Every Other Saturday (6 page)

Adam had called for Brandon during dinner. Despite her best efforts, Julia had not been able to resist eavesdropping.

“But, Dad, everyone is going. All the dads.” Brandon’s voice had shook. Julia knew they were talking about the Rome Braves’ minor league game this weekend with Brandon’s old baseball team. She knew Adam was once again bailing. Her fists curled into little balls at her sides, and she had to look away to keep Brandon from seeing the rage on her face.

Technically, it wasn’t Adam’s weekend. And sure, she could take Brandon to the game with his buddies—she’d just have to purchase an extra ticket for Mia and hope the seating worked out—but still. A kid needed time alone with his father, and those times were so rare for Adam and Brandon.

When her son handed her the phone, she had refrained from asking Adam what had “come up last minute,” because she was afraid she knew, and afraid it had something to do with his mistress-turned-girlfriend, Christy. And if Julia knew that for sure, there was a very good possibility she would get in her minivan and drive down to Buckhead to slam the little twat’s head beneath the toilet seat. And sit on it for good measure.

Instead, she had simply taken the phone and listened to Adam’s ridiculous fumbling around. “Something came up. I’ll email over the tickets so you can print them out. It shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s only minor league.”

She hated herself a little for not confronting him about the game, but opted instead for the issue that always seemed to be on the table between them. “You also haven’t sent the check for this month.”

“I mailed it Thursday.”

“You mailed it Thursday. From Buckhead. Six days ago.”

“It could have been late afternoon Thursday, but yeah. Did you check the box today?”

“I checked the box, Adam.”

“Check again tomorrow and if it’s not there, let me know.”

“This isn’t okay, Adam. Brandon has therapy and the cards are maxed out. I’m not taking my full salary from the store; there’s just not enough money.”

“Can we just talk one more time about you selling the damn store? I know you’re sentimental about it, but—”

“
No
.” Both kids glanced up from their dinners, so she lowered her voice and retreated into the kitchen. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Just pay me on time, okay? Please?”

“I will do my best. I always do my best. Then again, we both know that will never be enough for you.”

Before she could respond, the line clicked, and Adam’s grinning, bald head was on her screen with “Call Ended” underneath it. She went back to her double Cheesy Burger and fries.

Now that the kids were upstairs, Julia found it hard to sit, even with a glass of wine and the stacks of paper requiring her attention on the scarred oak table. There were piles of unpaid invoices from the store, and the small but significant pile of accounts payable: longtime customers to whom the store had always extended credit. And the lavender schedule Caroline had given her, which represented both additional worry and some amount of hope.

Like Brandon, she paced, even as she could hear his steps slow and eventually stop. Soon she heard the faint click of his light switch and the super-speed run he always did to launch himself into bed. It was both relief and sadness that both kids were safely asleep and the house was quiet.

Conversations with Adam left her feeling furious and impotent. He wasn’t a deadbeat dad; not exactly. It just seemed that—even though his entire career was dedicated to handling money and making payments exactly at their due dates—he always managed to be late with the check that helped her take care of his children.

Julia knew that Adam operated under the certainty that there would never be consequences. She was pissed off, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to take him to court for being fifteen or twenty days late with child support. After the animosity of her own parents’ split, Julia would do anything to avoid putting Brandon and Mia through that. Lots of moms had it so much worse. Her father had always said, “Some battles aren’t worth scuffing your armor.”

Still, the economic carnage of this battle stared up at her from the kitchen table. Between Brandon’s therapy and the seemingly endless stream of birthday parties and special events for both kids’ schools—requiring time, money, supplies, or all three—Julia was constantly on the verge of drowning in it all. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was now the purveyor of many of these obligations at Mia’s preschool, which made her feel both better and worse. Sometimes she rationalized that giving her time meant it was okay to give less financially. Other times, she felt awful standing up in front of the preschool, trying to pressure other parents to do what she herself struggled to manage. And the expenses were only going to go up as the kids grew, especially if Brandon could make enough progress in therapy to get back out on the baseball field in the spring.

