Not Your Everyday Housewife (9 page)

Derry pressed speed dial on her cell phone and took a deep breath. She’d decided to call Alec tonight since he obviously wasn’t going to call her and there were issues to discuss, though as of this second, they were quickly evaporating.

She should talk to him, if for no other reason than to make sure Charlie really was okay. Kids didn’t know when they were okay and when they weren’t. And Vivien wasn’t a good gauge either. She’d say anything to get Derry back with her son.

Alec was the only one who could tell Derry how Charlie was doing. If he were home. Maybe he was out again, like he’d been twice last week and two days ago when she called. Was he trying to punish her? She swallowed, pressed the send button to his office because she knew he’d be there.

“Rohan, McGill, and Associates, Alec Rohan speaking.”

His voice unsettled her. She’d always loved the deep, velvet of it. “Hello, Alec.”

Silence, and then, “Derry.”

She willed her own voice to remain even. “I’m calling about Charlie. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“Vivien said he’s been having trouble sleeping the past two nights, and he’s been waking up crying.”

“He’s fine.”

There it was again, the deep resonance of his sound filling her. “I think we need to talk about it.”

“This isn’t a good time.”

“It’s easier getting you at the office than at home, Alec.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I gathered.”
Don’t you miss me, even a little?

“I’m not going to sit around like a puppet and wait for your orders, Derry.”

“I wasn’t asking you to, but if there’s an issue with Charlie, I’d like to know about it.”

“Why? Isn’t that what this trip is all about, getting ready for the big send off?”

“I love Charlie,” she said, avoiding an answer.

“You left him.”

“I’ll be back in less than two weeks.”

“That’s right. Time’s flying.”

That’s why he was such a good attorney—detachment.
He doesn’t care about me anymore. I can hear it in his voice.

“Well, okay.” She stumbled around and added, “I’ll call Charlie later on.”

“Make it before six. He’s got a soccer game tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Derry, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For all of it. The lie, the fighting, but most of all that we couldn’t get past this. We had a good thing together.”

“Alec, why are you talking like this? I haven’t decided anything yet. This is why I’m here.
To decide
.”

“You’ve already decided. You just don’t realize it yet, but you’ve made your choice.”

The sound of him pulled her close. Closer.

“Good-bye, Derry.”

She clutched the phone, whispered, “I love you, Alec, I love you.” But he was already gone.

***

The house was too quiet, even for 11:20 p.m.

Janie slid the end of the paper clip into the knob, waited for the click, and eased the door open.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Kiki jerked back from the open window, hissing, “Get out of my room.”

Janie ignored her and pointed to the fire escape ladder resting on the windowsill. “I knew that story you gave Mom and Dad about needing a ladder in case of a fire was a bunch of baloney. You just want it to sneak out and see that loser boyfriend of yours.”

“Shut up and go to bed. And who said you could barge into my room?”

“I’ll bet Dad doesn’t know what you’re doing, does he?” Janie stepped over scattered shirts, underwear, CD’s, and candy bar wrappers to get to her sister. “You are such a pig. Mom would never let you get away with this.”

“Well, too bad she’s not here right now, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t mean you should take advantage of Dad.”

“Just like you didn’t take advantage of him last night when you were IM-ing until 1:15 a.m.?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Janie shrugged, averting her gaze. “I had some homework questions.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit for you. At least I’m not sneaking out of the house to have sex with my boyfriend.”

“I am not having sex with Brad.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Then you better do a better job hiding those condoms you’ve got stuffed in your underwear drawer.”

“You were going through my drawers?” Kiki’s face contorted into three shades of red. “You little shit. You mind your own business.”

“Be quiet or I’ll poke holes in all your condoms.”

Kiki grabbed Janie’s arm and twisted. “Don’t you spy on me again.”

“
Ow!
Let me go.”

“I mean it. You’re nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“Slut.”

Kiki pushed her and Janie stumbled, landing on the floor with a distinct thud. Janie reached for the closest weapon at hand, which happened to be a hairbrush, and threw it at her sister, whacking her in the shoulder.

“Bitch!” Kiki lunged at Janie, caught her by the ankle. “Stay out of my stuff, you hear me?”

