Before he had a chance to fake nonchalance, Lauren rushed through the door, a noisy blur of red lifeguard uniform and jangling official whistle. “Staff meeting just ended.”
Annoying as Lauren’s new getup was, together as she and Tyler still were, Eva smiled anyway and popped the cork.
Everything was falling into place, exactly as planned. The spell called for a full moon, attendance by all coven members, and, along with some tricky-to-locate ingredients, like Thieves Vinegar and Black Water, an evening of significance. When she checked the lunar calendar she couldn’t believe the next full moon coincided with Memorial Weekend. Her mom tried to smooth things over by promising to talk to her dad about rethinking his decision, or at least make the torture worth Eva’s while by looking at new cars when she got home, but both of them knew it would never work. Didn’t matter. The Goddess was with her, wanted her to do the spell to get her dad out of the picture before that stupid camp. So with her, Heather’s family decided to push back a trip to California so they wouldn’t miss the party, and then Lauren and the others who’d gone for rec center jobs were all assigned day shifts before she had a chance to tell them they had to be off by nighttime. Heather even got ahold of some spell-enhancing hash and baked it into brownies for them to have on the walk back to her house. The irony of her dad’s latest edict, making the evening party mandatory for all youth group members so they could set up and clean up, was almost too cool to be believed. All she had to do was get her mom to let everyone off by about 8:45 so they could be at her house by 9:30 and doing the spell at exactly 10:03.
Eva raised the open bottle.
“To my dad’s new ministry in Africa or wherever it is the Goddess sees fit to send him.” She savored the sting of bubbles in her nose. “May there be enough dangerous snakes and heathens to distract him until I leave for non-Christian college.”
***
Tim enjoyed the beautiful day, the impressive balloon bouquets, and the fanfare unfolding around him. More enjoyable was the sight of his family, all of them already a part of the very fabric of the neighborhood celebration. Theresa, who he’d set up in an aptly named beach chair, complete with sun umbrella and plastic flute of sparkling cider, greeted new friends and commiserated about those last few uncomfortable weeks. The boys scampered around the play structure with their buddies. Lauren looked adorable in her lifeguard uniform, standing amid the youth group kids, and practically glued to the Pierce-Cohns’ son.
He looked around for Will and/or Meg, with whom he’d already met in his new board member capacity. They’d shared an official hello, talked politics, and had the obligatory our children seem to be spending time together chat. All he needed to do was introduce both of them to Theresa so they could chat together about the kids and any awkwardness about having taken over Will’s position would dissipate for good.
The move to Melody Mountain Ranch had been overwhelmingly good for all of them, but especially him. One dip into the new, much more upscale pond and any hesitations he’d had about leaving Eagle’s Nest Vista were forgotten. He smiled, patted a fellow board member on the shoulder, and worked his way through the crowd. Stopping at the play structure, he placed the tray of half-filled champagne glasses he’d been passing around on a counter-height step leading up to the corkscrew slide. He picked up one half-full glass, poured it into another, and left the empty behind. Setting the full flute back on the tray, he continued on toward the gazebo and a conversation group that included Jane Hunt, Maryellen Griffin, and, until he’d stepped away a minute earlier, Frank Griffin. Before he reached the women, who were already poised to descend on his tray for refills, he removed the extra-full glass, took the spot vacated by the ever-present Frank, and handed the champagne to the event’s unofficial guest of honor.
Hope Jordan looked that much more beautiful and ethereal framed by all the flowers and plantings. But even with father figure Frank at her side, next to her since she’d appeared at the edge of the playground, she’d taken an unusually tentative, shaky looking step into the crowd. As she accepted her well-deserved compliments and clandestine attempts to cheer her up in the face of her recent disappointment, she looked very much like she needed the drink she plucked from the first tray that chanced past.
Not to mention the double she’d accepted, and was now sipping, courtesy of him.
It was only 10 A.M.
