by Erynn Mangum
“I don’t think so.”
Right then, of course, Calvin gets so panicked under her glower that he makes a little puddle on the floor.
“Oh my gosh!” Mrs. Mitchell cries, like he just did his business in her lap or something. “What a horrible, disgusting dog! Why do you keep him in this apartment?”
I pick up my trembling puppy and carry him to the kitchen, setting him on the kitchen mat in front of the oven and rubbing his ears. “Shhh,” I whisper. “The wicked witch can’t hurt you, Toto.”
I grab the antibacterial spray from under the sink and a bunch of paper towels. It’s been about a year since Calvin made a puddle on the floor. Want to guess when the last time was?
Yup. When Mrs. Mitchell last visited.
“Are you waiting for Jen?” I ask timidly, sopping up the mess and spraying it down with Lysol.
“Is that not obvious? You might offer me something to eat or drink while I wait.”
I sigh and straighten. “Did you want something to — ”
“Ice water.” She cuts me off and sits straight-backed on our squishy, slouch-only sofa. “And something decently nutritious to eat. I never ate this evening, and here it is, ten fifteen at night. My daughter has apparently forgotten every manner I ever taught her and never called to inform me where dinner was. And be sure to properly scrub your hands, young lady, before you touch anything edible in nature.” She’s scowling deeper than prebenevolent Scrooge but oddly has no wrinkles.
Creepy.
“Let me see what we have.” Why couldn’t she just get something to eat on her way to the airport?
The airport!
I dump the paper towels in the trash and pop back into the living room. “Didn’t your flight leave at nine?” I nearly yell.
“Yes, it did. I never saw Jennifer, so I canceled my ticket.” She grimaces at my purse and uses the nail of her index finger to push it farther away from her. “I am staying here until she gets her head on straight. I guess it will take longer than I thought. Do you ever clean?”
“Occasionally.”
“You really should hire someone to do that. A clean house is an inviting house.”
“I’ll get your water.” I go back into the kitchen. Calvin isn’t straying more than a half step from my leg. Poor little guy. Mrs. Mitchell makes him nervous.
I grab my phone from my jacket pocket and text Jen hurriedly. She’s here at the apartment, and she’s not leaving.
I can’t understand why Jen isn’t answering.
“How long does it take to get a glass of water?” I hear from the living room.
I look at Calvin, and he whimpers. He’s trembling, poor little guy. I can’t be here by myself with this woman and my scared little dog. I send one more text, grab a glass, and fill it with water.
“Here,” I say, handing her the water.
“My goodness, Maya, you do not have to be rude about it,” she says airily, taking the glass. “Your mother did not raise you to respect your elders very well.” She takes a tiny sip. “Now I suppose that your having something edible in this apartment is unlikely… .”
I sigh and kiss the thought of a nice, relaxing long run goodbye. Since Jen has recently joined the all-natural-food club, we probably have something. “I’ll check,” I say, going back yet again to the kitchen.
I open the fridge and freezer doors and find one of Jen’s Lean Cuisines. As far as nutritious food, the options are that, a frozen chicken breast, or a wrinkled-up apple. “How about a Lean Cuisine?” I yell.
“Fine. Whatever is nutritious is fine.”
I pop it into the microwave and stay in the kitchen. Five minutes later, I pull out her pasta and dump it on a plate.
“Here you go,” I say, handing her a fork and the plate.
She doesn’t take it from me. “You expect me to eat on the couch?”
I jerk the plate and fork back and set it on the table. “Here you go,” I say again, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but in the meantime sounding like one of those Animaniacs I used to watch on Saturday mornings when I was a kid.
“Oh,” she says, settling into a chair. “Finally.”
There’s a knock at the door right as she starts to eat. I open the door and nearly crush Jack in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” I whisper-yell.
“No worries,” he whispers back, grinning. “Hi there, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“Jack. You are here late.”
He doesn’t lie about his reason; he just doesn’t give one. “Yep,” he says.
She goes back to eating.
