by Karen Tuft
Several long hours later, Natalie loaded her cleaning tools into the trunk of her Ford Focus and collapsed behind the steering wheel. She pushed a few sweaty strands of hair off her face as she went through her mental checklist: The floors were mopped—hand scrubbed, actually, to remove all the crud. The hand scrubbing had also included the living room and kitchen walls. Oreo graffiti was now a thing of the past. The carpets were thoroughly vacuumed, everything dusted. Linens washed and folded, beds made. Her lower back throbbed, and her arms and shoulders were stiff and sore.
She was tired—tired of cleaning houses for a living. Other people’s—rich people’s—houses. Tired of her bank balance running in the red. Tired of feeling dependent on her ex-husband, a man she no longer trusted, for her children’s well-being. Tired of feeling controlled by him.
Next to her on the passenger seat was a printout of the classes offered through the community college. It would be tough with a son on a mission and two teenage girls, but Natalie was on a mission too, a mission of independence, both financial and emotional. She wasn’t trained to do anything besides clean houses, so she’d hoarded her hard-earned money and enrolled in a couple of college courses, just to get her feet wet. She would start with the basics, work toward earning her associate degree, and go from there. My time has more than arrived, she thought as she jammed her key into the ignition. She wanted a respectable job that could give her a respectable income. If education and experience were what good-paying employers wanted, she would get them. Somehow. By herself.
Her cell phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, since it wasn’t the programmed ring of either of her girls, but she checked the ID and, succumbing to the inevitable, answered.
“Natalie! It’s Tori. I spoke to Ron. Are you still planning on tonight?”
Tori was Natalie’s best friend, and Ron was Tori’s boss, whom Natalie had met when she and Tori went out to lunch a few weeks back. Ron had mentioned at the time that his old college roommate would be in town this weekend and expressed interest in setting Natalie up with him. Ron seemed like a nice enough guy, and Tori liked working for him, so Natalie, having been caught off guard once again, agreed to the blind date. She figured she was one of the few single women either Tori or Ron knew, which was why she had been chosen.
She buckled her seat belt and started the car. “I guess so, but you’re going to owe me.”
Ugh. She really hated the pressure she felt on dates, especially blind dates, but “Sure, okay” had come out of her mouth anyway. Going out on the date did fall loosely into her current social philosophy, she rationalized, that of affording her occasional contact with supposedly real people—adult people—other than her kids, something mothering and cleaning empty houses rarely allowed her to do. Church services on Sunday were the exception. Natalie’s social philosophy was two pronged: one, an occasional date kept her verbal skills semipolished in the event of a potential job interview, and two, it took pressure off her kids to feel they had to keep her company all of the time. She herself was through with men on a permanent basis.
“I think Ron’s the one who owes you, but I get it.” Tori laughed. “By the way, he heard from this Doug guy about an hour ago. He got into town last night for the conference and will be tied up at the convention center until this evening. He has your address. Ron told me to tell you to expect Doug at six. Will that work? He said to dress casual. And Nat? Call me as soon as you get home. I’m dying to hear how it goes.”
“Count on it,” Natalie said, “unless, of course, we decide to run off to Vegas and elope.”
Tori laughed again and said good-bye.
Natalie really wished Tori and her husband, James, were doubling with them, or even Ron and his wife, even though she didn’t know them. She wasn’t opposed to blind dates, in theory—it was only when she was actually on the blind date, dressing for the blind date, or being lined up on the blind date that she tended to object. She really wasn’t opposed to men as people—except when they were strange men she had to deal with one-on-one. Or not even strange men, actually. Any man.
And this particular blind date felt pretty blind. She wished her black pants weren’t still at the cleaners so she could wear them tonight.
But mostly she wished she’d just told Tori and Ron no to the whole thing.
* * *
“Dad called.”
