Dead Weight (14 page)

Moving to the back of the trailer, to the burned-away wall and roof, I found nothing but ash. But even so, it appeared that this trailer was small, only a one-bedroom. Where had Rosalee slept? On the sofa? Or had her mom taken that and given her daughter the bedroom? Or had they slept together in the one small room?

‘Well?’ Ken said.

I shrugged. ‘I guess we can go home,’ I said.

‘Have you learned anything?’ he asked.

‘Maybe,’ I said, only because I didn’t want this mini-adventure to seem to be an entire waste of time – which it might have been.

We headed back to Black Cat Ridge and Ken dropped me off at my house. We agreed to meet Friday evening to discuss this whole mess in depth. I stared at my house for a while, then turned around and went over to Trisha’s house, needing a friend more than I needed to face my children. My luck: Trisha was gone and my daughter Megan was babysitting. I swear I can’t get a break.

MEGAN

I finally get the girls down for their nap, just in time for
All My Children
, my fave summertime soap, when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was probably Azalea or D’Wanda, or both, I ran to the front door and opened it, only to find my mother standing there. Imagine my disappointment.

With one hand on my hip, I asked, ‘Yes, Mother?’

‘You’re still here?’ she asked, rudely pushing by me into the house. ‘Is Trisha here? When will she be back?’

‘No, Mrs McClure is not here, and I don’t expect her back for an hour or so,’ I answered, showing her how one is supposed to converse properly.

My mother flopped down on the sofa as if she planned to stay a while. I planned to nix her plan. ‘Where is she?’ my mother asked.

‘She went to the hairdresser,’ I said.

My mother frowned. ‘Didn’t she do that just last week? Or is she changing the color this week?’

Standing stiffly at attention, I said, ‘I really don’t know. Mrs McClure does not confide in me on such personal matters.’

My mother pushed herself up from the sofa. ‘You know, honey, you used to be fun.’

She twittled her fingers at me and went out the door.

Ha! I thought. I used to be fun!
She
used to be fun! Now she just acted stupid most of the time. I’m not saying that she is – she just acts that way. I think she thinks it’s funny. I hate to tell her: it isn’t.

But she did make me think: Mrs McClure did say she was going to the hairdresser last week. She didn’t have one of those complicated do’s that older women have that need a weekly re-do. She had the kind of cut and the kind of hair that needed a daily or at least every-other-daily shampoo. So why would she go to the hairdresser twice in two weeks? Mom said color. That made sense.

I turned on
All My Children
. Erica had barely started seducing the new guy before I heard Mrs McClure’s key in the lock from the attached garage to the house.

‘Hi, Megan,’ she called as she strolled in. ‘How are the girls?’

‘Asleep,’ I said, checking out her hair. A little mussed, but not professionally so, and not one blond hair brighter, darker, or more highlighted than before she’d left two hours ago. Mrs McClure had lied.

NINE

A
s I walked through my living room, I saw through the window as Trisha drove into her garage. Which meant Megan would be home in another ten to fifteen minutes. And what was I to do with her? I had three fifteen-year-old girls, and Megan was the only one inflicting classic teenaged girl behavior upon me. The other two smiled occasionally in my direction, answered direct questions, did an occasional chore and, rarely, started a conversation. But Megan? Megan has decided for some reason that she hates me. I think it’s because I’m her mother. She doesn’t have the angst the other two girls have of having lost a mother. Megan has the one she was born with, and I think that’s pissing her off.

How do you tell a fifteen-year-old drama queen how lucky she is to have an intact family? Well, almost intact. Intact until two days ago. Well, you don’t, that’s how. She would totally deny that having an intact family was somehow better than having had your family all killed around you, like Bess, or having your mother drop you off on the nearest doorstep, like Alicia. Of the three girls, I worried about Megan the most. She was as smart as the other two, as pretty, and in some ways as nice, but she was less cautious, extremely so. She’s the one who’d end up with an over-aged boyfriend, the one who was going to try a drug just because she never had, the one who’d worry if she hadn’t lost her virginity by a certain age. Unfortunately Megan was a leader, not a follower. I didn’t have to worry about her friends leading her astray. I had to worry about her sisters following her into hell.

The front door burst open and Megan was home.

‘Mom!’ she said, running into the family room where I’d finally come to light.

‘Right here,’ I said, turning the page in a book I was pretending to read.