“Where’s Jen?” Jack asks me quietly.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“She is not answering her cell phone.” Mrs. Mitchell butts into our conversation. “Why you would carry a cell phone and not answer makes no sense to me.”
Jack notices my outfit. “Going for a run?”
“Maybe later.”
Mrs. Mitchell finishes eating and stands. “Well, which one of you is going to go get my things?” she asks, pulling a set of keys with a rental company tag from her purse.
“Things?” I echo.
“My suitcase. My vanity case.”
She’s staying the night. I clench my teeth together so my prayer isn’t audible. Lord, seriously, why?
Anytime Mrs. Mitchell stays the night, she doesn’t just take the sofa bed like my parents do. No, she requires a “real” mattress. So, it’s either Jen or I on the pullout in our own home.
If she were Jen’s grandma or had some kind of back condition, I could understand the need for a real bed. I’d even support the idea and offer up my own room to her. But she’s not Jen’s sweet, adorable grandma; she doesn’t have any kind of muscular condition; she’s in better shape than both Jen and I; and if that isn’t enough, she’s not getting up and going to work in the morning. It would be a different story if we offered her the bed; then I’d be fine with it.
I grab for the keys. “I’ll get them,” I say, needing some air.
“I’ll help,” Jack adds, and we both book it outside. Calvin is right on my toes. I pull the door closed behind us and groan.
“Sorry, Nutkin,” Jack says sympathetically.
“It’s not your fault.” I rake a hand through the scattered, tangled, curly mess that is my hair. “It could be worse; she could live in town.”
“Good. Look at the bright side.”
We walk down the stairs, and I click the keyless-entry button to find her rental. The horn honks on a silver Chrysler.
“If nothing else, she makes me appreciate my mom,” Jack notes. “My mom may spend more time in the kitchen than she does doing anything else, but she always took care of us. We always had the best enchiladas and a great bedtime story.”
Jack’s mom is the best Mexican food chef in Southern California. I think at one point a major restaurant in San Diego was buying tortillas from her.
“I know; I made a list of what I like about my mom after I got home,” I tell him, popping the trunk on the Chrysler.
“Maya and her lists,” Jack says. “Still making lists of what you’re learning during your devotions?”
“Not as much,” I say offhandedly. I bite the inside of my lip. I feel guilty, but I just don’t have time to read my Bible very often anymore. And when I do, I’m always distracted with this whole Travis thing.
I’ll do it tonight, I promise myself.
In the trunk we find a suitcase the size of my washing machine and a cosmetic bag that could hold Calvin, and suddenly it hits me.
“Jack,” I say, staring at the suitcase, “who brings a suitcase this big on a trip that is supposed to last five hours?”
Jack purses his lips. “Well, I barely bring a duffel bag for a trip that lasts a week, so I’m a bad person to ask.”
I frown at him. “What do you do for clothes?” If he says he just wears the same thing every day …
“I bring an extra pair of clothes in my backpack and wash one while I wea
r the other. It works out well,” he explains.
“Oh. Well, anyway, normal people do not carry a suitcase this big with them all the time.” I rub my cheek. “Now my only question is, how long is she planning on staying with us?”
A cute little Taurus pulls into Jen’s parking spot, and Jen climbs out, smiling. “Hey, Jack! Hi, Maya, what’s going on? Did you get a new car, Jack?” She comes over excitedly. “It’s nice!”
“Jen,” I start.
She sees the suitcase before I can finish my sentence. “Oh. My. Gosh.” Her mouth is open as she stares at the designer leather mini-refrigerator-size box in the trunk.
Jack doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around her shoulders. She’s covering her mouth and leaning into him, eyes still on the suitcase.
“You didn’t get my texts,” I say quietly.
She starts digging madly through her purse and pulls out her cell phone. “It’s off,” she moans. “I forgot to turn it back on after my staff meeting this morning.” She turns it on, and it makes a way-too-cheerful sound for this somber moment.
