3

 

What she really wanted was to go home and crawl into the bed, to hide her head under a pillow and stay there forever, not to go over to Julie's to house sit and wait for the cable man while her sister went to a club meeting, but Annabeth had promised so she pushed her own feelings to the back of her mind and drove to her sister's house.

"Hi," said Julie, "The cable man's already been here, but I promised little Bobby you'd take him to lunch--his play date was canceled.  You forgot my muffins?"

"Oh, gosh!  They're still at the house."

"You can get them and bring them by later."

After strapping the child in securely, Annabeth drove to Fatty's Burgerama, but what had been Fatty's was now a pile of rubble.  Half the parking lot had been fenced off to allow the giant machines to move the debris into manageable piles so it could be hauled away.

"Wow," exclaimed little Bobby, "Awesome!  I have one of those," he added, pointing toward a big yellow bulldozer.

For a moment she was transported to the night she met R.J., a vision of herself in borrowed red shorts, allowed to work for just one night so she could help Maggie out, and excited to be a carhop, even if just temporarily.  There was R.J., looking neat and glamorous in his Air Force uniform and inexplicably flirting with her, probably the first time anyone had ever done so.  And for the first time she had felt so pretty, so desirable, so girly, as he repeatedly ordered additional items so she would have to return to his car.  He'd eaten eight burgers that night and their romance had begun.  And now, Fatty's was gone, and to her it seemed like a disastrous omen.

Annabeth was silent, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.  Her breath came in short gasps and her heart raced, the pounding echoing in her ears so loudly that she pressed her right hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.  She was being ridiculous, but her heart continued to thunder, and before she could gain control she found herself weeping, then pressing her hands to her eyes. She had to get hold of herself, but somehow the tears would not stop.

Because he was so enthralled by the giant machines at work outside the window, little Bobby at first was unaware of Annabeth's tears, but shortly he turned toward her and noticed her, the soft sounds still unmistakable though muffled by the pressure of her hands.  He reached a small hand toward her, "Don't worry, Aunt Annabeth, we can go to Burger King."  He patted her arm as he spoke.

The sound of his voice so close to her caused her to snap out of it, and she lowered her hands and smiled toward little Bobby, not wanting him to worry about her.  Reaching in the pocket of her skirt, she removed a tissue and blotted her eyes, still smiling.  "I'm pretty silly, huh?"

"No--I get upset too if I have to wait for long when I'm real hungry."

Annabeth laughed and squeezed little Bobby's hand.  "You know, you're such a nice boy."

Little Bobby nodded sagely, replying "I know."

She wouldn't be completely alone, no matter what.  There would be children in her future, grandchildren and others like little Bobby.  That was a thought of some comfort as Annabeth walked along downtown after dropping her nephew at home.  Feeling a bit silly and very nervous, she walked down a small side street and into a shop that sold candles, incense, and had a hand-drawn sign in the window offering readings by Shauna, tarot card master.

She walked to the back of the store and spoke to a girl of about eleven who was sitting at a card table.  "Excuse me, I'm looking for Shauna."

The girl smiled sweetly, despite a mouth full of braces.  She twirled one of her braids around her finger and replied, "I'm Shauna.  Sit down right here."

Annabeth sat in the seat across from the girl, saying, "You're the tarot master?"

"Oh yes, don't worry.  I've been doing this for a really, really long time and I'm very good at it.  Everyone says so.  My dad owns this store."

"How long?" asked Annabeth, smiling.

"Almost a year.  Really long, you'll see, I'm good.  Now just shuffle these cards and then cut them.  And don't worry."

Shauna took the shuffled cards from Annabeth and laid them out on the table in what appeared to be a specific pattern because she was mumbling under her breath as she did it.  "So you're having some big, terrible problem now, right?"

Annabeth nodded.  How could she confide in a girl barely old enough to be a babysitter?

"It's okay, don't worry, I've heard a lot of stuff about life from people.  You won't scare me."

"Well, okay, it's my marriage."

"That's what I thought.  But everyone gets divorced nowadays.  It's hard on the kids but we get by.  But you must have pretty old kids, right?"