“Did he?” Natalie smiled thinly and tossed her keys on the kitchen table. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“He said he was going to pick Callie and me up at five thirty instead of five o’clock and that he wanted to talk to you when he came by.” Emma looked up from her fashion magazine. “I told him I thought that was okay. Is it okay?”
Natalie now had one hour instead of four, thanks to the adorable Lisle twins, to run to the bank, grab Callie from her dance lesson, collect the dry cleaning, straighten up the living room, shower, and be ready for her blind date before her ex walked through the front door, hopefully not late, all smiles, to take her girls for the weekend.
“Sure, it’s okay, honey. I need to run to the bank before I go get Callie. Will you straighten up the living room before your dad gets here?” She smiled and winked. “Make him think we remain remotely civilized around here after all this time—even without his constant good influence.”
Emma rolled her eyes but grabbed her sweatshirt and backpack from the sofa. She hip bumped her mother as she walked by and waved her sweatshirt with the flourish of a seasoned matador. “I suppose,” she retorted, trying to sound as put upon as possible.
Natalie chuckled at Emma’s antics and then watched in utter amazement as her daughter responded to her request the first time. Of course, her Em was a sweet, agreeable girl, but to automatically grab the vacuum and drag it into the living room was not an everyday occurrence. Natalie started to make a joking retort, but she realized that even though they were sparring comfortably with each other, Emma’s eyes had looked strained when she’d told Natalie her dad had called. Darn that Wade. What lasting damage had he done to all of them?
Natalie scooped up her keys and bag again, squeezed Emma’s shoulders, and yelled “Thanks!” over the din of the vacuum before heading back out the door. She didn’t much like Wade Forrester, not anymore, but he had given her two wonderful gifts in the form of Emmaline and Callisandra Forrester, and he’d been decent enough to Ryan, her son from marriage number one. For that, at least, she supposed she would always be grateful in a way. Whatever.
She mentally prepared for her encounter with Wade as she quickly drove to the bank on her first errand. She knew the drill. He’d tell her he’d have Callie and Emma back early Sunday evening (although he’d undoubtedly call late on Sunday to tell her he’d gotten hung up and could she pick them up, which, of course, she would do). When he got to the house, she’d ask him nicely when the child support checks would resume, and he’d condescendingly remind her he was not made of money, implying that if she weren’t incompetent, it wouldn’t be an issue—in fact, if she weren’t incompetent, they would still be married—and when he closed on the two big real-estate deals in the works, the ones he always seemed to have in the works, he’d get her a check, so she shouldn’t get all worked up. If she was really lucky, he would be gone before Blind Date Doug showed up on the doorstep; otherwise, she could look forward to a “let me give you the lowdown on Natalie” monologue directed at her date.
Because it was Friday afternoon, the bank was swamped. Natalie could see that all the drive-through lines were three to four cars deep. Sighing, she cruised into a parking spot and ran inside. Entering the bank meant using her best cloak-and-dagger skills. Keeping her face averted from the offices on the north side of the lobby, she quickly moved into the teller line. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, she mentally prodded the tellers and customers. She tapped her toes on the marble floor and checked her watch. Four forty. Callie would be expecting her at four forty-five, and there definitely wouldn’t be time afterward to ge
t the dry cleaning, which meant no black slacks for tonight.
With the dire need for black slacks greatly reduced after tonight’s big date, there was no rush to get to the cleaners this afternoon or even Saturday morning, since Saturday morning would be her only time all week to relax and catch up on her own house and laundry. She was booked Saturday afternoon cleaning the Masons’ house. Adele Mason was having a big dinner party that evening and had scheduled Natalie weeks ago. Natalie had hated tying up part of her only free day, but since the girls would be with Wade and she needed the cash, she’d agreed. The couple of college classes she’d signed up for started on Monday, and afterward, she would have to squeeze in the quick straighten-up she’d promised Terri Larrabee.
