Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom

by Julie Kenner

  I was out of options, so I kept my mouth shut over the next few miles. At least she wasn’t brooding anymore, so I counted that as a minor victory. Unfortunately, if she really wasn’t worried about school or boys, then that left family. Or some other completely unrelated problem that I knew nothing about.

  Neither possibility appealed to me.

  Timmy’s soft snores drifted to the front of the van, and I realized I’d missed my window of naptime opportunity. I should have gunned the van all the way home and gotten him into his crib right after Mass. Now that he was asleep, this was it. Never once had I managed to transfer him from the car to the house without waking him, and once he wakes up, he’s good to go for the rest of the day.

  I love my little boy, but I love him even more after a two-hour nap. Trust me. Fifteen-minute naps result in rampant crankiness. And that goes for both toddler and Mommy.

  I considered my options, then tapped the brakes as we approached California Avenue, the main east-west thoroughfare that divides San Diablo. I made a right turn and headed east, following the road as it cut through the canyons before leveling out when we hit San Diablo proper.

  “Where are we going?” Allie asked. I understood her confusion. Our house is in a subdivision off of Rialto, the road just north of California Avenue. While the city planners should have put in a few more cross streets, they didn’t, making it impossible to get to our house from the avenue without going through half the town and then doubling back on Highway 101.

  “How does the mall sound?”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Tim’s asleep. We go home now, and we’ve got Terror Toddler on our hands.”

  “So you’re just going to let me shop while you sit in the van with Tim?” From her voice, I could tell she was expecting a punch line.

  “Either that or we can stay in the van together, and you can drive it around the parking lot until Tim wakes up.”

  That got her attention. “No way! Really? You’d let me drive the van?”

  “Slowly, in a parking lot, with me in the passenger seat. But yeah. Under those conditions, yes, you can drive the van.”

  The legal driving age in California is sixteen (with an adult in the passenger seat), but kids can get a learner’s permit at fifteen, so we’ve got eleven months to go. I’d already told Stuart that I wanted Allie licensed up and comfortable behind the wheel as early as was legally possible. While I’m not crazy about the idea of my daughter manipulating three thousand pounds of metal while going sixtyfive miles an hour, I’m resigned to the fact that eventually, yes, she will be a licensed driver. I figure practice makes perfect.

  My current plan to go joyriding in the half-empty mall parking lot wasn’t exactly legal, but I didn’t care. Timmy would get to finish his nap and Allie would have a blast. Besides, I drove all over Rome at fourteen. Allie’d had a different kind of life (thank God), but she was still a competent and responsible kid.

  At the moment my competent and responsible child was gaping open-mouthed at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”

  “Very funny,” I said. “Very original.”

  “You really mean it?”

  “No, I’m lying to you in a pathetically involved scheme to torture you throughout your adolescence so that when you’re older you can write a tell-all book, make a million dollars, and retire comfortably. But I’m doing it all for love.”

  “You’re weird, Mom.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  We’d reached the mall entrance, and I turned in, passing the Grecian columns that in my opinion look positively ridiculous in the California coastal landscape. The developers, however, hadn’t bothered to ask my opinion, and the whole mall was built around some ridiculous Olympian theme.

  As I’d expected, the parking lot near the food court was full, but the lot that faced the south entrance was mostly empty—just a smattering of cars near the doors and a few farther out, most likely employees. I pulled into a spot, left the engine running, and got out. As I walked around the van to the passenger side, Allie lifted the armrest, then scrambled into the driver’s seat and settled herself behind the wheel. As I slid back inside, she was busily adjusting her mirrors.

  “Good to go?” I asked.

  “Yeah. This is great. Mindy’s going to be so jealous.”

  “Let’s focus on operating the extremely heavy motor vehicle and worry about gloating later, okay?”

  “Sure, Mom,” she said, perfectly happy.

  I unfastened my seat belt and turned around, facing backward so I could check out Timmy. I leaned all the way over, reaching out to grab one of his straps. I gave it a little tug, just to make sure. He was in tight, and seemed down for the count. I readjusted myself in the seat and, as I was fastening my seat belt, caught sight of Allie rolling her eyes.

  “Parental license,” I said. “Even if you’re the best driver on the planet, I’m allowed to worry.”

  She didn’t even bother to respond, instead reaching down to crank the engine. Since the van was already idling, the Odyssey didn’t take too kindly to the maneuver, spitting back a growling, gear-burning kind of sound that made my daughter jump.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I do that all the time.”

  Attempt number two went smoother, and she pulled forward, a little hesitant at first, but then getting into a groove. “Not bad,” I said. “I think you’ve done this before.”

  Her grin was wide, and I knew she was proud of herself. “Not recently,” she said. “And you’ve never let me drive the van.”

  That much was true. Before we bought the Infiniti, Stuart and I used to occasionally let her drive the old Corolla around the high school parking lot. But until the new-car smell faded, I doubted Allie would get much of a chance to drive Stuart’s pride and joy.

  I pointed her toward a wide-open area, and she drove in circles for a while, then laid out a few figure eights, and finally put the van in reverse and started to drive a straight line going backward.

  “Show-off,” I said, but I know she could tell I was proud.

