Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (8 page)

Stiffening my spine, I replied, “I’ve got a better idea. Quit wasting time over there and finish the day’s work so I can at least get a nap before tonight. Otherwise, I might have to cancel our dinner date.”

“I’ll hang up,” he blurted. “And I’ll tell the guys to turn down the boom box, too.”

I stifled my laughter. “That’s very considerate of you, Josh. Thank you.”

“Pick you up at seven?”

I should say no. My conscience jabbed me to say no. The ice cream-loving girl in me urged for a different reply. After all, no one said I had to kick ice cream cold turkey.

“I’ll be ready,” I said.

For anything.

Chapter 6

Emily

I pulled into my driveway at eight-thirty and sat in the driver’s seat, engine off, keys still dangling from the ignition. From inside my house, lights glowed in the living room, along with the multi-colored wash of the television across the window blinds. No comfort enveloped me at the thought of home and hearth. Rather, I couldn’t find the strength to leave the peace of my minivan. The urge to restart the engine and slip away into the night slugged me with the force of Mike Tyson’s fist.

Call me a coward, but years of experience told me what I’d see when I finally stepped through the front door. Toys scattered all over the living room carpet, unwashed dishes piled in the sink, and at least two of my kids bickering loud enough to measure on the Richter scale. The new twist? No Freckles bounding to the door for a pat on the head. Tears stung my eyes, and I rubbed my fists over my face.

I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t paste a smile on my lips and pretend all was right in my world. All couldn’t be much worse in my world. In the grand scheme of things, I know how pitiful I sounded. My family was together, healthy, and while Roy and I had our share of money problems, we had a roof over our heads and plenty of food in the kitchen. A lot of people suffered with a lot less. Shameful as it might seem to outsiders, at this particular moment in time, the negative burdens I carried on my shoulders outweighed the positives.

No help for it. I couldn’t sit out here all night, no matter how strongly the idea tempted me. Gathering up some steel, I opened the van door and descended to the pitted driveway. The chilly night sliced through me, only adding to my despair. As I dragged myself to the front portico, Roy stepped out from inside the house, and closed the door firmly behind him. 

With a brief head nod, he murmured, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Talk about stimulating conversation. “Meet the Press” had nothing on Roy and me. “What’s up?” I kept my tone deliberately cold, my posture stiff, as if waiting for the next verbal blow to pound my shoulders.

“Look,” he said, hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

Oh, thank God. He was apologizing. My bones sagged under a combination of relief and defeat.

“It was just…” Beneath the porch light, his eyes glimmered with moisture. Roy?
My
Roy? Crying? No. No way. His fingers scraped his thick hair. “…it’s
Freckles
, you know? It’s like losing a member of the family.”

A cement block of tears clogged my throat, and I nodded.

“I know you would’ve taken him to the vet sooner if you could have.”

The words worked like a slap to my face. However he meant it, the statement still came out with the same message. Somehow, I’d failed. When he looked at me, no doubt expecting some kind of agreement, I could only nod again. Shivers racked my bones, and emotions swirled inside me. I didn’t know what to say, how to react.

“Em.” Exasperation frosted his tone. “Say something, for God’s sake.”

At last, I found my voice. “I want a divorce.”

I jolted awake on that last word, my heart pounding faster than a racehorse in the last lap of the Kentucky Derby. I was still in the van, still in my driveway, the keys still in the ignition. I dug for my cell phone in the front pocket of my purse and pushed the button to illuminate the screen. 9:15 p.m. glowed greenish-white in the dark interior.

Good God, I’d fallen asleep again, this time outside the house. For forty-five minutes. I brushed a trembling hand through my hair. What was wrong with me? Seriously.

Dreaming about divorcing Roy? Was that what I really wanted? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I couldn’t keep up the pretense that everything between us was hunky-dory. Roy and I needed to have a serious talk. How and when we’d convene this summit, I couldn’t fathom. Between our work schedules, kids’ activities, and every other facet of our lives, we barely spoke more than hello and goodbye. Which, of course, was a huge factor in our marital troubles. So how were we supposed to talk about the fact we had no time to talk? Hell, we barely had time to breathe.

That familiar tightness squeezed my chest, and I rubbed at the center of my ribcage until the pain eased. I had to start eating better. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches weren’t exactly a healthy meal option.

