Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (16 page)

He did other little things, too. Secret notes, anonymous presents. Those memories had always been special, but after Eric died, they became cherished. And I’d always been a little sad to think that he’d died before he could share secrets with his daughter.

But he hadn’t. I should have known that Eric would never have gone and died without leaving one or two special memories for Allie. That just wouldn’t be like him.

“Mom?” She tapped the brakes, slowing to a stop.

I realized I was crying and brushed a tear away. “Sorry, sweetie. I just always loved your daddy’s secrets. I’m glad he shared one with you.”

Her lips pressed together, and for a second I thought she was going to cry, too. When she didn’t, I realized that the corner of her mouth was twitching just slightly, and that her cheeks were a soft shade of pink. I knew then that the driving was only one secret, and I fought my own smile as I said a silent thank-you to Eric. He’d left us unexpectedly, but he’d still managed to leave a little legacy for his daughter.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, then tentatively tugged her hand away. When she started picking at the nail polish again, I realized we hadn’t yet gotten to the meat of things. I stayed quiet. Sooner or later she’d tell me what was on her mind.

When she started to shift the van back into drive, I realized it would probably be later. But then she let go of the gearshift, leaving the van in Park and the engine running. “Does he have something to do with this? Daddy, I mean?”

Not
a question I’d expected, and I was grateful she’d spoken to the steering wheel rather than to me. “With this? What’s this?”

“You know. The self-defense stuff. And Mass. You haven’t dragged me along in a while, and then all of a sudden . . .”

No dummy, that kid of mine. “What makes you think it has something to do with your daddy?”

“Dunno,” she said, even though she obviously did. “I mean, I’m super-psyched about the kickboxing stuff, but . . .” She trailed off with a shrug.

I squinted at her, trying without success to read my daughter’s mind. “What?”

“You used to do all that stuff with Daddy,” she said. “But yesterday you were doing it with
him
.”

My chest tightened and I raised my hand to my throat. “You remember that?” My voice was barely a whisper. Eric and I used to spar a bit when Allie was Timmy’s age, maybe a little older. As she grew up, though—and as we became complacent, living demon-free—we’d fallen out of the habit. Chasing a toddler was exercise enough, and we were having too much fun being parents to keep up with our training.

“Sorta,” she said. “I remember sometimes you guys would let me play, too. I had my own sword and everything.”

I knew my voice would tremble, but I had to answer. “You still do.” A plastic saber Eric had found at a toy store one afternoon. “I packed it away with my equipment. It’s in the storage shed somewhere.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “So why start up again now? And why with him?”

“He’s a friend, and he’s got some experience. That’s all.” At least I knew now why Allie had seemed so cold to Larson. I reached over and stroked her arm. “As for taking the classes in the first place, I thought it would be nice for us to do something like this together. And your dad would like knowing you can take care of yourself.” I avoided answering her basic question:
why
. I didn’t want to lie to my daughter any more than I had to. “Believe me, baby, I’d never do anything to mess up your memories of your daddy.”

“I know.” She snuffled loudly. “I just miss him.”

“I know, baby,” I said. “I miss him, too.”

 

 

The afternoon played out like
pretty much any Sunday, though I will say that both Allie and I were a bit more attentive than usual to Stuart. Guilt will do that to a person.

After dinner Tim played on his xylophone while Allie accompanied him on a bongo drum. Stuart and I filled in backup using Tim’s somewhat slobbery harmonicas. (I confess we were trying to avoid being part of the act, but Timmy’s “you play, too, Mommy” is hard to resist.) After playing, bathing, and reading
Chicka Chicka Boom Boom
(twice),
How Do Dinosaurs Say Good Night?
(once), and
Goodnight Moon
(three times), we finally convinced Tim that he was Super Jammie Man, and it was time for him, his jammies, and Boo Bear to head off to bed, where they could fight for truth, justice, and the rest of it in his dreams.

Silliness works well in our house.

