by Beth Rinyu
Michael: Are we still on for drinks tonight?
Scrutinizing my reply while I stared at the message as if it was written in some foreign language, I was filled with doubt. We had made those plans over a week ago, and at the time, I couldn’t think of a reason not to go. Now, I was coming up with a million reasons to decline. First and foremost, he was my coworker, and after a reply of yes, things would always be awkward toward us.
Another being, one of the secretaries at our school, who I really liked, was always trying to get him to take notice of her. She was newly divorced, a single mom, and in need of a little morale boost, much like me all those years ago. I knew how important it was to get that first date AD—After Divorce—out of the way. It was kind of like making pancakes, the first one is always a flop, but with each pour of the batter it gets better. So in a weird way I felt like I was betraying her.
I realized after five minutes of staring blankly at my phone that I was being totally juvenile. Agreeing to drinks didn’t constitute a torrid love affair. It was just two adults enjoying conversation and each other’s company. At least that’s what I told myself when I typed out the word yes and then hit send. I turned off the ringer on my phone and threw it in my purse, not to be disturbed by any more teenage thoughts over text messages while helping my dad.
As I headed up the cobblestone walkway to the front porch, I looked around at the meticulous condition my father still managed to maintain on the outside of his home. Over the past few years, I worried that it was too much for him to handle at his age, but it was something he enjoyed and kept his mind going, so I didn’t get on him too much about it.
“Dad!” I called when I walked through the front door, immediately pulling off my coat. He and my mother always had the heat jacked up to some ungodly temperature in the winter. Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but lately I’d been experiencing a little thing called hot flashes that every woman was cursed with sooner or later.
“I’m up here,” he shouted. I threw my coat on the coat rack in the foyer and ventured up the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms that doubled as my mother’s office, sewing room, exercise room, and everything else in between. Whenever I’d lose track of her in the house, I’d always venture into that room first. Chances were, she’d be in there writing out bills, walking on the treadmill, reading, or tinkering away at a project on her sewing machine.
“You started without me,” I said as I entered the pale-yellow room that still oozed with my mother’s presence everywhere you looked. It was weird, but I could’ve sworn I still smelled the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5, her favorite perfume, when I stepped foot in that area.
“I didn’t get too far. You know your mother, she had some of her things in every closet in the house.”
I looked at the pile of clothes, lying on the floor.
“Did you want to go through any of these and see if you’d like anything?”
There was no denying my mother had a keen fashion sense even as she grew older, but there was no way I’d fit into her clothes, given that I had about eight inches on her barely five-foot height. I always felt like a giant standing next to her. I remember when I was younger, wishing I could be short like her. I was one of the tallest girls in the class, even taller than most of the boys, and always felt a little self-conscious. It wasn’t until high school when the boys started surpassing my height that I finally began to feel normal again. Once I had met Jack, I really started appreciating being somewhat taller. He towered over me at six foot three, and suddenly I didn’t feel so awkward anymore. “Jolly Green Giant and Little Green Sprout.” I reminded my father of the nicknames he gave us.
“Oh yeah, I guess her things would be a little too short on you.” He chuckled.
“We can donate them. I know a place that has a little shop set up for women who can’t afford work attire. I can drop them off there if you’d like.”
“That sounds like a great idea. You know your mom’s charitable side would’ve liked that. Let me grab some bags from downstairs, and I’ll start loading this stuff up.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll start on her desk.”
“Good luck with that. I think she has bank statements in there from when we first moved in the house. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea while I’m downstairs. Did you want some?”
Sweat formed on my brow just thinking about a cup of hot tea as I sat in the sauna-like room. “No, thanks,” I replied without hesitation. I opened the rolltop desk to find two little plastic storage containers neatly organized. Each of them sectioned off with little color-coded tabs, first by the year and then by the month, with every stub or cancelled check for all the paid bills corresponding with that time frame. I smiled, remembering how organized she was with everything she did. It drove her crazy because I was the exact opposite.
Growing up, I’d have clothes strewn everywhere in my bedroom before I’d leave for school. She’d go into my room while I was in class and neatly hang everything up, even going as far as ironing the ones that became wrinkled, only to repeat the process the next day. If my father or I dared to drop a crumb on the kitchen floor while eating, she was right there with the broom and dustpan, sweeping it up.
She was meticulous with everything she did, and as I grew older, I realized just how exhausted she must’ve been from it all. She’d never let her guard down and just relax. It was as if she was always trying to prove to be the perfect mother and wife. It was something she battled only with herself because my father and I already knew she was the best of both. It saddened me to think she never realized we would’ve loved her just as much even with crumbs on the floor or wrinkles in our clothes.
It was something I had become keenly aware of and vowed I would never do when I had a home and family of my own. I liked having a clean house, but I also liked it to be lived in as well. I removed the containers from the desk and placed them on the floor, so I could take them home with me and shred them.
