Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) (7 page)

His control slipped. His eyes burned.

“Look. It just happened. I didn’t mean it to it just did.”

“How many times will it happen again? How many times has it happened in the past?”

“Never. Never to both. I got scared, George… real scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yes.”

“Of what?!”

“Of us, of the commitment. Of forever. I guess. But, scared. Scared to death. It was like stepping into the casket with a gun to my back.”

“Good lord, Hawthorne. Did you think we might talk about that?”

“I was scared you’d be upset.”

“It seems you’re just scared about nearly everything, aren’t you?”

“When it comes to marriage, yes, I’m scared. Sorry if that offends George, but I’m just a man. I’m weak.” He used all the lines he had been told to use. “I’m just a man. I’m not strong like you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be married to someone who is weaker than me.”

“Baby… Georgette. How can I prove to you that I’m sorry? It was a slip.”

She put her hand on her mouth and looked up at him. She walked up to him, only a foot in front of him and stood there. Her hands fell to her sides.

“Let me look in your eyes.” She lifted up on her toes and squinted hard into his face. Her eyes flitted around his face, looking for lies. When she finished, she lowered herself back flat onto her feet and stood there silent, still staring. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to forgive him or if he really deserved forgiveness.

“What?” He prodded.

“Don’t talk. I’m thinking.” She turned back to the sink.

He rolled his head, but stopped when she turned back, resting against the sink again and looked back at him.

“You’ll have to atone.”

“I’ll atone.”

“Tell me how.”

“I’ll, I’ll … Son of a… I don’t know.” He threw his hands in the air, letting them land limply against his legs. “Why don’t you tell me?”

She hooked her hands behind her onto the sink and waited for a minute. A minute too long for him.

“What?!” he demanded.

Georgette, making him wait, rubbed a spot with her index finger under her nose but just above her lip. She turned around again to the sink and opened the cabinet below the basin, then, squatting down, pulled something from within the cabinet. It was a white plastic grocery bag with the handles knotted. She tossed it over into Hawthorne’s stomach. “Well, for starters, you can take these sheets you two used and burn them.”

15

“Hell no, Roberta. I’m too old to have this sort of trouble.” Georgette slammed her chopping knife hard into the butcher block. “He can go screw himself.” She paused. “I am so sick of Sunnydale.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Man, George. I know but you can’t just sell everything and split.”

“Why not?” She pulled a white crumpled paper towel from inside the wrist of her sleeve, opened it, folded it in half and wiped at her nose. “Why not?” she repeated. “I need a new perspective. A new life. I’m at this halfway point where I’m too old to start over but still young enough to want to. I’m letting the young side of me call the shots right now.” She blew into the paper and wiped it back and forth across the base of her nose. “I’m letting the young me out for a spin. Good grief, I was a widow at forty and I’m now divorced from my second marriage, before the wedding, at forty-five! That’s not what I’d call a winning streak.” She looked at the used paper towel and tossed it like a basketball into a garbage can. Roberta remained quiet while she went on her little tirade. “That’s all. I’m done.” She walked to the sink and ran the hot water, pumped some soap into her hands and washed them. “You know what I mean? I’m just done. I’m tired and need to give myself a break.” She pulled off two sheets of paper towel and dried her hands, then shoved the damp wad into her sleeve again for use on her nose later.

“I understand, Georgie. Believe me, I do, but I just don’t see how running away is going to solve your problems here.”

“Well, if I sell everything then I won’t have any more problems here.”

“What about,” she crossed her arms and stood tall, “What about me, George? What about us?”

“Roberta. You’re a grown woman. You have a husband. You don’t need me.”

“But I love you.”

“I love you too, honey, but I have to do this for myself. I just have to.” She sat with one foot up on the rung of the stool. “I just have to.”

Roberta didn’t need to stand there and beg. She needed a little space herself, so she turned away, shaking her head and pressed through the wooden swinging doors of the diner, walking out of the kitchen.

When the door swung back again, this time it brought Cammy through with it.

“Order.” She held up a ticket in her hand and slipped it in the hanging round stainless steel order rack.

“Yep.”

Cammy smiled. “I need a smoke.”

“Take five. No more. Hurry up.”

The waitress left through the back door of the diner. The sun was just about setting and the sky looked like a baby’s room with a light yellow hazy blue sky and pink cotton-candy clouds. They looked to be building heavier in the distance.

“Hey, Cammy.”

The girl caught the door before it closed. “Yeah?”

“Will you prop the door open? It’s too pretty outside.” A knot lodged between her ears like she’d swallowed a rock. Her eyes burned.

“Sure.” She squeezed the cigarette in between her lips and held the door with both hands, heaving it fully open and cranking down the industrial-grade door stopper with her toe. “How’s that work for ya?” When she spoke, the cigarette bounced with each syllable.

“Perfect. I can see perfectly now. Thanks, Cammy.”

Georgette closed her eyes when she felt a cool breeze caress the inside of the kitchen and she let out a deep sigh.

16

“So, have you talked to her yet?”

“Not since that day.”

The Sunday paper still covered the couch where Georgette had been sitting, right before Roberta stopped by. A pair of neon pink fluffy slippers with slots for each toe lay, one on top of the other, on the floor next to the sofa. She hadn’t yet changed out of her sweats nor had she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, eaten breakfast or cleaned up the sink from last night’s can of tomato soup. A half-eaten sleeve of crackers from a box of Ritz lay open on the speckled green granite counter top.

