Dying Wishes (21 page)

“Uh
oh, Ethel, I think we’re really in trouble this time. Fred and Ricky might cut
off our allowances,” I gasped, holding my sides.

“Why
do you always get to be Lucy? It’s my turn to be the cute redheaded one,” Margo
complained. We held onto each other and howled as our husbands deflated in
confusion.

They
stared at us, disgusted. “They’re hysterical,” John decided.

Armando
shrugged. “I am hungry. Let us see if we can salvage some of that pizza.” They
stalked into the kitchen to forage, leaving us to recover as we would.

“Oh,
my god, they looked so
funny
,” I
spluttered, and we laughed until we cried.

~

By
the time we were all fed and order was restored, Armando and John had received
a full and truthful account of the events of the week. Once they were persuaded
that we had not been stalked by some homicidal maniac but were instead the
victims of a young woman who was mad at us because she thought we had
dissed
her boyfriend, they regained their good humor. Full
stomachs helped a lot, as it always seems to with men.

We
sat sipping wine in front of the fireplace, my hastily selected DVDs forgotten.

“Did
you ever clear the air with this Sandy person?” John wanted to know.

“As
a matter of fact, we didn’t. She took one look at us, dropped a plate of cookies
and high-tailed it back to the kitchen. We looked for her after we apologized
to poor Suzanne, but she was long gone,” I told him.

“I
believe she got our message nevertheless,” Margo added. “The poor kid is
probably
shakin
’ in her shoes
thinkin
’
about Monday. She knows one of us will be there, and then what will happen? Bet
she calls in sick.”

“First
of all, neither of us will be there,
Strutter
will. I
think you, me, Sandy and Ginny need some space. Then we can have a little
straightforward conversation about appropriate and inappropriate behavior,
which is probably what we should have done in the first place,” I said.

“Not
that the two of you are exactly role models in that regard,” John couldn’t help
adding, and Armando chortled appreciatively. We accepted the barb without
comment. We deserved it.

“Movie, anyone?”
Armando
asked. He was a night owl and often stayed up until the wee hours, watching
television.

Margo
looked as sleepy as I felt. “Sorry, Sugar, but I’ve had about all the drama I
can take for one
evenin
’.” She got to her feet, and
John did the same.

“I
have to say it was an interesting one, was it not?” said Armando as we showed
them to the door.

“Yeah,
let’s do it again real soon,” John agreed with heavy sarcasm. The two men
laughed again.

Margo
hugged me goodnight. “Well, at least the boys are
bondin
,’”
she whispered, and we shared a final giggle.

Sixteen

Late
Sunday morning Emma and I sat on our favorite bench outside the Keeney Memorial
on Old Main Street. We were sipping hot coffee and licking sticky bun crumbs
off our fingers. Despite the carbohydrate indulgence, we felt virtuous, having
completed a brisk walk down to the Wethersfield Cove and back before stopping
in at the diner. Along the way I regaled Emma with a recap of Margo’s and my
adventures of the previous evening.

She
grinned at me over her coffee cup. “And you wonder where I got the mischief
gene.”

“Oh,
I never wondered for a minute. I just hoped you would eventually outgrow it, as
I thought I finally had. I have to say, though, I sort of enjoy knowing there’s
still a bit of the devil in me.”

“Hard
to believe you’re about to turn fifty,” she agreed.

“Thanks
for reminding me,” I growled, but with a smile.

We
were quiet for a while, savoring the late autumn sunshine and the small town
ambience of Old Wethersfield on a Sunday morning. A block away the doors of the
First Church of Christ flew open, releasing the faithful from their weekly
gathering. Strains of an exuberant recessional, played on an impressive pipe
organ, followed them and brought me back to my childhood.

“Did
I ever tell you that my grandfather was the organist and choirmaster at St.
Matthew’s Lutheran Church in New Britain?”

“Really,
which grandfather?”

“My father’s father.
He’s the only grandparent I ever knew, and he died when I was eleven or
twelve.”

We
watched the congregants file out. Several walked directly across the street to
the diner, no doubt desperate for coffee. Most headed for their cars, intent on
getting home to put the final touches on the big Sunday dinner that was still a
tradition here.

“What
was he like, do you remember?”

I
thought back. “Not really. What I knew about him came mostly from my mom, and
to hear her tell it,
Grampa
was something of a
terror,” I chuckled. “I thought he was terrific, but that was mainly because he
gave each grandchild ten dollars every Christmas.”

“
Whooee
, ten whole dollars!”

“Hey,
that was a lot of money to a kid back then,” I reminded her. “Joey and
Justine’s little girl will be spoiled rotten, I imagine.”

“What
makes you think that?”

“Everything
is so different now, including families. Because of all the divorces and
remarriages and what have you, most kids have a whole herd of grandparents, and
Allison will be no exception. In addition to Justine’s parents, she’ll have
your dad and Sheila and Armando and me. Her biggest problem will be trying to
keep our names straight.”

“Well,
that works both ways.”

“How so?”

“All
those divorced parents who remarry have their new spouse’s kids to worry about
along with their own. When all those kids have children of their own, it must
get crazy.”

“The
new extended family in America,” I murmured, thinking about the generational
repercussions.

“I’ve
decided not to do it,” Emma blurted, and I knew immediately what she was
talking about. I was startled by the suddenness of her declaration but not
really surprised. I had known all along that, given the time and the
information to evaluate the reality of single motherhood, Emma’s infinite good
sense would prevail. Still, I knew how much she loved children and how tough
that decision must have been to make.

