Yeah, sure. “So have I.” Now that was a lame response. “Mike, Theresa and Joe and Anthony and the boys and Keisha are all coming for dinner Sunday night—and Claire of course. I thought maybe if you were off you’d like to join us.”
Did he say yes or no? No, he said, “Let me get back to you tomorrow.”
My fear and dread turned into anger, and I wanted to slam the phone down, but I said, “Sure. Just give me a call.” I wondered if Anthony could grill hamburgers if it came to that.
I bet Keisha can.
Keisha, watching me, turned back to her computer without a comment for once, and I was grateful.
Of course I went home that night to stew about it. Was he so mad at me it was the end of the relationship? Had I ruined the one good thing I had going, besides the girls, of course? I groveled, “Please Lord let Mike forgive me.” I swore many times to watch my tongue, and I spent a sleepless night.
I stayed in the office most of the next day, though there were several things I could have been doing away from the phone, including a couple of walk-throughs, a Rotary lunch that I tried to attend for the sake of business contacts, and a newly settled client that I wanted to check on. But I stayed and waited for the phone to ring, which it did a lot—it was just never Mike. Keisha left me alone—her psychic ability must have told her this was not the time to joke or tease.
He called just before he went on afternoon duty to say, “Kelly, I’d like to come to supper Sunday. Sounds like fun.” His voice dropped, “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too, Mike.” I squelched the temptation to blather on about starting over or doing better or something; a guardian angel must have kept my tongue tucked in my mouth. “See you about six. Do you mind grilling hamburgers?”
“Not at all. But can I stop by tonight after my shift?”
I took a deep breath. “I’d like that.” After we hung up, I cautioned myself not to think everything was okay. I had some fence mending to do, and I knew it.
“I’m glad that worked, Kelly,” Keisha said. “He’s a good guy.”
Mike came by that night, late enough as usual that I had the house to myself—girls asleep, Claire gone to the guest house. I tried to greet him warmly but I was a little self-conscious and stiff. He came in, gave me a peck on the cheek, and asked for a beer. Things were back to normal—or almost.
“What’s new?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing on Mrs. Dodson’s case. No more reports of prowlers in Fairmount. I even think the scare about a serial killer is beginning to die down. Claire and the nephew are about the only suspects Conroy has, and he doesn’t have enough to go anywhere with either one. I think he’s given up the gang theory. The only other thing I know is it sure is hot.” He took a long drink on his beer, as though to emphasize the need for relief from the heat. “What’s new with you?”
“My mom’s moving down here, and Anthony’s fixing up that cottage for her.”
“You okay with that?”
I repeated that I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. “She’s going to be afraid, but guess what Keisha did?”
He muttered, “No telling with that woman,” but it was good natured.
“She’s gonna live with Mom, at least for a while until she feels secure. I think once we show her how safe her house is and once this scare is over, she’ll be fine.”
He laughed. “Kelly, I see hectic days ahead.”
“Well, you saw terrible things ahead with me getting involved in Mrs. Dodson’s murder, and that hasn’t happened. So maybe I don’t believe all your prognostications.” I said it jokingly.
“Fair enough.”
We talked more about the girls, the weather, how Claire was doing, all the trivia of my life, though I did ask about his research on the police department, and he said he was still at it, didn’t know where he was but…..
When I walked him to the door, Mike said, “I’m glad this furor has died down, and you’re safely out of it. Thank you.” And he kissed me so hard that I didn’t, couldn’t say that I wasn’t out of it until Mrs. Dodson’s murder was solved.
For the next couple of nights, Mike came by as usual. Sometimes we sat and said nothing, watched TV or DVD, and once I fell asleep and he shook me awake before he left. We were back on track. I hoped we’d stay there. But the question of our future lingered between us, unspoken for the time being.
The girls spent Sunday getting ready, high as kites about the dinner party. That alone made me glad I’d planned it. They set the table and got into a serious discussion about an appetizer—we ended with the standard sour cream and onion soup dip. Em insisted it wasn’t a party without balloons, and my arguments that it wasn’t a birthday and no, balloon stores weren’t open on Sunday, did nothing to stop her wails.
I set them to making faux confetti out of colored construction paper and told them to sprinkle it on their carefully-set table. I used bright plastic plates and paper napkins—after all it was a picnic. Em accepted nothing as a substitute for balloons.
Maggie made the dip, and I put it out with a huge wooden bowl full of potato chips. I had wine, beer, and soft drinks, hamburgers ready to grill and buns to toast on the grill, pickles, onions, sliced tomatoes, all the trimmings. And for dessert those small individual cups of ice cream. I was all set.
Theresa and Joe arrived first and, wonder of wonders, they carried a bouquet of balloons.
“Oh, Joe, I knew you’d bring them to me,” Em said, rushing forward.
“Why? It’s not your birthday is it?”
Em put her hand on her hip and said, “No, but it’s a special day because we’re having a party.”
Joe laughed and gave her the balloons, which I tied to a weight and put into a pitcher, so they would float over our heads and not interfere with conversation.
The girls clamored for Theresa to come to their rooms so they could show her everything from new clothes to new artwork. Laughing, she obliged, and the minute she was out of the room, Joe turned to me.
“Miss Kelly, can we talk outside?”
I was alarmed, but I tried not to show it as I followed him out the front door. Without waiting a minute, he said, “I got a problem. That detective, Buck Conroy, he asked where I was the night that old lady was killed, and I told him I was with Theresa. Theresa, she backed me up. But I wasn’t. I went out with some of the old guys—I’m trying to show them how good it is not to be a part of that life, and I go every once in a while for a few beers. Theresa goes sometimes too, but she wasn’t with us that night. I want them to see how we’re doing. But, Miss Kelly, I lied. And worse yet, she lied.”
