Kindergarten Baby: A Novel Page 6

  “Only if you want to know.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I already know. Just how far did you want to walk the dog?”

  “It’s more of a ‘how long?’ question really,” she replied, ramping up her seductive tone a notch or two.

  “All right, then. I’ll play along. How long of a dog walk does my baby want to take?” he asked, lowering his own voice.

  She shrugged. “Just long enough to be seen by a few people and to cool off. I’m getting hot in this coat already.”

  “So take it off,” Anthony suggested, going along with the provocative game of the hour.

  Shawna pouted, batting her long eyelashes. “Not yet. I’ve just put it on. Come on. I’ll make it worth your while,” she teased.

  “You always do.”

  She jangled the leash and called, “Here, Rover.”

  That was one thing Anthony didn’t like about Shawna. She always called Wendell another name, like Rover or just plain Dog, and she gave him attention only when it suited her needs. Her lack of affection or even appreciation for his lovable dog baffled him. Wendell was a great dog.

  They ventured into the cold night air, the doctor, the dog, and the stripper. Anthony stared at her feet as they walked.

  “How can you walk in those shoes?” he asked. “You know how hard they are on your back. After all the treatments you’ve been through for back and leg pain, you amaze me.”

  She smiled sweetly. “And I hope to keep amazing you for a very long time, darling.” She flapped a dismissive hand at him. “You know I like to look good, love. High heels are a woman’s legs’ best friend. You’d complain even worse if I went out in Birkenstocks. Besides,” she said, stroking his arm, “I rather like all those adjustments you give me.”

  Only the clicking of the stilettos and the jingle of Wendell’s collar broke the quiet of the night, though a discriminating listener might hear other noises of the desert around them: a neighbor’s horse whinnying, the hoot of an owl announcing its location, or a distant coyote yipping. Anthony took Shawna’s hand while they walked. He wanted to talk‌—‌to really talk, like he had in the past with Lindsey.

  “You know,” he said gently, “I don’t feel good about what we’re doing to Lindsey. Maybe we’re rushing things.”

  Her reply was snide. “Ah, yes. Your little fairy tale princess has come up in conversation once again. You do know that she doesn’t have a monopoly on the ‘happily ever after’ thing, right? Every woman wants that. You’re my handsome prince now, and you know what they say: ‘You snooze, you lose.’ Well, I don’t intend to lose. So why don’t you come over here, baby, and feel good about this,” she purred. She leaned against the nearest tree trunk and let the coat fall open, exposing just enough naked skin to avert Anthony’s emerging conscience.

  Wendell, who had been sitting up straight, his gaze shifting eagerly back and forth as each of them spoke, now sighed a long, disgusted sigh. He laid down, set his head on his paws, then waited, and waited, and waited. Again, he was a mere prop: the watchdog used to facilitate tonight’s little fantasy.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The school hallways buzzed with excitement, brimming over with parents and students, all dressed in their Sunday best. Little girls still wore pretty dresses, but most of the older girls wore skinny-legged pants, glittery tops, and sparkly shoes with high heels they could barely walk in. To Lindsey’s eyes, far too much skin could be seen. Ignoring the dress code and feeling like rock stars, they looked ready to put on a show. No one mentioned that they looked like ten-year-olds playing dress-up.

  “Thirty minutes till show time!” came the announcement over the intercom.

  Lindsey’s classroom phone rang, and she picked it up.

  “Mrs. Sommerfield? Sorry to bother you, but there’s a gentleman in the office that needs to see you for a minute. He said it was very important.”

  Lindsey glanced at the restless children. “I’ll be right there,” she said, somewhat annoyed. This was bad timing.

  She stepped into the office, curious. A man stepped toward her. “Mrs. Sommerfield?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have some important documents for you. Good evening.”

  Then he was gone. A dark, nauseating sensation spread over her, like black storm clouds taking over a blue sky. She peeked into the manila envelope until she saw official looking seals and the word “Divorce” in the title, then she closed it again.

