Day by Day

by Delia Parr

  She met his gaze and saw the turmoil in her soul reflected in the depths of his eyes before he dropped his gaze. “I’m really glad you came home,” she whispered.

  He looked toward the staircase. “I’d better head upstairs. I need to make a few calls and tie up some loose ends.”

  “Okay. I had made some plans for us to go out for pizza with some of the girls’ friends before the puppet show, but I told the girls we’d make it another night.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “I just have to make a call or two to cancel.”

  “Use your cell phone.”

  She cocked her head.

  He shrugged. “I unplugged the phones on the first floor. I’ll do that upstairs, too. I’m just surprised none of the reporters have tried to call yet,” he explained.

  Memories of the media barrage in July that began with Steve’s death and continued for days past his funeral were still vivid enough to make her shudder. While he went upstairs, she got her cell phone from her purse and called Madge first and quickly explained why she had to cancel tonight’s outing.

  “If you can’t come to the pizza party, then the pizza party will come to you,” Madge insisted. “Good friends, junk food and a few little chatterboxes are just what you need to take your mind off what you learned this afternoon. I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll call Judy to tell her about the change in plans, too. Just set the table and change into something comfortable, like jeans and a T-shirt,” she offered and hung up before Barbara had a chance to decline.

  Chapter Five

  As the party was winding down, Barbara sat back in her chair and sighed with satisfaction.

  Indeed, Madge had been right.

  A lot of chatter, a little chaos and a good dose of friendship had been just the prescription to help rescue a troublesome and challenging day and a sure way to ease the ache of what might have been. She glanced down the length of the dining room table. Instead of the maps and brochures John had been collecting, now safely stored away in the attic, along with dreams of sailing away into retirement and a life of leisure, empty pizza boxes and antipasto tins littered the middle of the table.

  Behind paper plates and beverage cups, all five adults and four children crammed together around the table. Russell and John sat at opposite ends. Madge and Judy anchored one side with Barbara between them, across from the four children on the side closest to the wall, a line of chatterboxes, their little faces smeared with tomato sauce and more than one milk mustache.

  Ever the organizer, Madge checked her watch and clapped to get the children’s attention. “Who wants to go to the puppet show now?”

  “Me!”

  “Me!”

  “Me!”

  A chorus of little voices rose louder and louder until Madge quieted them with another clap of her hands. “Then we need clean faces and hands.”

  Barbara got to her feet. “And a potty stop. Sit still. I’ll get some cloths.” While she went to the kitchen to retrieve the box of premoistened, disposable cloths that had become a new staple in her life, John and Russell blocked the two possible escape routes. The children apparently were far more interested in getting ready for the puppet show than they were in avoiding a cleanup because when Barbara returned, they were all in their seats and offered little protest when she started an assembly line.

  After washing one pair of hands and a face, Barbara passed the child to Madge who provided escort to the powder room behind the kitchen. John took the next child upstairs to the main bathroom. Then, while John and Madge kept their little charges occupied in the living room, as much to protect the antiques as to keep the children from going back to the table for one more bite of pizza, Judy and Russell took the remaining two children for a potty break.

  Barbara tossed the last dirtied cloth into one of the pizza boxes, got a large trash bag from the kitchen and cleared the mess from the table, including the plastic tablecloth, in a matter of minutes. “There’s a lot to be said for going modern,” she murmured and stored the trash bag outside the back door. She returned to the dining room, smoothed a lace tablecloth back into place and set the pair of antique Hull candlesticks in the center.

  She paused to run her fingertips along the stem of one of the candlesticks, the first of the thirty-four pieces John had given her over the years for their wedding anniversaries. She kept them all displayed behind beveled glass in an old oak cabinet she had helped her father refinish, first stripping away layers and layers of white paint and cleaning tiny specks of paint in each groove in the heavily carved wood with toothbrushes and toothpicks.

  Glancing at the cabinet, she smiled. So many memories, outside and inside. Memories of her father, teaching her patience and sharing with her his love for antiques as they worked. Memories of her married life captured with each piece of Hull resting on glass shelves. The small Hull lamp she had gotten their first anniversary for “lighting up his life with joy.” The vases she had used to hold the flowers John had given to her for different anniversaries and later, when Rick and Steve had been born.

  “Steve.”

  She choked out his name. Reminded once again of her loss and the breaking news from the police, she fought the swell of grief ever ready to crash over her heart and inflame still-healing wounds. She turned away from the table. Toward the sound of little frogs who had apparently invaded her living room. Toward laughter. Toward the future instead of the past. Toward life filled with more joys than sorrows.

  John came back into the dining room and stood beside her. “Russell and Madge are ready to take the children to the puppet show now. It’s only a few blocks to the park, so they’re going to walk. They’d need two cars, anyway, just to accommodate the four car seats. It’s probably best if they leave by the back door.”

  Barbara nodded and studied the man she had loved all her life. His golden-brown eyes no longer sparkled with the joy of life and his ash-brown hair was flecked with more gray highlights now than blond. She had not seen the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes for months now, and his shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the cross he was carrying, too.

