Mother of Prevention

by Lori Copeland

  Trouble was I still wasn’t trying hard enough. It bothered me that the only way I could break my pattern of bawling about everything was to get upset at my daughters. Was that normal? I didn’t want to admit how angry I had been. The girls had been through a great emotional upheaval, losing their father and moving away from everything familiar. I didn’t like the way I had behaved tonight, either.

  But since God supposedly knew all and saw all, how was I going to hide something like that from Him?

  Chapter 11

  I dropped the girls off early Monday morning and drove to La Chic, dreading whatever this day would bring. I was used to the Oklahoma City salon, where under Maria’s experienced management all the employees worked together in relative harmony, and the customers were an extended part of the family.

  Things were different in San Francisco. Tremors were as common as mounting garbage sitting at the curb.

  Every customer at La Chic was convinced she was descended from royalty. I wondered if I could ever get used to the demands. I missed Rody and my other clients. Missed the gabfests we’d had while I was cutting their hair. I actually missed the hot, sultry Oklahoma weather. Given another week, I could probably work up nostalgia for an Oklahoma tornado.

  I braked for a red light, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. My first appointment would arrive in thirty minutes. I’d barely have time to turn on the curling irons and do the shop paperwork before Mrs. Josephine Hinkle, self-appointed overseer of San Francisco society, would sweep in on a fragrant cloud of perfume. Mrs. Hinkle would personally supervise every brush stroke, every scissor snip and every strand of her shampoo, trim and set. This would be my second time to do Mrs. Hinkle’s hair and she was royal, all right—a royal pain. She was almost as fussy as Angel, the sparkly-collared pug she carried everywhere.

  Lisa, one of the stylists, claimed Mrs. Hinkle had even carried Angel into church once. Evidently her fellow members had taken a dim view of sharing their worship service with a dog and Mrs. Hinkle had taken Angel and left, never to come back. A clear case of love me, love my dog, which would have been a lot easier if they hadn’t been so much alike.

  The narrow parking lot next to the salon was nearly full, mostly with cars belonging to people who worked at the strip mall across from the salon. I’d have to do something about them taking our space. Parking was at a premium, I knew, but I needed this lot for my customers. I locked my car and walked to the front entrance wondering what major crises I would encounter today. Every day brought a skirmish of some kind.

  The stylists were as independent and temperamental as Hollywood divas. So far I was getting along with them, which was a good thing, since it was the holiday season. San Francisco must hold the record for parties. Our appointment books were filled with people begging to be fitted in.

  I pushed the door open and walked in to find Mary, Kitty and Brittany screaming at each other. Lisa cowered in the background looking as if she was close to tears. I considered joining her until I remembered I was in charge. I hadn’t a clue what this catastrophe was about, but I was reminded of a picture I had seen once of a herd of ducklings followed by a frantic mama duck. The inscription read, “There they go, I must catch them. I’m their leader.” Well, as the leader of this menagerie I was clueless regarding the current donnybrook.

  I glanced at Lisa, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner, trying to convey the notion that someone needed to fill me in on what was happening. She sort of whimpered, which didn’t do much to boost my morale. We didn’t have time for this. Our first appointments would be arriving soon. I would prefer the client didn’t walk into a contest between three of my top stylists over who could scream the loudest.

  “You couldn’t do a decent trim if your life depended on it,” Mary screeched. Her green eyes sparkled with fury. “A preschooler with a pair of dull scissors could beat you any day of the week.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Kitty snarled. “Well, you’ve missed your calling. You’d make an excellent dog groomer.”

  Short, wide and pugnacious, Kitty had a knack for going straight for the jugular.

  Brittany, tall, thin and artificial in almost every conceivable way, apparently determined not to be outdone, planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Will you two shut up? I not only am the top stylist in this salon, I have seniority.”

  “Well, you know what you can do with your seniority.” Mary grabbed up her bag and headed for the door. “I don’t have to take this kind of treatment. I quit.”