She’d head to the cleaners on Tuesday—sometime Tuesday—and Emma would just have to live without her little pink sweater for a few extra days. And Natalie would have to live without the black slacks. She had really wanted them for tonight. They made her feel more slim and confident, something she really needed to feel going on this blind date into which she’d been maneuvered. Oh well. She would just have to see if she had any other kind of confidence-builder hanging in her meager closet.
Four forty-five and still there were three people in line ahead of her. Callie wouldn’t start fretting yet. Natalie cautiously glanced over at the north office doors again. No sign of life there, which was a good thing, and Natalie felt herself relax.
Only one person stood in front of her in line now.
“Mrs. Forrester—Natalie—is that you? What a pleasant surprise!” a deep voice resounded.
Curses! Caught unawares from behind.
Heaving a huge sigh, Natalie turned and pasted on her friendliest smile. “Mr. Childs, how are you?”
Mr. Childs, the branch manager, was a large, robust man in his midfifties, with a sagging paunch that was disproportionate to his tall frame and dark hair slicked back like a mob boss. He was also one of the reasons Natalie dreaded being back on single status. At five foot four inches, she had to look up to maintain eye contact, which was difficult at best. She always found herself particularly distracted by his black caterpillar eyebrows.
“Good. Great! Never better.” His partial was showing. Three teeth? No, four. She’d always wondered about that. He really needed to find a new dentist—one who wouldn’t make him look like Austin Powers. “I’ve been trying to reach you, you know. Thought maybe that was why you were here. Left several messages on your machine at home. You got them, I hope.”
“Yes, well, I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. Sorry about that.” The last time she’d returned his telephone calls, she had assumed his call was because she was a few days late making a payment on her overdraft. Okay, the few days had been closer to ten. Instead, he had used the bank’s commercial phone line to invite her to dinner. As she had been caught totally off guard, she hadn’t had a ready excuse, and that evening she’d found herself watching him plow through three plates of food at the local all-you-can-eat buffet. They had discussed his grandchildren (Harvard bound, no doubt), his ex-wife (trying to bleed him dry even after all these years), his plans to remarry (a man has needs even at his age). Nauseated, Natalie had vowed there would be no repeat. Fool me once, shame on you, she thought; fool me twice, just take aim at me and fire. She would not ever be returning any of his voice mail messages. Unless, of course, some unforeseen financial disaster loomed and her overdraft became subject to collections. She mentally crossed her fingers. Even at that point, she’d probably rather sell a kidney.
“Not a problem,” he said. “Noticed your loan is overdue. Thought maybe we should discuss payment options for you.”
And perhaps maneuver a little social encounter out if it, she speculated to herself, grimacing inwardly.
Natalie’s smile was getting tighter with each passing minute. “As we speak, I’m making a payment on it, Mr. Childs. Hopefully that will resolve any outstanding issue we may have.”
“Earl, please. Well, good, good, fine.” He moved in for the kill and lowered his voice. “I enjoyed myself the other evening; maybe we can do it again sometime.”
Hallelujah, a teller is open. Stay cool. “Earl. That’s so nice. I’ll have to get back to you. Things are a little dicey right now schedule-wise. New school year and all. The kids, you understand. But thanks so much!”
She turned to hand her checks to the teller, flushing with embarrassment at the smirk on the young man’s face. “Put these into checking, and make the minimum payment on the overdraft, please,” she murmured.
The teller nodded, and Natalie thought she heard him snort.
She couldn’t get out of the bank fast enough.
“What took you so long?” Callie plopped into the passenger seat of Natalie’s little Focus and snapped the seat belt around her skinny hips.
The car had been her son Ryan’s until he’d left on his mission; then she had taken over the payments and sold the ten-year-old Corolla Wade had so graciously allowed her to keep after the divorce. That sale had paid for Callie’s orthodontics. What she had received after the divorce from the sale of the house she and Wade had shared wasn’t much and was tucked away in a long-term CD. She couldn’t touch that—it was her children’s security, so she had scraped long and hard for enough money to take care of their needs and for tuition so she could start school again.
