Chasing Rainbows A Novel

SIX


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On Halloween, David told me to skip coming over to the rink. There weren’t too many kids who’d choose ice skating over trick-or-treating.

I’d prepared for the onslaught of costumed kids the only way I knew how--by buying six bags of candy when experience told me I only needed five. If everything went according to plan, I’d keep my chocolate consumption to two thousand calories or less, yet still be on a satisfying sugar-high by the end of the night.

As daylight turned to dusk, however, I was partway through my second bag and the laws of supply and demand indicated the kiddies might be in for a disappointment.

The crowds were heavier than in years past, and the little ghosts and goblins and vamps seemed to have three hands each. I’d never seen such efficient grabbing. Every mother had perfected her delivery of the phrase “Just one, honey” using a high-pitched, singsong voice, but not a one fooled me. The way I saw it, each kid had been coached to grab whatever he or she could get to ensure an ample supply for mom and dad at the end of the night.

After all, that’s the way I’d handle it.

Halloween never failed to be a rough night for me. I did my best not to imagine what Emma might be wearing, but it was impossible not to.

I had never thought she’d go the traditional princess route. I imagined her rather as a throwback to the classics. Maybe a cowgirl, complete with lasso.

Her dark hair would be bobbed adorably short, smooth waves curling up beneath the rim of her pink cowboy hat. Poindexter would play the part of her loyal pony. He, of course, would wear a cowboy hat of his own, complaining not in the least.

I embraced the mental picture as a pair of little girls waved happily to me and took off with half of my remaining stash. When a car pulled into my driveway, I frowned.

The car wasn’t one I recognized, and I hadn’t ordered a delivery of any sort. Surely trick-or-treating by automobile was outside the parameters of acceptable behavior.

The driver’s door opened and a lanky man unfolded himself from his seat, leaving the lights on and the car running as he approached the front door.

“Can I help you?” I asked, still clutching what was left of my basket of miniature candies.

“Bernadette Murphy?” He stopped just short of where I stood, studying me.

I nodded. “That’s me.”

He held out a folded document and I took it in my free hand, still frowning.

“Consider yourself served.”

The stranger pivoted on one heel and made it back to his car and out of my drive before the reality of what had just happened registered.

I’d been served. And I had a pretty good idea of with what.

I dropped to the front step and set the basket on the walkway. The motion set off the skeleton I’d hung from the shepherd’s crook I’d never gotten around to hanging flowers on over the summer.

When you go out in the woods tonight...

I sucked in the deepest breath I could manage and unfolded the document.

...you’re in for a big surprise.

Ryan Murphy vs. Bernadette Murphy.

My head bobbed as if it were suddenly too heavy for my neck.

“Trick or treat.”

I looked up from the papers. A three-foot-tall fireman stood before me, but I found it impossible to coax my mouth into forming words. I picked up the basket and handed it to him, pushing myself to my feet.

He stared at me, wide-eyed beneath his fireman’s hat.

“Take it.” I managed to whisper, afraid that if I tried to do or say anything more, the anger and shock I fought to control might explode, and I didn’t want to scar the poor kid for life.

He stood, frozen to the spot, clutching the basket as I launched my numb body toward my front door. The last thing I heard as I pushed the door shut behind me was his mother’s voice. “Just one, honey.”

I flicked off the light, threw on the deadbolt, and sank to my knees in the middle of the foyer.

Divorce papers. On Halloween.

How could he?

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in that position when the phone rang, but it took a few rings before I could make my knees cooperate with my brain’s desire to stand up.

When Ryan said hello, I realized I’d been sucked into one of those Halloween thrillers where the villain never dies. The kind where you think the bad guy has inflicted all the damage he possibly can, only to find he’s reared his ugly head one more time.

“Bernie?” Ryan’s voice filtered across the line as if this were a day like any other, and not the day he’d chosen to have me served with the papers signaling the end of our marriage.

“Don’t you Bernie me.” I growled the words, startling myself with the intensity of my tone.

“Oh.” Ryan grew silent for several long seconds. “I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

I laughed--a tiny, bitter burst of breath. “Perfect timing, as usual.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see me, blinking back tears as I struggled to find the words I wanted to say to him.

“I don’t think you’re sorry at all. I think you’re probably ready to dance with joy.”

“Bernie--”

“No,” I interrupted him. “You don’t get to talk. Not now. Not ever. Just leave me alone.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

Disbelief welled inside me and I pressed my lips together, hoping the move would somehow stem the sound of my anguish before I spoke. “You should have thought of that before you cheated on me.”

Silence stretched between us, and I was just about to hang up when he delivered his parting shot. “I know this is a tough week for both of us. I’ll be thinking about you.”

A tough week.

Emma’s birthday.

“I hate you.” I hung up the phone and stared at it for a long time, suddenly unable to cry. Too stunned to react in any way, shape or form.

I hate you.

