to be rude—” I point over to the hardware guy to get his attention.
“Oh, no, not at all,” she deflates, “Sorry,” then sidesteps, looking embarrassed, and disappears into the plumbing aisle, which makes me feel terrible since I’m the one who should be embarrassed.
“Welcome to Farhaven!” I call out to her and quickly turn back to the guy to order the propane.
I close my eyes for a sec to get back on track, but now I can’t help but try to remember her. I can almost swear I’ve never seen her before in my life. Definitely not at school. That I know. She’s mistaken.
This normally wouldn’t bother me. It happens to people all the time. Probably I just look like someone she once knew. Normally it wouldn’t bother me. But what if she did go to Hammond? She could have been a friend of a friend. She could know about— the incident . Or maybe she knows I never finished school. For God’s sake— I didn’t even know these things until yesterday.
There could be other things—
I have to buy what I need and get out of here. I make eye contact with the guy. “What aisle can I find the thongs?”
He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes pop like doorknobs. Then his mouth opens slightly.
What’s his problem? “You know, for when I’m grilling.” Now his jaw drops open completely, revealing a pool of saliva that’s collected around his tongue. Yuck. I look away, but not before seeing his eyes canvas me from head to toe. That’s when I realize what I just said. An instant visual image of me grilling, wearing a thong, flashes through my mind. And apparently, through his.
Crap. Why can’t I get “tongs” and “thongs” straight? Of course, there’s no shame in asking for “tongs” at Victoria’s Secret, but I never make that mistake.
The sound of my phone ringing, this time for real, rescues me.
“Hi, Andy. You’re back from your ride already?” I pick up a wooden paint stirrer from the counter and tap it nervously like a drumstick.
“I came back home for my wallet,” he says. “We’re going to stop for frozen yogurt. I just wanted to tell you the Red Cross called.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “What?”
“You forgot your sunglasses there.”
“Oh! Oh, golly. That’s where they are!” I stop tapping. “I’ve been looking all over—”
“What was going on at the Red Cross?”
“At the Red Cross?” I start tapping again. “Uh, I was bringing over bags of old clothes. I cleaned out some closets last week, and those bins outside the Red Cross were full, so—”
“Oh, gosh, I’ve got tons of stuff I could give you. Well, listen, I have to drop my dry cleaning later, so I can swing by the Red—”
“ I’ve got your dry cleaning … in the car … I took it with me.” I make a mental note to race home to grab his dry cleaning before he notices it’s still in the mudroom. “I’ll swing by and drop it off and pick up my sunglasses. No problem. Thanks anyway. Hey, you get back to that bike ride! And bring me some frozen yogurt, okay?”
I quickly gather my handbag and to-do list that are resting on a stack of paint cans. My legs are like rubber bands, and they struggle to support the weight of the rest of me. I need to get out of here and pull myself together.
I clutch my handbag close to my chest and jog to the car.
The image of that woman from Connecticut clings to the back of my mind. I need to forget about her.
I make a quick decision to cater our party, and head to the Red Cross to pick up my glasses.
Monday, September 25, 2006, 7:30 a.m.
When my eyes flicker open, it’s Monday morning. I don’t move. My limbs are leaden. I’ve gained weight overnight; everything’s heavy—my heart, my stomach, my conscience. But I’ll have to get up and press on and somehow maneuver through the twists and turns of being a mother and a caregiver, while I evade potholes and booby traps that have recently become commonplace.
How could I be so naive? To think
“Oh, no, not at all,” she deflates, “Sorry,” then sidesteps, looking embarrassed, and disappears into the plumbing aisle, which makes me feel terrible since I’m the one who should be embarrassed.
“Welcome to Farhaven!” I call out to her and quickly turn back to the guy to order the propane.
I close my eyes for a sec to get back on track, but now I can’t help but try to remember her. I can almost swear I’ve never seen her before in my life. Definitely not at school. That I know. She’s mistaken.
This normally wouldn’t bother me. It happens to people all the time. Probably I just look like someone she once knew. Normally it wouldn’t bother me. But what if she did go to Hammond? She could have been a friend of a friend. She could know about— the incident . Or maybe she knows I never finished school. For God’s sake— I didn’t even know these things until yesterday.
There could be other things—
I have to buy what I need and get out of here. I make eye contact with the guy. “What aisle can I find the thongs?”
He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes pop like doorknobs. Then his mouth opens slightly.
What’s his problem? “You know, for when I’m grilling.” Now his jaw drops open completely, revealing a pool of saliva that’s collected around his tongue. Yuck. I look away, but not before seeing his eyes canvas me from head to toe. That’s when I realize what I just said. An instant visual image of me grilling, wearing a thong, flashes through my mind. And apparently, through his.
Crap. Why can’t I get “tongs” and “thongs” straight? Of course, there’s no shame in asking for “tongs” at Victoria’s Secret, but I never make that mistake.
The sound of my phone ringing, this time for real, rescues me.
“Hi, Andy. You’re back from your ride already?” I pick up a wooden paint stirrer from the counter and tap it nervously like a drumstick.
“I came back home for my wallet,” he says. “We’re going to stop for frozen yogurt. I just wanted to tell you the Red Cross called.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “What?”
“You forgot your sunglasses there.”
“Oh! Oh, golly. That’s where they are!” I stop tapping. “I’ve been looking all over—”
“What was going on at the Red Cross?”
“At the Red Cross?” I start tapping again. “Uh, I was bringing over bags of old clothes. I cleaned out some closets last week, and those bins outside the Red Cross were full, so—”
“Oh, gosh, I’ve got tons of stuff I could give you. Well, listen, I have to drop my dry cleaning later, so I can swing by the Red—”
“ I’ve got your dry cleaning … in the car … I took it with me.” I make a mental note to race home to grab his dry cleaning before he notices it’s still in the mudroom. “I’ll swing by and drop it off and pick up my sunglasses. No problem. Thanks anyway. Hey, you get back to that bike ride! And bring me some frozen yogurt, okay?”
I quickly gather my handbag and to-do list that are resting on a stack of paint cans. My legs are like rubber bands, and they struggle to support the weight of the rest of me. I need to get out of here and pull myself together.
I clutch my handbag close to my chest and jog to the car.
The image of that woman from Connecticut clings to the back of my mind. I need to forget about her.
I make a quick decision to cater our party, and head to the Red Cross to pick up my glasses.
Monday, September 25, 2006, 7:30 a.m.
When my eyes flicker open, it’s Monday morning. I don’t move. My limbs are leaden. I’ve gained weight overnight; everything’s heavy—my heart, my stomach, my conscience. But I’ll have to get up and press on and somehow maneuver through the twists and turns of being a mother and a caregiver, while I evade potholes and booby traps that have recently become commonplace.
How could I be so naive? To think
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