If You Could See What I See (42 page)

“You were out of class, also?” I asked.

Cassidy grinned at me. “We’d been making out behind the bleachers and lost track of time.” She held Cody’s hand.

“Yeah, I mean, Cassidy’s my woman, and ever since her dad ran naked into her bedroom, I mean, that freaked me out,
freaked me out,
and I can’t come over now, so I haven’t been able to spend as much time with her, and I love her so much—”

Hayden dropped his ice pack to his lap. “Regan and I are fighting back. Regan’s fists are so fast, it’s like a blur, then all of the sudden Cassidy is in there pummeling. I mean, she screams at them and she jumps on Ricki St John’s back—he’s always beating kids up—and Ricki swings at her over his shoulder . . .”

“Uh, excuse me, Hayden,” Cody interrupted. “I don’t wanna interrupt you, but I don’t want Miss O’Rourke to get the wrong impression here.” He turned toward me. “I didn’t want Cassidy in that fight at all, Miss O’Rourke, but all of the sudden, she was in it before I could protect her, and I was hitting Stepho Zacks, boom boom, like that”—he showed us the boom boom with his fists—“and I didn’t see Ricki take that swing at Cassidy or I woulda been right there, I mean, right there, protecting my woman, okay, Miss O’Rourke?”

I nodded. Knight in shining armor.

“But as soon as I see Ricki take that swing and Cassidy went down, man”—Cody actually flushed and boom boomed both his fists together again—“I . . . man, I was so mad, I think I had steam on my head, and I said two words to myself: ‘Destroy that jerk.’ ”

“He was awesome, Aunt Meggie!” Hayden bobbed in his seat. “He swung at Ricki, and Ricki went straight down, got back up, and Cody swung at him again, and Ricki didn’t get back up. Then Cody hit Stepho again, and Stepho ended up on his back with this frickin’ stunned look on his face, like he couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah, but Hayden, he had Mick down, man,” Cody said, giving praise where praise was due. “He took care of Mick.”

“In my heels, too!” Hayden said. “Regan wiped out Bryan and Ramon, all this blood flyin’ from their noses, and Cassidy, she shoved Yolanda up against the wall so hard her head thunked because, you know, Regan and Cody couldn’t hit a girl, but Cassidy could.”

“So it was a family fight?” I asked.

“Yep,” Cody said, grinning. He fist-bumped Hayden, Regan, and Cassidy. “Family fight.”

“Family fight!” Cassidy threw her arms up into the air and cheered, “We won!”

I looked at the principal. He looked tired.

“There was a lot of blood,” Regan said. “No blood on the frogs.”

“Yeah, blood on the enemy,” Hayden agreed. He crossed his legs. I liked his heels.

“It was a battle, Aunt Meggie,” Cassidy said. She hooted again like she was at a football game. “I wish you were there.”

“The only bad part was the frogs,” Regan said, tearing up again, that big, blond head swinging back and forth. “Those poor frogs. I don’t think I’ll ever get over their deaths.”

“So what we have here,” I said, “is five boys and a girl attacking my kids. My kids defended each other. How long will the other kids be suspended for?”

The principal shifted his oversized bottom on his seat. “The other students will be suspended for ten days. Their parents have already been called.”

I was surprised. Surprised that he’d been fair. I hadn’t pegged him that way initially. Bad me. “Good. Thank you. And now my kids can all go back to class?”

The principal nodded, then turned to Hayden. “I’m going to do all I can to protect you, Hayden. I’ve got zero tolerance for what happened here, and these kids getting suspended will send the student body a message.” He sighed. “I don’t understand it, but I’m trying. What I do understand, kid, is that you’re a good person, and at my school you’re going to learn and be safe like every other person here. I’ll take care of this.”

Hayden nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Thanks.”

Regan said, “If I have to hit people to protect Hayden, my brother now my sister, I will, but I’m not going back to biology till the frog killing is over.” He was overcome again. “Even though they’re dead, they had feelings and they were alive!”

“I’m family,” Cassidy said, standing up and wiggling her hips in her too-short skirt. “I’m a Rockaford, and I enjoyed the fight.”

“I’m family,” Cody said. “I protect my bros and sistas.” He picked Hayden up and hugged him in his skirt. “And I protect my sista who used to be my bro.”

“You did, you did, Cody!” Cassidy gushed. “It was so romantic how you jumped in there and started bashing their heads together, dropping those kids to the floor. I’m going to bake you your favorite cherry pie tonight.”

“And I’m going to start a petition that there be no more frog dissection!” Regan declared. “It makes me sick! As in throw-up sick!”

