6
claire
At 6:00 A.M. the coffee finishes brewing and the sizzle of the last drop reverberates through the quiet kitchen when I remove the carafe and grab my favorite mug from the cupboard. I let Tucker out and then boot up my laptop and sit down at the island to check my e-mails, sipping slowly so I don’t burn my tongue and wishing there was a way to get the caffeine into my bloodstream faster. The first one, from Chris, was sent at 3:13 A.M., so either he stayed up late working or woke up extra early to get a jump on the day. Both options are equally possible.
To: Claire Canton
From: Chris Canton
Subject: Schedule
Leaving Albuquerque by 3 p.m. then heading to Santa Fe. When is the sign-up for fall soccer? Josh told me he definitely wants to play. Repairman coming to look at irrigation system Thursday morning at nine.
To: Chris Canton
From: Claire Canton
Subject: Re: Schedule
I already signed Josh up for soccer. Will make sure to be home on Thursday morning.
I pour a second cup of coffee, check the rest of my e-mails, and work on my computer until Bridget knocks softly on my front door at 7:00 A.M. We decided a couple of weeks ago that we’d walk four miles every morning this summer, before Sam leaves for work and while Josh and Jordan are still sleeping.
Sebastian stands beside her. His hair sticks up in crazy spikes and he’s wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt and pajama pants. At fourteen, he’d rather sleep in during his summer break, but Bridget strong-armed him into babysitting because she knows Chris’s travel schedule makes it impossible for me to leave the house without someone here to watch the kids. Despite my protests, she won’t let Sebastian accept any money either, because it’s an easy gig and we’re gone only an hour. I keep an endless supply of Pop-Tarts in the cupboard for him and he’s usually sitting on the couch watching TV, covered in crumbs when we return, but I don’t care. He’s a good kid.
Bridget’s full of energy this morning, fueled by a caffeine addiction that would give me heart palpitations if I drank even half as much. Cheerful and upbeat, she wears a constant smile and reminds me of a sprinter, poised, waiting for the crack of the starter pistol. Throughout the day her children wear her down until she drops into bed only to rise and do it all again. Before she started her family, Bridget worked as a nurse in a pediatric oncology unit. She told me once that she missed it terribly, and sometimes wondered if giving it up to stay home with the boys was the right decision. “You can go back someday,” I assured her, and I meant it.
Bridget’s short blonde hair peeks out from under her baseball cap and she’s wearing a sweatshirt and capri-length workout pants. Cooler weather has finally blown in from the west and the gray sky threatens rain. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get poured on before we make it back home. I grab a sweatshirt of my own and we head out, power walking our way to the corner and turning left toward the bike trail that winds for miles through our tree-lined neighborhood.
“How are you getting along with Chris traveling all the time?” she asks.
“I’m doing okay,” I say. Bridget is my closest friend next to Elisa, and I could certainly admit that so far, despite my concerns, Chris’s travel schedule has had little impact on any of us. He spent most of the previous year holed up in our home office with the door closed while he networked over the phone or searched employment sites on his laptop. Half the time the kids didn’t even realize he was home, and when they did, they didn’t care, which broke my heart. His, too.
It isn’t that I don’t trust Bridget; I do. And God knows she’s got her own problems to deal with. Sam’s prowess—or luck, depending on who you ask—at the casino and the racetrack is legendary, and Bridget knows what it’s like to be alone because Sam spends all his time at work and the rest of his waking hours betting on the horses or playing poker. She admitted to me once, somewhat sheepishly, that Sam didn’t really connect with the kids until they were old enough to do the things he liked to do.
“Like gamble?” I asked. I was only half kidding.
She grimaced. “Yes. He takes them to Chiefs games. They know all about point spreads.”
I wouldn’t have a problem telling Bridget everything, but the truth is, I’m tired of talking about it—the recession, the horrible job market, Chris’s depression, and the resulting emotional upheaval that ripped through my household. I’m just done.
After a mile we pick up the pace. I strip off my sweatshirt and tie the sleeves around my waist, glancing up at the darkening sky.
