The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  “Mom—”

  “You two are not using anything you’ve learned.” But that was the problem; they hadn’t learned.

  Mitchell’s steel door rattled as he fumbled with the lock. Apparently he hadn’t worked much later than his brother today. When Steven pulled open the door he nearly fell inside, with the keys stuck in the lock and his briefcase wedged between his knees. “What’s this?” he asked, brown eyes widening with surprise.

  “An ambush,” Steven warned him. “Save yourself. Mom’s giving a private lesson.”

  “Homework.” She gestured around the trashed room, then toward the container of cleaning supplies sitting just inside the door. “Get busy.”

  Her plan had been to sit on the couch and supervise, without lifting a finger, to be a true goddess. She’d even thought about having one of them cook dinner. But her stomach churned when she lifted pizza boxes from the couch, or tried to, as the cheese stuck to the leather.

  She wouldn’t be able to sit or eat. Not until she cleaned. “Get me the bucket,” she told Steven.

  “Yeah, I feel like throwing up, too,” he remarked.

  Millie set her hat on the island in the community center kitchen and fluffed her curls out. She loved her red hat, but no matter how wide the brim, her curls poofed out beyond it, and she wound up looking like Annie Hall.

  “Why’d you volunteer us for clean-up?” Kim asked Theresa, as the friends each carried a load of dishes into the kitchen. “We do enough of that after class these days.”

  “I’ve got this,” Millie told them, as she turned on the faucet. “You two don’t have to stay.”

  “We’re staying.” Theresa insisted, “and we’re finally going to talk. That’s why I volunteered us.”

  Guilt flashed through Millie. They were so busy these days that they didn’t have as much time to talk as they used to. That was her fault, too. She’d counted on the classes giving her back more of her time, not stealing it all away. “Things have been crazy,” she agreed. “So let’s talk.”

  “Like we haven’t just done enough of that,” Kim said with a smirk.

  It was true. They’d talked a lot during the get-together of the Red Hot Hatters of Hilltop. The room echoed with the buzz of all the lively conversation. Several of the women had thanked them for teaching their husbands, sons, or nephews how to make coffee and do laundry and dishes. At least some people considered the class a success.

  “It was a great get-together,” Millie commented, still basking in the praise of her chapterettes.

  “But I didn’t get the chance to talk to the two of you,” Theresa pointed out. A bit of desperation strained her voice as she added, “And I’ve been trying to do that for days.”

  “Uh-oh,” Kim said with an exaggerated sigh. “We’re in trouble now, Millie.”

  Millie shut off the water and turned from the sink to reach for Theresa’s hand. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

  Theresa shrugged. “I’ve just… missed you guys.”

  “We’ve been around,” Kim said.

  Theresa laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing rumors. In your aerobics class and again today. Kim, you’ve been seen with your neighbor in compromising circumstances.”

  Her cheeks grew a bit pink. “That was one time! So what?”

  “I still haven’t met him,” Millie realized, but from the defensive way Kim acted, she suspected she would, maybe sooner than later.

  “You’re missing out,” Theresa told Millie, with a little sigh. “He’s really cute.” Then she turned toward Kim. “So you’re seeing him now?”

  Kim’s brown eyes sparkled with mischief as she replied, “Through my window one night. Not since then.”

  “What?” Millie asked, drawing her brows together in confusion.

  “He saw my lights on and wanted to make sure I was okay. There was nothing more to it,” she insisted.

  Theresa skeptically arched a blond brow.

  “Really,” Kim maintained. “I haven’t even seen him since. We’re on different shifts. I haven’t been up that late since the night he was on my patio.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know. You’ve looked a little tired lately. I think you’ve tried to stay up. It’s just that as you get older, you need more sleep,” Theresa teased.

  Kim shot her a mock glare. “Remember which one of us is older.”

  “I’m trying to remember who it was that always claimed men are too much trouble?”

  “You’re preaching to the choir here,” Kim said. “I don’t intend to get anywhere near an altar ever. I’m too set in my ways, too independent.”