“Ah, Cass. I love your cherry pie.” Cody leaned over and kissed her. She put her hands behind his head and pulled him closer. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifted her up, her ankles in the air . . . and then Cassidy had the audacity to moan.

I stood up lickety-split and tried to pull them apart. “Okay, you two, break it up, break it up, come on!
Cassidy!
”

The principal put a hand to his forehead. I think he’s ready to retire.

 

As I drove away from the high school, after Hayden, Regan, Cassidy, and Cody had all hugged me, and Cassidy made me promise to come over soon and work on a seven-layer chocolate cake with her, and Regan asked me to write him a note to keep him out of biology, and Hayden said, “Can we talk about the pink negligees with the tassels? I think they should be gold tipped. It’ll be a smash,” I thought about my role as an aunt.

I had visited over the years, but I’d been gone a lot out of their lives.

They needed me. They did not need me to be another mother. They had a fantastic mother. They needed an aunt.

That fact, right there, lifted my heart into a happier place.

I was needed.

I would not be gone again from their lives. I owed it to them to be present.

 

She called the next day and left a message. She told me she hated me. She blamed me for Aaron’s death. “It was your fault, Meggie. All your fault. Why did you kill him?”

I did not feel as nauseated this time as I deleted the message.

29

30

I
t was a scary thing for me to do. On Thursday night, about eight o’clock, I walked across the street, through the snowflakes, and up the small hill to Blake’s house. The lights in his great room were on, his truck in the driveway.

I climbed the steps of his white deck, then scuttled back down like a chicken.

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to gather up some courage. I had run three different meetings today at work. I looked at a financial ledger and saw problems instantly. We had shipping issues, and I handled ’em.

And there I was, trembling, in front of Blake’s house under a swaying, gnarled oak tree. It’s like there are two Meggies: The confident one who runs a company and doesn’t blink, and the one that is immobilized by insecurity in her personal life.

I headed up the stairs, then scuttled back down, yet again.

I would go and talk to him.

I wouldn’t.

I would.

I put my hands to my hair.

I tried climbing the stairs one more time. I made it halfway. With my courage in shambles, I twirled back around to scuttle off for good.

“Are you coming in or not?”

Blake’s voice cut through the blackness of the night and my humiliation like a chain saw cuts through a loaf of bread—maybe Petrelli mob bread.

“I don’t know.” He was in jeans and a white T-shirt. He was tough and handsome and cowboy-ish. I couldn’t believe I’d even dared to come over.

But I was desperate. I liked Blake with every ounce of my scared, stick-figure body.

“Hmm,” he said. “Well, why don’t you come inside until you decide?”

“You watched me going up and down your steps, didn’t you?”

“I’ve had a lot of training about things that go bump in the night, so to speak,” he drawled. “I always check out noises.”

“Dang.” Humiliating.

“Yep. Dang. Sit down with me, Meggie. You can eat dessert first. I bought pecan pie.”

Argh. “Okay. I’ll try to talk to you.”

I could see his smile. “Trying is all I’ve ever asked of you.”

“It’s going to be hard.”

“I like challenges.”

“Not this one, you won’t.”

“I think I will.” He cocked his head. “In fact, I already do.”

 

“I am not happy without you, Blake.”

He closed his eyes and bent his blond head, his hands clasped between his knees as we sat together on his leather couch, a fire flickering in the fireplace.

“Blake, I have never met a man like you. I wish I had met you years before.”

I studied his face. So dear to me. So strong, hard, fierce looking. I could see how he would scare people. But then I stared into those gray-blue eyes, as they gentled for me, warmed for me. Respectful but sexy. Wanting but not pushing.

“My marriage toyed with my mind and then exploded it, and I’ve been trying to get myself back together.” I wrung my hands.

I had told him, choking on one truckload of emotion after another, about Aaron, my mind-twisting marriage, the black and red of his suicide, my year of wandering, the nightmares, the daymares, the rats, the broken black feathers, the blood, and the screaming in my head. I told him about sweet Josephine.

“I have major trust issues, damage issues, trigger issues, anger issues, but I’m trying to work on them. You have been paying for all of those issues, even though you are nothing like my late husband. Nothing. I don’t think I could find two more different men.”

“That’s true,” Blake said, lacing our fingers together. “I am nothing like him. You haven’t been able to see around him to me. I understand. What you went through is tragic. Impossible. I am so sorry, Meggie. I will always be sorry for that pain in your life.”

