Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (12 page)

“Oh.” Allie looked at me, and I smiled in an encouraging mom manner. She hesitated, then held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Katie?” Stuart’s voice drifted in from the garage as I heard the van door slide shut. “Whose car is that? Have you got compan—
Judge
.” Stuart stood in the doorway, Timmy clinging to him like a baby monkey. Stuart recovered quickly enough, then stepped all the way into the room. “Judge Larson. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He kissed me, but the gesture seemed distracted. I couldn’t blame him. As for me, I was holding my breath. How did spouses who cheat handle it? One tiny little indiscretion and I was already sweating bullets. (Okay, maybe the indiscretion wasn’t so tiny, but still . . . )

I held my arms out for Timmy, and Stuart passed the munchkin to me, then went over to shake hands with the judge. “When did you get here? Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I didn’t realize you’d be coming over.” His sentences crashed over one another, and under other circumstances I might be amused. Today, I wasn’t.

Before Larson could answer, Stuart frowned, then looked toward me. I busied myself with kissing Tim (who was quietly begging for Teddy Grahams, but any minute would surely erupt into full-fledged howls). “Actually,” Stuart said, turning back to the judge, “I suppose I should ask
why
you’re here.”

Larson laughed, the sound hearty and cordial. “I apologize for barging in like this. I was in the neighborhood looking at a few houses, and I noticed your car in the driveway.” He gestured at me. “Kate explained that you’d switched cars, but she was nice enough to offer me a cup of coffee while I waited for you.”

Stuart-my-husband may have been surprised to find Larson in the kitchen, but Stuart-the-politician stepped seamlessly into the fray. “This is good karma on a number of levels,” Stuart-the-politician said, pulling out the chair across from Larson and sitting down. “I didn’t think we had nearly enough time to chat last night, and I’d been planning on giving you a call Monday morning. I was thinking we might talk more over lunch or drinks.”

“I’d like that,” Larson said. “Clark speaks so highly of you.”

They segued into a political banter that I was beginning to find familiar, and I put Timmy down, grateful to relieve myself of his thirty-two pounds of girth. He immediately started tugging on the kitchen cabinets, testing the child-proof latches in a familiar daily ritual. When he came to the one cabinet I keep unsecured, he pulled out two saucepans and a wooden spoon and gleefully settled in for the afternoon concert.

“Hon?” Stuart’s voice rose over the din.

“Sorry.” I leaned over Tim. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you out of here.”

“No. Mine.
Mine
.” He grabbed hold of the pots and didn’t let go. The amount of strength contained in the hand of a two-year-old never ceases to amaze me. I aimed a
he’s-your-son-too
look at Stuart as I resorted to that age-old mothering trick—bribery. “We can watch Elmo.”

That got him. The little bugger abandoned his makeshift studio and trotted happily toward the living room.

I looked around for Allie, hoping to enlist her as a babysitter, but she’d managed to slip away. Probably already on the phone to Mindy. No problem. Elmo could handle babysitting duty.

I shoved Tim’s favorite tape into the VCR and waited until he was entranced. As soon as he’d calmed down enough, I’d take him upstairs and try to urge him into a late-afternoon nap. Until then I left Elmo in charge and headed back to the kitchen and the men. Not the most conscientious parenting option, I know, but I was desperate. And if I’m being honest, I park the kid in front of the television for lesser reasons all the time. As far as I can tell, he isn’t warped yet.

Actually, I couldn’t get back to the kitchen fast enough. I’d left Larson and Stuart alone, and that didn’t sit well. Stupid, I know. It’s not like Larson was going to accidentally mention there were demons in town any more than he was going to casually announce that back in my prime I could easily kill a dozen of them before breakfast.

No, there wasn’t anything tangible fueling my discomfort. But I was determined to be present nonetheless. (This was my crisis, after all. And if I wanted to sit in on the deathly dull political chitchat and convince myself I was preventing some catastrophe, then by God, that’s what I was going to do.)

Five minutes later I was regretting my decision. They were talking about Gallup polls and voting districts and a bunch of other political mumbo jumbo. I tuned out. I’m not even sure what I was thinking about—though I’m pretty sure demons were involved—when Stuart tapped the table in front of me.

