Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) (16 page)

             
“Yeah, right. Progress. Isn’t that what you called it?” I flipped my hair in some carefree teenage posture. “Accepting a ride? Progress?”

             
“After what you just told me? Hell, yeah. Sometimes the smallest steps take the most courage. Remember that night in the G & O when you said you weren’t Wonder Woman? I got news for you, Lucie. Wonder Woman’s got
nothing
on you.”

             
I waved off his praise. “Puh-leez.”

             
“It’s true. Ever since I found out you married Rob, I thought, ‘If I show her I can be her superhero, she’ll realize I’m the man for her.’ But now I realize, you don’t need a superhero. Hell, you
are
a superhero. What you need is the guy who keeps you grounded and reminds you to take your vitamins. I wanna be
that
guy.”

             
Maybe my emotions were still in freefall, but that speech not only got a smile out of me. I cracked up. Really. Doubled over, couldn’t catch my breath, tears in my eyes, uproarious laughter. The type of laughter my life had lacked for ten years.

             
“Does that mean you’ll consider me for the job?” he asked.

             
“If there’s ever an opening, you’ll be the first one I call.”

             
Awareness struck me like a thunderbolt. What was I waiting for?

             
I was the world’s biggest coward, and I hated myself. I thought I’d conquered my irrational fear of giving up control. But all I’d really done was eliminate any kind of social situation that would force me to face that surrender. Oh, sure, I told myself—and anyone who asked—that my restaurant work, college classes, and daughter’s needs took up so much time and energy, I had nothing left for friends or romance.

             
In truth, that sarcophagus I’d encased myself in had stifled me for years. And for what? What was I saving myself for? Or from? From life? A second chance at love?

             
My heart thudded. Panic froze me to the floor. But I had to do this. Colin had just reached out to me. I needed to grab this chance. “Ask me again.”

             
“Ask what again?” Understanding registered on his features. “Oh, right. Got it. ‘Is that a deal?’”

             
I slapped a palm on the molding in the doorway, clinging until my knuckles turned white. “No, not that question. The other one.”

             
He quirked a brow. “What other one?”

             
Oh, for crying out loud! I almost wailed aloud until I caught the tug at the corner of his lips. Was he testing me? And could I risk the pain, the heartache, the loss of control? “Would you...?”

             
The words caught behind my tongue, and I looked up at him, hoping he’d see my struggles and put me out of my misery. But he didn’t.

             
His eyes shone with encouragement, and he offered a simple nod—a mute reminder that I could do this. That one gesture, so generous of spirit, obliterated my tomb. I was braver than I thought. I’d survived an attack that might have killed me and received a second chance. I was not about to waste that second chance. I would grab it with both hands and milk it dry. One step. I only needed to take one small step. Did I have the courage? I took a deep breath and dove in.

             
“Colin? Would you hold me? Please?”

             
He didn’t answer. At least, not with words. His arms enfolded me, lending me strength, not weakness. I felt...
cherished
. Why hadn’t I realized before that the right man doesn’t overpower or belittle a woman? He cherishes her.

             
I had come home, full circle. To the one man I loved. Would always love. Love was a risk, a dare, a challenge that had to be overcome. Because, in the end, love was the greatest gift one person could offer another. It wasn’t to be taken lightly or abused. Love was meant to be cherished.

             
I wouldn’t tell him, though. I’d laid my feelings at his feet once before with disastrous results. This time, I’d rebuild my broken heart, piece by piece, day by day.

             
If he stuck around, great. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t shatter.

Ariana

              “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

             
Mom looked up from her homework, her face pale and eyes wide with surprise. “Why would you ask me that?”
              I waved my notebook at her. “Interview, remember?” I’d started carrying around a notebook and pen to make my “assignment” look real. “So? Do you?”

             
“I’m not sure.”
              Really? Okay. That was good. That meant she was thinking about it. A few months ago, she would’ve laughed and said, “No way, no how.”

             
I didn’t remember much about Dad. He was away for work all the time when I was a baby, and he died around the time I turned five. I do remember the police coming to the door and telling Mom he’d been killed in an accident and how she fell to the floor, crying like a crazy lady. I remember how much that scared me. I’d never seen her like that before.

             
No one ever talked about my dad. I once asked if I could see a picture of him, and Grandpa gave me one from when he was a kid—wearing a baseball uniform. Grandpa said that was the way he wanted to remember Daddy. I guess everyone loved him so much they couldn’t bear to even think about him when he was gone forever. So if Mom would say, “I’m not sure” to the “m” word? That must mean she was starting to think about it with someone. And the only man she’d hung around with lately was Chef Colin.

             
I hadn’t seen him since Grandpa’s going away party, weeks ago. By the time I got home from the afterschool program with Grandma, Mom and Chef Colin were already at the restaurant. I did notice Mom smiled a lot more these days. She still worked too hard, though. And except for work, she didn’t see Chef Colin. Like, they didn’t date or anything. I know in the movies, the prince and princess usually fall in love after a dance or a magic carpet ride, but so far, the dance at the party hadn’t done the trick, and I didn’t have a magic carpet.

             
I waited, hoping love would happen on its own.

             
But it didn’t.

