Focused

by Julie B. Cosgrove

Christina shook her head.

  “If I weekend manage, I get half the rent taken off. Figure I can do both for a while.”

  Jeff extended his hand.

  Bud took it and they shook . . again. Christina counted to three under her breath. This macho body language was getting to her.

  Jeff sat down, squared his jaw and nodded at Bud. “Good research, man. You’ve been busy.”

  Bud leaned back, chest puffed. “Didn’t think I just laid around all day ogling your maid, did ya?”

  Chapter 39 Mauve, of course

  Jeff showed one of the apprentices named Tim how to calculate the amount of stair rail material needed for a local school’s expansion. Then Midge buzzed him.

  “That lady Harriet from your church’s on the phone. Again.”

  “What?” Jeff took off his readers and rubbed his forehead. “Did she say why she’s calling?” It was the third call in two days.

  “It’s about your wife’s fiftieth birthday party? She has another question.”

  Jeff jumped for the phone to click off the speaker mode. “Put her through,” he mumbled into the receiver. Then he eyed the apprentice with a “Can I have a minute?” look. The man nodded his head, rolled up the plans and left almost on tiptoe.

  Jeff heard Harriet’s nasal hello. He returned the greeting.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at work again,” she began. “I just need to know if you have an idea of how many invitations we need to send out. I am at the printer’s now.”

  “Printers? You can’t just get, you know, Hallmark cards?”

  “Well, we could, I guess.” Her voice sounded deflated, similar to his wallet if this kept up. The price of the cake alone made him swoon, much less the estimate on the flowers. Forty dollars apiece for the ten centerpieces and seventy-five dollars for the main table’s arrangement. Thank goodness the credit card statement wouldn’t get there before the big day. Christina would flip, and of course the surprise would be ruined.

  Maybe if it’s a success, she’d ignore the amount he spent. Well, not ignore, she’d never do that in a million decades, but chide him less. Like it or not, his only saving grace was going to be this woman so bent on spending it all on the other end of the line. The vise squeezed tighter around his temples. He felt trapped as a fly in a spider web. If he balked at costs, it might be interpreted he didn’t think his wife was worth it, or that he didn’t love her enough. No sense struggling. I’ll just get tangled more. His thoughts returned to the high pitched voice on the other end.

  “…but you see, if we order by 5 pm today, they will print the napkins for half price. That is, if we order the whole package, which includes the invites and guest book, and . . .”

  Napkins. Right. Like I care. “Do what you think is best, Harriet. I’m guessing a hundred ought to do it since around sixty-five will be going out to the families at St. Martin’s.”

  “That only leaves thirty-five others, Jeff. Her family, yours, her coworkers and friends there in Allensville. Oh, and childhood friends…is there anyone she keeps in touch with?”

  Jeff steeled his jaw. Now was not the time or the place. Yet Harriet was one of his wife’s dearest friends and had taken the bull by the horns. He’d been clueless without her advice. He inhaled his patience back into his tone of voice. “Her sister Carrie is coming up with that list at your suggestion. I haven’t had the . . .Look, go with a hundred and fifty just in case.” It’s only money.

  “Exactly my thoughts,” Harriet’s voice perked up with enthusiasm. Jeff could almost see her peacock feathers opening wide. The woman relished approval.

  “You’re a jewel, Harriet. Couldn’t do this without you.” He placated her, but meant it. He was about to hang up the phone when he heard —

  “Do you think she’d like raspberry or chocolate filling in the cake? If you think chocolate there is still time for me to call the baker.”

  Jeff’s chair squeaked with the added weight that had just plopped on his shoulder. Tim paced outside the office and he had a meeting in ten minutes. Lord help me. Then, to the well intentioned voice on the other end, “She loves both. You choose. I trust your judgment. Gotta go earn my keep so I can pay for all this.” He chuckled for emphasis. “Take care Harriet, bye.”

  Jeff clicked the phone off just as he heard a “but” squeak out from the woman’s end of the line. He felt like a horse’s patoot but surely she grasped the concept that he worked for a living. He wasn’t retired like her husband Jake had been, God rest his soul. Jeff thought he now had an inkling why Jake had taken up golf so soon after he got the proverbial gold watch.