  She was barely aware of what she was doing as she placed one foot in front of the other, heading toward the cafeteria. Young, high pitched squeals of “Miss Lindsey! Miss Lindsey!” went unnoticed. Then the house lights went out, the stage lights went up, and the principal began her opening speech. When she was done, the audience clapped, school children resumed their chatter, babies squealed and cried, and parents tried to quiet the younger children around them.

  Lindsey withdrew into the depths of her personal suffering, and that was not a good place to be. Her head swam, her ears seemed to be stuffed with something, and her eyes blurred with unbearable visions of Anthony and Shawna together. Then Laura was there, holding her hand, leading her from the school. The five-mile drive home was quiet. Lindsey vaguely heard Laura’s voice, but she could make nothing of what her friend was saying. Without a word, she handed Laura the divorce papers.

  So it really was over. Anthony was gone for good. Shawna, the young, beautiful stripper, had won.

  Laura brought Lindsey inside, helped her get into a comfy set of sweats, then lit the fireplace. Once her friend was settled in, she brought her a glass of wine.

  “Lindsey, talk to me. I can’t leave you like this.”

  “Why not? Anthony did.”

  Laura jerked back, and Lindsey wished she hadn’t said that. But it was out, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Hey friend, don’t start comparing me to that…‌Anthony.”

  Lindsey shook her head. “Please go, Laura. I just want to sleep right now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Judy’s going to come by as soon as she can leave the students.”

  “Tell her not to bother. I’ll be all right.”

  Laura stood, resigned. “Well, if you say so. But call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll call you first thing tomorrow. We’ve got some final vacation details to work out, you know.”

  Under normal circumstances, Lindsey would have enjoyed the mild buzz she was getting from the wine and the warmth of the fire, but not tonight. She didn’t want to be comfortable. She grabbed the bottle of wine and unsteadily, almost catatonically, shuffled out to her backyard, out into the chilly night. She slid onto one of the cushioned patio loungers and stared up at the twinkling, distant stars. They were just another enemy in her life tonight. They, too, had betrayed her. How many times has she wished upon a star?

  The mere thought of Anthony and Shawna together made Lindsey feel hollow, worthless, and sick to her stomach. Depression spread through her entire being like anesthesia before a surgical procedure. Except this time, when she awoke, nothing would be better. Nothing would be fixed. She’d be just another lonely, unneeded, unwanted woman, soon to be divorced.

  Her thoughts sank lower, to a darker, disjointed place where the present entwined with the past. Frightening scenes from her second foster home drifted in, and she saw her twelve-year-old self sitting at the top of the stairs, watching the men. Her foster dad’s friends had always shown up for a “boys’ night in” whenever her foster mom left for a “girls’ night out.” The little girl had wondered what all the commotion was about‌—‌the laughing, the whistling‌—‌since they were just watching the TV, so she’d snuck downstairs to take a peek, then gasped in shock when she saw the images of women‌—‌naked women doing nasty things: spreading their legs, touching themselves, shaking their tops and their bottoms. She stared in disbelief until one of the men noticed her.

  He took a step toward her, leering. “Bet yo
ur new girl’s almost ready to dance with a pole,” he told her foster father. Lindsey fled to her room and vowed never to sneak out again.

  The remembered images brought Shawna to mind, and against her will she pictured the tall, shapely redhead from the poster wrapped around a pole.

  Sleep was her only sanctuary, but it eluded her. She reached for an apple she’d set on the patio table, left over from her school lunch. The bright, shiny apple triggered Lindsey’s fairy tale button, pushed her into once-upon-a-time mode. She picked up the apple, declared it to be poison, and transformed herself into Snow White by taking a deep, satisfying bite. Another bite, and another, but the effects of the imaginary poison never set in.

  She chased the apple with another swig of wine. Tonight the wine would replace her poison apple.

  The unusual and extreme cold front was perfect for the night of the Winter Performance, but it wasn’t great for sitting in the backyard without the benefit of a sweater, let alone any winter wear. The temperature dropped rapidly, but Lindsey barely felt it. In fact, she welcomed the anesthetic quality of the bitter, cold air, and her mind gently toyed with the irony that she felt as cold and numb on the outside as she did on the inside. Her eyelids had become so heavy they wouldn’t open, and her body was still.

