Behaving like adults, p.14
Behaving Like Adults, page 14
Eldris bobbled and sighed. “Oh, I know. I’m in an absolute stew, Violet.”
Violet hadn’t needed to be told. “Oh, dear. Come in.” She waited as Eldris stomped the snow from her boots and set them in the tray by the door. “I was just going to take a short rest—all of this baby planning, you know. You can keep me company, as long as you won’t be offended if I close my eyes.”
Eldris made a show of helping her to the couch, but Violet swatted her away. She wasn’t decrepit.
She settled into Ed’s favorite chair, the wingback with the nearly invisible collapsible footrest. She’d been mortified when he’d brought it into the house—a La-Z-Boy, of all things—but she’d soon admitted that not only was it attractive in a masculine sort of way, it was deceptively comfortable.
Eldris took half of the love seat for herself and gave the other half to her overflowing tote bag.
Violet pointed. “Well, dear, like I said—what did you bring?”
Eldris’s face clouded. She clutched her fist around the bag as if its contents might leap out with no warning. “Is Ed home?”
“No. Did you need him for something?”
“Actually, I’d hoped to get his opinion.”
Violet went to raise a skeptical eyebrow, but her muscles responded by shooting torrents of pain across the crown of her head and down the back of her neck. She immediately tightened both hands into fists, then relaxed them, once, twice, three times. She took a deep breath and released it to the count of ten. The pain eased.
Eldris eyed her warily. “Anyway…” Apparently satisfied that Violet wasn’t going to pass out or worse, she released the tote from her grip and opened it, pulling out a red satin blouse dotted with insufferable blue paisleys.
“You came to ask Ed for fashion advice?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s Richard’s. I found this in his closet—and I want to know why.”
Violet stared. She’d never seen Richard Endres wear anything other than a Sunday suit or Saturday golf attire. “What do you mean, it’s Richard’s?”
“I mean, he’s been gone so much lately—days at a time. You know he missed Valentine’s Day?”
Violet nodded. That had taken up nearly an hour on the phone last week.
“And when he finally did take me out to celebrate, he was pulling wads of cash out of his pockets like some mobster on TV. He ordered two vodka martinis before the appetizers even arrived. Appetizers, Violet. He won’t give me the money for new carpet, but he’ll order crostini and tapenade.”
Her volume was rising like the tide and Violet held a hand up to stop her. “Eldris, my head.”
“Sorry.” She straightened her bangs with the back of her wrist and took a deep breath. “Anyway, I got curious. I deserve to know what my own husband is getting up to.”
“Of course you do.” No wife should have to fear for her husband’s health or fidelity.
Eldris threw the shirt aside and dived again into the seemingly bottomless sack. This time she pulled out a ragged bunch of who knew what.
“Is that a—”
“A hairpiece.” Eldris positioned the dark-furred oddity on her own head. Front pieces spiked sadly to one side while longer strands fell in clumps down the back.
“That is possibly the most ridiculous-looking toupee I have ever seen.” Not possibly, definitely. But she was trying to restrain herself.
“And hidden at the back of my husband’s closet.” Eldris’s bottom lip began to tremble.
“Oh, Eldris, I’m sure it’s, well…” Dear Lord. Grant her the energy for one of Eldris’s crises today. She forced her eyes shut, imagining her body as a thermometer, the mercury falling with each breath. When she felt the calm flush from fingers to toes, she opened her eyes and looked at Eldris. “What do you think is going on?”
Eldris sniffed, then tossed the hairpiece back into its sack. One of the strands hung limply over the side like an octopus tentacle. “That’s just it. I’m fresh out of ideas.”
“Well, I still think it’s safe to say he’s not cheating. He wouldn’t wear any of that to impress a woman.”
Eldris shook her head. “No. We can definitely rule out an affair.”
“And you’re certain you haven’t seen any of this before? It’s not some sort of costume?”
“He’s always refused to dress up for Halloween. Even when Kyle was young.” She cocked her head, paused in thought. Then her face brightened like she’d caught a fleeting thought by its tail. “Oh, that can’t be it.”
Violet waited, knowing it would take her friend a moment or two to shake her words into place.
“But I bet it is. I bet I’m right.”
Almost there.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. The odd hours. The late nights. The promising to tell me something when there was something to tell…”
And, here it came.
“I’ll bet he’s in a play. Or at least auditioning for one. That would explain why he keeps telling me to wait—wait till he knows if he’s gotten the part. Of course, he hasn’t been in a production since college, but he loved it. Said the stage was the only place I’d ever catch him wearing tights.”
Eldris grew ever more animated as she spoke. Violet wasn’t convinced by her theory, but it wasn’t a ridiculous possibility, either. “So, this is some sort of theater costume, then.”
“Well, don’t you think? I mean the wig practically screams it.”
It was screaming something, all right.
“I wonder if Kyle knows. I haven’t said a thing about this to him, of course, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Then again, he’s been so busy lately that any news like this would probably go in one ear and right out the other.”
She took the wig from the sack again and smoothed it, replacing it with far greater care than she’d shown it just a moment ago.
