Jennifer Moore pushed past the teenagers and beckoned to Detweiler and me. “Don’t just stand there! I’ve got sparkling cider to celebrate. Come on in.”
When I first met Jennifer, I thought she was the typical Ladue lady of leisure, ultra-thin, über-snooty, and overindulged. As the years passed, I’d come to respect—no, admire!—her greatly. Now tears prickled and threatened to spill as I realized she’d set this happy welcome up for us. She’d heard I was expecting. Probably learned it from Margit, my co-worker at Time in a Bottle, an older woman who had guessed my secret before I was willing to admit the cause of my intermittent nausea. Recognizing how erratic teenage hormones are, Jennifer had prepped Anya. I wasn’t exactly sure how she’d done it, and a part of me felt she might have overstepped her bounds, but that passed quickly. Intention. That was the key. Jennifer had hoped to smooth the way for me, and she had.
Anya grabbed Detweiler by the hand as she skipped across the marble foyer toward the large kitchen with its massive vaulted ceiling. As per usual, Steven Moore, Senior, was nowhere to be seen. Probably holed up in his man-cave, watching sports or otherwise fiddling around. Stevie and Nicci danced along beside Detweiler and Anya. That left me bringing up the rear, arm in arm with Jennifer.
“I can’t thank you enough. I was so worried.” I started, but words failed me.
Jennifer gave me a big hug. “I figured you would be. Kids can be totally unpredictable.”
“How did you know?”
She sighed and poured glasses of cider. “I hate to tell you this, but it’s all over the school community. I’m not sure how, but everyone is talking about you. Kids? Come on. I’m raising a glass to toast!”
The teenagers joined us, each grabbing a champagne flute.
“Here’s to the new addition and to my smart, darling son, who’s been invited to take early admission to Dartmouth College.”
“Way to go, Stevie,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a change in Nicci. Nothing overt. Just subtle.
“That’s great,” Detweiler offered Stevie his hand to shake. “Your grades must be stellar.”
Stevie had his mother’s sweet face and his father’s classic bone structure. “Actually, I think it was my work starting support groups for the gays and lesbians at local private schools.”
Detweiler’s admiring smile didn’t waiver. “That’s important work. Good for you. We get calls all the time when gays are being targeted. Maybe if people are educated earlier in life, there won’t be so many adult bullies.”
“I hope so,” said Stevie, lifting his chin a little higher.
The kids chugged their sparkling cider, grabbed a second bottle, and headed for the great room.
“The other parents are talking about me?” I stuttered. My mouth trembled and the glass clanked against my teeth. “Oh, lord. They don’t think I’m some horrible murderer, do they?”
Jennifer laughed, her perfect white teeth flashing with glee. “Are you kidding? Kiki, you’re a hero!”
eleven
The minute she heard the car door slam, Gracie, my big black and white Great Dane, ran out the backdoor of my house and past me to greet Detweiler by planting her two front paws on his chest. I have no illusions: She loves him best. That’s fine by me. I can handle coming in second. Besides, he adores her and I enjoy seeing the pure delight on his face when she slobbers all over him.
“Thank you so much for pet sitting,” I said to Rebekkah Goldfader as she joined my dog in greeting us.
“No problem,” she said. “You know I love Gracie. Everybody does.”
Like her mother, my boss Dodie, Rebekkah was Amazonian in stature. Unlike her mom, who had lost much of her hair to chemotherapy and radiation treatments for cancer of the larynx, Rebekkah peered out from under an untamed bush of dark brown locks.
“Here I thought I’d won Gracie’s heart,” she pointed to my dog, who was “hugging” the tall detective with her front paws. “Not so much, huh? I’ve been thrown over for a dude.”
“I’m sure you own a piece of it, but ever since she met Detweiler, she’s been all his,” I said, smiling at the man and beast as they staggered around my yard. Watching Detweiler love up Gracie always made my heart skip a beat. As tough as he could be in his work, the dog always brought out his soft side.
Finally, Detweiler set the Great Dane’s front paws down on the ground and turned to my daughter. “Anya? You need help getting that overnight bag out of the car?”
