Mother of Prevention (17 page)

I smiled, recalling Neil’s classic reply when he’d helped someone in trouble. “Nothing. Just return the favor to someone else.”

“No. Really.” The stranger insisted. “Allow me to express my gratitude.”

“Okay,” I conceded. “You can send my friend a bouquet of flowers.” I rummaged in my purse, took out a business card and handed it to him. “I’ll see that she gets them.”

The good Lord knew Mazi didn’t get enough attention. Fresh flowers would make her day, and after all, it had been her idea to help them.

I waited until he had helped the woman out and then drove off to find a parking place. Of course I had to park a full city block away and got even wetter walking back.

Once I got inside I looked for my passengers, but they were nowhere in sight. I didn’t know what gate they were boarding from and I didn’t want to squish my way through the airport in my rain-soaked shoes. Besides, I needed to hang around the entry waiting for Mazi.

It was a good twenty minutes before they showed up, and I was so relieved to see her safe and unharmed that I grabbed her for a hug. She grinned. “Did you make it in time?”

“I guess so. I haven’t seen them since I let them out in front.”

The driver sighed, his expression relieved. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.”

Mazi suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Say, your boss looks like that dot-com guy. Anyone ever mentioned the uncanny resemblance?”

The driver covered a smile with his hand. “I believe that he is aware of the similarity.”

“Yeah, amazing similarity, but Gates lives—ah, whatever. I don’t know where he lives.” Mazi led the way to the double doors. When she shoved them open she let out a howl of anguish.

“What’s wrong!” the driver and I said in unison.

“My nail! I broke it!”

“Broke it?” We both stepped forward to confirm the crisis. One jagged acrylic hunk dangled from her third finger.

“Ohhhh, no! My nail tech is on vacation! What will I do?”

I tried to calm her, the driver tried to calm her, but this was apparently a crisis of monumental proportions. Mazi had broken a fake nail.

“No problem. You need to get in out of the rain. You’re going to catch cold.” I glanced at Mazi, who was dramatically wringing the injured finger and muttering under her breath. “What will I do? What will I do? Pilar is on vacation!”

“Crybaby,” I teased. “Stop by the salon in the morning and I’ll have one of our nail techs repair the nail for you.”

I draped my arm around her shoulders and we sidestepped puddles on our way to the car. “You know, the proverbial Good Samaritan. Yada yada yada.”

“Yeah, yada yada yada—you’re sure? No charge?”

I laughed. “Of course.”

If only my problems could be solved so quickly and effortlessly.

Later I checked on the girls to make sure they were properly tucked into bed, and then headed straight for the shower. I stood under the hot spray and let the water chase away the chill. I still couldn’t believe that two lone women had stopped
and changed a flat tire on the freeway for a set of strangers, but then with Mazi, anything was possible.

I dried off and soothed lotion over my body, then slipped into a warm robe. Outside cold rain pelted the street.

A few minutes later I paused in my daughter’s doorway, a cup of steaming chocolate in my hand, and for the first time in months realized that I was blessed. Before me lay one of my two angels—perfect gifts that God had entrusted to my care.

I recalled the morning Kris was born: it had stormed all night. I remember watching jagged lightning fork outside my window, hearing thunderous claps that shook the hospital foundation. Toward dawn I’d delivered Kris—six pounds, five ounces, with a thatch of golden hair. Neil had been enthralled. He’d stood at the nursery window pecking on the glass, beaming from head to foot. He’d handed out candy cigars to every man, woman and child on the floor.

Kelli had come into the world around midnight on a cold, snowy March evening. We’d slipped and slid all the way to the hospital. I almost fell getting out of the truck, but an orderly in nothing but short sleeves had been there to catch me, which was no small feat considering that I’d gained forty pounds during pregnancy. I’d barely reached the delivery room when Kelli made her appearance.