Allie stayed up with us for a while, dividing her time between her room and the living room, with each trip bringing a different ensemble for me to comment on. Despite having lugged home bags of fancy new clothes, in the end she decided on her favorite jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a cute little pink sweater (The Gap, 75% off) to top off the outfit. The internal wrangling before she reached this key decision took approximately two and one-half hours.

After she headed off to bed—with a halfhearted promise not to call Mindy in the dark and stay up all night anticipating the next morning—Stuart and I opened a bottle of Merlot, popped
Patton
into the DVD player, and curled up on the couch. (He picked it. I’d agreed out of residual guilt. Now I was stuck.)

His arm curled around me and I snuggled against him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” he said. “It’s just going to get worse.”

“I know. It’s okay.” More than okay, actually. I was counting on Stuart being busy enough not to notice his wife’s newly reacquired extracurricular activities. I shifted, then arched up to kiss him. “This is important to you.”

He stroked my hair. “You’re the best, you know that, right?”

I laughed, the sound a little forced. “I’m
not
the best, but I promise I’ll try. I’ll never be Suzy Homemaker, but if we’re lucky, I won’t completely torpedo your chances of getting elected.”

“Won’t happen,” he said. “One day out of the gate and you’ve already won Larson over.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we just clicked.”

“Who wouldn’t click with you?”

I didn’t answer that one, pretending instead to be suddenly fascinated by Patton pulling out a pistol and opening fire against a German plane. Stuart followed my lead, and we settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

I was cozy and comfortable and actually ended up enjoying the movie (go figure), but I still couldn’t quite relax. Things were happening out there in the real world, but it all seemed to be off camera. Just outside my peripheral vision. If only I could somehow turn my head and see the bigger picture—

“Hey.” Stuart’s voice was soft as he smoothed my hair. “Where are you tonight?”

“Sorry. Just distracted. Allie. High school. My baby growing up.” Another lie. That made how many? I’d lost track, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many more would follow.

My worlds were colliding, and I wanted to keep the world with Stuart safe and secure. Tucked away in a little box like a treasured Christmas ornament. But my old life kept peeking in, and I was so afraid that Stuart would look at me one morning and catch a glimpse of my secret. Or, worse, that one morning he’d wake up and catch a glimpse of a demon.

I twisted in his arms and kissed him, hard at first, and then softer, until I felt him relax under me and open his mouth to mine. His hands tightened around me, and he pulled me close. I wanted to be even closer. I wanted to curl up, lost inside this man. I wanted him to take care of me. At the very least, I wanted to forget my responsibilities and my promises and my past.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, his tone suggesting that he was amenable to more of the same.

“Can’t I seduce my husband?”

“Any time, any place.”

“Here,” I said. “And now.”

A familiar spark flashed in his eyes, the kind every man gets when he realizes he’s going to get lucky. And then he pulled me close,
Patton
all but forgotten.

I’m not stupid. I knew this wouldn’t solve my problem, wouldn’t make my worries or the boogeyman go away. Wouldn’t even erase my thoughts of Eric.

I wanted it, though. Wanted Stuart.
This
husband.
This
life.

I needed to feel my present tight around me, soft and warm like a blanket. Because bits and pieces of my past kept picking at the loose threads, and I was so afraid that, if I wasn’t careful, the perfect life Stuart and I had built together would unravel in an instant.

And then, I had to wonder, where would I be?

For that matter,
who
would I be?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good sex warps a woman’s mind.
I realize that now. But when Stuart asked me if I could throw together
another
quick cocktail party, I was still lost in that sated morning-after glow. Apparently, one of the paralegals was supposed to host the thing that evening, but she’d come down with something. I murmured
yes
and then buried my head back under the covers, happy, content, and full of orgasm-induced confidence.

It wasn’t until my alarm went off five minutes later that I realized my mistake.