‘OK, Mom, look at me!’ Megan said, grabbing my hands which made my book fall closed in my lap.

‘What?’ I said, half laughing.

‘Mrs McClure just came home—’

‘I saw—’

‘And her hair wasn’t done!’ my daughter said, flinging my hands down and standing back in triumph, arms crossing her chest.

I shook my head in confusion. ‘What?’

‘No color either!’ she said, clipping her words. ‘What do you say to that?’

‘I’m not sure—’

‘It was all messed up like she’d been driving in a convertible or something, and Mom?’

‘Yes, honey?’

‘She. Doesn’t. Have. A. Convertible.’

‘That’s true.’ I took a deep breath. Somehow there was something here that could become a bonding moment between me and my oldest daughter. I didn’t want to blow it. ‘Could you possibly be more concise?’ I finally said.

‘Do you need me to spell it out?’ Megan demanded.

I didn’t want to say ‘yes,’ but that was the right answer. ‘Just lay it out for me,’ I said instead.

‘OK,’ Megan said, sitting down beside me. ‘Mrs Mc leaves this morning saying she’s going to the hairdresser. You and I both know she used that same excuse last week, and she doesn’t have the kind of do that needs doing every week, right?’

‘Right.’

‘She’s a definitely wash-your-hair-in-the-shower-every-morning kind of woman, right?’

‘Right.’

‘So you decide she must be getting it colored, right?’

Finally this very vague conversation at Trisha’s house came back to me. ‘Right,’ I said.

‘Except she just came home and her hair has NOT. BEEN. COLORED.’

‘Highlights?’

‘Nope.’

‘Shine?’

‘Nope.’

‘Maybe she got waxed?’

Megan shook her head. ‘Wasn’t walking funny.’

‘Her face?’

‘Wasn’t red. Still had on the same make-up.’

‘Mani-pedi!’ I declared loudly.

‘Not unless she chewed it off on the way home.’

‘Damn,’ I said.

‘You are echoing my sentiments.’

‘So what are you saying?’ I asked my daughter.

She was silent for a long moment, then finally turned her head away to stare at someplace other than my face. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I dunno.’

‘She lied to both of us,’ I said.

‘Exactly!’ Megan said, turning back around to face me. Then she touched a finger to her chin and frowned. ‘But why?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I can think of a couple of reasons to lie to the babysitter, but not so many to lie to a friend.’

‘Why would you lie to a babysitter? When did you lie to a babysitter? What about? Which babysitter? Melissa? Did you lie to Melissa? What about?’ Megan started.

‘Yes, I lied to Melissa. I told her you were normal,’ I said.

‘Mother!’

‘I’m thinking.’

So we sat there on the sofa thinking. I knew what it was, but I didn’t want to say it in front of my daughter. This was something she was too young to get involved in.

Megan finally broke the silence. ‘She’s having an affair!’ she said.

Well, so much for her being too young. ‘I’m sure that’s not it,’ I lied. ‘I’ll talk to her.’ I stood up and said, ‘What would you like for lunch?’

MEGAN

‘So Mom agrees with me,’ I told Azalea. ‘The woman is definitely having an affair. Next time I babysit for her, get Donzel—’

‘Girl, he’s working!’ Azalea said.

‘Then borrow his car!’ I suggested.

‘I can’t borrow his car! I don’t have a license!’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘About $200! That’s the difference between me getting caught without a license and not driving AT ALL!’

‘See if D’Wanda will do it!’

‘Are you stupid? We’re twins! D’Wanda’s the same damn age I am!’

‘So what are we gonna do?’

‘Well, if your mom agrees with you, have her follow Mrs Mc!’

I thought about it for a moment. ‘That’s an idea worth contemplating,’ I said and hung up. I sat there on my bed and thought about it. There’s no way Mom would follow her on my say so. Besides, if she did follow her and find out Mrs Mc was diddling the butcher, or whatever, she’d never tell me. I swear, she was shocked when I used the word ‘affair.’ I mean, did she raise me under a rock? Have I not been exposed to television, the internet, movies, radio? Do I not READ? Be that as it may, there was no way she’d consider me her partner in this. But just look what all Bess and Graham and I accomplished last year when that crazy guy was stalking Bess! Well, it was mostly me and Bess. Of course, I did all the dangerous stuff.

