by Betsy Ashton
“It’ll be different from anything I’ve ever done. It could be a mound of giggles. Or it could be a total disaster. I won’t know until I take the first step in this new lifestyle.”
“I wish you could have stayed in Whip’s house or at least in Richmond.” Eleanor nibbled on the end of a crispy egg roll. The door behind her opened and closed as diners finished and left, replaced by a never-ending flow of hungry people.
“We couldn’t stay in the house because Em had screaming nightmares about the aftermath of Merry’s murder.”
“Your life would be much easier in Richmond.” Raney sided with Eleanor.
“It would, but it’s out of the question. At least Whip assured me we’d stay stateside. No international jobs.”
The waiter bustled over and removed empty soup bowls. Our entrees would be out soon.
“Will he keep his promise?” Eleanor trusted my son-in-law only so far. She’d seen him change his mind almost as often as I changed my big-girl panties.
“No choice. He backs out, I bring the kids here in a New York minute.”
“I hope he breaks his promise.” Raney and I were closer than sisters. She spoke from her heart, not from malice. She grinned, but she was serious at the same time.
She wanted me home. I wanted me home too.
“Can you believe how fast I sold the house? When I listed it, I expected nothing but ghoulish lookie-lous drawn by the shooting drama. I got lucky.”
“Location, location, location, huh?” Raney had been on the phone with me every day, listening to my house-selling escapades.
“Whip’s was the only house for sale in Riverbend, one of the most desirable suburbs outside of Richmond. Didn’t hurt to have no competition, thank you very much.”
“How are your grandchildren enjoying Peru?” Eleanor waved for another pot of tea.
“Oh my God. They’re having way too much fun. They loved their first visit. After Whip got out of jail, we decided going back would be therapeutic.”
I drained the last of the tea in the old pot. Our waiter returned with our entrees and three sets of chopsticks. I opened mine; no one else did.
“Alex, of course, is running rampant throughout the construction site. He lords it over everyone. Gets into trouble as a matter of routine. He’s our regular little Captain Chaos. Charlie, the boss, encourages his hijinks. She’s positively fallen in love with him.”
“I can see him now.” Raney dug into her pad thai.
“We e-mail, text, and use these little web cameras to talk to each other every day.” I tried a bite of my green chili chicken and spooned on more pepper sauce. Thai food wasn’t Thai food if it didn’t bring tears. “Their therapists have cameras, so the kids can continue with their weekly counseling sessions.”
“Electronic therapy.” Eleanor glanced around the crowded restaurant. “What will you think of next?”
“It’s easy today to maintain continuity with their doctors, and when they come back to Richmond, they’ll find the sweetest new town house waiting for them.”
“Kids need a home,” said Raney.
“Whip doesn’t realize he’s doing to the kids what was done to him.” I lifted a bite of chicken with my chopsticks.
“How so?” Raney stabbed noodles with a fork.
“His father was in the army. They moved all the time. Whip hated being rootless.” Outside a large family was trying to corral octopus-armed children. Their whoops carried through the window.
“Yet, he demands you play the role of army wife and follow him.” Raney’s face clouded.
“Yes and no. He didn’t demand. He maneuvered me into a corner until I volunteered. I’m not happy about the situation, but the kids come first.” Whip had indeed out-maneuvered me, but I let him.
“How long, Eleanor, do you think it’ll be before Max throws in the towel and brings the kids to Richmond or New York?” Raney turned toward Eleanor. “Want to bet?”
“I do not bet. Maxine will make the best of the situation, regardless of what that will be.”
“The children will be gypsies.” Raney nailed one of the problems I hadn’t yet solved.
“Too true. At least they’ll have their own rooms in Richmond. The RVs will provide more stability than a series of motels or rented places. They’ll have two homes, plus my apartment.”
“I see.” Raney shook her head. She didn’t agree but knew any further discussion would be wasted.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow before taking a bite of sea bream.
