Reinventing Ruthie, page 4
As I listened to Drew’s BMW rocket down the street, I glanced at my right arm. The brace holding my sprained wrist reminded me I’d be useless at work. I couldn’t even answer the phone efficiently.
I gazed at the lilies and irises sent by the office. They’d hired a temp, the card said, but wanted me back the moment I was well. The other arrangement, composed of lavender freesia, asters, and larkspur, was from my best girlfriend. I dislodged the card and opened it to read, Get well soon, Gloria.
I’d called Gloria from my hospital bed. “How awful,” she’d said, her voice mingling with her two-year-old’s nattering. “Where are you?” When I told her, she said, “I wish I could come by, but Shelby’s sick and can’t go to day care. Which is ridiculous, because I’m sure that’s where she caught the bug.”
“That’s okay, take care of that little cutie.” In the past, I’d encouraged her to quit her job and stay home to raise her daughter. In the old days, I believed there was more than one way to spell success. But Gloria, a thirty-five-year-old attorney on the rise, made it clear she had no intention of pausing her career. And maybe she was right; if her husband took off, she could support herself far better than I.
The doorbell jangled and I dragged myself to my feet. Out the front window I saw Mom’s beige-metallic Buick gathering moisture under the drizzling sky.
Bonnie barked as I opened the door to find my mother carrying a rectangular Tupperware container. Her hair, normally coiffed short and neatly combed, was flyaway and in need of a trim. And a stripe of inch-long gray roots stood out at the part line, which wasn’t like her—she usually kept her brown hair a shade lighter than mine.
“I made a Danish.” She brought in with her the aroma of confectioner’s sugar glaze.
“Yummy, comfort food. Just what I needed.”
She folded her raincoat over the banister. As I led her through the dining room, an area barely large enough to contain the table and four chairs, I noticed several unopened bills and pieces of junk mail littering the table’s surface. My Visa bill balanced on top, as if trying to flag me down. Below it lay an envelope from the mortgage company.
Mom slowed her pace. I glanced back to see her eyeing the letters. I continued into the kitchen. There was no way I’d discuss my finances with her again; it only made her worry—which was contagious.
“You look better today.” She lifted the Danish out of the plastic container, placed it on the counter. She found a serrated knife and began slicing the pastry into even rows. “God’s been watching after you.”
I was used to Mom’s religious prattling but couldn’t let it go by unchallenged.
“Oh, yeah?” Using my left hand, I flushed tap water into the kettle, then set it on the stove. “If he was, couldn’t he have kept me on the road?”
“Now, don’t be like that. My only daughter’s alive and I’m grateful.”
“Thanks, Mom, but I wonder if Harriet would have been just as happy if I’d never come home. It seems I’ve been replaced by Drew.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. She needs her mother. All girls do.”
“Harriet’s mission in life is to be the opposite of other girls.” I listened to the kettle murmur. “Did you know Drew’s staying here?”
Her eyebrows lifted, etching lines across her forehead.
“It doesn’t mean a thing.” I wished I hadn’t brought up the subject. This was a good example of my rattling off at the mouth. “He still has his bimbo girlfriend. He’s just trying to impress the kids.”
“Maybe you two—”
I put up a hand to silence her. “Please, Mom, it’s not going to happen.”
The kettle started whistling; I transferred it to a cold burner.
“Have a seat and I’ll make us tea.”
“No thanks, I’d better get home. Sometimes your father fixes himself soup, then forgets to turn off the stove.”
“Big deal. One burner couldn’t use up that much electricity.” Most likely my conscientious father had left it on once over the last twenty years. I’d bet Mom had done the same thing.
I nabbed a mouth-sized piece of Danish as I followed her to the front hall. Biting into the sweet dough, I savored the blend of butter, sugar, and sliced almonds sprinkled over the top. It reminded me of childhood, of coming home after school to find Mom had baked something special. If I haven’t mentioned it before, I got lucky in the parent department. They weren’t perfect, but who is?
