Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

  Is that right?

  I didn’t know where that voice came from—I had my suspicions, but they were suspicions only.

  Sighing, I got up and dumped the remains of my cold coffee in the sink. Alissa would bring the girls to La Chic at two o’clock for our shopping expedition. I had exactly an hour and a half to dress and get to work. Weekend holiday traffic would be murder; I would be lucky to make my eight-thirty on time.

  I shook my head as I sailed through the kitchen’s double louvered doors.

  I had a date.

  Neil, if you’re watching, I don’t have an actual date. Hamburgers and fries—that’s all, honey. The real estate agent’s way of saying, “Thank you for your business.”

  If the explanation failed to comfort Neil, then at least it made me feel more at peace.

  Four o’clock. I dropped into a mall patio chair and kicked off my shoes. The sprawling shopping complex teemed with holiday shoppers. Kris and Kelli set their bags next to mine, and then plopped down on a wooden bench. Coward that I was, I had yet to mention our “dinner engagement.”

  “Mom, can I have a corn dog?” Kris loved the wiener on a stick. The seven-year-old could polish off two without exhaling.

  “Me, too. And some chicken nuggets,” Kelli seconded.

  The loudspeaker blared “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” I rubbed my aching feet. Five and a half hours at the salon, four updos and a cut, then another two hours here in the crowded mall. I thought maybe I’d have to crawl to the car.

  “Girls, I have a big surprise!” They were going to freak out on this one. We’d just had a tearful scene in a men’s clothing store. The girls wanted to buy Neil’s present; we did. A light blue shirt, tie and two pairs of dark blue socks. I had to promise to wrap the gift and put it under the tree.

  Kelli’s eyes lit with expectancy. “Surprise! What, Mommy?”

  “Yeah, Mom. What!” Kris echoed.

  “We’re going to have dinner with Gray Mitchell!” Upbeat, Kate, upbeat!

  Pleased expectancy slid off their expressions like hot butter, replaced by mild confusion.

  “The house guy?” Kris asked

  “Him?” Kelli frowned. “Why?”

  “Why? Because he was nice enough to ask us to have dinner with him. He wants to thank us for buying the house from him.”

  Kris, wiser than her years, eyed me dubiously. “He already sent us flowers.”

  “Yes. That was nice, too. Now he wants to take us out to eat.”

  “Can we have chicken nuggets?” Kelli asked.

  “You can have anything you like.”

  “But, Mom.” Kris heaved a deep sigh. “I want a corn dog. Can Mr. Mitchell meet us here, and we have corn dogs?”

  “No, we’re supposed to meet him at Parlyvista.”

  The girls stared at me blankly. Even I knew “Parlyvista” didn’t have the ring of a corn dog joint.

  “Look,” I said, consulting my watch, “how about you each have a corn dog—and chicken nuggets for you, Kelli. We aren’t scheduled to meet Mr. Mitchell for another hour.”

  There would be over an hour’s wait for a table at Parlyvista. I could count on it. “If you promise to eat your dinner later,” I continued.

  “Okay.” They both agreed.

  We purchased the food, and I drank a diet soda while the girls polished off the fast food. I put my foot down when Kris wanted a second corn dog; I knew there’d be no way she’d eat dinner with two of those grease-coated battered fried dogs churning around in her stomach.

  After trash cleanup, we rode the escalator to the third level.

  “Be careful where you step. You could hurt yourself.”

  The girls reached for my hand.

  “And be leery of anyone trying to talk you into going to look for me if we get separated. I don’t want you kidnapped—”

  I stopped short when I saw Kelli’s expression turn to one of wretched alarm.

  “What I mean to say is, don’t wander off alone.”

  Now they stuck to me like leeches.

  As I exited the moving steps, someone in back of me stepped on the heel of my shoe and I pitched forward. Stumbling, I hit an elderly man’s back, shoving him into a flashing, colorful Christmas bulb display.

  The display upended, sending delicate red and green glass balls shattering to the floor. The pop! pop! pop! drew the attention of every shopper and nearby clerk. The poor man looked dazed.

