by Sally John
Except when Jo and Molly entered the picture. Jo drove in total silence, Molly a mannequin beside her in the front passenger seat. They brooded, no doubt about it. No imagination involved whatsoever.
Honestly! Those two still act like they own all the rights to a blue funk. At least Andie knows how to behave in a civilized manner.
Todd leaned around her now, making some conversational point with Andie. His shoulder rested against Char’s. The physical contact was unnecessary, given the fact that the backseat was spacious and he wasn’t that big of a guy. As a matter of fact, he was nowhere near as tall as Cam.
But that wasn’t the point.
The point was his touch increased the tension. She wrestled with emotions. On the one hand she tingled. On the other, she squirmed.
Then Molly’s words of three days ago resonated in her mind: Friday is your day, Char. All I can say is beware. Turning forty can be hazardous to your health.
She remembered conveying the conversation to Todd during one of their late-night phone chats.
“Pff!” She had fluttered her lips. “Stuff and nonsense.”
Todd laughed. “I don’t know, Charlaine. When what’s-her-face hit her fortieth, she yawled like a banshee for days, inconsolable. She was convinced her life was over.”
Of course Char knew he referred to his now ex-wife.
She puffed again. “Pff to that too. We know her cheese had slid right off her cracker, which she proved by leaving you two years later. I believe I am still in full possession of my mental faculties. And I really don’t give a hoot about finding a few gray hairs, unlike what’s-her-face.”
“You’ll make quite an attractive mature woman. I see your hair as pure snow white, though, not gray. And not for years to come.”
“You sweet talker, you.” She had smiled, filing his words into her heart like a piece of chocolate hidden in the cupboard to be savored later. “Anyway, my day won’t be like theirs. In the first place, I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t have Jo’s struggle. Secondly, I am not discontent over the fact I don’t have a career. All Molly can talk about is how much she wants to teach full-time. Thirdly, I would not be devastated if my husband forgot to tell me happy birthday like Paul did Andie. How could I be? Cam forgets every year.”
“You are one confident thirty-nine-year-old.” He chuckled.
“Do I sound horribly boastful? I don’t mean to. It’s just that Mama—Well, you’ve heard this before. She taught me a thing or two about self-control.” She clung to Ellen Stowe’s promise that a genteel disposition and self-discipline would carry Char through any upheaval life could throw at her.
But her mama had never reached the age of forty. Apparently the guarantee expired because this birthday had turned into one foul kettle of squid.
From the moment she awoke—too, too early for her sensitive nature—the day had indeed been a nightmare. Control had been swept right out of her hands. She had no control over Molly’s baby news or Andie’s need to take a hike or Jo’s sudden interest in work calls, all at the precise time her friends should have been getting ready to leave for Beverly Hills. She had no control over an army of police blocking her path or Julian coercing her into breakfast. She certainly had no control over Todd Brooks showing up to confuse the situation and—of all things—attack their beliefs right off the bat.
Despite the blast of cold air aimed directly at her in the backseat, Char broke into a sweat.
Charlaine, sugar, horses sweat, men perspire, ladies only glow.
Right, Mama. But I can’t even breathe at the moment. I am sweating.
Her chest felt tight as a drum.
Suddenly Jo broke her silence with a loud groan.
Char focused through the windshield and deciphered the reason. Just over the crest of a hill was a string of red brake lights. They stretched across all five lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic and headed north as far as the eye could see, which must have been for miles. The car slowed to a stop.
Jo flipped on the radio.
Todd stretched his arm across the back of the seat and lightly touched her neck. “Welcome to Southern California.”
She moved her head in a circular motion, releasing a knot from her neck as well as his hand.
Yes, indeed. The day had become a hazard zone. And there was no relief in sight.
Sixty minutes later Char practically fell out of the car. Desperate for air and space, she tangled her own two feet together.
Todd grasped her elbow and guided her descent. “You okay, birthday girl?”
She grunted in reply.
Jo shut her door. “Char, I am so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
They had exchanged the ridiculous phrases ad nauseam during the past hour.
They were in Del Mar, the city they had seen the previous day when visiting Jo’s house and office. With a serious accident somewhere up the freeway and predictions of three-hour delays, Beverly Hills flumped into a pipe dream. Jo had maneuvered her car onto the shoulder and down an exit ramp, promising the entire slow way superb boutiques and an excellent lunch.
Andie shut her door and grinned. “I have an idea! Let’s all get new outfits, not just Char. I need something spunky. Jo, you need something with color. That beige is getting tiresome. And Molly, you need maternity! Todd, you can carry packages or go find a men’s store.”
Char stared at her along with the others.
Andie wrinkled her brow. “What?”
Jo burst into laughter. “Who is this cheerleader inside Andie Sinclair’s body?”
Molly added, “Make that bossy cheerleader.”
Andie shrugged. “Turning forty is hazardous to one’s well-being. Let’s go ease the pain.”
Molly’s expected lecture came as Char inadvertently paired herself alongside her on the narrow sidewalk. The others walked ahead of them.
“Char, I am sorry I’ve had your phone all this time.” She removed it from a pants pocket and handed it to her. “It hasn’t rung.”
