Ten minutes later they were at Sondra’s house. She wasn’t answering her texts so they went to the door. Allyson could hear voices inside. Loud voices!
“Whose credit card is that going on? Oh, no, no. You’re never wearing those,” Sondra exclaimed. “Over my dead body, and my credit cards won’t work if I’m dead.”
Allyson bit her lower lip, wondering if Sondra knew they were there. Sondra always was so . . . well . . . under control. Surely this was a fluke. Or . . . could it be her friend wasn’t as put together as everyone always thought?
“Everybody’s wearing them!” Even through the door Zoe’s teenage voice was LOUD.
Izzy went to knock, and then paused. Izzy was usually the brave one, but she seemed unsure about interrupting this awkward moment. Allyson winced as she reached up. She knocked just loud enough to let Sondra know they were there.
The voices paused for a moment, and Allyson released a breath. Then, unexpectedly, they started up again.
“I’m not wearing them, and your father’s not wearing them, thank God!” Sondra exclaimed. The door opened, and she poked her head outside. Her dark, short hair was perfectly in place and she wore her perfectly-practiced pastor’s wife smile. “I’ll just be a second.”
The door had opened just wide enough for Allyson to notice the jean short shorts in Sondra’s hand . . . obviously the item of dispute.
As quick as it opened, the door closed again. “Oh, wow, Ally’s not wearing them!”
Not two heartbeats passed when the door opened again, and Sondra’s serene smile was convincing, surprisingly convincing. The store hanger and short shorts remained in her hand. “So, whose car are we taking?” Sondra asked sweetly.
Allyson clapped her hands together and did a little hop. “Can we take Ray’s?” She motioned to the vintage Mustang parked behind the house. It was so much nicer than her minivan and didn’t smell like stale French fries.
Sondra wasn’t moved. “I can’t be seen riding around in Ray’s mid-life crisis, and anyway it’s a cop magnet.”
Behind her, standing on the landing of the second story steps, Zoe held a cluster of shopping bags in her hands. A single braid hung over her left shoulder, and stray curls framed her face. She was adorable, which was probably the reason Sondra was so protective.
“I am so sorry that I want to go out with a guy that I met from church!” Zoe lifted her hands for emphasis and the bags rustled together. “How wild of me. Wow, I’m so crazy.”
Sondra offered another half-smile. “Hold on.”
“Okay.” They stepped back. The door closed again, but Sondra’s voice was clear through the door.
“You’re not going anywhere until your father gets home. And he’s going to agree with me when he gets home . . . so good luck with that!”
Then she swooped out of the house as if an entourage awaited, which it sort-of did. “Here I come,” Sondra said in a sing-song voice.
“Yeah!” Allyson let out a little cheer, and Izzy shook her hips with excitement.
In the van, Sondra insisted on taking the back seat, mostly because Izzy wanted to control the music. Izzy waited with anticipation, with her fists balled and ready to pump the sky, as Allyson started the van again. Only this time there was only silence as they pulled out and drove out of the middle-class suburb and onto the highway.
Allyson pushed out her bottom lip. “The radio was working a minute ago.”
Izzy fiddled with the knobs. “Why does it keep going out?”
“Because my daughter spilt apple juice on it.” Ally hit the dashboard. Hard. Doing that had worked before.
The large hit worked, and the music blared once again. Allyson resumed her head bob and Izzy shook her balled fisted in the air to the beat. They were young. They were together. Tonight was going to be a great night!
Amidst drum beat and blaring lyrics, a squeak of a voice came from the backseat. “Kind of loud,” Sondra said.
Allyson pushed out her lipsticked lips and glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing Sondra wearing a skeptical church lady face.
“Sorry!” Allyson called back to her. “The volume doesn’t work either.” She glanced to Izzy and they continued their seat dances.
“Whip out a CD,” Sondra offered. “Oh, do you have any Amy Grant?”
Izzy paused her bouncing, and she leaned closer to the stereo. “Um, let me check.” She reached her fingers toward the buttons.
“Oh no, don’t touch that!” Allyson blurted, but her words came late. Too late.
“A B C D E F G!” Elmo’s voice blared through the radio. The screeching puppet voice startled her. “Ah!” She swerved slightly into the other lane. Headlights moved quickly her direction, and she jerked back into her lane again.