  “Quit?” I moaned. “Mary, wait a minute.”

  “That works for me.” Kitty headed for the door, leaving Brittany standing alone.

  Brittany transferred her gaze to me. “This is a crummy place to work,” she announced. “I can do better.”

  The door slammed behind her and I turned to Lisa, feeling as if I had taken a sharp blow to the stomach. “What was that all about?”

  She shrugged. “Artistic differences, they said.”

  I rubbed my temples where a definite headache had started to bloom. “Artistic differences? What does that mean?”

  “I guess it means they each thought they would get the manager’s job and then you came along.”

  “Oh.” I chewed on that for a minute. “What did that have to do with today?”

  “They were arguing over who would get the job when you quit.”

  “I’m supposed to quit?”

  Lisa smiled. “I never said that.”

  “But they did?”

  Lisa shrugged. “You’re from out of town. Oklahoma, of all places. No one really comes from Oklahoma, according to them. You haven’t seemed happy. They felt it was a foregone conclusion you’d give up and go back home.”

  “What do you think?”

  She grinned. “I think you’d better get busy and find three stylists to hire or we’re going to be burning the midnight oil, and I happen to have a date with a real hunk. You wouldn’t want to make me cancel, would you?”

  I caught a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Definitely not. Any suggestions?”

  “You might try the beauty school on Elm Boulevard. They turn out pretty good graduates.”

  “Thanks. Can you do Mrs. Hinkle for me this morning?”

  “Not a problem—as long as I get off by six.”

  “Not a problem.”

  I headed for the office and the telephone as the door opened behind me. I didn’t look back. Lisa could take on Mrs. Hinkle with my blessings.

  Life rolled along. My new life. The one I’d started over and that was supposed to be good. I was putting in eighty hours a week. Kris and Kelli hardly saw me, and when I was home I was so exhausted I could barely function. I had hired three new stylists and they tried, but we were still having trouble keeping up with appointments. It seemed every client was fussy, dissatisfied and in need of extra service. We fell further and further behind.

  I couldn’t have survived without Mazi. If she hadn’t been there to take up the slack, my daughters would have felt like orphans. She fed them, saw that their clothes were clean and helped with homework while I walked like a zombie through their lives, too tired to comprehend what was going on around me.

  Mazi was at the house this evening when I got home. “Hey, girls, look who’s here. It’s Mommy!”

  At this point I wasn’t sure of my identity.

  “Hey,” I muttered, trying to be upbeat and not whine.

  My cheery next-door neighbor had chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese on the table. Kelli must have planned the menu. I had to start taking a bigger interest in my children’s lives. I ran my hand through my hair. “Oh, Mazi, what am I going to do? My daughters are growing up without me.”

  She leaned over in the process of dishing up macaroni and gave me a much-needed hug. “It will get better, Kate. Really it will. Give it time.”

  Time? There wasn’t enough time left in this world to put my life back together.

  We ate supper, and Mazi walked the girls
through their homework while I took a bath and pulled on a pair of jeans and faded sweatshirt. Later I strolled through the living room and saw that the three were watching a Three Stooges tape, drinking hot chocolate and eating popcorn. I stood just inside the door watching them, feeling like an outsider. I missed my time with the girls.

  I missed Neil.

  I missed my old relic of a stove.

  Sailor sniffed at my ankles. Even the dog seemed to be suspicious of me.

  The next day I called Mazi in a panic.

  “Hold on—slow down. What’s the problem?”

  I glanced at the clock. “I’m in a bind. Could you help me out?”

  “Of course, hon. Just tell me what you need.”

  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for this woman who had rapidly become my best friend.

  “I have to drop Kelli by school, and two of the stylists called in sick, which I doubt since I overheard them talking about taking a day trip shopping for antiques. Kris really is sick, though. Could you take her to the doctor?”

  This was breaking my heart. I had never allowed anyone, not even Neil, to take my children to a doctor without me. I had always been there to comfort and take care of them. I realized Mazi was talking.

