What Looks Like Crazy (3 page)

“Great.” The grand opening was to be held on Sunday night to accommodate my cousin's band, who'd offered to play at a cut rate since they seldom had gigs that night. They called themselves the Dead Musicians, a group of five men with shaved heads, tattoos, and nose rings.

After a few minutes, I noticed a silence in the room: my mother and aunt had stopped talking. While that normally would have brought me much relief, I had the feeling something was wrong. “What is it?” I asked.

My mother took a deep breath. “It's about the invitations.”

“First, you have to promise not to get mad,” Aunt Trixie said.

I knew the news wasn't good. “What?”

My mother looked at Trixie. “You tell her.”

“No,
you
tell her.”

“We invited Jay,” my mother said.

I looked from one to the other to see whether they were kidding. The pucker between my mother's brows assured me it was no joke. “Why would you do that?”

“It wasn't intentional,” my mother said. “Tell her, Trixie.”

“It wasn't intentional, hon,” Aunt Trixie said. “Jay was in the same checkout line at the Wal-Mart store. We got to talking—”

“He said a friend of his read about us and was interested in seeing some of our art,” my mother interrupted, “so I pulled an invitation from my purse and gave it to him, and—”

“To give his friend,” Trixie cut in.

My mother nodded. “And then I realized how rude it would look if I didn't give Jay an invitation as well.”

“Our divorce is final in a little over two weeks, Mom. He would have understood.”

“Honey, he looks just as good as he did before you split up,” Trixie said.

Just what I wanted to hear, I thought. “Well, don't be hurt if he doesn't come,” I said. “I'm sure he would be as uncomfortable as I would, under the circumstances.”

“Oh, he's coming,” Aunt Trixie said. “He told us he wouldn't miss it for anything. He even asked about you. Wanted to know how you were.”

“Naturally, he was concerned about your weight loss,” my mother said.

I looked at her. “You told him I'd lost weight? Mom, he's going to think I'm pining for him.” For once, just once, I wished my mother and aunt would stay out of my business.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I told him it was due to financial stress and the crappy place where you were living.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, gur-reat! He's going to think I can't manage my life now.”

“What do you care what he thinks?” my mother said. “You're divorcing him.”

I looked at her. “It's a matter of pride, okay?” I carried my plate to the trash. “I can't possibly go to the grand opening now,” I said dully.

“Oh, honey, you have to come!” she said.

I shook my head. Just talking about Jay Rush upset me. Why would I want to see him and reopen all the wounds? “I can't, Mom.”

“That's silly,” she said. “He's going to think you're afraid to see him.” She shook her head. “This whole thing is silly. The two of you need to kiss and make up before it's too late.”

I sighed. “It's already too late.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “I think he'd take you back if you asked.”

“Hello?” I waved my hands in the air. “I'm not going back to him. Not after what I went through.”

My mom folded her arms on the table. “That's not fair, Kate.”

“He lied to me, Mom!”

“He tried to make you less afraid.”

“He told me his job as a captain was less dangerous than a regular firefighter's. He said better technology and advances in fire science, blah, blah, blah, made firefighting much safer.”

“Well, that's essentially true,” she said, “but that doesn't mean the work is risk free.”

“He could have
died
!” I reminded her. “It doesn't matter how many advances have been made. Accidents happen. Walls and floors cave in and trap people.”

Which was exactly what had happened to Jay and a couple of men in his crew. They'd come very close to being killed. “Call me dumb, but I'm tired of offering up the people I love to the great Fire God.”

She and my aunt were quiet for a moment. “Well, I'm not a bit sorry I married your father,” she said after a moment.

I just looked at her. “I'm not sorry you married him either, Mom, but it would be nice to have him around. You know?”

Aunt Trixie covered one of my hands with hers.

My mother folded her arms on the table and leaned closer. “You practically lived at that firehouse the last year your father was alive. You ate there, and you would have slept there if I hadn't forced you to come home and do your schoolwork.”

Trixie patted my hand. “You were a daddy's girl, that's for sure. Why, I don't remember a parade when you weren't riding next to him in a fire truck. The man seldom left this house without you straddling his shoulders.”

“You're interrupting me, Trixie,” my mother said. “The point I'm trying to make is that Kate knew, even when she was nine and ten years old, how the department worked, and she attended more than one fireman's funeral. She practically grew up with Jay, and it was his dream to go to college and study fire science and become a great fireman like his daddy and—” She stopped. “And your daddy,” she added, looking directly at me.

“What are you trying to say, Mom?” But I already suspected.

“You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to marry Jay.”

That's the thing about my mother. She doesn't beat around the bush, and she's about as diplomatic as Mona. Meaning she always tells me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not.

Finally I shrugged. “So blame me, but I have no desire to white-knuckle it every time Jay races to a burning building. And I have no intention of becoming a widow before my time or raising a child without a father. Like you had to do,” I added.

“You had Uncle Bump,” she said.

“Right. How could I forget?” Uncle Bump's real name was Harry, and he used to drink. A lot. One night he got loaded and mouthed off to a biker named Fist. By the time the cops showed up, Uncle Harry had three cracked ribs, a couple of missing teeth, and a badly broken nose. The doctor could never get the nose to set straight, so Uncle Harry was forced to live with a small knot along the bridge, earning him the nickname “Bump.”

