“Oh! I forgot.” Her cheeks go rosy. “I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.” Before we can respond, she races back to the living room to finish her show.
I glance at Sam. “What was that about?”
He shrugs. “Buttering us up for something? A car, maybe? Nice, though, huh? Don’t hear it much anymore from her.”
I refill my mug, then lean against the counter and watch Sam put a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.
“So, how did it go last night? I asked before, but you didn’t hear me.”
He concentrates on the toast. “Good. The center’s coming along. Should be ready for May Day.”
I know he likes his toast a certain color, but the way he’s watching it, staring down into the slots of the toaster, makes me laugh.
“What?”
“Are you waiting for Jesus to appear on the toast?”
He grins at me. “An Easter miracle.”
The back door slams open, and Jonah appears, Marco the monkey sprouting from his side. His hands are brown, and his shirt and shorts are caked with mud. He is beaming. “Happy first day of vacation!” he cries.
“And to you, too, my guy.” I set down my coffee as Jonah bounds over to me. I put up my hand to halt him. “Wash those hands, mister.”
He giggles then goes to the sink. Sam grabs the step stool for him and he goes to work washing off the grime, talking excitedly. “We found some ladybugs and a big fat caterpillar that I think was trying to find a place to make a chrysalis and we found some ants and spiders by the fence.”
I nod and feign interest, grateful that he’s using the laymen’s names for the bugs. Jonah used to call them by their scientific names until I told him I had no idea what he was talking about. Thank goodness he’s dumbed it down for Mom.
“That sounds fascinating,” I tell him. Behind him Sam gives me an exaggerated nod.
“Marco and me want to go out front and search the hedge. Can we, Mommy?”
“Marco and I,” I tell him, and he screws his face into a look of puzzlement. “Marco and I, not Marco and me.” He shrugs and I laugh. The hedge runs between our property and our next-door neighbors’, from the house to the street. It’s three feet thick and six feet high and apparently akin to the Amazonian rain forest in terms of exploring.
“Did you brush your teeth?” I ask.
He frowns. “I forgot.”
“Did you wash your face?”
“I forgot that, too.”
“Clean unders?”
His expression brightens. “That I didn’t forget.”
“Okay, upstairs, brush your teeth, wash your face, change your shirt.”
“Then the hedge?”
I nod. He jumps off the step stool and throws his wet hands around me. I bend over and hug him tight, squashing Marco. “Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you too, Jonah bologna.”
He starts to run out of the room, then stops and turns back around. “Oh, love you, too, Daddy.”
Sam makes a funny face. “Back at you, ham sandwich.”
“I’m not a ham sandwich, Daddy. You’re silly. But I still love you.” He wheels back around and heads for the stairs. I turn to Sam.
“He’s something, huh?” I say.
Sam nods and grins at me. “Yeah, I guess we’ll keep him.”
I take my coffee to the table, along with my notepad and a pen, then I sit and make my to-do list while the caffeine takes effect.
Laundry. Sweep. Market. Sweet potatoes. Wash platters. Oh, right. Ruth’s hair. I glance over at Sam, then write: Round two.
I underline the last entry, then put down the pen and finish my coffee.
SIXTY-SIX
RUTH
I wake up with a stomach full of knots. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling based on the reason. I admit, I’m actually looking forward to this evening, and as I go through my morning routine, I don’t consider canceling. Well, maybe once or twice I do, but not with any real conviction. I am going to keep my date with Judd, and I’m going to enjoy myself. Rachel is right. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. The big deal is what the date represents. A new start. Opening myself up. Allowing myself to be happy.
I sip tea at my tiny kitchen table and make an ingredient list for the banana cream pie, doubling the quantity of each item. Might as well make two. Rachel’s family loves my banana cream pie and would welcome leftovers. Or I could give one to my neighbor as a happy-Easter gift. I wonder what Judd is doing for Easter. Obviously, it’s too soon to invite him to Rachel’s. But perhaps I’ll inquire about his plans tonight. If things go well. Anyway, best not to get ahead of myself.
I eat an egg and some toast, then take my medication. I’m timing my doses to the minute today so my fibromyalgia won’t rear its ugly fangs during my evening. I throw on a pair of jeans and an old, tattered long-sleeve T-shirt—the one I always used to wear when I dyed my hair. One look in the mirror, and I quickly take it off, roll it up, and shove it in my carry sack. I don’t want to look like a homeless person. I pull on a light-peach cotton sweater. Better.
A month ago, last week, even, I wouldn’t have thought twice about going out in that ratty old shirt. I laugh to myself in the empty apartment. Come to think of it, it’s hard to imagine what Judd sees in me, when I often go out looking like a bag person.
A thought whispers through my brain. Maybe he doesn’t see anything in you, Ruth. Maybe this isn’t a date. Maybe it’s just a friendly invitation. Maybe he feels sorry for you.
I shake my head. You know what? Even if that’s the case, so what? I’m going.
Good for you, Ruthie. You go, girl. This last thought isn’t my voice. It’s Charlie’s.
For a brief moment, I think about Charlie and his Easter plans, what they might include. Up until eighteen months ago, his plans were my plans, meaning he spent every holiday with the Davenports. I wonder where he’ll be tomorrow. Is his wife’s family local? Will he go to her parents’ house? Will he and his new wife host? More likely, what with the new baby. Will his wife be the perfect little hostess? I’d like to imagine that she can’t cook a lick and that Charlie will think of me fondly when he tucks into his meal of dry, overcooked ham and mushy green-bean casserole.
I can’t do everything, but I sure can cook.
I force myself to stop thinking about Charlie and his wife and their Easter. I have to break the habit of obsessing over them. Might as well stop today, on this day of new beginnings.
I grab my purse and my list, then head out.