by Judy Baer
If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Mitzi, barefoot and disheveled, her hair a disaster, her lipstick faded, sleeping in a child’s make-believe tent with a soft smile on her face and a look of tranquility I normally see only in artistic renderings of Madonna and child.
Chase was still sleeping on the couch when I got home, his forehead damp and Mr. Tibble curled onto his chest. Scram had found his way back onto the couch and was covering Chase’s legs like a blanket. Glad he could rest, I tiptoed to the kitchen to make something special for dinner. Chase hasn’t been quite himself lately. He needs a little extra tender loving care, and I’m just the one to provide it.
Mr. Tibble here.
Good news. Whitney’s other pet—the large, two-footed one—doesn’t push me off when I take naps on his chest anymore. It’s a very toasty napping place, but his behavior is highly atypical. As a rule, they are both sickeningly animated.
Now if I could just get my pet Whitney and that annoying little pest Scram to settle down, things would be completely under my control at this house. It’s a struggle to maintain my dignity in such chaos. I still have difficulty doing so when my pet Whitney insists on pushing me onto my back and scratching my stomach. How humiliating. I wouldn’t tolerate it if it didn’t feel so good. I had no idea what problems I was taking on when I adopted my human. Someday I should write a book. Dogs drool, Cats rule.
Mr. Tibble, signing off.
I curled up beside Chase and wiggled into the curve of his body. He woke up slowly and began to roll a curl into my hair with his index finger.
“Hi, sweetheart. How were Mitzi and Wes?” He burrowed his nose in the nape of my neck, and I squirmed with pleasure.
“Okay. Mitzi is a trouper. Wesley insisted on eating his lunch in a tent in the living room and Mitzi says that underwear with sponges on it is ‘unsuitable for a self-respecting toddler.’ When I left, they were both asleep on the floor.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m not even going to ask you how all that came about. Tents, unsuitable underwear, and Mitzi sleeping on the floor? It’s too much for the human mind to comprehend.”
“You should have seen her. You know how Wesley careens around the house like a billiard ball around a pool table? Naturally he banged his head on the edge of the dining-room table. Mitzi was right there kissing Wesley’s ‘boo-boo’ and cradling him in her arms.
“She’s serious about this baby thing, Chase. And, although I can’t believe this is coming out of my mouth, I think she’ll be a wonderful mother.”
He squirmed until he got his arms around me. “She’s not the only one.”
“We already know Kim’s a great mom. A little lenient, but great.”
“I know someone else who’ll be a great mother, too.”
A little frisson of pleasure spread through me. “Anybody I know?”
“As a matter of fact, you do.”
“Want to tell me about her? List some of her best qualities.”
“Well, for starters, I’m in love with her…”
And then we forgot about the rest of the list.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday, April 28
“Where was Mitzi yesterday?” Betty asked as we stared into the break room refrigerator at something unsavory that was greening up near her store of bottled water.
“She took a personal day.” I poked at the item with the tip of my pencil, and it sank into the green globule’s flesh. “Is this an orange?” I speculated.
“Maybe it’s a peach,” Betty conjectured. “It is pretty fuzzy.”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” I admit to turning a blind eye to the refrigerator since I’ve been unable to convince Mitzi that it’s her turn to clean it out. I keep thinking that someone, someday, will have had enough and just get the job done. I had very high hopes that the three-week-old egg salad that’s been fermenting in the salad crisper would work as a motivator, but everyone has just ignored it. And the old broccoli that, once it turned yellow and began to smell like a men’s locker room, should have driven someone over the edge. Again, no response. It’s a funny place to stage a war, inside a refrigerator, but that’s what this has come to. It’s literally and figuratively a cold war. Tensions are escalating, and no one is willing to back down.
I even offered a prize for the first person to clean out the dumb thing—a box of brand-new plastic containers in every shape and size, the ideal gift for the organized brown bagger. Not a twitch of interest. I think they’re enjoying this showdown. Far be it from me to ruin their fun.