“Sorry, Jenny,” Jack says, hugging her tighter. Apparently, he’s decided his role in all of this is to constantly apologize.
“Six voice mails and fourteen texts,” she mumbles. She closes her eyes and starts laughing, but it’s humorless.
I exchange a look with Jack. Not sure what to do here.
“I’m sorry, Jen,” Jack says again. Even Calvin is whimpering quietly in commiseration.
“This is about Travis, isn’t it?” she realizes suddenly. One look at my face and she knows the answer. “I knew it was a mistake to tell her!”
Definitely, I think. “Probably,” I say.
“Auuugh!”
“Easy, Jenny.” Jack loosens his grip now that she’s not leaning on him for support. She starts pacing, shaking.
I move out of her way. Her lips are moving, but no words are coming out. I’m trying to decide if I even want to know what she’s saying or if she’s praying.
“Amen,” she growls. She inhales so hard that her whole body rocks. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Jack, Maya, for goodness’ sake, how long does it take to get one suitcase and a vanity case?” Mrs. Mitchell calls from just outside the front door.
Jen’s breath whistles past her clenched molars. “Hello, Mother.”
“Jennifer? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Come up here right now, young lady. I need to speak with you.”
“Pray. Hard,” Jen hisses to me as she stalks over to the stairs.
Jack muscles the suitcase out of the trunk of the car, and I pick up the vanity case. We follow Jen up the stairs and into the apartment. I close the door after Calvin, and we all face her mom.
Jack is a wimp. “Well, I’ll be going,” he says the second the suitcase touches the floor. He gives Jen another hug.
I just shake my head at him. He winks at me and leaves.
“Jennifer, we need to talk about this new boy you are seeing.” Mrs. Mitchell sighs. “He is not good enough for you.”
“Mother, I’m twenty-four years old. I’m perfectly capable of finding a guy by myself.” Jen’s voice is calm, but her hands are clenched together. She slouches into the couch, kicking off her heels.
Oh, good grief. I’m a wimp, too. I quietly signal to Jen that I’m going for a run and grab Calvin’s leash. He follows me outside.
I clip the leash on his collar, and we go down the stairs. We start off at a good pace toward the park that Calvin loves. I like it because it’s very well-lit at night.
We get back to the apartment thirty minutes later. I’m tired; it’s eleven fifteen; and Calvin is dragging his feet up the stairs.
I unlock the front door and step inside. The apartment is dark and quiet. The sofa bed is pulled out and occupied. I bite back a sigh and quietly go to my room.
After a quick shower, I change into flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt and climb into bed.
Glancing at the clock, I moan. It’s eleven thirty. I don’t have to work until noon again tomorrow. I look at my Bible and consider.
I’ll do it tomorrow before work. I promise.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I wake up slowly and yawn, looking over at my clock. Eight thirty. I sleepily climb out of bed, nearly tripping on Calvin, who’s cuddled up in a little ball right next to my nightstand.
“Hi, baby,” I coo.
He sighs and smiles, rolling onto his stomach for a morning rubdown. I oblige, but only because he’s cute about it.
I brush my teeth and go into the kitchen, trying to run my fingers through my bedhead. No Jen. No Jen’s mom.
I smile.
There’s a note on the coffeemaker.
Maya — I took the day off, and I’m taking my mom to the airport. Will be back around eleven. Jenny
“Hooray!” I say to the coffeemaker. I pull out a big mug and pour a cup of steaming dark liquid in celebration.
I have approximately three hours before I need to leave for work. I sip my coffee and consider. Today’s Tuesday, so Zach and Kate are coming by tonight. I’m really curious to see if the sweetness continues.
I carry my cup with me to my room to make sure my work clothes are clean and see my Bible.
Now’s a good time to do it.
I pick it up and settle onto my bed. I wonder who won the debate between Jen and her mom last night about Travis.
He might be “normal” as far as Mrs. Mitchell is concerned, but Travis is smart. He always has been. When we dated, Dad said that Travis was going to have no problem securing a great job and advancing quickly just because of his intellect.