“Honey?”

I jumped, my hand flying to my throat. “Timmy?” I could tell immediately he was fine. I could see him standing on the couch facing the backyard as he jumped up and down, singing “C is for Cookie” in time (more or less) with Cookie Monster.

“No, sorry. It’s just the back door. It’s probably Mindy.”

“Oh. Right. Sure.”

From the breakfast table you can see most of the living room, but not the back door. (Thus my odd perspective of the jumping child who was obviously, now that I had all the information, greeting Mindy in his own exuberant little way.) The layout’s the major downside of this house, actually. I have to move to the living room if Timmy is playing on the back porch—otherwise I can’t see him. Which means using the backyard as a distraction while I put away dishes doesn’t work. Not unless I want my kid wandering free in the wild like Tarzan.

As it turns out, Stuart was right, and I opened the door to Mindy and Laura. “Hey,” I said. “Come join the party.” I noticed that Mindy was schlepping not only three paper shopping bags (Nordstrom, Saks, and The Gap), but she also had her familiar canvas duffel slung over one arm. Apparently the kid was here for the long haul.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Laura said, catching the direction of my gaze.

I waved a hand. “Of course not,” I lied. I usually didn’t mind having Mindy sleep over. Tonight, though, I was craving peace and quiet. I had a feeling it might be a long time before I had another shot at that again. “Allie’s upstairs,” I added to Mindy. “In fact, I’d assumed she was talking to you on the phone.”

“She was,” Mindy said. “But we figured I might as well come over. Can we really watch a movie and have pizza after we show off our clothes?”

“Absolutely,” I said, hoping no one else could tell that I’d completely forgotten my earlier plans with Laura for a pizza and fashion extravaganza.

Oh, well. Quiet is highly overrated anyway.

As Mindy bounded toward the staircase with an energy I envied, Laura eyed me with curiosity. Like a reflex, I rubbed my upper lip, as if I might have an errant smear of chocolate there. “What?”

She shook her head, looking slightly discombobulated, and I felt myself begin to worry. About what, I wasn’t sure. But of late, I was trusting my instincts. And something was going on with my friend. Something that I desperately hoped was of the nondemonic variety. “Come on, Laura,” I said. “Spill it.”

We were still by the back door, and now I reached down to lock it, the familiar ritual all the more important lately.

“It’s nothing. Really. Or at least it’s none of my business.”

“What’s not?” Her comment was cryptic, but it made me feel better. Nosiness I could handle. She leaned against the wall facing me, her back toward the kitchen. Beyond her, I could hear the scrape of chairs against the tile as Larson and Stuart continued their conversation. “I feel like an idiot even saying something.”

I held on to the doorknob like a crutch. Now that my fear had dissolved, I was both curious and amused. “Come on,” I said. “Give.”

“It’s silly.” She made a fluttery motion with her hands, and her cheeks actually flushed. I felt my brow furrow. This was weird. Then she took a step forward, her cheeks flaming. “Is everything okay with you and Stuart? I mean, you aren’t, um, having an . . .” She trailed off, her head bobbing back and forth in a fill-in-the-blank kind of way.

My mind riffled through the possibilities, my own face flushing when I realized what she had to be thinking. “Of course not!” I said. “Everything’s fine with me and Stuart. Everything’s great!” I sounded overly enthusiastic even to my ears. Everything
was
okay. But I still had guilt. Because even though everything was just fine in the way Laura was thinking (an
affair
?!), I
was
keeping secrets from my husband. Secrets of the big, juicy variety. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

Relief flooded her features. “Thank God. I knew it was an idiotic question. I just . . .” She shrugged, then shook her head, then tossed up her hands. She looked a little bit like a puppet controlled by a spastic master.

“Laura . . .”

“Well, I didn’t know what to think. I saw you in the yard sparring with that older man, and you guys looked so familiar, and I just thought that
something
must be going on.”

Something was, but not that. “If you’d found me crawling around under the house, would you have assumed I had a thing for the plumber?”

“Hardly. But your fencing partner didn’t seem like the butt-crack type.”