“I’m serious.” Mom located her purse. “With your father’s memory on the decline, I don’t trust him at home by himself.”
I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble a grown man could get into in his own house. So what if he couldn’t remember all the crossword puzzle answers anymore? “Could he go to a friend’s house?” I envisioned two men playing cards and enjoying a cigar.
“I can’t think of anyone. His pal Sam died last year, and Chet and his wife moved to Arizona to be closer to their grandchildren. That leaves Horace, who’s out on the golf course every day.”
“If it would give you more freedom, maybe you should pay someone to stay with him.”
“You mean a babysitter? He’s not sick enough for a nurse.” She dug through her handbag and plucked out the beaded keychain Harriet fashioned for her in third grade. My younger daughter was talented at crafts, although it had been years since I’d seen her make anything.
“Did I mention your father’s seeing a neurologist?” Mom said.
“What for?”
She jiggled her keys. “His general practitioner is young enough to be our grandson. He’s no help.” Her words became clipped. “He calls Ed’s memory lapses all part of growing old, which seems to be his answer to everything. I decided it was time to get a second opinion.”
My mother was a mama bird, I thought, remembering how she used to bundle up my brother, Jeff, and me while the other kids wore shorts and T-shirts. With her chickadees out of the nest, maybe she needed someone to fuss over.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. Their insurance would pay for it. “I have an appointment with Dr. Kirshbaum in a few days, but I may cancel it. I’d rather see my own doctor.”
“Why? Dr. Kirshbaum’s the expert.”
“Because he’s always blinding me with his flashlight, then peering at me like I’m two steps from the grave.”
“Ruth Ann, you’d save me a world of worry if you saw him one more time. He and your father’s neurologist, Dr. Huff, are in the same office. I’ll drive you and take your father in to get blood work done while you’re there.” She pushed her arms into her coat sleeves. “Maybe you could speak to Dr. Huff, too. It would help me to have another set of ears.”
I could tell she wasn’t going to let me win this one. And I was curious what Pop’s doctor had to say about him.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” I clasped her in a quick embrace, then opened the door. “Bye, Mom. I love you.”
As she strode outside, her toe caught on the door jam. She stumbled forward, staggering several feet across the porch. Inches before the first step, she righted herself.
Near calamity happened so quickly all I could do was watch. Then I rushed out and grabbed her elbow with my good arm. “Are you all right?” I held her elbow for a moment longer, until I was sure she was safe.
She brushed my hand away. “Sure. Silly me.”
I scooped up her pocketbook, which had somehow landed right side up on the middle step, and handed it to her.
“I’ve been having a little trouble with depth perception. Nothing serious.” She took hold of the purse’s handle. “As Ed’s doctor would say, it’s all part of getting old.”
I descended the stairs to pick up her keys that lay sprawled on the cement walkway. As she proceeded down the steps, I studied her face. Fifteen years younger than Pop, she had always been a head-turner, but today I noticed sunken cheeks and a bluish cast to her complexion. Had I been so immersed in self-pity I hadn’t seen her decline?
“Are you sure you can drive?” I still grasped the keys. Not that I could run her home in my shape.
“Of course.” In a swift motion, she swiped them from me. “Remember, I came here to look after you.”
A moment later I watched her drive away, the top of her head barely visible above the headrest. I wondered how long it would be before I said those exact words to her.
4
I couldn’t believe I’d slept in while the girls got themselves off to school. That was a first. You’ve wasted the best hours of the day, Pop would say.
I tottered down to the first floor and into the kitchen to find it empty, save for Bonnie sleeping in her basket with her legs twitching as she chased the neighbor’s cat in her dreams. I noticed brown liquid in the coffee urn and poured some into a mug, then placed it in the microwave. As I listened to the oven drone, I looked around the room to see the dishwasher’s door hanging open. Someone had removed the clean dinner dishes and replaced them with breakfast plates. Another first.