It was either sell the store or get a second job. If they sold the store, Julia was officially defeated. She’d have an art degree with no prospects, and no recent experience doing anything but raising kids and running a failing business. And the last bit of her father’s legacy would be gone forever. If she worked for Caroline for a few months…

Her phone’s email notification lit up, and Julia thumbed at it. From Dr. Vega, the preschool director: a bold, red safety reminder that ALL parents must stay with their OWN cars during car pool and wait for children to be brought out. No exceptions.

Awesome.

“Ugh!” Julia let her head fall to the table. She sat like that for a while, inhaling the scent of the wood and the faint remnants of maple syrup from Brandon’s morning pancakes. She would do this. She had to. She would drink the wine, put on her big girl panties, and call a few of the overdue customers. Then she would scour the fall schedule again, and make a list of every potential sitter besides Ms. Elizabeth. There
was
a solution and she
would
find it. If not, tomorrow she would start over. She had no choice.

When he saw the unknown number pop up on his phone Thursday morning, Dave almost let it go to voicemail. After hearing the voice on the other end, he wished he had.

“David? I mean, Dave. Sorry. It’s Julia Mendel.”

Damn. It was too late to pretend she had the wrong number, right? Dave sighed. “Hi, Julia. What’s up?”

“First, I just want to apologize for my behavior in the car pool line yesterday. It was inappropriate for me to be angry with you, and…well, apparently I violated car pool safety as well.”

There was an odd, nervous lilt in her voice. Dear G-d, was Julia Mendel actually making a joke about preschool safety rules? What was going on? “Yeah, I saw the email from the school,” he said cautiously.

“Anyway, I apologize.”

“Think nothing of it. If I got my feelings hurt every time a woman yelled at me, I’d be unemployed. And maybe extra divorced.”

Julia forced a laugh.
She wants something,
Dave realized.
She’s hoping I’ll change my mind about the stupid babysitter.

Elizabeth was Lyric’s favorite teacher and had babysat for both him and Debbie on several occasions. She was never late. She knew Lyric’s favorite foods, lullabies, and bedtime schedule, and always brought some little craft project when she came. After Lyric went to sleep, Elizabeth even did the dishes and folded the laundry.

Elizabeth was Dave’s favorite of the preschool teachers, too, because she was the only one who hadn’t looked at him with a mixture of pity and suspicion since the divorce. Snagging her for the J-Date experiment had been the only move he’d been sure of in the last few weeks. He was not giving that up.

“Listen, Julia, I’m sorry for the inconvenience with Elizabeth.”

“It’s just, maybe I didn’t explain well in the car pool line. I wondered if we could talk in person? Do you have a few minutes today?”

Technically, he did. Dave worked from home on his own schedule. But he did not want to spend a few minutes with Julia Mendel. Before he could respond, she went on. “Please? I know my store is in the boonies, but there’s a Waffle House on Highway 9. I looked up your address in the directory and it should only take you ten minutes to get here. I would like to buy you a coffee. Please.”

The drawback to being part of a tight-knit community, Dave thought grimly, was that you couldn’t get away from anyone. If he was a dick to Julia Mendel right now, she could have every woman in the preschool mobilized against him in forty-eight hours. Most of them were poised to dislike him for Debbie’s sake already. And it wasn’t just this year or this school. They would all meet again for Sunday school, birthday parties, bat mitzvahs, Jewish sleep-away camps… There was no escape.

And she sounded so
desperate
. Annoyed as he was, he had to at least meet the woman for coffee. “Okay,” he said. “What’s the address?”

# # #

Julia Mendel sat across from him in the Waffle House booth, both hands wrapped around her coffee cup, as though it were a frosty winter morning and not a sweltering day in August. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head and she wore a cream-colored peasant blouse, with a low neckline that almost—but not quite—hid the pale pink bra underneath. There was a tiny daisy tattoo he had never noticed on the inside of her left wrist. Dave refused to find any of this intriguing. He sipped his Coke and waited for her to start.

She didn’t start.

After several minutes and a visit from the waitress to confirm they did not want anything to eat, he couldn’t stand it. “So, you own a hardware store near here?”