“I just hope he can make time to come see a performance or two. I know it would mean the world to Richard to have us both there.”
Violet drummed a finger lightly on her thigh. Yes, yes, yes, the theater speculation was all good in theory, but the picture was still incomplete. She raised her finger to the air. “The only part of the mystery this doesn’t explain, I suppose—” she paused, ensuring she had thought the idea through before articulating it “—is why he’s gone for days at a time.”
Eldris collapsed, positively deflated, into the back of the couch. Violet hated to see her this way, but what good would it have done to let her continue on down fantasy lane?
“I didn’t think of that,” said Eldris.
“Of course not. You’re understandably upset.”
“That’s why I was hoping Ed was home. I thought maybe he’d have more, well, insight.” Eldris paused and straightened herself on the couch. “Being a man and all.”
“Well, quite frankly, I doubt very much—” Violet stopped. Eldris might have just inadvertently touched on something brilliant. “You know, of course, Edward has played nursemaid ever since my accident. Hardly leaving the house for more than a few minutes at a time.”
Eldris nodded, then turned her head to scan the room. “Where did you say he was now?”
“I sent him to a matinee. Told him I’d be busy with baby planning. But really, I couldn’t even stand to hear the man breathe anymore.” And it was true. They’d gone from years of stolen moments together directly to an endless morass of inseparability.
Eldris dropped her head, though it took Violet a moment to understand why. When it clicked, she could have kicked herself. “Oh, listen to me going on about having my husband underfoot when you can’t even keep yours at home.”
“Violet!”
“Well, now you know I didn’t mean that.” She put a palm in the air, calling for a change of subject. “I’m simply saying, I have a husband who spends too much time at home, and you have a husband with a secret. Why not join forces?”
“You’re suggesting I spy on Richard?” Eldris looked as forlorn as when she’d first arrived.
“Not exactly. I’m suggesting Edward spy on him.”
Eldris sat, silently considering. “That could be interesting. But would he agree to it? I mean, would Ed know he was spying? Or not?”
Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Violet paused. “Not, I think. He’d only try to talk me out of it. Accuse me of interfering. But with a little coordination on our part, I see no reason why he’d have to know.”
Now it was Eldris’s turn to pause. “I don’t know, Violet. As much as I want answers, all this sneaking around could just lead to more trouble in the long run.”
“That’s one way to look at it, certainly. But if there’s anything my current situation has taught me to remember, Eldris, it’s how quickly people jump to conclusions. It would be awful to let your suspicions ruin your marriage.” She reached for the cashmere throw folded beside her chair and pulled it across her lap. “Secrets are never healthy.”
Eldris dropped her head to the back of the love seat and sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR
APRIL 16, 1992
Cerise Baumgartner, age 4, and her father, Edward Baumgartner, of Cedar-Isles, attended the Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church Father-Daughter Banquet on Saturday where they performed the duet “I Don’t Need Anything but You” from the musical Annie. When asked if her father reminded her of Daddy Warbucks, the younger Baumgartner replied, “No, my dad’s still got a little bit of hair left.”
CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR
APRIL 7, 1994
Cerise Baumgartner, age 6, and her father, Edward Baumgartner, of Cedar-Isles, attended the Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church Father-Daughter Banquet on Saturday where together they performed the song “Edelweiss” from the movie The Sound of Music. Said Cerise, “I was afraid at first because I thought edelweiss was actually a poisonous flower, sort of like mistletoe. But then my dad explained that it’s not, and he knows because he’s a scientist. So then I liked it again.”
CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR
APRIL 11, 1996
Cerise Baumgartner, age 8, and her father, Edward Baumgartner, of Cedar-Isles, attended the Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church Father-Daughter Banquet on Saturday where they performed a vaudevillian routine of knock-knock jokes. “My favorite,” said the younger member of the team, “is the joke that goes, ‘Knock, Knock. Who’s there? Broken pencil. Broken pencil, who? Aw, who cares? It’s a pointless joke.’”
CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR
APRIL 20, 2000
Cerise Baumgartner, age 12, and her father, Edward Baumgartner, of Cedar-Isles, attended the Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church Father-Daughter Banquet on Saturday where they performed “This Little Girl of Mine” by the Everly Brothers. Edward sang vocals and Cerise played piano. Said Cerise, “It was my mom’s idea.”
CHAPTER 20
Cerise
“A LIBERTY BELL on one wall and Betsy Ross sewing the American flag on the other?” Barb dropped the magazine she was reading, a glossy photo of a dog wearing a ballerina’s tutu on the cover. “That’s her idea for the baby’s room?”
Cerise nodded. “Something about ‘freedom being our greatest blessing at birth.’” Frankly, she was surprised her mother hadn’t also announced that she, herself, would pose as the model for Betsy Ross. Her closet held so much red, white and blue that Cerise had once threatened to salute it.
“I warned you about involving her,” Barb chided. “Your mother has a Minimum Safe Distance greater than a transcontinental convoy.”
Cerise rolled her eyes. “You would think I’d know that by now. But somehow a lifetime of honing my Violet management skills keeps me fooled into believing otherwise.”