“It’s set to vibrate.”
“Oh. I might not have noticed that.”
Char quickly scanned for messages. There were none. The tightness in her chest increased a notch. Not even Kendra had called. Of all her friends she thought at least Kendra would have phoned by now.
“Has Cam called?”
“No.”
“It would tell you if you missed a call?”
“Yes.” Char snapped shut her jaw as well as the phone. The woman did not live in the same century! She had probably missed the last century as well! She got herself pregnant at forty years of age and didn’t know the first thing about cell phones.
Molly said, “Todd called, though. It was at the same time I tried to call Scott. I started to punch in his number. Does it answer an incoming when you hit the number one?”
“Mm-hmm.” She stifled a frustrated sigh. “Have you talked to him yet? Do you want to keep the phone?”
“No. He’s unavailable until late this afternoon.” They walked in silence for a moment, a few steps behind the others. “Char, it’s none of my business, but are you and Todd…”
“Are we what?”
“Involved?”
“We’re good friends. Cam and I are good friends with him, and were with his ex-wife until she dumped him.”
“I just can’t imagine having a male friend who would fly all this way to see me. Not to mention Scott would go berserk…” Again her voice trailed off.
“But then you live in the backwoods of Oregon.”
“Yes, I do.” Her tone hardened subtly.
By that point Char didn’t care. She had enough problems interpreting her own feelings, let alone Molly’s. She was nuts about Todd, totally flattered by the fact he had flown all that way.
But things niggled, things that interfered with the romantic image.
There was her mama’s voice. When Ellen Stowe died, Char lost the only person who loved her fully and unconditionally. Left with no sib
lings, no grandmother, and an emotionless father, she clung to the memory of her mother’s sweet voice. She filled a notebook with Ellen’s words. She memorized her expressions of undisguised love for her child as well as ironclad principles by which Southern gentlewomen abided. One swirled now in Char’s mind: A lady shares physical intimacy only with her husband.
Another vexation was the disapproval of her friends. They might as well go ahead and shake their fingers at her. She might as well see their wagging digits in broad daylight as to just imagine them.
And there was the Julian conversation, talking about those early courtship days with Cam. She didn’t want to think about them! They were long gone.
“Besides,” she said now to Molly in a huffy tone, “Cam is not Scott. Cam would not go berserk. It’s simply not in his makeup.”
“Does he know Todd is here?”
“Molly, I didn’t know he was here. I had no idea he was coming until he showed up at the restaurant a while ago.”
“Will you tell him?”
Char didn’t reply. She had no reply. Was there a point in telling Cam?
Molly said, “What would Cam do?”
“Change the channel.”
With that she hastened her steps and put distance between herself and Molly the prude.
Thirty-Five
Andie worked her way through a rack of clothes. Very spunky, attention-grabbing clothes. Wild colors, wild styles, wild price tags. She couldn’t help but add up how many clients’ visits for reflexology treatments it would take in order to pay for one T-shirt alone.
She hadn’t yet gathered the courage to remove an outfit from the rack. Jo had held up a poppy red silk blouse and asked her if it was bright enough. Before the words were out of her mouth, a salesclerk swooped upon them, snatched the blouse right from Jo’s hand, and whisked it off to a dressing room.
Were they even called salesclerks in boutiques?
Behind her Jo and Molly carried on a quiet conversation. Across the small shop Todd and Char laughed as they studied the shoe selection.
Andie had no idea what could be so funny about shoes.
She felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned.
Jo said, “I’m trying to figure this out.” Her tone was hushed. “I mean, are you comfortable with the situation?”
Andie needed no further explanation. “He’s…nice enough.”
Jo clenched her teeth and widened her eyes. “Andie! Are you comfortable?”
She shrugged.
“Well, I’m not! Call me a retroactive Catholic, but I feel guilty for her. Isn’t this adultery?”
Molly neared the clothes rack. “From a strictly physical aspect, I don’t think they’ve reached that point. In Jesus’ eyes though…”
“Close enough, cousin,” Jo murmured. “I don’t want to judge, but it just doesn’t seem like we should stand by and do nothing. You two are the married ones. Is she throwing her life down the tubes or what?”
Andie went back to swishing hangers along the bar and gazing at clothes that would never show up on the streets of Madison, Wisconsin. “I don’t think you’re judging. I think you’re aching because yes, she is throwing her life down the tubes.”
“Then what should we do? I know you guys. You’re hurting as much as I am. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. They surely don’t let them commit adultery, do they?”
Molly said, “She must be in a bad way, though how could we tell? She never opened up with us when we were young. Naturally she does so even less now.”
“Moll,” Jo said, “what would you want us to do if you were in this situation?”
“I can’t imagine. Sit on me? Haul me off to the airport? Talk to me? Yeah, talk to me. Find out why I hurt so much.”
Andie looked at them. “And then we’d know you had your reasons. Just like Char does.”
Jo and Molly stared at her, busy jaws suddenly slack.
She continued. “She doesn’t feel loved by Cam. She feels rejected by him. I know this because it’s me. The reasons are probably different. Paul’s having an affair. She describes Cam as a couch potato, not a Lothario. But—” She bit her lip, her nerves wavering.