  Harriet blinked the start of a tear from her eye and turned to the printing clerk. She gave a tight lipped, split second grin. “We’ll go with hundred and fifty of each. Invitations and napkins. Oh, and the RSVP cards are included in the price, right?”

  She called Bonnie’s Bakery. Both she and the baker agreed on the raspberry. Clapping her cell phone back into a clam shape, she hummed as her high heels clicked on the downtown Allensville pavement. The cake decision accomplished, she felt more productive. She loved a mission. Ticking off the check marks on the to-do list in her brain, she dashed off to the next stop. She encountered the air conditioned blast that whooshed through the glass door of the florist’s only to evaporate instantly in the late spring heat wave. Harriet mopped her brow with a crumpled Kleenex, oblivious to the trail of white wormy pieces it left on her forehead. Three smiles greeted her.

  “Ladies. I just had the most frustrating conversation with Jeff. The man is clueless.” She stuffed the Kleenex back into the front pocket of her purse as a rush of perfumes and shoulder bags descended upon her in sympathy.

  “He’s a man, Harriet. They are all.” Marge pitter-pattered her back in sympathy. “Come see what they just got in. Irises. Won’t those be lovely? And Maryanne says she’ll give them to us for wholesale, just because it’s Christina. Wipe your forehead again, dear,” she said in the same breath but in a lower tone, “You have bits of Kleenex stuck to it.”

  Maryanne, the florist, looked up from twirling mauve and navy ribbons together into the tenth bow. “It is the least I can do. She brought us meals four times when Benjamin was out of work with that broken leg. Even did two loads of laundry for us.”

  Heads nodded. Each had a similar tale. Harriet sighed. “Well, he was at work. I know he’s busy making the money to pay for this shin-dig.”

  “I’m sure Jeff didn’t mean anything, dear.” Another pitter-patter on the shoulder blades.

  Harriet straightened her spine, letting the conversation slide down her backside and off into never, never land. “Well. Yes. Of course he didn’t. I ordered the cake. Chocolate mocha with raspberry filling, white cream cheese icing and fresh raspberries and chocolate shavings sprinkled on top. Along with ‘Happy 50th Christina’ written in raspberry sauce, of course.”

  “Will there be any flowers on the cake? I love how Bonnie’s makes those little frosted flowers,” Marge hinted.

  “Yes, I think. I ‘m not sure. For your sixty-fifth next year, my dear, we’ll make sure they are.”

  Marge suddenly lost sixty years as she giddily clapped her hands together and bounced in her orthopedic oxfords.

  Harriet responded with her own pitter-patter on the shoulder, the St. Martin’s women’s friendship sign. Then, she turned back to the florist counter. “Maryanne, those are the perfect colors. Just look at how well they match the napkin sample. I have it in here somewhere.”

  Hands in bag, the woman sent keys, two lipsticks, breath mints, a comb, two curlers and three pens rolling across the counter to be snatched by eager helpers. At last she dug out the envelope with the crumpled example. Holding it up with pride, she crowed. “See? Mauve. Her favorite color, Jeff says.”

  “Like he would know.” Marge sniffed.

  “Well,” Maryanne raised an eyebrow. “She decorated her new study in mauve and blue. She showed me the scraps left over from making the curtains. Go-orgeous.
“The last word trilled for emphasis.

  “Humph, you mean the room that Bud is now occupying? For how long now? Nearly a month? No wonder Jeff is so grouchy. My Bob would never allow one of my old beaus under our roof.” Janice inserted.

  “He has his eyes on Mary Ellen, not Christina, dear.”

  “Didn’t you hear? He dumped her. Of all the nerve.” Janice tapped her foot hard onto the florist’s tiled floor.

  “Well, she never wears mauve,” Marge retorted, ignoring the turn in the conversation’s direction. She held up the napkin to the light.

  Maryanne put down the ribbon, not believing the incongruous comment. “Hon, haven’t you ever noticed her nail polish? That’s all she wears.”

  Chapter 40 Just Not That Way

  Josh felt the buzz in his hip pocket. He peeked around the store for a pair of manager’s eyes. Not spotting any, he turned his back to the counter and slipped out his Blackberry. It was his Dad. Weird. He never called. “Yeah, Dad. I’m at work. What’s up? Mom okay?”

