The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom (11 page)

“Chloe and Spencer aren’t finished until
3:10. I can go pick up your kids and then bring them back to our place for
pizza.”

“Okay.” She snivelled.

“That will give you some time to… you know,
take a shower, put on some fresh clothes…try to get yourself together a bit.”

“Mmm hmm,” she mumbled, noncommittally.

At two thirty-two, I pulled up across the
street from the non-descript brick building that was home to the Foundation for
Success or “FOS,” as it was commonly known. I instantly spotted Emily standing
just outside the main entrance, and a few yards away, her little brother.
“Yoo-hoo! Emily! Cameron! Hello!” I called, while scurrying across the road to
meet them. As
unlikable
as I found Trudy’s children, it
was imperative that I remember that they were going through a difficult time.
They had undoubtedly never seen their mother in such a state before, and it
would obviously be traumatic. I would have to handle them with kid gloves. “Hi
guys,” I panted, jogging up to them.

“What are you doing here?” Emily asked
coldly.

“Where’s my mom?” Cameron echoed.

“She’s still not feeling very well, so I’m
picking you up and bringing you back to our house to play with Chloe and
Spencer. You can stay for dinner, too. We can order pizza. You like pizza,
don’t you?”

“Only plain cheese,” Emily remarked, but
they followed me to the car.

The drive to Rosedale was awkward. The kids
sat sullenly in the backseat while I asked them a stream of inane questions
about school, their favourite subjects, movies, singers, and ice cream flavours.
Finally, I had collected my own offspring and made it home. As soon as I opened
the front door, the children raced up the stairs and dispersed to their various
rooms. Instantly, I heard the sound of a bin of LEGOs being tipped onto the floor
in Spencer’s, and the strains of a rather raunchy-sounding pop song behind
Chloe’s closed door. The girls were probably pretending to mud wrestle each
other while wearing assless chaps, but at least it afforded me a little peace.

I went to the kitchen and began to putter—wiping
invisible spills, organizing the salt and pepper shakers and sorting through
various school notices left on the countertops. It was imperative that I keep
busy, no matter how mundane the task. I could not allow myself to slip back
into grieving mode; it wasn’t fair to the children. Nor could I let myself
ponder the details of Karen’s death. My misguided curiosity had caused enough
problems. Maybe Paul was right. Freak accidents happened all the time. And some
people just weren’t criers; it didn’t mean they were wife killers. No, I would
bury these suspicious and doubtful feelings. Instead, I would be caring and
sensitive… and also very busy and productive.

Digging in the junk drawer, I found my
address book. There, nestled between the two pages allotted for “W” was my
carefully folded life makeover list. This was the perfect time to focus on my
self-improvement. It would distract from my musings on Karen’s demise, and perk
up my general outlook on life. I unfolded the piece of paper and lay it flat on
the counter before me. But what I read seemed so incredibly… shallow. Was I
really such a vapid creature that I thought pectoral exercises would improve my
life? Or a stimulating hobby? And did I really think giving my husband two blow
jobs a month would improve our marriage? Well… it probably would, but that was
the last thing on my mind at the moment. Karen was dead, for God’s sake!

Of course, there were the kids… But in all
honesty, Spencer’s potty mouth had been much improved of late, and even Chloe
seemed a little less disdainful toward me. Since Karen’s murder, my daughter
had actually been really sweet. She even poured her brother’s cereal this
morning and … My thought process trailed off. Did I just say Karen’s
murder
?
Oh God. I couldn’t fight what my every instinct was telling me. Karen did not
just fall over and whack her head. It was too bizarre… implausible. There had
to be someone else involved.

At that moment, the front door bell rang,
sending a little chill up my spine. The timing was slightly unnerving. I’d just
allowed myself to acknowledge that Karen was actually murdered in her own home,
and now, an unidentified person was trying to gain access into mine. Bravely, I
walked to the front door and stared through the peep hole. On my front porch
stood Janet Lawson, one of the neighbourhood moms, holding a heavily
Saran-wrapped package.