“Nope. Just give me a minute.” With one foot in the police department’s Impala and one on the grass, she concentrated on her cell phone. Her thumbs moving quickly over the keys, sending someone a message.
A part of me wanted to shout, “Hurry up!” I was so relieved to be home. All I wanted was to walk inside and plop down on my own sofa. Although we lived in a small place, a garage that my landlord Leighton Haversham converted into a studio he never used, I’d managed to create a warm and homey environment. Not much cash but a lot of dash had gone into the tiny two-bedroom cottage. Every inch of the place shouted, “Kiki Lowenstein lives here!” from the eclectic artwork on the walls to the fun and funky pillows I’d pieced together from wool sweaters I’d turned into felt. Now thoughts of my cozy home drew me closer and closer to my backdoor as though I was dragged along by an invisible magnet.
Detweiler jogged past me to hold the backdoor open.
I walked slowly up the flagstones, noticing the soreness that accompanied every step. When I got to the stoop, Detweiler took me by the elbow and helped me over the threshold.
“Surprise!”
A dozen voices shouted the greeting.
“Huh?” I struggled to take it all in.
A crowd of happy faces smiled at me.
A banner hung from the ceiling. Big letters spelled out, “WELCOME HOME!”
The shock caused my legs to go wobbly. Detweiler put an arm around me and guided me to the sofa.
My co-workers Margit Eichen and Laurel Wilkins rushed forward to hug me. Behind them came my friend and co-worker Clancy Whitehead. Next Dodie Goldfader, and her husband, Horace, plus store regulars Bonnie Gossage, Elora Johnson, and Rita Romano approached me. Towering over all of them was Leighton, who was holding my mother’s hand, which explained why she hadn’t already made some sort of a scene to get attention. Flanking Mom was Amanda. Immediately to Amanda’s right were Detweiler’s parents. Last but not least, Robbie Holmes was squished in the remaining space by my front door.
My place is really too small for that many folks, so I approved when Detweiler suggested that we spill out onto the lawn. Responding to the noisy crowd, Monroe (pronounced MON-roe), Leighton’s pet donkey, streaked out of his shed and cavorted around in his pen, kicking up his heels.
“I think someone’s very happy to see you,” yelled Leighton over the chatter of my guests. The donkey stood with ears quivering and nostrils wide to sniff the air.
How could I resist a love call like that?
Clancy grabbed my arm, and walked me toward the enclosure. Her grip was strong, her gait sure. At one point, she slipped an arm around my waist—an unusually affectionate gesture for someone who generally acts with restraint. I must have been pretty wobbly.
“When you get the chance, Horace needs to talk to you,” she said quietly.
“About what?” I leaned close and enjoyed the lingering notes of her signature fragrance, Chanel No. 5. My friend always dresses in timeless style. Today she wore a pair of high-waist slacks in a shade of bone with a cream silk blouse. A simple brown crocodile belt pulled the pieces together. Holy shades of Jackie Kennedy, Batman.
“Horace and Dodie want you to come back to the store. Her health seems to have taken a turn for the worse.”
“You’re kidding? I only quit three days ago.”
“I know. I think she was barely holding it together before all this
happened. I’ve found her asleep at her desk twice in the past two days. Once she was wandering around in the stockroom as if she were lost.”
“Has she said anything? I mean, about how she’s feeling?”
Clancy shrugged. “You know Dodie. Where’s Mr. Detweiler going, I wonder?”
We watched Louis Detweiler walk down my drive like a man on a mission. His wife, Thelma, was busy putting food on a rickety card table surrounded by four folding chairs. “Probably to get something out of his truck. I assume everyone parked around the corner so I wouldn’t see the cars?”
“You assume right, but back to the topic at hand. She’s not in good shape, Kiki.”
Although I’d been plenty fed up with Dodie by the time I quit, my heart ached at this news. Clancy and I both knew it could mean that Dodie’s cancer had returned. Clancy didn’t say that. Neither did I. Instead, my friend and I scratched Monroe’s ears in companionable silence.