  Winter clouds quickly covered the starlight, and within an hour the temperature had dropped from 49 degrees to about 33 degrees. Lindsey didn’t feel the tiny, wet snowflakes as they touched her face, though she would have loved that. Snow was a rare treat in the desert. The sight of it usually brought indescribable delight to her heart. Not tonight. Tonight the flakes propelled Lindsey toward the darkest corners of her mind, and she drifted into a deeper level of sleep. The temperature dropped a few more degrees.

  An odd whistling sound broke through the coldness of her mind, coming closer, growing louder. What was that? It sounded like a young child trying to learn to whistle. Over and over the child tried, and she smiled in her sleep, admiring the dedication. The sound changed again, becoming a wolf whistle, the strong, masculine sound she associated with construction workers admiring women in tight, short skirts.

  She burst into consciousness, chilled to the bone, then panicked when she sensed the thin film of ice on her face. When she opened her eyes, it cracked like a facial mask left on too long. Disoriented and shaking with cold, she clawed the ice from her face, then stopped when she heard the whistling sound again. It was coming from under the lounge chair, she realized, but it was too dark for her to see. She tried to move, but her body was stiff from the cold. The noise changed back to sounding like a child’s voice, and Lindsey wondered vaguely if it were a dream. Nothing felt real.

  The source of the mysterious noise suddenly hopped up on the end of the patio lounge chair and flapped its wings, singing with great vigor.

  “Who are you?” Lindsey asked, staring at the beautiful white bird.

  She’d never seen such an exotic bird before, and had a feeling it wasn’t a desert native. It wouldn’t do well in the snow. Lindsey sat straight up, suddenly alert. Snow? She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering convulsively.

  “You must be f-f-freezing,” she said through chattering teeth. “We’d b-better get inside.”

  The strange little bird climbed onto Lindsey’s outstretched hand, and it didn’t object at all to being carried into the warm house. The last few embers of the fire were still flickering faintly, and Lindsey went directly to its delicious heat. She had no idea what to do with the bird, which kept up with its enthusiastic singing. The little yellow head cocked to the side, and she noticed its tiny crown and orange cheeks. It gave another wolf whistle, then declared “Pretty bird!”

  “I don’t have any bird seed,” she told her visitor, “if that’s what you want. I could get you some tomorrow. How about a drink of water?” The bird scooped the water up with its curved beak then tipped back its head, obviously thirsty. “How about some banana?” He pecked at it a bit, but Lindsey wasn’t sure he actually ate any of it.

  As the bird warmed up, so did its singing. It gave her a comical sampling of little bird songs, trills, whistles, chirps, and squawks.

  “Take a breath, little guy!” Lindsey said, laughing, and it seemed to understand. For the next thirty minutes or so, her feathered friend ceased talking whenever she spoke, then resumed its twittering when she was quiet. Lindsey freshened her wine and refilled the bird’s saucer of water.

  “You know, bird, if I am going to tell you my life’s woes, you’ll need a name. How about Tweety? Nah. Already taken. Polly? Nope, too old fashioned.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “How about Malcolm? I like the sound of that. So, Malcolm, here’s the story. Just before you flew into my life, I didn’t much care if I lived or died. I actually felt like I had died already in a way.”

  The bird reacted with a shrill litany of chirps.

  “I know. Pitiful, huh? But my husband is divorcing me. He’s leaving me so he can be with a stripper.”

  “Pretty bird. Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”

  “Oh, sure. She’s pretty. So pretty she doesn’t look real. But you know what? I can’t think about her anymore. I can’t think about him anymore, either. I’ve got to think about myself‌—‌and you, of course. Don’t worry. I won’t send you out in the cold. You don’t look like a wild bird. You’re probably someone’s lost pet. And I’m sure they miss you very, very much. I’ll put out some posters in the morning.”

