Taking Charge
Ivy and I don’t solve anything, but she’s given me a lot to think about. I extract myself from the conversation, confirming or denying nothing; not hard, because we smell dinner burning. Sophie had popped a green bean casserole into the oven, cooked up some Sloppy Joe sauce in a skillet, and left it to heat on high while she went to her room. I throw open the door and Ivy passes through the smoky kitchen, rolling her eyes. She offers help, but I prefer to deal with the mess by myself.
I turn off the heat and let the cookware cool. Then I tromp down the hallway and bang on Sophie’s door. The door opens partway and Scott’s face looms.
“Hello Mrs. Russell.” He peers at me through hair that hangs in his face. Then he sweeps his hair out of his eyes, straightens up and delivers that gap-toothed smile about thirty seconds too late. Trying to figure out this boy is like watching a film where the picture and the sound are out of sync. One thing I know, he should not be alone with Sophie behind a closed door.
I look over his shoulder and see Sophie closing her desk drawer. Her unsmiling face looks pinched and closed. I push the door open and Scott backs off. I’ve had enough of this.
“Scott, you are not to be in Sophie’s room with the door closed. Despite what your father thinks, this is not a boarding house. Sophie does not receive visitors in her room. The bedrooms are off limits.”
Sophie turns bright red. I am sorry to make her feel uncomfortable, but something in my gut tells me that Scott has made her more uncomfortable than I have.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Russell. Now that you’ve explained the rules, I won’t do it again. Can I still stay for dinner?”
Before my eyes, he turns into Oliver Twist asking for just a bit of porridge. I hit the wall. Oh, I don’t pound on it with my fists, but I feel it close in on me until I’m flattened by fatigue. It has been a hell of a day. Like a Godsend, I feel Roger standing behind me. I reach back for his hand. He takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Okay everyone, slops on.”
Roger, Danny and David have rescued dinner while Valerie and Andy set the table. We eat quickly, making small talk to cover the awkwardness of Scott’s presence when it is so clear he isn’t welcome. Roger drives him home directly after dinner.
I stand in the doorway as they prepare to leave. Mike’s car is still parked on the street in front of our house. I ask Roger where Mike went.
“He walked up to Laura’s.”
“But...” I lob that word slowly over the net. Roger returns a drop shot.
“This is Laura’s last night in the neighborhood.”
R
David is studying in the front bedroom while Sophie and Danny catch some late night TV. Valerie and Andy have retired to their room and I’m preparing for bed in our suite. No one has the energy to discuss the meeting, or Sophie’s discomfort, or Scott’s behavior. I fall back in bed and the mattress rises up to me. I never hear Roger come home or feel him slip into bed next to me. I don’t just sleep like a rock, I lie torpid like a boulder.
In the morning, the smell of coffee pulls me out of my dreamless sleep. I open my eyes to see Roger bending over me, his loosely-tied robe falling open to reveal his smooth chest and tight stomach, a recent product of his new jogging routine. I reach for him, catch the knot on his robe and pull him close.
“Would you mind having to take another shower?”
“I only meant to bring you coffee, but if madam desires another form of stimulation, I am happy to oblige.”
The comfort and relaxation I feel after Roger and I make love banish the worry that feels like a freight train loaded with explosives coming at me. While he showers, I enjoy the mug of coffee he reheated for me. Last evening’s face-offs don’t seem as upsetting in the morning light. Misbehaving teenagers. Neighborhood squabbles. That’s all.
I try to hang onto this peaceful feeling, but when my feet hit the floor my worries return like spies coming back from Canaan to report how much danger lies ahead. First things first, though. Dress, hair, makeup, and then I walk over to Laura’s to see what’s going on.
A moving truck is parked in front of Laura’s house. I walk in through the open front door and find Laura in the kitchen.
“You’re really leaving.” I wrap my arms around her, place my chin in the depression of her shoulder near her neck and rock her like a baby. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here to help.”
“Hey, you sent your troops.” She wriggles out of my grasp and holds me at arm’s length. “They were a huge help.”
“Ivy tells me you are rockin’ out to Bob Dylan these days.”
“Yeah, I’m catchin’ the beat.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, I want to ask you about that.”
The movers don’t need any help from us, so we go out on the patio where Goldie is in a dither.
“Poor baby,” Laura calms the dog with petting and cooing. The patio furniture has been packed into the moving van, so we sit together on the low brick wall that frames the smooth concrete. I decide to come right to the point.
“Laura, are you aware that Mike is in love with you?”
Her eyes grow wide. She doesn’t look at me. She places her hand against her neck as if she’s stemming the flow of blood from a major artery. Then she throws her head back like she’s seeking enlightenment from the passing clouds.
“He told you that?”
“Laura, he doesn’t have to tell me that. I have eyes.”
“He hasn’t told me that,” Laura says in a small voice.