her pregnancy, Derry had grown more beautiful. If that were possible. Today she wore a royal blue crew sweater and jeans, a comfortable, unassuming look without designer labels. And her black hair looked shinier, her complexion creamier, her nails longer, her demeanor calmer.

Who would have thought Derry would be the one to get her act together while Shea and Cyn floundered like preschoolers?

“We have been kind of wondering why you never called us back.” Shea said, offering Cyn an easy out. Just say,
I was so busy,
I lost track of time.

But apparently Cyn didn’t want excuses. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just wanted something for myself, you know?” The tears streamed down her cheeks and she let them fall, unchecked. “I’m good at stocks. I can make money. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Derry said, “money’s good. But take it from a rich girl. It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I think she means there are parts of a person’s life that money can’t fix.” Shea laid a hand on Cyn’s cold fingers and smiled.

“Right.” Derry said.

“Like family,” Shea continued.

“And friends,” Derry said matter-of-factly. “Lose either of those and you’ve got nothing.”

Cyn wiped her nose with a napkin and said, “Kiki thinks I’ve abandoned her, and Janie’s sick of shopping and eating out. Who would have thought she’d ever say that? And Sam”—she paused and drew in a deep breath—“I think I’ve ruined the man.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Derry asked.

The words slipped out of Cyn’s mouth like a painful confession. “I don’t know. Isn’t that ironic? I was always the one who could tell you what I’d be doing next week, next month, in five years. And now, the two of you have plans.” She smiled at Derry, “A baby for you and Alec, and Charlie. And God, Shea, you’re moving hundreds of miles away to follow a dream. But me?” She shrugged. “I love the stocks, but the travel and the wining and dining? I hate it.”

“So, don’t do it,” Derry said.

“But the home office has such plans for me.”

“Are they your plans?” Shea asked.

“That’s the hell of it. I don’t know.”

***

The call came at 8:10 a.m. just as Derry kissed Alec good-bye and poured her second cup of decaf coffee. It was Earl Gray:
Tula Rae needs you ladies. Quick.

That was it. No amount of prodding could get any more information out of him.

So now here they were on Route 222 just outside Pennsylvania with Derry behind the wheel, Cyn riding shotgun, and Shea peeking out the front window from the backseat.

“I have this feeling she had a stroke,” Shea said in a soft, worried voice. “That’s why she can’t talk. And Earl Gray doesn’t want to tell us. She’s probably in the cardiac unit, all hooked to monitors and IV’s. I wonder if it was a left-sided stroke or right-sided. It matters, you know. If it’s left-sides then—”

“Shea, stop.” Derry eyed her in the rear view mirror. “Nobody said anything about a stroke. Maybe she just misses us and it’s a way to get us there.”

“So, speculating isn’t an option?”

Derry shrugged. “I said maybe, Shea.”

“It does sound suspicious,” Cyn said.

“We’ve gone through this for the last two hundred miles. The only way we’re going to find out is to ask Tula Rae herself.”

“If she can speak,” Shea added.

“I’m sure she can.”

“Do you think Alec will be there when we get in?” Cyn asked.

“Mr. Worry Wort?” Derry smiled as she thought of the map tucked in her pocket highlighting every hospital on their route. Agreeing to take it
and
check in with him every four hours was the only way she could get him to agree to the trip. And he was flying to Ogunquit to meet Tula Rae himself, so he could personally thank her for her part in salvaging his marriage.

Alec acted like she was going to deliver this baby any minute instead of four months from now. She’d never felt better. And her nails looked great. Fantastic hair and nails for nine months. Not a bad trade off for stretch marks and saggy boobs.

Who was she kidding? She’d shave her head and subject herself to Chinese fingernail torture for this baby.

“Don’t complain,” Shea said. “That man would do anything for you.”

“I guess he would.”

“And Charlie’s so excited about the baby. Who would’ve thought such a thing possible the last time we made this trip?”

That statement pretty much summed up what they were all thinking. Who would have thought Shea would lose her baby, give Richard the boot, stick a For Sale sign in the front yard, shave her hours at Mercy from fifty to ten, and completely eradicate scrubs from her wardrobe? She’d be all right once she got used to the idea of taking care of herself instead of everyone else.

No one would have guessed Cyn would be the one to move out of her house, rent a fancy condo, and contemplate life without a husband. She had all the Coach, Calvin Klein, and Ann Taylor she wanted, but they didn’t make her smile. Nothing much made her smile anymore. At least she’d reconciled with Kiki, who wasn’t such a brat anymore but seemed to be turning into a real person.

And then there was Sam.

He was the key to it all, why couldn’t Cyn just see it? Or did she, and that’s why her face pinched every time Derry talked about Alec. Cyn better wake up soon, or Sam might just get tired of waiting.

“Shea?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really going to move to Ogunquit?” Derry asked.

“If I can convince Marcus to go into business with me, then yes, I am.”

Derry raised a brow and asked, “The same Marcus whose heart you stomped on four months ago?”

Shea’s face burned lobster-pink. “It wasn’t that way. We were just friends.”

“And I’m Abe Lincoln.”

“No, really, Derry. We were just friends.”

“That’s not what it looked like from this angle. Did it, Cyn?”