  “I am so sorry,” I murmured. Kris and Kelli scampered around trying to locate my missing shoe.

  I slipped the loafer back on my foot and limped on with as much dignity as possible after the humiliating incident. The last I saw of the disaster scene—and clerks’ distorted faces—the gentleman was pointing to me, saying I had pushed him.

  I hurriedly ducked into Sharper Image, with my girls hot on my trail.

  “Don’t touch anything in here,” I warned. “I wouldn’t want to have to pay for anything you break.”

  Kris gave me one of her patented “I wouldn’t talk if I were you” looks.

  We browsed the store, admiring the really cool, really “sweet” merchandise. Kris and Kelli stalled at the “Saxy” display—a tuba-clarinet-saxophone-synthesizer-kazoo instrument—while I wandered deeper into the store looking for gifts for Mom and Dad and Neil’s parents.

  We left the store and went into Brookstone, where I purchased four fat, puffy travel pillows. All four parents had complained about stiff necks, so this year’s gift might actually be used. Why my optimism ran high I couldn’t say. The last time I’d looked in Mom’s closet I’d found unused Christmas gifts from me ranging back to premarriage days.

  Around a quarter to five we left the mall, toting heavy sacks. I’d thought about taking the merchandise to the car, but the restaurant was two blocks away and the parking garage was half a mile; my sore feet won out. We carried the bags to the restaurant. Now all I had to do was get through the meal, excuse myself early, saying the girls were exhausted, and I could go home, kick off my shoes and take a long soak in a hot tub.

  “The wait is an hour and forty minutes right now.”

  Parlyvista’s smiling hostess wrote my name and number in party down on her clipboard, then handed me a buzzer. My eyes scanned the crowded waiting area. Potential diners were lined out the door, spilling onto the sidewalk.

  “Mommy, I’m tired.” Kelli slumped against me, holding the sack of pillows. Though bulky, the package was the lightest to carry.

  I gently soothed her hair. “I know, sweetie. We’re all tired.”

  My feet were coming through the soles of my shoes. My gaze searched for an empty spot—anywhere we could get out of the traffic flow. Waiters and waitresses ducked around us carrying steaming platters to anxious customers. I checked the time: 5:03. Gray was threading his way through the blocked doorway.

  I stood on tiptoe and waved. After several attempts at trying to snag his attention, he finally saw me and worked his way over.

  “Hello—sorry I’m a few minutes late.”

  “We just got here.”

  His eyes skimmed the crowd. “What’s the wait?”

  “An hour and forty minutes.”

  “Not bad.” He smiled at Kelli and Kris. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  Kelli buried her face in my skirt; Kris mumbled something.

  He turned back to me. “Care for a drink from the bar?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll wait and have tea with dinner…but if you—”

  “No, I don’t drink,” he said. “The stuff gives me a headache.”

  We backed up to allow another set of waitresses to pass by.

  “Did you ladies have a successful shopping expedition?”

  I briefly told him about the crowds, and how I knew better than to shop on weekends. Kelli was pressing into my side, deadweight. I tried to straighten her. She jerked away and buried her face in my skirt.

  The thing about dating—it’s so awkward. I remember the first time Nei
l and I went out, he took me to a movie and then later for a soda. I bet we hadn’t said fifteen words to each other that night, but he called again the following weekend. The second date we played miniature golf; I beat him double the score. I thought he wouldn’t call again. But the third weekend he called, and by then it seemed as if we couldn’t talk enough.

  I glanced at Gray, melancholy washing over me. I couldn’t start crying now—not in front of him.

  I straightened Kelli, and she whined. “Stand up, honey. Mommy’s tired, too.”

  My daughter—my precious angel who rarely gave me an ounce of trouble—suddenly sat down in the middle of the floor, screwed up her face and let out a bawl that would make a guernsey proud.

  Horrified, I watched fat tears run down her cheeks; her nose ran, and between squalls she blubbered something about chicken nuggets.

  Gray stooped and tried to console her but she kicked out at him, catching him on the shin.

  Pain shot across his face, and he quickly backed off.