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. It is what it is.” Yes, it was. Sometimes that’s the healing point, right there: acceptance. It happened, now let’s move forward. “I think I’m getting healthier in my head. I wouldn’t even describe myself as a basket case lunatic anymore, and I don’t think I hate myself as much as I used to.”

“You were never a basket case lunatic. You’re an amazingly strong, moral, caring woman, Meggie. You stayed to save Aaron, you never stayed for you. Don’t hate yourself, please, Meggie.”

“Blake, I would like to start over with you. I understand if you don’t want to start over with me. I get it. You might even be dating someone else.” If I met her I’d want to pull her hair out.

“I am not dating anyone else. I haven’t even thought about it. I’ve been waiting for you. Hoping for you. How could you think I would be dating anyone else, Meggie?” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

I shivered, and smiled. How romantic can this guy get? “How could I think that? Because you are smokin’ hot and thoughtful and kind and smart and I am crazy about you. I’m sure thousands of other women are, too.”

“I don’t want thousands of others, Meggie. I have only ever wanted you. I have always made that clear. But I didn’t want you on the terms that you wanted for our relationship. I try not to sabotage myself.”

Okay. I could do this. I could handle it. I could, could, could. “Then let’s do us your way.”

“My way?”

“Yes.” I wanted to leap on his lap and hug him, though I was still scared about the leap. “Your way.”

“As in, we’re going to date, and be together, not just jump in and out of bed, and you’ll be open to falling in love with me if I’m extra nice and don’t burn the steaks?”

“Yes.” In love?
In love?
Ah, that sounded nice.

“What about your aversion to a committed relationship?”

The thought of a commitment still scared the bejeezus out of me, but when I smiled at Blake, friendly Blake, I said, “I’m gonna try. Give it my best shot, rah rah rah. I’ll be brave and invite you to take a few rendezvous with me.”

“Trying is good.” He smiled back, slow and sure. “And I’ll take the rendezvous.”

His arms wrapped around me, his warm lips meeting mine as if we’d rolled down this road of passion many times before. I cupped his face in my hands and we had a long and rockin’ kiss. I pulled him down on top of me on his leather couch, the snowflakes falling, the fire crackling.

 

Architecturally speaking, there was no better backdrop for our lingerie than the shoe factory across the street. The juxtaposition of lace, satin, and lingerie against the rougher edges of the building, the concrete, brick, exposed rafters, and the cavernous ceilings was bang-up perfect.

At the entrance, our handyman extraordinaire, Eric Luduvic, had created a twelve-foot-long sparkly bra made out of pink lights. Across the cups it said “Lace, Satin, and Baubles” in red. It was catchy, it was fun, and, as Lacey said, “
tit-
illating.”

Swaths of pink satin, white lace, and white lights hung from the factory ceiling. We also hung strawberries. Yes, enormous wood strawberries, painted red, rimmed with silver glitter and red lights, also by Eric.

At Hayden’s suggestion, we brought in trees and wrapped white lights around them, too. We had circular tables covered in white tablecloths, and in the center of each one we’d placed a two-foot-tall black-and-white photo of Grandma when she was sixteen and in the strawberry fields, looking tired and dirty but proud and strong, her hair windblown. The farmer’s wife took the shot.

Along the sides of the factory, we had current photos of Grandma, juxtaposed next to the weathered boarding house and tiny room she lived in while sewing nightgowns after picking strawberries all day. We had photos of the first small building she’d bought for the company, then the second factory, and finally the enormous pink and white building we now own.

The pink runway was lined with two-foot-tall glass candle-holders with three pink tea lights floating in each one, also Hayden’s idea. White chairs lined the runway four rows deep.

The music was loud and upbeat, thanks to Tory. We had decided to play music that made people want to dance. We were expecting hundreds of people. We’d given free tickets to the employees’ friends and family to pack the house, and I’d worked the phones and finally convinced a bunch of media people to be there. When I was stonewalled, I had my mother call. They said yes to her. Funny what a Southern belle/Irish elf sex therapist can do when she calls her contacts.

And the cakes, made by Leonard Tallchief?

Exquisite. Leonard said he was “up all night, worrying endlessly, for weeks, the anxiety tripping my anxiety! Which cakes would be most delectable? I changed my mind, changed it again, my brain numb and hyperventilating. Only the best for your grandma, the best for Regan O’Rourke, my angel. After a companywide tasting and meeting and vote, group meditation, and a call to my uncle, our tribe’s chief, who is also a phenomenal chef, I decided . . .”

