routine.
After she finished her cry, she’d pick up the mail and sit down at the kitchen table, the way
This was ridiculous! She was living a cliche, the abandoned wife with the dismal future. She’d become a bad Jerry Springer guest, filled with resentment and hidden anger and a list of grievances against her ex-husband that seemed to be unending. He couldn’t just have decided that marriage wasn’t for him. No, he had to completely humiliate her in the process.
She’d had such a perfect marriage-or at least that’s what she’d thought. On the surface, John Perry seemed like the model husband, a good father and a generous provider. He’d wanted a big family and Roxanne had been thrilled to be a stay-at-home mother. They’d bought a beautiful old Victorian row house in the historic Mount Vernon neighborhood in Baltimore and had begun to restore it. His job as a lawyer gave them extra money for vacations and a nice car and dinners out twice a week. Though he spent long hours at the office she’d assumed it was all part of building a career.
But now she’d realized how naive she’d seen. John had run off to Barbados not with a pretty secretary or an aspiring supermodel, which she might have understood. He had thrown her over for a muscle-bound Amazon, a client with a career in professional wrestling and a complicated lawsuit brought by her greedy family. Roxanne had lost her man to “The Velvet Hammer,” a woman she’d seen only once when she secretly taped
“My children’s stepmother has biceps bigger than my head,” she said, hoping that might start the tears. But all it brought was a little giggle.
It was all so embarrassing. She’d always thought her husband was a rational, intelligent man, a man who loved his family and his position in the community. But then Roxanne had discovered the savings account empty and the stock portfolio gone. Luckily, she’d still had a small trust fund from her grandfather to pay the day-to-day expenses. Even after the divorce settlement was final, the child support had been slow in coming.
“This is my life,” she muttered. “A dark, musty closet filled with mismatched mittens and moth-eaten scarves.” She thought a silent recitation of all she’d lost would open the floodgates, but she couldn’t seem to muster even a tiny sob. What did this mean?
“Mommy?”
Roxanne saw the light beneath the closet door flicker and she knew Danny, her six-year-old, was outside, his face pressed to the floor, trying to see if she was inside. Sometimes, when she came out of the closet, he was lying on the rug, waiting for her, always the little man ready to come to her rescue. Such a big burden for such a tiny boy, to be the man of the family.
“What is it, sweetie?”
“Rachel wants juice,” he said. “When are you coming out?”
“Mommy’s just dusting,” Roxanne said. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“I can dust the closet for you,” Danny offered.
Roxanne sighed softly. For some reason, she just couldn’t work up a good case of tears today. All the anger she’d kept so well hidden had slowly dissolved until there was nothing left. Two years ago, her husband had walked out. A year ago, the divorce was finalized. And her future began today. The revelation stunned her. She was finally over John. Six years of marriage and that was it.
“Mommy?”
She bent down and looked at her son beneath the door. “Yeah, sweetie.”
“There’s a man on the porch. Should I let him in?”
“It’s probably just the mailman. Maybe he forgot something.”
“He has flowers and balloons. Can I let him in?”
Frowning, Roxanne struggled to her feet and opened the door carefully, waiting for Danny to scoot back. But her son wasn’t on the floor, he was standing at the front door, smiling up at a stranger who waited on the front porch. With a soft cry, Roxanne hurtled past him and slammed the door shut. Then she bent down in front of Danny and put on a stern expression. “Do you remember what Mommy told you? You never, ever open the door to a stranger.”
“But he has balloons,” Danny said.
“I don’t care if he has a million cute puppies and ten tons of candy. You never, ever open the door to a stranger. Do you understand?”
Danny nodded, then glanced over at the door. “Can I let him in?”
“No,” Roxanne said. “But you can ask me to let him in.”
“Let him in, Mommy, let him in. He has balloons.”
Roxanne patted her son on the head, then opened the front door a crack. A distinguished-looking gentleman in a rumpled overcoat stood in the chilly March wind, a huge bouquet of roses in one hand and a cluster of balloons in the other. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you Roxanne Perry?”
“I am.” She opened the door a bit wider. A bizarre thought raced through her mind. Publishers Clearing House! She’d filled out the entry forms a few months ago on a lark. Sure, she could use five or ten million dollars, she had thought. But she also had known the odds were against her. Maybe her luck had finally changed!
“Congratulations,” he said, holding the roses out. “I’m happy to inform you that you’ve-”
“Oh, my God,” Roxanne cried, throwing the door open and dragging him inside. “How much have I won? Where is Ed McMahon? Am I on television?”
The gentleman glanced over his shoulder, then back at Roxanne. “I’m sorry. I’m not from Publishers Clearing House. I’m Carl Lawrence, general manager of WBAM Talk Radio 1010.”
“A radio station? Are you giving away money?”
He shook his head. “I’m here to congratulate you, Mrs. Perry. You’ve been named a finalist in the Mother of the Year contest, sponsored by
The kids gathered around his feet and he handed them each a pair of balloons. They ran off, the colorful balloons trailing after them.
“But I never entered a contest,” Roxanne said. “Except for Publishers Clearing House.”
“I entered you.” Roxanne’s sister, Renee, stepped up onto the porch. She held up her camera and snapped a photo. “I wanted to get here in time, but I got caught in traffic. Are you surprised?”
White spots danced in front of Roxanne’s eyes. “I don’t understand. Why would you enter me in a contest?”
“Because you’re the best mother I know,” Renee said. “And you deserve to be recognized for how well you’ve managed to keep your family together after that jackass scumbag loser you called a husband walked out on you.” She turned to Carl Lawrence. “Pardon my French.”
Carl Lawrence cleared his throat, clearly uneasy with Renee’s acidic commentary. “Mrs. Perry, if I may, I’d like to discuss some publicity ideas with you. Our radio station has agreed to do a cross-promotion with
“You announce the public school lunch menus,” Renee said. “My kids and I listen every morning.”
“Well, that’s not all we do at WBAM,” Carl said. “We’re family-oriented talk radio. Have you listened to our
“No, we just listen to the menus. Then the kids turn on cartoons and I make their lunches,” Renee said.
“Can we get back to this contest?” Roxanne asked. “I really don’t want to be on the radio. I mean, that’s like giving me a dental exam for a prize.”
“Oh, that’s not the prize,” Renee said. She pulled a glossy magazine out of her bag and held it in front of Roxanne, flipping through it until she found a page with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “See? If you win the national contest, you’ll win a romantic getaway trip to Paris for you and a guest. And since you don’t have a husband, the guest would have to be me, since I entered you in the contest. Can you imagine it? You and I in Paris?”
