Isn't It Time (8 page)

He hadn’t lied to her when he said he had been examining his
life lately. But he hadn’t told the full truth, either.  After all the
introspection when he turned thirty, he had come to the firm conclusion that
Angie, and only Angie, was exactly what he wanted. 

He had gone around and around in his mind, wondering when,
or if, he should try to convince her that she felt the same. He knew she loved
him, that wasn’t even in question. But she apparently didn’t feel the same
sexual spark. Or if she did, she was suppressing it. He had decided, in the
end, that it would probably be for the best if he just waited for things to
progress naturally and held on to his faith that she would eventually come
around.

But upon hearing that Angie had finally broken up with Jimmy
(and Jack saw red every time he thought of that moronic asshole fucking her),
he decided that it couldn’t hurt anything to give it a try.  So he took his
shot - and he screwed it up.  Now he would have to think about how to approach
the subject again before someone else got their hands on her.

He had a momentary flash of fear, worrying that the next guy
she hooked up with might not be a loser. He might be the guy who would be able
to talk her into a permanent relationship. Maybe even marriage.  And he’d be
goddamned if he was going to sit back and let that happen.

The time was right to make his move, but he didn’t want to
scare her off by coming on too strong.  So he’d play it slow and subtle - but
not so subtly that she might miss the message he needed her to get. He’d do
whatever he had to do make her see him as more than a friend – and he’d start
right away before she got herself involved with the next loser. 

With some difficulty, he cleared Angie from his mind and
settled in to do the work that wasn’t going to get done by itself.

***

Three hours later, Jack was standing in the small foyer of
the Mexican restaurant where he had arranged to meet Melinda.  She was
currently five minutes late and he mentally called the first strike. He was
looking out over the dining room, trying to determine how long of a wait there
might be for a table, when his startled gaze settled on two very familiar
blonde heads. His mother. And Angie’s.

“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath.  Peggy and
Kate knew each other, of course, and they enjoyed each other’s company.  But
they didn’t have the kind of relationship that would normally involve them
having dinner alone together.

They had obviously finished their meals and each had some
kind of frou-frou looking pink cocktail in front of them. Peggy was wearing her
“serious” glasses – the pair she only wore when she didn’t want to screw up
what she was working on, and she was writing something in her day planner.  As
he watched, Kate’s arm came up and, looking happy as hell, they high-fived each
other.

Jack frowned at that odd display. With his eyes on the two
women, and thinking to surprise them with his presence, he pulled his phone out
of his pocket and dialed his mother.  He watched as she picked her own phone up
from the table, glanced at the display, and sent it to voice mail.

“What the hell?” he muttered again.

Disconnecting from his mother’s voice mail, he called Angie.

“Hey, Jack,” she answered.

“Why are our mothers having dinner together?” he demanded by
way of greeting.

“Our mothers are having dinner together? Are you sure?”

“Well, yeah.  I’m looking right at them.  Did your mom say
anything to you about them getting together?”  He strolled across the small
foyer and stepped outside.

“No – and I saw her today, too.  That’s weird. I wonder
what’s going on.”

“That’s what I’d like to know. They’re having a drink and,
get this, high-fiving each other!  And when I called my mom, she sent me to
voicemail!” he said, disgruntled. He glanced around the parking lot for any
sign of Melinda.  Nope. Still not there.

“Well, I can’t imagine what they’re doing.  Unless…” she
hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Do you think this has anything to do
with your mom’s cancer?”

Jack considered that possibility. His mother had had a
cancer scare several years back.  It turned out to be a minor issue and was
taken care of through outpatient surgery. It had frightened Jack’s dad badly,
though; it was the reason he had retired early. He had realized he didn’t want
to waste another minute of what he now saw as their limited time together.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I haven’t heard anything
about there being another problem. And why would she be discussing it with your
mom even if there was?”

“She
is
a nurse, Jack,” Angie reminded him.

“A pediatric nurse, not an oncology nurse.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know anything about
cancer.  Maybe your mom’s looking for a new doctor or something and is trying
to get some referrals.”

“Maybe,” Jack said, glancing up and seeing what he thought
was Melinda pulling into the parking lot.  “I think I’ll ask her, in a
roundabout way, what she did tonight and see if she lies to me.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jack! Why don’t you just walk up to
them and say hello?”

“Because my mother made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to
me right now.” He watched through narrowed eyes as Melinda got out of her car. 