  Lindsey and Malcolm continued their conversation until midnight, then she found some old newspapers and placed them under the large vase on her coffee table where Malcolm perched. She hadn’t seen him fly yet, and he didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. He tucked his head to the side, almost laying it on his own shoulder, then drifted off to sleep. Lindsey still couldn’t go back to her bed, since it brought back memories of the betrayal, so she laid down on the living room sofa.

  Just before she fell asleep, she looked at Malcolm, then whispered to herself, “My very own little white bird. Cinderella would be proud.”

  WINTER

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Lindsey and Laura arrived at the Bright Angel Lodge, almost six inches of new fallen snow had accumulated. It was absolutely beautiful. Lindsey was relieved to see that the stone steps they were about to climb had been shoveled. She grinned up at the lodge then grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it.

  “This is fantastic, Laura. So rustic! And I don’t think I’ve seen this much snow in…‌well, maybe ten years.”

  Laura frowned at her, looking baffled. “I don’t get it, Linds. Two nights ago you were in a miserable catatonic state. Now you’re bubbling with joy. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m your friend. I want you to be happy. It’s just…‌how’d you get happy so fast?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, my friend. I may seem happy, but I am still hurt and lonely and devastated. A nasty, adulterous divorce will do that and more. It’s not that I’m suddenly a happy person again. I’m not. But I can be happy in the moment, and this, well, this is a great moment.”

  Laura pulled open the lodge door, ushering Lindsey ahead of her.

  “I don’t really know how I came back to earth,” Lindsey mused. “I think it started with the bird. He fluttered my focus off the ‘poor me’ syndrome and on to…‌well, just on. I’m looking forward instead of back. I’m not waiting for Anthony anymore. He’s made his choice, and as much as I hate it, I can’t change it. Now that I know for sure I have to live my life without him, I can get on with it. And that begins today. This glorious, snow-filled day.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  They beamed at each other. “So are you,” Lindsey assured her.

  “Good afternoon ladies. Checking in?” A tall, thin man stood behind the knotty-wood registration desk, smiling at them. He wore wire half-glasses and a gray cardigan sweater with leather patches on the elbows, looking more like a retired college professor than a desk clerk. The only thing missing was the pipe, Lindsey thought, and that was
probably tucked away in his pocket, waiting for the moment he entered an area void of any “No Smoking” signs.

  “Yes,” Lindsey replied. “We reserved a lodge room for two under the name Sommerfield. Lindsey Sommerfield.”

  The clerk’s brow wrinkled with concern as he looked over his book. “Oh dear,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “It seems so. Did you bring your confirmation number with you?”

  Lindsey rummaged through her bag and came up empty-handed. “I give up. I don’t know what I did with it. But it began with a ‘Y’ and there were some threes and sevens in the number. I’m sure of that.”

  He nodded but maintained his frown. “Well, now. I do believe you. I certainly do. But that’s not going to do us much good right now, because I don’t have any rooms left anyway.”

  Lindsey’s stomach dropped. But she’d called and confirmed!

  “Why don’t you take a stroll along the rim while there’s still some daylight,” the clerk suggested. “I’ll make a few phone calls and see what I can come up with. You can leave your luggage here, behind the counter.”

  It had been a chilly fifty degrees when they’d left Tucson that morning. Fifty degrees sounded warm to them now. A sign outside the lodge entrance read: “High today: 38 degrees. Low tonight: 4 degrees.”

  “Now that’s cold!” said Lindsey slipping on her fur-lined leather gloves.

  As he’d suggested, they headed west along the Rim Trail, stopping at every informational sign along the way.

  “Look Laura. Can you believe this? It says the Grand Canyon is 277 miles long, between four and ten miles wide, and six thousand feet deep. That’s a lot of erosion!”

  “It’d be cool to watch the making of the canyon on time-lapse photography. How many millions of rolls of film or memory cards would that take?” They gazed in quiet wonder at the giant canyon, and Laura let out a sigh. “I wish we could go down there, don’t you?”