Chasing Rainbows A Novel

FIVE


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I was halfway to the ice-skating rink on Monday afternoon when Diane rang my cell phone.

“Whatcha doin?” Her voice chirped across the line.

“You sound like Mary Poppins on speed.” I groaned inwardly. This was just what my day did not need--a perky pregnant woman.

“It’s the hormones,” she answered. “Up and down like you can’t imagine.”

Silence beat across the line.

“Sorry.” All traces of perk left her tone.

“Knock it off,” I answered as I took a left on Maple.

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stop it.” Frustration welled inside me. “The statute of limitations is up on avoiding all pregnancy talk. You’re allowed to wallow in glee.” I squeezed my eyes shut at a red light, hoping I sounded sincere. “I want you to wallow.”

“Waddle?”

“Wallow...in glee.”

A noise came across the line that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

But she couldn’t fool me. I’d known her for thirty-five years. I could pick up on a sniffle no matter how much space stretched between us. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t deserve you.”

The light turned green and I pressed down on the accelerator--gently--even though I felt like leaving a trail of burnt rubber in my wake.

“Trust me.” I swallowed down a sigh. “No one deserves me.”

More silence.

“Where are you?” I finally asked.

“The mall.”

“I thought you were having a rough time with morning sickness. Isn’t that why you haven’t been at the rink?”

“Oh, that.” Diane chuckled. “David bought that one hook, line and sinker.”

I narrowed my gaze, working to focus on the traffic. “So what have you been doing with yourself?”

“Shopping.” She breathed the word as if she’d never shopped before.

“For?”

“Purses.” Her voice whispered across the line like a seductress working her target.

“Purses?” My voice, however, hid not a stitch of my disbelief. “You’re shopping for purses?”

“Isn’t it great?” Her voice jumped so high her last word squeaked. “Each time I make a new find, I’m overcome by the most amazing joy.”

“Great.” But even as I tried to muster up some measure of disapproval for Diane’s little ploy, I couldn’t. If she wanted to shop for purses, she should shop for purses. “You know, normal pregnant women crave pickles.”

“Well, I never claimed to be normal.”

“No kidding.”

“Want anything while I’m there?” Her teary moment passed and shades of Mary Poppins returned.

“A new life,” I answered before the filter on my mouth could stop me.

“Tell David you’re sick and come meet me. I know exactly what you need.”

Visions of the Rediscover You fiasco flashed through my mind. “I’d hate to leave him hanging at the last minute,” I fibbed.

In a choice between the rink with David and the mall with Diane...well...I couldn’t believe what I was thinking, but I’d choose David.

“All right,” Diane answered, “but don’t tell him you spoke to me.”

“Mum’s the word.”

“Literally.” Her shrill laughter sounded in my ear as she disconnected the call.

Heaven help me. I wasn’t sure I could survive seven more months of Diane’s hormones, but after everything she’d put up with from me over the years, I intended to try.

A few minutes later, I studied David’s latest scowl.

“She’s not answering her phone.” He shook his head, his annoyance palpable as he scrubbed down the snack bar counter.

I had never been a good liar and covering for Diane fell soundly into that category. After all, I knew exactly where she was. I’d become an accessory after the crime...during the crime...whatever.

“Maybe she’s napping.” I gave a quick shrug, hoping my feigned ignorance would cover for the fact his wife had gone to the mall to satiate a sudden craving for purses. “Probably turned the ringer off,” I added. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’m not worried about that.” He scowled. “I just want to know who’s going to run the Zamboni tonight.”

I blinked. He’d honestly planned to have a hormonal, pregnant, middle-aged woman operate heavy equipment. I should have known he was only concerned about how Diane’s absence might inconvenience him.

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about the health of your wife and your unborn child?” I asked.

His scowl deepened. Then he stopped mid-swipe and lifted his gaze. “You’ll have to do it.”

Was he kidding me? “Are you kidding me?” I shook my head. “No way.”

“It’s either that or flip burgers, and I’ve tasted your cooking.”

Now it was my turn to scowl, and I couldn’t help but notice the tiniest hint of amusement at the corner of David’s mouth.

“Funny.” I faked a laugh.

He shook his head and returned to his work. “There’s nothing funny about your cooking.”

I leaned against the counter. Surely David didn’t think our conversation complete. “Seriously. There’s nobody else here who knows how to drive the Zamboni?”

“Diane, me and Ashley.”

“Ashley.” I said her name a bit too enthusiastically and did my best to rein in my relief. “Ashley knows how to run--” I shot a glance toward the motorized monster in question “--that?”

“Any moron could run it.” David’s impatience had begun to show. He’d turned his back on me, probably hoping I’d develop a sudden fascination with operating massive, potentially life-threatening equipment and leave him in peace to scrub counters and flip burgers.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You always say I don’t have any faith in you.” He shrugged, still keeping his back to me. “I have faith in you.”

