Heat Wave (8 page)

The front door slammed and two little giggling girls skipped in, Margaret and her best friend Molly.

“We’re going to have tea with our babies,” Margaret informed her mother.

As fast as Superwoman in a phone booth, Carley transformed herself into a calm and smiling mommy. “Great, girls. Do you want to take some juice and cookies up to your room?”

“Yay!” Margaret jumped up and down, then caught herself and stood quite still. “We’ll be very careful not to spill,” she promised solemnly.

Carley put together a doll-size picnic basket of cookies and juice in a thermos. She followed the little girls to the bottom of the stairs and waved to them as they went up. Really, she was listening for sounds of Cisco. The wailing had stopped. There was silence. Perhaps Cisco had fallen asleep, exhausted by her emotions. Or perhaps she was talking to Polo on her cell phone. Fine. Carley would phone her own friend.

“Maud, can you talk?”

“For a while. I’ve got to get the monsters from The Boys and Girls Club. What’s up?”

Carley explained about the smoking, the insolence, Cisco’s tantrum.

“Oh, sweetie, and you have to do this by yourself.” Maud sighed. “My mother used to say to me, ‘Just wait until your father gets home.’ All I can say to my boys is, ‘Just wait till your father gets home—oh, never mind, your father is three thousand miles away and doesn’t give a shit.’ ”

Carley laughed, and relief flowed through her. “It’s easy for me to fool myself into thinking Cisco and I are friends, equals, and sometimes we really seem to be. Other times, and this is definitely one of them, I’ve got to stand up and be a parent, even if she does hate me.”

“Tough love is the best kind, especially with the smoking issue. Cisco’s peers are going to be sampling drugs and alcohol pretty soon.”

“Oh, Maud, don’t even say that. It’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, but settle down. Cisco’s got ballet. That will keep her steady, give her something to dream about, something to organize her life. I think I’ll register my guys in karate this winter. If anyone can break boards with their bare hands, it’s my two.”

Carley laughed again, then added more soberly, “Isn’t it hard, making and enforcing rules without another adult to help?”

“Actually, no. John was so hopeless. His head was always in a book, and when he wasn’t reading, he was reciting poems to himself in his head. Sometimes I was certain he was looking at us and wondering who we were. I do miss being able to go out of the house at night, just to run down to the library or the convenience store. John at least would have protected the boys. I mean, doesn’t your house seem awfully big to you sometimes, in the middle of the night?”

“Yes,” Carley agreed solemnly. “Yes, it does.”

“Back to the smoking thing. I think you did exactly what you should have done. Stand firm on this issue, and she’ll get it that you’re going to stand firm on the harder ones down the line—staying out late, drinking, all that.”

“You’re right, Maud. Thanks.”

Cisco didn’t speak to Carley at dinner that night. Afterward, she shut herself in her room and when bedtime came, Carley knocked on the door and looked in to find Cisco already tucked in bed and sound asleep. Or pretending to be.

The next morning Cisco went off to school still in high dudgeon, mouth set, eyes cold, posture stiff. She didn’t hug Carley, but as she went out the door, she said, “I’m going to Nana’s after school. Okay?”

“That’s fine.” Carley made her voice mild, and smiled at her older daughter, as if everything was good between them.

That afternoon, Carley’s phone rang.

“Darling, it’s Annabel. Do you have a moment to talk?”

Carley was on her knees at the back of the linen closet, digging out all the delicate lace-embroidered tablecloths she hadn’t used in all the years of her marriage. She sat up straight and leaned against the wall. “Of course.”

“Cisco stopped by on her way home from school. She told me about her and Polo smoking in the attic.”

“Oh, gosh, Annabel, I should have told you. I—”

“I really think you’re being too strict with her, Carley. Cutting off communication with her best friend for a week? That seems cruel, especially when her father died only two months ago.”

“But—but—” Carley sputtered. “I thought you’d be just as upset as I am. Smoking in the attic?”

“All kids her age try smoking.”

Reluctantly, Carley agreed. “I suppose. Still, parents have to make it clear that we disapprove. We don’t want it to become a habit.”

“Don’t be such an alarmist. It’s not going to become a habit.” Carley was speechless.

