by Hope Lyda
Our first three deliveries are on the same street as the Urban Center. We carefully place the bags just inside the screen doors to protect them from street view and to keep the package a surprise for the family.
“I love this. It is like reverse trick-or-treating. Now this is progressive.”
I laugh. It is good to see Beau so joyful, like a kid himself. The sad thing about his job these days is that it removes him from the heart of giving. He manages the care of the residents, but he misses out on a lot of the daily interaction with them. If we make a resident really happy, Beau is analyzing the source of the happiness and turning it into a statistic.
Maybe that is how I was feeling at Golden Horizons and didn’t realize it. Being removed from efficiency numbers, state reports, and facility stats has freed me to care in a less mechanical way.
Beau stops abruptly and stands pointing to a sign, “Locals’ Landing.”
I quit staring at the sidewalk cracks. “Hey, is it okay if I run in and get more coffee? Want one?”
“Yes. Nope. I’ll watch the secret packages.”
My face warms instantly as I step inside the restaurant. Some of the regulars look as though they haven’t moved since my last visit. And Marge’s hairdo is just as puffy and fluffy as ever. I’m examining it with fascination when she turns around and catches me.
“This is my extra special Boo-faunt. Look.” She leans forward so I can see the plastic spiders and bugs embedded in the layers of voluminous hair.
“That is memorable, Marge. Love it. How about a large coffee with cream and sugar to go.” I point out the window to emphasize the “to go” part and her eyes follow. They apparently land on Beau.
“Honey, you have enough sugar to go if that fella is waiting for you.”
How does one respond to such a comment? I smile and point to the paper cups on the counter, hopefully reminding her of the task at hand.
“He is your fellow, isn’t he?”
“Indeed. He’s my boyfriend from Tucson.”
She finally pours coffee, but her eyes still stray to Beau. “Dear, I figured you only left big ol’ cacti back in Tucson.” She says this like “Too-Sun.” “But if you left that back in Tucson, you are plumb crazy.”
“Thanks, Marge.”
Beau and I make the rest of our deliveries in between lots of conversation and laughter. We forego our mittens and gloves, which are really more for the spirit of the season than necessity, so we can hold hands.
We are a couple.
By the time I turn Beau over to my parents for lunch, I’m seriously wondering if truth has been spoken into my life by a Boo-hive-endowed prophet.
Animal Instinct
Last chance for a bathroom break!” I shout to the excited, motley crew of zoo-bound tricksters. Not one of them steps toward the restroom.
I try again with a more convincing spin. “The line at the zoo could take a while. Please go now if you think you might have to anytime soon.”
Marcus pushes me off the platform in the dining area and takes the mic. “This is the last bathroom for the evening that will have guaranteed lighting.”
The children immediately stampede to the two bathrooms.
Beau hands me his scarf to wear. “Guess he got you on that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t noticed that you two can be a little competitive?”
I stammer a bit. “Well, well—maybe we both like to do things our own way, but we don’t necessarily compete.”
Beau nods like a wise professor who decides to let the pupil learn the lesson for herself the hard way.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes and silently vow to be on my best behavior all night.
“Who’s driving?” Dad asks, holding the mini Converse sneaker key chain.
“I am,” Marcus chimes from the doorway.
“I…” I won’t get sucked into it. I won’t. “I think you should drive, Marcus. You are more familiar with the area.”
Everyone’s shock at my move to acquiesce seems in favor of Beau’s theory.
Mom and Dad and the some of the volunteers from our church are corralling twenty children toward the front door. Beau and I reach for another cup of hot chocolate to take with us and follow behind the crowd.
The clipboard is gripped in Marcus’ hand, and he is writing down which kids are sitting together. These will become field trip buddies.
When Beau and I are the only ones left in line, I spell out our names and add, “Thanks for driving, Marcus. Beau and I will have more time together that way.”
“It is appreciated,” Beau adds, wanting to be a part of the fun.
Marcus politely checks our names off his list and blows his whistle ever so directly at my ear. “All aboard. The bus for Boo at the Zoo is now departing.”
I am glad when we are finally seated on the bus. Several times during the day Beau had offered to keep an eye on the house for the Halloween evening. Mom wouldn’t hear of it. Silly woman, she thought Beau really wanted to go tonight. I could tell he was eager to have some uninterrupted work time. Twice I was this close to rescuing him, giving him the out he wanted—but that felt too much like our pattern in the months leading up to my return to Washington. It is time to see what he is willing to do, wanting to do. After all, he is the one who kept announcing how far he had come and how much he had sacrificed to spend quality time with me. I am merely giving him a chance to fulfill his intention.
Does a normal person evaluate his or her significant other to this extent?
“I’d really like to help pay admission,” Beau says, reaching for his wallet when our group reaches the zoo’s front gate on Connecticut Avenue.
“Oh, no worries. We get the tickets ahead of time,” Marcus assures Beau and pats him on the back as a thank-you.
Hadn’t I explained to Beau all about our advance tickets?