Tap! Tap! Tap!
I let out a shriek as I looked up and outside my driver’s window. Roy stood there, his wedding ring creating a sharp ping as he rapped on the glass.

“Em?” The sealed window muffled his voice. “What are you doing out here? You coming inside or what?”

“Yeah, sorry.”
Think fast, think fast
.
Don’t let him know you fell asleep and dreamed you asked him for a divorce.
God, could he see the guilt in my eyes? My gaze dropped to my lap where my cell sat. I quickly picked up the phone and waved it as if I’d just hung up. “I forgot I had to fill Sam in on a call that came in after he left. Figured I’d take care of it before the kids distracted me inside, and it took a little longer than I thought.” Shoving my phone back into my purse, I grabbed the keys out of the ignition. “I’m done now.”

Roy yanked open my door, and I stepped out onto the uneven driveway. A chilly wind whipped the open sides of my jacket and goosed my skin.

“Look,” he said, hands outstretched in supplication. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”

The snake of premonition coiled inside my belly. This was my dream come to life. Terrific. Why couldn’t I have the dream where we won the lottery come to life? No. I got this one. I was so queasy I could barely stand up straight. If I opened my mouth at the moment, I swear I would have thrown up. I couldn’t do anything more than nod.

“It was just…” Beneath the silver moonlight, his eyes glimmered with moisture, and his fingers scraped his thick hair. “…it’s
Freckles
, you know? It’s like losing a member of the family.”

The snake wriggled, my belly somersaulted, and I nodded again.

“I know you would’ve taken him to the vet sooner if you could have.”

Exactly like in my dream, the words slapped my face.

“Em.” I heard the same exasperation in his tone I’d dreamed about earlier. “Say something for God’s sake.”

“Let’s go inside, Roy,” I said on a sigh and climbed the stairs to my front door.

Inside the den, chaos greeted me, as usual. All four kids hovered there. Melissa sprawled in the club chair, legs dangling over the arm while she studied her cell phone with pinpoint focus. Corey monopolized the couch while flipping back and forth between the two sports channels on cable. Gabriella reigned supreme over a circle of naked Barbie dolls and accessories, including the pink convertible and Dream House.

Dream House. Yeah, right.

My littlest guy stood inside his mesh play yard, tossing blocks onto the floor. Even from the doorway twenty feet away, I could smell he needed a diaper change.

Despite a fire burning in the hearth, a smoky chill filled the air. I turned to Roy. “Why is it so cold in here?”

He had the grace to look abashed. “I think we’re out of oil.”

“Again?” For years, I’d tried to convince him to agree to automatic delivery for our heating oil, but he steadfastly refused. Automatic delivery required a service contract and an increase of up to fifty cents a gallon over the COD price. With a tank refill averaging between one hundred fifty and two hundred gallons, those quarters added up fast. Because we disagreed on this issue, Roy was responsible for tracking our usage of heat and hot water, then guesstimating when we needed a delivery. Apparently, he’d missed the mark. Third time this year.

“Great,” I grumbled. “How soon can we get a delivery?” Eliminating the paycheck I just received yesterday.

Roy shrugged. “When can you be home all day?”

“Me?!”

“You’ve got the more flexible schedule,” he replied like he always did. “They’re used to you taking time off for this kind of stuff.”

“I told you the other day I can’t take any more time,” I reminded him. Not to mention how much it sucked to be stuck in an igloo, waiting between the hours of eight a.m. and five p.m.

Mellie’s head snapped up from her cell phone. “Please don’t tell me I have to take a cold shower tomorrow morning. Angela’s sweet sixteen is tomorrow.”

“You’ll probably have to,” I told her.

“Mooooom! Justin will be there.”

Oh, I was so not in the mood for all this drama right now. I glanced out the picture window toward my van, sitting in the driveway like a loyal steed. Was it too late to make a run for it? “Look, Mellie, I’m sorry. But I doubt I’ll be able to get Oxford Fuel to come tomorrow. It’s Sunday. You’re going to have to tough it out until at least Monday afternoon.”

“No way!” Corey slammed the remote control onto the couch cushion. “I’ve got a scrimmage tomorrow.”