  “I wasn’t preaching,” Theresa insisted. “Just trying to find out what’s going on with my friends. It’s sad when Mrs. Ryers knows more than I do.”

  Kim shook her head, but she didn’t dislodge her red hat; it perched regally on her head. “She thinks she knows more than everyone else.”

  Theresa’s blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “True, but in this case, I think she may be right, because then there’s Millie.”

  Uh-oh, she silently echoed Kim’s earlier remark. Both her friends turned on her now. “I’ve been busy,” she reminded them. “With the class.”

  “With Charles Moelker,” Theresa said. “Are you forgetting what your plans are? To be independent?”

  “I am independent,” she said. “Bruce has been gone five years.” Sometimes it felt like more, when she struggled to remember his face. Sometimes it felt like less, when she turned to him in the night, seeking the heat of his body and the security of his arms, but she found only emptiness.

  Theresa shook her head. “But your dad just got married last year.”

  To one of the Red Hot Hatters. Lady Lucky was the Red Hat name of Millie’s stepmother because Barbara always did so well at the slots. She’d done well in love, too, when she’d fallen for Pop.

  “So?” Millie knew the point Theresa was trying to make, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  “You’re used to taking care of a man. That’s the way you’re set in,” Theresa pointed out.

  “Still not seeing the danger there,” Millie said. And now she was lying to her friends. She’d seen the danger the other night, when Charles had almost kissed her then invited her in. “Dad’s married off. And I’m hoping to train my boys to take care of themselves.”

  “And that’s why you’re looking for someone else,” Theresa said, almost as if saying “ah ha” upon finding a suspect in a crime.

  Was it a crime to look for someone? To want to spend some time with someone else? Millie doubted it. But Theresa wasn’t in the mood to listen. She was in the mood to lecture. Millie suspected her fear wasn’t for Millie but that she might lose her friends.

  “You need someone to take care of, to do everything for,” Theresa said, obviously finding Millie’s need incomprehensible. She shook her head. “What do you think, Kim?”

  Millie turned toward her tall, blond friend, curious to hear her opinion. Kim was usually an uncanny judge of character, if sometimes a bit harsh with that judgment.

  Kim, clad in a sleeveless purple suit, shrugged her bare shoulders. “She can’t help it. She’s been taking care of all the men in her life since her mom died. She was just a kid then; that’s all she knows.”

  “She’s also standing right here,” Millie reminded them. These were her friends, Millie thought, as irritation gnawed at her nerve endings. “And I’m not a kid anymore. I know what I want.”

  “So what do you want?” Kim asked her.

  “Charles Moelker?” Just his name was Theresa’s question.

  “What if I do?” Millie turned the inquisition on them. “What if I want to be with someone? Yeah, I’m not a kid anymore. But I know you’re never too old to find love. My dad and Barbara are so happy.”

  “Do you love Charles?” Kim asked, her voice, usually so brash and sassy, soft with concern.

  “I don’t really know Charles,” she admitted to her friends and to herself. Then she added
another confession, “But I think I’d like to get to know him better.”

  Theresa sighed. “Ah, Millie…”

  “What?”

  “You said you wanted to retire your tiara, that you wanted to travel. To have fun.”

  Millie nodded. “Yes, that’s what I said. I haven’t changed my mind about that.” With each class of the bachelor’s survival course it became that much more important to her. “But I never said that I wanted to do that alone.”

  Theresa squeezed Millie’s arm. “Just be careful that you’re not looking for someone to take care of again and that you forget what you want.”

  Millie smiled, feigning confidence for her friends. “Of course I won’t. You’re worrying for nothing. Like I said, I don’t even really know Charles. He and I may want completely different things out of life.”

  Theresa snorted. “Yeah, he may want a maid.”

  “If he did, he wouldn’t be in the class,” Millie defended him.

  Kim chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. It might be the perfect place to find one.”