Izzy tried to press the “stop” button, but it didn’t stop. She pushed more buttons, but the “volume” or “off” button weren’t working either.
Allyson wrinkled her nose.
Dang apple juice.
“It happened once before. It’s fine!” Allyson called out. She pounded the dashboard over and over again, but it didn’t help. It didn’t stop. Allyson felt invaded . . . by Elmo. Could she ever leave her role as mommy behind, for even one night?
Finally, they arrived at the restaurant. Even the parking lot looked upscale as she pulled into a space right under the streetlight. It was a little farther from the door than other spaces, but totally worth the protection the light offered.
“H I J K!” Elmo continued to sing, and with one swift movement Allyson turned off the van and pulled out the key.
Sondra let out a weak sigh as she unbuckled her seat belt. “Well, now I know my ABCs.” Leave it to Sondra to always try to find the bright spot in things.
“You always park this far away?” Izzy asked, glancing back at the restaurant.
“Good news is that I got a good parking spot. Right under the light. Safest spot,” Allyson chirped.
“Oh yeah, I read that blog,” Izzy said offhandedly.
Allyson pulled out her cell phone from her purse and noticed there was a text message . . . from Sean. Her heart sunk a little, and she wondered if things had already gone awry. Then she paused and smiled as she read his words.
Sean / 7:33 PM Unplug. We got this.
She stared at the word “Unplug,” then looked over to Izzy and Sondra. There was a sense of rightness to the three of them being together. Just them.
“You know what, ladies?” Allyson tilted up her chin and moved her gaze from one face to the other. “Tonight is our night . . .”
They both looked up to meet her gaze, and she continued. “. . . And we look good!”
“Um-hum,” the both said in unison.
“Let’s do it,” Izzy said.
Allyson stepped out from the van and closed the door. Stars twinkled in a clear evening sky. The weather was warm. Not too hot. Not too cool. The streetlight cast a warm glow over her washed and waxed van, and together they moved toward the restaurant.
Allyson hadn’t been on this street in over a year, and the property owners had given it a face-lift. Large flowerpots filled with flowers lined the brick-faced building
Stepping under the portico outside of the restaurant was like stepping into another world. Small, white twinkling lights had been wrapped around white pillars. It was as if someone had pulled the stars in the sky and had created a tunnel for them to walk under.
Allyson walked in the middle with Izzy on one side and Sondra on the other. She didn’t know if it was on purpose, but their strides matched hers. A light wind came up, stirring her hair and lifting it off her shoulders. They looked good. They looked like Charlie’s Angels, she was sure. A few people looked up from their outside tables and watched them pass. Did anyone guess they were three stressed moms? Not tonight. Allyson could almost hear the theme music to go along with their stride.
Then, unexpectedly, Allyson’s ankle turned. She shifted slightly, and thought she would tumble to the ground, but then caught herself.
Just one moment. . . cant I have just one moment of grace?
She righted herself and continued on, hardly missing a step. If Izzy and Sondra noticed her fumble they didn’t say a word, and she liked that. They were good friends indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They entered the small restaurant and the aroma of garlic, fresh bread, and expensive perfume greeted them. Allyson paused for a moment, realizing this was so different from the restaurants that she usually ate at with Sean and the kids. Instead of loud, kid music, a soft harp played. Instead of the dings and buzzes of video games and the loud clunks of skeeball, low conversation and murmurs filled the room. She glanced around. Every table seemed to be full, well, except for the one that waited for them. She’d been diligent in making a reservation. Izzy and Sondra stood by the large plant in the foyer near the door as Allyson stepped forward.
A hostess wore a slinky red dress and a large silver statement necklace. She had perfectly arched eyebrows, flawless skin. Her black hair was pulled into a high, tight bun, and she smiled as she greeted them.
“Welcome to Chez Magique. Your journey awaits.” Her voice oozed out like frosting from a squeeze tube.
Allyson nearly squealed as she approached. Giddiness bounced in her belly and threatened to escape. “Ohhh.” She cooed and briefly glanced back to her friends, then back to the hostess. “Field. Party of three.”
“And what is your name?”