“I must look awful.” Georgette flipped the remote over to turn off the TV. The screen flickered before zapping out.

“It’s me. No worries.” Roberta looked at her watch. It was ten-twenty.

Looking into her own mug at a shallow pool of caramel-colored liquid and a few stray coffee grounds, Georgette asked Roberta, “Want some coffee?”

A tick, tick, ticking of Georgette’s clock sounded behind them. “Sure.”

Georgette pushed up off the couch turning to the sound and noticed Gangster at the door. His fur lifted from a wind that had kicked up that morning. She shuffled, clad in thick cotton socks to the U-shaped kitchen. Tying closed the sash of her cotton robe as she moved, she shuffled back, carrying the entire pot of coffee and set it down onto a bright yellow tile trivet decorated with one single rooster in its center.

“Hold on, Gangster.”

Holding her cup shoulder-high, Roberta let Georgette fill it.

The morning sunlight danced on the wall as it shone through the French door that led off to the patio. Gangster patted with both paws at the large door’s pane, wanting in.

Georgette obediently walked over, opened the door and let the cat indoors. “Wow. It’s pretty out today.”

“It’s getting hot already.”

Georgette shuffled back to where she had been sitting and fell back into the same spot. She snuggled her feet under her and grabbed her cup. “I haven’t been out yet.”

“No kidding.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

They both sipped from their cups looking at nothing in particular.

Then both spoke at the same time.

“Look, Georgette—” “Roberta, I signed with a real estate agent—”

And again, “You first—” “Oh sorry, you—”

Then once more, “No really—”  “You go—”

Georgette put one hand up in the air to stop and clamped her eyes shut. Then she put a finger to her mouth so Roberta wouldn’t speak.

“Shh.” She dropped her hand and opened her eyes. She gave Roberta a steady stare until Georgette knew she wouldn’t speak. “Let me speak. Please.”

Roberta nodded and set her cup onto the cocktail table. “I listed the diner with ReMax.” She stopped abruptly and then gestured to her to speak. “Can I talk now?”

“Please.”

“You’re acting hastily.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“It’s not an opinion. It’s an observation. Your head isn’t on straight.”

“My head is fine.”

“Have you even talked to Helen? Asked her what the hell she was thinking? Confronted her?”

“You know, she almost pulled the same thing with your father!”

“How is that supposed to make me feel, Georgette. Huh?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. You shouldn’t have, but, again, your head’s not on straight.”

“Oh man.” She set her cup down on the floor next to the couch then put her legs down. “What am I doing?”

“You’re acting crazy. It’s normal for someone who just found her fiancée messing around with somebody else. Crazy.”

“I have to get out of here.”

“Well, that’s fine. Leave. For a while. Take a week. Lord, Georgette, take two weeks, but don’t sell the farm because of some stupid pig.” She picked up her coffee again and sipped. “That’s just plain stupid.”

“Who will watch it?”

“The diner?” She looked over at Georgette who nodded. “Who do you think?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“For a week!” She sipped again. “You come back after a week. If you need more time, then you stay at home and organize your tool shed or something, paint a bathroom.” She set her cup back down. Georgette turned to her. As she listened to Roberta, Georgette watched as she locked both hands together to speak—a thing Roberta often did when she spoke officially, as the mayor. “Look. I know you’re sad. It’s awful what he did to you. Helen’s a tramp. Blah, blah, blah. But the same thing happens every day to all sorts of people. You move on.” Roberta nodded with her last statement. A single bob of the head.

Georgette smiled, then she rubbed Roberta’s arm. She leaned over to lay her head on Roberta’s shoulder. With her head there, she couldn’t help notice the smell of her skin, a hint in her of something so offsetting but familiar, a perfect blending of Bobby and Vanessa. Thinking of them both at that moment, missing them like that, sent a jolt straight to her Adam’s apple but she swallowed it down, fighting against her emotions.

Roberta unlocked her fingers and grabbed Georgette around the waist with one arm. “You’ll be fine. You got dealt a real crappy hand, but you’ll be fine.” She sniffled and pulled back. She dabbed a finger to the corner of each eye. “Look. You are the strongest woman I have ever met. Well, Mom was amazing too, but Georgette, you two were equals. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“Oh.” Georgette’s swollen eyes plated open as wide as possible. “Well, Roberta, my dear girl, I believe that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well, if you tell anyone. I’ll deny it.” She laughed once.

“I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

“I guess.” Roberta concurred.

“Okay, so, first thing. Call the realtor and cancel my listing.”

“Yep.”

“Second. Take a cruise. Meet some tan muscle boy, let him help me lift weights.”

“Okay. Stop. Gross.”

“I’m just talkin’ a little exercise, Roberta. You know, squeeze and tug and squeeze and …”

“Gross. I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t. I’m joking, but I do need to get out for a week, like you said.” She nodded and picked up her coffee from the floor. “A cruise? Kinda sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“You left out something.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to call Helen.”

“No.”

“Georgette. If for no other reason than to let her know how she ruined things for you.”

“I’m sure she knows that without me speaking with her.”

“You will always wish you had told her. It will gnaw at you until you die.”

Georgette looked at Roberta. She wasn’t sure if she was speaking from her own personal feelings or if it was something Vanessa had said one time in her past. Their eyes locked. She didn’t need to know. She could see the truth behind her words and heard Vanessa’s pain speaking to her, even through Roberta’s eyes.

“I will try. That’s all I can say.”

Roberta patted her knee and rose. She looked at Georgette, then behind her.

“Your cat wants back out.”