“Hi, Janet,” I said, opening the door.

“Hi... I just heard about Karen Sutherland.
I’m so sorry.” We hugged briefly. “I made this orange poppy seed loaf for
Doug.” She thrust the package toward me. “I don’t know him very well and I
don’t really feel comfortable… you know how it is. Would you mind?”

“Of course not. “
It was a sweet and
thoughtful gesture, especially since Janet and Karen would have only been
passing acquaintances. I knew Janet a little better since her son was in
Chloe’s grade at Rosedale. But she worked full-time as a receptionist for a
gynecologist
downtown, so we’d never spent a lot of time
together.

“I know I didn’t know Karen well…” She
seemed to pick up my train of thought. “But I was just so devastated when I
heard. Especially given her recent…
success
.”

“Yeah…” I nodded, only half following her
conversation. “We’ve all been really rocked by this.”

“Oh, I know you were so close to her. I can
only imagine how you feel. It’s just so sad…” Her eyes began to mist up. “She
was in just over a week ago, and she was so happy, so full of joy… I mean, it
was finally happening for her, after all this time”

“…Right.”

“In a way,” Janet sniffed. “It’s like two
lives were lost.”

Oh my God! Oh my God! I suddenly understood
what the heck she was talking about! “Thanks for the loaf,” I said, hastily.
“I’ll make sure Doug gets it. I’d better get back to the kids.”

“Right. Okay. I’m sorry. Please give him
our condolences. And our loaf.”

“Will do.” I shut the door before she’d
even had a chance to turn around.

Jesus Christ! Holy shit! Oh my fucking
fuck! I paced the hallway, the loaf squashed in my right hand. This changed
everything—made it more complex, more suspicious, more sinister! It had taken
me a moment to catch on, but now it was crystal clear. Karen had been in to see
Janet’s gynaecologist boss. She had been happy and full of joy! It was all
finally happening for her! Karen was pregnant, and Janet obviously thought I
knew!

I took a deep breath, intent on calming
myself. I had to process this new information. I mustn’t let it send me off the
deep end. Okay… stay cool.
The number one cause of death in pregnant women
is homicide by the father of the child
. I had heard that line on
CSI:
Miami
only a few nights earlier. Oh God, oh God. What did this mean?

I knew Doug was desperate for a baby, so I
felt pretty sure he couldn’t have done it. Unless… the baby was actually
Javier’s! Doug did have that low-mobility sperm, after all. Perhaps, when Karen
told Doug she was leaving him to live with Javier and raise their love child on
canned ravioli and Ichiban, he freaked out and conked her on the head! Or…
Karen invited Javier over to tell him the good news about their baby, but when
he heard, he panicked at the thought of making such a huge commitment, and
bashed her one! Or, maybe, somehow, one of Doug’s sparse sperm had made it to
the egg and it was his baby! Karen and Doug were finally going to have the
child they’d always wanted. She broke it off with Javier, who, in a fit of
jealousy, came to her house and shoved her. She hit her head on the concrete
floor and—

“I want to go home now,” Cameron said. I
jumped a little at his sudden and silent appearance.

“Oh… hi, sweetie. It’s not time to go yet.
I’m going to order us some pizza.”

“I want to go home. It’s boring here.”

Oh Christ. I didn’t need this right now.
“Why don’t you go play with Spencer for a little while? The pizza will be here
soon.”

“Spencer’s toys are boring. I want to go
home. I want to see my mom.”

“Listen…” I leaned down so we were at eye
level. “Would you like to play a game with me? We’ve got snakes and ladders.”

“No.”

“We could do a puzzle?”

“I want to go.” Cameron turned and started
heading toward the front door.

“Spencer!” I shrieked, in need of
reinforcements. “Get down here!” I trotted behind Cameron. “We could do some colouring?”

“No.” He began to put his shoes on.

“Painting?”

Spencer appeared behind me. “What?”

“What could we do with Cameron that would
be fun?” I asked, in a voice tinged with desperation. “Just for a little while…
until the pizza comes.”

