Time Off for Good Behavior

by Lani Diane Rich

She turned to the receptionist. “It’s okay, Marguerite. She’s with me.”

  As Cate dragged me by the arm into her office, I heard the receptionist say, “My name is Heather.” Cate either didn’t notice or didn’t care, so I let it go. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you didn’t hear something. Heather’d be working somewhere else in a week or two, anyway.

  “You are not going to believe what’s been going on here,” Cate gushed as she shut the door behind her. I held up my hand.

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “Sure you do. Blaine got fired.”

  My mouth dropped. “You’re kidding! How did that happen?”

  Cate grinned. “His dad was so pissed off after you filed the lawsuit that he canned him.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t file a lawsuit.”

  “You didn’t? Word has it they paid you fifty grand to shut you up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Do I look like anyone gave me fifty grand?” I reached into my purse and pulled out the package I’d just picked up at the novelty store. “I’m walking around with elf ears in my purse, for Christ’s sake.”

  She checked out the ears and made a minor attempt to mask her concern. “Oh, sweetie, you need to come back.”

  “No way, Cate. That’s not why I’m here. Look, I need your help.”

  “Oh, sure, but seriously...” She pulled her eyes away from the bag of ears but still looked concerned. “You need to come back. Things are so much better since Blaine left.”

  I held up my hands. “Waste of time, Catie. You can only sell television for so long before you lose your self-respect.”

  “Since when did you have any self-respect?” she asked with a grin. Her eyes dropped back to the package of ears and her smile faded. I grabbed them and shoved them back in my purse. She leaned forward. “Seriously, honey, what’s up with the ears?”

  “Nothing’s up with the ears. Do you remember Molly Zane? I need to find her. I thought you might have an address on file. You know, where you sent her last check to, something like that.”

  Cate sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “You know it’s illegal for me to share that information with you.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry to ask, but I really need—”

  She laughed. “Oh, shut up. I’ll get it for you. You just owe me, is all.”

  I grinned. “Don’t you ever change, Cate.”

  She rummaged through her keys and walked over to the filing cabinet in the corner of her office. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  ***

  “Wanda?” I froze as I heard Walter’s voice saying my name. I dropped the pen I’d been using to scratch down information from my home messages and sat down at Elizabeth’s kitchen table, holding the phone tight to my ear.

  “Elizabeth told me you’re okay. I hope that’s true. I just... I hope I didn’t... Agh.” He grunted in frustration. I felt my lunch rise in my throat. “If you just need time, I can respect that. If it’s something that I’ve done, I wish you would tell me. Tony hasn’t located your ex-husband yet, and I’m... concerned. Please, call me.”

  In my defense, I did call. I called and I let it ring and he answered the phone and I heard his voice and I started to cry and I hung up like a big stupid cowardly stupid baby.

  But I called.

  ***

  “How’s it going here, Kace?” I ambled up behind Kacey and placed a pile of burgers and fries and sodas on the desk next to the computer at the Santa Station. Kacey looked up at me and pulled the headphones out of her ears, turning off the portable CD player in her lap. “You say something, Wanda?”

  “If that’s ’Nsync, I’m gonna have a fit,” I said. “Remind me to get you a Huey Lewis CD for your birthday.”

  She crinkled her nose at me. “No.”

  “Wise guy.” I glanced past her at an unfamiliar screen on the computer. “What are you up to here?”

  “Sit down. You’re gonna love this.” I sat down in the seat next to her and she turned to me, wringing her hands in excitement. “I’ve worked out a system.”

  “A system?” I said, grabbing a fry out of the bag. “How long was I gone? Twenty minutes?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’ve just implemented it today.”

  Implemented. Gotta love a kid who uses words like implemented.