I sat up in bed like there was a cartoon bubble on top of my head with a light bulb in it! (That’s cartoon-speak for an idea, in case you live in Outer Mongolia and never saw a cartoon.) Bess! We could figure a way through this together. I’d grab her the minute she walked in!

That night I lay in bed, my mind going nuts. I do not condone extra-marital affairs. Neither does Willis. At least, that’s what he told me. And I believed him. I knew he had a problem with me playing amateur sleuth, but let’s face it, not that big a problem. Until now. So what made now different? Another woman, that’s what. He seemed quite eager to move out of the house. Even more eager not to come back. Hell, if Trisha McClure, who seemed like the perfect little
hausfrau
, could be bonking someone on the side, why not my husband?

Then it hit me. It
was
my husband! Trisha and Willis were having an affair! How could this have happened? And how had I missed it? He always said he loved a big woman! Trisha’s barely five foot two! Weighs less than a hundred pounds! He lied! Or his taste changed. Oh my God, his taste changed! My grandmother always said your taste changes every seven years. But she was talking about food – like you didn’t like black-eyed peas when you were a child, then started liking them as an adult. That sort of taste. But I wondered if maybe it went for other kinds of taste, too? Maybe as he got older and, let’s face it, weaker, he felt the need to feel more powerful and to be able to protect his woman. At five foot eleven and one hundred and eighty (which I no longer am – one hundred and forty-five now, thank you very much), I’m not necessarily the weaker sex and need little protecting. Maybe that was part of the whole sleuthing thing. He felt I was always putting myself in jeopardy and he was rarely needed to save my ass. Well, if what he wanted was some fluffy little Barbie doll, then he could have her. I had no intention of changing. How could I? My basic anatomy was what it was. And you know, I was almost beginning to think of Trisha as a friend. And then she goes and steals my husband! I thought about heading to our smallish liquor cabinet for solace, but decided a nap would probably be a better idea.

The phone woke me up an hour later. By the third ring, no one else in the house had answered so I picked it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey, it’s me,’ Willis said.

I couldn’t catch my breath. The son-of-a-bitch! The nerve calling here when he was out bonking my almost-friend and neighbor. Then I remembered I had no proof of any of this. Just conjecture. So I said, ‘What do you want?’

‘I need to come by and get some of my stuff. I thought I’d call first and make arrangements.’

‘What kind of arrangements?’ I asked.

‘If you don’t want to see me, then you can set a time when you won’t be home and I’ll come then. Or whatever.’

A thought struck me: should I make him leave his key? I had no idea on the etiquette of separation.

‘I have no problem seeing you, Willis. Come whenever you want. The kids aren’t home right now, so that’s up to you.’

‘Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk if I come over now,’ he said.

Tears sprang to my eyes. He’s going to tell me about his affair. ‘Whenever,’ I said hastily and hung up.

MEGAN

When I came downstairs after an awesome bath – with bubbles and oils and loofahs and a tray holding everything I needed for a self-inflicted mani-pedi, Mom was in her bathroom putting on make-up.

‘Where you going?’ I asked, sitting cross-legged on the commode.

‘Nowhere,’ she said while applying mascara.

‘You never put on make-up unless you’re going out,’ I reasoned.

She put the mascara back with only one eye done. ‘You’re right. When you’re right, you’re right.’ And then she grabbed her jar of cold cream and started removing the make-up. Sometimes I think I come from dangerously deranged stock.

‘Mom, what are you doing now?’

‘Removing the make-up,’ she said in what sounded like a reasonable tone of voice.

‘What’s going—’ I was stopped from giving her the talking to she so richly deserved by the doorbell chimes. ‘I’ll get it,’ I said and headed in that direction.

I opened the door to see my father standing there. ‘Daddy!’ I said, jumping on to him. He held me and swung me around like he used to when I was a kid. I threw my head back and said, ‘Wee,’ all the way home.

And then it struck me: this was why Mom was putting make-up on. I felt bad for her, but what’s a woman to do? I was sort of glad my mom still loved my dad, and sort of glad my dad still loved my mom. He was wearing an obnoxious cologne that I’d never smelled before, B.O. with a hint of tuna fish. I think that was some sort of pheromone for the older set, which made it obvious that, as my Grandma Pugh would say, ‘he’d come acourtin’.’ Sweet, sort of.