  Her voice sharpened. “Kate? You there?”

  “I’m here. My mind was wandering.”

  “Well, call it back home.” Her rich, deep contralto warmed. “I’d love to take Kris. Just tell me where and when.”

  “Dr. Harvey Wilkins. He’s a pediatrician.”

  “No problem. His office is in the same building as my doctor. Don’t worry, Kate. I’ll take care of her.”

  “I know you will. I owe you one.”

  “No, darlin’, you don’t owe me anything. Friends are there for friends.”

  “And you’re a real friend.” I hung up the receiver and thought, Well, God, there’s another one in Your column.

  He had been good to me, giving me a friend like Mazi. So far, she was my only friend in California. Alissa kept the girls while I was gone. She was sweet and friendly, but she was so much younger that we had little in common except the girls, and besides, there was a difference between friend and friendly. Mazi was a friend.

  Work started to run more smoothly. The new stylists began to settle in, but I was learning running the salon was different than just working in the salon; being in charge set me apart. Exactly what I didn’t need. I understood now why Maria always seemed different, more aloof, not a part of the group. It wasn’t smart to be overly friendly with someone you might have to discipline or even let go.

  The days passed somehow. Christmas was next week. When I did have a little free time I had too much to do at home to indulge in much self-pity.

  Kris had turned out to have strep throat. Mazi filled her prescription and nursed her back to health. My kindhearted neighbor filled in for me at Kelli’s preschool aquarium visit when I got tied up at the salon. She picked up the girls at school, dropped off dry cleaning, made sure we had milk and bread, and stayed late many evenings until I got home. The girls adored her. So did Sailor. Alissa missed the extra money.

  I was jealous.

  While doing some emergency shopping, I passed the boutique where Mazi liked to shop. There in the window was a handbag she had raved about. Mazi dressed in the latest fashions whether it suited her or not, and most of the time her choices were rather far out. The bag was tall with patches of faux-fur animal print: tiger, leopard and something else with spots I didn’t recognize, interspersed with patches of some velvety-looking ethnic print in shades of brown. An irregular brown leather fringe hung along the bottom of the bag and a fluff of black feathers circled the opening.

  Actually it was pretty awful, but characteristically Mazi. I eyed a second bag that I considered even more far out. Smaller, black with hot-pink lip prints scattered over it. I shuddered and went inside. There was only one faux-fur bag left, not counting the one in the window. I squinted at the price tag and gulped. Mazi didn’t shop at inexpensive stores. I’d never in my life paid that much for a bag, but I owed the woman big-time.

  I took the bag home and tried to plan how to give it to her, finally deciding to take her out to dinner. She accepted the invitation with exclamations of pleasure, as usual. We chose a small Italian restaurant about ten minutes from where we lived. The place was crowded and there was an enticing scent of tomato and basil and Parmesan. I sniffed appreciatively. One of the things I did like about San Francisco was its selection of really good eating establishments.

  The girls ordered pizza, and I chose pasta primavera. Mazi settled on fettuccine Alfredo. The waitress brought my iced tea and the girls’ sodas. Mazi, who hadn’t ordered anything to drink, smiled brightly.

  “This is such a special treat and I’m feeling festive. I think I’ll eat a whole dessert tonight.”

  “My treat.” I grinned. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Oh…” She suddenly backed off the impulse. “I shouldn’t. Warren thinks I’m too fat now.”

  “He said that?” I couldn’t imagine Neil saying such a thing—even if I had to stop by the stockyard to weigh myself.

  Kris’s eyes were round as saucers and Kelli wore my mother’s expression of deep disapproval. She looked like a little carbon copy of Neil, which at times comforted me and at others broke my heart. She had a lot of her father’s mannerisms and behavior, but somewhere inside her was a hard core of the woman who had raised me.

  Now she frowned at Mazi. “You’re not fat. You’re just fluffy.”

  “Kelli!” I reprimanded.