If she was drinking this much this early, she’d undoubtedly be in high spirits by the time the potluck ramped into high gear.
As Frank, who seemed hell-bent on cock-blocking him, returned toward his self-appointed post at her side, Rod Stewart’s oldie, “Tonight’s the Night,” began to loop through Tim’s head like a cheesy champagne-enhanced soundtrack.
Tim smiled at Hope. Ain’t nobody, particularly Frank Griffin, could stop him now, or ever.
***
Will reached behind Nicole’s sock drawer, located Madison’s missing bathing suit top, reunited it with the bottom, and tossed both pieces into the suitcase.
“We’re out the door,” Meg called up to him from the front hall.
“’Kay.” He put Nicole’s favorite bathing suit along with his best guess as to an acceptable spare into the girls’ shared suitcase.
“You coming soon?” she asked.
“Just need a few minutes to wrap up some packing.”
“Want us to wait?”
What he wanted was to have scheduled their trip, not around package deals on Disney Cruises, but to miss Memorial Weekend at home entirely. He sighed, took a deep breath of cool, fresh spring air. Or, at the very least, he wanted to wake up to the forecast of heavy rain instead of the ridiculously azure sky and clear views of the snow-capped mountains he would have otherwise relished.
The tinny circus music of an approaching ice cream truck filtered through the house.
“Ice cream!” the girls yelled in unison. “Mommy, we need money!”
Their impatient squeals felt like fingernails on a chalkboard as Meg presumably fished for whatever was the going rate for the dubious delight of purchasing vaguely frostbitten treats from a potential pedophile.
He sighed as he heard them take off across the street. At least he didn’t have to worry about their safety with the mass of fellow parents, homeowners, and people he’d been actively avoiding since Laney’s party. “Go ahead, Meg.” He pulled the girls’ terry cloth cover-ups from their closet. “You need to get over there so you aren’t late.”
“So do you,” she said.
But not until after his wife kicked off the festivities with one of her kudos on a successful completion of a community-based project speeches to her fellow constituents. Admittedly obligatory on her part, wasn’t it concession enough when her own husband had petitioned against the project? Or, that their son was helping out at the party as a member of the youth group? Never mind their daughters were probably already lapping up ice cream he was almost as much against as the playground. For him to sit there, struggling to maintain his political spouse game face, was above and beyond whatever call of duty he had to endure. Will threw a few pairs of socks into the open suitcase and reached for the zipper. “I just need to make sure we’re basically ready so we’re not scrambling around to finish up later.”
“Okay.” Her heels clicked across the front hall then stopped. “You are going to show up, aren’t you, Will?”
He had to, that or face a rehash of the Mother’s Day discussion that, despite his insistence he’d left the HOB to redirect his efforts in the direction of activities where his contributions might be better appreciated, like volunteering at the kids’ book fair, collecting items for the school auction, and organizing field day, would end with Meg calling his resignation a cop-out.
At least she hadn’t gone so far as to sucker punch him with any snide remark about his embarrassing incident at Laney’s, or even chide him about being the spouse of a political figure at a sex toy party.
“No worries,” he said.
“See you
there.” The door closed behind Meg with a cross-breeze thud.
Will headed for the three loads of laundry awaiting folding into piles separated by destination—a suitcase bound for Florida or the appropriate dresser to await post-vacation service. By his calculations, the timing of the separating and folding process would make him miss Meg’s speech and just enough of whatever Frank Griffin had to say for him to amble across the street and catch Randall Fowler cut the ribbon.
Frank Griffin’s amplified Welcome! rattled through the house.
Will separated the laundry into a going-to-Florida pile and a not-going pile.
Really, no one would notice exactly when he’d shown up as long as he managed to raise the conciliatory glass of champagne he’d need as social lubricant.
By the first round of clapping, he had all the key clothing folded into the suitcases he’d placed next to each other on the floor for him and Meg.
Her name rang through his closed bedroom window.
