Some elusive memory danced at the edges of Susan’s consciousness, refusing to loosen sleep’s tenuous grip and keeping her in a light sleep. She desperately wanted closure. She hated loose endings and unfinished stories. “Mommy” whispered into her ear brought her fully awake.
“Hi, sunshine.” Susan lifted Cady onto the bed. “I missed you, sweetheart.” Susan’s eyes, ears, and heart flew open. Cady giggled as she cuddled next to Susan.
“Mommy, look!” Cady squirmed upright and pointed to the end of the bed. Susan looked and saw the shy brown eyes and familiar grin of little D.J. as he stood at the foot of the bed. Without a thought, she pulled him onto the bed too.
“Cady, this is D.J. Can you say hello?”
Cady nodded, but made no sound. Susan was touched by this sudden shyness. “Cady Hettinger, can’t you say hello to our visitor?” Cady put her arms around Susan’s neck and hid her face.
“Where’s my mommy?” D.J. asked barely above a whisper.
“She’s…” The dream memory was no longer vague or dancing in Susan’s head. “She’s sleeping. Why don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll fix us something to eat.” The last thing she wanted to do was cook, but she needed to deal with the night’s events and entertain two children. Since Cady enjoyed being a helper, she gladly took D.J.’s hand and led him to the other side of the house. Susan quickly changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, carefully folding her sleepwear, then she headed toward the kitchen.
The smell of coffee emanating from the direction of the kitchen told Susan that her mother was already awake. Her mom, an early riser, loved to put the coffee on and sit in the kitchen or, on nice mornings, on the patio, and read the paper. Oh, dear goddess, Susan prayed, struggling for an explanation for strangers in the house, let this be a gorgeous morning. She needed a few more minutes to come up with a logical explanation. Logical! Last night I didn’t want anything to do with logic. As soon as she walked into the kitchen, Susan knew this was not a day for celebrating answered prayers.
“Hi, Mom,” Susan said a little too cheerfully. As she hugged her mother, she glanced briefly at the kitchen clock. It was only 7:30 a.m. No wonder her mind felt like a bad case of furballs.
Her mother smiled at her, put her paper down, and rose to get another coffee cup. “Good morning. How was your trip? What time did you get in?”
Before she could answer, three little urchins raced across the kitchen into the family room and promptly turned on the electronic babysitter. Susan turned to her mom. She sat quietly for such a long time that Susan almost had hope that this would be a normal morning.
Her mother Maureen was very Irish. With her fiery red hair now dominated by streaks of gray, she still looked like a leprechaun, waiting for some joke or jest to take place. This was one of those times.
“Oh, dear,” her mom muttered, “I guess I’ll need more orange juice.” As her mom walked to the refrigerator, Susan just watched, wondering what was going on. The more direct inquiry, the gentle nagging, even the motherly meddling she was familiar with, but not this. Three children were sitting noisily watching TV and her mother was at the sink pouring more juice.
Okay, I can do this, Susan thought. We’ll pretend strange children are often here and then I won’t have to explain. She walked up to the stove and got out the large frying pan.
“Susan, why don’t you go jump into the shower,” she said, “and I’ll get this started? Shall I fix bacon first?”
Her mother looked sane but that wasn’t a consoling thought. Maureen was unpredictable and observant. Actually, “nosy” would be a better word. Today she seemed more like a Stepford mother, acting as if this were routine. Susan feared some type of derangement had descended upon her entire family. “That’s okay. I’ll do it,” she said in her best nonchalant, assertive voice. Not a single question had been asked. True, these were miniature strangers, but surely there must be some full-grown person to whom they belonged. Either that or Susan had resorted to kidnapping.
“No, dear, you go run take a shower and I’ll get this started.”
Susan looked carefully at her mother, trying to read any hint from her face. Nothing.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll hurry.”
In her bedroom, Susan gathered clean clothes—another pair of shorts and a shirt that matched—neatly folded her dirty clothes, and put them in the clothes hamper. Less than five minutes later she was back in the kitchen.
