Cocoon (14 page)

• • •

The next Saturday morning came quickly. Too quickly, Zoe decided when she went to pick up her mother. Fortunately, Peyton went along to help. He was excited. Zoe felt terrible that she did not look forward to this exclusive time with her mother.

But then – her mother wasn't exactly the kind of guest one celebrated these days. Zoe rolled her eyes at
that
thought, feeling truly despicable.

Seana already had her little overnight bag packed. Zoe's brow furrowed when she examined its contents. That blasted striped shirt lay right on top, like blinking yellow and green neon, and underneath it were the near tattered stretchy black slacks. All clean, thanks to Barth. Her regard for Barth was rising by the moment.

Only reason her mother wasn't wearing the overnighter contents was because she was still in pajamas. Loose, stretchy ones at that. Seana could not abide anything that fit, to Zoe's consternation. She knew that – with Peyton having to help out at the dance studio that night – she would have to take her mother to Happy Feet Dance Studio with her for the Saturday night party. She simply had to find her something decent to wear.

“Just a minute, Mom,” she said as Seana headed back to the sofa. “I'll be right with you.”

She backtracked to the bedroom and scrounged in the closet and dresser drawers until she found a red knit outfit that had seen better days. It had fit Seana beautifully in former days. Maybe, she eyed it skeptically, just maybe it would magically fit and transform her mother into a presentable human being for one night. She hated seeing her mother dressed so – shabbily. Did she dare to hope?

Sure she could. She shoved the items into the bag and headed for the den, where she had to coax Seana from the sofa again. “I don't want to go,” her mother insisted.

“Sorry about that. But I must insist.” Zoe began to tug her to her feet and into the mules she wore around the house.

“Come on, Nana,” Peyton coaxed gently, sliding his long arm around her frail shoulders, and somehow she seemed to hear something in his voice that lulled her momentarily, at least until they accomplished seating her in the car's back seat.

Brow wrinkled, Barth stood in the doorway, watching them leave. He waved and blew Seana kisses as they drove off.

Seana ignored his wave and blown kisses.

Zoe felt an unexpected stab of pity for him.

In the rearview mirror, she spotted Barth watching them until they were out of sight.

• • •

“But Mom, I thought you loved pimento cheese sandwiches.” Zoe felt like pulling her hair out by its roots and it was only eleven o'clock a.m. She'd gotten through settling her onto a new sofa. The new surroundings raised Seana's wariness. Zoe'd had to buy a danged wall clock for her mom to watch. Oh, Barth and Billie Jean had educated her all week long.

Now, she was thankful.

“That's not my pimento cheese,” Seana grumped and tightly folded her arms across her bony chest. She had eventually dug in to Zoe's sofa and now only sat up in anticipation of her lunch.

A lunch she now refused.

“Then why didn't we bring yours?” Zoe asked, exasperated.

Seana didn't respond. Instead she absently watched the ball game on the television screen.

“I know what's wrong, Mom,” Peyton said from a nearby overstuffed easy chair, where he hooked an ankle over his knee and watched the action. “Joanie makes her this huge bowl of pimento cheese every week. That's what she eats all the time. Not this store-bought kind.”

“Huh.” Zoe slid into a matching chair and took a long, ragged breath, already weary with the tug of war. Just then the doorbell pealed. She rushed to the door, thankful for a moment's reprieve from the dismal drama that was now hers.

Barth stood on her porch, a pained, apologetic look on his face.

“Hi.” Barth gave her a lopsided grin. “I forgot to give you this. Sorry, Zoe, with so much to remember to send, I simply overlooked it.”

He held out the big Tupperware container of pimento cheese.

“Thank the good Lord,” she breathed passionately, seizing the bowl. “You are the hero of the day.”

His dimples flashed as he turned to go. “I figured as much.”

• • •

That evening, Zoe haggled her way through forcing her mother to dress in the red knit two piece outfit. She'd even thought to throw in a red pair of Seana's dozens of sharp casual shoes. The low-heeled shoes fit, though by her mother's pained reaction, you'd have thought Zoe was performing Chinese torture just sliding them on.