Neil had shown up a few minutes later, prepared to spend hours helping me breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Rubbing my back. Offering words of encouragement. We’d practiced the procedure over and over again; we were prepared for natural birth. But by the time my devoted spouse parked the truck and took the elevator up five floors, I was holding our seven-pound-three-ounce daughter in my arms. If I lived to be a hundred years old I would never forget the look on my husband’s face. He was floored. Speechless for the first time in his life.

Later he confessed he’d had no idea babies came so fast, and I told him that if men shared the responsibility of birthing chil
dren there’d be only two in every family. Kelli’s labor was quick, but certainly not a picnic.

I caught back a laugh, remembering the good times, remembering Neil’s utter devotion to his family. Knowing how disappointed he would be in me right now.

Life is what you make it, Kate.

How many times had he reminded me?

If you’re counting on circumstances to make you happy you’ll never reach your goal.

I tiptoed into the room and set my mug of chocolate down on the bedside table, then tucked one of Kelli’s blankets closer. She stirred, opened one eye and smiled up at me. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, darling.”

“Did you and Mazi have a good time at the coffee shop?”

“We had a wonderful time. Thank you.”

“Did you bring me anything?”

“A blueberry muffin. You can’t eat it until morning.”

“Okay.” She dropped back to sleep instantly. Yes. I was richly blessed. Two very important parts of Neil had been spared and left for me to love and nurture. As long as I had my daughters, I would have Neil. If that wasn’t blessed, then I didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Right now, gazing down on my sleeping daughter, I saw with complete clarity what I had been so blind to for months. I could go on without Neil. I didn’t want to; never in my wildest imaginings had I considered raising Kelli and Kris alone, but I could.

And I would.

With God’s help.

“Kelli has never ‘manhandled’ another person in her life.”

I sat across the desk from Principal Meadows, stunned. When the school had called this morning to tell me that Kelli had been involved in a classroom altercation I hadn’t believed
the person on the other end of the line. I thought it was a prank call until the person insisted that I come to school. Immediately.

Kelli now sat beside me, sullen.

“Mrs. Madison.” The attractive redhead struggled to remain civil. “When Janine refused to give up the red magic marker, Kelli wrestled her to the ground and took the pen away from her.”

“She’d had it long enough,” Kelli stated. “I asked her first,
and then
I took it.”

I turned in my chair to gape at my daughter. I half expected to see her head pivot and hear vile words pouring out of her mouth. My daughter did not “wrestle” other children to the ground!

Mrs. Meadows leaned forward, features softening. “I understand there have been numerous unsettling changes recently in Kelli’s life, but we simply cannot permit ruffians to rule the classroom.”

“My daughter is not a ruffian.”

Our eyes rotated to the victim, Janine, a five-year-old pre-schooler. The child had vivid slashes of red marker running down both cheeks. The poor kid looked a mess. It was hard to argue an adequate defense with that kind of prosecutorial proof.

I mentally groaned. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Meadows. Kelli and I will have a long talk, but I can assure you she will not repeat her actions.”

Kelli drew her knees up under her dress and stuck her tongue out at Janine.

When I left the school with Kelli in tow, I was mad as hops. This little incident had not only caused me to cancel a client, but now I had to go back to the salon and make up for lost hours. If I’d been in Oklahoma—

I caught my thoughts. I wasn’t in Oklahoma. I was here. In San Francisco.

And when I got home tonight I was going to bypass “time out” and deliver a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing in a not-so-thoughtful tone.

I
hung up the phone and sat staring at the wall. Neil’s parents were coming.

On Tuesday.

Coming here.

I pictured Madge—tall, blond, with an overbite and an attitude—and Harry, short, solid, stoic. He reminded me of Neil in an odd way. Not in looks or personality, but occasional flashes of Neil’s common sense and compassion.

I think Neil was what Harry would have been like without Madge.

Actually, I loved them both. It was just that for as long as I could remember, my mother-in-law had strong convictions about everything; she was never wrong.

Put Madge and my mother in the same room and you would have a clash of icy wills that would make World War III look like a kindergarten tiff. Neil had called their verbal tussles “the Battle of the Broads.”

