A peaceful evening. It was about time I had one. Chris claimed she had a big after-school snack and wasn’t hungry. She stayed in her room, saying she had work to do. I knew there would be a late-night creep into the kitchen for a sandwich or some ice cream, but that was all right. It meant I could have a sandwich for supper myself. I read some documents for my job, lying on the couch, and fell asleep, still on the couch. I was happy not to hear the words “birthday party” tonight.
My mind was full of things I did not want to think about: nice Lieutenant Ramos and his possible dinner invitation. Joe’s face at the restaurant. Chris’ birthday. My advisor’s deadlines, looming like thunderclouds. With the need to begin job hunting following right along after everything else. Or before everything else?
I could not even sort them out in order of importance.
Text from Darcy:
No. Not that early. It was still cold. It was barely dawn. No. But yes, because Darcy doesn’t have a lot of free time and I needed to talk.
That was when I fell into my catnap, escaping. Only Chris’ rustling around in the refrigerator woke me up.
“You okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine. Exploring a bedtime snack. Do we have any salami?” She looked up and giggled. “Mom, go to bed. You know sleeping on the couch isn’t good for you.”
I nodded, wondering where she got that idea. Probably from me saying it to her. I nodded again and sleepwalked up to bed.
At seven in the morning, I was in my sweats from yesterday, drinking my second cup of coffee, when Darcy hammered on the door.
“Come on, lazy bones. I see your light is on.”
She was on my stoop, dressed in brilliant blue spandex running gear, cheeks pink, hair covered by a becoming cap. She was running in place, all bouncy and bright-eyed.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You only hate mornings, but that’s not news. Anyway, I am off to Provo, Utah, tonight, so this was the only time. Lace up your running shoes and let’s go.”
Who am I to argue with such an impressive figure? I grumbled but I laced, right after one more gulp of coffee.
“I’m sorry.” She urged me out into the bright, cold morning. “But you know this is good for you.”
“You’re not sorry. You sound like Joe. He thinks exercise is the cure for anything that ails me.”
“And it often is. How is Joe, by the way?” Her look told me she heard every mixed emotion in my voice.
We covered the two long blocks to the park before I answered with a brilliant, “I don’t know.”
A single raised eyebrow. How did she do that? “His life is very, umm. Right now, it’s very complicated.” I could barely explain. “And I don’t know how to handle it. I guess.”
“Complicated, how? Not another woman? He’s more into you than you believe. I can tell.”
I wasn’t going to touch that. Not now, not for anything.
“Another woman, but not how you mean it.” How much could I tell her without revealing Joe’s personal issues? Tricky, especially since I wanted so much to spill everything on my mind.
“He has family problems.”
“Joe has a family? Tell me all. An ex-wife? A secret child?”
“What? No! Stop kidding. A sister. And he’s not acting like himself at all. And I can’t even focus on it, because I have too much else on my own mind.”
I spilled everything. We walked at a killing pace and it still took us to the lake deep in the park and back out the handsome stone entrance. As always, she had crisp, problem-solving answers. I guess that’s what being a vice president in the advertising business teaches you. Or maybe that’s what got her the big job and corner office in the first place.
“So, Chris. Local restaurants with party rooms. Not expensive. I’ll send you names. Not glamorous but put up a lot of balloons and loud music and no one will notice. A high school friend of my son has a band. I’ll put in a word, you’ll get a family and friends price. And let your father help! Why not? It makes him happy and Chris happy, too
“You think?”
“Come on. Of course. And this cute cop? If you want to, have dinner. But you don’t even seem to know what you want. So figure it out first. It’s not rocket science, honey.”
“If it was that easy, would I be talking about it here on a freezing November morning? While exercising?”
“Point taken.” She stopped me and put her hands on my shoulders. “Joe has been a great friend, but only you know what he means to you. But…”
“I knew there would be a ‘but’.”
“But, as to his family crisis, how often has he been there for you?”
“Oh. I can’t count that high.”
“My point exactly. So?”
“I’d be there for him if I knew how. But I don’t know and he’s. Not. Telling. Me. He’s keeping me out. And honestly, I don’t have the energy to figure it all out on my own. To be a sweet woman soothing his rumpled feathers.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “You’re smart. You’ll work it out. Why don’t you look convinced by my logic?”
“Because there’s more.”
When I told her about my work, the two-pronged pressure of my dissertation and the looming need to make some actual plans she grew very serious. My other issues might have seemed slightly amusing to her. Not this one.