Oh, for God’s sake. Were all my kids going to play the role of prima donna now? “So shower in the gym afterwards.”

“It’s not at
my
school.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but we’re all going to have to make sacrifices,” I snapped.

Only Luke, still entertained with tossing Legos on the carpet, didn’t gape at my outburst.

“Em,” Roy growled a low warning.

Now
he wanted to get involved? Why hadn’t he taken care of the oil delivery? Why hadn’t he taken responsibility when the kids started complaining to me? I shook my head and lifted a hand near his face. “Don’t. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

Melissa’s jaw dropped. “But it’s not even ten o’clock yet.”

“I saved you some pizza,” Roy added.

Thanks, but no thanks. My stomach, still queasy, revolted. Bile burned my throat. I swallowed, and scorched my esophagus again. “I’m not hungry,” I rasped. Leaving my family flabbergasted, I headed for the stairs. On the first step, I stopped and turned back to my husband. “And Roy? Change Luke’s diaper before buzzards start circling the house.”

In my bedroom, I dropped my purse near the closet door, stripped out of my uniform, tossed on a nightshirt, and hit my mattress like an Olympic diver.

Tomorrow. I’d deal with everything tomorrow.

****

Francesca

No sense in denying, a dressed-up Josh could make a nun’s mouth water. One look at that handsome face topping a navy sports coat, blue-and-white-striped shirt, and dress slacks, and my heart sighed. I was also relieved I’d chosen to wear my melon-colored sheath dress with a simple gold and coral cuff on one wrist and black open-toed pumps with two-inch heels. An extra piece of jewelry or a higher heel would have made me too dressy; lower heels or my boucle sweater and jeans would have been too casual. By sheer luck, I’d struck the perfect complement to my escort.

Josh took his approval a step further. “Wow,” he exclaimed through a deep exhale. “You were worth every bump and cut I had to get to talk to you.”

At the mention of his injuries, I couldn’t resist the urge to check on my latest handiwork. I pushed away a dark brown curl that dipped to his forehead and touched the line I’d glued only a few days ago. Healing perfectly. “Looks good,” I said. “You’re lucky you’ve got an excellent doctor.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me up against him. “I’m lucky she’s also my girlfriend.”

I froze. Girlfriend. I hadn’t been any man’s “girlfriend” in years. How was I supposed to respond? With that one word, I went from sophisticated woman to prom date, and the gap in our ages widened to Grand Canyon size.

For Josh, still in his twenties, whatever went on between us was a fun fling—a few laughs, a dinner or two, and then
adios
, on to something new. While I no longer waited for Prince Charming to show up at my door, I was also too old to play the dating for kicks game. I needed someone serious, someone ready to settle down, someone solid. Someone more like Michael. Except more dependable.

Maybe I just needed a golden retriever. The last thing I needed was a man. Suddenly, I had two. Two too many.

Stepping out of Josh’s embrace, I strode toward his car. “We should go.”

“Let’s do it,” he said and followed behind me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the hostess greeted us with a glittery smile. “Josh!”

Correction: the hostess greeted
my date
. Good God, the petite blonde looked more like a cheerleader than a restaurant employee. She probably wasn’t even old enough to be served alcohol. I had a sudden vision of me drinking my first legal beer at Bo’s Bar the same night this little pixie was born.

Josh, all smiles and liquid charm, didn’t seem to share my confusion. In fact, he leaned in to place a chaste peck on the girl’s cheek. “Hey, Kerri, how ya doin’? You’ve got a reservation for me.”

Me. Not us. Strike two, for those keeping score.

Kerri, the twelve-year-old, showed us to a table near the windows overlooking the ocean. Beyond a wide expanse of sand, white curls frosted the gray-blue water. Moonlight glinted like silver sequins. Clearly, Kerri wanted to impress us with the best seat in the house. Correction: wanted to impress
him
. Not me.

Josh hurried over to pull out my chair, which, I admit, was sweet. Like something he’d do for his granny. I only hoped my bones didn’t creak as I sat.

The inanity of this situation struck me with the force of a jackhammer. What on earth was I doing with this man-child? I’d made a huge mistake. Part of me wanted to run, but my empathetic side advised that I make the best of this situation so as not to embarrass Josh.