By that time Stuart was already pulling out of the drive, probably practicing his cocktail party banter as he drove to the gym for an early-morning workout. I toyed briefly with dialing his cell phone and backing out, but then abandoned the idea. It wasn’t a huge shindig. Only five couples. And this was what I was supposed to be doing—helping my husband, stepping in during a crisis, being a good wife and mom. Yes, he may have cheated a bit by asking when my body still tingled, but I’d said yes, and now I was stuck. And considering I had to get two kids up and dressed—and then drive Allie and three other kids to school before the 7:45 warning bell—I really didn’t have time to sit around regretting my decision.

I tossed on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail without bothering to brush it. Allie’s a bear to wake up before seven, so I headed for her room first, pounding on the door and calling, “Up, up, up.”

Her muffled response filtered through the door, and although I couldn’t understand the words, the tone was loud and clear—
Go away, Mom, you’re bothering me
.

“First day of school, Allie, remember? Come on. We’re running late.” A lie, but I figured that might get her moving faster.

Next, I headed for Timmy’s room. This was about the time he usually woke up—six-fifteen—and I could hear him whispering to himself. I pushed the door open with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. Tim.”

“MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA!”

(Now
there’s
a proper morning greeting.) I headed over to his crib and soaked up the light from his toothy grin. He held up Boo Bear. “He sleepy,” he said.

“Me, too.” I took the bear, gave it a big kiss, and then very seriously spoke to his little bear face. “Boo Bear, we need to get Timmy up. What do you think? Time for a fresh diaper?”

I didn’t give the bear (or the boy) time to answer. Just schlepped them both the short distance to the changing table. Less than two minutes later (I’ve been doing this for a few years) Timmy had on a fresh diaper and clean clothes and we were heading into the living room. I plunked him on the couch, turned on
JoJo’s Circus
, and continued toward the kitchen to heat up a sippy cup of milk.

Forty-five seconds later Timmy was holding the cup in his chubby little hands, I had my cordless phone cradled at my ear, and I was heading back up the stairs to pound at Allie’s door once again.

“Dupont Mental Institution,” Laura said, obviously having checked her caller ID.

“How are things at your end?”

“The inmates are restless,” she said.

“At least yours is up and moving.” I pounded on Allie’s door again. “
Now
, Allie. If you’re not dressed at 7:20, I’m leaving without you.” The first day of car pool is always a challenge, and Karen and Emily were unknown commodities. If they were the kind who ran late—where you ended up sitting on the street, engine running, laying on the horn—I wanted a little padding in the schedule.

I switched my attention back to the phone. “What have you got going this morning?”

“Laundry,” she said, sounding about as excited as if she were having a root canal. “Carla refuses to step up to the plate.” Carla came in twice a month to do Laura’s heavy cleaning. This is a point of great envy on my part. One day I’m hoping Carla can be cloned. “And bills. I could be talked into procrastinating,” she added. “If you’ve got a better offer, I mean.”

“Not exactly,” I said as I headed back downstairs. “I was hoping to bum a favor.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Now that Mindy’s a teenager, don’t you miss the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“You’re killing me here,” she said, but I could hear amusement in her voice, and said a silent thank-you. “Just spit it out.”

“I need a babysitter.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice rose with interest. “And what fabulous dalliance have you got scheduled?”

“Nothing as fabulous as all that.” I gave her the short-but-incomplete truth—that I was going to be doing some work at the church.

She made curious noises, but didn’t ask and I didn’t volunteer. As soon as she agreed to watch the munchkin, I swore to do her bidding for the rest of eternity. “You can probably just treat me to dessert at the Cheesecake Factory,” she said, “and we’ll call it even.” A pause. “Or is this more than a one-day crisis?”

“Hopefully just one or two,” I said, making one of those
I’m-guilty-but-please-help-anyway
faces even though she couldn’t see me through the phone line. “I’m hoping I can find a day care.”

“Really?” Her surprise made sense. I’d told her over and over that I love doing the stay-at-home-mom thing (I do). “Two days, two desserts,” she said, playing babysitting hardball.