A Baby...Maybe? & How to Hunt a Husband (3 page)

Cecilia quickly turned sugary-sweet and beamed like a proud mother hen when she did the introductions. “This is Billy Atkins, darling. He has a very promising career in waste disposal.”

Cara smiled at the same time she grabbed her mother by the fleshy part of the arm, and said in a fierce whisper, “I can't believe you brought another man here to meet me. I can't believe I fell into this trap. Again.”

“Say hello to our guest.”

Cara bit down on her tongue and did what was expected of her. She said, “Hello.” Cara could never be accused of not being polite. She listened as her mother waxed poetic about Billy's wonderful disposition, which, Cecilia stated, she had personal knowledge of since he always left the trash cans upright on the curb and not thrown into the street.

Finally, after Cecilia had expounded all his wonderful attributes, they went into the kitchen and sat around the table. Her father, lucky man that he was, had long since disappeared with his paper, not to be seen again.

Cara could hardly keep her eyes open, and her
yawns were getting more and more difficult to hide behind her hand.

“Snap to, Cara.” Her mother pinched her knee under the table. “You can sleep late tomorrow. You'll be on vacation, remember?”

“Believe me, I remember.” This time she didn't bother to stifle the yawn. Nine whole days of more surprise fix-ups. Who could possibly forget? The knowledge of what her mother would probably try to do would have sent her into a deep depression, were she susceptible to depression, which she wasn't.

But what she was tired and hungry. “Are we going to eat, Mom?” she asked.

“Later, dear. We have plenty of time.”

Both her mother and Billy ignored her growling stomach and her mother certainly didn't offer to supply her only daughter with fortification. So while those two droned on like long-lost friends who had suddenly found one another, Cara lapsed into her favorite daydream.

She had started having this dream about five years ago after seeing her co-workers get married, become pregnant, have baby showers and then the babies. There had to be something about some people who reached a certain age, and the yearning to have a baby became overwhelming. Cara would shop for the baby gifts or see babies in strollers, or mothers sitting in the park holding infants in their arms, and the need to have her own baby would be so profound that it hurt. Ached. Deep inside her where a baby should be growing.

Problem was, her mother's offerings of husband material made Cara nauseous. The idea of bedding down with any of these men, even to have a child, was simply out of the question. And for her, marriage and children went together. She didn't see any other way. For some people, a baby out of wedlock was
fine. But it wouldn't work for her. She had to have it all. And right now, everything seemed so far out of reach.

Before her mother had made the bet with Brigit, Cara still had hopes of finding a perfect husband. Now with all of the Erie eligibles being paraded before her, her hopes dimmed to zero.

And if the sampling of the parents from her kindergarten class were an example, something must happen to couples between the time they got married and the time their children head off to kindergarten. It was as if they lost all power to their kids and stopped being a couple. True, she only had meetings with the parents whose kids were having problems. Still, she had never come across more men and women who took little or no responsibility for the wrongdoings of their five-year-olds.

Cara only wanted a baby to hold, and cuddle, and raise the right way, to be a good citizen, a credit to his or her country. She knew she could do it right. She certainly had plenty of examples of how
not
to do it.

But the men her mother was pushing off on her did nothing for her, and there was no way she'd contemplate having children with any of them. She wanted a husband who would be her partner in raising their kids, not just any old guy, which seemed to be her mother's criterion. There had been the grocery deliveryman, Harold Sutcher—shy, balding and definitely not her type. Then there was Boomerang Jones, the high-school football coach who, as part of his contract, had to teach math, only he didn't know how to add one and one much less multiply one times one. There had been the used-car salesman, the bus driver, the travel agent, the lawyer, the accountant. The list went on and on. It seemed every single day and every single night Cecilia found some poor guy who wasn't
married—or at least said he wasn't married, who really knew?—and searched Cara out wherever she was to do the introductions. The grocery store, the beauty shop, it didn't matter. One morning, she even brought a man to school, and in front of the whole kindergarten class gushed, “I'm sorry to bring Jack here to school, darling, but I knew you'd want to meet him, because I know he's your destiny.” He wasn't, nor were any of the others.