Annabeth laughed.  "Yes my girls are grown up."

Shauna nodded.  "I was only three.  That was real hard on me but look how good I turned out.  And I even help people."

"So you think my husband will divorce me?  He has someone else now."

"Here, let's see."  Shauna pulled a card from the deck.  "Wow!  Look at that!  You're definitely going to be married.  Hey!  How about that!"

Annabeth smiled.  "And you think he will be coming home soon?"

Once more Shauna pulled a card from the deck.  "Oh no, not too soon.  It could be a long time before he begs to come home.  I'm talking a really, really long time."

"How long?"

"Really long, like not 'till next semester."

"Oh you mean after Christmas, well that's only a few months away."

"I told you--really long.  Let me ask what you should do about this."  Shauna pulled out another card and squinted at it, then said, "Wait one second."  She reached for a book, flipped a few pages then said, "This doesn't make sense.  I'm getting another card."  After looking at both cards a moment, she said, "You should be concentrating on yourself now.  Don't worry about your husband.  Do your work."

Annabeth smiled.  "That's good advice.  And you're sure he will be coming home to me?"

"Oh yeah, begging to come back."

"How accurate are you, anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh really, really accurate.  I predicted Jenny making cheerleader and nobody saw that coming.  And I said these two friends of mine would go steady and he said he didn't even like her but they're together now.  So you see?"

Annabeth nodded.  "Thank you very much.  What do I owe you?"

"You're welcome, Ma'am.  Would a dollar be okay?"

Annabeth smiled and handed the girl two dollars from her purse.  "You did a great job."

Annabeth felt good again.  Of course he wouldn't stay with that girl, and everything would all work out.  Shauna had made her feel better, and it was such a relief, she walked to a pay phone and dialed R.J..  Filled with plans for a reconciliation, she said "Hello, sweetheart," when he answered.

"Who is this?" he asked gruffly.

"Honey!  It's me."

"Oh, Annabeth.  What's up?"  His voice was cold and disinterested.

Putting the thought of that girl out of her mind, she said softly, "I'd like to see you, and it would be so nice to have dinner and just talk, don't you think?"  If only he were ready now to come home.  Perhaps….  "I could bake that chocolate pudding cake you like so much."

"Annabeth, for God's sake.  Are you gonna hound me to death?  We're separated.  We don't need dinner, we don't need talk, we don't need phone calls on my cell phone.  We need space.  I need space. I told you that like what--five times already."

"I just want to see you, to spend time with you."

"Look--I'm busy--I'm workin' and I don't need to be drove nuts.  Why'n't you just pretend I'm on the road like always.  You never drove me nuts with phone calls before so don't start now, okay?  I gotta go."  R.J. hung up without even saying goodbye.

Her heart aching and feeling like a fool, Annabeth replaced the receiver and walked away.  She was so silly to get all worked up over predictions made by a pre-teen psychic.  Suddenly craving a treat, she walked into Ed and Betty's Bakery, her favorite spot to think since she was a girl, a blueberry muffin or brownie in front of her as she sat at one of the three small tables.

When no one came to greet her, Annabeth stepped behind the counter and into the doorway, looking beyond it into the kitchen.  Betty stood close to Ed, whispering something into his ear, while he smiled and reached his arm around her back, his hand, covered in flour and bits of dough, stuck outward in order to avoid dirtying her dress.  One of her hands rested lightly against his side and the other tenderly stroked Ed's cheek.  What had been a whisper turned into a slow soft kiss, not on his lips but on his neck. Annabeth began backing away slowly, her eyes still on the couple in front of her.  It was only a few steps back to the front of the store and then a few more outside to the street, where her car lay parked a block away.

What had Betty been whispering to Ed, Annabeth wondered as she passed all the places she had seen before.  She quivered a bit in thinking of it, of Betty and Ed, two ordinary people, long married and obviously well suited.  She got in her car, and after a couple of sputters, the engine turned over and she was able to drive it toward home, another new sound beneath the hood, something she thought of as a clanking noise, but it was not loud enough to distract her from her thoughts.