Annabel continued, her voice full of warmth and love. “Darling, I’m sure they won’t do it again. I’ve told Cisco that the attic was a stupid,
dangerous
, place to smoke. She understands. She said she won’t do it again. I promised I’d speak to you. I told her I’d suggest that you consider lightening her punishment. The poor child lost her father. She needs her friends.”

Carley took a deep breath. Wasn’t it only yesterday that she bemoaned the loss of Gus’s point of view, his opinion of how to raise the girls? Why did she feel so resistant to Annabel’s suggestion? Perhaps because Annabel had sided with Cisco against Carley, because Cisco was Carley’s child, not Annabel’s. Because Annabel was making herself the good guy and Carley the bad guy.

Annabel obviously believed it was her place to interfere. Hadn’t Annabel and Russell asked Carley to bring the girls and live with them? The hairs stood up on the back of Carley’s neck at the
thought of her charming, powerful mother-in-law so silkily, smoothly, relentlessly taking over.

“Annabel, I appreciate your concern, but this is a matter between Cisco and me. I am quite concerned about her smoking, and very worried that Cisco, who is twelve, would be foolish enough to smoke in the
attic
. There are times when I need to set limits to stress my rules with Cisco, and this is one of them.” She was glad she wasn’t in the same room with her mother-in-law; her knees were shaking. Always before Gus had been the perfect buffer. Anything he said brought smiles of approval to Annabel’s face.

“Well.” Annabel cleared her throat. “It seems then I have nothing more to say than that I think you’re making a mistake.” With a faint click, the connection ended.

Did she just hang up on me? Carley wondered. But she didn’t have time to worry about it. She had too much to do.

Just before dinner, Cisco came in, hugging her books to her chest, humming to herself.

“Hi, Mom.” She was all sweetness and smiles as she slipped out of her parka.

“Hello, darling. Want to wash your hands and call Margaret? I’ve made tacos.”

“Oh, yum.” Cisco went out of the room, then turned back, as if she’d just remembered something. “Um, did Nana phone you?”

“She did, yes. We discussed your smoking in the attic. She is much less inclined to discipline you than I am. On the other hand, she’s your grandmother and not responsible for your welfare and safety, not to mention morals. I thanked her for her advice but told her I’m not changing my mind.”

“Mo-om!” Cisco’s face darkened. “You are such a
stick
!”

“Probably,” Carley mildly replied. She set the bowl of chopped tomatoes and shredded cheese on the table. This was one meal Cisco found impossible to resist.

Cisco’s jaw clenched with anger. “I can’t believe you don’t—
honor
—Nana!”

“I do respect and esteem Annabel, of course,” Carley said. “But Cisco, you are
my
daughter.”

Cisco stomped from the room, muttering. Carley was sure Cisco said
I wish I weren’t
.

• • • • •

V
ery early on the morning of the tag sale, Carley woke, jumped out of bed, and pushed open the curtains to check the weather.

The sun shone down on a bright, clear day. The Weather Channel had predicted temperatures in the forties today, and no precipitation.

Murmuring prayers of gratitude, she hurriedly pulled on her clothes and rushed down to the kitchen. At seven-thirty, Maud and Vanessa and Toby would arrive to help set up the sale. Until then, Carley could bake one more batch of cookies.

Cisco came thumping down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a red sweater. She headed robotically to the refrigerator, completely ignoring Carley’s presence, took out the orange juice, and poured herself a glass.

“Sit down and have breakfast with me first, Cisco.” She was worried about how thin Cisco was, but not ready for a fight first thing in the morning.

“I’m not hungry.”

“We’re going to be busy today. It’s cold out. Our bodies need fuel and we won’t have time to eat. Just some cereal.”

Cisco hesitated, then slumped into a chair.

Carley put a bowl of granola and fruit in front of her daughter. She took a bowl for herself. “I’ve got the chart made out. I’m glad
we’re so organized. I hear people show up early for these sales, wanting to be the first to get to the good stuff.”

Cisco couldn’t resist. She was excited about the tag sale. Her friends were coming; strangers were coming, it was going to be like a party. She gobbled her breakfast down, then pushed back her chair. “Shall I go tie the balloons to the mailbox, Mom?”

As Carley and her friends were carrying out the tables and baby furniture and setting up, they heard the thud of car doors. Clusters of strangers bustled eagerly toward the yard. Toby, large and male and a figure of authority to those who knew him, took on the job of standing at the end of the driveway, warding people off. “Not open until eight o’clock, folks. Let them get set up.”