  She moistened her lips, searching in vain for the words to have him turn to her instead of his work for comfort. “Will you stay here with me? What if the reporters come?” she asked. Even though the telephones were still disconnected, she was surprised their pizza party had not been interrupted by knocks at the door, and she did not relish being home alone if and when the media barrage began.

  “Carl Landon has taken care of the reporters. As soon as I hung up from you, I called him. He scheduled a press conference at his office for five o’clock which should have kept them satisfied. Besides, if any of the reporters decide to come to the door, I don’t think they’ll get past Rob and Stuart.”

  She managed half a smile. Carl was a good friend as well as their lawyer, and he had taken on the role of being their spokesperson within hours of John’s call after Steve’s murder. Their neighbors, Rob and Stuart, bless their hearts, had proven to be as tough and protective as Secret Service agents guarding the president. When they were called to duty, no one got past them to get to the front door.

  He kissed her cheek. “Keep the telephones unplugged and use your cell phone if you need to call me. I’ll be at the office. I had two appointments for tonight that I couldn’t cancel. I’ll leave through the back door, too. The walk will do me good.”

  “Do you have to leave? Tonight?”

  “Judy said she was going to do your hair for you, so you won’t be alone. It’ll do you good to have some time for lady talk. I won’t be late. I should be home by nine-thirty,” he promised before leaving her.

  Nine-thirty. After the girls had been tucked into bed.

  She tried, but found it hard to swallow the lump in her throat. Bedtime rituals, from reading stories, saying nighttime prayers and getting that last drink of water, had always been John’s alone time with their boys when they were little. He had resumed th
e ritual with Jessie and Melanie when Steve used to bring them for an overnight visit, whether it was the night before opening remarks or closing arguments in a big case or an occasional weekend when he had to go out of town.

  John had avoided the ritual ever since Steve’s death when the girls had come to live with them. Instead, he had wrapped himself deep inside his grief, protected by evening business appointments at his office in Whitman Commons—evening appointments he had abandoned years ago. She did not know how long he would continue to grieve alone and avoid bedtime with the twins, and she yearned to see him kneeling at the side of the bed with the girls once again.

  She toyed with the edge of the lace tablecloth and watched him lead the parade of guests past the door and through the kitchen to the back door. When the door finally closed, filling the house with suffocating silence, she flinched and dropped her gaze, feeling so very, very alone.

  “I’ve got everything with me. Are you in the mood to be pampered a little?”

  Startled, she looked up and saw Judy standing in the doorway holding a large, canvas bag.

  Judy smiled and held up her bag. “Tools of the trade. Everything I need to cut and color your hair. I brought them with me when I left the Towers. Madge had called there and left a message with Penny so I’d know to come here instead of Mario’s. I stopped at the salon and got the hair dye. I looked up your color. Just in case,” she added. “Madge thought it was a good idea.”

  Barbara ran her fingers through her hair and cringed. “I must look a sight to have everyone so concerned about my appearance. To be honest, I meant to call for an appointment. I just haven’t had the time or the…interest. I hate to be such a bother,” she insisted, although she would have liked nothing better than to have her hair done. “You’ve already had a long day.”

  “It seems like every day is a long day.” Judy sighed. “I’m also getting used to sitting down to watch a little television at night and falling asleep before the second commercial. I can’t remember the last time I saw a show from beginning to end or had enough energy to stay awake long enough to dry the clothes I’d tossed into the washer.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’d forgotten how many clothes a young child can go through in a few days. Look, I completely understand. If you’re too tired right now, or you’d rather have Ann do your hair, just say so, and I’ll pack up.”

  “No. Not at all. I just don’t want to impose. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

  “And I’d better stay on my feet if I want to stay awake until Brian gets back from the puppet show,” Judy teased.

  “Shall I set up in the kitchen? I’d rather not risk it here.”

  Barbara laughed. “I could tell you stories about the havoc two little six-year-olds have managed to unleash in the past two months, but you probably have a good idea now that Brian is with you. You couldn’t possibly do any worse damage, but the kitchen would be better, I suppose.”

  Barbara led Judy into the kitchen and pointed to the granite countertop where Judy set her canvas bag. She laid out a piece of heavy plastic and lined up several pairs of scissors next to familiar bottles of hair dye and conditioner. “We’ll color first and cut second, if that’s all right?”

  “Sure.” Barbara pulled a low-backed chair away from the seventeenth-century farmer’s table she had found in an antique barn in Connecticut several years back and sat down.

  Judy motioned her back up, laid another piece of plastic the size of a shower curtain on the tiled floor, carried the chair to the middle, and smiled. “That’s better. Now if any dye drops on the floor, it won’t matter. As you can see, I’ve been known to drop a little dye in the past.”

  Barbara looked at the splotches that covered the drop cloth, cringed and sat down. While Judy fit a plastic cape around her shoulders, Barbara folded her hands on her lap and toyed with her wedding ring. “You seem to have this down to a real science.”