You'd think Uncle Bump would have given up the booze after that, but I was forced to endure his bone-crunching bear hugs and Wild Turkey breath until I was twelve years old.

Then he met and married my aunt Lou. She chain-smoked nonfiltered cigarettes and carried an ice pick in her purse. My mother credited Aunt Lou with putting Uncle Bump on the straight and narrow. She and Uncle Bump quickly produced a son named Lucien. Aunt Lou bought Lucien a BB gun when he was seven years old, and he became known as Lucifer to the neighbors.

I did
not
want Lucifer to be the father figure in
my
children's lives.

“I just have one piece of advice,” my mother said. “No marriage is without its share of problems.”

“I know that.” But Jay's and my marriage had been pretty close to perfect. There'd been so much sex going on, we'd added Antonio's Pizza Parlor to our speed dial, because nobody had time to cook. It took more than great sex to make a marriage, though. After a day of listening to everybody's problems, I need some kind of order. And security. I'd had little of either growing up.

Which was what I told Jay after his twenty-four-hour stint at the hospital where he'd been treated for a dislocated shoulder and a host of smaller injuries. I wanted him to take Uncle Bump's offer to come in as a full partner in his security company.

Jay stood his ground, even as I tossed my suitcases into the trunk of my car and slid behind the steering wheel that day.

My mother and aunt quietly cleared the table and put the bucket of chicken in the refrigerator. When I looked up, they were smiling. Something told me they weren't finished adding confusion to my life.

“We brought you a surprise,” my mother said, and motioned me to follow them outside to their truck.

“It's not more furniture, is it?” I asked. “I don't have room in my house for anything else.”

“You'll see,” my mother sang out.

They opened the tailgate and pulled out something that had been wrapped in old moving blankets. At the very back of the truck were a dozen pots of rust-and burgundy-colored mums. “Give me a hand,” my mother said as Trixie grabbed a shovel.

“What is it?”

“It's for your flower bed,” she said. “Help me stand it up.”

I held the top section as she unwrapped it, and Aunt Trixie began digging. It was a sculpture formed out of tin and wire and various other materials. I cocked my head from one side to the other. “What's it supposed to be?”

“Step back and look at it,” my mother said.

I did as she said. I circled it several times, checking from all angles. “I guess I'm not much of an art expert.”

Aunt Trixie hurried to the back of the truck and pulled out a small a bag of concrete mix. “We call it
First Man and Woman
.”

It suddenly became crystal clear to me: a man and a woman formed together, vines encircling them. I looked more closely at the man—specifically, at his groin. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You're supposed to draw your own conclusion,” my mother said, “but I'll give you one hint. It's not a fig leaf.”

I turned to find my aunt dumping dry concrete mix into a hole in my flower bed. She reached for the hose. “Wait!” I said. “You're going to put it in my front yard?”

“Dixie, I told you she'd be surprised,” my aunt said, squirting water on the concrete and mixing it with a stick.

“Honey, I wish you could see the look on your face,” my mother said. “I wish we had brought the camera. Consider it a late housewarming gift,” she said.

“But you've already done so much. I don't feel right accepting this. Really,” I added.

The telephone rang inside. “I should get that,” I said, hoping it was Mona. “Don't do anything till I get back.”

I hurried inside and answered the phone. Sure enough, it was Mona calling from the ladies' room at the restaurant to see whether I was feeling better. “We have to talk,” I said. “What time will you be home?”

“I might not go home tonight,” Mona whispered.

“Oh.”

“I know what you're thinking. You're thinking he's too young. Well, he's almost twenty-five.”

“Why are you being so defensive?”

“Because I don't like it that people think it's okay for a man to go out with a younger woman, but it's not okay for an older woman to go out with a younger man.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You're thinking I'll look foolish, is that it?” She sighed. “Oh, crap, I probably shouldn't go home with him. I'm thirty-four. I can't possibly take my clothes off in front of a twenty-four-year-old man.”

I could not imagine someone like Mona being self-conscious. She was blond, petite, and perfect. “Maybe you shouldn't rush into anything.”

“I really like this guy, Kate. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with him. Now that I think about it, I care about him way too much to sleep with him on the first date.”

I gave a mental eye roll. To Mona it probably made perfect sense.

“Plus, he hasn't come on to me. Uh-oh.”

I could barely keep up with her train of thought. “What?”

“What if he isn't attracted to me? Oh, God, what if he's only going out with me because I'm rich?”

“Mona, you're talking in circles. You definitely need to slow down and reconsider.”

“You're right, Kate. I lost my head for a minute. Lust does that to a person.” She sighed. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Why don't we talk at the office tomorrow?” I suggested, knowing I needed to get outside and see what my mother and aunt were up to.

Aunt Trixie was holding the sculpture in place in the concrete, and my mother was planting mums. “You know, I was thinking that sculpture would look great in the backyard,” I said.

“We're working on something for your backyard,” my mother said, “but we won't be finished until Christmas.”

I could only wonder with apprehension and dread what it would be. “Let me dig for a while,” I said, noting that there were still a number of mums left to plant. At least it would take my mind off the sculpture itself.

An hour later we stepped back to admire my new flower bed and sculpture. “I think it adds a nice touch to your entrance,” my mother said.