“Umm… Play-Doh?”

“How about Play-Doh, Cameron? Do you like
Play-Doh?”

“Yeah…” he said hesitantly, dropping his
shoe to the floor. “I guess.”

“Great!” I said enthusiastically. “Let’s go
play some Play-Doh!”

I set the boys up at the kitchen table with
a large bucket of clay and various kitchen tools. Thankfully, they were
giggling contentedly when I took the phone into the hall and dialled Dominoes.
When I returned, I sat down between the two youngsters. This couldn’t be an
easy time for either of them. They were too young to really understand what was
going on with the whole Karen situation, but they must sense it. And in a way,
the tragedy across the street was having an enormous impact on them. It was
affecting the most important people in their universe: their mothers. I took a
deep breath and vowed to be patient and kind. “Nice work, Cameron,” I said
encouragingly. “And yours is really cool, too, Spencer.”

“What do you think this is?” my son asked,
holding up his creation.

“Umm…” I took in the small creature with
two legs, two tiny arms, and a long blue tail. “A kangaroo?”

“Nope. Guess again.”

“A crocodile standing up?”

“Nope. Guess again.”

“I give up.”

“It’s Dad.”

“Ohhhh…” I said, as if suddenly seeing the
similarities. “Does Dad have a tail?”

“That’s poo hanging out of his butt.”

I was on the verge of a reprimand when
Cameron burst out laughing. Well, at least Spencer was entertaining that sullen
little monster. I decided to let it slide. “Right,” I said. “Poo… yeah, of
course.”

“Guess what this is?” Cameron asked, with a
gleeful grin.

“Uh… a boy sitting on a giant toadstool?”

“No!” He was practically breathless with
excitement.

“Tell me.”

“It’s my dad, with a giant fart cloud
coming out of his butt!”

Spencer squealed and soon the two of them
were clutching their sides and rolling on the floor with laughter. I would have
to chastise them. Trudy took a hard line on inappropriate language, and I knew,
first hand, that she had an issue with the word
fart
. When their
laughing seizure had subsided, I spoke sternly. “Okay… that’s enough of that
kind of language.”

“Fart is not a swear,” Cameron retorted.

“Well, it’s still not a very nice or polite
word.”

“But
fart
is just a plain old word.
What’s so bad about saying
fart
?”

“You know your mom doesn’t like you using
that word, Cameron.”

“So… that’s just dumb. … Fart.”

“Cameron…” I began.

“Fart!” He screamed, much to Spencer’s
delight. “Fart! Fart! Fart!”

“Pass wind,” I said helplessly. “Pass
wind.” The doorbell rang and I scurried to meet the pizza delivery man. If he
was bothered by the chorus of
poo
,
fart
and accompanying sound
effects emanating from the kitchen, he didn’t comment. Laden with two steaming
pizza boxes, I made my way back to the kitchen, pausing at the bottom of the
stairs to call up to Chloe’s room. “Girls! Pizza’s here!”

Uh… uh… wanna make you sweat…

“Chloe! Emily!”

Uh… uh… wanna make you scream …

“Girls! Please!” I hollered, suddenly
overwhelmed by the barrage of sexual innuendo coming from my daughter’s CD
player. Thankfully, it stopped. Now, if I could only turn off the sound of the
boys discussing their fathers’ toilet activities.

I was in a fog during dinner, nibbling on a
piece of Hawaiian, consumed by my own thoughts. The children talked
incessantly, and no doubt rudely, but I managed to tune them out. I couldn’t
get Janet’s revelation about Karen’s condition out of my head. It made her
untimely death sadder still, and I fought to control my emotions in front of
the kids. But it had also increased my conviction that there was something
fishy about the way she died. I had to tell someone about her affair with
Javier—it was the right thing to do. I could call the police, but did I really
want to blow Karen’s secret life wide open like that? I wasn’t sure. When Paul
got home, I would confess all to him. He was practical and level-headed. He’d
know what to do.