He folded the remainder of the clothing in the not-less-than five and not-more-than-ten minutes he knew to be the length of her speeches, left the rest in piles for later, picked up Tyler’s clothing, and started for his room.
He set his stepson’s clothing into what was supposed to be a mostly packed suitcase, but Tyler’s setup and cleanup obligations, coupled with a teen lack of enthusiasm for a family vacation that included Disneyworld, guaranteed there was no way he was packing for himself. For once, Will almost appreciated the blow-off on Tyler’s part.
Outside, the crowd clapped for his wife.
He started down the stairs.
Avoiding the front door, and with it, the increased likelihood of Frank or anyone else on stage noting his exact arrival time, he headed for the kitchen and slid open the patio door.
“It truly took a village to raise these playgrounds,” Frank’s voice rang through the crisp but quickly warming air.
Will locked the sliding glass door and started across the patio. Despite lingering concerns, there was no denying how nice the playground looked at the end of the cul-de-sac. The convenience was indisputable—a fact he planned to mention as soon as he ran into Hope. Before she could utter a cursory hello, before he had to pretend he didn’t notice the vague guilt that had better be etched in her face, or suffer any half-baked platitudes she’d come up with to explain her thoughts about her partnership with Frank, he’d congratulate her on a job well done.
Frank cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank Henderson Homes for their commitment to our community, Playworld Play equipment for their willingness to work within our budget, the residents of Songbird Canyon Court, Warbler Way, and Hummingbird Cove Court for putting up with the construction noise, the Melody Mountain Ranch Homeowner’s Board for doing what they do so well, and our Melody Mountain Ranch Youth Group for their hard work and superior attitude,” Frank said.
Will neared his side gate.
“I would especially like to mention and thank the organizer of today’s event and tonight’s not-to-be-missed Memorial Weekend kick-off, party hostess extraordinaire, Laney Estridge.”
Catcalls and applause rang thru the cul-de-sac.
“In watching this project evolve from an idea into today’s reality, I was struck by how much more there is to a beautiful playground than swings, a monkey bar, and in our lucky case, a half-basketball court and mini-skate park. When green space is to be transformed it must become even more beautiful. I think you will all agree that we’ve accomplished that goal.”
The applause grew more deafening.
“For that I would like to thank our fellow resident and landscape designer…”
Will took a deep breath and cracked open the gate.
“Hope Jordan.”
Will stopped.
“For your truly innovative ideas for blending environmental concerns with our needs as a growing community, I‘d like to ask you to stand next to me and do the honors.”
Frank handed Hope the scissors.
Will closed the gate and turned back for the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
7.7.21. Hazardous Activities: No activities shall be conducted on any Lot, Common Area, or Licensed Property which are or might be unsafe or hazardous to any person.
Maryellen nibbled the corner of the most delicious, fudgy, chocolate-chip-filled, caramel-drizzled brownie she’d ever eaten.
Not counting the one she’d already devoured.
There had to be at least 400 calories of pure sugar, fat, and carbs floating through her system, but it wasn’t like she’d had time to eat much of anything else since her morning half-grapefruit. From the second she’d arrived at the playground pavilion, she’d been too busy accepting compliments on behalf of Frank, pouring champagne, and handing out slices of playground replica cake to take a bite herself. An afternoon’s worth of poolside streamer hanging and balloon tying left her starving, but she wasn’t about to have any of the greasy dim sum Laney arranged for the volunteers—she being the primary and most voracious volunteer of them all, at least where eating pot stickers was concerned. Once the casseroles, not-quite-homemade buckets of fried chicken, bread machine loaves, and bowls of fruit salad began to arrive, she had too much to do to sample anything. She managed to munch on a veggie or two while arranging various incarnations of Chinese chicken, Greek, and green salad around the stunning Mediterranean salmon salad she had every intention of making her dinner. Would have, had Laney not forgotten to buy enough of the reusable plates and plasticware she was also insistent be worked into the budget.