She was absurdly overdressed in some short white,
lacy-looking dress with a wide red leather belt cinched tightly around her
narrow waist.  He added strike two to his tally.  He had specifically told her
it was a casual restaurant and he would be wearing jeans.  The dress, and the
red high heels she was wearing with it, looked expensive.  Strike three. 
Spending beyond her means. He knew she was a receptionist at a car dealership
and he didn’t think receptionists made enough money to justify a head-to-toe
designer outfit. 

“Look,” he said to Angie.  “My date is here.  I’ve got to
go.  See what you can find out from your mother.”

“Okay, I’ll try.  Have fun.”

“Not likely.  See ya, Ange.”

“See ya, Jack,” she laughed.

He disconnected the call, put the phone back in his pocket
and waited for Melinda to teeter the last few steps towards him.  Oh, for God’s
sake, he thought.  If you’re going to wear heels that high, you should at least
learn how to walk on them.

Seeing her up close, he added strike four. Excessive makeup.
He hoped she would keep her lips to herself; he didn’t want any of that
goopy-looking stuff that was all over her mouth to end up anywhere on his body.

“Jack,” she purred, giving him an obvious top to bottom
appraisal. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!” 

She moved toward him like she was going in for a hug. 
Putting on a smile he didn’t feel, Jack quickly extended his right hand.  He
was an affectionate kind of guy but he did not like hugging strangers.  “Hi
Melinda. Nice to meet you, too,” he lied.

She looked put out by his refusal to hug her, but took his
hand and gave it a limp shake. Hiding his distaste, and wondering again why he
was even moving forward with this farce, Jack quickly ushered her in to the
restaurant.  He spoke briefly to the hostess, requesting a table that would put
him on the opposite side of the restaurant - as far away from his mother as he
could get.

“Sure,” the hostess replied with a friendly smile.  “Not a
problem.”

Jack turned to Melinda and caught her giving a squinty-eyed
glare to the attractive young woman. Oh, for Christ’s sake, he thought.  Strike
five.  Unwarranted possessiveness.

It was going to be a long night.

I woke on Sunday morning to crushing cramps and the feeling
that something was not quite right.  Opening my eyes, I shot up to a sitting
position and stared in wonder at my blinds.

Sunlight! Glorious, blessed sunlight was shining through the
cracks. And was that birds I heard? I hopped out of bed, opened the blinds and
took a moment to bask in the warmth.  I was suddenly feeling so good I was
positive if I opened my window a bluebird would fly in and start braiding
ribbons through my hair.

Needing a breath of fresh air that didn’t come with rain, I
slid open my window and took a moment to inhale deeply. Lovely. I knew, all the
way down to my sunshine-deprived little heart, this was going to turn out to be
a magnificent day.

When I grabbed the window to close it, my hand brushed
against the screen and it popped right out of its frame, landing in my
backyard.  I leaned out of the window and looked down. Shit. I was going to
have to remember to go outside and get that and put it back in. But not today.
I had other plans for today.

With thoughts of planting flowers and retrieving deck
furniture from the basement filling my head, I closed the window and
practically skipped to the bathroom to take care of my pressing personal needs.
Even cramps couldn’t destroy my euphoria today.

Face washed, teeth brushed and flossed, and my tampon supply
judged to be adequate, I rushed back to my room to make the bed and change my
clothes.  I was looking forward to the sheer joy of a nice, long run – the
first time it had been possible since the calendar had declared it to be
spring. 

I clipped my hair to the top of my head and changed into my
black, calf-length running pants and a white tank top, then pulled on a light
hooded jacket. I looked around the room for my favorite running shoes.  They
weren’t where I usually left them, which could only mean one thing.  Buried
somewhere on the closet floor. 

Turning on the closet light and stepping inside, I did a
scan and spotted one of the shoes near the middle and the other at the back end
of the closet. Reminding myself, again, to quit tossing things so haphazardly
into the closet, I gingerly made my way through the landmine. 

Snagging shoe number one, I took one step, and was leaning
over to grab the second, when my right foot got tangled up in a pile of summer
clothes that had been sitting in that exact same spot since last September. I
stumbled forward, dropping the shoe, and stretched both arms out in front of me
- a vain attempt to break my fall – and took a nosedive right through the
paneled wall.

Only it wasn’t a wall.  It was a door of some type. Lying on
my stomach, arched atop a small mountain of unwashed shorts and capris, my head
and shoulders were inside what seemed to be a second half of my closet.

I disentangled my lower body from that cursed pile of
clothes and crawled the rest of the way in. I pulled myself to standing and
looked around.  The door I had stumbled through was less than a third of the
height of the wall itself and, if I hadn’t fallen the way I did, I would have
had to be on my knees to enter it.