“Are you prepared for Whip and the children to return to the States?” Eleanor worried about all the planning that went into uprooting my life.
We were tired from the day and sleepy because of our full stomachs, but we weren’t quite ready to go home.
“Almost. I have everything in place but the tutor. Whip wants the kids homeschooled. I’m so not getting suckered into that. I need someone who’s qualified, someone who’ll fit in with the family.”
I’d been advertising and interviewing for weeks but hadn’t found anyone remotely suitable. Not only did the tutor need the academic credentials to homeschool Emilie and Alex, she had to be willing to live like the rest of us.
“I might know someone, a retired gentleman at church who needs something challenging to keep him from getting bored. I could introduce you.”
Hmm. A man, huh? A male teacher might knock some sense into my wild child. “That’d be wonderful.”
“What about your mantra?” Raney asked.
“You mean, ‘I’m through raising children and I’m never living in the South again’?”
“There is another? It has guided your life for years. Can you up and walk away?”
“I don’t have a choice, at least for the foreseeable future. Funny, isn’t it? You know me, the one who thrives on order and predictability. Heck, now I don’t know where I’ll be going. Or when.”
“Well, you do love adventures. Being with the kids full-time will be another one.” Eleanor said.
“It will.”
“I hope you do not run into any—”
I held up one finger to silence her. Eleanor nodded before fishing in her purse for her wallet.
I pulled my wallet from my oversized bag and put a bill on the table. “What could possibly happen living near a construction site?”
“Nothing will happen as long as you have your canary in the coal mine around.”
“Canary? Are you talking about Em, my early warning system?”
“I am,” Eleanor said. “Having someone with her psychic gift will come in handy again.”
I hoped Eleanor wasn’t right. True, Emilie was a powerful warning system, but I wanted her to rest her gift and enjoy being a kid again.
“If I know you, Max, you’ll find something so you won’t be bored.” Raney tossed her money on top of the pile.
“I’ll have Alex to provide all the adventure I need. He causes trouble just by getting up in the morning. Captain Chaos is drawn to trouble like iron shavings to a magnet.” I stared at two tea leaves and one twig floating upright in my cup. What were they trying to tell me?
Two couples edged forward to claim our table before other diners could. The waiter brought me a doggie bag and a separate check.
“I’m a parent and a grandparent. Anxiety comes with the territory.”
We left, but not before four people slid into our chairs, which hadn’t had time to cool off.
Eleanor caught a cab and headed across town. Raney and I walked up Park, enjoying the cool dry Indian summer evening. I turned my face skyward and breathed the crisp air. I ignored the exhaust fumes from the fleet of yellow cabs racing down Park. We waded through pools cast by streetlights.
I kissed Raney and walked four more blocks to my apartment. I smelled my misstep before I felt it. Swearing under my breath, I hopped to the curb to scrape fresh dog poop from the bottom of my shoe. So much for the “pick up after your dog” citywide ordinance. Idiot.
Images ricocheted like silver
ball bearings in a Pachinko machine. My radar registered shadows emerging from Central Park, pedestrians hurrying home in the dark, laughter from a passing car and taxi horns.
One shadow broke free and jaywalked her way across Park. I paused, set a sack with the extra Thai dinner atop a mailbox and climbed the steps to the door of my apartment building. My doorman ushered me into the lobby with, “Have a nice day, Mrs. Davies?”
“I did indeed, George.” I headed toward the elevator. “Thank you for asking.”
“I wish you wouldn’t encourage the homeless.”
George, my stereotypical New York doorman, watched out for the widowed and divorced ladies in his building.
“There but for the grace of God. We’re all one misstep from disaster.”
“We surely are. Oh, I put several boxes in your foyer. Be careful you don’t trip over them.”
That must be the kids’ laptops, monitors, and Alex’s PlayStation. Maybe the iPods and speakers for each RV and the bus.