That pretty well covered it.

Anyway, Madge and Harry were coming for a week…and I didn’t want them. Not now. Not when I was still having trouble accepting my new role.

Kelli came in, trailed by Sailor. “Who called?”

“Maws Madison.”

“Maws! Did she want to talk to me?”

“She’ll talk your head off in a few days. They’re coming to visit.”

“Awesome!” Kelli turned and scampered out of the room. “Hey, Kris! Maws and Paws are coming!”

Kris yelled back, “Really? When?”

“Tuesday!” I joined the shouting match.

“Tuesday, Tuesday,” Kelli chanted. “Maws and Paws are coming on Tuesday!”

So okay, for the girls’ sake I could act excited.

I decided to move Kelli into Kris’s room, mainly because Kris had turned territorial and refused to give up her space. For once, Kelli accepted the situation without trying to negotiate. I bought enough groceries to feed half an army and stared in dismay at the total on the register receipt. I couldn’t afford company, but then I couldn’t very well feed Maws and Paws chicken strips and corn dogs either.

On Tuesday I took off work early and drove to the airport. The plane was thirty minutes late. The elder Madisons came through the gate looking like wrung-out chickens. I hugged them generously and decided it really was good to see them. Like having a little part of Neil back.

“Did you have a good flight?”

Harry opened his mouth and Madge spoke for him. They’d been together for so long they’d perfected the ventriloquist act.

“Terrible.”
Madge twitched the strap of her handbag firmly over her shoulder. “Airport security is so tight it took hours to board the plane.”

“Thirty minutes,” Harry said.

“The woman in front of us talked so much Harry could barely hear what I was saying.”

Harry smiled like a Cheshire cat.

“The pretzels were stale.”

“About what we’re used to.”

Madge shifted her attention to him and I intervened. “Let me take your carry-on bag, and then we’ll collect your luggage.”

The interruption had thrown Madge off course. She stopped and stared at me. “Kate! You look terrible. Dark circles under your eyes… I thought you said you were coping well!”

Well, talk about a conversation stopper. I had thought I’d looked fairly decent today, if not exactly fetching, in my loose beige slacks and top and tapestry vest. Evidently I needed a brighter light over my mirror.

I smiled. “We’ll play catch-up later. Luggage first.” Which only postponed the inevitable, but I knew that before my in-laws left I’d have to discuss my feelings and what I planned to do in the future.

As if I knew.

We spent another fifteen minutes collecting bags, then we were ready to go.

As we exited the busy terminal, Madge blinked against the bright California sunshine. “It’s so
warm.
”

Compared to Vermont in February, I supposed it was.

They began to peel out of their coats and heavy sweaters before getting into the car. Apparently the traffic intimidated them, because Madge didn’t speak again until we cleared the terminal traffic.

“Is California always this frantic?”

“Oh, no. Some days it’s worse.”

“Oh, my.” She didn’t say much more until we stopped in my driveway, and then she looked at the house, the surrounding houses and the quiet street. “Well, this is a
nice
neighborhood.”

“We like it. Here, let me help you with that carry-on.” I followed as Harry packed the luggage into the house.

Madge picked a dead leaf off the ivy before she stepped up on the porch. “You shouldn’t let that climb on the walls, Kate. Ivy puts out roots that grow into your house and destroy the wood.”

She made it sound as if the entire structure was held together by a fragile framework of ivy roots and leaves.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I liked the ivy, and it wasn’t growing on the house anyway. It had been trained to grow on a lattice.

We stepped inside the foyer. First order of business—a good cry. I hadn’t seen Madge and Harry since the funeral, and they were still as much in the grieving process as the girls and I. One glance at Neil’s picture and we all dissolved in tears.

I dried my eyes, ushered them to Kelli’s room, where they were to sleep, and headed for the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and started lunch—grilled chicken, salad and fresh fruit.

During lunch, Harry openly appreciated my culinary skills. “Good chicken, Kate. Always knew you could cook.”