  “This is how it works. Anne Marie”—she pointed to Anne Marie, who was working the train—“chats with the kids while she pulls the train. She gets the names, favorite colors, stuff like that.” I leaned back over the computer, and Kacey pointed to the child on Bones’s lap. “I also rigged up a baby monitor. Hope you don’t mind I used some of the petty cash.” She picked up the receiving end and turned up the volume, and we eavesdropped on Bones talking to the little girl on his lap.

  “You been studying your letters?” he asked her. She nodded without saying a word, in awe of Santa Bones.

  “You can talk, can’tcha?” Bones asked her. She nodded again. “Well, I can’t hear ya, but I’m very, very old, and sometimes you have to shout with old men like me,” he said.

  I smiled, watching him with that little girl, and felt a swell of emotion for the old goat. Kacey raised her hand and made a gesture to Bones, which he acknowledged with a slight nod.

  “So what is it you want for Christmas this year, Isabelle?”

  “I want a Barbie,” Isabelle said. I slapped my hand against my forehead.

  “Barbie!” I stage-whispered to Kacey. “For crying out loud, what’s the deal with the friggin’ Barbies?”

  “I know,” Kacey said, shaking her head. “Did you know that if Barbie was a real woman with those proportions, she’d have to carry her kidneys in her purse?”

  I laughed. “Your mom is going to regret letting you guys hang out with me after school. You’re turning into a full-fledged wiseass.”

  She grinned but didn’t turn her eyes away from the keyboard. “I have a whole bunch of themes based on the most popular requests.” She bit her lip as she tapped on the keyboard. “And here’s... Barbie.”

  I checked out the computer screen as the normal, generic Christmas border that we printed on the pictures was replaced by a Barbie Christmas theme.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “And that’s not all. We’ve got a ton of them. There are dog themes, cat themes, arts and crafts, NASCAR. And if you’re in a pinch, just generic girl and boy themes.”

  “You created all those?”

  Kacey shook her head. “I downloaded them off of the Internet on Mom’s computer at home. Didn’t you know this software has a website?”

  “A what site?”

  Kacey sighed and continued clacking on the keyboard and snapped her fingers at me to take the picture of Isabelle with Bones. I shot the picture, and by the time I got back, Kacey had inserted a note for Isabelle in the corner of the Barbie theme and was sending it to the printer.

  She swirled around in the office chair and looked at me. Her feet didn’t even touch the floor. “What do you think?”

  I picked up the printout. The border was pink, and Barbie stood in the corner, with a speech balloon coming out of her mouth that said “Merry Christmas, Isabelle!”

  “I think it’s incredible.” As I spoke, Anne Marie got the picture from me and inserted it in the cardboard frame. She winked at Kacey. “Kid sure runs a tight ship.”

  Isabelle and her mother took the picture from Anne Marie, gushing over it as they headed for the children’s-books section. Anne Marie headed back to work the train, and Bones had another kid on his lap.

  “Damn,” I said. “I’m finding it increasingly hard to believe you’re only twelve.”

  She laughed. “I’m an old soul.”

  I resisted an impulse to ruffle her hair. “Where’s your brother? Your mom’s going to be here to pick you guys up soon.”

  She clacked frantically on the keyboard, keeping up with the wish list of a little boy named Oliver.

  “Around
here somewhere.”

  She snapped her fingers at me. I framed up Oliver and Bones and clicked twice. “Okay, I’m gonna go find him. You stay here, all right?”

  Kacey nodded and pulled a Pooh Bear border up in the program. I watched her for a minute, awed by her. So young. So smart. She had everything going for her and probably didn’t even know it.

  She threw a glance at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I found Alex standing in front of a display of blank journals, picking them up one by one and flipping through them.

  “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, coming up behind him. He jumped and screamed.

  “Jesus Christ, Wanda!” he said, putting the book back on the shelf. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Jesus Christ, Alex, don’t say Jesus Christ.” I pulled the book he’d been looking at off the shelf. “Since when are you interested in journals?”

  “I’m not.”