  “Come on, you two,” she said, waving off their concern as she turned back toward the sink. “You’re starting to nag.”

  “Is it working? Are we getting through to you?” Theresa persisted.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to whip the class into shape. I’ll get my sons trained. Steven reconciled. Mitchell married off. I will retire my tiara. I will travel the world far and wide,” she promised them and herself.

  “I will never wait on another man,” Theresa added, but was she saying it for Millie to repeat or for herself?

  Kim must have wondered, too, for she ignored her friend’s comment to add a cryptic one of her own. “Just remember this, Millie. It’s what I realized as I was nearing the altar. It’s easier to do what you want when you’re alone.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know that. I won’t be alone until I get Steven moved out.”

  Maybe she would increase the number of days the class met a week. Not only would it increase the likelihood of the instructions sticking, it would give her an opportunity to get to know Charles better. To see if they did indeed want the same or different things out of life, and if they were ready for more than friendship.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Man can be chained, but he cannot be domesticated.”

  —Robert Heinlein

  When her kids were in school, Millie had always volunteered to chaperone the field trips. Apparently, she’d forgotten the headaches they’d caused because she’d suggested another one for the class. This was the fifth time the bachelor survival course had met. She’d hoped her sons would have gotten the hang of things by now.

  Her temples throbbed as she raised her voice so all the students, gathered just inside the entrance to the grocery store, were able to hear her. Not that they were listening, as Mitchell and Steven’s voices rumbled disruptively in the back of the group.

  “This is an important lesson,” she called out. “You all need to know that when you’re cooking, the food isn’t automatically set out for you. You have to get the ingredients yourself. And if they’re not in the refrigerator, you need to head to the store. So pull out your recipes, grab a cart and make sure you buy all the things necessary to make dinner. Here are a few suggestions to keep in mind. Pick up canned food and wine first, then fresh and frozen last.”

  The students appeared to listen, as most of them grabbed a cart and headed toward the aisles, of which there weren’t many. She’d chosen the local grocery closest to Hilltop for proximity, since they’d all had to drive, and convenience, since its smaller size made it less overwhelming than a supermarket.

  Millie did most of her shopping here. She liked the cleanliness of its white and green tiled floors and walls, and although the lighting was soft instead of harsh fluorescent, the store was bright. The meat and produce were fresh, the gourmet selection was extensive, and there was nothing in bulk. Millie resented how so much was sold in bulk nowadays. What was a single person to do with all the excess? Her freezer and cupboards were already too full. For its single-sized portions, Millie preferred this grocery.

  “Where’s your recipe from?” Kim asked, as she leaned over Millie’s shoulder to read the copy from the binder, under its orange tab.

  “Where do you think?” Millie teased, turning to smile at her friend.

  “Your cooking bible,” Kim surmised with a smile.

  “The Red Hat Society Cookbook,” Millie said with pride. She’d tried every recipe in the book, finding most of them better than the recipes she’d used for years. Like the apple pie. Wouldn’t the guys be surprised when she told them the trick to making that…

  But she wasn’t about to start these bachelors-in-training off with dessert. They had to work up to that, by learning to make an entrée first.

  “Oh… Chicken Thighs in Wine. I love that one,” Kim said, smacking her lips together as if ready to eat.

  Millie wasn’t so certain the students’ efforts would be any more edible than their eggs had been. But they had managed the soup and sandwiches at the second class, or most of them had. And last class they’d tackled pasta. Except for Mitchell and Steven, who’d had a stuck-together mess, the rest of the students had done well, so it was time for a greater challenge. She said, “Should be simple.”

  “And delicious if they do it right,” Theresa agreed. Her gaze landed on Wally, who was struggling to free a cart from the clutch of them at the store’s entrance. His shirt, a cotton plaid, came untucked from his khakis. “Look at him. He has turned struggling businesses into Fortune 500 companies, but he can’t even get a cart loose.” She shook her head instead of going over to help him.