Louis Detweiler pulled his silver Ford F150 pickup into my driveway before hopping out and signaling his son. From the flat bed, the two Detweiler men unloaded a wooden picnic table. Clancy and I walked over to inspect the piece.
“Wow! I’ve wanted one of these for the longest time. Is it a loaner?” I ran my fingers over the surface of the treated wood.
“Nope. It’s a gift from all of us,” said Detweiler the Elder. “We heard your good news. Thelma and I are delighted about the baby.”
I threw my arms around him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you so much!”
“I’m expecting to eat a lot of good grub on this table. You expect you can make that happen?”
I laughed.
I’m not much of a cook, but Margit is. On an occasion like this, she’s in her glory. After I took the seat of honor at the picnic table, she brought me a plate full of sauerbraten with green beans on the side. “Save room for dessert. Rita Romano brought her Sopapilla Cheesecake.”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, thinking of that heavenly sweet treat. “I certainly will have room for dessert. You can count on it!”
Thelma brought me a glass of iced tea and sat down. “How can I help you? You’ll need to rest and take it easy. I’d be happy to drop by and do laundry or whatever.”
Her consideration touched me. I shook my head. “I appreciate your offer more than I can say, but right now, with my sister Amanda here, I think I’ll be fine.”
In a whisper she added, “Does Anya know she’s going to be a big sister?”
“Yes,” I cupped my hand over my mouth to keep my voice from carrying. “She’s happier than I would have ever imagined. Frankly, Detweiler—er, Chad—and I expected her to be upset. Uncomfortable at least, but she’s not.”
“The old ‘I can’t believe people your age still do it’ routine, right?” Thelma chuckled. “Kids are unpredictable. Especially when they’re teens. You never know which way the wind is blowing until your kite is in the air.”
She was right about that!
Thelma got up to help Margit serve food, directing folks into my kitchen. Clancy took drink orders. Rebekkah brought out paper plates and cups. Louis set up more card tables and chairs that appeared like magic from the bed of his truck. My friends had thought of everything. While each person visited with me for a minute or two to say, “Hi,” I didn’t have to move a muscle. If this kept up, I’d have to buy a tiara and practice my royal wave.
Horace shuffled over to sit next to me on the wooden bench. “Oy vey, but we were worried about you,” he said as his smooth bald head wrinkled. “I have heard that you will be all right. Only you must act with restraint. Is that true? Would you be willing to come back to the store? I ask, in part, because we … I …”
His hand flew to his mouth, as if he was holding back a sob.
“It’s Dodie, isn’t it? What’s wrong?” I put down my fork. My stomach knotted with fear. She had been acting very strangely before my run-in with Bill Ballard and Company. Horace’s trembling jaw told me all I needed to know. I waited for the words that would confirm all our worst fears.
People walked around us, laughing and enjoying their food, but Horace and I were frozen and alone. Before he spoke, I knew what he was going to say. I’d been dreading it.
“My darling girl, my Dodie. So brave. They tell me to enjoy every minute with her. They say we don’t have long.”
“It’s come back?” My voice cracked.
“Worse. It’s gone to her brain.”
sopapilla cheesecake
(Special thanks to Julie Failla-Earhart)
2 cans (8 oz. each) refrigerated crescent dinner rolls
2 packages (8 oz. each) cream cheese, softened
1½ cups sugar (divided into 1 cup and ½ cup)
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup butter, melted
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
Set oven to 350 degrees F. and grease a 13x9 inch baking pan.
Unroll one can of dough. Place in bottom of pan. Stretch dough to cover bottom of pan, firmly pressing perforations to seal.
In medium bowl, beat cream cheese and 1 cup sugar together until smooth. Beat in vanilla. Spread mixture over dough.
Unroll second can of dough. Carefully place on top of cream cheese layer. Pinch seams together.
Pour melted butter evenly over top. Mix remaining ½ cup of sugar and cinnamon. Sprinkle evenly over butter.
Bake 30 minutes or until center is set. Cool about 20 minutes. Refrigerate for easy cutting.