Molly said, “But what, hon?”
Andie turned sideways again and touched a spunky outfit. “But, wrong as it is, I’ve wished some man would give me a fraction of the attention Todd’s giving her.” She lifted a pair of capris and matching top from the rack. She held them to her cheek. “What do you think? Apricot work?”
They nodded as one.
The salesclerk descended like a vulture from the sky. “I’ll start you a room!” She flew off. Andie whispered, “There’s really only one thing we can do. Pray.”
Jo and Molly followed Andie down a hallway. She spotted the orangey outfit hanging outside one of the dressing rooms and went to it. They entered a carpeted area, brightly lit and spacious enough to accommodate all three of them. It consisted of padded stools and floor-to-ceiling walls covered with mirrors.
Andie hung the clothing on a brass hook and noticed Molly in one of the mirrors. “You look green.”
“I feel green.” She grimaced. “Is it the power of suggestion? I’ve been feeling nauseous now and then, but it has intensified since this morning. It’s like with knowing the cause, I’ve given my body permission to release the full-on effect.”
Jo said, “You’re hungry. We should have eaten lunch first. Breakfast was hours ago.”
“I gave my last snack to a little girl in the clinic yesterday.”
Andie opened her purse and dug around in it. “I think I have…yes. Here you go. Crackers.”
Molly smiled weakly and tore the cellophane. “You guys want to kneel?”
In reply Andie sank to the floor. The others joined her. She and Jo held hands while Molly ate.
Andie said, “I haven’t done much of this extemporaneous prayer stuff. Will you, Molly?”
Molly smiled and brushed crumbs from her chin. “Just talk to Him. You can do it.”
“Okay.” Andie closed her eyes. She felt Molly slip a hand around hers and squeeze gently. “Lord, we need Your help. No, Char needs Your help more right now. We don’t know what to do, but we trust You. Keep her from making a huge mistake. Keep her from throwing her life down the tubes. Tell her You love her. Thank You, Jesus.”
Molly said, “Amen.”
Andie looked at her. “Amen.”
Jo let out a noisy sigh. “Amen.”
Thirty-Six
Jo promised Char an excellent lunch. They would go to Jake’s and sit by a window with an ocean view, indoors out of the heat and incessant wind. They would eat salads with scrumptious things like warmed Camembert cheese and cranberries and toasted pecans.
But when they passed the deli where they’d grabbed sandwiches the day before, Molly the vegetarian mumbled something about going inside to buy salami, pastrami, and provolone. Char must have heard the desperate tone and declared it was lunchtime. Jo heartily agreed and opened the door. She didn’t want to linger over a meal in a nice restaurant trying to make conversation with that snake Todd Brooks.
“It’s my treat,” the snake said now in an oily tone, a sly smile on his too-thin lips.
Standing beside him at the counter, Jo straightened to her full height. It put her eye-to-eye with the serpent. “We find it easier to just pay for our own.” Unless I’m the one paying.
He flipped a credit card to the cashier. “Don’t let her pay.” Then to Jo, “Let me at least try to make up for disrupting your day.”
She didn’t protest that comment. Beyond a shadow of a doubt he had disrupted their day. “Thank you.”
She left him to finish the transaction and headed to the washroom. What she wanted to do was put on running shoes and take off down the beach for however many miles it took to fill up the entire afternoon and evening. Maybe cold water would do the trick instead.
She spent a long time splashing it on her face. The problem was she didn’t know what
to do with emotions that had been dumped on her like trash from a garbage truck. She had filed away feelings for so many years her body had become unaccustomed to dealing with the abstract.
She suspected her blood pressure was up. What exactly was she supposed to do with feelings? With compassion for Molly’s predicament? With perplexity over Andie’s about-face? With rage at a stranger tempting a friend she hadn’t seen in twelve years? With discomfort over Char’s choices? Discomfort! She wanted to shake some common sense into the woman.
Her feelings weren’t all negative. What was she to do with the sweet ache of praying with Molly and Andie right there in a dressing room? She hadn’t felt such love since she was a child in church. And what of the explosion of hope that burst upon her after delivering that teenager’s baby?
Well, fear was taking care of that last one. Fear and extreme doubt she could ever make such a lifestyle move. Work in a low-income section of humanity?
She studied her eyes in the mirror, searching for the cool, calm, collected doctor. All she saw was a woman on the verge of tears.
She bent over the sink again and splashed more water on her face.
Jo eventually joined the others. They had pushed two dollhouse-size tables together. Char and Todd sat at one, Molly at the other with a vacant chair. Andie straddled both, her iced tea on one, her salad on the other.
Obviously Andie was still in bridge mode, trying to close the gap between uncomfortable friends. Wounded in her own marriage, she seemed able to empathize with Char in ways Molly and Jo couldn’t.
Jo sat. “Moll, you look better. Nutrition hit the bloodstream?”
She nodded, her mouth full.
Andie said brightly, “We were just telling Todd about Grandmère Babette.”
Char nudged him. “If it weren’t for Babette, these three never would have allowed me into their circle.”
Andie’s blush was instantaneous. “Char, I’m sorry.”
