The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (11 page)

“You
really
need to go,” she insisted, staring him down over the rim of her coffee mug. Maybe the caffeine wasn’t a good idea for her;
it tended to shorten her usually long temper. “You promised that you would.”

He sighed. “To help Millie’s son. But his brother will be there—”

“He’s only one other student. We need more than that, or Steven will catch on.” And so might Wally, if she didn’t control
her frustration. She had to be careful not to tell him how many had actually signed up for their class, thanks to their Red
Hat chapterettes. “He can’t think this class is just for him, or he’ll drop out.”

“So what’s it going to be?” he asked, in his usual
defeated tone. “Me and two guys young enough to be my sons? I won’t be able to catch on as fast as they will. The only thing
having me in that class will accomplish is my slowing them down.” These were the most words he’d spoken in one conversation
lately; it was no wonder that he had to stop to expel a ragged breath before adding, “and embarrassing you.”

Theresa’s heart softened, and she would have reached for one of his hands but he’d fisted them around the paper, crumpling
it into illegibility. “You won’t be the oldest,” she assured him. “Mr. Lindstrom signed up. So did Charles Moelker.”

“Moelker?” He blinked, eyes full of surprise. “He’s married, too.”

“Not anymore. His wife divorced him a while ago. She’s already remarried.”

Wally pushed the paper aside, sending the unread business section to the terra cotta floor. Of course he didn’t lean over
to retrieve it, just left it lying there. Then he took a sip of coffee, studying her silently as he swallowed. Could he taste
the caffeine? She’d added some sugar, too, so maybe that masked the flavor.

To distract him from the coffee, Theresa said, “You should get to know Charles.”

And not just because they might have something in common. She suspected Millie was interested in him, although she would hotly
deny it if Theresa or Kim outright asked. Out of loyalty to Bruce? Or embarrassment? Was that why she’d dyed her hair, to
attract his attention?

If so, Theresa had a feeling that the class was going to be really interesting. “I think you’ll enjoy the course.”

Hopefully he’d learn something, like how to pick up after himself. And maybe he’d find something, too, like the man he used
to be before he sold his business, because Theresa missed him. She didn’t know how much longer she could live with this depressed
stranger.

She’d tried to get him help, but he wouldn’t see a psychiatrist, wouldn’t even admit to his primary care physician that he
was struggling to deal with his early retirement. The class was her last hope to lift him out of his funk, and to save their
marriage.

M
illie clutched the lesson book to her chest as she leaned over the railing around the basement stairwell. Even from where
she stood, she could see the mess on the family room floor. Along with a discarded dress shirt, a bag of chips lay on the
carpet, crumbs spilling out and embedding themselves into the fibers. She had vacuumed just the day before. How had he made
such a mess already?

“Steven?”

“I’m on the phone, Mom,” he called up.

Hope lifted her heart. Maybe finally, after days of no communication between them, he was talking to Audrey. Millie would
have crossed her fingers, but she had them clasped tightly around the thick binder.

She, Theresa, and Kim had spent a lot of time creating the lesson plans, a colored tab differentiating the cooking segments
from the cleaning, shopping, and laundry. They had so much to teach their students.

Teach.
Nerves kicked up in Millie’s stomach, churning
the M&Ms she’d eaten to bolster her confidence. She’d never done anything like this. Even with Theresa and Kim’s expert help,
she had a feeling she’d wind up like she had the other night. All wet.

She closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out the image of those two silhouettes in Charles’s front window, of the blonde as
she’d backed down the drive. Young. Beautiful. Instead of stewing over it, she should have just asked Charles who his visitor
was.

Maybe she would, if she could catch him alone during class. Her hands trembled with nerves—over teaching, not seeing Charles.
She had no reason to be nervous over seeing him again, especially if he had someone in his life already.

But still, Millie had been careful when she’d dressed. She wore a bright orange, short-sleeved sweater and jean capris with
colorful flowers embroidered down the seams. She hadn’t chosen her favorite color for Charles, but to bolster her confidence,
like the M&Ms.

