Dating The Mrs. Smiths. Tanya Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ the proud mother of a seven-year-old little boy, four-year-old girl and their six-month-old baby sister. As we talked, all three of them seemed to be clamoring for Lindsay’s attention, along with her husband—who, she informed me, was packing for an overseas business conference and not a lot of help with the trio of noisemakers.

      “So you’re serious about selling the house?” she asked over someone’s crying and her husband demanding to know if she’d seen his other brown belt. “I don’t envy you. That whole process was such a pain, I’d…oh, but I’m sure you’ll have a much better experience.”

      Definitely. Because I’d been the poster child for good luck lately. “Well, I have a great job waiting for me in Boston and family there, so I think the move will be healthy for me and the kids.”

      “I’m glad to hear it. I—did you check the closet? What about the hook behind the bathroom door? Sorry, Charlie, I was talking to Mark there, not you. Anyway, I’m thrilled you’ll be closer to helping hands. I’ve always felt so awful that there wasn’t more I could do, but with the pregnancy and everything…”

      “I understand, Lindsay.” And I did. But understanding hadn’t eased the sting completely. After Tom had died, I’d felt as if I’d not only lost him but the circle of friends we’d had, which was made up primarily of other married couples.

      At first, people had invited me over, but it had been awkward, like being the only unicorn on an ark full of paired-off animals. I don’t remember if the invitations stopped first or if I’d started making excuses not to go. Maybe the gradual distance was my fault, but I got the impression everyone had been relieved when they didn’t have to tiptoe around marital subjects anymore. I wondered with sudden insight if this was part of the reason I was so comfortable with a woman over a decade younger than me who didn’t even have a serious boyfriend, much less impending nuptial plans.

      “Just know that you’re in our prayers and our hearts,” Lindsay added. “You give me a holler if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”

      “I would be grateful for that agent’s name and number,” I reminded her cheerfully.

      “Oops. Right, sorry.” She’d just finished reciting the information I’d called for when she was interrupted by her husband again, this time because he couldn’t find his cell phone. “Oh, for… I can’t believe they let this disorganized man plan their budget at work! I’d better run, or he’s going to end up missing his flight. You know how husbands are.”

      There was a sharp silence, followed by immediate apologies I was too slow to stem. “I am so, so… I shouldn’t have said that, Charlie. Honestly, I don’t know where my head is. The last thing you need is to be reminded… I didn’t mean to—”

      “It’s okay, Lindsay. Tell Mark I said hi.” On the bright side, I told myself as I hung up, compared to that conversation, telling Rose about the move this afternoon would be a breeze.

      Except that hours later, after spending an active day at the park and getting the kids tucked in for a short nap, calling my mother-in-law didn’t seem any easier. Why was this so hard? Because it’ll be real then. This chapter of your life will come to an end.

      Then again, once it did, maybe I could move on. Maybe I’d reach a point where my emotions weren’t hovering so close to the surface, like bruises just under the skin, where tiny reminders weren’t around every corner, catching me off guard and evoking a fresh sense of loss. People assured me I’d adjust to the grief; mostly, to my extreme shame, I just wanted it gone. How terrible was it that sometimes I wished I could just forget the man who’d fathered my children and spent half his life with me?

      Maybe my guilt was what made talking to his mother even more difficult.

      But stalling wasn’t helping anyone. I sat on the sofa with the cordless phone, propping my feet on the coffee table and sinking down in the cushions. Then I made the call.

      To say Rose was startled to hear from me would be an understatement. “Yoah stahting to worry me, Chahlie.”

      I wondered absently if the kids would one day speak with Bostonian accents.

      “So many calls in such a short time!” she exclaimed. “Oh, but you’re probably calling to say thank you.”

      Belatedly, I recalled the sunshine-yellow blouse that had arrived yesterday. My own fault that it was too small and, if buttoned across my chest, would probably get me arrested. “Well, yes, thank you for the shirt, but—”

      “You don’t like it?”

      “Oh, no, it’s, um…bright. Very cheery. I was just going to say that I have an additional reason for calling.”

      “Are you unwell? The children?”

      When Tom had died, I’d felt I should be the one to tell her. The conversation was a blur to me, except for Dianne taking the phone when I couldn’t get through the words, but the sudden panic in Rose’s voice gave me a moment of déjà vu, a flicker of repressed memory.

      “Everybody’s fine,” I rushed to assure her. “Actually, I have good news.”

      “This is what you sound like when you’re happy?”

      “Well. It’s the kind of news that’s good in the long run but chaotic in the short. The kids and I are moving. To Boston. Kazka is closing the warehouse and offices here and sending me up north.”

      “Boston? Why, that’s fantastic! How soon will you be here? I have a friend with a granddaughter just Sara’s age, they’ll get along famously. And there are a couple of private schools we might still be able to get her in, even though the year’s started. Thank God you have plenty of time to put Ben on all the right waiting lists. You’ll just need to—”

      “Whoa, slow down!” I hadn’t even told the kids yet, and she’d already yanked them out of the public school system? “I, uh, appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m still feeling a little overwhelmed by the impending move. Just getting there is going to be an ordeal.” I didn’t relish a road trip with toddlers and a German shepherd, but paying for airfare was out of the question. Besides, how else would I get our van to Boston?

      “You didn’t breathe a word of this last time we spoke. Were you holding out until you had a definite buyer?”

      I meant to tell her that this had all been rather sudden, but instead echoed, “Buyer?”

      “When do you close?” she asked. “Did they meet your asking price? I hope you’re not letting yourself get taken advantage of with all kinds of silly demands like recarpeting the place or giving them your washer and dryer.”

      I couldn’t imagine anyone actually wanting my laundry set, which dated back to the Paleozoic, but it was all too easy to picture new occupants demanding carpet untouched by kid, Kool-Aid or dog. Thoughts like that were rather cart before the horse, however. I needed people to come see the place before I started worrying about haggling over the contract.

      “We haven’t sold the house quite yet.” Or put it on the market, if one wanted to get technical. “But I’m absolutely confident it won’t be a problem.”

      “Oh.” Her dubious tone didn’t reflect my confidence, not that I blamed her. Mine was fake, anyway. “Well, I’m sure it will be all right, dear.”

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