Allyson’s smile fell. She cleared her throat. Her eyelashes fluttered, sure she’d pronounced her name clearly. “Fie-ld,” she repeated.
The hostess pursed her pouty lips as she used the computer mouse to move over her computer screen. “I cannot seem to find your reservation on my scroll.” She punctuated every word and pushed her lips down into a slight frown. “Uh, sorry.”
Allyson’s mouth gaped open. “But, I. I—”
The woman leaned forward slightly and stretched her hand to Allyson, as if trying to ease her concern. “It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour wait, totally worth it,” she said in a valley girl drawl. “And during that time you’re more than welcome to observe the art in the gallery.” The hostess motioned to the wall behind Allyson, and then she smiled and nodded as if pleased with herself that she’d come up with the perfect solution.
Allyson’s eyebrows scrunched down. “I—I don’t want to observe the art.”
The woman reflected her scowl. “I know it’s really exhausting, right?”
Desperation clawed at Allyson’s throat, and she willed her pounding heart to still. It didn’t.
“I—I scouted, I planned. I got the Groupon. I made a reservation. I did everything that was required of me, so there must be some mistake.” The words spilled out, untamed.
The woman offered a sympathetic smile. She waved her hands and flashed her painted nails as she spoke. “How about this, why don’t I go back and talk to my visionary for you?”
Allyson wrinkled up her nose. “Your what?”
The woman’s sweet plastic smile dropped, and she took on the look of an impatient cab driver. “The manager,” she growled.
Allyson’s eyes darted from side-to-side, and she hoped Izzy and Sondra couldn’t hear. This was their night. She was their event planner, and once again she was a big, huge failure. “Oh, yeah,” she whispered.
“Uh, wait here.” The hostess strode off toward the kitchen, taking little steps in her too-high heels.
Allyson sighed. Frustration coursed through her, and she leaned on the counter for support. Her feet hurt, and she remembered why she hadn’t worn these type of shoes in two years. A nice dinner out would be worth the pain . . . but as of this moment she questioned if that would happen. She turned back toward her friends.
Sondra strode up and placed a hand on Allyson’s arm. “Everything okay?” She clutched her small purse to her chest.
Allyson released a heavy breath and stopped her stilettoed foot. “No. They lost our reservation. The wait is two and a half hours. This is going to totally ruin our night.”
From the corner of her eye she noticed Izzy grabbing a plate of half-eaten appetizers that had been abandoned at the bar. Izzy moved to the waiting bench by the front door and sat, shoveling the fancy nachos into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten all day.
Allyson puffed out another breath. Is this what their night had come to? Her best friend sneaking leftovers since Allyson hadn’t been able to fulfill what she’d promised?
Sondra smoothed down her dark hair. Every strand was perfectly in place. “You know what? Everything’s going to be okay.” Sondra’s voice was calm, too calm for the situation.
Allyson spread out her arms, in defeat. “There is a man-child playing death video games at home with my son,” her voice rose with every word.
Sondra’s voice was calm. “Ally, Ally, relax. I’m sure that Sean has everything in control. Everything’s going to be alright. Relax.”
Sondra, always the levelheaded one.
But even the mellow words of her pastor’s wife could not diminish the angst she felt inside. She’d left her husband and kids at home, but she hadn’t left her frustration with man-child Kevin there. She hadn’t left her annoyance with Sean back in the driveway, no matter how she pretended she had. Instead, she played it all out in her mind again.
I bet Sean’s playing some game with the kids, something like cops and robbers and it’s gotten totally out of control.
She could see it—see it so clearly in her mind’s eye. Kevin and Sean tied up in chairs, backs to each other, wrapped up in packing tape, their arms pinned down so they couldn’t move.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could picture the toddlers running wild. Screams echoed off the walls and cabinets. Packing tape strung from every chair, table, and wall to the center of the den. Allyson resisted the urge to bolt from the restaurant— resisted the urge to jump in the minivan and race to their rescue.
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her heart from pounding and opened her eyes.
The house was most likely a plane wreck, and in total chaos. The kids most likely were running—with scissors—as unwholesome music blared from the computer games. Bailey probably jumped up and down, dancing wildly to the music.
Then there was the worst part . . . Brandon playing death video games, and Kevin going into meltdown mode since he admittedly didn’t like kids.