By the time Maryellen returned from an emergency trip to Safeway, the salmon salad, along with her second choice, a simple tossed romaine with feta and raspberry, had not only been polished off, but cleared away by the youth group.
How could she complain about not getting exactly what she wanted to eat when the teenagers seemed to be taking their job so seriously? Even Eva seemed blissful as she directed the others around.
A leader, just like Frank said.
After Eva’s initial fit of rage and Maryellen’s attempts to mollify her in the face of Frank’s decision made, Eva had been quiet. So quiet, ominous silence permeated the house in the same way that used to have Maryellen running to check on her toddler daughter to make sure she was just coloring and not on the walls.
Not tonight though. By agreeing with Eva that the kids deserved to be let off from cleanup duties by 8:45 so they could enjoy the party, there’d be no meltdown.
The word meltdown made her think of chocolate—and the dessert table, overflowing with all the pies, cookies, and cakes that had appeared, like magic, while she was at the store.
Maryellen broke her brownie, the best dessert of them all, and stuffed half in her mouth.
What damage could a couple of brownies really do anyway?
Meg Pierce-Cohn, who’d exited a dull-sounding conversation about environmental tax credits, appeared beside her and surveyed the array of offerings. “What do you recommend?”
“These brownies are to die for.” She handed one to Meg from the platter beside her before setting some on a plate for Frank, who’d undoubtedly been too busy basking in the blazing success of his day to eat enough to counterbalance however much he’d had to drink.
Which somehow reminded her of Will.
Before she could remind herself not to say anything, not to ask any questions about how he might be feeling, how he felt knowing the community was celebrating a playground he was against, she blurted, “Haven’t seen Will today.”
“He should be here soon.” Meg took a bite of brownie. “There’s so much to anticipate for a two-week trip that includes both a Disney cruise and the Everglades.”
“Can’t imagine,” Maryellen said, even as she pictured an alligator sidling silently across the smooth, silvery surface of the empty pool, stopping to train a menacing eye at her husband, whose hand rested on the center of Hope Jordan’s back. “Poor thing.”
“Excuse me?” Meg asked.
“Hope Jordan.” Maryellen shook her head. “Hasn’t been able to get pregnant and now she found out her husband’s going to be in and out of the country until the end of the year.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more frustrated than when I was trying to get pregnant with the twins.” Meg took another bite of brownie.
“Which is why I think he asked Hope to landscape the playgrounds in the first place.”
“Her husband?”
“Frank.” Maryellen said, stopping short of bringing the conversation back around to Will and how she was sure Frank asked Hope to do the landscaping to settle his grudge over the location controversy. He’d done nothing but obsess about the whole thing and Hope’s mental state since he spotted her signature on the petition. “Frank’s keeping an eye on her because the poor thing’s been drinking away her anguish all day.”
“Difficult situation,” Meg said.
“Very.” She finished her brownie.
“Well,” Meg finally said, turning in the direction of a conversation cluster by the retaining wall beside them. “You’ve done a nice job with all this.”
“Thanks,” Maryellen said, reveling in her first compliment of the day.
As Meg stepped away, Maryellen tidied the half-eaten platter by popping a stray crumb into her mouth. No one could say she didn’t deserve to savor the sweet melting chocolate on her tongue. The tea lights she’d strung along the security fence seemed to twinkle in agreement as she started across the pool deck toward the deep end, where Frank leaned casually against the diving board trying to make peace between Laney and Sarah, who’d been sniping at each other since the ribbon cutting.
Hope, his charge, stood directly beside him.
Other than wishing Frank didn’t feel such a strong need to stand beside someone other than her, Maryellen felt happier and more relaxed by the moment. She wedged in on the other side of her husband and offered the plate around. “Best brownies I’ve ever tasted.”
Frank picked the largest from the pile and took a big bite.
The Big Bang Page 18
