A Place Called Home (33 page)

“I called you.”

“After
you had gone searching. Next time, get me before you do that. And if I’m not in, call a backup.”

“I don’t have a backup.”

“What you have are excuses. Get a backup. Get two. And start thinking about how you’re going to handle yourself the next time Mitch blindsides you. It’ll happen and if your knee-jerk response is to go rummaging through medicine cabinets, you’re gonna be in trouble faster than you can say benzodiazepine. You got that?”

Thea stared at her. Rosie hadn’t waggled her finger once but that gesture would have been overkill for the lecture she’d just delivered. “I’ve got it,” she said quietly.

“Good. Want an Oreo?”

The conference room at Foster and Wyndham was rectangular-shaped with a dark walnut table large enough to fit twelve people comfortably around it and still have space for a row of chairs against the wall on two sides. A bank of windows filled the outer wall and a screen for presentations had been permanently fixed to the wall adjacent to it.

At the moment the screen was filled with a blank blue field, the same image that was currently on Thea’s laptop. Six of the twelve seats around the table were occupied. Hank Foster slouched in one of the chairs against the wall. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses this afternoon. Today he had on his antennae, a headband with two springs that coiled at sixty-degree angles from his thinning hairline and sported a miniature basketball at the end of each. Every time he moved his head, the springs wobbled and wavered so the basketballs arced like foul shots toward an invisible net.

March Mayhem. Glancing over at Hank, Thea shook her head, amusement tempering her mildly disbelieving smile. Last year she had been wearing the crown when three out of her four picks had made it through the Sweet Sixteen all the way to the Final Four. This year Hank was on top with only two of his picks in the last round while all of her college teams had tanked early in the NCAA regionals. No one in the agency seemed in a position to steal victory from him.

“It’s not nice to gloat. That looks better on me anyway.” She took the time to elicit a positive response from her creative Blue Team by making eye contact with each member in turn. “There you have it, Hank.”

“Yeah, but what do they know?” He waved toward the big blue screen. “What you have up there now is about as effective as what came before it. I don’t think you’ve licked this Shine and Shield thing yet.” He looked around the room. “Anyone here think we’re really ready to approach Carver Chemical with this yet?” No one said a word. “That’s what I thought.” He stood and headed for the door, the twin basketballs bobbling as he walked. “Don’t forget. Final Four this weekend. Roundball party’s at my house. Kids, spouses, and insignificant others welcome as long as they know the game’s played in halves, not quarters.” Hank shut the door behind him.

Five uncertain faces turned immediately to Thea at the head of the table. They were like grade school students, she thought, looking to her for permission to go to recess. Thea swiveled back and forth slowly in her chair, her head tilted to one side as she considered them. “I’m not going to say you can’t go,” she said. “But don’t think Hank won’t be looking for something brilliant from you during time-outs.” A collective groan greeted this announcement. “Sorry. Sure, he looks like our resident alien in that getup, but you know he wants a real shot at this account.”

Thea gave them a slight, sympathetic smile as they filed out of the room. “Shut the door,” she called to the last one out. When they were gone, she kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on a nearby chair. She slumped in her seat, swiveling a few degrees so that she could see the screen easily when she turned her head. With her right hand, she tapped a few keys on the laptop and reviewed the presentation the Blues had put together. It wasn’t any more impressive on a second go-through. Worse, it was uninspiring.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t made some decent attempts at showing the product in attention-grabbing fashion. Shine and Shield did not exactly lend itself to a sexy approach, but that had been tried. Humor. Straight. Standard. Functional. New product design. Celebrity. Cartoon. Music. One of Thea’s favorites so far had been of a young mother using her Shine and Shield bottle like a microphone, rocking her way through a catchy pop number while she wiped down her kitchen counter, unperturbed by the mashed fruit her highchair-bound audience was catapulting in her direction. It had humor, youth, product function, and the possibility of some rousing backbeats.

But Hank was right; it wouldn’t get them Carver Chemical.