“What did Mitzi take a personal day for?” Betty asked when we became bored poking at the Fuzzy Green Tennis Ball Formerly Known as Fruit.
“I don’t know. Harry took the message and left a note on my desk.”
“Mitzi never misses work.”
Don’t I know it? There have been times when I’ve longed for a day off from Mitzi, but I never get one. Even when she’s planning a party or a vacation, she’s here. She says it’s easier to figure out her guest list and wardrobe when she’s with us. We stir her creative juices.
Ah, for a little dribble of inspired juice on her actual work!
I poured a cup of coffee to take to my desk and nearly ran into Mitzi on the way out the door.
“Welcome back. We missed you yesterday.” She drives me crazy when she’s here, and I miss her when she’s not. Mitzi is a walking model of the approach/ avoidance conflict.
“I have to talk to you.”
“Here I am.”
“Not here. Not now. Lunchtime. Usual place. Back booth. Bring Kim.”
She sounded as if she’d rented the video of Mission Impossible. Or could Mitzi be leaving Innova to work for the CIA? One could only hope.
“Hey, sweetie, what are you up to?”
I pressed my ear closer to the telephone receiver. “Chase?” I still get a rush just hearing his voice. “What are you doing calling this time of day? Don’t you have rounds?”
“Just got done. I had a brilliant idea, so I thought I’d call and check it out with you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why don’t we go away this weekend? Just for a little rest and relaxation. I know I’ve been a pain in the neck sometimes lately. I must be touchy at work, too, because one of the charge nurses recommended a B and B in Wisconsin that she and her husband like. No telephone, no meals to cook, just the two of us. What do you say?”
“When do we leave? If you pick me up here, I can buy a toothbrush along the way.”
His warm chuckle tickled my ear. “I’d love to, but I have some patients who might be annoyed if I walked out on them. We can leave on Friday and come home Sunday night. Ask Kim if she’ll feed the cats.”
“Consider it done. This is a wonderful idea.”
“I’m beginning to feel the consequences of the pace I’ve been keeping. I don’t enjoy feeling that I need to apologize for having a short fuse. Spending a couple days romancing my beautiful wife is just what the doctor ordered.”
“I’ll be happy to help you fill the prescription.”
“And pack something sensuous and lacy, will you?”
I smiled to myself all morning, even when Harry had a hissy fit over changes a client demanded and even through Bryan’s insistence that Mitzi was trying to drive him insane with insidiously placed typos in the reports she was doing for him. I don’t doubt she’s capable of that, but it would be hard to prove.
By noon, Mitzi looked as though she were going to erupt from her seat and splatter all over the ceiling. Kim never took her eyes off her, as if holding fast to the adage that a watched pot never boils and afraid that if she blinked, Mitzi might explode like a pressure cooker with a bad seal.
Harry wandered through the office with a frown on his face. He stopped at my desk and took a handful of the candy I keep in a bowl there. “Foraging for lunch, Harry?”
“I’ve got to take a call over lunch hour. Got anything besides Tootsie Rolls?”
He put a ten-dollar bill on my desk and said, “Surprise me. Anything’s fine, but not too much garlic and no water chestnuts.” He shuddered. “I hate those little white things crunching in my mouth when I least expect them.”
“Gotcha.” I turned to look at Mitzi to indicate that we could leave. “Ready to go?” Before I blinked twice, she had her jacket on and was standing by the door.
“How come she never moves that fast when I ask her to do something?” Harry muttered.
“Because you never ask her to do anything that involves leaving work.”
Harry popped a Tootsie Roll into his mouth. “I’ll have to remember that.” He meandered back into his office and shut the door.
“Walk faster,” Mitzi ordered as we headed toward the restaurant. “Don’t shuffle, Kim. It’s hard on your shoes and it slows you down. Whitney, make her hurry up.”
“Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four…” Kim muttered, like a recalcitrant child.