  “Well, you know. She’s not fat.”

  Mazi bent forward and grinned. “That’s okay, sweetie. I know what you mean. I’m a little pudgy, but I’m healthy.”

  I watched as she slathered bread thickly with butter. “I’m going to hate myself when I get on the scales in the morning.”

  The waitress refilled my iced-tea glass and brought more butter. The girls were nodding off, and I decided we’d better eat while they still had their eyes open. I handed Mazi the brightly colored gift sack and her eyes widened.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just a little something from the three of us.”

  She opened the sack and peered inside. “Oh, Kate.” She shut the bag, and then opened it again to look inside. “It’s the exact bag that I wanted.” She raised her eyes to mine. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Because you’re you.”

  “But I don’t understand why you would do this for me.”

  “Because we love you,” Kris said.

  “We love you lots,” Kelli echoed. “You’ve made our life bearable.”

  I smiled, wondering where she’d heard that.

  Mazi wiped tears off her cheeks. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll treasure this bag forever.”

  “Yeah, or until next week,” I joked. I’d seen her purse collection.

  We drove home with Mazi still exclaiming over her bag. When we got out of the car she hugged each of us again before stepping over the box elder hedge to her drive.

  The girls and I went inside, and as I listened to the girls getting ready for bed I realized how lucky I was to have them. Mazi was sitting alone in her house. Her husband came home occasionally, but I had never met him.

  I vowed to be as good a friend to her as she had been to me.

  The following Sunday, the kids wore me down. We finally attended church. The congregation was mostly younger people with children. I enjoyed the welcoming smiles. The music was livelier than we were used to, dominated by praise choruses. The kind Brother Joe Crockett used to call seven-eleven songs. Seven words sung eleven times. To my surprise, I enjoyed them. I enjoyed the sermon, too, finding it inspiring, and I could see Kelli and Kris taking notice of the number of kids. Since Neil had never attended this church, I didn’t have the incomplete feeling I’d had back at our home church.

  When the service ended, several people stopped to shake hands and inv
ited us to come back. On the way out, a young woman dressed in a brown suede skirt and matching vest with fringe and a white silk blouse stopped us. She wore brown suede boots, and her bronze, closely cropped hair framed her face, pixie fashion. Her smile was dazzling.

  “Hi. I’m Beni. We’re so happy to have you with us this morning.”

  I took her outstretched hand. “Thank you. I’m Kate Madison. We’ve enjoyed it.”

  “Are you looking for a home church?”

  I felt this was going a bit too fast. I’d have preferred to have time to look around, but her smile was so infectious that I had to smile back. “I guess we are. We’ve recently moved here from Oklahoma.”

  Her smile had a sincere effect. “How nice. Is Mr. Madison with you?” She glanced at my left hand.

  “I’m a widow.” The words didn’t stick in my throat the way they usually did. Maybe I was making progress.

  Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry. Tell you what, we have a great singles group here at the church. Why don’t you come by and get acquainted? I think you would enjoy it, and you’ll find others who know what you’re going through.”

  I doubted that, but I took the church calendar she pressed on me and promised to think about it. Beni followed us out to the car. “I really mean it, Kate. I’m divorced myself, and I know what it is to need people who understand. I’ve got a couple of girls, too. Mine are older than yours.”

  I wouldn’t have taken her to be that old. “I’m not looking for a man yet.” I couldn’t believe I’d said something so gauche. Beni didn’t seem to mind, though.

  “Most singles aren’t looking for anything other than friendship and fellowship. We can offer lots of both. Give it a try, Kate. I think you’ll like it.”

  Suddenly the idea didn’t sound all that bad. “Okay, Beni. I’ll drop in. Maybe not this week, but sometime. I promise.”

  “That’s all I ask.” She smiled and hurried across the parking lot to join a couple of girls who looked like preteens, pretty girls with her bronze hair and her sense of style. I got in my car with the girls and drove home, thinking that I knew I shouldn’t have come this morning.