tend.
Scrubbing her scalp was not sufficient; would hair pulling be any better? Coffee, she needed coffee. But then she’d need more antacids. Somehow herb tea did not sound sufficient. Downstairs she let the animals out; poured herself a glass of lemon and mint-infused water from the jug in the refrigerator door; and, while sipping, started pulling out the Rice Krispies, butter, and marshmallow crème. Steig’s favorite cookie.
What would they have for supper? Just she and Ken, no kids yet. You forgot to take the hamburger out! Good thing for microwaves. They were having spaghetti tomorrow and the sauce needed to cook all day. Another of Steig’s favorites. So little time to fix special things for her son. Monday he would be gone, and only God and his superiors knew exactly where. But someplace where there was shooting going on. She propped her stiff arms on the counter. Oh Lord, I don’t want him to go! Can’t You do something about this? Which burned worse, the tears or the stomach? She slammed the door to the microwave and stabbed the numbers for defrost.
By the time the pan of Rice Krispies cookies was cooling in the fridge, the spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove, and the kitchen put back to order, she had let the cat and dog in; answered six texts from her family other than Ken, but who was counting; and it was already after noon. What was happening at the college? Should she call his assistant, Sandy, and ask? Or was she better off not knowing?
She fixed herself a salad with chopped chicken on greens and poured a glass of iced tea. Then with the animals padding beside her, she started up the stairs to her office. Halfway up, she turned around and headed for the porch instead. But she didn’t have her desk calendar in case someone called. They followed her upstairs to retrieve the calendar and followed her back down to the porch. She started to sit down when I need sun sent her out to the deck. Gathering all her necessities took two trips, but when she sank into the lounger after setting the food, etc., on the low table, she leaned back and closed her eyes in relief.
Breathe! She did as ordered. Three times. As ordered.
Hyacinth jumped up and made a nest between her ankles. Ambrose laid his head on her thigh, eyes and wagging tail pleading for attention. She stroked his head and ruffled his ears. “Sorry, no walk today.” He flopped down beside her, a deep sigh causing a niggle of guilt. “Tonight, we’ll walk when Dad gets home.”
While eating her salad, she checked down her to-do list, crossing off what she’d accomplished. What else had to be done? The kids’ room was ready. She still needed to run to the store. The fragrance of cooking spaghetti sauce reminded her to add French bread to the grocery list, along with Popsicles, eggs, and their favorite cereal. (Had Steig allowed the sugary kind? She added one just for good measure.) He’d have boxes from the kitchen most likely and a cooler full of food, too. It wasn’t like they were just coming for the week. He’d said he was pulling a trailer. How big a trailer? They’d have to store stuff in the garage probably. What stuff besides the bikes and kid toys?
Winter clothes, summer clothes, school clothes, playclothes. She forced her mind back to the list for today. Groceries. What did the kids like to eat? No way was her kitchen stocked for two small children. When she didn’t feel like cooking or got overwhelmed, Ken stopped for takeout dinner. So easy for the two of them. But not with kids. She needed to start planning menus. For every day. She stared out over the river. Not just for visiting, but every day. Food for two children in the house twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for the next year.
She shook her head. The weight smashed her into the lounger. I am not ready for this.
Chapter Six
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K en handed a résumé off to Sandy seated across from him at his desk. “This one looks pretty good, but she’s still not our
Ken McClure
Ethan Chorin
Mickey Spillane
D. H. Cameron
Conrad Black
Ruth Wind
George Bellairs
Stanley Elkin
Nicola Yeager
Anton Strout