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Halloween. A sneezing fit had Fordham searching for a tissue as a metallic rust Rogue zipped into her lane. Then a blue Civic had the same idea. They were all out that day. Maybe there’d be a full moon later to celebrate.
“I’m too old to get dressed up like a stupid bride or something,” Whitty had complained the day before, “and what am I supposed to do with a bunch of lollipops and vampire teeth?” She’d been saying for weeks that she had no interest in trick-or-treating.
A stupid bride. Fordham wondered if that was a slam. Regardless, she was unconvinced and had told Whitty she would come home from work early in case she changed her mind and decided to go. After a curt “Suit yourself,” Whitty had gone back to her homework.
Ten-year-olds are coming in sassy models these days.
Fordham stopped off at a farm stand on her way to work and picked up a couple of decorated pumpkins. If she wanted Whitty to celebrate, it was up to her to provide the inspiration. She’d considered getting her a costume but decided that would be too presumptuous. Instead, she grabbed some cider and caramel apples for the house and for the office too.
The light was on when she got to work. Abe greeted her. “You trying to catch the worm again?” he said, checking his watch.
“I have to leave early—Halloween. I promised Whitty I’d be home to persuade her to go trick-or-treating.”
“Persuade her? Why? She doesn’t find going door-to-door and begging for a sugar coma fulfilling? Tell her I applaud her good sense.”
“I just want her to be more of a kid. I think she’s missing out on a childhood.”
“Does she watch too much television?”
“Yes,” Fordham said emphatically.
“Does she eat cookies right before dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Do her clothes lie in a heap on her bedroom floor, and does she yell at you when you try to wash them?”
Fordham nodded.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Abe said with a reassuring smile. “She’s having a childhood.”
“Thanks, Abe. Maybe you’re right,” Fordham said, handing him the cider.
Adequately reassured, she spent the rest of the day buried in work, except for the call she got back from the legal department about her submission. The news was disappointing. The only information she could get out of anyone was that it had come from the Pacific Northwest, which meant the odds of her meeting him would be somewhat improved if she were an Eskimo.
Maybe she’d try a different route, but for the moment, she was ready to call it a day. With a couple of dozen submissions in her Accept file, for the first time in weeks, she was actually making progress.
***
COME THREE O’CLOCK, she rushed out the door and got into the elevator just in time to meet a masked and costumed group of politicians, mass murderers, and belly dancers. There was a big party on the eighth floor at the temp-agency office, and both Donald Trump and Freddy Krueger asked her to join them for a drink. She declined politely, but one of the belly dancers, who didn’t seem too thrilled with Trump, slapped his misguided hand away from her rear end. As Fordham was getting off at the ground floor, someone asked who she was supposed to be.
She answered, “A public relations manager, but they handed me this editor’s suit instead.”
Luckily, traffic was light, and Fordham got to the door just as Dorie was handing out peanut butter cups to a group of smiling bunnies and chicks accompanied by Old MacDonald. Whitty was lying on the couch, watching television, and even when Fordham showed her the pumpkins, she didn’t budge.
“Cute,” she said and went back to watching the Halloween episode of Chopped Junior.
Fordham was pleased that Whitty was at least celebrating in her own way. Dorie came in, frazzled, holding a giant empty bowl. She offered a quick hello just as the phone and doorbell rang in unison.
“Fordham, please get that. I have to take this call.” Dorie went to the kitchen, leaving Fordham searching for treats. The bell rang again.
“Okay, coming! Just a minute.” Fordham opened the door to find David Prince standing next to a little girl dressed as a witch. “Dr. Prince?”
She tried to hide her elation. The man didn’t seem to have the capacity to look anything but gorgeous and smell anything but sexy.
“David, please. And this is my daughter, Lily.”
The insistence on her using his first name seemed like an invitation to take their relationship to the next level. Fordham could feel her palms begin to sweat.
Fordham shook the little girl’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lily. Dr. Prince, do you live around here?”
“David,” he said warmly. “Not far. Is Whitty out collecting loot?”
“No, she’s being a pumpkin pooper.”
Whitty muted the TV and headed toward the door.
“Ah, here comes the Scrooge of the jack-o’-lanterns. Whitty, look who’s here.”
Whitty offered a small wave. “Hi, Dr. Prince. Hi, Lily. I love your costume.”
“Where are my manners? I’m sorry. Please... come in.” Fordham didn’t know what to make of David’s surprise appearance, especially without Pam glued to his side. Maybe she’s out trick-or-treating with friends. She led them into the den and fished out packages of candy from a nearby shopping bag.
Lily’s eyes lit up. “Thank you,” she said in a tiny voice when Whitty handed her a candy bar.
The girl poked David with her broom, motioning that she wanted to tell him a secret. He bent down and Lily tugged at the back of his hair to whisper in his ear. He nodded and stood up.
“Whitty, Lily wants to know if you’d like to go trick-or-treating, and I’d be happy to have you join us... if it’s okay with your mom.”
“What a nice invitation,” Fordham said enthusiastically. “Whitty?”
“I don’t have a costume,” Whitty said, seeming disappointed.