  She brought the van to a stop, then shifted again, accelerating until she reached a twenty-mile-an-hour cruising speed. Her eyes were fixed on the road when she spoke, so softly that at first I didn’t even realize she was talking. “Daddy used to let me drive.”

  “What?” I’d heard the words, but I hadn’t quite processed them.

  “Daddy used to let me drive,” she said, this time more loudly. Defiant, almost, as if she were daring me to challenge her.

  I tugged at the shoulder strap of my seat belt, pushing it away from my neck as I turned in my seat. “When did he do that?” My voice was measured, but my heart was beating fast, and not just from the mention of Eric. I’m not sure how I knew—her tone maybe, her mannerisms—but we’d moved on to whatever had been bothering her earlier. This was it. Mom was on deck, and she had to get it right.

  “When I was little. About six, I think. He used to put me in his lap. He’d do the pedals since I couldn’t reach, but I got to steer. He said it was our little secret.”

  “Eric,” I whispered with a little shake of my head. “You nut.” Eric loved to share secrets like that. Little things that only he and you had. Our marriage had been like that—three months before our official retirement, we’d been married in a small church in Cluny. We’d told no one, but those months before our “real” wedding had been precious.

  He did other little things, too. Secret notes, anonymous presents. Those memories had always been special, but after Eric died, they became cherished. And I’d always been a little sad to think that he’d died before he could share secrets with his daughter.

  But he hadn’t. I should have known that Eric would never have gone and died without leaving one or two special memories for Allie. That just wouldn’t be like him.

  “Mom?” She tapped the brakes, slowing to a stop.

  I realized I was crying and brushed a tear away. �
�Sorry, sweetie. I just always loved your daddy’s secrets. I’m glad he shared one with you.”

  Her lips pressed together, and for a second I thought she was going to cry, too. When she didn’t, I realized that the corner of her mouth was twitching just slightly, and that her cheeks were a soft shade of pink. I knew then that the driving was only one secret, and I fought my own smile as I said a silent thank-you to Eric. He’d left us unexpectedly, but he’d still managed to leave a little legacy for his daughter.

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, then tentatively tugged her hand away. When she started picking at the nail polish again, I realized we hadn’t yet gotten to the meat of things. I stayed quiet. Sooner or later she’d tell me what was on her mind.

  When she started to shift the van back into drive, I realized it would probably be later. But then she let go of the gearshift, leaving the van in Park and the engine running. “Does he have something to do with this? Daddy, I mean?”

  Not a question I’d expected, and I was grateful she’d spoken to the steering wheel rather than to me. “With this? What’s this?”

  “You know. The self-defense stuff. And Mass. You haven’t dragged me along in a while, and then all of a sudden . . .”

  No dummy, that kid of mine. “What makes you think it has something to do with your daddy?”

  “Dunno,” she said, even though she obviously did. “I mean, I’m super-psyched about the kickboxing stuff, but . . .” She trailed off with a shrug.

  I squinted at her, trying without success to read my daughter’s mind. “What?”

  “You used to do all that stuff with Daddy,” she said. “But yesterday you were doing it with him.”

  My chest tightened and I raised my hand to my throat. “You remember that?” My voice was barely a whisper. Eric and I used to spar a bit when Allie was Timmy’s age, maybe a little older. As she grew up, though—and as we became complacent, living demon-free—we’d fallen out of the habit. Chasing a toddler was exercise enough, and we were having too much fun being parents to keep up with our training.

  “Sorta,” she said. “I remember sometimes you guys would let me play, too. I had my own sword and everything.”

  I knew my voice would tremble, but I had to answer. “You still do.” A plastic saber Eric had found at a toy store one afternoon. “I packed it away with my equipment. It’s in the storage shed somewhere.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “So why start up again now? And why with him?”

  “He’s a friend, and he’s got some experience. That’s all.” At least I knew now why Allie had seemed so cold to Larson. I reached over and stroked her arm. “As for taking the classes in the first place, I thought it would be nice for us to do something like this together. And your dad would like knowing you can take care of yourself.” I avoided answering her basic question: why. I didn’t want to lie to my daughter any more than I had to. “Believe me, baby, I’d never do anything to mess up your memories of your daddy.”

  “I know.” She snuffled loudly. “I just miss him.”

  “I know, baby,” I said. “I miss him, too.”

  The afternoon played out like pretty much any Sunday, though I will say that both Allie and I were a bit more attentive than usual to Stuart. Guilt will do that to a person.

  After dinner Tim played on his xylophone while Allie accompanied him on a bongo drum. Stuart and I filled in backup using Tim’s somewhat slobbery harmonicas. (I confess we were trying to avoid being part of the act, but Timmy’s “you play, too, Mommy” is hard to resist.) After playing, bathing, and reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (twice), How Do Dinosaurs Say Good Night? (once), and Goodnight Moon (three times), we finally convinced Tim that he was Super Jammie Man, and it was time for him, his jammies, and Boo Bear to head off to bed, where they could fight for truth, justice, and the rest of it in his dreams.

  Silliness works well in our house.

