by Bird, Peggy
2. Tell Fred
As if to answer her summons, her ex-husband plopped his lawn chair beside her and settled his bulk in the protesting object.
“When do they start?” he asked.
“I’m not really sure.”
“Why not? Didn’t you ask David? What about the play sheet? Did you look at that?”
“Not yet. There are always some last minute changes, so I figured I’d wait.”
“Hmmm. Someone else must know,” Fred said.
Annie drank her coffee and looked at her ex-husband, who was already scanning the other parents for enlightenment. His beard is going gray, she mused. She caught the smoky sweet odor of alcohol and cigarettes as a breeze drifted past. Must have been a fun night. Thank God I don’t have to deal with it any more. She took the last sip of her coffee and put it down next to her chair.
Fred lurched to his feet and ambled over to the referees’ trailer and she went back to her list.
Skip telling Fred.
She scanned the rest of her list. Most things would have to wait until Monday. She supposed she could begin sorting things in the garage when she got home — figure out what to put into a garage sale and what to take with her. Who knew what she’d find there? Even if she didn’t get the job, it would be nice to have a clean garage.
She folded the paper and stuffed it back in her bag. Fred reappeared with two cups of coffee. He handed her a cup. “With milk, like you like it. First game starts at nine-twenty. David’s the starting goalie.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’ll be back.” He pulled a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and walked toward the other smokers huddled at the end of the field. Annie dug through her bag and picked up the news magazine. It was going to be a long day. She’d settle back and enjoy the warmth of the early California spring for a while and gear up to cheer David to victory.
The day passed as most soccer tournament days did — long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of frenzy. She screamed every time the ball came close to the end zone. The parents chorused long groans when the ball flew into the net inches from David’s outstretched glove, their cheers lifting when he threw himself on the ground to block a goal.
At the end of the day, his team came in second in the overall tournament.
“Great job!” Fred gave his son a bear hug. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” David beamed in his father’s praise. “I’m really working hard with the coach.”
Annie hugged her son, too. “You’re terrific,” she whispered in David’s ear.
Fred helped them load up the gear in the back of the car. “See you Wednesday,” he said, giving David a pat on the back. Then he turned to walk back to his car.
She hopped into her seat and began the long drive home, with David snoring gently in the back seat. What was the best way to tell David about the potential move? When he woke up about halfway home, she thought about saying something before they got there. Before she could start, however, he began reliving the game for her, his arms gesturing as he explained the plays, his voice animated as he reenacted his saves.
She couldn’t burst his bubble.
Once they got home, he went straight to the shower. Lugging the leftover groceries upstairs by herself gave her a few more minutes’ respite before she broke the news. She paced the kitchen, opening cupboards, staring at the contents, and closing the doors again. Picking up a used envelope, she began to write a shopping list. After “milk,” she couldn’t think of another thing she needed.
She had to get this over with. Sooner or later, Elizabeth would let something slip and then David would be angry with her for keeping secrets.
Once she told David, the next thing on her list was to tell Fred.
Annie sank into a chair. How would Fred react? Would he fight her? Try to take David away from her? No way. Her ex could barely support himself in this town of high rents and even higher house prices. He wouldn’t be able to support a growing teenage son.
But Fred loved his son. His reaction would depend on how much he’d had to drink. I’ll pick my time carefully. But is it better to approach him when he’s a happy drunk or when he has a miserable hangover?
Her son walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, filling the small room with his presence. He wasn’t extra tall or overweight, but over the last few years, he’d reached five-feet nine-inches and filled out. His broad shoulders and thin waist reminded her of how her dad had looked, although her dad had been at least six feet tall.
David grabbed a pot and two plastic bags of Top Ramen from the bin where Annie kept a large supply. She bought it by the box load. It was a cheap supply of nourishment that he and his friends were willing to cook.
She drank in every aspect of her son as he moved about the kitchen, knowing she was about to rock his safe world. There wasn’t going to be a good way to tell him.
After he filled his bowl, David sat down and looked at his mother. “What’s up?” he asked, slurping a spoonful of noodles. “You look funny.”
“How would you like to move to New Jersey?”
“Huh?”
“You know, one of those small states on the East Coast.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I’m not moving to New Jersey. I’m not moving anywhere. Are you crazy?”
“Watch your tone, young man,” Annie said automatically. Maybe a different tack would work. “David, there’s trouble at my work. They can’t keep as many of us employed as they did. The economy … ”
He interrupted. “They fired you.”
“They didn’t fire me. There’s another job in New Jersey.”
“What if you don’t go?”
“They’ll lay me off.”
He let his spoon plop back into the broth. “I don’t get it. How can they lay you off? You’ve worked there for years.”
How could she explain the workings of Corporate America to David? There were times she didn’t understand it herself.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But unless I go to New Jersey, I won’t have a job. And that’s a problem.”