I unlocked my door and kicked off my soiled shoe before I dropped my keys in the basket on the foyer table and put my bag inside the hall closet. I reached into my pocket for my phone when it buzzed.
Caller ID revealed Johnny Medina. I flipped it open. “Hey, funny man.”
“Hey, yourself, pretty lady. How were the Great Dames?”
“In rare form. We played cards and drank too many martinis. I just got in and am all full of Thai food.” I settled into an easy chair in the den and propped my feet on a large ottoman. “You’d have been bored.”
“No doubt.”
“We gossiped, kvetched about local politics, and deplored the general state of the world.”
“Spare me!”
“Are you still coming to New York in two weeks? The Dames demand to check you out.” I’d been trying to get Johnny to the city for months, but his workload never seemed to give him enough time. Odd, though, if I flew to Richmond for a weekend, Johnny found himself free. I was pretty sure he was allergic to Manhattan.
“I bought my ticket.”
Progress.
We chatted about stuff and nonsense. Had you asked me two decades ago if I’d be fascinated with the nitty-gritty of running my husband’s company, I would have rolled my eyes like Emilie. In order to be effective as chairman of the board of Davies Industries, however, I dug into design specifications and patent applications, financial statements and balance sheets. Immediately following Reggie’s death in an experimental plane, I stuck my nose into every crevice and secret of what was now my company. The other board members expected me to be a figurehead.
Fools.
They didn’t know me when I took over, but they sure as hell learned about me. As chairman, I was anything but a walkover figurehead.
This time around, Johnny and Whip gave me a crash course in running a heavy construction company. They discussed every aspect of setting up a project. I was glad my company didn’t have the same layers of logistics to manage.
“What’s left on your list?”
“The teacher.”
I told him about my latest series of failed interviews, injecting all the drama I could into what was a trial by slow torture. Given a choice, I’d opt for water boarding.
Johnny howled at my description of a candidate I called Tootsie.
“You should have seen this bimbo. Short skirt, very tight blouse—”
“Knockers?”
“Stop that! Yes, she had a good rack.”
Johnny laughed again.
“Anyway, when I introduced myself as Max Davies, you could have tasted the girl’s disappointment.” I grinned at the memory of the crestfallen look on the applicant’s face.
“So, she thought Max was a man, huh?”
“You’ve got that right.” I punched a pillow into shape.
“So much for being a trophy wife.”
“She was hideous. I doubt she could remove her eye makeup without an ice scraper.”
“That was the end of Tootsie?”
“I couldn’t get away from her fast enough.”
“Let’s hope you’ll be lucky soon. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, funny man.” I walked barefoot into the kitchen for iced water. “Enough of my problems. Have you and Whip decided where we’re going?”
“I like a dam removal project in eastern Washington. So does Whip.”
“That could be fun. The only place I’ve seen in Washington is Seattle. It’d be nice to be closer to my son in Portland, too. When’ll you know?”
“In a few days, pretty lady. We’ll play in New York before we head off to the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. Hey, one more thing. We have to ride the Cyclone together.”
Johnny and I loved roller coasters as much as Whip and the kids. We bonded over screams and queasy stomachs.
“I figured we’d spend a day at Coney Island.”
“To ride a historical wooden roller coaster is too good to pass up.”
“Oh, so coming to see me isn’t seducement enough to get you to New York?” I pretended to be insulted.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s all right. I’ll get even.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We hung up with air kisses.
CHAPTER FOUR
New York, week of August 22
I slept late one morning about a week after my bridge date, which meant I didn’t wake up until six. I lay in my darkened bedroom thinking about how we defined ourselves by our careers, by whom we married, by the stuff we collected and displayed. Most of what I lived with was Reggie’s stuff. Some of it was even my second husband’s stuff.
Sleepless around two in the morning, I remembered how free I was when I cleared out Whip’s house. Each decision lifted burdens from my shoulders. Whip gave me carte blanche to get rid of whatever I wanted, but “leave the garage to me.”