Drawing in a deep breath, she turned toward the door. She’d wanted Steven’s help carrying stuff out to the car—things, besides
the lesson book, that were necessary for the first class. Coffeemakers, hers plus some she’d borrowed, were lined up along
the hall, and even though the stove in the community center had six burners, she’d scrounged up some hot plates, too. Thank
goodness she had dropped off the perishables at the community center.

She already picked up a coffeemaker and reached for the door just as it flung open, banging against the wall.
Startled, she juggled the maker, trying not to drop the glass carafe.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Mitchell asked as he tossed his briefcase onto the floor.

“I need to get this stuff to the community center,” she explained.

“And you need help,” he surmised. But he walked past her and leaned over the basement railing, yelling out, “Steven! Get your
butt up here!”

“Shhhh,” Millie cautioned. “He’s on the phone. I think it might be Audrey.”

Mitchell turned back, his brown eyes bright with hope. “Did he call her?”

“No, and no,” Steven answered for himself, as he climbed the stairs. “That was a business call.”

Not personal. He didn’t have a personal life anymore, Millie realized. Disappointment soured her hopefulness. “Ah, Steven…”

“Call her,” Mitchell urged.

Steven shook his head and expelled a ragged breath. “How many times do I have to tell you two that she wants nothing to do
with me?”

“She doesn’t know that you’re taking the class yet,” Millie pointed out. “You need to tell her that you’re trying—”

“What’s the name of the course?” Steven interrupted, pointing to where the lesson book precariously balanced on the top of
the maker Millie still held. “A Bachelor’s Survival course. That’s why I’m taking it.”

Millie’s heart clenched with pain, but it was nothing
compared to what darkened Steven’s eyes. “Oh, honey…”

“Face it, you two,” he advised them, “I’m going to be a bachelor again.”

“Technically I don’t know if you can be one again,” Mitchell said, perhaps hoping to lighten the mood with some humor. “A
bachelor is someone who
never
got married.”

Steven drew in a deep breath and quipped, “You should know. No woman alive would agree to marry you.” Even though he teased,
his mouth didn’t lift into a smile, his eyes didn’t brighten.

He
needed
this class. They both did.

Millie lifted her chin, squashing her nerves. She couldn’t worry about herself, about a little potential embarrassment. She
had a mission. “Okay, boys, help me load the car. We need to get this show on the road!”

“I’ll hold the door,” Mitchell offered, gesturing toward his suit and tie, as if carrying things might muss them up.

Millie took advantage of his open arms to load the coffeemaker into them, but she grabbed the binder. In addition to the lesson
plans, it held many important recipes, ones she’d taken from what she lovingly referred to as her cooking bible, The Red Hat
Society cookbook.

Her sons grumbled complaints under their breaths, but they helped her load the trunk, then unloaded it at the community center.
But when they walked into the industrial-sized kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances and long, granite countertops
and island, they retreated,
claiming something had been left in the car. They had probably not been overwhelmed by what they were about to do, but by
the argument between the two women there, wrestling over a stool. Kim and Theresa fought over the workstation setup.

Millie glanced from them to where Wally stood by the sliding doors to the deck which encompassed two sides of the brick building,
and was suspended over the hillside. He lifted his hands to demonstrate his helplessness.

“We agreed on how we were setting up the class,” Millie reminded her friends, moving between the pub tables they’d brought
in earlier that day from the rec room. With them and some extra stools, they’d have ample workspace. Although they kept bickering,
Theresa and Kim helped her set out the coffeemakers, hot plates, and other materials required for this lesson.

“It’s a beautiful evening,” Kim said with a sigh. “We should face the windows.”

“It’s a cooking class. We should face the stove,” Theresa insisted.

“We’re learning more than cooking,” Kim argued.

“Ye—” Millie couldn’t even agree before Theresa snapped back.

“Yes, coffee making—”

“That’s a bad idea,” Kim said. “You definitely had too much coffee today.”

“The lessons are all planned out,” Theresa reminded her.

“But you brought regular coffee. You know caffeine isn’t good for you. I taught that in my class.”

“Well, this isn’t
your
class,” Theresa countered.

