Chasing Rainbows A Novel

FIFTEEN


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My UPS driver arrived first thing the next morning with an absolutely-not-concealed-in-a-brown-wrapper box emblazoned with the words Dating Now. I had to give him credit for trying to hide his grin as he waited for me to sign his computerized tracking contraption.

I supposed he figured I’d ordered just about everything else a woman might need in life. Why shouldn’t I order up a date?

Sadly, I actually bought that theory myself for a moment or two.

The box was larger than I’d imagined the membership materials would be, so I grabbed my coffee mug and headed for the kitchen table.

Thirty minutes later, I sat elbow deep in paperwork and promotional materials, all touting the features and benefits of speed dating--the Dating Now way.

No matter how many times I flipped through the colorful leaflets and slick brochures, my gaze kept returning to one thing.

My appointment card.

You have a date with destiny.

Apparently I was to meet destiny this coming Friday night at seven o’clock in the Sunset Room of the Atlantic Grille. Somehow the whole idea of speed dating in the Sunset Room of anything was a bit too cliché for me.

But there were better things to worry about. Like, what would I wear?

I took a swig of my tepid coffee. The boots were a no-brainer, but what would I wear with them?

There was always the option of wearing nothing but the boots, but I imagined that if the Dating Now people wanted nudity, they’d call themselves Naked Dating Now or Nudity Now or something more...well...naked.

I shook off the thought and shoved every piece of paraphernalia back into the box. I had days to obsess about my upcoming date with destiny. For now, I had more pressing matters.

Like the to-do list I’d avoided since my dad died.

Sure, I’d sent copies of Dad’s death certificate to every organization under the sun, but this was different.

This was the list that read revise Mom’s Will, help Mom change car title, bank account, house deed, utilities and credit cards to her name only.

There was more to it--a lot more to it.

But the plan for today was to start small. Today, my mother and I planned to upgrade her cell phone from the one I’d given my parents eleven years earlier as a Christmas present.

The morning had grown unseasonably warm by the time I headed south toward my mother’s house, so much so, in fact, I felt inspired to do something I rarely did.

I stopped off at the cemetery.

I avoided coming here more often than not. Call me a bad mother, call me whatever you want, but visiting this spot never failed to rip out my heart, leaving me raw and emotionally void for days.

I pulled the car to the side of the lane next to the big black tombstone I used as a landmark and climbed out. I carefully navigated the path toward Emma’s grave, my dad’s grave, my grandparent’s graves.

My steps faltered when I spotted the flowers--fresh arrangements on all three graves. In addition, a well-worn teddy bear sat tucked against the side of Emma’s stone.

Who on earth would have left this?

I reached for the little guy, stroked his nose and wondered how long he’d been keeping Em company.

As far as I knew, Ryan had only been back twice since our daughter’s funeral. Once on what would have been her first birthday and again at Dad’s funeral.

I’d put my money on my mother. She’d no doubt been up early and had taken advantage of the gorgeous weather.

Yet, the teddy bear had been here a lot longer than since this morning.

A flicker of guilt whispered through me.

I should stop here more often. I should sit and talk or think or pray. But I just plain didn’t have it in me.

This wasn’t where I wanted to be when I thought of Emma.

Each time I knelt here, I pictured her tiny white coffin covered in a spray of flowers. I remembered our friends and family leaving the graveside while I stayed behind, unable to walk away for the final time.

I remembered Ryan’s words as he’d reached to pull me back toward the car.

“She’s not here,” he’d said.

He’d been right. She hadn’t been here then and she wasn’t here now.

Not in spirit, anyway.

I pushed myself up from my knees and stared at the sky. A pair of birds soared past and I realized Emma was everywhere.

Everywhere I wanted her to be.

With me. With Ryan. With my mom.

“Take care of her for me,” I whispered to my dad’s tombstone before I turned to walk away.

I usually sobbed as I drove through the huge iron gates of the cemetery, angry at the world. Angry at God for letting Emma die. But today was different. Today, I smiled, picturing Emma cradled in her granddad’s arms.

