Two

  

I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.

~ Sign in the break room of the Bottom Dollar Emporium

  

In a stucco bungalow situated on the banks of Cayboo Creek, Elizabeth Hollingsworth stood over a seafood soufflé and glanced at the clock on the oven. Her husband was now officially thirty minutes late for supper, and her soufflé was sinking faster than a leaky rowboat.

Occasionally Timothy lost track of time, lingering with the fellows who hung out at his bait shop, but, since it was Valentine’s Day, she thought he’d make a special effort to be punctual.

Certainly she’d knocked herself out for the holiday. Never mind the seafood soufflé (which cost her a burnt thumb, a half-dozen eggs, and some frayed nerves), she’d also laid out a beautiful table with Grandmother Tobias’s china and silver and a bouquet of pink tea roses as a centerpiece.

Setting the mood for romance, Elizabeth had put Glenda, their ten-month-old daughter, down for the night and slid a Nat King Cole CD in the stereo. Then she misted her wrists and earlobes with Jovan Musk and draped herself seductively over a love seat, where she’d been for the last half hour until she’d gotten up to check on the soufflé.

Where was he?

She eyed the champagne bottle on the counter and was about to pop the cork and toss back a glass or two when she heard her husband’s key turn in the latch.

“Honey, I’m sorry I’m late.” Timothy sauntered inside, removing his baseball cap from a tangle of dark curls. Their mutt Maybelline flung her portly body against her master’s legs. Timothy knelt down to scratch the dog’s shiny black head, saying, “I tried to call but all I got was the answering machine.”

“The answering machine,” she said sharply. “That’s impossible, I’ve been here the whole—” Abruptly she remembered turning off the ringer of the phone just before Glenda’s afternoon nap. Had she remembered to turn it back on? Obviously not.

“I was late because I had to drive across the river to pick up someone’s Valentine’s present,” he said with an impish grin. “They accidentally shipped it to the post office in Augusta instead of here in Cayboo Creek.”

“Oh, Timothy!” She flung her arms around his neck. “I thought you’d forgotten what day it was.”

“How could I forget my best girl on Valentine’s Day?” he said, hugging her close to him. Then, over her shoulder, he spotted the champagne cooling in the ice bucket.

“Time for a toast, I’d say.”

Timothy popped the cork and poured champagne into two glasses, handing her one. His dark eyes glowed indigo in the soft light of the kitchen lamp.

“I remember the first time we ever drank champagne together,” he said, lifting his glass. “It was our wedding night. You took a sip and said, ‘It’s like tasting stars.’ I fell in love with you all over again.” He fixed his gaze upon her face. “To Elizabeth, a wonderful wife and mother.”

Her crystal glass made a satisfying “ting” as it touched her husband’s. Timothy was such a doting spouse; she should have guessed he’d have a good excuse for being late for Valentine’s Day dinner. Elizabeth was the one with the problem. Lately she’d been uncharacteristically sensitive, apt to tear up at the most minor of slights.

“I smell something delicious,” Timothy said, his nostrils twitching. “Do you want your gift before dinner or after?”

“Before,” Elizabeth said. She’d never been particularly patient when it came to presents. Even at the age of twenty-seven, she still got up with the roosters on Christmas morning.

“Wait a minute.” She picked up a red gift bag from the kitchen counter and handed it to him. “Your gift first.”

Timothy eagerly tore away the tissue paper from the bag and let out a low whistle when he saw the box inside.

“A Pro Caster XL. Best darn reel on the market. I’ve had my eye on this thing for months.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

He weighed the aluminum reel in his hand, marveling over it for several moments until she was forced to noisily clear her throat.

“Oops. I almost forgot your present. It’s in the truck.” He ambled out the kitchen door into the garage.

Elizabeth had made some strong hints about a white-gold heart pendant she’d seen in the Zales flier in last Sunday’s paper, but Timothy had been buried deep in the sports section at the time and might have missed her comments. She heard him grunting in the garage and when she peeked out the door, he was grappling with something big and unwieldy.

“Do you need some help, honey?” she cried out. Maybe it was that rattan armchair she’d admired on the Pier One Web site. Not the most romantic gift in the universe, but it would go well with the couch in the den.

“Nope, sweetie. I’ve got it.” After a moment or so, he strutted into the kitchen proudly pushing a baby buggy.

“A stroller?” Elizabeth tried to disguise the disappointment in her voice.

“A stroller,” Timothy said with a snort. “That’s like calling a Rolex a watch. This...” he said, flinging his arm out in an exaggerated fashion, “is the Amphibian.”

“The what?”

“It’s the Jaguar of strollers. The women in your Mommy Time group will be pea-green with envy when they see this. It’s got the suspension of a Porsche. You could roll over a pothole, and Glenda wouldn’t even blink. There’s also mosquito netting and a sun cover that adjusts to three positions.” He pushed his foot down near the wheel. “Not to mention a parking brake. And see these big wheels? They’re for off-road handling.”

Elizabeth folded her arms in front of her chest. “Hmmph. I suppose they’ll come in handy when I take Glenda four-wheeling over rough terrain.”

Timothy’s face fell, and she instantly regretted her unkind remark.

“You don’t like it,” he said softly. “When I ordered it, the saleswoman claimed that every mother dreams of owning an Amphibian.”

“Every mother, yes,” she said, stroking his hand. “But on Valentine’s Day, I want to feel more like a wife than a mother.”

“I’m a big dolt.” He knocked his temple with his knuckles. “A stroller isn’t very romantic, is it? What was I thinking? I should have gotten you flowers or jewelry.”