The red skirt and sweater, ah, that was another adventure entirely. By the time Zoe had struggled to pull them on her, Seana was squirming like a worm in a red, hot BBQ pit. “Too tight,” she groaned, pulling with all her might at the stretchy material.

“Mom!” Zoe shrieked. “It's hanging on you like a tent! Stop. Stop stretching it. You're gonna ruin it for sure.”

Which did nothing to ease Seana's hysteria. Zoe realized that the phobia was real. She watched helplessly as her mother fell more and more victim to despair and agony while experiencing the “fitted” garments.

When her mother nearly collapsed with fatigue from resisting and wrestling the clothing, Zoe peered at Peyton, who appeared just as traumatized as she felt. “Mom?”

Zoe recognized his appeal for mercy. For his Nana. Zoe caved. “Okay, Mom. C'mon.” She led her to the bedroom and disrobed her. The only other outfit was the dreaded yellow- and green-striped shirt. It would have to do.

Seana calmed as Zoe helped tug on the familiar garments. Zoe had, on impulse, brought along her mom's regular black slippers that she wore when she went out to eat. “Okay, Mama,” she said softly, picking the disheveled hair out and placing it carefully into a semblance of order. “You look fine.”

“Doesn't she?” Zoe asked Peyton as they came through the den to collect coats and scarves. At his questioning look, she repeated. “Mom looks fine, doesn't she?” Lordy but she needed a little emotional reinforcement at that precise moment.

Peyton looked his Nana over from head to toe, then grinned. Zoe noticed it was genuine and warm. “Yeh, Nana. You look beautiful.”

And suddenly, Zoe saw her mother as Peyton saw her. She
was
beautiful. Not classically like she once was. But, by cracky, she was lovely. Suddenly, Zoe wasn't embarrassed by the tacky clothes. The woman in them was her
mother
.

And she was proud of that fact.

• • •

Zoe was surprised to see Barth already at Happy Feet Dance Studio, sitting outside in his car when they arrived. “What're you doing here?” she asked curiously as she unlocked the entrance door and turned on the lights. “I thought you'd be chilling out when you had a chance.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Barth shrugged, hands shoved in his slacks's pockets. “Just lonesome, I guess. Miss my girl.” His eyes rested on Seana, and Zoe could see unmistakable adoration behind those darned lenses. Why didn't he get contacts?

Other dance folks began filtering in within minutes, and Peyton manned the stereo system, cranking up a lively icebreaker tune, a California Hustle rhythm that got the activity in full swing.

Barth sat with Seana, whose crossed arms and fierce frown kept most faint hearted at bay. Chelsea, decked out in some of her more glitzy Glad Rags finery for this occasion, approached. “Hi, Seana,” she said, not expecting any response. “Wish you'd try a little harder to be friendly.” She shrugged and sighed her disappointment. “I sure do miss your beautiful smile.”

“Me, too,” Barth murmured, smiling sadly at Chelsea.

“Hey, good looking, how about dancing this one with me? It's a bit more sedate.”

Barth looked uncertainly at Seana, who ignored the two of them with a vengeance. “I don't know –”

“Oh, she should be okay for three minutes, don't you think?” She, too, looked uncertain by now.

“Go on, you two.” Billie Jean appeared, dressed up for once in a navy-blue, classy jumpsuit, with curls piled stylishly atop her head. And Zoe noted her thinness. Not gaunt. Just fashionably slender.

When Barth hesitated, Billie Jean insisted. “I'll sit with Seana. Go on, Barth, you always enjoyed the line dancing.”

So Barth and Chelsea joined in the Electric Slide line dance already in progress on the expansive floor. Zoe watched them surreptitiously as she moved through the four wall line dance, set to Marcia Griffith's song,
Electric Boogie.
The steps, created by the famous choreographer, Ric Silver, could be done to any 4/4 song, but this particular Griffith version was one of the group's favorites.

Peyton danced to Zoe's right, as boneless and smooth as an eel in water. To his right was Scott Burns, every bit as graceful as Peyton, truth be known, in his cream slacks and black silk shirt. She'd not known until now that sports could shape a man into a buffed Fred Astaire. The man had even invested in some black dance slippers. She rolled her eyes in the opposite direction and blew away the rush of warmth she was beginning to feel when he was nearby.