Scooping another spoonful of Top Ramen, he said, “I’m not moving. I’ve got a good shot at varsity soccer next year, maybe even starting goalie. I’ve done really well at the rec league this spring. We’ll have to figure out something.” He leaned back and thrummed his spoon on the table, droplets of soup scattering across the top.
Suddenly, he bent forward. “I know! I can get a job and help out. Summer’s almost here. They always need help at the Boardwalk in the summer. You don’t have to do it alone, Mom. I’m grown up now. I can help.”
Annie smiled. If only it were that simple. Kids had no idea how big a mortgage for a beach house really was. To David, cutting back on expenses meant a McDonald’s hamburger without the fries. Not nearly enough for the few thousand a month it took to live where they did.
“Thanks, kiddo. You’re the best, but I need to stay with the company. That way, I can keep my benefits and the salary I’ve got. And … ” She paused to make sure she had her son’s full attention. “ … I’ll be able to help you when you go to Berkeley in two years.”
David went back to shoveling soup into his mouth without answering. The silence lengthened as Annie waited for the reaction that she knew would come. Like her, he needed to chew on something in his head before giving his opinion on anything important.
He stopped eating and looked at her. “I already told you. I’m not moving to New Jersey. You have to do something different. I’m sure you can find another job. A company would be stupid not to hire you.”
“David, it’s not that easy,” she said. “There aren’t enough jobs right now.”
“But you can find one. I know you can. We can’t move to New Jersey. All my friends are here. I’m on a good rec soccer team. You’ll ruin my life if we moved to New Jersey.” His voice ramped up. “You don’t unders
tand. I’m not going. I’ll stay with one of my friends if I have to, but I’m not moving to Nowhere, New Jersey!”
David stood up and tossed his spoon in the sink; the dish clattered after it. He stomped toward the stairs, stopping at the edge of the kitchen.
“I’m going over to Chris’s,” he announced, glaring at her. “Okay?”
Annie hesitated before answering. Chris was a soccer friend who lived a few blocks away. The walk there and back would probably do David good. “Just be back by ten,” she replied.
“Yeah. Whatever.” David thudded down the stairs. A few minutes later Annie heard the front door slam.
Well, that didn’t go well. Annie got up to load the dishwasher. She thought about the next item on her list.
Tell Fred.
She shook her head and put David’s bowl in the top rack. Not happening today. Besides, she needed to find out more about the job and when everything was happening. Fred would be annoying and want all the details. She’d talk with Randy about the job in New Jersey on Monday.
Then she’d talk to Fred.
Chapter 4
John leaned back in the nubby brown recliner and closed his eyes for a moment. Images of Annie filled his mind. The green sweater she’d worn at the restaurant, her high cheekbones, her eyes … But it was her mouth that attracted him the most … that damn kissable mouth.
He suspected there was also a great personality behind those hazel eyes and pert lips. She reminded him of his mother — the determined attitude and strength a single mom had to have to keep everything together. His mother had shown the same character after his dad had died, handling the ranch chores and bills, managing the household and helping him with school work, but she still found joy in the little things in life — crocuses coming up in spring and the birth of new puppies. Jessica had shown the same strength when she was dying.
He sighed. He still missed her, and he probably always would, but perhaps he was ready to love again. Real love, like he’d had with Jessica, not the desperate loneliness that had driven him to propose marriage to Deborah. He’d lost both women, one to cancer and one to a new job. If he risked his heart again, would he wind up breaking it for a third time?
Annie intrigued him, but she was moving to New Jersey. It would be foolish to pursue her.
The bell from the nearby Catholic church rang out its call to Sunday Mass. In Montana he’d been a regular attendee at St. Paul’s Lutheran until Jessica had died. God had given up on Jessica, and he had given up on God. He’d lived on autopilot until he bought the store in Santa Cruz. The move to California had given him new purpose, made him feel alive again. Maybe it was time to give God … and love … another chance.
He snapped the footrest to the floor. Did Annie go to church? He remembered seeing steeples from the highway near Costanoa, where she lived, according to the store’s loyalty program records. Right now, any church would do. Maybe he’d get lucky and see her. If not, he could take his horse out for a short ride after the service.
He threw a corduroy jacket over his button-down shirt, switched from jeans to khakis and left the house. As he drove down the highway, he paid attention to the scenery — verdant mountains to his left and house-crowded lowlands leading to oceanfront on his right. Where should he look for a house? Anyplace with more room than he had right now, which probably meant the foothills. He was ready to get away from the densely populated university area where houses with small yards overflowed with twenty-somethings and discordant music.
When he reached the Costanoa exit, he picked the first church he saw, St. Andrew’s Episcopal. The service was beginning and he settled in a back pew where he could see most of the faithful. All eyes were focused on the priest as he intoned the initial prayers. Sun poured through the windows, intensifying painted silk banners. John settled in a seat and sensed the strong feeling of connection in the community. It was part of what he’d been missing. After Jessica’s death and Deborah’s betrayal, he’d pushed everyone away, not wanting any form of companionship. Hell, he’d pushed everyone so far away he was now a thousand miles away from his friends.