Gladly.
“Oh, and don’t toss my favorite T-shirt. It’s hanging on a hook in the closet.”
Oops. Too late. I thought it was a rag, which it was, and threw it away. Oh well.
Alex balked at getting rid of anything.
“Your new room isn’t as big as your old one. Can we get rid of things you never use?”
“What if I want them again?” Alex’s anxiety approached the wail point.
“Let’s at least start with the clothes you’ve outgrown.” I grinned at the shaky Skype image of a very dirty boy, his spiked hair full of dust.
After much less-than-subtle persuasion, Alex agreed his old toys could be donated. “None of my computer stuff. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I almost asked about his computer, but that would lead to pleas for a new one. The old one would stay in Richmond; new, smaller laptops would conserve space in the RVs.
I whimpered over my daughter’s clothes, the photos of happier times on the chest of drawers, and Merry’s remaining jewelry. I inhaled her scent lingering on dresses and coats in her closet. I washed and ironed everything before filling bags to donate to a battered women’s shelter. I gave Darla, Merry’s best friend, dibs on her shoes. I kept her handbag collection. Merry spent more on handbags than me, and I was extravagant. She never had a chance to carry the yellow Prada or the Jimmy Choo, the last bags she bought on the day of her accident. I set aside photos and jewelry for Emilie.
Wrapped in the memory of how liberating it felt de-cluttering Whip’s house, I walked my apartment, room by room, with a freshly critical eye, a notebook and a packet of sticky notes. Reggie had purchased this large apartment years before we met. When he gave me a blank check to redecorate, I chose formal furnishings to match our lifestyle. While I loved the apartment, it no longer was mine. Truth be told, it was Reggie’s. This place, my space, harassed my psyche.
I might have been planning to live in an RV while I helped raise Alex and Emilie, but that didn’t mean I was giving up my apartment. I had to have a place to call mine. After all, taking care of the kids had a limited t
ime frame. When they were older and off in college or when Whip decided to work and live in Richmond, my job would be done.
Should I sell? Move? Out of the question. I’d never find another apartment with such spacious rooms and such a perfect location with a view of Central Park at a price I wanted to afford. No, the apartment was great; the stuff in it wasn’t.
I left sticky notes on everything I wanted to change. The den housed the most not-my-stuff. Dark green paint, two sailing-ship oils, books, books, and more books. Most of the books could stay, but little else. I couldn’t wrap my brain around how to change it. I put a sticky on the door.
Something was missing. In the middle of another restless night, I figured it out. My entire apartment was too serious, as if I were living someone else’s image of who I was. Nothing made me smile. I didn’t have a single bit of whimsy on display.
On the top shelf, far in the back of my walk-in closet, a battered teddy bear from my childhood hid behind a pile of shoeboxes. One button eye was gone, as was much of the fur on the belly, but the lop-eared, half-blind bear represented many happy hours when I was a young child. I put it in the middle of my bed.
With the first culling behind me, I put several CDs on the stereo. Celebration came up in the shuffled rotation. I danced to my favorite Kool and the Gang song, willing to celebrate anything after the bleakness of the previous year.
Years earlier Raney and I had used the same decorator. I found his card and dialed his number before I thought about the impact my plans might have. Ben had been all too happy to use rich colors from formal manor houses—dark green den, red dining room, wallpapered bedrooms. I hoped he’d be as happy to have a different challenge.
“But you can’t, Mrs. Davies,” Ben wailed. “You can’t erase my masterpiece. You can’t.”
I could all but see Ben having a fit of histrionics, wringing his hands and weeping. I heard a struggle and his partner, Corey, came on the line.
“Ben’s collapsed into a sodden puddle.” Corey covered the mouthpiece. “Stop it right now. I’m sorry, Mrs. Davies. What did you say to him?”
“I told him I wanted a new look. He went off the deep end.”
“Like what?”