Last week, Cara had been so frustrated she had called her friends Kate and Tony Donetti and told them what Cecilia had been doing. They already knew, since Kate was Shannon's sister, and Shannon was apparently getting the same treatment from her mother, Brigit, as Cara was getting from Cecilia. They'd commiserated then offered her an open invitation to visit them in Texas.

When Billy looked over at her, smiled and belched and didn't even say, “Excuse me,” she knew she couldn't go on with this anymore. She had to get away or else she'd go positively nuts. She pushed herself away from the table that had no food on it yet, and said, “I have to go.”

“Go where?” her mother demanded, eyes wide in surprise at Cara's sudden burst of independence.

Before her mother could say a word of protest, Cara said, “I need to get home.”

“You can't be rude to our guest.”

Cara's blood pressure was soaring. She could feel her blood curdling and her face flushing with heat. Her mother didn't have the slightest idea how this parade of men was affecting her daughter. And Cara, the good girl, the child who never made waves, who never did anything to make anyone angry, had reached the boiling point. Maybe her rotten, biting, hitting kindergarten student had the right idea all along. Maybe he, too, was so frustrated by his parents
that he did what he did out of frustration. “He's not
my
guest, Mom. He's yours. They've all been yours. You have been using me like some pawn in your silly bet with Brigit, and I can't believe that you would subject me, your only daughter, your only child, to this. What kind of mother are you?”

“How dare you talk to me like that?” The look of hurt on her mother's face was almost enough to make Cara want to take it all back. But not quite.

“I dare because you won't stop bringing these losers to meet me.” She looked at Billy. “With the exception of you, of course. You're not a loser.”

He nodded and grinned because he believed her. She shook her head and sighed. He didn't get it.

“Everything I've done is for your own good. To help you find your happiness.”

“I
am
happy.” She was, too, except for the fact that she now knew she would die a shriveled, childless old maid. When the truth sank in, she might be miserable, but it hadn't sunk in yet.

“Oh, my God!” Cecilia crossed herself and spit in her hand. “Don't say such things. You're miserable and you know it.”

“Mother, please, look at me. Do I look miserable to you.”

“Yes, you do.” Cecilia reached up and brushed stray strands of hair from Cara's face. “Of course, if you would only comb your hair, and wash that paint from your hands, and keep your clothes clean—why don't you wear aprons at school when you play with those children?—then maybe someone as wonderful as Billy here would fall in love with you. And you could get married, say, next week,” she suggested hopefully.

“Mother!”

“It's really all your fault, you know. It's not as if
I haven't brought you a wonderful selection to choose from.”

“Okay, I've had enough. Bye, Billy. Bye, Mom.”

She headed toward the door with her mother trailing on her heels and shouting behind her, “Be back here tomorrow at noon. There's someone I want you to meet, and I've made lunch reservations.”

Cara didn't even break her stride getting out of that house. When she arrived at her apartment, she called Tony and Kate. She needed their help. “Can I take you up on your invitation? I know this is short notice…in fact, it's extremely short notice. And I know tomorrow is Saturday and you may have plans for the weekend, and I know—”

“Nonsense, you don't know anything.” Kate laughed. “We'd love to have you, Cara, and the sooner you get here, the better it'll be. This is a perfect place for you to have a retreat,” she exclaimed. “I can't wait to see you again.”

“We won't tell a soul where you are.” Tony was on the extension phone. “In other words, Cecilia will never know.”

“And neither will Brigit,” Kate added.

“Thank you.” Cara let out a sigh of relief. “I may actually have a peaceful vacation.”

“You'll have a great time. This is a perfect place to hide,” Tony said.

“Maybe not.” Suddenly all the doubts stated bombarding her. “Your house is the first place my mother will look for me.” Cecilia would be relentless in her search. Cara knew her mom.