“Don’t dis plumbers,” I said. “You’ll find yourself with a backed-up sink on Christmas Day, and then where will you be?”

“I take it back,” she said, holding up three fingers in typical Boy Scout fashion. “But what were you
doing
? I mean, fencing in the backyard with that man? I didn’t know you fenced. And you weren’t even using swords.”

“Fencing?”
Stuart’s voice.
Followed quickly by the man himself as he stepped into the living room from the kitchen, Judge Larson at his side.

I stifled the urge to curse, and pasted on a happy-homemaker smile as I considered all the possible lies I could tell. None sounded very convincing.

Laura was still facing me, and she mouthed
I’m sorry
, before turning around to face Stuart. I could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened a half second later that she hadn’t expected to see Larson there, too. And I couldn’t really blame her when the words “Oh,
you
” flew from her lips.

I cleared my throat. “Laura Dupont, meet Judge Mark Larson.”

Because Laura is well trained, she moved toward him, her hand held out in greeting. If I’d hoped that such pleasantries would distract Stuart, though, I was sadly disappointed.

“This may sound naïve,” he said. “But why on earth were you two fencing?
Were
you fencing?”

“Ah,” I said, and then closed my mouth, realizing I had nothing to say. I twisted slightly, looking to Laura for help, but she’d already dropped Larson’s hand and was now backing toward the stairs. “I’m going to go check on the girls,” she said.
Yeah, Laura. Thanks a bunch.

I returned my focus to the problem at hand, a rather lame “um” the only response I could come up with. Not exactly at my bullshitting best. Larson laid his hand on Stuart’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He was pulling out all the grandfatherly stops, and I figured I owed him one for that.

“Self-defense,” Larson said, and I decided we were now even.
That
response I could have come up with.

“Self-defense,” Stuart repeated.

“Right,” I said, because now that he’d put it out there, I was stuck. “And, um, exercise.”

Stuart continued to stare at me, his expression perplexed but interested. Fortunately, I saw no signs that he was contemplating having me committed or, worse, that he thought I was having an affair with Larson (where the
heck
did she get that idea?).

The silence hung there, and I kept waiting for Larson to fill it. When he didn’t, I jumped into the breach. “It’s a crazy world out there. And, um, I should know how to take care of myself.” Since Stuart was still silent, I rushed on, warming to my theme. “You’re working longer hours, staying late to confer with Clark, and I’m home alone with the kids.” I started ticking points off on my fingers. “Allie will have tons of after-school activities this year. I’ll be picking her up late—with Tim in the car. It just seemed reasonable that I be prepared.”

“And so you were fencing with Judge Larson?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, just confused. I couldn’t really blame him for that.

“Ah, no. Self-defense classes. I’m going to sign Allie and me up.”

“Oh, awesome!” Allie’s voice echoed from the stair-well, and a moment later my own little Britney Spears appeared, decked out in a too-tight T-shirt that plunged so low I could see the lace of her bra and stopped so high I could see her belly button, form-fitting black Lycra pants that clung to her hips (and the rest of her), and white Keds with lace-topped socks. Fortunately, I didn’t see any evidence of tattoos or body piercing.

I scowled at Stuart as she made her way over, Mindy and Laura bringing up the rear. “This is your idea of a school wardrobe?”

He held up his hands and took a step backward away from me. Smart man. “I just drove and paid.”

“We’re really gonna take a self-defense class?” Allie asked, clamoring to a stop beside me. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” I said, already wondering when I’d find time to sit Allie down for the
this-is-not-appropriate-attire
conversation.

“I’m so psyched,” she said. “And you’re really going to do self-defense stuff, too, Mom? Like kicks and everything?”

I tackled the righteous indignation part of the equation first. “Yes, I’m really going to do it. What, you don’t think I have it in me?”

“Well, you know. You and Stuart are old.” She shrugged. “No offense and all.”

“None taken.” I glanced at Stuart, pleased to see that the perplexed expression had now been replaced by amusement.

“Apparently your mother isn’t completely crippled by the ravages of age yet,” Stuart said. “She and Judge Larson put on a little fencing exhibition earlier for Mrs. Dupont.”