As I removed the cup and took a careful sip, I considered whether I felt good enough to drive to the grocery store. No, and even with layers of makeup, my face would bring horrified stares. And with my right arm out of commission, how would I navigate the cart, let alone the car? Everything seemed like too much work.
I wandered into the dining room, picked up my Visa bill and tore open the envelope to see $3,572 was due in a week. The sum assaulted me like a slap on the cheek. I’d attempted to pay the balance down, but when compounded with the interest charge and occasional late fee it continued to increase.
I set the bill aside to see a letter from my attorney, Sue McDonald, whom Gloria had recommended as easygoing, but no pushover. “Take your time, don’t let Drew rush you,” Sue had urged me in her office a couple months ago. “If he wants a divorce so much, let him bring major concessions to the table.” But in the meantime, I had to pay for an attorney I never wanted.
The remaining envelope had Roosevelt High School printed across the upper left corner. I ripped it open and read: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Templeton, Your daughter Harriet is in jeopardy of losing credit in several of her classes. It is imperative she doesn’t have any more unexcused absences. Please contact her counselor, Miss Caddish, to set up an appointment.
My thoughts spun back to last year, when Harriet hadn’t turned in her homework for six whole weeks. Forcing her to complete her missing assignments had been almost as agonizing as having my husband dump me. But I thought the girl was back on track. Her latest report card displayed a sturdy row of Cs, and an A in Art, although I had yet to see any of the work she’d produced.
My mind skipped ahead to contemplate her future. If she didn’t earn the necessary credits, she’d have to redo this semester and live at home for an extra six months before college. Who was I trying to kid? Harriet wasn’t even interested in community college. She’d be lucky to graduate from high school.
I placed the letter on the kitchen table where Harriet would see it when she got home. As I showered and dressed, I imagined the explosion that was sure to ignite when she read it. I remembered Mom assuring me my younger daughter would settle down, and not to worry, after Harriet, age eight, toppled Nichole’s birthday cake to the floor just before the guests arrived. But no such luck—Harriet only grew more resistant to my rules. And to me. I’d read parenting books like Positive Discipline and The Strong-Willed Child, but the more I tried to influence her, the further she pushed me away. Any desire for closeness only served to fuel hostility toward me. I’d wondered more than once if it would be better for both of us if I gave up.
I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and didn’t bother with makeup. The skin on my face was beginning to peel, making me look like I’d been blistered by the sun. As far as I could tell, the cortisone cream Dr. Kirschbaum prescribed hadn’t made the slightest difference. Maybe it was a placebo.
The doorbell rang several times in rapid succession. I descended the stairs to see Bonnie rushing into the front hall. Her triangular ears pricked up and her stub of a tail wagging, she barked fiercely, the way she did when strangers arrived. I looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Gloria’s beautiful face. When she lived down the block, we got together often, but in the four years since she and her husband moved, I couldn’t remember her ever stopping by without calling first. And usually it was I who set up our meetings.
“Ta-da,” Gloria said when I opened the door. Looking svelte as usual, she wore a charcoal-colored suit, the skirt’s hem hitting her mid-knee to show off muscled legs and slim ankles. Her dark hair was wisped into a French roll and her earlobes hid behind pave diamond earrings.
As I hugged her, she kissed the air. “You poor thing.” She leaned back and gave my face an appraisal. It had to be a shock seeing me like this.
“Don’t worry, I feel better than I look,” I said. “And it’s not contagious.”
“Glad to hear it.” She glanced over my shoulder. “Are we alone?”
“Yes, Drew and the girls left hours ago.”
Her back arched. “Drew, here?”
“Yup. Welcome to the Twilight Zone.”
I beckoned her to enter, but she said, “I’m here to take you out to lunch. I’ve got an hour to grab something to eat and get back to the office.”
I couldn’t go out in public looking like this. “I’d better not. People will think I was mangled by a gorilla.”
“Wear dark glasses and no one will know the difference.”