“So tell me if I have this right. You’ve put in all these years with no idea about what to do when you finished?”
“No! Of course not.” She stared at me. “All right. Yes, maybe. It sounds so dumb when you say it like that!”
She gave me a small hug.
“It was like this.” I needed to explain it. “When I started I was only looking for a masters, to upgrade my teaching license. More money. And then I got interested and I got encouragement, and I somehow ended up committing to the PhD program.”
“Somehow? It was an accident?”
“That’s how it felt at the time. Like, I would go part-time and Chris was so little and I never truly believed I would ever get to the end.”
“And now it’s here, staring you right in the face?”
“That’s what Dr. Adams is saying.”
“So what have you concluded? Isn’t the usual career path into college teaching?”
“If you’re very, very lucky. The academic job market is bad, seriously bad. Or so I hear. Plus, I can’t pick up and go to any old place they offer a paycheck. Until Chris finishes high school, I need to be right here.”
“And Joe?”
I nodded. Slightly. Yes, he was a factor too. No, I did not want to talk about him.
“Well, honey, you need to start networking. In fact, you are way overdue. Believe me. I don’t know about dissertation writing but I do know about job hunting. I hope you know enough to start with your own department? Talk to everyone! Get advice. Get support. And the history museum where they love you but can’t hire you? So get to work! I’ll send you some good articles.” She hugged me again. “It will not be fun, but honest, it will turn out fine in the end.”
“Am I babbling on about me, me, me? How are you? Start with Provo, of all places.”
“It’s a huge tech center. You’ve heard that?”
“Uh. Maybe.”
She sighed. “I forgot you don’t live in modern times. Anyway, I am pitching a client. But yes, Provo.” She sighed again. “The middle of nowhere. They promise me I can get alcohol in the local restaurants, but I’m not sure. Isn’t my job a whirlwind of glamour?”
I laughed.
“My real news is that there is going to be a wedding. And about damn time!” Darcy’s children were all grown and in serious relationships. “Luke and Cassie are finally making it legal. Next summer, on a Caribbean beach.”
I hugged her. “You must be so excited. Is there a lot for you to do?”
“Nope. Mother of the groom. The old rule is keep your mouth shut and wear beige. Not that I’d wear beige on a beach.”
“Or ever.”
“Right. Never. I’m thinking very expensive resort wear. Maybe a silk caftan. But yes, finally, dancing at a wedding with my kid.”
By then we were back at my house.
“Thank you. You helped straighten me out.”
“Glad to do it. Honestly? It’s nice to have company on my morning exercise. Let’s do it again.”
“Oh, ha-ha. But keep me up to date on the wedding plans, okay?” I smiled. “And have a great trip to Utah.”
“Ha-ha right back. I must go home and pack now. Boring clothing, believe me.”
“But stylish.”
“Yes, walking that fine line, stylish enough to impress but not enough to make them hate me. Business suit but Manolo shoes, maybe.”
Now back at home, I had a plan firmly in my mind: support Joe as he has supported me. Figure out what he needs. I can do that. At least, I can be kind. Be there. Just be there. Darcy was the source of all wisdom in my life, somewhere between the mother I lost, the big sister I never had, the older cousins I’d outgrown.
My improved mood lasted about thirty minutes. Joe called and thirty minutes is how long it took him to get to my house.
It went downhill before he even stepped through the open door. He stood on the stoop, arms folded, his normally friendly face all storm clouds.
“What is going on with you?”
“Come in and sit down? Do you want coffee? Or something to eat?”
He stepped in then, but did not sit down. He leaned against the now closed door.
“No coffee, just some answers. I’m serious.”
I sucked in a breath of air.
“I can see that you are, but I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.”
Honestly, I did have an idea, but I was being cautious. No room for misunderstandings today.
“That cop.”
“He has a real name and you know it.” I did not like his tone of voice. “And a title too.”
“I don’t care about his name or his rank. I care about who he is to you.” He stopped himself but then continued. “Are you dating him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I know what I saw. Twice.”
I’ve known him for ten years. He never acted like this. Advanced jerk. Never. And I sure did not like it. I did not like the way my heart was beating and my hands were sweating.
“And exactly what is it that you think you saw?”
“Don’t play games with me, Erica. Laughing, having fun. The way you looked at him.”
“Well, he’s nice to look at. So there! And we were talking and laughing. So what? And what makes you think you get to interrogate me, anyway?”