  “Huh? Oh, yes, I guess. Haven’t spoken with her yet today. Listen, we need to coordinate picking up folks from the airport. Can I count you in?”

  “Sure. Text me and let me know who’s arriving when and the Willis taxi service will be ready.” He mimed a salute, then noticed Mandy strolling by, brow wrinkled. He pointed to the phone and mouthed the word “Dad”. She nodded in recognition and craned her head in the direction of the floor manager.

  “Mr. Stephens? Got a minute?” She dashed for the interception, glancing back with a wink. Josh gave her a thumb’s up.

  Josh turned back away from the counter. “Dad. Manager’s on the floor. Gotta go. I’ll call ya on break.”

  “No. Your Mom will be home. Call me tomorrow at work.” What was one more interruption. Harriet would probably call at least six more times anyway, and probably Carrie.

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “And Josh?”

  “Yes, sir?” Josh tried to even his voice. His peripheral vision caught Mandy still discussing life in general with Mr. Stephens.

  “Thanks.”

  “Dad. She is my mom. Talk tomorrow. Bye.”

  Jeff hung up his cell and stared at the traffic line in front of him. Double-strung beads of illuminated red pearls wound over the asphalt track in the evening dusk. Workers bull dozed rubble behind concrete pylons up ahead. They blocked the left lane for miles and would for the next eight to ten months, adding another lane to better accommodate the flow they now inhibited. Tax dollars at work. The congestions reminded him of his life. All the various pressures trying to cram into one lane called an eight hour day.

  The weary exec snorted. More like ten to twelve hours. He couldn’t remember the last time he only worked eight, except maybe on the weekends. Long hours away from his hearth and home, and her. His words to his son stung in the back of his throat. He hadn’t talked to her yet today. How often their paths just crossed silently, routinely, a pattern worn over time. He remembered a time he couldn’t wait to hear her voice on the other end of the phone. Had it been that long ago?

  Not that he particularly relished the fact he put in the hours while his wife’s old flame lulled around the house. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair. Evidently the man had some enterprising streak in him. Four more days and Bud would be in his own place. Two days later, the big event would commence. Jeff just hoped his marriage could hang on by the bare threads a few more days. Then, when his wife saw all he had done just for her, things would get better. He’d make sure of it.

  The tension in her face had eased now that she had Avery to help out. That would keep getting better, if Bud didn’t take Avery with him when he left. Well, at least Avery had shifted the guy’s thoughts away from Christina. Right?

  Jeff thrust his neck from side to side, looking for the familiar crackle then pop that would ease the tension which climbed up his shoulders into his cranium. Four more days. Then he’d be out of their hair, or so Jeff hoped. Surely Christina wouldn’t be dashing over to decorate Bud’s apartment the way she had Josh’s. That was Avery’s job. His neck tensed again, pleading for another good crack.

  Jeff guessed he had to thank Bud for the wakeup call. His wife said she saw her life in a new perspective since her jaunt to the cabin and getting her new specs. Maybe it was catching. Seems her refocusing had made him do the same. Maybe Bud represented the lens cleaner for them both in God’s good plan.

  As the stream of paired red lights inched towards his exit, Jeff made a resolve. There’d be a lot more lemongrass moments from now on. More random acts of chores around the house, maid or no maid. And, more phone calls during the day just to say hi, I needed to hear your voice. It was time he wooed his wife again. He never should have stopped.

  * * *

  Christina leaned into the door jam, watching Bud pack. “Is there anything you need? Extra cups or dishes? We have some old mismatched stainless Jeff and Josh used to use when they went camping. It’s not much, but. . .”

  Her old friend’s mouth curled on one side into a smirk. “Avery and I already went shopping. She has a membership at one of those mega discount stores. Got tons of deals. It’s mostly in the trunk of her car right now or I’d show you.”

  “You two getting serious?” She bit her tongue, but it was too late, like closing the barn door after the horse already escaped. Bud stopped, his neck tucked into his chest as he folded another T-shirt. He laid it inside the suitcase and sat down on the bed. For a moment he looked out the window at nothing in particular. Christina hoisted herself onto the dresser with feminine grace, her legs dangled and crossed.

  Bud ‘s steel blue eyes turned to peer into her face. “Would it upset you if we were?”

  Would it? Christina slid off the dresser and moved to the window, leaning against the sill. His eyes moved with her. “No. Why?”