As strong women with strong opinions, Theresa and Kim often butted heads, but Millie couldn’t afford to let things get out
of control already. She raised her voice to shout above their bickering, “It’s
my
class!”

Wally shot Millie a smile of approval. Her heart swelled with a little pride. If she could referee Kim and Theresa, and her
boys, she’d have no problem teaching.

Then Charles walked in. And suddenly she felt as deflated as if she were standing wet and humiliated in his shrubs. Heat rushed
to her face, and she busied herself behind the counter, putting away the extra ingredients until she heard Charles ask Kim,
“So did you find your cat?”

Millie sucked in a deep breath, holding it, as she studied Kim’s reaction.

Beneath her spiky bangs, Kim’s forehead puckered with confusion. Then she nodded. “Yeah… I found it.”

“Millie’s some great friend. She got soaked in the sprinklers trying to catch it. Then Buddy rushed out to help her.” Charles
chuckled.

Before responding to Charles, Kim gave Millie a pointed stare across the counter. “Yeah, she’s some great friend…”

Who was going to get grilled later, Millie suspected. Amusement twinkled in the blue depths of Charles’s eyes as he met Millie’s
gaze across the counter. Uh-oh; he probably knew she’d made up the story about Kim’s cat.

As a few more men filed into the room, Millie had to push that concern aside and deal with another: the nerves fluttering
back into her stomach and chest. Compared to the class sizes Kim had undoubtedly taught, theirs was small. But to Millie,
who had never done
much public speaking, let alone teaching, the class felt huge, more than she could handle even with the help of her friends.

Then her sons returned, jostling each other with their shoulders like they were teenagers, and she remembered her mission.
Nothing but their happiness mattered to her. Sure, she’d get something out of their success in this class, too. She’d get
to retire her domestic goddess tiara and take some time for herself, some time where she didn’t worry about anything but having
fun for a while. Maybe she’d go on that annual cruise with the Red Hot Hatters of Hilltop.

“Welcome to our Bachelor’s Survival course,” she announced, in a voice she was surprised to find so clear and strong. Even
the ensuing chuckles didn’t detract from her determination. “Everyone take a seat and let’s get started. We have a lot to
pack into this six-week course.” So much that she was glad they’d decided the class needed to meet twice a week. Her sons,
however, weren’t aware of that. Yet.

“I know not everyone is thrilled to be here,” she remarked, smiling at her boys. “But we’re going to have fun.”

Someone groaned. She suspected it was Steven.

“Really, we are,” she promised. “And more importantly, we’re going to
eat.”
She stepped back from behind the counter, gesturing for Kim to take over, but her friend just smiled and shook her head.

When Millie turned toward Theresa, she did the same, mouthing, “You’re doing great.”

“Okay,” she said, “since this is our first class, we’re
going to start with breakfast.” She laughed at the expressions on the male faces, brows knitted as they looked from her to
the eggs and pads of butter at their workstations.

Most of the men had doubled up into teams, Steven and Mitchell, Wally and Charles. One group had three, two sons and a dad.
Only Mr. Lindstrom stood by himself, dapper in the dark, pinstriped suit he always wore, even when he attended Kim’s exercise
class.

“I know,” she said, “it’s seven at night, hardly the right time for breakfast, but this way you’ll be prepared for the homework
you’ll have to do in the morning.”

“Homework?” Mitchell scoffed. “I didn’t sign up for that.” Chuckles emanated from the students. Naturally her youngest would
be the class clown.

She glared at him. “Of course there’s going to be homework. Everything we teach you here, you have to do at home. That’s the
whole point of the class.”

He grumbled some more, but she ignored him. She couldn’t ignore Charles, however, and the fact that he and Wally were deep
in conversation. About what?

She pushed the question from her mind as she read off the measurements for coffee and grounds and demonstrated how-to. Before
moving among the students to supervise their attempts to make their first pots of coffee, Theresa and Kim squeezed her shoulders.

“You’re doing great,” Kim added her compliment to the one Theresa had earlier mouthed.

She mock-glared at them as she had Mitchell. “Thanks for the help, ladies.”

“You’re
the domestic goddess,” Theresa reminded her.