“Let go! I’m telling Dad!”

“You open your mouth and I’ll tell him about the time you stole that nail polish from CVS.”

“You dared me to.”

“And you were stupid enough to do it. What do you think Dad will say when he hears his precious little Janie is a shoplifter?”

“That was eight months ago.” Janie tried to keep her voice from quivering. “And you told me to do it. You said I could start hanging around with you and your friends if I did.”

“I just wanted to see if you were stupid enough to do it.”

“I’ll tell Dad about you and Brad. And wait until Mom hears. You’ll see who gets in trouble.”

“But you committed a
crime.
A crime is still a crime, even if it was eight
years
ago.”

“Kiki? Janie? What are you two doing?”

Their father stood in the doorway, in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair sticking straight up, eyes squinting behind his glasses as he adjusted to the light.

“Dad.” Kiki released Janie’s ankle and rolled away. “We were just goofing around.”

“At 11:30 at night?” He glanced at Janie. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She rolled to a sitting position, avoiding Kiki’s angry stare.

“Somebody better start talking right now. And what’s that in the window?”

“Oh.” Kiki ran to the windowsill and lifted the ladder from the ledge. “Now don’t get mad, Dad, but we were bored so we decided to try the ladder out. We wanted to see if it worked”—she stumbled on—“in case there’s a real fire.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“It was my idea,” Janie said, picking at the beginnings of a hole in her sweats. “I wanted to try it.” She couldn’t stop the tears that inched down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

He sighed and held his arms out to both girls. “It’s okay. Come here, girls.” He pulled them into his arms and rested his chin on Janie’s dark head. “I know you’re doing this because you miss your mother. We all miss her, but she’ll be back soon.”

Janie did miss her, and she knew her father did, too, but Kiki? No way.

The next morning, Kiki ran into the kitchen, jerked open the fridge and pulled out a key lime yogurt. “You ready to go?”

Janie stuffed the crust of her peanut butter toast in her mouth and washed it down with milk. “Just a sec.” She rinsed her glass and plate, loaded them in the dishwasher, and threw her napkin in the garbage.

“Let’s go Suzy Homemaker, or we’ll be late,” Kiki said, throwing the yogurt lid at the garbage can. She missed and the lid landed on the floor in a smear of key lime.

“Can’t you just try to be neat?” Janie picked up the lid and tossed it into the garbage. “You make so much work for everyone else, especially Mom.”

“So?”

“So, can’t you be considerate?” Janie grabbed her book bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“It’s not like she has anything else to do.”

“Why are you always saying that stuff about her? You just want to be mean?”

“Because she tries to control everything and she’s clueless. Dad’s just as clueless but he leaves me alone.”

“Mom busts you and you don’t like it.”

“Shut up or you’ll walk to school,” Kiki said, opening the driver’s door of the Camry.

“Dad’ll make you take me and you know it.” Janie scooted into the passenger front seat, and turned on the radio. “My pick today,” she said, flicking the stations.

“We’re not listening to that stupid country shit you like.”

“It’s my pick. I had to put up with your rap crap yesterday.” Janie punched in the station numbers until she heard Tim McGraw’s voice crooning,
Live Like You Were Dying.
“Dad said we could have vegetable lasagna or homemade pizza tonight. Which do you want?”

“Neither.” Kiki backed out of the driveway and headed for the high school.

“Well, those are the choices.”

“I’m hungry for chicken. What’s that stuff Mom used to make, chicken tetrazzini
or something like that?”

“I thought you were a
vegan
?” Janie slid a glance at her sister.

Kiki shrugged. “Part-time vegan.”

“Like when Mom’s here, so you can annoy her?”

“No, like just when I’m in the mood.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Lay off, okay, or I might still tell Dad.”

Janie sunk back against the cloth seat. One more year and Kiki would be out of the house, at least a hundred miles away, ten times that if they were all lucky.

“Well, you better learn how to do something for yourself before you go away to college,” Janie said. “Like how to wash your clothes, do your own dishes, run the vacuum—”

“I can do all those things,
if I want to.”

They were in the parking lot of McArthur High, inching toward a parking place. Janie grabbed her book bag. “Maybe, but there’s one thing you’ll never learn how to do.”