Each adult is assigned a group of four kids to shepherd through the scary trails and the numerous trick-or-treat stops throughout the park. We agree to meet back at the eating area across from the Giant Panda exhibit in two hours to dine on park food. From there, the little ones will return home with Dad in the van, and the older kids will head back out for more of the exhibits, like the spider show.
Beau and I chaperone a group of four.
Wallace and Josiah are staying pretty close to us while Jon and Camden are eager to strut several paces ahead so as to look independent. A series of high-pitched squeals directs all our feet in the direction of the next exhibit—the gibbons. Ready for their performance, they swing madly along the mesh cage that really is more like a large draping around a natural habitat. There is a wall of the same mesh between a group of white-cheeked gibbons and a couple Siamangs. The two gibbon teams alternately show off either for us or for one another.
A little boy dressed in a ghost outfit turns to a little girl adorned with wings and glitter. “My daddy calls me his monkey. His little monkey. Ooh. Ooh.”
I laugh and am about to repeat this to Beau when I see Wallace’s face drop. I forget what these kids feel every time another child mentions a mom or dad so casually. This boy’s father gives him a nickname, and probably gives him horsey rides and reads the Sunday comics to him. Wallace’s father sends him digitally altered photos from prison depicting him playing golf and riding surfboards. I never understood which concept could possibly be more devastating to a young boy—that his father was in a cement room because he sold drugs, or that his father was having a twenty-year vacation away from his son.
“Hey, Tiger, aren’t we headed for your habitat next?” I make an obvious attempt with Wallace.
Being the nice kid that he is, he nods politely—a bit like he does when those postcards arrive.
“Allow me,” Beau says when we all gather at the snack shack.
“But we have funds for this. Marcus, get the cash Dad gave us,” I say, nudging Marcus, who seems to be watching Beau intently.
“I think if Beau wan
ts to be generous, you shouldn’t stop him. After all, he didn’t get to pay for the advance-purchase tickets, and he really wanted to.” Marcus is pushing the issue.
Beau plays his forced hand and opens up his wallet. After twenty minutes all kids have their orders on red trays.
“Who’d have thought the snacks would cost a hundred and fifty dollars?” Beau tries to say lightheartedly, but the number gets lodged in his throat. He takes a sip of a soda that cost as much as a glass of wine to wash it down.
The adults sit together at a picnic bench and let the kids take over several round tables nearby.
“Seeing how serious you two obviously are, I’m surprised we haven’t seen you here a lot sooner, Beau,” Marcus says earnestly but with an obvious intent.
“How often did you visit her in Tucson?” Beau asks and then seems to figure out this isn’t a good comparison to bring up. “Did you and her parents come visit during all her time in the Southwest?” His accent of irritation is revealing.
“I don’t go where I’m not invited.”
“Mari wanted me here—tell him, Mari.”
I hold up cotton candy and wave it between the two primitive males. “Stop whatever this is. Yes, of course I wanted Beau here. Marcus, in a relationship, people don’t need an invitation to be with one another.”
“Exactly,” echoes Beau.
Marcus grunts and nods.
“Let’s focus on the kids. Remember the kids?” I appeal to their equally big hearts.
“Sorry,” Marcus says, standing up. After taking a couple steps toward the trash bin he suddenly turns on his heel and points to me. “You especially don’t need to remind me about the kids.”
Beau starts to stand in my defense, but I won’t let him. There is no defense for me. I whisper, “Marcus is right. He has been true to the kids ever since he was one of them. I was the person always looking for the fluorescent exit sign—no matter who I hurt on the way out. I feel much differently now. In fact, since Mom won the election, I’ve even been thinking…”
Beau interrupts me before I say what I’ve wanted to tell him all day. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to notice I was speaking. “Everyone has a right to live their life, Mari. You act as though you renounced your royal birthright and took up with rebels. Your life has meaning, and if they saw you in action at Golden Horizons, they’d see what light you give others. It breaks my heart that your work isn’t valued, respected, or considered a worthwhile investment. Today’s standards for success are all skewed.” Beau is ranting into the night with a raised corn dog.
I physically turn his face toward mine. “Where is this coming from? My family knows that the work I do is important. Who do you think helped me see that the whole luxury spa idea was crazy for me last year? It wasn’t Sadie or Angelica or you, for that matter. As I recall, it was only Caitlin who saw it as a sad move. And…my family.”
He looks down while my hand still cups his head. I can tell he has something to say, but he is reluctant.
“What is going on, Beau?” I soften my voice.
“Sonya mentioned the other day that the replacement they hired for you at Majestic Vista did not work out. They’re recruiting again. I know Lionel would love to have you back. I saw him at the steak house a few weeks ago, and he could not say enough good things about you.”
I sit up and pretend to look around for help or at least an explanation. “Since when am I job hunting?”
Beau reaches for my shoulders and turns me toward him again. His look is so serious, I have to stifle a laugh. “Lionel gets how great you are. I get how great you are. I don’t see why the spa was a crazy idea. Better pay, good benefits, job security, and a career focused on helping and serving people. You raised the importance of the job because you cared about all of your clients. I told Lionel that he needs your compassion and professional abilities. He agreed.”
“You talked to Lionel about me?”