“Really? You’d go?” Fordham exclaimed. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”
“I have an idea.” Whitty got up from the couch, laboring to walk more quickly than usual toward Fordham’s room. “Mom, come on—your closet.”
Fordham was about to follow Whitty when Dorie walked into the room. “Mom, Whitty said she’ll go trick-or-treating!”
“Well, isn’t that nice!” Dorie said. “Good to see you again, Dr. Prince.”
“Again?” Fordham did an about-face.
“We met briefly at the library board meeting,” Dorie said, taking a seat.
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” Fordham said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not sure what Whitty is coming up with.”
She found Whitty in her closet but was distracted by the ongoing conversation between Dorie and David, which she could still hear.
“You had some great ideas, Dorie. As a matter of fact, we’re going to start the Scrabble Club after the holidays. And please, call me David.”
“Thank you, David. Glad I could help.
“So, David, how do you like being the principal at Crestwood?”
“Well, it’s never easy stepping into popular shoes, but I think it’s been going pretty well.”
“Absolutely. I’ve heard only good things about you. But no one expected Lenore Hudson to retire. I think she was as surprised as anyone to get a husband for her sixtieth birthday.”
“Lives often change in the name of love,” David said.
“Are you married?” Dorie asked as if on cue.
Fordham didn’t understand why her mother needed to interrogate every attractive man who crossed their doorstep. Whitty went to the bathroom, and Fordham thought about interrupting her mother, but she didn’t want to be a buzzkill. Anyway, it wasn’t that big a deal. Everyone expected mothers to be inappropriately overinvolved in the lives of their children.
“I was—twice,” David said.
“I lost my husband almost a year ago. It certainly isn’t easy.”
“No, I’m sorry, it certainly isn’t.”
Fordham returned to the matter at hand, finding the material to turn Whitty into a witch. An old black nightgown that had once been intended for an amorous evening was sitting in a Macy’s bag with the tags still attached, and a black felt hat that she and Gil had bought at the 1994 Dutchess County Fair was begging to be used for something other than collecting dust. Perfect.
“Whitty, why did you decide to go tonight?”
“I don’t know. I like Lily. She’s cute. You’ll be busy tonight, anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“You’ll either have a stupid date or be working on your book.”
“Ouch. Guess I deserved that.”
“I understand about the book. But let’s face it—the guys you go out with are pretty basic. The good news is, you only need three dating outfits. No one ever gets to see four.”
“And this is my fault how?”
“I’m not blaming you.” Whitty took a black eyeliner out of Fordham’s makeup bag, faced the mirror, and began drawing wrinkles on her cheeks. “It’s just... remember when I was little and you used to read me The Three Bears every night?”
“Yeah?” Fordham was baffled.
“Well, sometimes I feel like the baby bear. Mom-Mom is like the mama bear, and you’re kind of like Goldilocks. You keep trying to find something that’s just right. But there’s still no papa bear.” Whitty faced Fordham with a look of concern. “Mom, I hate to break it to you, but Prince Charming is in a different story. And in that story, he’s the one that finds the girl.”
***
FORDHAM WAS STRAIGHTENING up the family room, thankful that Whitty was finally out doing something kids were supposed to do, other than criticize their parents. If she hadn’t had so much work on her plate she would have loved to tag along, but making this book work was her priority, especially if she wanted job security.
Fordham fluffed the couch pillows and filled both bowls with more candy. Instead of dwelling on what she was missing, she thought about how Whitty was consumed with concern for her dating life. She decided it was high time for her daughter to create the chapters of her own book rather than fairy tales for her relationship-challenged mother. Besides, Fordham wasn’t trying to find Prince Charming. Evie was trying to find him for her. That had to be creating different karma.
It wasn’t her fault all the men she’d been set up with hadn’t been marriage material. The luck of the draw kept her in a three-outfit-maximum dating position. And maybe that’s what’s meant to be, she thought as she walked into her room and glanced over at the submission on the wall.
Thinking about romance was an impractical distraction when she needed the time to work on the book. Dorie screamed a few select curse words, and Fordham gathered that another Scrabble game was underway. Knowing Dorie, there was no chance of this feud ending till she’d beaten her rival, and from the sound of things, the competition could go on indefinitely.
Fordham took out her phone, checked her calendar, and called Abe. She got his machine.
“Hi, Abe, it’s Fordham. I forgot to tell you I’m going to be late tomorrow. Doctor’s appointment. You’re not answering, which means you’re either ignoring me or being attacked by trick-or-treaters who did not appreciate your prune-juice boxes. See you around lunchtime.”
There was a faint tap on her door. “Fordham, are you napping?”
“Are you kidding? Come on in, Mom. It’s open.”
“I know if you’re not sleeping, you’re working. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”
“No, it’s okay,” Fordham said, seriously needing to come up for air. “What is it?”
The next half hour involved two visits from Dorie. The first was to ascertain whether Fordham knew the word z-o-u-k. She said it was a tropical dance. The second was to subject f-a-r-t-l-e-k to the same scrutiny. It had something to do with training runners. And yes, Fordham agreed that maybe Dorie’s opponent was a plant used to taunt regular players.