The summer heat raged outside, but her house was cool.  R.J. had insisted on air conditioning and they had installed a central unit long ago.  It was a relief to be inside, to be able to relax in the coolness, to remove her sweat dampened clothes and to toss them into the hamper in her closet.  She would shower, wrap up in a robe and watch some terrible rerun on television.  Annabeth undressed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her closet door.  She stood back then looking at her reflection.

There was a middle aged woman in the mirror, someone she had suddenly turned into while her attention was focused elsewhere.  No longer was there a girl with long hair, or a firm body.  Now there was a rounded woman, not too tall, yet not short, since her teens too heavy, in fact heavier than she realized.  "Oh my," she sighed, turning one way and then the other.  "I'm so fat."  Her breasts were large, and although they did not sag, at least not at some angles, they were far from the perky movie star breasts one saw in magazines and films.  Her thighs and buttocks were dimpled, her belly round and soft, and striped like corrugated board with stretch marks.  She touched her waist, sighing.  Annabeth turned this way and that, surveying herself from every angle, sighing often.  She reached closer toward the mirror then, noting the slight crow's feet at her eyes, the downward lines forming at the sides of her mouth, more laugh lines than signs of aging, yet still unappealing to her. She touched her cheek, stretching the skin back toward her ears, giving herself an imaginary face lift.  She noted the slight puffiness of her face, swelling that would disappear should she lose a few pounds.  She shook her head then, saying, "No wonder he left.  I look God-awful."  Her heart ached, the way it would if someone she loved had died, but under the surface was a tiny thought, almost too vague for her to capture quite clearly.  R.J. looked no better than she did and she would never have left him.

Soon she stood under the shower, the water warm and comforting.  Her youth was gone, and that wasn't so terrible. She had done with her life what she had always envisioned.  The only problem was that she had no clue about what to envision next.  She was supposed to be with her husband; they were supposed to grow old together, be grandparents together.  Now what?

Annabeth sighed, thinking of Ed, his arms around Betty.  Her own husband was the only man ever to have touched her, the only man who'd ever held her in his arms.  She closed her eyes, remembering R.J. and his winning smile the night they met.  She thought of the nights she'd spent in his arms, so many they were beyond recalling, and some were just as tender as the moment she'd witnessed.  And now he was spending nights with….  Her eyes opened, and she turned off the water, stepping out of the tub and reaching for one of her large pink towels.

She had been downstairs for just a few moments when Annabeth heard a key turning in the lock.  Her heart skipped for an instant.  Could it be R.J.?  It was Laurel, looking like a grown woman, which amazingly was what she was.  Annabeth held her daughter in a long hug, then said, "How wonderful to have you home!"

"I'm not home, I'm here to drag you back to New Orleans.  I need help with my apartment--and Sally'll feed the cat.  It's already decided!"

"Oh?"  Annabeth smiled at her daughter.  She had always been this bossy but now it didn't look out of place.  She was no longer the pipsqueak looking up at Annabeth and saying in a scratchy voice, "You think you know more than me?"

"That new place I told you about--I signed the lease today.  And I need you to come back with me and help me paint it.  I want to do the kitchen cabinets like you did these.  And there are other places where you could paint some of your sweet little motifs."

"You can draw and paint a lot better than I can.  You don't need me."

"Mom, what you paint is you and it's completely unique.  I'm a display artist, not a painter and besides, I thought we'd paint the walls too--you know--with rollers.  You have to come and help me and I'll pay you!"

Annabeth laughed.  "How much?"

"I'll treat you to a shopping spree.  A new dress, whatever you want.  You could get something really pretty for Sally's party."

New Orleans was such a big city, so scary and huge, so filled with crime and well-meaning people warning you to guard your purse.  Annabeth had visited only once when Laurel first moved there.  It was funny in a way, because she had wanted to go there herself, when she was young, to go to art school, but it was Laurel who had actually done it, not Annabeth.  She had stayed at home in Gull's Perch, had made a life as a wife and mother.  Now that life was in serious jeopardy.  Could it be that this was her chance, a chance to pick up loose threads of her life, to reweave a little and see what she might have been?  Could it be that there would be a life for her in New Orleans, with Laurel?