  The baby blues narrowed. “Avery told me you two had a talk.”

  “Oh. Of course she did.” Her left foot made a small circle across the hardwood floor, tracing an old paint stain that had seeped in from Josh’s artsy elementary school days. She never could totally eradicate that spot. Nor had she wanted to. She raised her gaze to meet his.

  A twinkle surfaced, spread across the azure eyes then slipped over the rest of his face. He got up and took two confident strides towards her. “Jealous?”

  If she’d had something to pitch at him she would have. “No!” Christina crossed her arms across her chest, then dropped them again, conscious of the body language. Regrouping, she added, “Really, I’m not. It’s just, well, not quite Kosher her working here and all.”

  Bud stepped back again, thumbs shoved in his jean pockets. “Nothing happened, Chris.”

  “It’s none of my business, really. . .”

  “Of course it is. You are paying her by the hour to clean, not be with me.” He crossed his right leg over his left and leaned against the wall. James Dean pose. She dropped her eyes, breaking contact to find the paint stain again with her toe.

  “I trust her. You. Both of you. I’m not your mother, Bud.”

  At that he reeled back his head and crowed with laughter. Over it she thought she heard the garage door opening. Jeff’s home.

  Bud wiped his eyes and sniffed. He looked at her as she moved to leave the room. “Chris.” He reached for her hand.

  “Yeah?” She turned to face him. A strand of hair stuck to her cheek.

  “I love you.” He drew closer. One tanned finger delicately pushed the lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

  The gesture sent a tingle through her to her core.”I know. I love you, too.”

  “Just not in that way, right old friend?” The twinkle grew brighter now.

  His hand felt warm and dry. She squeezed his knuckles and whispered. “Right.”

  Bud’s jaw twitched. He let go.”Then go tell your husband, ‘Welcome home.’ ”

  He walked to the dresser, opened the drawer with a jerk and resumed his chore.


  A momentary urge to thrust her arms under his and hold tight to him was pulverized by the sound of Jeff’s boots coming down the hall.

  Chapter 41 Fine

  Bud called out. “Hey, Jeff. We’re in here chatting while I pack. Join us.”

  Jeff shuffled into the room, leaning on the jam where twenty minutes earlier his wife’s shoulder had been. “You leaving now? Thought you couldn’t occupy until the first.”

  “Can’t. Just did the laundry, so why not start packing the clothes while I’m at it. Spent all day doing it. Hate laundry.”

  “Uh, huh.” Jeff commiserated. Christina saw the unsaid ‘That’s- why-we-have-women-in- our-lives. Sorry-you-don’t- right-now’ expression on his face.

  Bud gave him a tight-lipped grin. Christina wanted to kick them both. But then again, she’d had that reaction often with these two. Men. She turned to inch past her husband, when he caught her arm.

  “Hello?” He pecked her cheek. He smelled so familiar. The after affects of day-old aftershave with the scent of architectural ink and paper mingled with his natural maleness. It was like a soothing balm.

  She patted his left love handle. “Hi, hon. How was your day?”

  “Fine.” A noncommittal shrug accompanied his response.

  “Really?” She looked at him as his eyes quickly darted to the hall and to Precious sauntering down it. He pushed off and went to pick up the purring ball of fur. Nauseating. But then again, maybe if I acted that glad to see him. . .

  Wait! Fine? When was the last time her husband had a fine day since being promoted? Something stank, more than Precious’ just out of the cat box paws.

  Christina watched as the cuddling pair headed for the den, and the recliner. Fine, indeed. He was up to something, and it didn’t appear to be a non-existent church stage either.

  Bud suddenly piped up. “Chris?”

  “Hmm?” She craned her head back into the guest room, her would-be sanctuary. In four days it would be that again, for six weeks that is until her aunt arrived for the rest of the summer. She was researching for her latest book on little known Texas history tidbits and hoped to spend a good bit of her time in the Capitol archives. Christina hadn’t had the chance to tell Jeff her Aunt Mildred invited herself, knowing her niece would never turn her down, or out, as the case may be. During her teen years when Christina and her mother locked horns over everything, Aunt Mildred had been her refuge. Ten years ago, after she lost her husband, she moved to Dayton to be with her grandkids. Christina admitted to herself she did miss having her nearby.