             
One night, I sat down with my box of movies, thought about all my favorites, and wondered how they might help Mom and Chef Colin fall in love. Cinderella won her prince when she lost her shoe. Not good enough. Sleeping Beauty was asleep while her prince fought a dragon for her! Mom would never sleep like that. Ariel got her voice back, but Mom had never lost hers. Jasmine helped Aladdin trick the bad guy. Mom and Chef Colin weren’t fighting a bad guy. Belle and the Beast both had to admit they loved each other in order to break the spell the enchantress had cast.

             
Hmm...

             
No enchantress had cast a spell, but maybe, if both of them would just say the words, “I love you,” they might realize they belong together and then we could all live happily ever after.

             
I just wish I knew how I could make them say the words.

Chapter 12
             

Ariana

             
The Friday before Mother’s Day, I was in class, working on my haiku for Mom. Each of us had to create our own personal 5-7-5 syllable poem on our class computers. Once we wrote our poems, we could choose and decorate a special background paper, and our teacher would then print them out and have them laminated so we could give them to our moms on Sunday. I was really proud of mine. I had found a purple background—purple is the color of royalty—and drew golden crowns and glittering pink jewels on the border. My haiku read:

Beautiful Mommy

Loving, Giving, Wonderful

Greatest in the World

              Our teacher, Mrs. Hirsch, had just finished laminating mine when Ben Cahill, who sits at the desk next to me, read over my shoulder.

             
“Greatest in the world,” he sneered.

             
Did I mention I hate Ben Cahill? I know that’s not nice, but Ben’s a bully. He’s not happy unless he’s making somebody cry. I guessed this particular day, he targeted me.

             
“Your mom’s not the greatest in the world,” he said.

             
I held my project against my chest to keep it out of his sight. “She is to me,” I retorted. “And she was to my dad.”

             
“Your dad didn’t love her
or
you,” Ben said in that same nasty tone. “That’s why he tried to kill you.”

             
“He did not!” Ben was a brat. What a horrible thing to say!
              “Did, too. My mom said he was in jail for years before he died.”

             
“You’re a liar, Ben. My dad was away, working, in another country. My mom and grandma and grandpa all told me.”

             
He screwed up his face like an evil clown. “They only told you that because they don’t want you to know the truth. They didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

             
Mrs. Hirsch stepped between us before I could punch him. “That’s enough, Benjamin. Both of you, take your seats.”

             
That’s enough? Why didn’t she tell him to stop making up stories about my mom and dad? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true! Daddy had loved us. I remember how Mommy had cried the night the police came to the house. If Daddy was a bad man—in jail—Mom wouldn’t have done that.

             
All through math and spelling, I kept thinking about what Ben had said. It couldn’t be true. Why would Mom and Grandma lie? Ben was just a mean boy who wanted to make me cry. It couldn’t be true.

             
At recess, Ben and two of his bully friends, Scott and Bobby, circled around me, calling me “Jail baby,” and throwing rocks. Again, Mrs. Hirsch sent them away, but never said anything to make them stop saying the mean things about my mom and dad and me. Tears stung my eyes, and I was bleeding from a rock that hit my ankle, so I walked closer to the fence at the other end of the building to be alone. I didn’t want Ben or anyone else to see he’d made me cry.

             
From this corner of the school, I could see the back parking lot of the Gull and Oar. All of a sudden, I didn’t want to be in school anymore. I wanted to be in the G & O’s kitchen, away from boys like Ben, away from Mrs. Hirsch. I didn’t want to take my history test this afternoon. I didn’t want to go to the afterschool program where the room smelled like feet and Ben would keep telling his mean stories about me and my family. And I definitely didn’t want to talk to Mommy or Grandma until I knew who was telling the truth.

             
Keeping an eye on Mrs. Hirsch and the rest of my class on the playground, I crept toward a certain section of the fence where I knew someone had cut the chain link. The cut space wasn’t wide, and the metal scratched my arms when I squeezed through, but I kept quiet and stayed really low. No one even noticed I wasn’t on the playground. I ran to the edge of the Hercules’ Club trees, careful to avoid the thorns. Mrs. Hirsch had her back to me now as she refereed a soccer game in the field beyond the swings. I made it to the corner, turned around to make sure no one noticed me, and raced across the street into the restaurant parking lot.

             
There was a blue and white striped awning attached to one side of the building where the guys who parked the cars hung out to be safe from the weather. Since the restaurant wouldn’t open to customers for another three hours, no one was there. Except me. I would wait here until Chef Colin showed up to open the kitchen for tonight’s dinner service. Maybe he knew if I was really a “jail baby.”

Lucinda

             
I’d just stepped out of the shower when the phone in my bedroom rang. Wrapping a towel around my still wet frame, I strode out of the bathroom. “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m coming.”

             
I took my time because I was pretty sure it would turn out to be a salesman or wrong number on the other end of that incessant ringing. I grabbed the receiver off the cradle and wedged it between my shoulder and my ear. “Hello?”

             
“Ms. Soto?”
              Here we go. I was right. Somebody trying to sell me something. Blowing out an exasperated breath, I replied, “Yes?”

             
“This is Mrs. Warren at Snug Harbor Elementary. I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.”