  Allie stayed up with us for a while, dividing her time between her room and the living room, with each trip bringing a different ensemble for me to comment on. Despite having lugged home bags of fancy new clothes, in the end she decided on her favorite jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a cute little pink sweater (The Gap, 75% off) to top off the outfit. The internal wrangling before she reached this key decision took approximately two and one-half hours.

  After she headed off to bed—with a halfhearted promise not to call Mindy in the dark and stay up all night anticipating the next morning—Stuart and I opened a bottle of Merlot, popped Patton into the DVD player, and curled up on the couch. (He picked it. I’d agreed out of residual guilt. Now I was stuck.)

  His arm curled around me and I snuggled against him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” he said. “It’s just going to get worse.”

  “I know. It’s okay.” More than okay, actually. I was counting on Stuart being busy enough not to notice his wife’s newly reacquired extracurricular activities. I shifted, then arched up to kiss him. “This is important to you.”

  He stroked my hair. “You’re the best, you know that, right?”

  I laughed, the sound a little forced. “I’m not the best, but I promise I’ll try. I’ll never be Suzy Homemaker, but if we’re lucky, I won’t completely torpedo your chances of getting elected.”

  “Won’t happen,” he said. “One day out of the gate and you’ve already won Larson over.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess we just clicked.”

  “Who wouldn’t click with you?”

  I didn’t answer that one, pretending instead to be suddenly fascinated by Patton pulling out a pistol and opening fire against a German plane. Stuart followed my lead, and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

  I was cozy and comfortable and actually ended up enjoying the movie (go figure), but I still couldn’t quite relax. Things were happening out there in the real world, but it all seemed to be off camera. Just outside my peripheral vision. If only I could somehow turn my head and see the bigger picture—

  “Hey.” Stuart’s voice was soft as he smoothed my hair. “Where are you tonight?”

  “Sorry. Just distracted. Allie. High school. My baby growing up.” Another lie. That made how many? I’d lost track, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many more would follow.

  My worlds were colliding, and I wanted to keep the world with Stuart safe and secure. Tucked away in a little box like a treasured Christmas ornament. But my old life kept peeking in, and I was so afraid that Stuart would look at me one morning and catch a glimpse of my secret. Or, worse, that one morning he’d wake up and catch a glimpse of a demon.

  I twisted in his arms and kissed him, hard at first, and then softer, until I felt him relax under me and open his mouth to mine. His hands tightened around me, and he pulled me close. I wanted to be even closer. I wanted to curl up, lost inside this man. I wanted him to take care of me. At the very least, I wanted to forget my responsibilities and my promises and my past.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his tone suggesting that he was amenable to more of the same.

  “Can’t I seduce my husband?”

  “Any time, any place.”

  “Here,” I said. “And now.”

  A familiar spark flashed in his eyes, the kind every man gets when he realizes he’s going to get lucky. And then he pulled me close, Patton all but forgotten.

  I’m not stupid. I knew this wouldn’t solve my problem, wouldn’t make my worries or the boogeyman go away. Wouldn’t even erase my thoughts of Eric.

  I wanted it, though. Wanted Stuart. This husband. This life.

  I needed to feel my present tight around me, soft and warm like a blanket. Because bits and pieces of my past kept picking at the loose threads, and I was so afraid that, if I wasn’t careful, the perfect life Stuart and I had built together would unravel in an instant.

  And then, I had to wonder, where would I be?

  For that matter, who would I be?

&nbs
p; Nine

  Good sex warps a woman’s mind. I realize that now. But when Stuart asked me if I could throw together another quick cocktail party, I was still lost in that sated morning-after glow. Apparently, one of the paralegals was supposed to host the thing that evening, but she’d come down with something. I murmured yes and then buried my head back under the covers, happy, content, and full of orgasm-induced confidence.

  It wasn’t until my alarm went off five minutes later that I realized my mistake.

  By that time Stuart was already pulling out of the drive, probably practicing his cocktail party banter as he drove to the gym for an early-morning workout. I toyed briefly with dialing his cell phone and backing out, but then abandoned the idea. It wasn’t a huge shindig. Only five couples. And this was what I was supposed to be doing—helping my husband, stepping in during a crisis, being a good wife and mom. Yes, he may have cheated a bit by asking when my body still tingled, but I’d said yes, and now I was stuck. And considering I had to get two kids up and dressed—and then drive Allie and three other kids to school before the 7:45 warning bell—I really didn’t have time to sit around regretting my decision.

  I tossed on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail without bothering to brush it. Allie’s a bear to wake up before seven, so I headed for her room first, pounding on the door and calling, “Up, up, up.”

  Her muffled response filtered through the door, and although I couldn’t understand the words, the tone was loud and clear—Go away, Mom, you’re bothering me.

  “First day of school, Allie, remember? Come on. We’re running late.” A lie, but I figured that might get her moving faster.

  Next, I headed for Timmy’s room. This was about the time he usually woke up—six-fifteen—and I could hear him whispering to himself. I pushed the door open with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. Tim.”

  “MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA!”

  (Now there’s a proper morning greeting.) I headed over to his crib and soaked up the light from his toothy grin. He held up Boo Bear. “He sleepy,” he said.