“Really?” Kiki thrust the Camry in Park. “What would that be?”

Janie unfastened her seatbelt, jerked the passenger door open and jumped out. “Get along with people,” she said, and slammed the door.

Tula Rae swore the only way to make cinnamon rolls right was to pulverize a handful of cinnamon sticks into a velvet powder.
Fresh
, she said,
that’s how it should be done.

For the past five days, Derry had sifted through stained and crumpled recipes in Tula Rae’s pine knotted kitchen, measuring flour into Fiestaware bowls and creating delicious fare with the help of a beat-up hand mixer and a 1972 GE range.

Derry memorized every herb in Tula Rae’s garden. She harvested sprigs of rosemary and thyme for the herb bread, sage for the pork roast, oregano and garlic for the pizza. And always mint for garnish.

“I know why you girls
say
you’re here”—Tula Rae punched a mound of dough with her bony knuckles—“but I think it’s time you tell me the truth.”

“Honestly, Tula Rae, I don’t know if
I
know what the truth is anymore.”

“Just start talking, it’ll work its way out.”

“The child my husband and I adopted two years ago is really his.”

“Well. That’s a zinger.” Tula Rae whacked her cleaver through the dough, severing it in half. “And you have a problem with that.”

“Damn right I do. He said he never knew about Charlie until the woman contacted him two years ago when she got cancer.”

“She dead?”

Derry nodded.

“You married when he got the woman pregnant?”

“No. He’d broken it off with her before we started seeing each other.”

“You love him?”

“He should’ve told me before I found Charlie’s birth certificate with my husband’s name on it.”

“Forget all that. You love him or not?”

“I do.”

“He love you?”

“He did.”

“Then get back there and get your man before somebody else snaps him up.”

“He lied to me and then he told me he did it because he was afraid of losing me.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“No, I do, but what about trust? Where’s that figure in?”

“That’s a tricky one,” she said, plopping a hunk of dough into a greased pan. “Right there between, ‘I screwed
up
and I screwed
her
.’ If he’d told you straight out, what would you have done?”

“That’s not the point. Alec’s a lawyer and he committed the worst crime of all. He took away my choice.”

“So, he took your choice away.” She picked up another blob of dough. “Would it have made a difference?”

Derry ignored the question, intent on making Tula Rae understand. “Every time I look at Charlie, I see Alec. They’ve got the same eyes, the same lips, and then I see this faceless woman having sex with my husband—”

“Who wasn’t your husband at the time,” Tula Rae added.

“And I go crazy.” Derry’s voice shook as she added, “He’s made such a fool of me.”

“A woman in love is always a fool, so is a man for that matter. But that’s what keeps us breathing, ain’t it, girl?”

Derry didn’t answer. She thought about Alec and the last time she saw him, the night she went to their bedroom to taunt him with her body.

Tula Rae covered the bread pans with a wide strip of yellow flannel, doubled, then tucked under the pans. “I’d be mad, ornery as a cuss, no doubt, but if I really loved my man, I’d stay with him.” Her dark eyes pierced Derry’s. “And I wouldn’t punish him for the rest of his days, either. Done is done, no going back. And there’s a certain amount of respect you gotta give a man who owns up to something like that.”

“Alec is a very honorable man,” Derry said in a soft voice. “One of the most honorable men I know.”

“Well, then,” Tula Rae murmured, “there you have it.”

***

Shea rushed toward
Music and More
, anxious to wrap her fingers around the flute. Beads of exhilaration thrummed through her as though
she
were the instrument. If only she’d chosen music instead of nursing, home might be New York, her workplace, Carnegie Hall. But, thank God, she’d found the music again, and with it, a certain peace.

She thought of Marcus bending over the keyboard, his long fingers graceful, evoking emotions within her that had been cocooned for twenty years.

The pain of Richard’s deceit lay shriveling in the corner of her heart. He hadn’t called, but more importantly, she hadn’t called him since the night Tanya Madison spilled the news about Richard’s
other
baby.

Shea reached for the door of the store and stopped. Through the window, she saw a little girl, four or five perhaps, crawling around inside the showcase. She watched as the child maneuvered her small body between a viola and a saxophone to get to the clarinet positioned in the center of the display.