  Charles did, holding the rest of the carts while Wally pulled the one on the end free. No doubt grocery shopping was another skill Charles already had. Now that Millie knew he’d raised his niece, she understood why he had so many domestic skills, but she didn’t understand why he’d enrolled in the class.

  He glanced up from his perusal of the recipe, then winked one of those bright blue eyes at her. Millie swallowed the besotted sigh at the back of her throat, reminding herself that they were just neighbors and maybe friends.

  Kim bumped her shoulder. “Okay, I get it.”

  “What?” she asked. She probably wouldn’t have understood Kim’s comment even if she hadn’t been distracted.

  “I know,” Kim said, “why you’re tempted to forget your plans.” She nodded her head toward where Charles stood, dressed in his casual gear of faded jeans and white Oxford and still looking as elegant as a movie star. Or a lawyer.

  She wouldn’t have suspected that as his profession. He didn’t come across as aggressive. After all, he hadn’t even managed to kiss her yet although he’d tried. Nor did he interrogate; he listened more than he spoke. Obviously he’d not been a trial lawyer.

  “I’m not tempted to forget my plans,” Millie insisted, then checked to make sure Theresa had wandered out of earshot before adding, “But maybe I could alter them.” To include someone.

  If he were interested… and sometimes she had a feeling he might be. Charles pushed his cart up close to her. “So who’s Dame Judy?” he asked, raising his copy of the recipe in the air.

  She smiled, not surprised the name would interest him. “Obviously the author of this recipe and a great cook and fellow Red Hat Society member.”

  “You’re the great cook,” he praised. “I thought all the recipes we used would be yours.”

  Her smile widened with pleasure from the compliment. “I’m a great cook because I use these recipes and don’t try to concoct my own.”

  Kim looped her arm around Millie’s shoulders. “But she makes them taste ten times better than my best efforts. She’s our domestic goddess.”

  “Domestic goddess?” Charles studied her silently for a moment. Then he nodded in agreement. “That fits perfectly.”

  “That’s her Red Hat name,” Kim shared.

  “Because you all
made me change it when we started the class,” Millie reminded her.

  “What was it before?” Charles asked.

  Heat spread from Millie’s heart up to her face, probably turning it as red as the blouse she wore. “It wasn’t very interesting…” she hedged, flashing Kim a quick warning look.

  Kim, in a yellow tracksuit, shrugged and backed away. “I better see where Mr. Lindstrom is.”

  Charles wasn’t leaving. His cart was parked directly in front of Millie. He leaned close. “Come on. Tell me.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I couldn’t think of anything then. Theresa and Kim came up with the name—Princess Sweet.”

  “Mmmm… because you like sweets or because you’re sweet?” His gaze was focused on her mouth now, as if he were thinking about answering his own question.

  Millie shivered, and she was nowhere near the freezer section. “Y—you haven’t started shopping yet,” she said, pointing to his empty cart.

  “I shop here all the time,” he said, confirming another domestic skill. “I’ll find everything. I’m in no hurry. It’s not a competition.” He stopped to flash a grin, before adding, “Despite what your sons think.”

  Her sons. She needed to check on them more than Kim did Mr. Lindstrom. The thought had no sooner occurred to her than a crash of tin against ceramic tile reverberated throughout the store. She winced, hoping it was Mr. Lindstrom who’d caused the commotion, but her sons’ voices rumbled from the direction of the crash.

  She headed toward the canned vegetable aisle, her footsteps slow and hesitant. The situation was as bad as she’d thought. In the middle of aisle seven, her sons stood amid a mess of spilled tin cans. Well, actually, only one of them stood. The other, Mitchell, lay sprawled next to his overturned cart. Chickens, two whole ones instead of the thighs indicated in the recipe, lay beside him.

  A bottle of wine was still spinning from the force of the collision, thankfully unbroken. It wound down to a stop, the cork pointing toward Millie. She nearly laughed. Spin the bottle? She wasn’t likely to ever get kissed, not with her sons demanding so much of her time and attention.