When I pulled on the next drawer, I was a little surprised to find it was locked. What could she have possibly had in there that she didn’t want us to see? I searched through the other drawers in hopes of finding the key without any success. My mind started going in a million different directions. Did she have some secret life she didn’t want my father and me knowing about? Should I ask my dad if he knew where the key was? But what if there was something in there she wanted to keep secret from him, something that would devastate him? But even if there was, he should know the truth. Shouldn’t he? Did it even matter now that she was gone?
I got up from the chair and peeked out the bedroom door, making sure my father wasn’t coming up the stairs. I grabbed her letter opener from on top of the desk, remembering the little lesson Jack had given me years ago on picking locks. I stuck the pointy instrument into the keyhole and carefully worked it around until the lock sprang open. Inside the drawer was another small box just like the ones she had her bills organized in. My hands shook as I took off the lid, overcome with emotion at the photographs, cards, and different mementos she had held on to throughout the years.
Unlike her bills, they were all thrown in the box haphazardly. Why did she feel the need to keep that drawer locked? I had probably looked through a lot of those photographs a million times over the years, and most of the cards were more than likely from me or Kara from over the years. I hurriedly stuck the lid back on the box when I heard my father coming up the steps, placing it next to the others that needed to be shredded. I wanted to take it home and go through it first to make sure there was nothing in there that would upset my father.
“I know you said you didn’t want any, but I figured you could use some caffeine for the job we have ahead of us,” Dad said as he entered the room with a cup of tea in each hand.
“Thanks.” I forced a smile.
Two rooms, four closets, and three and half hours later, we were finally done. We loaded all of the items for donation into my car along with the boxes for shredding. The rest were place
d at the curb for garbage pickup. It had been an emotional morning, and even more so for my father, so I spent the rest of the afternoon with him, taking him to the supermarket and then having another cup of tea with him.
By the time I got home, I was on caffeine overload, running around the house, trying to prepare for drinks with Michael. Max was right at my feet the entire time. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror after changing out of my leggings and hoodie and into a pair of jeans and a sweater. “What do you think of this, Max?” I asked as he sat beside me, staring at my reflection as well. I was truly losing it, asking a dog for his opinion. “It’s just gonna have to do!” I patted him on the head, then went into the bathroom, touching up my makeup and hair. Max once again was lying at my feet. “I’d much rather be spending the night with you in front of the television and in my pajamas, but I don’t want people to say I’ve become the crazy old dog lady.” I think it was too late for that. I was well on my way to getting there. I looked in the mirror one last time and took a deep breath, hoping I made the right choice for the evening.
Chapter 12
RELIEF WASHED OVER me when I pulled into the safety of my driveway after my little get-together with Michael. I was hoping he got the hint that I wasn’t interested in anything beyond being work colleagues when I quickly ducked into my car to avoid an awkward goodbye. The few words to sum him up would be boaster, egotistical, and cheapskate. It amazed me that I’d never previously picked up on that during our few work encounters.
When I arrived at the bar, we both decided we were hungry, so we grabbed a table and ordered some food. If I’d known what I was in store for over that next hour or so, I would have dealt with my hunger pangs instead. Nonstop talk about how he left a job working at a private school up in the northern part of the state, making way more to teach at our school, so he could be closer to his kids.
Then of course the conversation of his kids led to the ex-wife and how she left him because she was jealous of him. I had to make him repeat that sentence because it didn’t make much sense, so of course he went on to explain. She had trouble taking the weight off after their third child and was very self-conscious because he was such a health nut and in such great shape, so she became jealous of that. It still made absolutely no sense to me. I was certain he was leaving a lot out, like maybe she was jealous of the women he’d try and pick up.
Then there was the cars—he was thinking about trading in his Jeep for a Porsche or a Corvette or maybe even a Lamborghini. Last but not least, he was having a house built in the Florida Keys after he retired. He had a lot of big dreams for living on a teacher’s salary. He was the textbook definition of a narcissist, and if I had to spend one more moment with him, I thought I would scream.
When the bill came, I had planned on paying for my share, so he would get the picture that this was by no means a date. What I didn’t plan was paying for most of his dinner as well. When he threw in fifteen dollars for a fifty-seven-dollar check, not including the tip, I just coughed up the rest, wanting to get out of there and away from him as quickly as I could.
My Saturday night would’ve been much better spent in my pajamas on my couch with Max, watching a silly rom-com movie. I stepped out of my car and gasped at the male figure in the darkness walking up my driveway. My heart slowly resumed to its normal rhythm when I realized it was Jack.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?” I shouted with my hand covering my chest.
“I don’t know, are you trying to give Kara one?” he replied.
“What are you talking about?”
“She called me in a panic because she’s been trying to get a hold of you all night, so I told her I’d take a ride over and make sure everything was okay.”
“No, she—” It suddenly dawned on me that I had never turned the ringer back on from when I was at my father’s. I reached in my purse and grabbed my phone to find seven missed calls from Kara, two from my dad, and five texts from Kara as well.