Cyn turned from the window and the rows of snow-coated pine trees. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Shea muttered. “Derry’s just harassing me, as usual.”

“I’m trying to make you wake up and see you’ve got a hot, young guy after you.”

“Not everyone’s got raging hormone’s like you and your husband.”

That made her laugh. “Marcus has a thing for you. Doesn’t he, Cyn?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Shea said under her breath.

“Actually, I think he does.” Cyn pulled her lips into a faint smile, the first since they left Randalee Road.

“You’re both crazy.” Shea grabbed her pillow from the back and flung it on the seat. “Call me when we get there.” She plunked down on the pillow, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep.

***

Tula Rae hadn’t suffered a stroke. Or a heart attack. Or any other physical ailment.

When they reached The Bird’s Nest, she ran outside in a powder blue parka, her long braid stuffed into a pink stocking cap pulled low over her eyebrows.

“I’ll be danged,” she hollered. “If it ain’t my favorite girls!”

Derry slid out of the Navigator and smothered Tula Rae in a bear hug. “We got here as soon as we could.” Derry eased away and said, “What’s wrong, Tula Rae?”

The older woman threw back her head and let out a guffaw. “Why do people always have to think the worst? Ain’t nothing wrong.”

“Really?” Shea inched in and hugged her. “You do look a little peaked.”

“Peaked, schmeeked,” she mocked. “Tula Rae’s right as rain.” She pounded her chest with scrawny fists. “Fit as a fiddle.”

“It’s good to see you, Tula Rae.” Cyn hung back letting Derry and Shea crowd around their friend.

But Tula Rae wanted none of it. “Come here, Missy.” She latched onto Cyn like a koala, pressing her down-clad body against Cyn’s. “You’re having a tough time, aren’t you girl?” she whispered into Cyn’s ear. When Cyn nodded, Tula Rae squeezed her tight. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

“So, are you going to tell us why Earl Gray scared us half to death, or do we have to ask him?”

Tula Rae waved an arm in the air. “Psshhhh. He don’t know nothing.” She paused and tapped a finger against her pointy chin. “Hmmm. Unless…” Her dark eyes shimmered. “Unless he’s talking about...”

“Tula Rae, for heaven’s sake, what?” Shea demanded.

“The wedding.”

“Who’s wedding?” Derry asked.

Tula Rae lifted her shoulders and said, “Mine, I guess.”

The next two hours flipped between hysterical laughter and outright disbelief. Tula Rae had sworn she’d never marry again, and now here she was, planning her wedding menu.

They sat at the kitchen table devouring beef stew and chunks of Tuscany bread dipped in olive oil and garlic. Tula Rae dished out more stew for Earl Gray and handed it to him. “We been arguing about the menu,” she said, sliding a smile at Earl Gray. “I want a little Chinese, a little Italian, less German, a pinch of Mexican, and some downright good Southern grits and fried chicken.” She snorted and pointed to her prospective husband. “Earl Gray says you can’t cross over like that.”

“That’s right,” Earl Gray said in his soft voice. “That’s what I said.”

“Hah! We’re a crossover, Earl Gray, can’t you see that? White and black, how’s that not a crossover?” She pressed her skinny arm against his large one. Even with months of sun, Tula Rae’s skin was several shades lighter than Earl Gray’s. “No crossover, hmmmph.”

“Tula Rae,” he said with calm patience, “I’ve told you before, it’s not about the crossover, it’s the time and effort involved. It’d be much easier to just have Chinese, or Indian, or Italian. But just one thing.”

“Dang it!” she spat out. “It’s my wedding and if I want fifteen crossovers, then dang it, I’m having them!” She threw her napkin on the table and stood. “And I ain’t having no mess in the kitchen, less I’m the one making it.” Her dark eyes scanned the round table. “Excuse me, girls, my appetite’s plumb skipped out on me.” With that, she pushed her chair aside and sashayed out of the room.

Cyn and Shea snuck a glance at Derry who shrugged and said to Earl Gray, “I guess Tula Rae’s having crossovers.”

Earl Gray’s broad shoulders slumped and he stared into his stew bowl. “I guess so,” was all he said. When he looked up seconds later, his eyes were wet. “I love Tula Rae, but that’s not why she agreed to marry me.”

Shea covered his dark hand with her own pale one. “What’s going on, Earl Gray?”

“It’s the only way I can protect her,” he croaked.

“What are you talking about?” Derry leaned in closer to Earl Gray and whispered, “Is she sick?”

“She passed out in the back yard last week. I found her when I got back from hauling wood.” His voice cracked as he said, “I thought I lost her. I can still see her, face down in the lettuce patch.”

“What did the doctor say?” Shea asked.

“You mean after she cussed me out like a man for making her go see him? Doc said it sounded like some kind of blockage.”

“Have they done any procedures yet?” This from Shea again.

“Angioplasty. That’s where—” He stopped and attempted a smile at Shea. “Well, you know what it is.”

“She’ll be okay, Earl Gray. You caught it in time,” Shea said.

He rubbed his eyes and said, “When I carried her into the emergency room, they wouldn’t tell me anything, said I wasn’t next of kin. That’s when I knew we had to get married or I had to leave her because I couldn’t protect her if something happened again.”