He had made five huge cakes that can only be described as spectacular culinary art. One was a lacey red bra with huge cups, another was a pink negligee, the third cake was a white lace thong with purple bows, the fourth was a red and black bustier, and the fifth was orange and yellow flowered panties. We put bowls of strawberries between them.

Delicious.

 

In the back, behind the stage, where our “models” were getting ready, I should have been shaking.

I wasn’t shaking.

I was more focused than I think I’ve ever been.

“Here we go,” Lacey said.

“This works and we relaunch this company,” Tory said. “It fails and we start laying off people and hope we don’t have to sell Grandma along with the rest of the inventory.”

“Thank you for boiling it down to such grim news,” Lacey said.

“You’re welcome,” Tory said. “I don’t think anyone is going to want to buy Grandma, though. Rather cranky old lady.”

Backstage we had organized chaos. More chaos than organized, but our lineup of “models” was ready. Because they were in lingerie, and some, okay almost all of them, didn’t feel confident strutting around in their designs almost naked, we’d added lacy skirts, gauzy veils, creatively tied sashes, silky sarongs, fanciful hats, capes, butterfly wings, and one space alien outfit that opened to a striped nightshirt. The New York shows have fantabulous, out-of-this-world clothing, why couldn’t we?

“Hello, Grandma,” I said.

My grandma studied me, head to foot, noting my silky purple dress and high heels. “You don’t look like the cat dragged you in after rolling you down a hill.”

“Thank you.” I leaned in and kissed her cheek. She pulled me close and whispered, “You look like a model, Meggie. Gorgeous. Most important, I see the light on in you again. Don’t ever let it extinguish again. Stay strong.”

She was resplendent in a floor-length blue velvet dress with a long train and her four strands of pearls. Her hair was up in her usual chignon, but she’d added two sparkling clips. My mother stood beside her in a black dress and fishnet tights, her red curls falling down her back.

“Hello, honey.” My mother kissed me, Lacey, and Tory, taking care not to bump their casts. “I am so proud of all of you. My lovely daughters! We’re all together, as a family. My heart is joyous.”

I was, once again, glad to be home. Win or lose tonight, the company saved or the company burned, I was grateful to be here with family. And I was grateful that Blake was in the audience. My Blake. Sweet Blake.

Minutes later Eric flickered the lights, turned off the dancing music, and invited our guests to take their seats lining the pink runway and floating candles. Behind the pink curtains we waited until everyone was settled and quiet, then we dimmed the lights, one spotlight on the front of the stage.

“That’s you, Grandma,” I said.

Grandma smiled at all of our employees backstage, most of whom were scared to death about their impending journeys down the catwalk. She said, “Thank you,” then paused and put two fingers to her lips, blinking rapidly. “Thank you. You are my life.” She blew them a kiss, which was completely uncharacteristic of our butt-kickin’ grandma.

She disappeared behind the pink curtains and I heard wild applause as she took the stage. Our employees applauded, too. I grabbed Tory’s hand. She squeezed back. “Here we go,” she said. “Let’s start dancing with the devil.”

“Welcome to the Lace, Satin, and Baubles Fashion Story,” my grandma boomed. “Welcome! Thank you for coming.”

Everyone clapped again and hooted. When they settled down, Grandma said, “We were going to have a fashion show, a typical fashion show, with tall, thin, unsmiling models who look famished. We were going to have them model our lingerie, our bras, our pajamas. But we’ve done that. We’ve all done that in this business. Repetitive. Boring. I hate boredom.”

They laughed.

“What we decided to do is show you who we are. To show you who is behind Lace, Satin, and Baubles. Who’s running the company, who does what, who designs our products, who works in sales, what family members work here together. We wanted you to know us. We wanted you to know why this business is my legacy. That’s why we are not calling this a fashion show. It’s the Lace, Satin and Baubles Fashion Story.

“Our employees designed their own lingerie. We asked them to create lingerie that reflected them and their lives. Some of it we’ll change, alter, and sell to you. Some of it is simply for fun. Tonight we have rebellious, thought-provoking, artistic, funny, and out-of-this-world lingerie. Our employees have been unbelievably brave.” She paused. “They are the ones who are going to model the lingerie for you.”

Whooee! The audience liked that.

“Sit back, relax, enjoy, and let’s embrace the night together!”

The audience cheered into the dark, there was a drumroll, and Maritza, her hand clinging to mine in that last second, stepped from behind the curtain and strutted down the pink runway to some toe-tapping music, the spotlight following her. She was in black lingerie; a gauzy, flowy, see-through black skirt; and four-foot-tall gold and silver butterfly wings.