“I don’t think that would help and, anyway, people might think I’m a movie star and hound me for my autograph. Ha, ha.” No chance of that. “Come in the kitchen and I’ll fix you something. A tuna sandwich.”
“Thanks, but we need to get you out of this dungeon. I know, bundle up and we’ll go to Ivar’s takeout and eat outside on their deck.”
Fifteen minutes later, she and I were sitting at a picnic table at the north end of Lake Union. Except for a young couple, who didn’t seem to notice our arrival, we had the place to ourselves. Bundled in my fleece jacket, I inhaled the breeze fluttering off the water. A cabin cruiser glided by, its driver sitting up top and wearing a captain’s hat. To the south, I could see the Space Needle and downtown’s buildings standing tall against a hazy sky.
“This was a good idea. It feels good to get out of the house.” I mopped a chunk of cod through the creamy tartar sauce, then plunked it in my mouth. It felt marvelous to sink my teeth into the fish. So what if it was deep-fried, I told myself, it was also teemed with Omega 3s.
The collar of Gloria’s mohair coat framed her oval face. “This is good for me, too,” she said from across the table. “It’s the first time I’ve been outside in weeks. I’ve been buried at work and attended a seminar last weekend.”
I realized I was taking up time she could be spending with her daughter. “Do you ever drop by day care and have lunch with Shelby?” I asked.
“No, they say it’s too confusing for the kids having parents come in and out like that. The children think it’s time to go home. It’s hard enough saying goodbye to Shelby in the morning. She always starts crying.”
I’d hated leaving the girls with babysitters when Drew and I went to a show. How could Gloria stand it? “I bet she’s happy when you come get her at the end of the day,” I said.
She swallowed a fork-full of coleslaw. “I’ve been working so late, Jonathon’s the one to pick her up. I barely make it home before she’s in bed.”
Taking another bite, I watched a tugboat guiding a barge on its way to the locks and Puget Sound. I remained grateful Drew had insisted I stay home and raise our children. “I’d rather drive an old car and skip the vacations,” he’d said. In spite of everything, that was one gift I could thank him for.
“So, your hubby’s been hanging around?” She seemed to be reading my thoughts.
I figured he’d been on her mind since we left the house. Gloria and Drew only tolerated each other for my sake. He’d never cared for her brassy independence and she’d always thought he wasn’t nice enough to me.
“Last night he pulled out the barbecue and fixed us tenderloin steaks, and tossed a Caesar salad,” I said. “I didn’t know he could cook so well. Then he even cleaned up after.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her he’d spent the night in the guestroom.
She pulled a small mirror out of her purse, checked her smile. “Sounds like the creep’s trying to win you back.”
“No way, he’ll be in his lover’s arms tonight.” I could hear my voice sharpening, and I tried to mellow it. “But the kids were happy. Neither one has stuck around the dinner table like that for years.” Refusing to lock eyes with Drew, I’d lapsed into laughter several times. Over dessert, I’d even experienced short-lived moments of hope. But I wouldn’t share those thoughts with Gloria.
She applied mauve lipstick and smooshed her lips together. “I don’t suppose anything else happened?”
“We didn’t end up in a passionate embrace, if that’s what you’re fishing for.” I would have said no to any romantic advance, but how satisfying to have him try, and me shut him down.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She slipped the lipstick back in her handbag. “That man doesn’t deserve to shine your shoes.”
I don’t know why I still felt like defending Drew when others spoke badly of him. It was a ridiculous reaction, and I needed to get over it. “Thanks for your support. Now tell me, how’s it going?” I thought I’d hear about her husband, Jonathon.
“Fabulous.” She sipped her Diet soda, leaving lipstick on the straw. “I’ve got a hot new client. I can’t reveal his name yet, but he’s six-foot-six, wears a helmet, and looks good in blue-and-white.”
“Sounds like a football player?”
“Yup, and what an Adonis. Obviously, I can’t put the moves on him, but you could.”