Time for a change.
During the first hymn, he distinguished a voice soaring above the awkward chorus of enthusiastic, if off-key, singers. The powerful contralto rose from the other side of the aisle, its beauty sending a message directly to his heart, cracking it open a little more. There’d always been music in his house with Jessica. Silence reigned after she died. It was time to change that, too.
When the song ended, he scanned the congregation for Annie. It was a long shot, he knew, but there was always a chance. With everyone else sitting, it should be easy to spot her.
An older woman to his right cleared her throat loudly. He looked down.
“Sit down,” she mouthed, playing with the cane in her hand.
He sat.
The rest of the service could have been in Greek. He stood, sat, and knelt with the congregation, but his mind drifted. Ever since the move from Montana, he hadn’t had a moment to catch his breath. Owning a business was a full-time rush of things to be done, people to manage, and fires to put out. There was no time to think and he’d wanted it that way — no time for dark memories. But somewhere in all that busyness, he’d started to find his footing again. Now for the next step.
What would it be like to kiss her?
“Peace be with you,” the priest intoned.
“And also with you,” the congregation chorused.
People began shaking his hand and welcoming him to the church, driving all thoughts of kisses from his head. He tried to keep a pious mental state for the rest of the service, an attempt that was hampered by his eagerness for it to end. He was ready to saddle up his horse and enjoy the quiet connection to Starfire and nature.
But when the service was over, he found himself trapped, tradition and courtesy allowing the front pews to empty first. He shifted his weight from side to side, barely restrained by politeness. Finally making it through the throng of well-wishers, he told the priest he’d be back again soon. He scanned the courtyard for a quick exit.
A woman in a large-flowered dress and an impossible hat plowed toward him, her hand extended. “Hello,” she said, pumping his hand vigorously. “You must be new. My name is Doris.”
“John.” He extricated his hand.
“You must come to coffee hour so I can introduce you. I’m in charge of the welcoming committee and it’s my job to make sure you get to meet everyone.”
He endured an hour of earnest parishioners introducing themselves and asking him where he was from. At one point he was backed against a wall by two divorced women vying for his attention.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to the nearest woman. “I’ve got a date with a horse.”
Minutes later, he was traveling up the mountain to Starfire.
Did Annie ride? Would she be a good companion? Did she even like the outdoors?
Like it or not, he was becoming fixated on the woman and he’d just have to see it through until he got it out of his system.
• • •
Planting flowers wasn’t on Annie’s list, but she was selling her house and curb appeal was important. With her plastic garden tote in hand, she began by checking the connections of the drip irrigation system she’d put in the year before. Then she freed up irises from choking weeds, noting with pleasure the emerging gladiola stalks. Once the roses were dead-headed, she dug holes for her new bright gold marigolds and yellow and purple pansies.
Her mental Greek chorus began to chatter.
Why don’t you stay here and go out with John? It’s hard to find a nice man, particularly at your age. A husband would make your life so much easier.
Yeah, right.
That was her mother’s drum song. A woman needed a man to be complete. It didn’t matter how good or bad the man was, it only mattered that he married you. She’d given up arguing with her mother years ago. In spite of all the horrible things her father had d
one, her mother had hung onto her beliefs that a man was an answer to all of life’s problems. Of course, she hadn’t remarried after her father’s suicide, but she never stopped pushing her daughter toward the altar.
Annie wasn’t following that path. Her father and her ex were all the proof she needed that men couldn’t be trusted.
Still, something about John felt different. She pictured his strongly etched face, blue eyes, and easy smile. His guileless eyes had never left her face instead of darting everywhere like Fred’s did when she was talking with him. Maybe she could trust him. It would be nice to have someone else to lean on once in a while.
She thrust her trowel into the moist dirt, trying to free stubborn roots as she tugged while she imagined strong masculine arms wrapped around her. Suddenly, the weed gave way and she fell flat on her butt, dirt from the roots showering her body.
She laughed out loud. That’s what she got for fantasizing about a man. She flung the weed into the pile. Better keep her mind on reality.
But her mind didn’t want to stay in the real world. She replayed their conversation at the restaurant while she tackled a new patch of weeds, sobered as she remembered the sorrow in his eyes when he talked about his wife. What would it be like to have someone you love die of cancer? She wished she could do something to erase the pain she saw. Impossible. She’d never been able to ease her mother’s pain … and no one had ever been able to fill the empty hole that had been inside of Annie as long as she could remember.
Whenever her father came home in one of his moods, she’d huddle in her room, door locked, chair under the knob while the storm of her parents’ marriage raged in the kitchen. In the morning, after the front door slammed behind her father, she would pick up broken dishes, brew the coffee, and fetch ice and bandages for her mother’s bruises.
Aching inside, she’d never let anyone see her feelings and never told anyone about her father’s rages. Friends didn’t come over. She couldn’t let them see how she lived. Her mother cried a lot and Annie learned to take care of herself.