Madge speared a hunk of lettuce and carefully inspected it. “Did you wash this?”

“Yes, and hung it up to dry.”

She glanced at me, then burst out laughing. “You’re quicker with a comeback than you used to be.”

I grinned. “Your son taught me all I know.”

A little before four, the girls came home from school. I watched their spindly sprint to hug their grandparents, heard their gleeful shouts of “Maws, Paws,” and I knew the Madisons’ visit was needed. God had let me coast on my laurels long enough. With Neil’s parents around, I’d have to go to church or come up with a very good reason not to. Madge wouldn’t let me shirk Sunday-morning worship. She attended church faithfully, and if you were part of the Madison family, you did, too. And if she sometimes tried to order God around the way
she did Harry, well, it was only habit and I was sure He could cope. Harry did.

Maws and Paws had come bearing gifts for the girls. New blouses and books. Kelli and Kris were as excited as on Christmas morning. After dinner we sat in the living room and talked until bedtime. Madge had insisted on washing dishes, and compared my brand of dishwashing liquid with hers. Mine didn’t measure up.

Harry decided to take a walk, but she vetoed that. “You don’t know what kind of criminal lurks out there.”

“He’d be safe here,” I said. “It’s a protected neighborhood.”

Madge shot me a disapproving glance. “I read the papers. I prefer not to have my husband gunned down in a drive-by shooting or kidnapped for ransom.”

Since no one in our family had been listed in the Forbes 500 in my lifetime, I figured we were safe on the ransom part.

Kelli’s face paled. “There are kidnappers out there?”

“No, of course not,” I said, but Madge interrupted me.

“I hope you’re not letting the girls run loose.”

“I don’t keep them penned up like horses. They live here. They have to leave the house once in a while.”

Harry took off his hat and turned on the television. “Just thought I’d get some exercise. Try to keep in shape.”

Since he was built sort of low down and high around, as the saying goes, he’d have to
get
in shape first.

Sailor ran through the living room and bounded into Kelli’s lap.

Madge frowned. “That dog should be kept outside. I never allowed Neil to keep a dog in the house.”

Kelli’s lower lip jutted. Badmouth Sailor, badmouth his master. Madge should know that by now. “Sailor lives here.”

Madge lifted disapproving eyes. “Kate, that child is more like your mother every day.”

“But I
like
Sailor,” Kelli said.

I stepped in, figuring I’d better head this off before fur flew. The conversation turned to Poor Kate. Apparently great thought and planning had been given to my circumstances and it had been decided, unbeknownst to me, that the girls and I would move to Vermont and draw sap off trees.

That was where I got off the train. That had been the plan when Neil was alive, but not now. I had no idea what my future held, but I didn’t think it held maple syrup.

“Are we
really
moving to Vermont with Maws and Paws?” Kelli gave me a questioning look.

I dodged the question. “Tomorrow is a school day, remember? Don’t you have homework?”

“No.”

“Then go take a bath.”

She glowered at me, and I realized Madge had a point; she did have a few of my mother’s facial expressions.

“All right, but I don’t want to.”

Ah. The last word, and it had been hers.

“Madge. Harry. The girls and I really don’t know what our future holds. We’re waiting to see.”

Kris curled up on the floor, with Sailor lying beside her. Madge looked forbidding, but apparently she knew when to let the matter drop. She changed the subject and we spent the rest of the evening talking about Neil and the past, which just made me more homesick for Oklahoma.

The following week I let the kids skip school one day, and we took Madge and Harry to Cliff House and to see the seals at Pier 39. Harry was as impressed with the Camera Obscura as Kris had been. We didn’t see the green flash, but he had a wonderful time anyway. Madge loved the restaurants and shops and I enjoyed the day with family.

On Thursday, feeling I had neglected Mazi, I invited her to dinner. She came in looking tentative, but after a few minutes she warmed to Harry. She had a tendency to walk care
fully around Madge with an expression on her face that reminded me of Sailor, who had the same reaction to my mother-in-law.