  “Kelli Madison!” I bent and tried to pull the child to her feet, but she threw her head back and howled more loudly. By now every eye in the place was on the ruckus.

  I lowered my tone. “Kelli. Get up this instant.”

  “I want chicken nuggets!” She pounded her heels on the floor and I wondered if she had suddenly become possessed while shopping.

  Kris came over and made the situation worse. “Stop acting like a baby.”

  “I’m not a baby!” The screeching jacked up another level.

  I pulled Kris back and asked her to stand beside Gray, who by this time was standing way clear of the embarrassing fracas.

  After several aborted attempts to calm my daughter, I decided to practice tough medicine. I knew the child was exhausted. She’d never acted this way in her life, but she wasn’t going to get away with public tantrums.

  “Kelli, you are pushing my patience to the limit. Get up off that floor right now!”

  She ignored me, continuing to wail like a fire siren. If we’d been at home I could have cut this tantrum short in a hurry, but standing in the crowded lobby of Parlyvista made the situation more difficult. I gave her shoulder a shake and frowned down at her, trying to get my point across. If this evening ever ended, I’d give her a lecture she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Kelli scrunched up her face and glared at me, and I knew at this point, anything I said would only make matters worse.

  I stood up, pretending to ignore her. The provocation only made her cry harder.

  “So,” I said to Gray, “did you have a good day?”

  His eyes were on the squirming kid creating a public spectacle in the middle of Parlyvista’s polished floor.

  A departing couple paused, greeting Gray. He shook hands with the man, and above Kelli’s screams I overheard the guy thanking Gray for handling their house closing so efficiently. I heard the conversation only because the participants were talking above my daughter’s bellowing fit.

  A waitress stopped and handed Kelli a small package of saltines. She took the crackers, sobbing.

  When she’d sufficiently calmed, I picked her up. Five-year-olds were too heavy for me to carry, but I felt that she needed assurance that I wasn’t going to let her starve. I also had a strong urge to march her out to the car for some “back-seat parenting.”

  “Will she let me hold her?” Gray inquired. Poor man. By now he was probably longing to bolt for cover.

  Kelli jerked sideways, clamping her arms around my neck. That’s how I stood for the next hour and a half, holding Kelli, shuffling her from one hip to the other. My feet were meshed with my soles now.

  Eventually someone called our name; maybe it was God being benevolent. I would have fainted dead away if I’d had to stand one minute longer.

  We followed the waitress to a booth, and Kris sat beside Gray. I took charge of Kelli.

  Round two began when the waitress informed us they had served the last chicken strip fifteen minutes ago.

  My heart pounded. Kelli was on a chicken binge and refused to consider anything else.

  “I want chicken nuggets,” she said.

  “Darling.” I glanced up and smiled reassuringly at Gray. “They’re out of chicken nuggets. How about grilled cheese—”

  “No!”

  Where had this brat materialized from? Not once since Neil’s death had Kelli been anything but cooperative and pleasant. She appeared to be testing her limits in front of Gray.

  “Hamburger?” I tried.

  She shook her head.

  “Make her eat grilled cheese,” Kris said. “Kelli, they don’t have chicken nuggets.”

  Kelli sulked and buried her face in my lap. I smiled at Gray. “Kids,” I offered lamely.

  The meals were ordered. Gray even ordered appetizers, hoping to coax Kelli into a better mood. The ploy failed. If anything, the five-year-old turned more surly.

  Over dinner—which Kelli refused to touch—I tried to carry on an intelligent, stimulating conversation. I knew a little about football because of Neil’s Sooner obsession; Gray was a Red-skins fanatic. We managed to keep the conversation flowing while we ate. Kris had ordered fries and a hamburger that she now picked at. The earlier corn dog had spoiled her appetite.

  Kelli’s grilled cheese congealed on the plate.

  I leaned over and—knowing better—tried to force her to take a bite. She gagged and hawked up a chunk, which I managed to catch in a napkin.

  Gray looked in the other direction.