Who was she? Obviously, from the dark ringlets and shape of her nose, she had Marcus’s blood running through her, though in what distinction, Shea wasn’t sure. Niece perhaps? Or cousin? The child reached the clarinet and positioned her fingers around the instrument. A five year old playing a clarinet? The girl looked up, spotted Shea and smiled—not a timid show of shyness, but the bold, confident reaction that comes when one is excited with life.

Shea opened the door and stepped inside, anxious to get closer to this beautiful child. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The girl waved her tiny hand. “I’m Madeline.”

“Hello, Madeline.” Shea moved closer and bent down on one knee so she was eye level with the child. “I’m Shea.”

“Hi, Shea.” Madeline jumped down from the showcase and hopped to where Shea stood. “I can play that.” She pointed to the clarinet in the window. I’m very good, too. Daddy says.”

“Wow, how old are you?”

Madeline held up four fingers. “And a half,” she said. “I’m a big girl.”

“I’ll say you are.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Two, a boy and a girl. But they’re all grown.” She paused, touched her stomach and said, “And there’s a baby in here, too.”

Madeline’s blue eyes widened, “Can I see?”

“There’s nothing to see yet.”

“Can I touch where your tummy’s gonna get fat?”

“Sure.”

Madeline rushed to her and lifted a tiny hand, waiting for Shea to place it on her belly. “Right here. This is where the baby’s going to grow.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t have a name yet. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“You could name her Madeline if it’s a girl.” She rubbed Shea’s stomach. “And Marcus if it’s a boy.”

“Speaking of Marcus, where is he?”

“In the back, cleaning a saxophone. Come on, I’ll show you.” She grabbed Shea’s hand and led her past a curtained off area to a large room in the back, lined with instruments, instrument cases, tools, stacks of boxes and music books.

“Someone to see you,” Madeline called out in a singsong voice.

Marcus looked up from the saxophone and grinned. “Hi. Couldn’t stay away from this place, huh?”

“That and I wanted to continue our debate on Mozart versus Beethoven.”

He laughed. “You lost that debate yesterday.”

“Shea’s got a baby in her tummy,” Madeline said, pointing to Shea’s stomach. “Right under this shirt. See?” She started to lift up Shea’s shirt.

“Madeline! You’re embarrassing Shea.”

The child dropped the shirt. “I was just going to show you.”

“No, that’s not polite. Why don’t you go see if you can find me a #4 reed? Look in the front drawer by the register, okay?”

“Okay.” Her blue eyes drifted to Shea. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then turned and ran out of the room.

“She’s very sensitive.” Marcus wiped his hands on a cloth. “Sometimes I forget just how sensitive.”

“She’s beautiful. Is she your niece?”

“No.” His voice softened. “She’s my daughter.”

“Your daughter?”

“Her mother and I never married. We share custody of Madeline.”

“She’s
your
daughter?”

“Right. People who aren’t married do have children, Shea. I know it’s not the best arrangement for the child, but in some cases, it’s a lot better than dragging the kid through divorce court. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I thought…” She turned away, trying to piece together his words.
Nothing makes sense. If Madeline’s his daughter, his biological daughter, then…

“What, Shea? Tell me.” He stood in front of her, forcing her to look at him.

The words slipped out in an exhausted sigh. “I thought you were gay.”

“Me? Gay?”

His blue eyes were so deep, so
pretty
, almost. “You’re better looking than most women,” she blurted out.

“It’s called genetics.”

“You’ve got manicured fingernails.” There, let him get out of that one.

“The dyes kill my hands,” he countered, “crack my fingers and makes them bleed. Josie treats them every week and insists on buffing my nails, too. I let her do it to humor her.”

Okay, maybe.
“You’ve got better fashion sense than I do.”

He laughed, “Do you really want to touch that one? Scrubs aren’t even on the Richter scale.”

“You’re a hair dresser,” she spit out, glee pinned to her words. “We all know about male hairdressers.”

“That they’re competent? That they have style? That they know how to cut hair?”

“That they’re gay!”

“God, give it up.”

No, not yet.
“And you’re a good listener. Caring, considerate,
interested.
” She finished, half desperate, “You have to be gay.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, I’m straighter than that clarinet over there.”