I did hate him. I hated him for cheating instead of telling me he was unhappy. I hated him for not giving me a chance, for not giving us a chance. I hated him for falling in love with someone else. I hated him for being able to have a child without me.

I hated him for leaving me behind.

I thought of Emma and wondered how different our lives might have been if she’d survived.

That’s when my heart broke.

Again.

o0o

After Ryan’s call, I had every intention of eating the leftover Halloween candy. Then I remembered I’d given the entire basket to the tiny fireman. I cracked open my front door to see if he’d left anything behind, but there was no trace of the basket or the chocolate.

I imagined his mommy at home, crafting the perfect autumn centerpiece out of my attempt at fashionable candy distribution while she ate my chocolate.

I walked to the calendar I kept in the kitchen and flipped it open. There it was.

November third.

Emma would have been five.

Damn.

Every year, the date sneaked up on me like a car that broadsided me just when I thought the coast was clear. Last year I’d swore it wouldn’t happen again. I’d swore I’d be ready.

I must have forgotten to check the side view mirror.

In the five years since Emma was born, some of the details had faded. I’d always thought every moment of every day of her life would stay forever embedded in my mind, but they hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if that made me a horrible person, or an even more horrible mother. Yet, some things were still as vivid as if they’d just happened.

Our next door neighbor and I had been pregnant at the same time. She’d delivered a healthy baby girl a few days after we’d buried Emma.

I could still picture the ten-foot stork anchored into the line between our properties.

I didn’t begrudge our neighbors their happiness, but I couldn’t help but think fate had a pretty dark sense of humor.

On the day I’d decided to drag Emma’s crib out to the garage, our neighbors brought their daughter home from the hospital. The crib hadn’t fit through the interior door, so I’d wrestled it outside to use the overhead garage door instead.

I’d been halfway down the sidewalk when four cars pulled up bearing family, friends and gifts for the new bundle of joy next door.

The memories and Halloween chocolate swirled in the pit of my stomach and made a rapid ascent into my throat. I barely reached the bathroom in time.

Late Friday, I was into my forty-eighth hour of wallowing when the phone rang. I let the machine pick up and pulled one of my pillows over my head, expecting to hear another of Diane’s pep talks. When I heard Ashley’s voice instead, I sat straight up in bed. Poindexter lifted his head, staring at me as if I were some alien creature--a human who actually moved.

I plucked the phone from the nightstand, interrupting the message Ashley had been leaving. “I’m here, what’s up?”

“Dad said I can go.” There was a lightness and brightness to her tone I hadn’t heard since before Diane had announced her pregnancy. I smiled with relief.

“To what?” I climbed out of bed and stretched, not wanting to throw my body into sudden shock by actually trying to walk.

A loud, annoyed sigh blasted across the line. “The party.” Ashley drew out the word’s last syllable as if she were a kid going over the top of a roller coaster.

The party.

I blinked. How could I have forgotten? What had happened to my resolve to channel my energies into helping Ashley?

“I remember.” I crossed my fingers, convincing myself it wasn’t a total lie if my fingers were crossed--a definite throwback to my own teenage years. “What time should I pick you up?”

“An hour?” Her inflection went up, turning her statement into a question.

I walked toward my mirror as we spoke, holding the cordless to one ear as I stared open-mouthed at my reflection. I’d always known my hair had a life of its own, but this was ridiculous. Long, wiry sections zigged and zagged away from my face at angles a geometry professor would be proud of.

My face was worse. Sheet marks so deeply lined my left cheek, not even a series of Botox injections could save me now.

I leaned close to the mirror, scrutinizing my eyes--my red-rimmed, sleep-encrusted, swollen-beyond-recognition eyes.

“An hour sounds good,” I answered. “I was just working out, so I’ll grab a quick shower and come get you.”

There was a pause from Ashley’s end of the phone, and I imagined her making that squished-feature face she made when she doubted every word from some adult’s mouth. “You sound like you were asleep.”

“It’s the endorphins,” I countered. “Very relaxing.”

Another pause. “They make you hyper, Aunt Bernie, not sleepy.”

I rolled my eyes. Didn’t they have better things to teach kids in school these days? “Are you going to keep yapping, or are you going to let me get out of my sweats and get ready to come get you?”

I fingered the hem of my rattiest sweatshirt. At least that wasn’t a total lie.

“Can you pick me up at the mall? Food court entrance? Then we can go straight to the party.”

A twinge of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on eased through me. Suspicion? Disappointment? Fear of the mall security guard?

“No spiral curls?” I asked.

“That’s asking too much of you,” Ashley answered sweetly. Too sweetly. “Just a ride would be great.”

“And your parents are okay with this?”

“Who do you think dropped me at the mall?”

I blew out a resigned breath. “Okay, see you in an hour. Just don’t make me come in to look for you, deal?”

“Deal.”

I headed for the shower determined to rediscover the sense of purpose I’d felt just days earlier.

o0o

“If you don’t know where you’re going, you may miss it when you get there.”

-Unknown