Apparently Dad was right.
I shake my head slightly. Back to the Bible.
I don’t even remember where I was. I open it up to Acts 24, and verse 16 catches my eye. “In view of this, I also do my best to maintain always a blameless conscience both before God and before men.”
I stare at it for a few minutes.
I roll my shoulders and clear my throat. I think I was in Philippians actually. I flip the pages and start reading in chapter 4, verse 15.
“You yourselves also know, Philippians, that at the first preaching of the gospel, after I left Macedonia, no church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving but you alone.”
Huh. Interesting.
I close the Bible and sip from my coffee. Maybe What Not to Wear is on.
I flick the remote.
Zach and Kate get to Cool Beans at nine thirty, right as I’m handing a large decaf French roast to a man carrying a newspaper.
“Enjoy,” I say to him.
“Honey, it’s quiet; I’m reading the paper; I have a cup of coffee; and there are no kids around.” He gives me a weak smile. “This place is paradise.” He settles into a chair by the window.
Zach comes over and sets his hands on the counter. “So this is Cool Beans,” he says, looking around.
“Yep,” I say.
“Neat.” He’s still looking around. Kate is quietly perusing the menu.
Okay, so apparently it was the moving that made her all nice.
They’re both dressed up like they just got back from a Ralph Lauren show. Kate’s wearing a knee-length flowing skirt in a beige color with a dark brown top, and Zach’s once again wearing khakis and a sports blazer.
I fidget, pulling the sleeves of my black long-sleeved shirt down over my wrists from where they’d been pushed up to my elbows.
“Hi, Kate,” I say.
“Hi, Maya.” She smiles politely.
I point to Jack. “Zach, you remember Jack. Kate, this is my friend Jack.”
Jack pauses from wiping down the espresso machine. “Hi, guys.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kate says.
“Okay, Maya, I want a cinnamon café au lait or whatever you said I should get,” Zach says.
“Caramel cinnamon mocha,” I tell him.
Jack grins. “Ah. The littl
e-utilized Maya Davis special.”
“Small, medium, or large?” I ask.
Zach squinches his face. “Mmm. Medium. To-go. Decaf.”
“Wimp.”
“Maya, it’s nine thirty. I have to sleep tonight.”
“But you have an hour drive,” I point out. “You have to stay awake, right? That stretch gets real boring, real quick. Especially at night.”
Zach taps Kate’s shoulder. “That’s why I married her. It’s her job to keep me awake on long road trips.”
Jack laughs. “How sentimental of you.” He starts on Zach’s drink.
Zach grins.
Kate is done reading the menu. “Can I get a small English Dusk tea? Also to-go, please. That’s loose leaf, right?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“That’s what I want.”
I start making her tea. This is Jen’s favorite tea, and I haven’t talked to her all day, ever since the incident with her mom. She didn’t get back home before I left to go throw away my chance at financial freedom someday (i.e., fill up my gas tank).
Jack hands Zach his mocha in a paper cup. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Kate’s tea is done a few minutes of silence later. “And there’s the tea,” I say. “Drive safely, you two.”
“We will.” Zach smiles at me. “Nice place, Maya. See you Sunday night at Mom and Dad’s.”
I barely keep back the sigh. “Okay.” No more pajama pants, no more slap-happy game nights. Now I have to dress up to lounge in front of Mom and Dad’s fireplace. Actually, not even lounging. Now, we’re all sitting straight-backed on the sofas.
Jack rewipes down the espresso machine. “So, how’s Jen?” he asks.
“I haven’t seen her since you did. After you left, I went on my run.”
Jack pauses. “You went on a run at ten thirty at night?”
“Yeah.”
He frowns. “By yourself?”
“Well, I had Calvin.”
He sets down the rag on the counter. “Maya … that’s not safe.”
“Jack, we live in Hudson.”
“So? You don’t know everyone who lives here.” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Just do me a favor and run before dark, okay? While Calvin is a canine, I don’t think he’ll be much protection.”