Kara: (5:24 p.m.) Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Kara: (6:03 p.m.) I’m really getting worried. Call me back!
Kara: (6:44 p.m.) MOM??????
Kara: (7:31 p.m.) Freaking out!
Kara: (7:49 p.m.) I’m calling Dad.
Was she serious? After all the times she would blow me off and have me imagining her in a ditch on the side of the road or carjacked. Jack immediately pulled out his phone and got Kara on speakerphone. “She’s fine,” he said when she answered in a panic.
“Where was she?” she demanded.
“I don’t know, ask her.” Jack handed off his phone to me and we walked up the driveway.
“Well, how does it feel when someone goes radio silent on you?” I asked as I unlocked the front door and Jack and I stepped inside.
“Mom, that’s not even funny. You always answer your phone.” She scolded as if I were the child.
“Oh, Kara, relax! I had turned my ringer off earlier in the day when I was at Pop’s house…oh shit, did you call Pop too?” I suddenly remembered the two missed calls from my father.
“Well, I’m sorry. I knew you were going over there today, and I thought you might still be there.”
“Let me go, Kara. I need to call him and let him know I haven’t been murdered.”
“Where were you anyway?” Her question seemed to pique Jack’s interest as well. His eyes fixated on me, waiting for an answer.
“I went to dinner.”
“With who?” She was relentless.
“A friend.”
“Which friend?” If I could’ve reached through the phone and smacked her, I would’ve. I didn’t know why I even cared about Jack thinking I had gone on a date. It had been eight years, and I was certain there’d been quite a few women for him since our divorce. We had clearly both moved on, so why did I feel like I was doing something wrong by admitting I was out with a man tonight?
“Goodbye, Kara.” I ended the call and glanced at Jack, who still had his eyes pinned on me. “Now I’ve got to call my father. Honestly, I can’t believe this turned into such a fiasco,” I carried on as I hit my dad’s number in my contacts.
“It wouldn’t have been if you had told Kara you were going on a date before you went.” Jack smirked, then stepped out into the backyard with Max to let him out.
After assuring my father I was okay, I hung up the phone and raked my hands through my hair. It occurred to me that I had been in contact with Jack more in the past few weeks than I had in the past eight years. It was strange but at the same time familiar. I ran upstairs and changed into my pajamas that had been calling for me all night. When I came back down, Jack and Max were back inside.
“Well, since the mystery of your whereabouts has been solved, I guess I’ll head out,” Jack said with his hands in his pockets.
“Sorry for the drama, but you can blame that all on your crazy kid.”
“Not a big deal.” His smile resembled that boyish grin I remembered from so long ago.
“I guess no news on the mystery man?” I was doubtful but still hopeful that maybe he’d say yes.
He shook his head, his endearing smile turning into a worrisome frown. “It’s weird, almost like he didn’t exist in that family. Everything that comes up on the Internet search is about the brother. I looked him up on our system and found out a little bit about him. He was arrested a few times back in the late sixties for protesting the Vietnam War, but then he was drafted and ended up going over. What surprises me is his family was loaded. His father was big into politics and had a slew of connections that could’ve kept him out of going over there. It seemed like he pulled some strings for the brother, but not for him.”
“Or maybe he wanted to go, and the brother didn’t.”
“Doubt it. I don’t think anyone wanted to fight in that war. Plus, he was arrested a few years prior to going for protesting it.”
“Did he always live in California?” I asked.
“As far as I
can tell. His last known address was La Mesa, California.”
“That’s so weird. Why would he come all the way from California to New Jersey to kill himself? They have a whole big ocean out there too.”
Jack became quiet, then stared off into space like he would whenever he was pondering something. “Do you know anyone in California?”
He knew the answer to that just as well as I did. “Nope,” I replied.
“Guess we’ll just have to keep plugging away at it, but in the meantime, keep Kara informed on your whereabouts.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” We both laughed. I walked him to the door, making sure to double lock it as I closed it behind him. Every time I thought about that day on the beach, I was overcome with a sense of dread, automatically feeling on guard.
“Okay, Max, it’s just you and me, buddy.” I patted him on the head and clicked on the television, surfing through the channels and finally settling on The Holiday—Jude Law and Christmas, two attributes in a movie that were bound to lift your spirits. Max hopped up on the couch next to me, something he seemed to be doing a lot more often. At first, I’d chase him off, but then he had learned how to win me over by resting his head on my lap while cuddling up next to me. So now, he was a permanent fixture next to me whenever I’d watch TV. My mind began to drift back to my conversation with Jack and how the connection to me and this man made absolutely no sense at all. I tried to focus back on the movie to take my mind off that day, but as I watched Kate Winslet on my television, helping Cameron Diaz’s confused older neighbor, something sparked in my mind. Something I hadn’t remembered, but something so significant.