“Behave, you two. Let’s eat here. Mitzi, is this fast enough for you?”
We entered a little noodle joint that serves everything from pad thai to spaghetti and meatballs.
After we’d ordered, Mitzi made a great show of getting settled in the booth. “Well,” she blurted, “aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what? Where you lost your mind and how you plan to find it again?”
“No, silly.” She folded her hands primly on the table and tilted her head to one side. “Ask me what I did yesterday.”
“What did you do yesterday?” Kim asked obediently, intent on opening a packet of sweetener for her tea.
“I went to the doctor. Now ask me what he did.” Mitzi squirmed in her seat like Wesley sometimes does when he can’t contain his excitement.
Humoring Mitzi is easier than rushing her, so I played along. “What did he do?”
Mitzi whipped a written prescription out of her purse. “Fertility pills! Isn’t that wonderful? Now I can get my baby!”
There was so much hope and anticipation in Mitzi’s expression that I couldn’t help but be touched.
“I can hardly wait to start.” She frowned. “If I get pregnant in May, I’m going to look like a beach ball at Christmas. I’ll have to plan on wearing something in black or hunter green velvet. I can give up a red dress for one year. But New Year’s Eve will be a problem.” She eyed us thoughtfully. “I’ll have a party at my house. You guys can come. You’ll be used to how I look by then.”
“Mitzi, you haven’t been to the drugstore to fill the prescription yet. Don’t you think it’s a little early to go shopping?”
I saw that little flicker of fear in her eyes again. “I have to think positively, Whitney. I have to.”
Giving my blessing to Mitzi’s coping mechanisms, no matter how unlike mine they might be, I turned to the menu.
After we’d ordered, Kim and I turned back to Mitzi. “What else did the doctor tell you?”
Mitzi chattered on about the possible, mostly mild, side effects. Then she said the words that made my blood run cold. “He did say I could have some mood swings…hormonal, you know…but I’m optimistic that…”
Mood swings. Mitzi on hormones. I didn’t want to go there. The normal Mitzi kept us swinging like a family of monkeys. What were we in for now?
By the time I contained the horror show going on in my head, Mitzi was on to other things.
“She’ll look like me, I think. My dark hair and oval face. I’ve always looked good in hot pink, so I think I’ll buy a few receiving blankets….”
“How did you decide you were having a girl?” I asked. “And with dark hair, too!”
“Don’t be lame, Whitney. What self-respecting baby would want to look like anyone but me?”
Of course. Mitzi would expect nothing less than a carbon copy of her lovely little self.
Thursday, April 29
The mood swings started even before Mitzi began taking the pills. This morning I found her in the ladies’ restroom, leaning over the sink so close that her nose touched the mirror. She twisted her head from side to side with the compact mirror in her hand, examining her face from every possible angle.
“What are you looking for? We’re supposed to be having an office meeting. Harry sent me on a search-and-rescue mission to find you.”
“I certainly can’t go back into the office now.” Mitzi’s breath fogged the mirror in front of her.
“Why not?”
“Something terrible has happened.”
I moved closer. “What?”
“Look! See for yourself.” She jabbed an index finger toward her eye.
“Have you got something in your eye? Does it hurt?”
“Not in it, by it. It’s Royal Gorge!”
I squinted to see what she was looking at. There wasn’t much where she pointed, other than a heavy fringe of mascara. “What?”
“Crow’s feet,” she screeched. “Wrinkles. Oh, Whitney, I’m getting old.”
“Hardly. I can’t even see what you’re complaining about.”
“Then you need glasses. They aren’t wrinkles, they’re canyons! This is dreadful.”
“All I see is a couple smile lines, Mitzi.”
“So you do see it.” She sat down on one of the plastic chairs by the long countertop. “Maybe I’m too old to have a baby. Maybe…” Her roller coaster certainly travels downhill quickly. It’s going to be a long, long summer.