Julia nodded. “Milton Iron and Feed—it’s just down Moonshine Road.” She jerked a thumb vaguely west. “It was my dad’s store. I’ve been running it since he died three years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” Dave said automatically.

She shook her head. “Thanks. Look, I just wanted to apologize again. In person.”

“Not necessary. We all lose our shit sometimes.”

She grimaced, but went on. “And to ask you face-to-face if there is any way you would reconsider your babysitting arrangement? I wouldn’t ask, but…I have some financial issues, and I have to work on Saturday nights for a while. I’d appreciate if you didn’t spread that around.”

“Of course not,” he said.

“Of course you won’t tell anyone, or of course you can’t change sitters?”

He had meant the former, but the latter was true, too. No point in pussyfooting around it. “Both. I’m sorry, but I am working those nights, too. There are a lot of moving pieces on my end and Elizabeth is the best option. For lots of reasons.”

She opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut again. He wondered whether Mia Mendel’s Mom was about to tell him to go fuck himself. Or maybe getting the waterworks ready. When Debbie wanted something, she always cried. He couldn’t handle it when a woman cried.

Instead, though, Julia pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper from her purse. “I made a list of other babysitting options for you,” she said. “I know you need something convenient. All of these come highly recommended.”

“What? Recommended by whom?”

“My sister—her boys are older now but she’s used a lot of sitters—and a few of the other moms at Tree of Life. You can easily cover your dates with these. If you switch visitation weekends with your ex, Elizabeth said she might even be able to cover a few herself.”

“Switch visitation weekends? Are you serious?” He gestured at the paper now lying on the table between them. “If these sitters are so great, why can’t you use them?”

In the bright light from the window, Julia’s deep blue eyes appeared lighter, round cheeks rosy with heat. He might find her attractive, if she wasn’t constantly on a mission to make him miserable. She bit her lip, saying nothing.

This was a waste of time. He stood. “I have work to do today.”

“Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “I have special circumstances.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Elizabeth is the only sitter my son can stay with. She knows how to work with his…condition.”

Dave glanced around the greasy diner and resumed his seat. “A medical thing? Like diabetes?”

Julia took a ragged breath. “No. Sometimes I think diabetes would be easier. He has OCD. You’re familiar with it?”

“Of course I am. That’s the neat-freak thing, right?”

“Not exactly. OCD is like a bad form of anxiety. It can be debilitating. For Brandon, it’s...”

She trailed off, staring into her half-empty cup, looking so raw and fragile that Dave felt his chest loosen. On impulse, he reached across the table and touched her hand against the mug. “I’m sorry.”

When she met his eyes, something wavering and intangible passed between them. Like air ripples off the pavement on a hot day. Suddenly her eyes flared at him, though, and she moved the hand away. “Listen, I am not trying to get sympathy from you. I don’t need pity. I just need one person, anyone, anywhere in my life, to offer me some
freaking
help for once.”

“Wait a minute,” Dave said. Ten seconds earlier, he had been ready to take the list, face the logistics and Debbie’s wrath for changing plans. But Julia’s tone enraged him. Who did she think she was?

“Listen, I’m not getting a new sitter. Elizabeth committed to this. I’m sorry for whatever is going on with your kid, and your situation. But I have my own situation. My ‘womanizing project,’ as you called it yesterday, may seem trivial to you, but it’s my livelihood. I’ve committed publicly to it starting next Saturday night. I will
not
change the dates. I will
not
call a list of new sitters my kid has never met. And I
absolutely will not
renegotiate my custody agreement with my ex-wife for your convenience.”

Julia swallowed hard and glared at him. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll work something out. Thanks for nothing.” She reached back into her purse and threw a five-dollar bill on the table, standing awkwardly to shuffle out of the booth.

“Are you always such a martyr?” he asked as she headed for the door, swiping at her eyes. It wasn’t like him, but she wasn’t listening anyway. He watched her get into her minivan and speed off toward Moonshine Road.

Shit.

The waitress returned, pocketed the five, and nodded to the spot where Julia had been sitting. “Honey, that girl don’t know what she’s missing. Smart woman wouldn’t leave a cutie like you sittin’ alone.” She gave him a winning smile, barely marred by a missing bicuspid, and spun on her heel to attend another table.