The carpeting extended into the room and the walls were
plain white with some random cobwebs decorating the corners.  An unused sheet
of paneling leaned against the wall, but otherwise the room was dark and empty.
Grasping the top of the door, I pulled it towards me and peered behind it. 
There was a black, enameled handle, not a doorknob, affixed to the back side,
obviously the way to get out, but there wasn’t a lock. 

I couldn’t imagine what the previous owners were thinking
when they went to all the trouble of building this room.  It wasn’t really big
enough for anything other than additional storage and it didn’t make sense to
cut off half of a closet for storage purposes.

It looked like a hidey hole and I wondered if the previous
owners had indeed used it for hiding, considering the husband’s nefarious
dealings.

Debating whether to talk to my dad later and see if we could
take down the wall and get the rest of my closet back, or to just leave it as
is and find a use for it, I dropped to my knees and crawled out.

Settling back on my haunches, I surveyed the door and
realized I had no idea how to close it from this side.  Running my hands along
the edges and carefully examining every inch, I discovered a small notch in the
paneling, just above the molding. I had never noticed it before, not being
prone to examining my walls, but now I slipped the very tip of my index finger
into the notch and pulled the door toward me until it closed silently.

Being more careful this time, I picked up my shoes and left
the closet. I grabbed my iPod, my phone and my keys from the kitchen, put on my
shoes and got ready to run.

I started sneezing within seconds of stepping outside. It
was also a lot colder than I had anticipated.  Well, no matter – I’d be plenty
warm once I got running.

I did a few stretching exercises while looking around to see
if anyone else was out and about. I hadn’t checked the time, but I was
estimating it to be earlier than 8:00 and it looked like I was going to have
the whole neighborhood all to myself.  Perfect.

I turned on my iPod, slid it into the pocket of my jacket,
popped the earbuds in and, with another round of sneezes, and a cough for good
measure, ran down my front walk.  I made a right turn and started on my usual
path toward the high school track.

I enjoyed the peace and the solitude of the run, listening
to my music on low, and found my groove, despite the intermittent sneezing (and
wishing I had thought to bring some tissues). But by the time I had travelled
the half mile to the high school, I added a sinus headache to my list of
complaints and found the cramps worsening rather than improving with the
activity.

Determined not to let cramps and the damned pollen ruin my
long-anticipated run, I increased my speed as I neared the track and then
coughed my way all the way down the first stretch.  I made the turn and, as I
was now running east, the bright sun was shining directly into my itching, watering
eyes.  Adding sunglasses to the list of things I wished I would have thought to
bring with me, I increased my speed again so I could get to the next turn
faster.

I was working up a nice sweat now and reached up to unzip my
jacket.  And when I did, I tripped over my own feet and went down.

Son of a bitch
.

I landed hard on my right hip atop what felt like a boulder.
Rolling off of it, I saw it was only a small rock - but the pain in my hip
still screamed boulder.  I slowly stood up, ripped the earbuds out of my ears,
brushed the dirt off of my pants and legs - and then just gave up. The universe
clearly did not want me to run today. And right now, I was inclined to agree.

I started painfully limping and coughing my way back the way
I had come, knowing that, for a few days at least, my hip would be sporting a
bruise larger than the rock that had caused it. I pulled my phone out of my
pocket and saw it was 8:15.

My parents were early risers so, while walking toward the
bleachers, I called my mom.

“Good morning, honey,” she answered after only one ring.

“I need a favor,” I said without preamble.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Could you come and pick me up at the high school track? I
fell and hurt my hip and right now the walk home seems too long.”  I sneezed
three times in rapid succession. “And could you bring some tissues with you?”

“Bless you! And of course I’ll come.  Are you okay?”

“I’ll live. Probably.”

She laughed. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“No problem.”

I disconnected the call, limped the remaining few steps to
the bleachers and sat down carefully, shifting my weight to my left side. So
much for my magnificent day.  I snorted to myself and leaned back a little,
squinting up at the miserable sun that had promised so much yet fucked me over
in the end.

A loud “Caw! Caw!” pulled my attention to a largish black
bird circling directly overhead. I glanced at it for a second then looked down,
not able to stand the sun in my eye.

Splat.

I heard it and felt it at the same time.
Oh, you have got
to be fucking kidding me
!

I knew it was there.  I didn’t need to put my hand in my
hair to know that bird had just made a rather significant deposit onto the top
of my head.

Perfect
.

