Frankenstein shoulders.
Laura tugs my sleeve before suddenly breaking into a run, her purse flapping. I take off after her, flying across the field. “Why are we running?” I huff.
She flaps to a stop once we get under the cover of the bleachers and grips her knees, laughing, her ponytail flopped over her face. “I don’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?” She rights herself and reaches into her shirt to adjust her bra.
“Why didn’t you? That was so weird.”
We move back into the sunshine, walking the last few blocks in thoughtful silence. As we cross Adams Street and climb the steps,
Laura makes her summation, “And in September they’re going to hunt us down and confess their undying love.” She slides the video box out of her purse. “I’m so sure.”
“He didn’t confess his undying love. He bought her a birthday cake,” I correct.
“Same difference.” She pulls open the door, a blast of arctic air hitting our damp faces as the attached sleigh bells jingle our arrival.
7
December 22, 2005
“Only for you,” Mom shakes her head as we inch the Honda down Main Street, television vans abutting us on every side.
“Only for him,” I retort as a pack of ski parkas with cameras aloft appears suddenly in the headlights.
She brakes sharply, her right arm automatically extending, pinning me against my seat. “This better not be for him.”
I smile at the reflex as she returns her hand to the wheel. “I told you, I’m here for me.” I gesture to the fogged windows. “They are not.”
“You mean not yet.”
I sink down, tucking my nose under her borrowed scarf.
She takes a left out of traffic onto the relative quiet of Adams Street. “What happened to Rent-a-Flick?” I ask as we pass the shingled two-story building with a Curves sign in the front window.
“The Blockbuster out by the mall,” she says with dismay. “But Trudy’s done a great job with the Curves. I’ve been going three times a week.”
“Mommm.” I give her a mittened thumbs-up. “Very impressive.”
“The secret is earplugs. I can’t stand that racket they play so I just stuff my ears and then nod and smile at everyone. It’s quite pleasant, actually. Now I know why your father always seems so relaxed.”
At his mention I turn my gaze from the hypnotic flow of taillights to her patrician profile. “How’s he doing with all this?”
“He’s fine,” she answers lightly.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Well…” She brushes her hair from her eyes. “Tired, of course, with the move and the holiday and whatnot, but I’m fine.”
“Really?” I ask again, trying to discern if she’s lying just to me or herself as well.
“Yes.”
“Your husband suddenly forces you into early retirement from a job you love and you’re just fine?”
“Yes. I’m fine and you’re just running a little errand.” I stiffen. “So.” She lifts her shoulders. “Now he wants to write a book in the sunshine and fish. And that’s what we’re going to do. It was just—really taking a toll on him, it seems. And we have to respect that.”
Feeling the muscles around my eyes twist, I dig in my purse for my drops, squeezing the liquid in and blinking as it splashes onto my cheek. “No, of course. He’s still on the Zoloft, right?”
She nods to herself, reassuring me as she traverses us through the recently plowed streets, slowing to a halt at each stop sign as she navigates the back way. “It’s not like he didn’t try at the library. Honestly, the people in this community. They hire you to effect change and then make it impossible.”
“Unless you want to put in a Curves.”
“Yes, then we welcome you with open flabby arms. You’re still having the problem with your eyes?”
“Only when I’m tired.” And stressed. I wipe the condensation off the window and peer through the wet streaks left by the wool as we emerge out of the valley into a sprawl of lights. “Wow.
Laura tugs my sleeve before suddenly breaking into a run, her purse flapping. I take off after her, flying across the field. “Why are we running?” I huff.
She flaps to a stop once we get under the cover of the bleachers and grips her knees, laughing, her ponytail flopped over her face. “I don’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?” She rights herself and reaches into her shirt to adjust her bra.
“Why didn’t you? That was so weird.”
We move back into the sunshine, walking the last few blocks in thoughtful silence. As we cross Adams Street and climb the steps,
Laura makes her summation, “And in September they’re going to hunt us down and confess their undying love.” She slides the video box out of her purse. “I’m so sure.”
“He didn’t confess his undying love. He bought her a birthday cake,” I correct.
“Same difference.” She pulls open the door, a blast of arctic air hitting our damp faces as the attached sleigh bells jingle our arrival.
7
December 22, 2005
“Only for you,” Mom shakes her head as we inch the Honda down Main Street, television vans abutting us on every side.
“Only for him,” I retort as a pack of ski parkas with cameras aloft appears suddenly in the headlights.
She brakes sharply, her right arm automatically extending, pinning me against my seat. “This better not be for him.”
I smile at the reflex as she returns her hand to the wheel. “I told you, I’m here for me.” I gesture to the fogged windows. “They are not.”
“You mean not yet.”
I sink down, tucking my nose under her borrowed scarf.
She takes a left out of traffic onto the relative quiet of Adams Street. “What happened to Rent-a-Flick?” I ask as we pass the shingled two-story building with a Curves sign in the front window.
“The Blockbuster out by the mall,” she says with dismay. “But Trudy’s done a great job with the Curves. I’ve been going three times a week.”
“Mommm.” I give her a mittened thumbs-up. “Very impressive.”
“The secret is earplugs. I can’t stand that racket they play so I just stuff my ears and then nod and smile at everyone. It’s quite pleasant, actually. Now I know why your father always seems so relaxed.”
At his mention I turn my gaze from the hypnotic flow of taillights to her patrician profile. “How’s he doing with all this?”
“He’s fine,” she answers lightly.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Well…” She brushes her hair from her eyes. “Tired, of course, with the move and the holiday and whatnot, but I’m fine.”
“Really?” I ask again, trying to discern if she’s lying just to me or herself as well.
“Yes.”
“Your husband suddenly forces you into early retirement from a job you love and you’re just fine?”
“Yes. I’m fine and you’re just running a little errand.” I stiffen. “So.” She lifts her shoulders. “Now he wants to write a book in the sunshine and fish. And that’s what we’re going to do. It was just—really taking a toll on him, it seems. And we have to respect that.”
Feeling the muscles around my eyes twist, I dig in my purse for my drops, squeezing the liquid in and blinking as it splashes onto my cheek. “No, of course. He’s still on the Zoloft, right?”
She nods to herself, reassuring me as she traverses us through the recently plowed streets, slowing to a halt at each stop sign as she navigates the back way. “It’s not like he didn’t try at the library. Honestly, the people in this community. They hire you to effect change and then make it impossible.”
“Unless you want to put in a Curves.”
“Yes, then we welcome you with open flabby arms. You’re still having the problem with your eyes?”
“Only when I’m tired.” And stressed. I wipe the condensation off the window and peer through the wet streaks left by the wool as we emerge out of the valley into a sprawl of lights. “Wow.
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