Maybe I’d turned the corner on my grief.

Lord, I hoped so. My acceptance phase was long overdue.

I clung to my peaceful state of mind as I pulled into my mother’s driveway. I even maintained my Zen-like calm as I looked over the master list of things we’d yet to take care of.

“Boy, this is some list.” I shook my head as if my statement was news to my mother.

“I realize that, Bernie.” She slid the list out from under my fingertips. “So, we’ll start with the cell phone and go from there.”

I nodded, suddenly flashing back on the flowers and the teddy bear at the cemetery.

“Were you at the cemetery today?”

Mom shook her head. “Your brother was.”

Mark? Mr. I-refuse-to-talk-about-dead-family-members?

“There were flowers on the graves and a teddy bear on Em’s.” I squinted at her. “Mark did that?”

She nodded. “He goes once a week.”

She could have knocked me over with a feather. “Since when?”

She gave me a slight smile. “I told you everyone grieved differently.”

True. She had a point there, but I wasn’t about to let go of this particular conversational thread that easily. “How do you know he went today?”

“He came by to try on your dad’s jackets.” She shuffled through a stack of papers as if she could distract me from what she’d said.

Nice try.

I moved in for the kill. “Which ones did he take?”

Her only response was the shake of her head.

A mix of anger and frustration tangled inside me. Anger at the hurt I read in my mother’s expression. Frustration at the fact my brother refused to do this one simple thing.

Sure, he could put flowers on a grave, but he couldn’t look in the closet, pick a damned jacket and take it home.

“He didn’t take any?”

“No.” She tapped the list. “We’d better get going.”

I knew better than to force the issue.

After all, my niece’s birthday was coming up, the perfect opportunity to tell my brother exactly what I thought.

In the meantime, I refocused on Mom and her quest for a new cell phone.

Once we reached the store, selecting an upgrade for my parent’s outdated plan took less than five minutes. Everything was going fine until the sales clerk asked for the one thing I hadn’t anticipated.

“Do you have a copy of the death certificate?” She blinked, eyes bright, as if that was a question people asked every day.

I winced.

My mother swallowed.

“We just need to change the name on the account to my mom’s.” I gave the woman my brightest smile. “Surely you can do that without the death certificate.”

The woman shrugged. “Sorry.”

My mom sniffled and I spun around to look at her.

She struggled to compose herself even as tears glistened in her eyes. I knew better than to reach for her, knew that would only make things worse.

“Thank you.” She forced the words, her voice tight with emotion. “We’ll come back another time.”

The sales clerk’s features fell slack, suggesting she might have a heart beneath the pat smile and unfeeling questions.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’ll get you a form. You can fax it to me, if that would be easier.”

My mother nodded. I nodded. The sales clerk nodded. Then she disappeared into the back room.

I reached for my mother’s arm but she spoke before I made contact.

“It’s all right, Bernie.”

“No it’s not.” Anger began to simmer inside me. “It’s not all right, Mom. Dad’s dead and this sucks.” I jerked my thumb toward the exit door. “I feel like walking over there and screaming out into the parking lot. Everyone out there should take a moment to acknowledge how much this sucks.”

She looked at me then, smiling through her tears. “I’m sure they have their own problems, honey.”

I stared at her, completely in awe of the woman who had lost her soul mate yet soldiered on, who found a way to smile through her tears.

We didn’t say much on the way home, having decided to return to home base and try the list again later.

I glanced at each car and pedestrian we drove past.

They have their own problems, honey. My mom’s words echoed in my brain.

I knew she was right. I knew everyone had a story. I mean, how could they not?

The woman walking her dog had a story. The man driving the car behind me had a story. Even the neighbor picking up trash along the curb had a story.

Everyone had something they were trying to survive, or achieve, or overcome. No one was immune to loss or heartache or aspirations or struggle.

That was how it worked, this thing called life.

The only way to avoid life was to avoid living.

And while I couldn’t speak for everyone, I felt fairly confident speaking for me and for mom.

She’d say every moment with my dad had been worth the pain she felt right now. Worth the lonely days and nights she’d endured since he died.