“So, then—” Barb stretched her arms behind her head and yawned. The move knocked loose the bun into which she’d twisted her curls and she groped for the rogue strands in an effort to rewind them. “What’s next?”
“Same as before. Keep her involved just enough that I know what she’s up to.”
“In other words, keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
Cerise flung a pillow at her but missed by nearly a foot. “Be nice.” She straightened the remaining pillows behind the small of her back and sat up. “Actually, I think there’s a hitch to the whole suggestion.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Barb stood and walked to the kitchen. The house still smelled of the grilled cheese sandwiches they’d eaten for dinner, all buttered and toasty. “Are you going to be offended if I pour myself a beer? Something tells me I’m going to need it.”
Cerise waved her approval. Alcohol was the perfect response to what she was about to unveil. “I think she knew we’d hate the idea, so she pitched it first, hoping to make her alternative suggestion sound more reasonable.”
“Which was?”
“To cover the walls with an illustrated family tree.”
Barb returned and sat down on the couch next to Cerise. A spot of beer foam danced on her upper lip. “So?”
“So…all the branches filling in all the names of baby’s entire heritage…” She dabbed the foam from Barb’s lip and waited for her to catch on.
Her eyes lit. “No.”
“Yep, baby’s entire heritage.” Cerise cocked an eyebrow, punctuating her point.
Barb stared back—just a beat or two of blank face while she played the various scenarios through in her mind—what could come of this news? Cerise loved to watch her when she did this, cinema verité à la Barbara.
“Oh, well, let her. I’m that part of the tree. Shrimpy has two parents: you and me. Your family gets one side of the tree, my family gets the other.” She kicked her feet up under her butt and leaned in. “That’s how it works.”
“I know. I’m just preparing for the inevitable.” Cerise fluffed the knitted throw that had been keeping her warm so that it fell across the two of them. She smoothed the blanket’s corner across Barb’s bare feet and tucked them in tight the way she knew she liked it. In bed, Cerise was a blanket kicker, but Barb burrowed—a dweller of their bedding’s greatest depths.
Barb took a long drag on her beer, then looked apologetic. “Sorry. I really wish you could have some. I think it’s helping.”
Cerise smiled and teased at Barb’s knees with her toes. “No worries. I made it through my childhood without drinking. I can manage for a few more months.”
Barb took another drag. “You know, my mom will probably love this idea. And it won’t be hard to get our information. The Hesse family documents its heritage like we’re expecting a call from the Smithsonian. Half the shelves in my parents’ library were occupied by leather-bound genealogy books.”
“Half?” Cerise’d made a habit of checking Barb’s hyperbole ever since she’d heard her compare her childhood home to Arlington National Cemetery in its “population of swallowed souls.”
Barb shrugged. “At least half. The rest of the shelves were filled with my mom’s self-published anthropological studies of seminomadic Incan tribes and my dad’s Kama Sutra art collection.”
Cerise wasn’t sure which direction to turn first. “Your mom’s an anthropologist?”
“Not officially. Not any more than my dad’s an art historian.” She raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. “Never be fooled by the prestige money can buy.”
Cerise let the subject drop. Nor did she and Barb discuss Violet’s latest angling any further. They didn’t need to. Well before they’d even chosen a donor, Cerise and Barb agreed never to disclose the identity of the father. Of course, if Shrimpy asked someday—and was mature enough to process the information—then, yes, they’d tell. But other than that, it wasn’t anyone’s business.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY at work, Cerise downloaded a file with the results from her team’s latest round of testing. She scanned the data and sighed: more bad news. They’d been testing a new biodegradable compound for months, and with the trend she saw now, they were headed back to the starting line.
When her cell phone buzzed, she was in a foul mood and knew better than to pick up, but there was something about a ringing phone that she’d never been able to resist, an etiquette drilled into her as a child.
Anyway, if she didn’t answer, the phone would ring every few minutes until she did.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What does Barb think about the options for the baby’s room? I’ll need to get moving if I’m going to hire someone to paint.”
Cerise dropped her head onto her hand and ran a thumb along her forehead, smoothing her worry creases. “Well, I think the patriotic theme is definitely out. But, we were both sort of fond of the family tree—our family on one side, Barb’s on the other.” It was an obvious point but she felt it necessary to specify, given the question she suspected was coming.
Her mom hmm’d on the line. “I thought you might like that option. You’ve always been family-centric.” Cerise could hear the shuffle of books on the other end and she imagined the oversize wallpaper binders that constituted many a childhood afternoon at Benjamin Moore.
“Of course, an accurate family history comes with complications, you know,” her mom said.
And there it was. Not so much an interrogation as an insinuation, one that she’d let rise and curve like a question mark.
Cerise, however, refused to play her game. Instead, she waited quietly.
And so did her mother.
The grandfather clock in her parents’ entryway ticked away seconds of their lives.
“Cerise?”
“Yes?”
“Neither one of us is ignorant to how nature works.”
“Obviously not.”
“So you know what I’m asking.”
“Yes, I do.”