"All right, sweetie, I'd love to come home with you.  Let me just call your dad and tell him where I'll be."  Annabeth reached for the phone then thought better of it.  Why bother?

"Where is he?"

Annabeth wanted to confide in someone, but she didn't want her daughter to be hurt, so she said only, "Oh, somewhere else," but it was obvious by Laurel's face that she read the situation only too clearly. 

Laurel's eyes turned hard and she said, "Another one of his messes.  Remember that time he told my teacher he was a pilot?  Probably the only teacher conference he ever managed to attend.  And then the whole class went to the air base and I had to stand there while Dad's boss straightened the teacher out.  Jesus.  And of course that was a day he didn't even show up to work.  And the softball league he was going to form?  Supposedly getting the money for the uniforms and no show again."

"I know.  Just that your dad sometimes goes overboard wishing things were true.  He means well, really.  He loved going to those games--and felt sad each time he did because Hugh ended up coaching you girls.  He'd never hurt you on purpose."

"Oh yeah, right.  Like when he refused to pay for my braces and you had to sew hems and do mending, and I had that paper route and we got up at dawn to deliver them.  I got my braces--same week he got what--a thousand bucks worth of gym equipment he never even used."

Annabeth had heard these complaints forever, and she was used to her role as a mediator, although the last thing she felt like doing at the moment was praising her husband.  How tempting it was to agree, to say yes, he is a jerk, but Annabeth couldn't let herself think that or say it.  He was her husband and despite everything, she loved him still, and in her heart there were more good feelings about him than bad.  She knew that it was sometimes hard for people to understand R.J..  He had too much spirit.  "Oh hon, you're so hard on him.  Try to say something good about him.  You can think of good things about your dad, can't you?"  Annabeth waited for Laurel to answer and she thought of the good things about her husband.  He was exciting and full of plans.  He loved to dream.  He was….

"Sure I can.  He can really hold his liquor." Laurel continued, "And he can speak fluently with both his feet in his mouth."  Laurel's eyes narrowed as she thought of more things to say about her father, but instead she asked, "So what are you going to do now Mom?"

Annabeth swallowed hard.  The question she'd been asking herself since this whole mess began sounded so much worse when posed by her daughter.  She shook her head.  "I don't know.  I expected we'd travel, you know be grandparents."

Laurel patted her mother's shoulder, "You know Mom, you need to get in touch.  Nobody can be a career wife any more.  It's not a safe occupation.  The guy walks and you lose your love, your life, your job."

The terror that was mounting increased.  She could lose everything she'd built over a lifetime; it would all be over and there would be nothing left.  Her life would be like an empty cup, all drunk up and gone.  And where would she be in all this?  Just a ghost, a shadow, a former somebody.

Laurel's voice was calm.  "You need something of your own.  I'm not saying don't be married.  That'd be silly.  Just that we all need something of our own."

"Yes, I guess.  Something of my own…."  What could that be?  Annabeth wished that she could ask her daughter, but how could Laurel tell her that?  The something of her own that she'd always counted on was taking care of everyone else.  What other option did she want or have?  Annabeth didn't know, but she hoped that she would discover something in New Orleans.

It was a long, beautiful drive along the glistening Gulf of Mexico, through wooded lands of vibrant green, and then Annabeth was being led through Laurel's new apartment.  "It's big.  So spacious.  So bright," she commented.  Laurel had rented the second floor of an elegant old townhouse that was typical of many buildings in that area.  There were charmingly ornate iron gates out front, and upstairs was a large verandah that was bordered with the traditional New Orleans wrought iron balustrades.

"I told you," said Laurel.  "See, look at these old cabinets in the kitchen.  I want you to turn them into a beautiful garden scene with greens and pinks and some blue."

"I don't know," said Annabeth, flooded with doubt.  "You have a landlord.  What if he doesn't like it, or worse, gets angry at you?  Maybe we should just lacquer them plain white."