Yeh. She could feel the vibes.

Darn it all.

Zoe had enough problems without adding relationship woes to them. She'd been there, done that. She dropped out on the lengthy number, ready to fly away to safer territory. She looked for her mother in the place she'd left her.

The chair was empty.

And Barth was still line dancing up a storm with Chelsea, laughing and not only keeping up but nailing each brush, clap, and pivot. She began searching the entire room, each nook and cranny. No Mom.

Then she spotted Billie Jean standing at the far office door, grinning and dancing in place, watching the entertainment that comes from synchronized teamwork in line dancing. She rushed over.

“Have you seen Mom?” Zoe struggled to reign in her fears.

“Sure.” Billie Jean jerked her head back toward the inner office. “She's in there.”

Zoe brushed past her and into her private quarters. There on her sofa lay Seana, curled into a tight ball, watching a wall clock. Zoe silently clicked off a few choice phrases between clenched teeth. “Mom, couldn't you spend just one hour doing something – alive?”

“I don't want to go in there,” was the recalcitrant reply. “I'm tired.”

“Mama, you
stay
tired if lying on a sofa is any indication. Please … get up and come back to the party. You used to not only enjoy watching, you enjoyed kicking up your heels, too. Never a better line dancer than you and …” Her voice choked off as she watched the dull eyes stare unseeing at her. They looked right through her.

Heaven help her but she missed her mother. The loss struck her like a sharp spear.

Then, the fizzle went out of her. Poof. Defeat smacked her broadside.

For this round.

“Okay. I'll turn on this TV.”

“The ball game.”

“Yeh, I know. There, the Braves.” She sighed and brushed her hands together. “Just lie here and I'll come get you when the party's over. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Want me to help guard her?” Billie Jean asked when Zoe passed her on her way back to the dance area.

“Sure. Thanks.” Zoe stopped and gave her a hug, feeling a deep affection for her selfless cousin. Funny. She slowly shook her raven head of rhinestone-tethered hair. She'd been oozing sentimental feelings lately that she'd not felt in many, many years. Not since she was a child, actually.

When her dad was alive and the family was all together, safe … secure.

Zoe passed the proficient dancers whose exuberance smote her in some profound way that highlighted her loneliness. Loneliness? Her? Zoe, who could out-party, out-dance, out-BS the world?

Loneliness? Crap!

She was astounded when tears began to burn behind her eyes and grief pushed up … up. Next thing she knew her cheeks felt wet, even as she forced her lips into a tight smile. She reached the stereo cabinet area and snatched a Kleenex to dab away the dampness.

“What's wrong, Zoe?”

She looked up into Scott Burns's face and saw such concern that the tears began to flow more freely. “Nothing. Just hay fever.”

“In February?” The words were soft. Non-judgmental. And they were her undoing.

“Let's step outside,” she muttered and snatched her cape on the way out. “I'm sorry.” She snuffled and shrugged. “Just a lot going on, you know?”

“Yeh.” His gaze seemed to x-ray and see into her very soul, which only made the tears reappear.

Zoe tried in vain to stem the flow with the shredding Kleenex. Scott whipped out a clean, starched handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “Here.”

“I – I'm so embarrassed. Blubbering like an idiot.” She blew her nose and looked balefully at Scott. “I'll take this and launder it for you. That was crappy.”

He chuckled. “Not at all. But you can take it with you so I'll have an excuse to come by and pick it up.”

Zoe cut her teary eyes at him in comic reprimand. “I didn't take you for a manipulator.”

“Oh.” His finger gently brushed a tear from her cheek and then began to trace her bottom lip. “I might surprise you.”

Zoe felt his gentle touch all the way out her fingers and toes. She narrowed her gaze on his strong, even features and focused on eyes the color of metallic silver, almost blue but not quite. More a gray. They were steady, direct, and consuming beneath his butch-cropped brown hair.

Zoe dragged in a deep, ragged breath and looked away, willing her skittering pulse to settle down. “I'm feeling better,” she said briskly. “I'd better go check on Mom and then get the next line dance started.”

He nodded slowly. Confidence shone like a halo around him, creeping her out.

Lordy.

Zoe, 'ol girl, get yourself out of this
.

Survival kicked in.