He looked stunned.
“I don’t get to question you? But he does, that cop?”
“It’s his job, but it’s not yours.”
“Erica.” His voice softened. “You’re right, a little. But you and me? I haven’t been dating anyone else and I do get to ask what the hell you are doing.”
“You do? You think you do? No one does, not even you.”
He walked out without another word, and my fury turned into angry tears. Even in my self-righteous fog, I knew I was not altogether right. Okay. Mostly, I was not right. I probably should not have said Ramos was nice to look at. Didn’t I know it was oil on the flames? So much for my plan to be kind.
But he hadn’t made it easy, coming in with that attitude. I was too upset, then, to wonder where that attitude was coming from. Or to consider how childish my own behavior was.
My own child came down, bed hair all wild, rubbing her eyes. “Did I hear you and Joe? Shouting? Or did I dream it?”
“Nice of you to get up and join the world.” I was, to say the least, still angry at everyone.
“Well, gee, Mom. It’s only…”
“Noon!”
“So?”
“Go have some breakfast. Or lunch. Something. Wait! Why aren’t you in school?”
“School-wide testing. And mine are tomorrow.” She squinted at me. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it was Joe, or yes, you were shouting, or yes you didn’t answer?”
“All. And we’re not talking about it.”
She looked wary but her eyes opened up. “Are you crying?”
“No!” It was not a lie. I had been crying, but I wasn’t now.
She headed back upstairs with a dramatic sigh.
I went into the kitchen to make some lunch, forgot what I was doing after I put bread and mayonnaise on the counter. I went back to my computer, but the words blurred on the screen. I started for the stairs to get Chris up for real and then thought, “Why bother?”
I finally curled up on the couch under a quilt from Chris’ baby days, and fell asleep. I woke to Chris rattling around in the kitchen. She was fully dressed, hair combed, jacket on.
“I’m making a snack to take out. Going for a walk, okay? See you later.”
Her cheerfulness made me want to bury my head under the comforter. I was unhappy with myself and unhappy with Joe. My computer pinging did not make feel better. Unless it was Joe. Who usually calls. But still.
It was Dr. Adams. And I realized that minute that I was supposed to check in yesterday, discuss my progress, assure her I had really, truly, finished this chapter and moved on toward conclusions.
The message was crisp and clear. “See me Monday. Two sharp.” I was briefly tempted to claim I had to work at the museum, but no. Telling lies would not improve our relationship. And I knew this was a relationship that was important in my life, whether I wanted it or not. I had better respond. I would, as soon as I was ready to explain why there was not much progress. If I was stuck now, I would have to show her how I would get unstuck.
Then I found Ramos’ card and called him. It did seem like a good idea in that moment.
“Hey, Erica. Have you had another useful memory flash for me?”
His friendly voice cut through my bleak mood.
“No, sorry, but I’d love to talk about Michael Conti some more.”
“Pressure from above?”
“Ah. Yes. Yes for sure.”
“You’re scared of your advisor? Tough young woman like you?”
Was I scared of her? Oh, yes. That thought was humiliating.
“I might possibly be able to help. How about we discuss over dinner? I’m off tomorrow night. Do you like seafood?”
I said yes to all of the above. I had no reason not to. It was work. He had useful information for me. That’s all. Absolutely all.
Chris was back and I went to harass her about that diary. She maintained that she was still reading it herself, but said she had a later date to go running with some of the girls from the basketball team. I could have it then.
She seemed to get great joy from saying sternly, “As long as you are careful and don’t harm it!” I’d raised a smart aleck, that was for sure. Dad would say I had no one to blame but myself.
Housework called. What it actually murmured was, “I could be more interesting right now than your dissertation” but I pretended I heard, “Be a real homemaker for a few hours. It will be a treat.”
Just as I was pulling the cleaning supplies out from under the sink, I had a call. The number looked vaguely familiar. The voice was not.
“Forget what you think you know. Forget everything. No gossiping. Or you will be sorry.”
“What? What? Who is this?”
But the phone had already clicked off.
I sat on there the floor, shocked and annoyed in equal parts. A wrong number? A crank call? A real threat?
I looked again at the calling number and quickly scrolled through my calls of the last few weeks. It was, impossibly, from Mary Pat. Not Mary Pat, not really, but Mary Pat’s phone.
Now I was so shocked I dropped my own phone.