Serve warm with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.
twelve
To keep from bursting into tears, I grabbed my iced tea and took a long swallow. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched Dodie take a seat next to my mother. Although my boss wobbled a bit on her feet, her face was animated and happy.
“Are they sure?”
He nodded.
“D-d-does she know?”
Horace picked up a paper napkin and blew his nose. “No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I haven’t decided. There are signs that her cognitive ability has been compromised. Perhaps it is God’s blessing that she does not know what is ahead.”
“And Rebekkah?” I watched as their daughter walked over to grab another cold Coca-Cola from the cooler someone had set outside my backdoor. Could I detect sadness just from the girl’s walk? Probably not. Like many women who are tall, both mother and daughter hunched over as if that would reduce their height, in a posture that hid their faces.
“She knows her mother isn’t doing well. I have not …” He stopped. “I have not had the courage to tell our daughter everything I know.”
“Of course I’ll come back. I’ll help you in any way I can!” I grabbed his hand.
“You are a true friend,” Horace said. “That reminds me, I asked an accountant friend of mine to handle the books for a while. He’ll be calling you. That way I am free to spend all my time with …” His voice trailed off.
“Does Dodie want me back?”
“Yes. But I admit to a small deception. I told her I thought that you would need the job.”
“Ha! That’s not a deception. When do you need me?”
“Tomorrow?” he asked sheepishly.
“I’ll be there when the store opens.”
Other regulars from Time in a Bottle took turns greeting me. Then a navy-blue Mercedes C-class pulled up and out hopped Jennifer, Nicci, and Stevie Moore. The teenagers glanced around awkwardly at first, making it clear that any gathering of adults was not their thing. But when Thelma Detweiler intercepted them with a big bowl of chips and salsa, they immediately dropped the attitude and went to find Anya and the colas.
“Long time no see, stranger,” Jennifer giggled and nibbled a bit of lettuce from a nearby platter. “This food is delicious. You should get shot more often.”
>
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll put that on my permanent ‘to do’ list, right next to losing weight. Get shot on a regular basis so that Jennifer, who barely eats enough to keep a hummingbird alive, can come to my house and chow down on lettuce.” It felt good to be teasing Jennifer. Anything, anything at all to get my mind off of Dodie’s condition.
“Actually hummingbirds eat a lot. Up to twelve times their body weight a day.”
“Whoa. That’s a shocker.” I rested my chin on my fist and stared at the teenagers as they wandered over to feed carrots to Monroe. Anya and Stevie were dressed for the spring weather in shorts and T-shirts, but Nicci wore a long-sleeved top and jeans. They were gorgeous kids, all of them. Sweet, too.
“How’s Stevie?” I asked Jennifer.
“I think he has a boyfriend. A guy he met at a regional PFLAG meeting.”
“Good for them.” Stevie had come out only recently. Jennifer had suspected for years that her son was gay, in part because her brother had been, and she saw the similarities in their behavior and interests. Jennifer was Stevie’s greatest cheerleader.
“And Nicci?”
Jennifer quit picking at the lettuce and said nothing.
Without comment, I reached down and lifted her hand to examine it. She submitted with a sigh. When she’s upset, Jennifer nibbles at her fingernails and chews the skin around them until they’re bloody. Reflexively, she curled her fingers into a fist.
“Come on, Kiki,” she protested, but I didn’t turn loose. Instead I gently pried her hand open. There was the proof: five bloody digits.
“Can I help?” I scanned the people around us. Mom was preening in front of Leighton. Amanda was engrossed in conversation with Clancy, Dodie, and Laurel. Robbie was talking with the Detweilers, until he suddenly reached into his pocket and examined his cell phone. Covering the receiver, he quickly made his excuses and turned away from the couple.
For the most part, Robbie seemed to handle the stress of his job with ease. However, right now, as he walked toward my house, his face contorted with worry. I hoped it wasn’t bad news about Sheila. But if Sheila had taken a turn for the worse, he’d let me know immediately. I was sure of that. And he’d do so because we’d have to decide how to tell Anya, since any problem with her grandmother would be devastating for my daughter.
Picture Perfect Corpse Page 4