“It’s
just too risky,” she elaborated, obviously glad to have an opportunity to
explain her reasoning. “If everything went perfectly, I would wind up with a
healthy infant and lots of people to help me cope. It would be difficult and
exhausting, especially at first, but I know I could do it with the help of my
village,” she smiled.

“But?”
I prompted.

“But
as you’ve already pointed out, everything might not go perfectly. What if the
child arrived with a physical or mental handicap? When you bring a child into
this world, you have to be prepared to give it all the care and attention it
needs, and I just don’t think I have the resources to do it, emotionally or
financially,” she concluded.

I
weighed my next question carefully before asking it. “Does this mean you’re
giving up on finding Mr. Right?”

She
wrinkled her nose. “Whatever that means, and who are you to talk? Was Daddy Mr.
Right? Is Armando?”

I
nodded without hesitation. “Yes to both questions. Michael and I had a
wonderful twenty-two years together and two great kids. He was absolutely right
for me … well, for the first fifteen or twenty years anyway. But we matured and
changed and grew apart. People do. Thank goodness we had the sense to recognize
that and give each other the opportunity to be happy with someone else. We
wanted to wait until you and Joey were both out of high school, but it didn’t
work out that way.” I hugged her shoulders. “That was hard on you, and we’re
both sorry about it. It’s natural for kids to want their parents to stay
together, even if they’re unhappy.”

Emma
was quiet, remembering. “Neither of you was involved with someone else. That’s
what Joey and I couldn’t understand then, but I do now.”

“You
do?”

She
nodded slowly. “I used to think people only broke up so they could be with
someone else. Now I understand completely that for some people, being on your
own is better than being with anyone at all, at least for a while.”

I
chuckled.
“One bad boyfriend too many, huh?”

She
smiled in agreement. “It’s not just that. I’ve come to realize that I’m
perfectly content to be in my own company. I have lots of good friends of both
genders, and I could be out every night of the week, if I wanted to be.”

“I’m
sure of that.”

“I
love my friends, and I enjoy being with people. I just don’t need to be
one-half of a couple. I guess that’s one more way I take after my mom. You were
alone for a lot of years after the divorce, weren’t you? I don’t remember you
ever bringing a man home after Daddy moved into his own apartment.”

I
shook my head.
“Nope.
Didn’t need to and didn’t want
to until I met Armando several years later. Now he’s Mister Right for me
because I’m a different person. I think that’s what’s down the road a ways for
you, too.”

This
time she laughed outright. “Oh, don’t you worry, Momma. I’m not planning to
enter the convent just yet.”

“It
never even crossed my mind,” I assured her. “By the way, have you talked to
your brother lately?”

For
some reason, my innocuous question seemed to startle her. She got that
deer-in-the-headlights look on her face that I remembered so well from her
misspent youth.

“Not
lately, uh
uh
,” she answered too quickly. “Have you?”
She jumped up and tossed her empty cup into a handy trash can.

“I
was wondering how Justine’s feeling,” I said, puzzled. “At least the hot
weather is over, so she doesn’t have to deal with that in her final trimester.”

“Good
planning,” Emma agreed, “except it looks like poor Allison is going to be one
of those kids who gets Christmas and her birthday all lumped together because
they’re so close.”

By
tacit agreement we started back to our cars, which were parked at the Law Barn.

“Have
you decided what to do about the Sandy and Tommy situation?”

“Margo
and I are going to have a sit-down with the two of them, and then we’re going
to do the same with Ginny Preston. It’s time to put an end to all the rumors
and tittle-tattle flying around Vista View with a little open communication.”

“Are
you going to wear your vampire mask to these open communication meetings?” Emma
asked slyly,
then
ran for her life down the sidewalk
with her aging mother in hot pursuit.

~

As
we knew it would, the end-of-month craziness that is a realtor’s fate continued
to build to fever pitch on Monday. When
Strutter
stopped by the office at eight-thirty to pick up the Vista View sales
materials, the phone was already ringing.

“Thanks
for
doin
’ this, Sweetie. We owe you,” said Margo
before picking up the phone and assuming her professional persona, which was
somewhere between
Suze
Orman
and Paula Dean.

“Man,
she can turn that drawl on and off at will, can’t she?”
Strutter
observed.

“The
clients do seem to love it,” I agreed, “and we really do owe you big time for
doing Vista View duty today. We’ll get back to our usual rotation next week,
assuming Ginny doesn’t cancel our contract by then, but we really need a couple
of days to get squared away with Tommy Garcia and Sandy before we go back
there.”

“Not
a problem,”
Strutter
grinned as my cell phone rang
and Emma thundered down our stairs carrying a chin-high stack of file folders.
Her foot slid off the bottom step, and she sat down hard as the files spewed
all over the floor. “You ladies have a lovely day now.”
Strutter
stepped delicately around Emma and sashayed up the stairs, waggling her fingers
in farewell.

“I’m
sorry about your mover, truly I am, but it is absolutely not possible to change
the
closin
’ date,” Margo said into the phone between
clenched teeth. “All the documents have been prepared, and every single one of
them says October the twenty-fifth.” She was as close to losing her temper with
a client as I had ever seen.

Emma’s
jaw sagged open in disbelief. “That’s one of today’s packages,” she groaned,
looking frantic as she surveyed the spilled files at her feet. I moved to help
her pick them up, but she shooed me away. “Please don’t touch anything,” she
begged. “I know you want to help, but I have to do this myself.” She got down
on her hands and knees and began to sort through the wreckage. I backed off to
check the messages on my cell.