  Diners were starting to vacate tables by the time we ordered coffee. The girls sat quietly. Kris nodded off once. I finally relaxed enough to thank Gray again for helping us purchase the house, although I was fairly certain that by now the man considered the Madison family a notch below the Munsters.

  “My pleasure. My wife and I never had children, but if we had, I would have liked to have raised them in that particular home.”

  “Well, it is lovely. It needs a few repairs…” Roof, heating and air-conditioning—but I did get a bargain.

  “All houses that age need repairs,” he assured me.

  He took a sip of coffee, and a French fry missile hit him squarely between the eyes. He blinked, choked and set the cup back on the table.

  I wasn’t sure I’d seen what I thought I’d seen. I glanced at Kelli. She was sitting up, pretty as a picture, refreshed now.

  “Did I tell you that I hung a new kitchen border this morning? It’s blue with—”

  A second missile hit his left cheek and stuck.

  Aghast, I caught Kelli’s movement from the corner of my eye. She was throwing food. I jerked around to face her, wishing we weren’t in a crowded restaurant. I seldom disciplined my children in public, but Kelli was pushing it. She knew better than to behave like this.

  “Kelli!” I snapped.

  She turned innocent eyes on me. “Yes, Mommy?”

  “Did you throw that French fry?”

  Her guiltless look said I must be hallucinating.

  I wanted to jerk her out of that booth and give her a timeout she’d never forget—or give her a strong talking-to, whatever it was the baby books suggested these days. I shot her a stern look, trying to convey the “just wait until we get home” message. She glowered at me, her mouth twisted into a pout. I reached over and touched my napkin to Gray’s cheek, muttering an apology. “I am so sorry. I have never seen her act this way.”

  He took the napkin and finished mopping grease off his face.

  Kelli suddenly bolted upright, knocking over her glass of soda. The dark fizzy liquid shot across the table and ran a foamy stream into Gray’s lap. He sprang to his feet. The table china rattled and I reached out to steady Kris’s water glass, in the process upsetting my coffee cup. Now two stains zigzagged across the white linen cloth. I could hear a steady stream splattering the floor. The couple in the opposite booth signaled for their check.

  Seizing the opportunity, Kris picked up a fry and zinged it at her sister. I reached a
cross the table and grabbed her hand. “Stop that right now.”

  She ignored me.

  French fries flew.

  Groaning, I buried my face in my hands and prayed for a hole to climb into and shut behind me.

  After baths that night, I sat my girls on their beds and prepared to deliver the riot act. Matters like this were usually left to Neil, but now I had to fight the battle. When Gray had left the restaurant he had an ugly stain on the front of his trousers. Of course I’d profusely apologized. Needless to say, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about his calling again.

  Not in my lifetime.

  My eyes focused on my daughters. Fresh from their baths, hair curling around their cheeks, they looked like perfect angels. I hardened my heart. They had to understand just how rude they had been tonight.

  “I cannot tell you how disappointed I am in your behavior.” Disappointed was too mild a word. I was furious. And it felt good. I’d cried so much it was a relief to experience an emotion that had nothing to do with grief.

  Kelli, repentant now, gazed at the floor with lowered lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Kelli. You have never acted this way before. Mr. Mitchell will think you’re a hooligan.”

  She stared at me vacantly, swinging her feet. “Uh-uh.”

  “What do you mean, uh-uh? What else could he think of such rude behavior?”

  She looked up. “You told him we were Irish.”

  Kris rolled her eyes. “That’s not the same as hooligans, goofus.”

  Kelli took a swat at her. “Don’t call me goofus!”

  “Stop it!” I trapped Kelli’s hand in midair. “Young lady, you are out of control!”

  Kelli shrugged, dropping her head to the pillow. “I want my daddy.”

  “Well, you can’t have your daddy!” My breath caught, and I suddenly couldn’t speak for the tight knot in my throat. Kris sat looking at me like a thundercloud about ready to explode.

  I fought my anger. “You can’t…have your daddy.” And neither could I. I gathered my girls into my arms, and we had a solid cry. Certainly not our first, nor the last, but the bouts were getting more evenly spaced. If I concentrated hard enough I’d count that as today’s blessing.