Dave left an extra dollar for the moral support, and went out to his truck in the glaring Georgia sun. He changed from SportsZone to the rock station, cranked the volume and navigated toward the townhouse, eager to put miles between himself and Julia Mendel. He had done the right thing. He’d met her and listened. He had even—stupidly—tried to comfort her. It wasn’t his fault if the woman was crazy.

Now to get back to the Man Cave and figure out how to make this whole J-Date thing viable. What he told Julia was true: he was planning to have his first date the following Saturday. The problem was, he had no date yet. He’d been honest about the blog and radio show in his dating profile, and several women had reached out to him to flirt and ask questions. But so far, no one seemed eager to be the first guinea pig. Maybe they were afraid it was a radio prank. In any case, it was making him antsy.

As he made his way down Highway 9, his thoughts of J-Date were crowded out by the image of Julia storming out. Some people just expected the whole world to bend to them. Was it his fault that he’d gotten to Elizabeth first? Was it his fault Brandon Mendel had…whatever the problem was?

His phone buzzed and he glanced at it. Aaron again. He swiped Reject. Dave couldn’t put off that conversation forever, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen today. The light was red at Crossville Road. This annoyed him. He turned right rather than wait, heading west. He’d take the long way home. He always thought better while driving. Of course this wasn’t his fault. Dave wasn’t the one who couldn’t manage his life. He didn’t attack people in the car pool line or Waffle House.

Okay, he shouldn’t have called her a martyr. But wasn’t that how she was acting?

He stopped for another light, glancing down at his phone in the center console, and the large customized coffee mug Debbie had given him for Father’s Day. The mugs were one of the myriad end-of-year school fundraisers. It was a picture of himself and Lyric set in a heart cut-out, around which Lyric had colored flowers, hearts, and Stars of David. She had her arms thrown around his neck; their cheeks were pressed together in identical smiles. In teacher-assisted purple scrawl, Lyric had written: “My Daddy is a real MENSCH.”

Damn.

“I’m going to regret this,” Dave said out loud as he made another right on Crabapple Road, headed back north. He picked up his phone, selected the map application and clicked the microphone. Before he’d even said “Milton Iron and Feed,” though, he knew exactly where he was going.

# # #

The plump lady behind the counter of the hardware store directed him out back, toward the old horse barn. He realized he had been here before, as a kid, with Aaron and his dad. They had stopped here once for bait and tackle on their way to go fishing at some nearby pond. The familiar Coca-Cola sign and the old red tricycle hanging in the front window gave him a pang of sadness. He’d just dodged Aaron’s call.

Dave walked through the barn doors, following the sound of heavy metal music. He saw movement and gave his eyes a minute to adjust to the dark. Julia was facing away, sanding something on the work table in front of her. She had changed into a black tank top and frayed olive cargo shorts, cut off above mid-thigh to reveal the surprisingly athletic curves of her ivory legs. He could see more of the rose tattoo—a dark crimson bud in partial bloom, with a thorny vine that disappeared beneath the tank top. Dave let out a slow breath and forced himself to look around at the barn instead of gazing at the back of Julia’s neck.

There had once been horse stalls along both sides: a few of the large square posts at their corners remained. On these were tacked everything from power tools on orange utility hooks to an old straw hat and a bunch of dried flowers. There was an old school wagon-wheel chandelier in the middle of the long room, but most of the light came from a few open windows on either side. Someone had added a rough interior wall at the far end of the building, converting a couple of the stalls and maybe an old corn crib into a small apartment with a loft. Through the big open windows, he caught a glimpse of a kitchen on the ground floor and a double-bed with a faded plaid bedspread upstairs.

“And I thought I had an awesome Man Cave,” he said.

Julia jumped, startled, and dropped her sanding pad. “Jesus. Dave,” she breathed, chest heaving. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry. The lady inside said I would find you out here.” He gestured at the open barn door. “I couldn’t figure out how to knock.”

“Myra.” Julia put a gloved hand on her hip. There was definitely something about a woman in short-shorts and work gloves. “Can I help you with something? I don’t want to be rude but…”