“Ready for bunco tonight?” Bridget asks.
“Almost. I still need to make a Costco run.”
We discussed starting a neighborhood book club, but Elisa and I are the only ones who like to read, so we decided bunco might be more our speed. A simple dice game, a drink or two, and an excuse to leave the kids at home suited everyone just fine. Tonight the teenage girl who lives at the end of our street and occasionally babysits for me is taking Josh and Jordan to the park and then back to her house to swim in her family’s pool and eat hot fudge sundaes. The kids consider this the ultimate trifecta of summer fun and wish I’d host bunco more often.
We’re less than a quarter mile from home when the sky opens up and pours. We sprint, laughing, not really caring that we’re getting drenched. I shout good-bye as Bridget dashes into her house, and I burst through the front door of mine, wiping the water from my cheeks. Josh and Jordan are still asleep and Sebastian is watching an episode of Family Guy that’s been on our DVR for more than a year. He rises from the couch looking so tired, I tell him to go home and go back to bed. At the front door I press a five-dollar bill into his hand. “Don’t tell your mom,” I say, ruffling his spiky hair.
He grins. “Thanks, Claire.”
Later that day the kids and I jump in the car and drive to Costco. Josh and Jordan gorge on the best samples while I load up my cart. At home I put everything away and give the house a quick once-over to make sure it’s still clean. The kids play in the backyard with Bridget’s youngest son, Griffin, stopping occasionally for Popsicles or to use the restroom. I sit at the kitchen island, sipping iced tea and working on some graphics for a local car dealership advertisement until Griffin goes home and the babysitter comes to collect Josh and Jordan. “Be good and behave,” I say, bending down to kiss each of them good-bye. I caution the babysitter to keep a close eye on the kids when they’re in the pool. “Make sure you’re in the water with them, okay?”
“I will, Mrs. Canton,” she says. “My parents will be there, too.” I shut the door and turn off my laptop, then pull the fruit and cheese I picked up at Costco out of the fridge. After arranging the wedges of Brie and cheddar on a platter, and surrounding them with grapes and chunks of melon, I set a small bowl of crackers next to the platter. I have exactly five more minutes of quiet before the girls show up.
Julia arrives first, holding a bottle of chardonnay, and—I’ll be honest—she looks rough. She’s only thirty-two, but already there are deep grooves in her face, as though her skin is never fully hydrated. Her eyes look tired and her hair isn’t as shiny as it usually is.
“Hi,” I say, and I reach out and give her a spontaneous hug. She feels tiny and brittle in my arms, like she’s not eating enough.
“Well hello to you, too, Claire,” she says, surprised by my greeting. She’s not an overly affectionate person unless it’s the end of the evening. When she’s really drunk, she tells me how much she loves me, accompanied by hugs and sloppy kisses.
I shut the door and follow her into the kitchen. I hand her a corkscrew, feeling like a giant hypocrite but knowing she will drink tonight no matter what I say or how gently I suggest that she abstain. She pours a large glass and takes a drink.
The doorbell rings and I yell for whoever it is to come in. Elisa and Bridget walk into the kitchen together. Bridget holds a giant bowl of tortilla chips and has a jar of her homemade salsa tucked under her arm. Elisa balances a cheesecake in one hand and holds a six-pack of Amstel Light in the other.
“We’ll never be able to eat all that,” I say. I clear some space on the counter and take the bowl of chips from Bridget. Standing on my tiptoes, I open the cupboard and reach for a small bowl on the shelf and then pour the salsa into it. I love Bridget’s salsa. She uses the freshest ingredients and it’s spicy enough to make my lips tingle. I dunk a chip into it and groan when I pop it in my mouth. “This batch is excellent,” I tell her. Elisa sets down the cheesecake on the island next to the wine bucket. I’m definitely going to have a bite or two of that.
When I first met the girls and they found out about my diabetes, they went overboard trying to accommodate my disease. They’d show up with sugar-free cookies and platters of carrots, celery, and broccoli until I explained that my pump does most of the work for me and there’s nothing I can’t have in moderation as long as I pay attention to my readings and adjust my insulin accordingly. I sensed their relief when I assured them they could bring whatever they wanted, especially since no one ever touched the horrible cookies, and the veggies went right into the trash.