"I live here and it's going to be the way I want it."  Laurel was so strong, so definite and Annabeth regarded her with pride.  Nobody would walk all over Laurel.  They wouldn't dare!  Annabeth had never told anyone off, had never fought for anything, and she couldn't imagine having to, but she knew that Laurel could do so without blinking.  It was satisfying to be the mother of such a strong and successful person.  Something she had done must have been right.  It couldn't all be just a reaction against R.J..

"I thought some wisps of lace here over the window seat, just kind of floating over the windows on rods, not really curtains."

"Yes that would be pretty."

"And see--wouldn't you just love to paint something around this window?  We'll start tomorrow, but first let's go out and get something really nice for supper."

So Annabeth followed Laurel, a girl who was far more a woman of the world than her mother, and they strolled along the streets near Laurel's apartment.  They had left early and there was still plenty of light, still open shops to visit.  They passed dress shops with elegant fashions, antique stores featuring treasures of the costliest variety, jewelry shops showcasing the most elegant gems.

"There's so much to see here," marveled Annabeth, clutching her purse tightly to her side while glancing suspiciously in every direction.

"Yes, whatever you want can be found here.  Look, Mom, I always wanted to show you this place.  Remember I told you about it?"  Laurel pulled on Annabeth's arm, leading her into a crafts boutique.

"The Heart in Hand Gallery," said Annabeth, "Yes, I do remember you telling me about it."

They walked through the shop, stopping to appreciate each item.  The store was a collection of hand made things, each one a work of art.  There were beautiful silk scarves, hand screened with elaborate, vividly colored designs, one of a kind pieces of jewelry in gold and silver, hand carved wooden treasures such as bowls, chess sets, jewelry boxes.

"Look at this," enthused Laurel.  She opened the doors of a tall cabinet which had drawers below and doors above and had been painted yellow and then stenciled with images of Japanese gardens, bridges and ponds.  Here and there a demure obi-clad maiden strolled.

The salesgirl came over then, smiling in a friendly way, and asked, "Can I help you?"

"We were just admiring your things," answered Laurel.  "I love this cabinet.  My mother paints furniture like this."

"Oh no," answered Annabeth, "I could never do anything as good as this."

"Your things are just as good as this.  And you paint inside the cabinet as well as on the outside."

"Yes," agreed the salesgirl, "That's a nice touch."

"Look at this," said Laurel, holding the price tag up for Annabeth to see.

"Wow!  Expensive."

"We have more pieces from this artist over there," said the salesgirl, pointing toward the corner of the store.

Laurel and Annabeth smiled at her and then continued browsing.  Each treasure deserved a comment, a sigh of admiration, and then they resumed their stroll outside, where there were more windows to view, more shops to investigate, the wonderful aroma of haute cuisine beginning to fill the streets.

"This is the best lobster bisque I've ever tasted," said Annabeth, once they'd selected from among the many restaurants offering tantalizing menus in their windows.  "The food here is so much better than at home."

"Yes, the food here is fantastic," agreed Laurel.  "See--aren't you glad you came?"

"Yes.  It's wonderful to be here with you."

Laurel worked long hours, and after the first couple of days she resumed her social life, leaving Annabeth to the painting job she had come to do.  Each morning she rose early, and after making breakfast for them both and seeing Laurel off to work, Annabeth set about her task.  With each brush stroke she agonized; this wasn't some flea market junk she could just toss if it didn't turn out, and the worry that she could mess up Laurel's apartment stayed in the back of her mind.  Each day after she'd painted part of what she envisioned, she would take the plain white paint and blank it out.

By the fourth day, Laurel spoke up.  "What's the story here, Mom?  Every day I come home and smell paint but there's nothing been painted."

Annabeth blushed, swallowed hard, then confessed.  "I'm just not good enough.  I get started and then look at it and I can see it's crap and know your landlord will sue you so every afternoon I paint over what I have and start from scratch then next day."

"Mom!  I may have to throttle you.  From now on, leave what you paint until I come home and look at it, okay?  And then if it's crap, I'll help you paint over it.  Promise!"

The next day Annabeth was tempted once again to white out her paintings, but because of her promise to Laurel, she kept on working, kept pushing through the fear that her paintings were horrible until she reached the point where she could stand back and view them in a stage of relative completion. They weren't bad, not bad at all, and Annabeth could finally see that she hadn't messed up.