I was stumped and just stared at him.
“I didn’t do it, and neither did those guys. I’m their alibi. But Conroy won’t believe that, especially now that I lied to him. I was scared, Miss Kelly. What Theresa and I have is so special, I don’t want to ruin it.”
All I could fall back on was the reliable preaching that it’s always better to tell the truth, but in this case, it seemed sort of lame. “Let me think,” I said. “I agree Buck Conroy won’t believe you. Have you got receipts from where you drank beer? Anybody there recognize you?” I thought a minute more. “Mrs. Dodson was killed early in the evening… maybe you were still at the apartment.”
He shook his head. “It was one of those places where you pay for each beer as you get it, no receipt. And I don’t know…the waitress must see a hundred guys a night. She’d have no reason to remember me.”
I decided that quipping he was better looking than a hundred other guys was not appropriate right now. “You’re going to have to tell the truth, but let me think about the right way to do it.”
“I been keeping my ear to the ground, asking those guys what they hear. There’s nothing on the street about who did the old lady. I think it was what they talked about in the paper, somebody who didn’t like her. Not to speak ill of the dead, but from what I hear she was a piece of work.”
Just then we saw Anthony’s battered truck coming down the street, and Joe hastily lit a cigarette. “I can tell him I came out here for a smoke,” he said.
“You need to quit,” I preached.
“When that old man gives up his cigars.”
Anthony never smoked a cigar or chewed the stub around me, and I’d almost forgotten that he used them. Besides, a part of me wanted to retort that he wasn’t that old. But I kept quiet and went in the house while Anthony parked their truck. He and Stefan and Emil came in, bearing a chocolate cake they’d bought at Tom Thumb. “We appreciate being included, Miss Kelly,” he said. “The boys and me, we don’t get out much.”
“Oh, Anthony, it wouldn’t be a party without you and the boys.” Then I greeted Stefan and Emil, asked about their schoolwork, what they were doing this summer, and so on. They gave wooden answers, obviously longing to go back where they heard their sister and my girls, so I shooed them on their way.
Mike and Claire both drifted in, introductions were made where necessary, I served drinks and put out the dip, and we were scattered all over the house when Keisha burst in with a loud, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
She wore tight-fitting jeans and a huge loose turquoise top, matching sandals, and carried a turquoise patterned bag. But the astounding thing was her hair. It was short and spiky, standing straight up on her head, with the spikes bleached an orange-yellow color.
I almost gasped and saved myself in time, but Mike outright asked, “Keisha, what did you do to your hair?”
“I got me a new do,” she said. “I got a friend who does hair in her apartment, and that’s why I’m late. She was doing this.” She preened a bit and pirouetted before us. “You like it?”
“Keisha,” Maggie demanded, “is that a wig and your real hair is underneath?”
“No, darlin’. This is it. The real thing.” She turned to me. “I think I need a beer. My debut unnerved me.”
“We’ll get used to it,” I said. “Just give us time.”
Everyone began to talk at once. They praised Maggie for her dip, I gave Mike the hamburgers, and the girls trooped outside with him, followed by Stefan, Emil, and Gus. Joe took a beer before he went out, and Theresa, with a tentative look at her father, grabbed a beer and scuttled out the door. Claire and I put out the hamburger fixings, bean salad, and the potato salad she’d brought from Central Market. I didn’t want to think about what ready-made but good potato salad for nine cost, but Claire waved off my protest.
“Anthony,” Keisha said in imperious tones, “you fix up that second bedroom real good for me. I aim to be comfortable. And I’m thinking I best come inspect what you’re doing to the kitchen, seeing as how I’ll be cooking in it.”
Anthony knew when he was being put on. “I got a real good second-hand stove, Miss Keisha. Electric, a bit old, you know those real wide rings on the burners, but it works, it’s just kind of slow to heat up and cool down. And the refrigerator was a real bargain. ’Course they don’t match, but I don’t think it matters as long as they work.”
“Listen, old man, I want the latest in everything!”
Anthony laughed. “I thought this house was for Miss Kelly’s mother.”
“It is, but I’m gonna be staying there. I like my comfort.” She patted her new “do.”
My heart sank for just a minute. I didn’t tell Mom that part of the story, and I still wasn’t sure how she was going to react, especially with Keisha’s new hairdo.
The outdoor gang tromped back inside, bringing hamburgers on a platter, and we were all seated at the table. Anthony is a devout churchgoer, so I asked him to say blessing, and all heads bowed as he said a simple grace, asking God to bless the food and those who partook of it. I made sure everyone had a drink, and we busied ourselves building hamburgers.
At first talk was all about school starting week after next, with all four children groaning. Stefan and Emil went to work with Anthony or, on Theresa’s rare days off, stayed home with her, and I could tell they were reluctant to go back to the routine of school. Anthony declared, “What is this starting school in August? Not even late August. In my day, we started after Labor Day.” Not sense trying to bring him into the present.
For my girls, there wasn’t a big difference between the schedule of day camp and that of school, except the things you do at school aren’t as much fun. Still, Maggie was excited about a new teacher and new challenges.
“I’m going to regular school,” Em said, and then her face crumpled. “I might not know anybody.”
“Yes, you will,” Maggie assured her, “and you’re so good at making friends, Em, that you’ll know the whole class by the second day.”
Em glowed at her sister’s praise, and I sent Maggie a smile of thanks.