For just a moment, before the sale began, Carley looked around the garage and the yard and was seized with a terrible panic. So many beloved or at least familiar objects, lying naked for strangers to touch and take. It was like having the inner life of their family revealed. It was like selling memories.

Suddenly Maud was at her side, whispering in her ear. “They’re only
things
, Carley. Life is fluid. You have to let go and move on.”

Carley threw Maud a grateful glance. “You’re right. Thanks, Maud.”

Cisco and Margaret artistically arranged their table of old dolls, rejected books, outgrown tutus, ballet slippers, and used clothing. Vanessa took charge of the baby furniture, receiving blankets, stuffed animals, and baby clothing.

Carley and Maud each took a table with the rest of the stuff: old clothing of Carley’s, candlesticks, bookends, placemat and napkin sets, all wedding gifts that had never been used; stools, chairs, picture frames, and three different waffle pans. Also they sold the odd unused gifts accumulated over the years like the weed-whacking golf driver, the electric corkscrew, the digital measuring cup, and the speaking clock that spoke in such a depressed monotone that it creeped out the girls.

Framingham Burr, another friend of Gus’s, volunteered to stay outside. A big man, he never noticed the cold, and he was pleased to run the table holding all of Gus’s things: ice skates, tennis racquets, scalloping gear, electric foot massager, electric nose hair trimmer, electronic multiroom temperature monitor, and mounds of clothes from high school and college days, beloved sweaters, ties, and overcoats Gus hadn’t been emotionally ready to give up but no longer wore, and had been banished to the basement.

The depressed clock said, “Eight.” Toby stepped aside.

Dozens of customers poured up the driveway, charging toward the tables, almost desperately eyeing the merchandise, as if sure they would find a treasure. Some of them did. Cries of delight floated through the air as a little girl found one of Cisco’s old ballet tutus. The elegant brass carriage clock, one of two Carley and Gus had received as wedding presents, was plucked from the table with triumph by a newlywed couple. An elderly woman happily paid good money for the dusty, outdated 1982 world encyclopedia Maud had convinced Carley to put out. People surged up to the tables, grasped items, shoved money toward her, or dropped the objects back on the table and rushed to another stand.

Carley looked over to see an extremely pregnant young woman with the Slavic cheekbones of the Russians who were working on the island. The man with her, Carley presumed her husband, was dismantling the crib Cisco and later Margaret had slept in as babies. Once again, a kind of regret, almost a panic, ran through Carley like a thrill. She watched Margaret approach the pregnant woman, holding out one of her favorite, softest, teddy bears.

“Would you like to have this for your baby?” Margaret asked.

The woman hesitated.

“It’s a gift!” Margaret announced. “A gift for your baby. I love babies.”

“Thank you very much.” The woman took the bear and smoothed its fur, studying it. “It is a very special bear,” she said to Margaret. “And you are a very nice girl.”

Margaret grinned, wiggling all over with pleasure at the compliment.
She ran to Carley. “Mommy, look, I gave that lady my bear for her baby!”

“That was nice of you, Margaret,” Carley told her. “What a good, generous girl you are.” Suddenly the day brightened for her—absolutely turned around. How proud Gus would be of his little girl, so instinctively kind and thoughtful. What a good thing it was that her daughters’ crib was going to be used by that young couple from a country so far away. It made Carley feel more connected, somehow, to the wider world.

Maud leaned over. “You should have baked more.”

Carley glanced down at the end of the table where she’d placed her gingerbread people, applesauce cake, pumpkin muffins, and her special chocolate, walnut, and a bit of everything else cookies. Every single crumb was gone. Carley didn’t have a chance to answer Maud—she was dealing with a woman who wanted to buy the scarf Carley was wearing around her neck.

Around noon, things quieted down. The frenzy of eager shoppers ebbed as people headed home for lunch. Most of the items were gone.

Margaret was crying because she’d sold a baby doll that she realized had been her very favorite. Carley picked her up, took her into the house, and cuddled her while she drank juice and ate a peanut butter sandwich. Moments later, Margaret jumped off Carley’s lap, yanked on her parka, and rushed back out to the action.