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Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
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now.”
“No,” I said. Like most children of divorce, Arch held a secret longing for his parents to be reunited. This despite the fact that twice I had been forced to run out our back door carrying Arch to a safe house, to escape the rain of blows from Dr. John Richard Korman. Never for Arch, only for me, but how could I have escaped without my child?
“Oh well,” Arch said now, “guess you’ll miss him. Philip Miller, I mean.”
I returned his look. “Yes,” I said. “I will.”
7.
I slept fitfully, dreamt of nothing, and lay in bed the next morning, Saturday, as if nailed there. Ï tried to put the image of Philip Miller out of my mind,
Sunshine and the strains of voices streamed through the east-facing window of my room as I stretched and breathed through my yoga routine. From the direction of the Farquhars’ pool and garden, Ï could hear Julian and General Bo calling amicably back and forth. When I got up to investigate, I could see Julian vacuuming the pool with a long-handled instrument attached to a hose. Over a raked area of what had been the garden-crater, General Bo arranged flowering plants in rows as straight as well-drilled troops.
I had to smile. From here I could see it was the kind of garden an eastern couple with no children but lots of money would put in with great optimism. Lots of money for double-blossom begonias, Johnny-jump-ups, and lilac bushes that bordered rainbows upon rainbows of pansies. No children to worry about poisoning with late-blooming Christmas rose and camas lilies. And optimism, in thinking the soil would be acidic enough for hydrangeas.
Seeing them labor so diligently made me realize I needed to focus on the day’s work. Deadlines for obtaining supplies, cooking, baking, arranging, serving—all these gave caterers their thin and tired look. Alas, the bathroom mirror told me I was not thin, only short and blond and still sporting a field of faded freckles across a nose that even the kinder girls at boarding school had called “snub.”
Which reminded me.
I came out of the bathroom and knocked softly on Arch’s door. I felt awful because it was Saturday morning, but I needed to remind him that his father would be over later, and that all hell would break loose if he wasn’t ready. And I wanted to find out if, on orientation day, he’d been snubbed.
“Arch?” I called through the wood.
To my surprise he opened the door. He was dressed in one of his all-purpose sweat suits and held his bag of magic tricks in one hand. He had his glasses on, a good sign that he had been up for a while.
“Your dad will be by this afternoon,” I told him. Then, before he could say anything, I said, “You didn’t finish telling me about the first day. Were the kids nice?”
He looked into my face and pulled his mouth into a straight line. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “they weren’t as bad as I expected.” He paused and looked around the room. “Hold on, Mom, I got you something.” He reached over to a shelf and solemnly handed me a Russell Stover Mint Dream. My heart warmed. Arch knew I loved chocolate with mint. He was always on the lookout for new combinations of the two ingredients.
“Well, thanks very much,” I said as I fingered the silver-green foil. This was Arch’s way of saying he was sorry about Philip Miller.
“You going to eat it?”
“Not before eight in the morning. But I will! It’s my favorite, you know that.”
He was not listening but was again rummaging through his belongings. “Wait. There’s a note here for you from Adele, er, Mrs. Farquhar.” He handed me a crumpled index card.
The Nelsons have canceled and Weezie Harrington is beside herself. She called this morning and invited Julian and a date for tonight. I told her you’d already bought the food. I don’t think she knows Julian is a vegetarian. Sorry if this causes problems! A.
I looked back at Arch.
“So what about the first day?”
“I told you, the kids weren’t
“No,” I said. Like most children of divorce, Arch held a secret longing for his parents to be reunited. This despite the fact that twice I had been forced to run out our back door carrying Arch to a safe house, to escape the rain of blows from Dr. John Richard Korman. Never for Arch, only for me, but how could I have escaped without my child?
“Oh well,” Arch said now, “guess you’ll miss him. Philip Miller, I mean.”
I returned his look. “Yes,” I said. “I will.”
7.
I slept fitfully, dreamt of nothing, and lay in bed the next morning, Saturday, as if nailed there. Ï tried to put the image of Philip Miller out of my mind,
Sunshine and the strains of voices streamed through the east-facing window of my room as I stretched and breathed through my yoga routine. From the direction of the Farquhars’ pool and garden, Ï could hear Julian and General Bo calling amicably back and forth. When I got up to investigate, I could see Julian vacuuming the pool with a long-handled instrument attached to a hose. Over a raked area of what had been the garden-crater, General Bo arranged flowering plants in rows as straight as well-drilled troops.
I had to smile. From here I could see it was the kind of garden an eastern couple with no children but lots of money would put in with great optimism. Lots of money for double-blossom begonias, Johnny-jump-ups, and lilac bushes that bordered rainbows upon rainbows of pansies. No children to worry about poisoning with late-blooming Christmas rose and camas lilies. And optimism, in thinking the soil would be acidic enough for hydrangeas.
Seeing them labor so diligently made me realize I needed to focus on the day’s work. Deadlines for obtaining supplies, cooking, baking, arranging, serving—all these gave caterers their thin and tired look. Alas, the bathroom mirror told me I was not thin, only short and blond and still sporting a field of faded freckles across a nose that even the kinder girls at boarding school had called “snub.”
Which reminded me.
I came out of the bathroom and knocked softly on Arch’s door. I felt awful because it was Saturday morning, but I needed to remind him that his father would be over later, and that all hell would break loose if he wasn’t ready. And I wanted to find out if, on orientation day, he’d been snubbed.
“Arch?” I called through the wood.
To my surprise he opened the door. He was dressed in one of his all-purpose sweat suits and held his bag of magic tricks in one hand. He had his glasses on, a good sign that he had been up for a while.
“Your dad will be by this afternoon,” I told him. Then, before he could say anything, I said, “You didn’t finish telling me about the first day. Were the kids nice?”
He looked into my face and pulled his mouth into a straight line. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “they weren’t as bad as I expected.” He paused and looked around the room. “Hold on, Mom, I got you something.” He reached over to a shelf and solemnly handed me a Russell Stover Mint Dream. My heart warmed. Arch knew I loved chocolate with mint. He was always on the lookout for new combinations of the two ingredients.
“Well, thanks very much,” I said as I fingered the silver-green foil. This was Arch’s way of saying he was sorry about Philip Miller.
“You going to eat it?”
“Not before eight in the morning. But I will! It’s my favorite, you know that.”
He was not listening but was again rummaging through his belongings. “Wait. There’s a note here for you from Adele, er, Mrs. Farquhar.” He handed me a crumpled index card.
The Nelsons have canceled and Weezie Harrington is beside herself. She called this morning and invited Julian and a date for tonight. I told her you’d already bought the food. I don’t think she knows Julian is a vegetarian. Sorry if this causes problems! A.
I looked back at Arch.
“So what about the first day?”
“I told you, the kids weren’t
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