  I flipped through it. It was lined, for writing. “Do you write?” He shrugged. The teenager’s answer to everything, from yes-or-no questions to the composition segment on their English exam. The only questions they ever answer in detail are “What do you want from McDonald’s?” and “What kind of car do you want when you turn sixteen?”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “What do you write?”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

  I thunked him on the head with the book. “Yes, you do. Look, I swear, I won’t make fun.”

  He glanced at me through the bangs he insisted on not cutting. A second later he mumbled, “Short stories, mostly.”

  I nodded, tucking the journal under my arm and heading to the counter. He followed behind me.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered harshly “I like the journal. I need a journal. I’m buying it for me,” I hissed back.

  As soon as it was purchased, I thrust the bag at him, hitting him in the gut with it and getting in return a soft but satisfying “Ooomph!”

  “I thought you said this was for you.”

  “It is. We haven’t done anything with the puppet show yet. I need a play.”

  “Oh, man.” Obligatory protest requirement met, he accepted the book from me and followed me toward the Station. “You’re gonna make me write a stupid puppet play?”

  I shrugged. “It’s up to you whether it’s stupid or not.” I pulled out the chair next to Kacey at the desk. “Now sit down and eat your burger.”

  ***

  Things were winding down at the Santa Station, about fifteen minutes to closing, when I sent Anne Marie home to study for her history test the next day. There were only a few customers in the store, and not one kid, as far as I saw. Bones had left his Santa hat, wig, and coat in a lump on his Santa throne while he went off to visit the men’s room, grumbling about how even legends and myths needed to take a whiz every now and again. So I was alone, fiddling around with the computer, when I heard Walter’s voice behind me.

  “Wanda?”

  I looked up and saw him peering down at me from the other side of my desk. He was wearing a gray coat over a gray suit and a bright red tie. He looked good, and he looked like he smelled good. I wondered if there was a way I could get close enough to smell him without breaking my rules of reinvention, and my heart started hammering at the thought of what I’d do if I got that close.

  Crap. This wasn’t going to be good, but there was no escape. I smoothed out my elf tunic, tried to scrape up whatever fledgling remnants of confidence my psyche could muster, and plastered on a smile. “Hey, you.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom. My heart was hammering at full tilt. I wondered if he could see it pounding through the tunic. I was glad I’d put the kibosh on the whole elf ear thing. At least I wouldn’t discover later that I’d had an entire conversation with Walter with an errant lobe sitting on my shoulder.

  “So,” I said, “what are you doing here?”

  He held up some Osgiliath’s bags. “Just a little Christmas shopping.”

  “Oh. Well. Good.”

  Our eyes locked. I could see the questions on his face. Why did you run out? Why haven’t you called? Didn’t you know I was worried? Can’t you see that I care? He didn’t say any of that, though. He only smiled that Jimmy Stewart smile and nodded toward my costume.

  “I like your new look.”

  “Yeah, well, you know...” I cringed at my rambling and attempted to redeem myself by resting my elbow on the desk and my chin on my hand, the way I’d seen a thousand cool supermodels do in magazines. Of course, since I was staring at Walter, my elbow missed the desk by a full inch and my forehead came cracking down on the computer keyboard.

  Take me now, God, I thought. Lightning bolt, aneurysm, alien abduction. Be creative. I’ll be waiting.

  Walter was at my side in a second, kneeling before me, his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, slapping on a tight smile. “Great. Never better.”

  He reached up to touch my head where it had collided with the keyboard. I instinctively pushed his hand away.

  “Oh, let me look, you big baby,” he whispered. He smoothed my hair away from my face and inspected my forehead. His face was so close to mine that I could smell his aftershave. I was right. He did smell good.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  He smiled and moved back, smoothing my hair again before pulling his hand away. “I think you’ll survive.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and made a face. “Told ya.” He stood up and grabbed my hand to help me up. I looked around desperately to see if any kids had suddenly materialized to save me from myself. They hadn’t.

  “Is this your new gig?” He looked around, a soft smile on his lips as he checked out the Station. “Looks like fun.”

