Sandwiched. Jennifer Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ Mr. Perkins,” Bert calls out. “Everything’s okay. She missed your box. I’ll have her off the sidewalk and on her way in no time.”

      Bert steps away from the van, and I put it in Reverse then back out into the street. I consider shifting into drive, slamming on the accelerator and leaving him choking on exhaust. But Bert’s arrogant declaration to pucker-faced Mr. Perkins changes my mind. He’ll have me on my way in no time? We’ll see about that. No one controls Cecilia Dupree. Not anymore. I press on the brake and wait for him to walk back over.

      “So…” Bert bends down to look into the window again, leveling one forearm on the edge and his gaze on mine. “What brings you to my neighborhood at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, CiCi?”

      Birds twitter and cheep, serenading my humiliation. “Yesterday Erin and I moved Mother out of Parkview Manor Retirement Village and into the spare bedroom. Today we’re unpacking. I went to get breakfast.”

      “I’m not exactly on your route home.”

      There is no way in Heaven or Hell I’ll admit that I’ve ended up on his street because I’ve been thinking about him day and night for the past week. Our wedding anniversary passed uneventfully three days ago and, the truth is, I’m having a tough time learning to live single.

      Seeing Bert doesn’t help matters. While he has obviously been working out at a gym, dating, having a life, I’ve been paralyzed. Unable to move forward. Wallowing in the predivorce doldrums while feeding my face with whatever I can find in the fridge to fill the hollow spot inside of me, the gaping hole Bert left behind.

      Don’t get me wrong; I stay busy. During the day, my life is chaos. And most every evening, I’m at the kitchen table studying patient files. When I’ve had enough of that, the King of Hearts and I fool around a little until Erin comes home from wherever she spends her spare time these days. When it’s time for bed, old movies on late-night TV keep me company until I drop off to sleep.

      It’s not so much that I miss Bert; I miss what felt familiar. Being one half of a couple. Having a warm body in the bed beside me at night. Lately, I’ve even been tempted to give in to Maxwell’s sad eyes and let him sleep on the bed at my feet.

      Determined to salvage my pride, I lift my pimpled chin and meet Bert’s stare straight-on. “It’s been so long since Erin’s heard from you, I was afraid you might’ve skipped town. I thought I better swing by and make sure your car was still in the driveway.” I hope it doesn’t occur to him that I could’ve just picked up the phone.

      “Erin’s cell’s always busy. I’ll try her again today.”

      Shifting the van into drive, I motion toward the old man who still stands in the yard, arms crossed, watching us. “Tell your neighbor I apologize.”

      Bert smiles. “Say hello to Belle for me. I’ll miss her cooking this Thanksgiving and Christmas. She’s okay, isn’t she?”

      “Mom’s fine. For the most part, anyway.”

      He frowns. “For the most part?”

      “Her eyesight’s getting worse. I think she’s depressed about it. She doesn’t socialize at all. She’s stopped cooking for the other apartment residents, and you know how Mom loves to cook. Anyway, Erin and I talked it over and decided she’d probably be happier and more active living with us. We’ve hired a woman to come over and be with her during the day.”

      “That’s a big step. I admire you for it.”

      “Yeah…well.” I shrug. “I do my part for the elderly of the world, you do your part for the youth.”

      “Youth?”

      I nod toward his condo. “The mouth-to-mouth?”

      Bert surprises me with a blush, which gives me a small measure of satisfaction as I drive away, this time leaving him alone and embarrassed.

      Sweet justice.

      AROUND 11:00 A.M., Erin declares her work duties done, blows her Nana a kiss and takes off for her best friend Suzanna’s house. They plan to eat lunch at the mall, then spend the afternoon shopping for a dress for Erin’s yearly holiday orchestra concert. I’d planned to go along, but too much is left here to do, and Erin didn’t seem to mind if I begged off.

      Mother shakes her head as she watches Erin go. She mutters something about families eating together, about homemade meals and how life was better back in the old days when my brother, Jack, and I were kids.

      The mention of Jack makes me want to crush the box at my feet. Nothing’s changed. Even as a kid, my brother could always find clever ways to weasel out of his responsibilities. I have to give it to him this time; moving eight hundred miles away just before Dad’s heart attack is his best scheme yet. I want to be here for Mother. Still, some backup would be nice. Even long distance, you’d think Jack could help with the decision-making, with trying to boost Mother’s frame of mind. But, no. His idea of involvement is a fifteen-minute phone call once per week.

      As I drag the box to Mother’s bedroom and start unpacking clothing, knickknacks and books, my early morning drive-by comes to mind. So. Bert has a life. Not only a life, a sex life. Women actually find him appealing. Maybe he really wasn’t just a mercy lay or a boredom diversion for our neighbor’s not-so-innocent young daughter.

      And that pisses me off.

      All these months while I’ve been raising our child alone, coping with all the stress that goes with having a teenager, juggling family and career, struggling with ending our failed marriage and putting it behind me, Bert and his penis have been out on the town. Literally.

      Mother’s humming drifts to me from the kitchen where she’s putting away her gourmet cooking utensils, pots, pans and bakeware. The sound makes me pause. I can’t recall hearing her hum like that since Dad died almost a year ago. The anniversary of his passing is a week away. Next Saturday.

      The humming pleases me…and makes me feel guilty. The truth is, I haven’t come to terms with her moving into my house. I love her and want the best for her. But is her moving in best for Erin and me? I haven’t lived full-time with a parent since I left home at the age of eighteen for college. I’m accustomed to doing things my own way, not Mother’s. And Erin is finally starting to have friends come around. She likes her independence and privacy, and so do I. But did all that walk out the door when Mother walked in?

      “You okay in there?” I yell.

      “I’m making headway, Sugar, but it’s going to take a while,” she calls back. “Your cabinets are a mess! You could die of starvation before you found a pot to boil water in or a pan to scramble an egg.”

      “Which is why I don’t boil water or scramble eggs.”

      “For heaven’s sake! What do y’all eat?”

      “Takeout.” I pry open a box filled with colognes and bubble bath and other bathroom stuff. “Frozen dinners.”

      “What about breakfast?”

      “Breakfast? What’s that?”

      Even the two walls separating us can’t block her sigh. “No wonder Erin’s so skinny, poor thing. Now that I’m here, I’ll take care СКАЧАТЬ