“Tell you what. Instead of staying here in Houston, you'll go to Pegleg. That's a great place to hide. It's a small town right outside of Houston, there's a great bed-and-breakfast owned by a friend of ours. She'll make sure you have all the privacy you need,” Tony
said. “It's only a few miles from the house and my restaurant.”

“You'll love Mandelay,” Kate promised. “No one will find you until you decide you want to be found.”

After Cara said her goodbyes to Kate and Tony, she called the airline and booked herself on the first flight to Houston the next morning. Nothing was going to stop Cara from getting away from her mother and her marriage-minded meddling.

Cara opened the closet door and stared at the clothes hanging there. What did she have that was appropriate for a vacation in Texas?

There were the calf-length dirndl skirts, wide and loose enough for getting down on the floor to play with the kids. A variety of buttoned-down shirts, high at the neck and modest to the point of being virginal. She had plenty of clothes all right. A closet brimming with modest skirts, slacks, shirts and sweaters—the clothes of a quiet, conservative schoolmarm. Was that the look she wanted for this vacation, or was that actually the look she was escaping? Suddenly afraid to make such a momentous decision, she turned on the weather station and monitored the Houston-area weather—sunny, with the chance of rain, high in the low eighties and humid. The eighties. In March, no less. Wonders never cease.

Hot enough to go naked.
Even though she was all alone in her apartment, Cara blushed. Where had that idea come from? Her naked? Well, why not? She was on vacation. She didn't have her mother watching over her, dictating her every move. She not only could sleep naked, she could walk around the room naked. She could answer the doorbell naked. Okay, maybe that was going too far, but still, naked was freedom.

She laid her khakis carefully over the back of the chair along with a powder-blue short-sleeve sweater.

She opened her travel bag and packed three more
short-sleeved sweaters, and then she reached slowly into the closet for her one tank top, the one she always wore with a shirt over it. No more. At least no more for the next week. Underpants, bras, socks and a belt followed. She was about to throw in her favorite brushed-cotton nightie with the sweet-pea flowers, long Shakespearean sleeves and a high neck trimmed with a heavy lace that practically covered her hands and made sure no cold air got anywhere close to her neck. But something stopped her. She held the gown for barely a second before putting it back in the drawer. This was her breakout trip, and she wasn't going to miss the opportunity to sleep naked by bringing a nightgown.

She totally threw caution to the wind when she climbed up the stepladder to get her strappy white sandals, the ones with the two-inch heels she had bought on sale two summers ago and had never worn. She carefully wrapped each shoe in a plastic grocery sack. She was going to be daring and bold, she promised herself. Wearing white sandals when it was weeks and weeks before Memorial Day would be almost as daring as sleeping naked. She wondered if she should sleep naked with the sandals on, and giggled. That wouldn't be such a bad idea. She could answer the doorbell with nothing on but those white sandals.

Except with her luck, it would be someone like Billy the waste disposal man on the other side of the door. That thought was depressing, until Cara remembered peepholes, and knew she didn't have to open the door to any Billys.

She tucked her toiletries—safely packed in plastic zippered sandwich bags—into all remaining crevices. Cara glanced around the bedroom, making sure she wasn't forgetting anything. Coco Mademoiselle. Still in the box, unopened, the clear plastic wrap a testa
ment to its forlorn status on the dresser. She had tried on the perfume in the department store and loved it. Had bought it on a whim, like the sandals. Hadn't worn it, either.

She unwrapped the package and sprayed the perfume on her neck and wrists, inhaling deeply. Good. Just as she remembered. Into the bag it went. Then she took it out again and sprayed everything she had packed in the bag with Coco Mademoiselle.

She thought she had everything ready to go until she glanced at the top of her dresser. Then again, maybe not.

She called it a jewelry box, but it was more like a chest than a box. Made of solid, heavy oak, it had come to her through her grandmother Romano and all the generations of Romano women before her. Over a hundred years ago, her great-great-grandparents had brought it to America, filled with silver and copper coins, nothing that would seem of real value. Nothing worth stealing.