Kim and I discussed Mitzi’s crow’s foot—there may have been one foot, there certainly weren’t several—over a pizza.
“Americans hate getting older.” Kim sprinkled dried red peppers over her pizza. “Baby boomers like your parents are planning to live longer and with better health than any generation before them. I predict that someday every boomer in America will have a lift, nip or tuck.”
I tried to imagine my mother or father going that route. My father scowls at his belly occasionally, when his belt is buckled in the last notch. Mother eyeballs herself from the side with her makeup mirror, checking for sags. Neither seems interested in surgical solutions.
“And those magazines! They use children as models and make grown women believe we need to look like that. Wesley’s babysitter actually complains about the way she looks in her jeans, at size four.”
She stared morosely into her slice of supreme pizza with extra cheese. “What will be left for us when we’re forty, Whit? And what about—” she shuddered “—fifty? Will it be all downhill from there?”
I burst out laughing. “Kim, at forty we’ll just be getting started, not winding down!”
She looked at me doubtfully, as if my aging brain had already taken a turn for the worse.
“The way I see it, at fifty we’re finally getting ready to roll.” I took another piece of pizza before Kim ate it all. “Look at it this way. The first twenty-two years of our lives, we’re kids. We’re in school and college, worried about our grades and our social status. Then people start to marry and have children of their own, which ties them up for another eighteen. And there’s college to pay for, too. It’s between forty and fifty that we rediscover who we are and do the work we want to do. That’s the kind of woman that’s going to spend the next thirty years learning, contributing, inventing, creating…”
Speaking of creating, I’d like to do a little of my own. Baby fever is catching.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday, April 30
Mr. Tibble here.
My pet is doing something of which I do not approve. She has put the dreaded “suitcase” on her bed. This is a bad sign. It indicates she is planning to run away from home. Who knows what kind of mischief she will get into without me? She doesn’t allow me to prowl at night, therefore I have deduced that it is a bad and dangerous pastime.
I cannot let her go. I will lie inside the lidded box until she gives up trying to fill it. It is padded and smells good. Meanwhile, I have
assigned my other annoying pet to sleep on the fresh laundry. He is too small and weak-minded to be effective at guarding the suitcase. We cannot let her get away.
Even though I hide it well with aloofness and total independence, I am fond of my pet and do not like to have her out of my sight. I will also use my telepathic abilities—those I use to instruct her when it is time to feed and pet me—to make her rethink this decision.
If my pet tries to remove me from this box, I will use my claws to hang on. I will snag things if necessary. I know she hates that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Mr. Tibble, signing off.
“I cannot tell you how wonderful this feels.” I leaned back and closed my eyes as we sped down I-94 toward Wisconsin. “I’m running away from home and all my responsibilities.”
“Mr. Tibble acted as if you were running away from him,” Chase said. “I haven’t heard such caterwauling since he batted the door shut on Scram’s tail.”
“He loves me. He doesn’t want to be away from me.”
“He’s like me, then.” Chase put his hand over mine as it rested in my lap. “I’m ready for a couple days off. I think I could sleep a week.”
“Don’t be disappointed, my dear—” I put his hand to my cheek “—but I have other plans for you.”
“Promise?” Chase’s smile widened.
The bed-and-breakfast was a quaint, colorful Victorian with gables, a turret and a large wraparound porch that cried out for lemonade, sugar cookies and rocking chairs. Actually, the chairs were already there. What the porch needed most was me and my husband, cuddling on the porch swing.
“Welcome to Delight!” A plump, rosy-cheeked woman greeted us wearing a—believe it or not—red-and-white-check gingham apron. She looked so wholesome and cozy that she could have just come from milking Elsie the Cow and having tea with Mrs. Butterworth.
“This is delightful,” I agreed.
“Of course it is, it’s Delight,” she said amiably.
“Yes, it is. Very.” I agreed again. Chase listened to the strange conversation with a faint smile on his face.