  “Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Yeah. I... I own it. Actually.”

  Walter smiled. “You own it? No kidding. Really?”

  “No kidding, really. Bought it with Edgar Dowd’s cash, as a matter of fact.”

  He smiled. “I’m glad you put it to good use.”

  There was an awkward silence. Still waiting on that lightning bolt, God. Tick-tock.

  “So,” Walter said after a bit, “do you still see Elizabeth?”

  I nodded, my eyebrows knitting. “Yeah. Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Not recently.”

  “Why not?” I laughed. “Did Jack finally drop that stupid lawsuit?”

  Walter didn’t say anything. I felt my chin drop.

  “Jack dropped the lawsuit? Are you kidding?”

  Walter hesitated, then gave me a careful smile. “I actually can’t say. Attorney-client privilege and all. But... if you and Elizabeth are close...”

  I nodded. “Yeah, we’ve gotten close.”

  “Well, then maybe you could ask her about it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I will.”

  He nodded. Another awkward silence. I glanced at the books surrounding us and had a brief and unsettling vision of what I’d do there if Walter and I were really alone. When I looked back, Walter was still looking at me. I smiled. “Well, it’s about time for me to close up shop.”

  Walter put his hand on my arm, pulled me over, and kissed me on the cheek. “It was good to see you again, Wanda.”

  There were a million appropriate responses to that. I could have said, “Nice to see you.” Or, “Yeah, it was great, let’s get coffee sometime.” I could have even told him about the stickies on my wall and how I’d vowed to avoid him until I’d cleared them all away, until I’d done something meaningful and made myself worthy.

  Instead, I said nothing. Walter’s lips tightened and he gave a stiff smile and he walked away not having the slightest idea that my heart was still boom-boom-booming as I watched him go.

  Chapter Nine

  Chattanooga is a two-hour drive from Hastings. In mid-December, it’s a gray drive, mostly highway through back country and farmland. It gave
me lots of time to think about turning around and going back, crumpling up the Talk to Molly note and throwing it away, and who would ever know the difference?

  Unfortunately, I would. That kept me going, because if I didn’t face Molly again, then I wouldn’t move forward, and if I didn’t move forward, then I would never see Walter again.

  And that was not an option.

  Molly’s house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was white. Had a picket fence. A picture so perfect it almost seemed a shame for me to bring myself into it. I pulled my car up in front of a house two doors away and got out, heading down the sidewalk toward Molly’s new life. There were two cars in the driveway. It occurred to me she might have gotten married. Her last name was still Zane in the phone book, but many women did that these days. I glanced around the property. There was no sign of kids. As I walked up to the front door, I stepped around two signs of a very big dog, and I remembered Molly once saying something about wanting a dog.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. There was no answer. I stepped back Although it would have made sense to call first, I hadn’t, just assuming shed be home waiting for me to make my grand entrance back into her life. I turned around and scanned the quiet neighborhood, since the evidence suggested she was probably out walking the dog. I situated myself on the front porch and waited, hugging my knees to my chest to conserve my body heat.

  I stared out at the neighborhood and imagined what Molly would look like now. Her face would be full and flush. Her hair would still be long and red. Her dog would be a Lab. Her husband would be a doctor.

  And there would be no residual scars, physical or mental, from the time that my ex-husband busted her face in. Hey, if you’re gonna fool yourself, fool yourself big.

  My heart rate quickened as I thought about what I’d brought back into her life. I wish I’d used the drive to plan something to say when I finally saw her, instead of distracting myself with my Billy Joel CDs. I figured I’d just wing it, come out with a quick apology, and be on my way back to Hastings with one less sticky note on my mind. But what do you say to someone after you dig a big ditch through their road to recovery? How do you make up for that? Hey, Molly, I knitted you a sweater. Goes with your eyes. All’s forgiven about that time I fucked up your life, right? Greeeeaaaaaaat.