On the old wooden kitchen cabinets she painted vivid scenes from nature, Sweet Peas in three delicate pinks clustered on stone paths, violet Morning Glories entwined around gnarled trees, serpentine brooks bubbling through overgrown emerald meadows as tiny children chased jays and cardinals swooping up from the earth.  In the window seat, Annabeth painted something simple, vines starting at the floor and twisting subtly, their tendrils curving in toward the window, clustered with faintly colored blooms. At the base of the window seat below the glass were masses of Jasmine bushes, their tiny blossoms an echo of the actual plants blooming outside on the terrace.

In the bedroom, Laurel asked for a mural on the wall behind the bed, and so Annabeth created a scene of mountains giving way to a waterfall which coursed down a rocky ledge.  Above the hills, the sun rose, radiating reds toward the sky and creating glints of pink reflecting in the pool that lay at the base of the waterfall. 

It was a more ambitious project than Annabeth had undertaken before, but her confidence was building and each day it grew easier to work without worry. Each morning she painted for hours, feeling herself being pulled into the scenes she was creating and in their creation being healed of her worries.  In the afternoons for a few hours she would change out of her paint dappled clothes and roam the streets near Laurel's place, absorbing the city air and the atmosphere that was so different from Gull's Perch, her lifelong home.

The French Quarter was absolutely off limits as far as Annabeth was concerned.  The ancient buildings, so charming and picturesque compared to most of the rest of the city, had a strange lure, but all around the Quarter lurked a sense of imminent danger, abetted by the constant warnings of those working there to be cautious, to go in this direction rather than that, to watch out for strangers.  The rest of the city seemed safer, although Annabeth never quite felt comfortable there. 

One afternoon, she strolled past the New Orleans Art Institute.  She recognized it immediately; this was the school she'd wanted to attend. Annabeth entered and followed a sign toward a gallery of student exhibitions.  She wandered through the big hall, slowly taking in each entry, stopping to read the small white cards posted beside them, noting students' names, and then moving forward toward the next.  These were real artists, kids with real talent.  They would finish school and go out into the world, be painters, movie directors, who knew what?  It was thrilling and the possibilities were endless.  Maybe she should have pushed harder to come here, should have made more of a commitment to it.  Back on the street, Annabeth walked along, deep in thought.  Yes, she could envision herself back at school, and even if she were much older than the others, so what--she could stay with Laurel and become an artist.

Still imagining this scene, she stopped to gaze into a store window for just a moment, and when she turned to walk away there was man, slick and seedy looking, whose nearness she hadn't even sensed, his hand reaching for the zipper of her purse.  "Hey!" she said involuntarily and jumped back, causing him to dart away.  "Oh my!" she pressed her hand to her throat, her heart pounding.  This was a scary city. It was wonderful to visit Laurel and to see her every day, but there was no way she could stay in New Orleans; it was just too scary.  She must have been crazy to consider it. 

Annabeth had hoped during this trip she would see her future, that maybe there was something for her, something as Laurel had said, of her own.  But as much as she loved being with her daughter, she missed her home and missed her husband.  That was where she belonged, not here in this scary place.  It was odd.  R.J. traveled most of the time, but she was used to expecting him back, used to planning her time around his arrivals and departures, and Annabeth missed that, missed her own life, and even though she didn't know what she'd find when she got to Gull's Perch, Annabeth was relieved that soon she could return to the safety of her home. 

When the painting was completed, they sewed the curtains and made a moss green velvet slipcover for Laurel's old couch.  At a flea market they found an antique iron bed, which was ornate, but peeling and rusted, something they repaired easily.  What was old or discolored they lacquered white or sometimes a robin's egg blue.  And on top of the old tables and squat bookcases, they draped lengths of fabric, sometimes sheer scarves and sometimes lace, trimmed with ribbon. 

"Oh Mom, it's so beautiful," Laurel enthused.  "These are the best paintings you've ever done."

Annabeth blushed at the praise.  The paintings were good, and the apartment did look beautiful.  She hadn't messed it up at all.