After dinner we sat in the living room having coffee, and Madge grilled her. There wasn’t any other word for it. I tried to head her off, but she was like a bulldog with a bone. Mazi left early.

The door had barely closed behind her when Madge announced, “That woman has a drinking problem.”

I erupted. “What a terrible thing to say! What would make you say something like that?”

Madge held her ground. “Several reasons. First, no one can be that hyper naturally. She’d bolstered herself with liquid courage.”

“Nonsense. She was nervous. Usually she’s quieter.” Who wouldn’t be jittery with Madge’s third degree?

“She’s twitchy. Her hands were never still.”

“Nerves,” I repeated. “Just nerves.”

“Well, she acted tipsy. A couple of times she had to grab hold of something to keep from falling.”

I faced her, hands on hips. “Anything else?”

“Yes, there’s something else. Her husband’s never home. She’s lonely. She doesn’t have many friends. She’s too dependent on you. She’s worried about something. It all adds up to an insecure woman who finds strength in the bottle.” Madge tapped one well-manicured, long, bright red fingernail on the chair arm. “It’s obvious.”

Harry folded the paper he’d been reading. “Give up, Kate. If Madge says she’s a drunk, she’s a drunk.”

“Then why haven’t I seen it?”

Madge shrugged. “Because you don’t want to see and you don’t listen.”

I almost choked. Don’t listen? To Mazi? My dearest friend in the world right now? I knew everything about her. “I do listen. I just don’t pry or jump to conclusions.”

Madge ignored the statement. “That woman is not a good influence on my granddaughters.”

That was rich. I wondered if I was a good influence. Sometimes I thought Mazi was the one constant in Kris’s and Kelli’s chaotic lives.

The girls, who had been silent, leaped to their friend’s defense. “We love Mazi,” Kris declared.

“She is so a good ’fluence.” Kelli glared at her grandmother. “You take that back.”

Maws and granddaughter stared at each other in a standoff reminding me of a couple of gunfighters at the O.K. Corral. To my surprise, Madge blinked first. She glanced at Harry, who was ignoring all of us and was now engrossed in a football game.

Kris’s expression was as dark as Kelli’s. Madge pursed her lips. “Well, obviously my opinion means nothing.”

“Of course it does.” I took a breath and tried to calm down. “We just know Mazi better than you do.” Maybe Mazi didn’t present the best first impression, but nothing short of personal observation would ever make me believe that she was a closet drinker.

“Perhaps you know her too well to see what’s right under your nose. You mark my words, that woman has a problem and I don’t like her having so much influence over my granddaughters.”

Harry snapped off the TV. “Bedtime.”

Having Madge and Harry in the house ratcheted up the tension several notches. I almost hated to go home. I’d arranged to take a few hours off each day, but spending too much time in my mother-in-law’s vicinity was about to be harmful to her health. So I’d decided to go back to my normal schedule.

The girls missed Mazi, who discreetly stayed clear of the house and my company. I didn’t know if she was being polite or if she was just plain scared of Madge. I was starting to real
ize how much I depended on her to lift me out of my emotional slumps. I missed our talks.

Friday night I took the long way home from work and found myself parked in the church lot. The building was dimly lit with the wall sconces. I wondered if they left them on all night. The soft golden light spilled out as if welcoming the weary wanderer. The church itself resembled a Thomas Kinkade painting.

The haven beckoned me in a way I didn’t understand.

I sat there looking at the white floodlit steeple reaching up to the star-spangled velvet of the sky. Finally I got out of my car and approached the front door, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, the door swung open on silent hinges. I stopped inside the warm foyer, listening. A murmur of voices rose and fell from the lower level, so I knew I wasn’t alone.

I sat down in a back pew and let the calming silence embrace me. The wooden cross over the baptistery, the electric candles in the wall sconces, even the five-foot palm tree by the side window all contributed to the feeling of a place set aside. I sat with my head bowed and my hands clasped. Hot tears rained down my cheeks.