“Beth, will you turn down the TV, and I want all three of you to come sit at the table.” Her mom had already learned their names. Susan felt her control slipping. Her stomach chose to announce its presence with a loud rumble. “Dear, are you hungry?” Her mother looked at her and then at the offending body part.
“A little,” Susan barely squeaked out. She looked at the kitchen scene. From the children’s dress, it was obvious they’d spent the night. Why isn’t she asking questions? There had been times throughout Susan’s life when it seemed the whole world would be falling apart and her mom wouldn’t notice or would simply say “how nice, dear.” Other times she would not so subtly ask a variety of questions until she got the desired answers. Susan’s father often said it was because her mother was Irish and all Irish believed in wee people and magic. If something was illogical, it was magic. That rarely helped Susan to understand, or be like, her mother.
What has she learned from them while I was in the shower? Susan wondered. Her internal voices argued. After all, what could they have said? You met on a plane and you’re letting them and their mommy sleep here. Another voice yelled, “Oh, God!” Susan sat at the table unable to handle any further arguing.
“Susan, will you make more coffee? I guess we’ll need a full pot.”
“Of course, Mom.” Susan got up and mechanically made coffee. I’ve got to say something. “Mom, I, uh, we have company.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I mean, Maggie, the children’s mother, was stranded at the airport.”
Maureen stopped cooking and stared at Susan. “Dear, are you trying to tell me you brought a friend home?”
“Well, I…” Susan stumbled for some plausible explanation. “I, uh, didn’t know until the last minute. I mean, it was a late decision.” Very late.
“Yes, Susan’s a godsend.” Maggie’s entrance was perfectly timed. She glanced at Susan with that half grin and a twinkle in her eyes. She wore a pair of white shorts that framed her beautiful legs and a white Hard Rock Café London T-shirt that left little for speculation.
Susan was speechless and just stared. “What? Uh?”
Maureen stuck out her hand. “I’m Susan’s mom, Maureen. I’ve already met your kids.”
“Margaret Carson-Baxter, and I’m delighted to meet you. Please call me Maggie. Susan told me so much about you.”
“Well, I must admit this is the first time Susan has brought home a girlfriend that actually spent the night. I don’t know much about you yet, but I am sure I will, and quickly.” Maureen grabbed Maggie and hugged her as if they two were old friends.
Susan quickly leaned against the nearest wall, realizing the morning had quickly become her worst nightmare. No one spoke, only the soft drone of the television accompanied this melodrama. What are all these strange people doing in my kitchen? Where is my quiet, serene Saturday? Silently, Susan made a list of all the things she would willingly give up if she could just find herself back in bed and dreaming.
Maggie looked briefly at her and then at her mom. “Maureen, I can tell that you and I will get along fine.” She turned toward the stove. “Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful. Can I help?”
“Nonsense, you go sit with Susan and the kids. Susan will join you as soon as she recovers from her bad manners. Honestly, Susan, you should find out what Maggie wants in her coffee. Make her feel welcome.” Maureen turned again to Maggie. “My daughter doesn’t date much, but that’s no excuse for her manners.”
Maggie hugged all three children and sat at the table. She smiled at Susan and patted the seat next to her. “Come sit down, honey.”
Panic filled Susan. She had been outed in her own house. She reached for her orange juice and wished it had vodka in it. What is Maggie thinking? Will she grab her kids and run?
Maggie instead smiled and asked for coffee. Susan’s mom moved the food quickly to the table and soon they were chatting as if they had known each other for a long time. As she looked around the table, Susan remembered her mother taking her to see the play Peter Pan. She always got excited during the part where the audience was asked to bring Tinker Bell back to life. If she died, there would no longer be any magic and Never Land would disappear.
Susan had to save Tink and Peter and Wendy and every child’s dream. I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies. Maybe if she said something enough times, she could wish it to be true. Here she was sitting next to Maggie, her children, her own daughter, and her mother, all sitting at the table as if they belonged together. She liked the feeling.
She watched Maggie’s hands as she entertained her mother with tales of their travels yesterday. They were all laughing and enjoying the conversation. What was this woman’s secret?