Faith or no faith, I had no plans to drive a machine that could squash me like a bug.

Just then Ashley breezed through the door, illuminated by the outside light as if she’d merged with the brilliant rays of the sun. When the door slammed shut behind her, she stood for a moment, blinking.

“Couldn’t you turn up the lights in here?” I directed the question to David’s back.

“Now what? Your Internet degree in ice rink management come through?”

“Funny again.”

I waited for Ashley to make her way to the snack bar before I hit her with the question of the day. “I hear you know how to drive the Zamboni?”

She shrugged, the move a perfect carbon copy of her father’s. “Any moron could run it,” she mumbled.

I shuddered. “Gee, I wonder where you picked up that pearl?”

Ashley tucked her hair behind her ears and dropped her gaze to the concrete floor. When she offered no typically indignant teenage rebuttal, my Aunt Bernie radar chimed deep inside my brain.

“Something happen at school?”

She shook her head, still looking down.

I closed the gap between us and hooked my fingers beneath her chin. She looked up at me, her young eyes far more serious than they should be.

“Spill it.”

“I got invited to a party this Friday night.”

I frowned, doing my best not to give away the confusion I felt. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “A boy-girl party.”

I made a face. “Isn’t that even better?”

“Dad won’t let me go.”

“Why?” I gave a quick lift and drop of my shoulders. “It’s not like you’re having sex.”

Ashley’s eyes popped wide, a la Bambi in the headlights. Fear gripped my insides.

“Are you?” I asked.

Her features twisted as if she’d sucked on a lemon--a really big lemon. “Gross.”

I relaxed a smidge and dropped my hand from her chin. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I need Mom to soften him up. Convince him I’m old enough to go.”

“So ask her to help.”

“She doesn’t have time for me anymore.” Ashley drew in a ragged breath and shifted her focus once more to the floor. My heart ached just looking at her defeated posture.

“Now you’re talking crazy.” I gave a little laugh to try to lighten the mood. “Your mom lives for you.”

“Have you talked to her lately?” Ashley shot me a incredulous glare. “She lives for the baby and purses. Period.”

I bit my tongue. The child had a point.

I held my breath and tried to think this one through as fast as I could. If I called Diane to give her a heads up on the situation, I’d be forever branded as a spy in Ashley’s book. If I helped Ashley without saying a thing to my dearest friend, I might be forever branded as a traitor.

But chances were pretty good Diane would understand, and just in case she didn’t, I could always stop by the mall and pick up a faux-croc tote on my way home.

“I could talk to your dad.”

Ashley’s head snapped up.

“And drive you to the party,” I continued.

“Really?”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “And maybe we could go by my house first and you could borrow something from my closet. That would be cool.”

Ashley’s nose crinkled.

“I’m not that out of touch, Ash.”

“Aunt Bernie.” Her nose crinkle turned into a full-out scrunch.

“Okay, but I am killer when it comes to spiral curls.”

I caught her staring at my natural frizz, and I self-consciously smoothed a hand over the mess I reluctantly called my hair. “On other people. Killer curls on other people.”

Her facial scrunch morphed into the warmest smile I’d seen on her face since Santa brought her Tickle Me Elmo for her fourth Christmas.

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks, Aunt Bernie.”

I did my best to project nonchalant coolness as she sashayed away, when I really wanted to jump up and down. For the first time in days I’d actually said something right. At least, I think I’d said something right.

As I stood there watching Ashley effortlessly operate the Zamboni, I realized she might be a whole lot younger than I was, but we weren’t all that different.

I might be caught in the transition between married and single and between having a dad and surviving a dad, but Ashley was caught in a transition of her own. The transition between childhood and womanhood.

And while I might not know a thing about how to drive a Zamboni, flip a decent burger or survive my life transition, I might be able to help Ashley through hers.

The thought of lending Ashley the benefit of my experience gave me the same glimmer of purpose I’d felt when she hugged me at the bead shop.

I, Bernadette Murphy, had finally found someone to whom I could make a difference.

I looked at Ashley and waved.

After all, how difficult could it be?

o0o

Later that night, I sat up in bed, staring at the walls. Sleep eluded me.

Poindexter, however, yipped and growled in his sleep as he sprawled across his dog bed, no doubt giving some obedience school trainer a piece of his mind.

I slid out of bed and pulled out Dad’s book out of my bureau. I climbed back into bed, plumped my pillows and flipped the pages open to the next puzzle.

What felt like hours later, I stretched and studied the cryptogram’s message, proud I’d managed the solution but a bit sad my father had felt the need to gather these messages for me.

Had I become so pathetic he thought motivational quotes were the only way to save me?

I read the message again and realized Dad was trying to tell me he didn’t think me pathetic at all.

I smiled.

Then I shut the book, closed my eyes and fell asleep.

o0o

“What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

-Dwight D. Eisenhower