“Where’s Chris this week?” Julia asks, topping off her glass and settling herself onto a stool next to the island.
“Santa Fe and Albuquerque.”
“It must be so hard with him on the road all the time,” she says. “Aren’t you lonely?”
I was lonely long before Chris went out on the road, but she doesn’t know that. “Yes,” I say, answering honestly. “But he really needed that job, so the kids and I will just have to make do.”
She snaps her fingers, like she’s just come up with the best idea ever. “You should go to one of those Pure Romance parties.”
“What’s Pure Romance?” Bridget asks.
“You know,” Julia says. “Like Pampered Chef but for vibrators. Instead of bunco, one of us could host a party next month.”
Bridget laughs. “Why am I not surprised that you know this?” Julia loves to talk about her sex life, and we’re used to her oversharing.
“Don’t knock it, Bridge,” Julia says. “They’ve got a fantastic product line.”
Bridget opens a bottle of beer and sits down beside Julia. “I’ve got four kids and a husband who wants to have sex every night. How, exactly, am I supposed to make time for a vibrator?”
“I’m just saying it doesn’t hurt to have a backup,” Julia says. She turns toward me. “Are you even paying attention, Claire?”
“Not really,” I say, taking a sip of my iced tea.
“But you’re the whole reason I brought it up,” she says.
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I can get the job done without a sex toy.”
“How very boring, Claire,” Julia says.
I shrug. “I’m not that fancy.” I’m ready to change the subject. We usually save this kind of talk for later in the evening, after the girls have had a few drinks, but apparently we’re starting early tonight. Maybe because Julia is already a few drinks ahead of everyone. The subject matter doesn’t embarrass me, but it does remind me that, technically, I am in need of a replacement for Chris.
The temperature has climbed significantly since this morning and the rain has moved on, so we’re going to sit on the deck to play our game. I turn on the stereo and try to remember which button activates the outdoor speakers. “Can someone pop their head outside and tell me if they hear music?”
We play several rounds of bunco and Bridget wins the pot every time. “Sam will be so proud,” she says with just a hint of sarcasm. “Maybe he’ll win big tonight, too.”
Bridget will have to give her babysitter most of the money because her two oldest boys are at a sleepover and she had to hire someone to watch the two youngest. Sam is no more likely to stay home on bunco night than Chris is to share his feelings with me.
When we come inside, Julia tries to convince us to go back to her house. Justin and Skip are hanging out with the kids and are probably knocking back a few drinks of their own.
I beg off even though it’s only nine o’clock. The babysitter has brought the kids home and they’re upstairs taking showers. I’d have no one to watch them, and I’m tired and looking forward to relaxing with a DVD after I get them in bed.
Julia stands and sways slightly as she pours the last of the chardonnay into her glass. She makes her way through my kitchen, sipping the wine, and heads toward the front door. “I’ll bring your glass back tomorrow, Claire,” she says over her shoulder. But she won’t. I always have to retrieve them.
Elisa pecks me on the cheek and gathers her things. “Thanks, Claire. I’ll see you later. Bye, Bridget.” She hurries out and I know it’s because she wants to follow Julia and make sure she gets home okay.
Bridget yawns. This morning’s caffeine boost has been eclipsed by the sedating effects of a few beers and the cumulative fatigue brought about by a day’s worth of parenting.
“See you tomorrow at seven?” I ask as I walk her out.
She leans over and gives me a quick hug. “Sure. Thanks for hosting.”
“You’re welcome.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to clean up the kitchen and the deck after I tuck the kids into bed. Before I head upstairs to slip between my own sheets, I check my e-mail.
To: Claire Canton
From: Chris Canton
Subject: Kids
I got your message. Tell the kids I’m sorry I missed them—I was on a conference call, but it was nice to hear their voices on the recording. Busy day tomorrow. I’ll try to check in when I get back to the hotel. Closed the deal in Albuquerque. Hope I can do the same in Santa Fe.