She’d say she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

I let that realization sink in for a moment and then I thought about my life, knowing there wasn’t a thing I would have changed either.

Not a moment with Ryan or Emma or Dad.

Sure, I would have taken a few more moments with Emma, but the time we did have together shaped me. Every second touched me, changed me, altered the course of my life forever.

No. I shook my head.

I wouldn’t change the past.

Not even if I could.

o0o

At seven o’clock sharp on Friday night, I sat at my assigned table in the Sunset Room of the Atlantic Grille.

Turns out Diane had worried even more about my outfit than I had. She’d delivered a carefully-chosen ensemble, covering every wardrobe item and accessory from top to bottom.

The classic herringbone pencil skirt stopped at my knees, showing off the full glory of the boots. The sweater she’d found hung long, yet nipped in enough to give the illusion of a waist, which I sure as hell didn’t possess at this stage of my life.

The earrings were a bit much--dangling sterling silver hearts that weighed about five pounds each. I thought about leaving them behind, but I’d never put a thing past Diane in thirty-five years.

She’d pressed them into my palm, assured me they looked fabulous with my newly shorn hair, then she’d shoved me out the door.

So here we sat, me and every other Dating Now wannabe, cooling our heels, waiting for the experience to begin.

I seized the opportunity to size up the room and quickly realized the world of speed dating attracted all types.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but for some reason, I’d expected a room full of beautiful people. Instead, I sat in the middle of a room full of normal people.

Some average. Some not so average. Some plain. Some gorgeous. Some short. Some tall. And some--based on the years showing in their faces--who were looking to make their final love connection.

The Dating Now staffer reviewed the procedures with us before she announced the start of the first date. We had five minutes to acquaint ourselves with the person sitting across the table from us. At five minutes, the staffer slapped her palm down on one of those bells you rang at the deli counter when you began to wonder if anyone actually worked in the store.

At the sound of the ding, the men shifted one table to their left and each new date repeated the process.

Ding. Shift. Repeat.

Ding. Shift. Repeat.

I was fine with this entire concept, knowing I’d be out of there in an hour and a half max, when I saw him.

Of all people.

I watched as he made his way around the room, moving from table to table in five-minute increments. His hair was cut shorter than I remembered, and his glasses were nowhere to be seen. Contact lenses, no doubt. No. Check that. Corrective surgery.

Only the best for him.

My palms grew clammy as he neared. I managed not much more in my conversations than to repeat my name and job--or lack thereof--like a soldier rattling off her rank and serial number. I made eye contact with no one.

The only person I focused on was him. He moved closer and closer, smiling and chatting to each potential victim as if he were the most charming man on the face of the earth.

I thought about jumping to my feet and telling each woman he encountered to run for her life. I might have done it, too, had his gaze not captured mine as he made the turn, headed straight in my direction, one table away.

His mouth pulled into a tight smile--more of a smirk actually. I swallowed down the ball of disgust and angst in my throat and braced myself. The poor guy currently seated across from me showed genuine concern.

“Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Flushed? I was flushed all right.

Flushed at the thought of facing the man I thought I’d never see again after I’d told him to shut up, once and for all.

But there he stood, lowering his six-foot-six frame into the seat across from me, reaching out to shake my hand.

Blaine McMann.

The boss from hell. Or should I say, former boss from hell.

I hugged myself instead of touching his hand, and tried to arch a brow. Based on experience--and the amused look on Blaine’s face--I’d succeeded in doing nothing more than squishing up one side of my face.

“I see you lost your hair along with your mind,” he said.

I sneered. I wasn’t sure I’d ever sneered before, but I sure as hell sneered now.

“Listen.” Much to my chagrin, he kept talking. “We haven’t got much time--” he tapped his watch “--now that our professional relationship is out of the way, what do you say we hit the sheets?”

When I gagged this time, there was nothing fake about it.

I waved frantically, doing my best to snag the attention of the Dating Now chaperone. She was at my side instantly, phony expression of sincerity plastered across her flawless face.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“I’d like to pass.”