Elizabeth planted a kiss on his forehead. “I was just a little surprised. I’m sure once I try it out I’ll wonder how I ever lived without the Salamander.”

“Amphibian,” Timothy said, quickly recovering his jovial mood. “It folds down completely to fit into the trunk. I got it in aubergine, but if you don’t like that color, we can swap it for sand, marine, khaki, or plaid.”

Elizabeth tuned Timothy out as he continued to marvel over the many features of the stroller. For weeks she’d been trying to hide her misery from her husband, but it was getting more difficult to pretend she was the same happy-go-lucky woman that he’d married.

Logically, she should be one of the most grateful people on the planet. She had a doting husband, an adorable baby daughter, and a gaggle of girlfriends who’d give her the bras off their backs if asked.

Still, for the last couple of months, she’d been slogging around in the doldrums. Sometimes she didn’t get out of her nightgown until eleven a.m. and too many of her days were spent suspended on the couch, watching the Lifetime Channel or thumbing through old fashion magazines. When Timothy got home and asked her about her day, she’d invent little white lies.

“Glenda and I took a long, bracing walk along the creek bank,” she’d say with false cheer, or “We went to story hour at the library,” when in fact the farthest she’d ventured from the couch was to check out the Dorito supply in the pantry. She’d packed on eight pounds over the last couple of months, but Timothy either didn’t notice her new girth or didn’t care. He was so tickled to be a daddy that he assumed everything was wonderful in their little cottage by the creek.

Elizabeth wished she’d listened more carefully to the advice of her mother-in-law, Daisy Hollingsworth.

“I’d have gone stark raving mad if I’d stayed home with Timothy,” Daisy had said when Elizabeth turned in her resignation at Hollingsworth Paper Cups to be a full-time mother. “Not everyone is suited for that sort of thing, and you’re such an ambitious young lady.”

True, she’d loved her marketing career, but she’d been eager to trade it in for what she considered to be the most important job in the world. Timothy was especially adamant about her decision to stay home with their baby. As a child he rarely saw his own mother and had been raised by a series of nannies. “My nannies were all very nice women, Elizabeth,” he’d said with a sad little droop to his mouth. “But I always longed for my mother.”

When their daughter Glenda was born, the wisdom of Elizabeth’s decision to quit her job seemed confirmed. As soon as she gazed into the tiny, pink face of her brand-new infant, she was entranced.

But then came the sleepless nights, cracked nipples, and whining bouts of colic. Everyone told her things would get better after three months, and an addled-brained Elizabeth counted the days off on her calendar like a prisoner. But even after Glenda made her transition from red-faced she-devil to a placid, saucer-eyed Gerber baby, Elizabeth still faced a host of adjustment problems. She coped by trying to throw herself into motherhood, reading parent magazines cover to cover and memorizing the steps of the Ferber method of getting babies to sleep through the night (or “Ferberizing,” as it was called by parents in the know). She even learned to make her own baby food. But then, several weeks ago, when she was preparing a dish of Tiny Tot Turkey, she started crying into the bowl of puréed fowl.

What are you doing with your life?

The question echoed so loudly in her head it nearly made her ears ring. Quickly, all the advantages of being an SAHM (stay-at-home mom) swam up in her mind: She’d be the primary role model for her daughter. Her child wouldn’t be raised by strangers. She’d never miss an important milestone due to a staff meeting or a business trip.

She’d stared straight ahead as if in a trance, wooden spoon slipping from her hand. It wasn’t enough. Much as she loved her daughter, much as she wanted to be a great mother, she wasn’t cut out to stay home every day with a small child. She’d been fooling herself.

Elizabeth couldn’t share her misery with Timothy. He wanted to believe she was the perfect little mommy leading the perfect little life, but it was all a big, fat lie.

If you only knew, she thought helplessly as Timothy concluded his animated spiel on the Amphibian.

“We’d better eat before everything gets cold.” Elizabeth set her soufflé dish on a silver trivet on the dining room table.

Timothy sat down and served both of them from the chafing dish.

“It may not look beautiful, but it tastes fantastic,” he said through enthusiastic bites of egg fluff.

“Glad you like it.” Elizabeth moved her food around her plate with her fork, but didn’t really eat much of anything.

Timothy continued to chew with satisfaction, washing his supper down with great gulps of iced tea. Then it came: the dreaded question.

“So, what were my two favorite girls up to all day?”

Fortunately, she’d been much more productive than usual. She’d forced herself off the couch to shop for and prepare the Valentine meal.

“The usual. Shopping, cooking. Busy, busy, busy.”

“Can you believe Glenda is almost a year old? It seems like we brought her home from the hospital yesterday.” Timothy reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Maybe it’s time we started working on a little boy.”

Elizabeth dropped her yeast roll. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?” He lowered his eyelids with a knowing glance. “After all, we both agreed we wanted to have a bevy of babies.”

Bevy? The tiny bit of supper she’d ingested churned in her stomach. How many babies were in a bevy?

“We might as well get rolling, seeing how thoroughly you’ve embraced motherhood.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “By the way, the O’Quinn place is up for sale. I stopped by today. It has six bedrooms, perfect for a large family. We should take a look.”

So a bevy meant five, unless, of course, Timothy planned to stack their children in their rooms like cordwood. Elizabeth imagined rows and rows of bunk beds spilling over with kids.

“Excuse me,” she said with a tight smile. “I need to visit the powder room.”

“I’ll clear the dinner dishes while you’re gone.”

Nodding, she tried not to run to the bathroom. As soon as she opened the door, a piteous cry welled up in her throat. She turned on the tap full blast to muffle the sound of her sorrow. How could she possibly have a bevy of babies when she was miserable with just one?