  Judy laughed. “I’d better. I’ve been making house calls for twenty years or more. Most of the time they’re at the Towers. Ann and I both still have a few customers who live at home, but don’t go out much so we go to them. As a matter of fact, Ann was just at Alice Conner’s home.”

  “How is Ann doing? The last time I was in the shop in the spring, she was just back from being home sick for a few weeks. Gout, wasn’t it?”

  Judy nodded. “She’s been having a rough time of it for the last year or so.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever known a woman, other than Ann, who had gout. I thought that was something men got.”

  “I think it is, but to hear Ann tell it, gout is just another surprise reserved for some very special postmenopausal women.” Judy chuckled. “And Ann is definitely a special woman, even though she isn’t very faithful about following the diet the doctor ordered or taking her medication. Once she feels better, she’s right back to her old habits, I’m afraid,” she admitted, and ran her fingers through Barbara’s shoulder-length hair.

  Barbara closed her eyes and took gentle breaths so she could concentrate on the soothing sensations Judy created with her fingertips.

  “Your cut has really grown out, and there’s a bit of a problem with split ends. Nothing I can’t fix. I assume you want the same cut?”

  Barbara shrugged. “I’ve worn my hair the same way for so long, I wouldn’t know how to manage anything beyond having a center part and just turning the ends under.”

  Judy played with her hair again for a while before she stopped and walked around her full circle. “You might want to try something new. Sometimes change is good for your hair and it can lift your spirits, too.”

  Barbara opened her eyes and met Judy’s gaze. “Change can be hard, too.”

  Judy’s gaze softened and she nodded. “I guess we both know some changes are harder than others, don’t we?”

  Barbara swallowed hard and accepted the invitation of friendship and understanding in Judy’s eyes. “Losing Steve was the worst nightmare in my life. Everything has changed. Nothing, absolutely nothing is the same as it used to be.”

  “I know. Or I think I know,” Judy admitted. She clenched and unclenched her fists, and her gaze grew distant. “Sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I wonder where Candy is or if I’ll ever see her again.” She paused. “I’m so sorry. About Steve. I—”

  “In my heart, I know Steve is safe now and happy. He’s Home,” Barbara whispered. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. Madge told me Candy is in a hospital somewhere in California, but her husband couldn’t tell you where or how soon she’ll be released.”

  Judy took a deep breath. “She’s in rehab. She’s been in and out of rehab for years. I couldn’t tell you how many times. I’d lost count long before Frank died and she showed up for his viewing stoned and out of control. She left in the middle of the night and didn’t even bother showing up for the funeral. I haven’t heard a word from her since. She’s somewhere in California. I don’t know where. Her husband couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me. That’s my nightmare…not knowing…being half afraid I’ll never see her again and being half afraid she’ll show up on my doorstep, stoned or high, demanding to take Brian back into that life again. That’s another nightmare.”

  She sighed. “It’s hard being a mother again, but I won’t ever let him go back with her unless I’m absolutely certain he’ll be safe.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly sorry,” Barbara whispered. “Have you given any thought to hiring a detective to find her, just to make sure she’s all right?”

  Judy picked up the bottle of hair dye and turned it round and round in her hand. “Detectives cost money—money better spent, if I had it, for Brian. As it is, putting him into day care for most of the summer used up whatever I had saved. It’s better now that school has started. I had to hire a sitter for Saturdays, even though it’s usually pretty slow and I lose money because the Saturday crowd has switched to the new salon that does both hair and nails. The after-school program is less expensive, bu
t it’s still a strain on my budget. I’m not complaining, though. Brian is all I’ve got left of Candy. He’s my flesh and blood, and I’ll care for him and protect him any way I have to.”

  Barbara clenched her own hands. “Sometimes my imagination runs wild, and I have these dreams about Steve’s ex-wife suddenly appearing and taking the children away, even though she hasn’t tried to contact them since she walked out on them three years ago. They’re all I have left of Steve. I don’t want to lose them, too.”

  She swallowed hard, all too aware of the similar challenges she and Judy seemed to be facing. Barbara’s loss, with Steve’s death, might be very public, splashed in the newspapers for all to read about, while Judy’s was more private and perhaps more painful to bear because she was all alone in her grief and struggles. But they both shared the common bond of dealing with the loss of a child, one to death, the other to drugs; their fears about losing their grandchildren; and the ongoing problems of keeping them and adjusting to being mothers again instead of grandmothers. Alone, they struggled in their new roles. Perhaps together, as friends, they might share the struggle and find the path of rediscovered motherhood easier to travel.

  Judy held up the bottle of hair dye and read the label. “Summer Sunrise. That’s your color, right?” she asked, changing the subject back to the task at hand.

  Barbara nodded.

  “Just checking. I’d rather find out now instead of later.”

  “Good idea. Maybe while you’re coloring my hair, you could give me some idea of a new style that would be easier to manage?”

  When Judy cocked a brow, Barbara smiled. “A little change might be good,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s time for some good change. For both of us.”

  Judy cocked the other brow. “For both of us?”

  Barbara smiled, but only time would tell if her hopes for a stronger friendship between them would be fulfilled.