Thea lifted her feet and let her chair swivel toward the window. The blinds had been pulled to cut out most of the sunlight so their presentation was sharp and clear on the screen. There was still a hint of the bright, cloudless afternoon through small linear breaks in the slats. What would she be doing if she weren’t here? she wondered. Where would she be?

She glanced at her watch. Three-twenty. The vision of herself standing on a street corner in Connaugh Creek, waiting for the approach of the No. 83 bus was so powerful that Thea could actually feel the pavement under her feet and the afternoon sunshine on her face. She’d never met the twins’ bus before, didn’t know any of the mothers who would also be there, but she knew about No. 83 from Case’s account last night during their phone call. A push and shove match between a few of the older children had made quite an impression on the twins, especially the part where someone named Ben Henderson got a nose bleed and dripped real blood on Grant’s book bag. Pretty exciting stuff, she’d told him—and meant it. Wished she had been there—and she’d meant that, too.

Thea massaged the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, closing her eyes briefly. This other vision of herself was startling. She’d never imagined herself doing anything but a professional career, yet in the two weeks since she’d last seen Mitch, the children figured largely in her recurring daydreams. Her recurring night dreams, on the other hand, were better left in the bedroom. It only required a fleeting vision of herself and Mitch together for Thea to have a physical response. Thinking about it now was enough to make her damp between her thighs.

Moaning softly, Thea jumped to her feet and padded over to the window. She twisted a wand on one set of blinds and let more sunshine into the conference room. She didn’t move away from the light but stood there instead, lifting her head and feeling some of the warmth graze her face and throat. Behind her, she heard the door open. She didn’t move.

“There’s a call for you, Ms. Wyndham,” Tamika said. Her hair beads clicked musically as she poked her head farther into the room. “It’s Mr. Baker. Should I put it through?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Thea said without turning. There was a pause and the door didn’t close and Tamika’s hair beads didn’t clack.

“Are you all right, Ms. Wyndham?”

Thea’s arms were folded under her breasts. She let them drop to her sides. “Fine, Tamika. Put the call through.” This time she heard the receptionist take her leave. A few moments later the phone on the conference table beeped softly. Thea impatiently dashed the wetness from her eyes and left her sentinel position at the window to take the call.

“Hello, Mitch. Is everything okay?” It was how she’d been responding to every one of his calls for the last two weeks. Focus on the children. Keep the discussion steady and about what they were doing, what they needed. Nothing personal. No chitchat. If he tried to do it differently—and he always did—she cut him off, politely but firmly.

“We’re fine, Thea.”

She hadn’t been asking about him and he knew it, but he found little ways to insert himself into the conversation. For her own part, Thea shied away from any personal references. She had managed to get her car from the garage in Connaugh Creek without any help from Mitch, though she suspected the fact the mechanic had not asked for her insurance deductible payment had everything to do with Mitch making that payment himself. The Volvo was running smoothly again, even more quietly than before her accident, and all the new bodywork had removed the smaller dings and scratches she had never bothered to have repaired before.

Two days after she had returned home, still uncertain that she was ready to put her position about the children’s welfare in front of Mitch again, she’d heard from his lawyer. Wayne wanted to know the name of her new attorney since he’d learned she’d fired Avery Childers. At first it felt like a slap in the face that Mitch was starting something through legal means that he hadn’t discussed with her, then her cooler head prevailed and she knew that whatever he was doing was because of Wayne’s advice. She’d given Wayne her lawyer’s name and a phone number, exchanged some pleasantries, and hung up without knowing anything about Mitch’s decision regarding the kids. That came the following day when her attorney informed her that Mitch was petitioning for permanent physical custody of the children and shared legal custody of them with Thea.

It was exactly what she had hoped for. She couldn’t understand what it was about his decision that made her feel so achingly sad.

“You still there, Thea?” asked Mitch.

She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see that. “I’m here. What is it?”