I wanted to stand up and scream my frustration.  I wanted to
stomp my feet like a toddler and scream some more. I wanted to hurl something
at that fucking bird and smash him and his fucking bowels to smithereens. I
wanted to cry.  I wanted to throw up. I wanted my mommy.

On cue, I heard my mom pulling into the parking lot. Even
this early in the morning, her music was deafening.

Sighing, I pushed myself up from the bleachers, hoping the
bird shit didn’t start to drip. I made my way slowly to the car and my mom
turned the music down as I slid in the passenger side.

“Oh, Angie, you look - what the hell is in your hair?”

“Bird shit.  It metaphorically sums up the kind of morning
I’m having.”

“Oh, you poor thing!”  Her words of sympathy were made less
comforting when she burst into laughter.

I glared in her direction and she laughed harder.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered.  “But you just look so
pathetic!”

“I feel pathetic.”  Even in my misery, I could feel my lips
starting to twitch.  My mother had a very contagious laugh.

Then we were both giggling hysterically, mine interspersed
with coughing. She handed over a couple of tissues and I blew my nose –
loudly.  For some reason, she also found this funny and her giggling got
louder.

“You’re not going to wet your pants, are you?” I asked,
giving her a look of horrified fear.

“Probably not. But if anything was going to do it, it would
be this.”

We erupted into more giggling and she put the car in gear
and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Do you have anything to take for those allergies?” she
asked as we drove the short distance back to my house.

“Yeah. I’ll take it as soon as I get home.”

“Good. And before I forget, I have something for Jack. Are
you planning to see him today by any chance?”

“Yeah, I’m having dinner at his house tonight.  What do you
have for him?”

“Rice Krispie treats. I made too many and I know how much he
loves them.”

“Love might not be a strong enough word for how he feels
about Rice Krispie treats.  Did you put peanut butter in them this time?”

“Of course.  A person needs some protein with their sugar.”

“He’ll be very happy.” This was a massive understatement. 
Jack had a sweet tooth that rivaled my mother’s.  My dad avoided processed
sugar at all costs and I tried, not always successfully, to limit my own
intake.  So when my mother was making anything sugary, which was often, she sent
the overflow to Jack.

As she pulled into my driveway, I said, “I’d invite you in,
but I’ve got shit to take care of. Literally.”

She laughed. “I understand. I’ll bring the stuff for Jack
over later, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.  Just give me an hour or two and I
should be feeling human again.”  I got out of the car and leaned back in. 
“Thanks again, Mom; you’re a lifesaver.”

“I try,” she said with a wink.

I closed the door and stood in the driveway, waving while
she drove off, the music already cranked back up to irresponsible teenager
levels.

I made my way into the house and went directly to the
bathroom. I examined the mess on my head.  It was larger and even more
disgusting than I had imagined.

Suppressing the urge to vomit, I used some toilet paper to
remove as much of it as I could and then flushed the whole nasty mess. I took
the clip out of my hair and examined it for stray splatters.  I didn’t see
anything, but washed it under hot water just to be on the safe side.

I took an allergy pill, hoping it wouldn’t make me tired and
loopy, then treated myself to a long, hot shower.

The steam from the shower helped to ease the headache and by
the time I was dressed again I didn’t feel such an overwhelming need to go back
to bed.  I skipped makeup until later and scrunched some gel into my wet hair,
deciding to let it air dry - and prayed for the best.

Assessing the priority of the things I needed to get done
today before heading to Jack’s, I scooped a pile of clothes out of the closet
and painfully made my way down the stairs to the basement. I threw them in the
washing machine, not bothering to sort them, and then discovered I was out of
laundry detergent.

And things only got worse from there.

I made some scrambled eggs for my breakfast and had to fish
an ungodly number of broken eggshell pieces out of the raw eggs.

I mopped the floors I had neglected yesterday and spilled
the entire bucket of sudsy water onto my kitchen floor.

I peeled and sliced potatoes then diced some onions for the
scalloped potatoes I was planning to take to Jack’s - and cut a small slit into
my left index finger.

I was in the bathroom, wrapping a Sponge Bob bandage onto
the finger that was still dripping blood when I heard my mom.  “Hi, honey!  I’m
in in your house!”

“Hi, Mom!” I yelled back.  “I’ll be right out.”

When I got to the kitchen I found my mother already making a
pot of coffee, a shockingly large rectangular container of Rice Krispie treats
on the counter.  

“Hey,” she greeted.  “How are you feeling?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” I suggested.

She laughed and picked up the chef’s knife from the counter,
raising her eyebrows at the blood on the end of it.  “Blood-inducing wound?”