Someone had found Mary Pat’s missing cell phone. Ramos had told me they never found one but I had seen her using it. That was the only possible explanation. And was using it to do…what? Call people he had found in her calls made list? Or just me? To what purpose? I didn’t know anything, just had the bad fortune of being a witness. Or had some idiot randomly found the phone and was pranking? Just because he could?
I would have to call the lieutenant yet again. Even if it was meaningless. I told myself it was meaningless. I decided to deal with the turmoil in my mind by throwing myself into my chores.
By the time Chris headed out again, I had cleaned the bathroom, done a load of laundry praying the ancient washing machine was still functioning, and made a soup where you open several cans of broth and throw in whatever vegetables are around, plus leftover rice and a can of chilies. It’s the only kind of soup I know how to make.
Concrete, visible work was done. I felt tired and just a little more in control of my life. With Chris gone, it was time to read more of that diary. And take lots of notes. I wanted to know what it felt like to Philomena to be there then, doing the work she did. It could be no more than a sidebar for my chapter, but maybe we could do something with it at the museum. And I didn’t say it to myself, but I knew that it would be interesting enough to crowd my real life out of my mind.
Philomena flourished at her job. “It’s so real. Real metal, real tools. Someday a real blow torch if I can do it. Not like making change all day and saying, Hi, Mrs. So and So, and asking about her son in the Army or promising the tomatoes are ripe.”
She didn’t mind the damage to her nails and repaired her manicures every time she went out. She didn’t mind the sweat and the dirt. “That’s what the bathtub is for. As long as they don’t start rationing Ivory soap!
She went to dances for servicemen. I could hear the giggles in her words. “They look so handsome in their uniforms, and they clean up and shave for the dances. Makes my patriotic young heart beat faster. All those boys from the south talk REAL slow. They’re so cute when they say ‘ma’am.’ ” She was only a few years older than Chris, after all.
“We’re not supposed to leave the dances but sometimes we sneak out for a cigarette and a little privacy.” She drew a heart next to that sentence and then added, “Dear diary: Mom and Dad don’t know I started smoking. It makes me feel like Bette Davis. And about that sneaking out? Nothing but kissing, even when they try. And do they try! And only if they are really, really cute and nice. I’m still a good girl.” She was so young it hurt.
She wrote about other things too, pieces of her life. Handsome Tyrone Power in the pictures, and Frank Sinatra whose voice made every girl all shivery. Francis, actually, the same name as her brother Frankie. Barbara Stanwyck. “She has so much moxie.” And she pasted pictures from a movie magazine next to that page. New shoes and how hard they were to get. Using makeup to tint her legs when she had no stockings left.
Philomena became more of a real girl to me with every sentence. Her writing wasn’t sophisticated or deep. It was the diary of a girl barely out of her teens whose world was growing her up fast.
I wondered what Chris was making of all this, and soon had a chance to find out. I heard her tramp upstairs, then come hurtling down. She often took the stairs at a controlled free fall
“Where is my diary? I mean, Grandma’s diary?”
“You mean Philomena’s?”
“Yes, Mom, you know I do.” She looked at my desk with narrowed eyes. “I see you snitched it.”
“And no harm done. Chris, this is so fascinating. Are you loving it?”
She collapsed on my other office chair, the impulse to complain blown away. “Are you kidding? Yes, most definitely. She is so…so…like, I could know her even now.”
“Except she takes you into a different world, right?”
She nodded, soberly. “Did you get to the part about her friend’s brother?”
“No. What was that?”
“He got hurt bad. Wait and see.” She shook her head. “But the parts about the boys are funny. Dating life was so different then.” She put her hand out. “Now I need to go back to it.”
I wanted to protest. I wanted to keep reading it myself. But what responsible, academic mom throws a roadblock in the study plans of a child?
***
That night I dreamed about Philomena. She was in her work clothes, looking, looking, looking for something. A phone was ringing but she didn’t answer it. It was ringing and ringing. I finally knew it was not her phone. It was mine.
I dragged myself awake, fumbling to pick it up
“Erica, did I wake you? It’s Lisa. I heard something.”
“What?” I sat up, willing my brain to start working.
“It’s Lisa. I told you! And I heard something about the Conti story.”
“Okay. Okay. Now I’m awake.”
“They have arrested Jennifer Conti.”
“What?” Was I still half-asleep?
“The widow. Jennifer Conti.”
“That’s impossible.” I was not accepting that. Not for a minute.
“I heard it two minutes ago from a source I trust. They have something more but I don’t know what. Yet.”