“Maybe you’re bisexual?”

He shook his head, rested his hands on her shoulders. “No.” Marcus smiled down at her.

“I can’t… I was so sure…I never would’ve told you so much if I thought…” Every word she’d confessed to him rushed back to her. “This is so wrong!” She jerked away, bolting for the door. “Now you’ve ruined everything!”

***

Cyn crept into the family room, moving cautiously toward the tiny lamp on the computer desk. It was 2:20 a.m. The house slept. She flicked on the lamp and golden threads of light burst through the etched glass shade.

Just a few minutes, that’s all she needed. She’d promised herself she would stay away but for the last three hours she’d been able to think of nothing else.

Cyn moved to the desk in the corner, reached out and rested her fingers on the plastic keyboard. The monitor stared back, dark and tempting. The computer looked several models older than hers, not the high-tech version she’d become accustomed to, but like a junkie in need of a fix, it would serve its purpose.

She sat down and powered up the modem. The green lights flickered, then settled. Her fingers flew over the keys, anxious, deliberate, greedy.

And then she forgot everything but the green type on the black screen.

***

“I caught her on the computer the other night at 4:00 a.m.,” Shea said. “She said she was surfing the net, but she looked awful guilty, and she signed off right away. She’s been sneaking on the computer the last three nights. I hear her get up and she’s down there for an hour or two.”

“She better not be e-mailing those damn kids,” Derry said.

“No, I don’t think so. She wouldn’t do it in the middle of the night.”

“Unless she didn’t want us to know about it.” Derry got ticked just thinking about it.

“Or, she was e-mailing someone else.”

“Like who?”

Shea shrugged. “Who would you e-mail in the middle of the night? Four nights in a row?”

“A man?”

Shea shrugged again. “Who else?”

“Shit,” Derry whispered. “You don’t think Cyn’s got some cyber affair going on, do you?”

“What else could it be?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Poor Sam,” Shea murmured, sipping her coffee. “I’ll bet he’s totally clueless.”

“Don’t say anything to her about it,” Derry said. “When the time is right, we’ll pounce on her.”

Later that afternoon, Derry, Shea and Cyn sat in the back of Pastabilities waiting for their linguine and calamari dishes to arrive.

“Remember what I said before the trip about not bringing up psycho drama bullshit?” Derry sipped a glass of iced tea, smiled at Cyn and Shea. She felt great with her re-dyed hair, back to black, thanks to Shea’s friend, Marcus. Or traitor, ex-friend, if you asked Shea. “Well, I’m ready to talk. I love Alec. And I love Charlie. I can’t imagine life without either one of them.”

Shea squeezed Derry’s hand. “That is so wonderful. You three belong together.”

“I know. And besides, I think I’m done with the plastic surgery for a while. It’s okay, but what’s the sense of getting a boob job? I’ll still never be as big as you because once you start showing, you’ll be a 44DD.”

“With a 44D gut and butt to match.”

“They won’t see the butt or the gut. Their eyes will be glued to the boobs.”

“Have you told Alec yet?” This from Shea.

“About the boob job or that I’m coming home for good?”

“You are so ridiculous.”

Derry laughed. “I’m going to surprise him. I’ve got it all planned. Dinner at the Tuscan Grille, jazz music at Louie’s, then home where he can unwrap me and find Victoria’s Secret.”

“Which is?” Cyn asked, always curious about Derry’s adventurous choices in undergarments.

“Don’t know yet, maybe I’ll go with a crotchless thong, or mini edible undies.”

“Every time I see Alec, I think about your underwear.” Cyn laughed. “I still remember the red heart tassels you bought last Valentine’s Day.”

“Men love that kind of stuff.”

“We don’t all have bodies like you.” Cyn attempted to smooth the small roll of flab pooching over the side of her pants.

“Honey, when the engine’s running, they don’t care”—Derry pointed a finger at Cyn—“and a little peek-a-boo lace gets the engine running.”

“It’s true,” Shea said. “Richard was really big on that kind of thing.”

“What?” Derry stared at her. “You mean all this time, you’ve been wearing crotchless underwear and edible undies under your scrubs?”