She glanced over at Callie and pulled out into traffic. Callie’s elfin features were contorted from stress, with worry creases between her large eyes and a lemon pucker on her lips.
“I got hung up at the bank. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” Natalie knew darn well Callie had left her phone at home because she’d seen it on the counter earlier. What good was paying for her kid to have a cell phone so she could keep tabs on her if the kid didn’t have it with her? “Listen, Cal-pal, your dad is picking you up at five thirty, but I’ll need your help when we get home, so you’ll need to hurry and pack quickly. You need to be all ready to go the moment he shows up.” She glanced at her watch. It was already after five.
“What do you need me to do?” She tossed her purple dance bag on the floor by her feet.
“You had dish duty last night, remember? Except you had too much homework and promised you’d get right on it when you got home from school?”
She knew Callie remembered. She also knew that if Callie could manage her packing and a bathroom break just right, she might be able to avoid dish duty entirely.
Natalie swerved to miss an aggressive Acura trying to merge into her lane. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I really want the house straightened before you and Em disappear for the weekend. And your dad always prefers things tidy.”
Wade could spot a smudge blindfolded. His critical eye had honed Natalie’s housekeeping skills to the point that she felt confident walking into strangers’ homes to clean and walking out with them spotless and the owners pleased. It was the only thing she felt confident about these days. Not that she had the time or energy to do exactly the same in her own house.
Callie slumped farther into the seat. “I know. Last time he told us we might get away with slovenly living at our mother’s house, but he had higher expectations for us and his home.”
Slovenly. Natalie clenched her teeth. She tried so hard to put a positive spin on Wade for the girls. It was getting more difficult to do from her perspective, but she felt that staying positive, or at least neutral, about their father was important for the girls. The divorce had been difficult enough on them; Emma had adored her dad and felt betrayed now, and Callie, the little worrier, had been overwhelmed by loss and guilt. His sharp comments speared the girls like shards of glass. Natalie was used to it, expected it, but she hated the effect it had on her daughters.
The elf sitting next to her was fast becoming a troll. “Is Sandy going to be there? I don’t want to go if Sandy’s going to be there.”
Wade’s new bride wasn’t Natalie’s favorite person either, but frankly, ne
w brides usually lived in the same houses as their husbands, regardless of what their stepchildren hoped. At least Wade had married this one. “I’m sure she will be. Just make the best of it.”
“She hates me.”
“I doubt she hates you. Not my little love pumpkin.”
“She does.”
“She’s just getting to know you.” How could Natalie reason with a thirteen-year-old female worrier who was all what-ifs and hormones? Sometimes she wasn’t sure what to do or say, even though she herself had once been thirteen years old. “Smile, be helpful, don’t touch her things, and stay out of her way. It’ll be fine.”
“Gwen’s having a sleepover. Can I stay home this weekend and go to Gwen’s instead?”
A knot started twisting in the pit of Natalie’s stomach. Rearranging custody privileges with Wade was next to impossible. It was tough enough doing the pep talk to get the girls out the door every other weekend. Running interference between the girls and Wade was teaching her the skills of a hostage negotiator. And tonight, she just didn’t have the time. “You know how much your dad looks forward to spending time with you.”
“No, he doesn’t. He just wants to make sure you don’t get to have us more than you’re supposed to. Once we get to his place, he expects Em and me to watch Sandy’s two little brats while he and Sandy just go off and . . . you know. They’re always hanging all over each other and kissing. It’s sick. All they want is free babysitters. And we can’t even get a snack without Sandy having a fit. Gwen’s having everyone over, and I have to miss another party with my friends, and it’s not fair.”
Well, life certainly wasn’t fair, Natalie conceded. “I’ll talk to him, Cal. I can probably get him to be a little more discreet with Sandy, but I suspect your campaign to stay home this weekend will fall on deaf ears.”