Mitch hated her cool, passionless voice. It was only like that with him. When the kids got on the phone she was bright and funny and curious. Sometimes he could hear her over the line, but even if he hadn’t been able to catch the nuances of her tone, he only had to see the animated faces of Emilie and the boys to know how easily she had engaged them. “Case and Grant are standing by,” he said. “They want me to hear from you
exactly
what time I have to have them at your house on Saturday.”

Thea smiled. She could imagine the boys were practically standing on Mitch’s feet as he spoke on the phone. “High noon,” she said. “Hank’s house is only a ten-minute drive from mine. Tell them we’ll be there in plenty of time for kickoff.” Her smile deepened as Mitch repeated the message verbatim and she heard the twins groan.

“Did you hear that?” Mitch asked. In the background Case and Grant were chanting, “Tip off! Tip off!”

“I promise not to embarrass them.”

Mitch repeated that to the boys also. “They don’t look reassured,” he said. “Grant’s asked me to write down a list of game rules for you.”

Thea thought of the basketball crown she’d worn three years running for her success in the office pool. Then there was her high school jacket, now in a vacuum-sealed plastic bag somewhere in the back of her walk-in closet, but still a reminder of four seasons of lettering in the sport. “You do that.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’ve been talking to Gina about house hunting. I took your advice and said something to the kids. As near as I can figure out, they approve of the idea. We’re still negotiating things like that indoor pool and a go-cart track.”

Thea couldn’t find it in herself to share his good humor. A weight just settled on her, not in her chest, but in her middle, the way it always did. It displaced the contents of her stomach and made acid rise as far as her throat. She fumbled in her suit jacket for an antacid. “Are you sure it’s not premature?” she asked. “I mean, we haven’t been to family court for the final decision.”

“Wayne says it’s a formality at this point. Your attorney tells him you’re in agreement with this. That’s right, isn’t it?”

The first time she said the word, her lips merely moved around it.

All Mitch heard at his end was a long pause. “Thea?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s right.” After a moment she added, “It was good of you to include me in the legal custody, Mitch. I know you could have petitioned to take full legal guardianship and the judge would have probably gone along with it, even if it wasn’t what Gabe and Kathy stated in their will. The judge is going to have some questions about my recovery. It might be a sticking point.”

“Then we’re stuck. I won’t do this without you, Thea. Wayne knows that. Anyway, no one except you seems to be worried about what decision she’ll ultimately make.”

Thea took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She leaned her hip against the conference table. Her fingers actually hurt from holding the receiver so tightly; she tried to ease her white-knuckled grip and couldn’t make it happen. “What you said, Mitch ... about not doing this without me ... I want you to know that I understand that someday you’ll decide you want to get married, and that it will be awkward for your wife if you and I are sharing legal responsibilities for the kids. She’ll have a difficult enough time finding her place in this without me still being part—”

“Whoa! Thea. Slow down. You just went into warp drive. You’re thinking light-years ahead of me now. That kind of thing gives me a brain cramp.”

“Sorry. It’s just important to me that you know I’m aware that things can change down the road. Sharing legal custody for the kids gives me a voice in some of the big decisions.”

It meant more than that to Mitch. His current plan was to consult her about all the little things as well. Making certain they had joint legal custody assured him of a direct line to Thea for as long as he wanted it. Right now, in spite of what he’d said to Thea about her being light-years ahead of him, that line he wanted to maintain extended far into the future. “Yes?” he asked.

“Well, it’s just that you may decide ... or that your wife may decide ... that it’s ... I don’t know ... awkward, I suppose.”

“Thea?”

“Hmmm?”

“One day at a time.”

Thea stilled. She knew that mantra. So did most people, whether or not they were part of a twelve-step program. It meant something more to her now than just a throwaway line or parting shot. Embracing it, when she was able to, had profound consequences. “Yes,” she said softly. “You’re right. One day at a time.” Her bloodless hold on the phone suddenly eased with no real effort on her part. “Good-bye, Mitch.”

“Good-bye.”