“Pass what?”

“Him.” I jerked my thumb at Blaine’s nose.

“Why that--” she hesitated, blinking as if no one had ever asked the question before “--that would create...havoc.”

“Havoc?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Look I paid good money for this. All right, I didn’t, but someone else did and if I want to pass, I think I should be allowed to pass.”

My voice had climbed to a minor shriek while the Dating Now woman’s tone dropped to little more than a whisper--a desperate whisper.

“You only have three minutes left.” She leaned close, shot a glance at Blaine, then moved closer still. “If you don’t care for this gentleman, why don’t you just sit here quietly?”

Care for this gentleman? I loathed this gentleman. This gentleman had been the bane of my existence for more years than I cared to remember.

Blaine smirked. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. You sure as hell don’t look like you’ve been getting any.” He sat back against his seat. “You know you want it.”

This time, I didn’t hesitate. My boots and I were up on my chair before I could say not a snowball’s chance in hell. I teetered precariously over my assigned table.

Blaine scrubbed a hand across his face and muttered. “Here we go.”

“Don’t you ever--” I pointed my finger in his face “--talk to me or anyone else like that again.” I found my center of gravity and planted my fists on my hips. “You self-centered, arrogant, conceited piece of shit. I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last living slime ball on the face of the earth.”

Ding, ding, ding.

The Dating Now hostess had gone paler than pale. She gently reached for my elbow and tipped her chin toward the floor. “Time’s up.”

As I climbed down, doing my best to ignore Blaine’s self-satisfied smirk, a smattering of applause broke out on the far side of the restaurant. Before I knew it, every woman Blaine had visited, without exception, stood clapping.

His smug expression shifted to one I’d never seen before. If I wasn’t mistaken, Blaine McMann was embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

I hadn’t thought it possible.

The warm satisfaction that burst inside my belly filled me from my head to my toes.

Maybe I’d been wrong about speed dating.

Though the admission didn’t say much for the state of my social life, this had been the best night I’d had in a long, long time.

o0o

On the way home I stopped off at my favorite café, deep in the heart of Genuardi’s. I ordered up a grande chai latte and went to work.

If the Courier Post had published my first letter, maybe they’d publish a second. Who knew? Maybe somewhere out there readers were attacking their paper each morning, breathless with anticipation in the hope of knowing how my life was going.

Regardless, I’d decided the time had come to chase at least one dream--my writing.

Perhaps I’d had a bit too much caffeine, and perhaps the whole Dating Now incident had gone to my head, but damn it, I was going to write the best letter to the editor ever written.

An hour later my prose sat complete, sentences scrawled in my favorite purple ink, a flawless masterpiece extolling the virtues of stepping out of your comfort zone, no matter how small that first step might be.

After all, if Diane hadn’t encouraged me to buy the boots, chop my hair and speed date, I wouldn’t have experienced the glorious moment of victory when I finally put Blaine in his place.

While I might not have taken a single one of those steps on my own, I had taken them.

Me.

Not anyone else.

Steps were steps.

Steps were good.

Steps were the only things that were going to save me. They were the things that were going to carry me forward, out of my old life and into my new one.

I felt so empowered by my writing I pulled Dad’s book out of my purse. I’d started keeping the cryptograms with me, eager to reveal each remaining word, every message Dad had chosen for me.

I’d started this particular puzzle earlier that day, and it took only moments now to reveal the solution.

The guy who manned the counter tapped me on the shoulder. “Ma’am, store’s closing.”

Ma’am.

Wasn’t that always the way? Just when you were filled with a heady sense of empowerment brought on by sassy hair, sexy boots, and a cryptogram message, someone called you ma’am and brought your ego crashing back to earth.

I gathered up my notebook and tossed my empty cup in the trash. I headed across the parking lot toward my car, boot heels slamming confidently against the asphalt, determined to type up my letter and email it the moment I got home.

Ma’am or no ma’am, I was taking steps.

Forward steps.

I had no intention of turning back.

o0o

“Many people have a good aim in life, but for some reason they never pull the trigger.”

-Unknown