An hour after Dorie took a two-point lead on her Scrabble opponent, the doorbell rang, and Fordham found Whitty and Lily standing on the porch, pretending to be too weighed down by their Halloween bags to move. David was behind them, holding their hats.
Standing there all scruffy with five o’clock shadow, he was unnervingly delicious. If she were a different kind of woman, Fordham might have concocted a way to get him to stay for the night, or forever, but that would be weird for Lily. And she wasn’t that kind of woman.
They were barely in the house when Lily spotted the cat and went running after her. “Kitty!” she shrieked as her costume got caught on one of the corners of the coffee table and all her candy went flying around the room.
She was just about to cry when Whitty cleverly tripped to pretend the same thing had happened to her. There was candy everywhere, but Lily was still more interested in the cat than anything else. She ran after her with renewed vigor as Whitty tagged closely behind.
Fordham and David scanned the room in disbelief. They were mired in an ocean of candy, snacks, and scary little rubber toys. Neither of them made a move until they both eyed a big Nestlé Crunch bar and went for it at the same time.
“Go ahead—it’s yours.” David said gallantly.
Fordham refused, having come up with an innocent way for them to touch, if just for a moment. “Rock, paper, scissors?” she challenged, staring into David’s eyes. “I like to earn my victories.”
They played several rounds until David won fair and square. In what she deemed a naturally selfless gesture, he offered her the candy.
“No, that’s okay,” Fordham said, making a puffy face. “I’ll be happier in the long run if you take it.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Thanks. I should probably try to keep it that way.”
David broke the bar in half. “Here you go.” He held her half up to her mouth.
She took a healthy bite without even considering the calories. “Very diplomatic,” she said, finishing her half.
As she and David gathered the rest of the candy mess and tossed it back into the girls’ bags, she said, “Thanks for tonight, David. It was nice to see Whitty have fun. She doesn’t seem to do that enough.” Fordham picked up a wrapper from the floor. “Oh, and thanks for sharing your candy with me.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” David said.
Fordham was feeling freer to be playful. Maybe Evie was right. David hadn’t said a word about Pam the whole time they’d been together. She even caught a glimmer of disappointment in him as he was getting ready to leave.
“By all means, feel free to drop Lily off here anytime,” she said.
“Thanks, Fordham. I just might take you up on that.” He picked up one of the newly filled Halloween bags. “Come on, Lily, let’s go. It’s getting late, and we still have to de-witch you.”
Lily came into the room, carrying Ella. She held her gently and gave her kisses on her head that the typically skittish kitty seemed to appreciate.
“I love you, Ella,” Lily said then turned to Whitty. “And you too.”
***
FORDHAM WALKED OUT to the car with David, said good night, and headed back into the house, where a giant bag of garbage was waiting to be tossed. She went to the side of the house to drop the trash into the pail and watched as David safely secured Lily in the car. In the dark, she knew she was obscured from their view. It was so quiet that she could hear their conversation.
“I like Whitty’s mommy. She’s pretty,” Lily said, “like my Barbie before I cut her hair.”
“Yes, she’s nice,” David answered.
“You don’t think she’s pretty?”
“Yes, she’s pretty.”
Fordham’s heart skipped a beat. David had said she was pretty.
“As pretty as Mommy Pammy?”
Fordham winced as if Lily’s words had pierced her skin.
“Yes, very pretty.”
Fordham continued to listen in case there would be more information she needed to know before making a complete fool of herself over David Prince.
“What’s wrong with Whitty’s leg?”
“Something from when she was in her mommy’s belly.”
“Will it go away?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Daddy, can we get a cat like Ella?”
“Lily, honey, you know that Grammy is allergic, and when she visits us, we don’t want her to get sick.”
“I know, but I really want a cat like Ella.”
“Maybe you can go to Whitty’s house sometimes and play with her.”
“Yay! Daddy, when are we gonna be home? I really, really have to pee!”
Of course, Fordham would have Lily over, but not if Mommy Pammy was going to be any part of the visit.
***
FORDHAM SPENT MOST of her gynecologist’s appointment thinking about what it would be like to have another child. The visit with Lily had reminded her of all the things she enjoyed about motherhood, and the picture Margo had emailed, showing her growing belly, had cemented it. She even went so far as to fantasize about going to a sperm bank and ordering a shot of Brandon. He wasn’t father material, but he was stunning.
A sperm bank and in vitro. That was her most realistic option. She wasn’t exactly using her equipment these days, and there was nothing quite as sobering as stirrups and latex gloves topped off by a cold probing speculum to serve as a harsh reminder of that. To top it off, it had taken her and Gil years to decide to have a baby and even more years to finally get pregnant. If she was serious about having another child, she would have to do a lot of soul searching.
She needed to get her head out from between her legs. She had too much going on to dwell on her nonexistent sex life or to indulge in dreams about pink dimpled babies. Her appointment was uptown, and if she hurried, she could get back to the office in time to meet with Abe and go over her notes about the length of the submissions. Work would save her from herself.
Fordham took out her phone and was checking her messages as she exited the examination room. When she got to the central waiting area, a door shut, and she automatically looked up. Staring right at her was the last person she had ever expected to see.