“I told you, we bumped into one another, and we have you in common; it was perfectly natural. We even discussed the package he would offer you.”
I’m taken aback. “I didn’t realize I had left you in charge of my career.”
Marcus returns to round up some wrappers and senses the intensity between Beau and me. He makes a quick exit and starts to divide the kids into the group that is staying and the group heading home early.
“I’m looking out for…” Beau seems to be summoning energy to argue a new direction. “Mari, we both know things have been stressful between us. Maybe working together wasn’t the best idea. That is my fault. Now I see what you saw last year—how wonderful it can be to work somewhere with perks, with people who can reward your behavior with raises. When was your last raise?”
“Never.”
He throws up his hands as if he just won the Tour de France.
“Beau, I don’t want to go back to Majestic. I want a job that is meaningful. While I’ve been here, I sleep like a baby. I wake up excited about how the day might unfold. I feel needed, wanted, and appreciated. And call me stupid, but I think the residents at Golden Horizons appreciate me too. Maybe it is my boss who falls short.”
“You know the whole fight or flight theory? When we are faced with conflict, our natural instinct is either to fight off the attacker or run. Well, I believe some people fight for what they want and others run away.”
I believe all his project research is going to his head. “And you are telling me this why, exactly? You think one of us is running?”
“You, specifically,” he says, fully satisfied with how his argument came together in a tidy conclusion.
I find only slight satisfaction in the mustard smeared across his nose.
“This line of reasoning is fascinating!” I say loudly and lower my voice when I notice a few kids looking startled. “I, however, do not need you to get me a new job. I’ve spent the past several months feeling hungry to do more, to serve more, and to really fulfill my calling. And here you present the exact opposite. Maybe your heart is changing, Beau. Maybe you should take the job at Majestic.”
“I’m trying to lead you to a better choice, but apparently you’re too stubborn to see what is best for you and for us as a couple!”
“Lead me? Beau, don’t look now, but your God complex is showing.”
He stands quickly.
My anger is so palpable that neither of us wants to be near it. I’m too deep in it and too hurt to figure out if I am absolutely batty to be this upset. I point to the short group following Dad up the hill. “You know the van with the little kids who need to go bed early? Well, one of us needs to catch that ride.”
I feel dizzy and confused. Beau’s power of suggestion is strong. In the face of my attacker, the instinct to run is overwhelming, but my feet won’t move, so I sit frozen in the face of grave danger. There is only one thing to do.
“You, specifically,” I clarify.
Passing Notes
Bleary-eyed and on the verge of tears, I stand in front of Beau’s door, poised to knock, but with no idea what I would say to him. I keep walking and push open my bedroom door. What I need now is for sleep to overcome my tortured, waking thoughts. How did today go so terribly wrong?
With head in hands, I sit on the edge of the bed until sleep begins to overcome me. It is then that I notice an envelope with my name in Beau’s handwriting on the front.
Dear Mari,
What happened tonight was so far from what I had come here to do, to say, to experience with you. I wanted this time together to be special. And today was. I was in heaven walking around the neighborhood holding your hand…And then I let go.
Please forgive me for all of it. I want to make things right.
I realize from this visit that our reconnection will have to happen when you return to Tucson. I look forward to you being close once again.
I changed my ticket to an earlier flight, and your dad is taking me to the airport at 5:00 AM. I told him I had an emergency at Golden. Don’t see m
e off. I feel that we need a little space before we can be together and move on.
I love you. That is really what I came here to say.
Love,
Beau
PS. I highly recommend the $7 corn dog and wearing mustard on your nose while eating it!
Okay, so the guy writes a good apology. As much as I want to go to him right now and hash this out, I know it would just make both of us more tired and edgy. His early departure is the best thing. I sigh with relief that we have at least had more communication. With my favorite journaling pen, I add to his note:
Beau,
Thanks for the apology. I’m sorry too. When I return to Tucson, it will be better. Please talk to me about how I can be of help. We keep each other at a distance, and I have missed feeling close to you.
The day was perfect. Safe travels, Beau.
Love,
Mari
I slip his note with my addition under his door. I can hear him breathing softly just a few feet from me.
Back in my chilled room, I stare at the ceiling for hours. As I’m dozing off, I hear Beau’s door open and close and the sound of luggage sliding down the worn steps. In my half-sleep I follow him down the stairs and tenderly kiss him goodbye. He gets in the van; he blows me kisses. I wave and have no recollection of what we were fighting about.
But dreams are funny like that.
Lesson Two
Good morning, kiddo.” Dad tousles my hair at the breakfast table while the kids look on. They smile at one another and some feign disgust at the display of fatherly affection. I know they all crave it, and Dad is the one who provides such kindnesses to them all.
“What’s with the scarf?” teases Elsa, who is always impeccably dressed.
I touch the cotton-and-wool plaid fabric draped around my neck.
“Isn’t it time for school?” Dad looks around the table as though transformed into an ogre. “Nobody had better be late or else…” he lets them imagine the fate of such a sin. His goofy monster voice is enough to rouse them from the table and file in line by the industrial dishwasher. This week my green team has the job of loading it.
