“It sounds like fun, but I’m exhausted by seven o’clock. After I’ve fixed dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, I’m ready for bed.”
“You’re a wonderful mom,” I said with sincerity.
“Thank you. I’m glad someone thinks that matters.”
“It does. It’s the most important job there is.”
Her dark eyes grew somber. “When I go out to dinner with Bob’s associates or clients, they ask me what I do. When I tell them I’m a stay-at-home mom, they can’t wait to change the subject.”
I wondered if I’d ever written off housewives the same way. I wouldn’t do it again, that was for sure. “If it weren’t for women like you, working moms wouldn’t have chaperones for school parties or drivers for field trips. When Rob was young, I rarely had time to help. I wish I could have been like you.”
“But there has to be more to life than taking care of kids and vacuuming the house.” Susan leaned against the wall. “I feel guilty saying it, but I’m sick of being home every day at three, waiting for the bus to show up. With Rob away, you can waltz out the door whenever you want. You’re completely free.”
“Yeah, I’ve told myself it’s going to be great,” I responded blithely. I swallowed the lump that had been lurking at the bottom of my throat ever since Rob’s departure. Again this morning, thinking I’d heard him, I almost called out his name, only to feel the immediate stab of disappointment.
“No one tying up the phone or playing loud music,” I said. “And I could use Rob’s room for an office, so I won’t pile papers on the kitchen table anymore.”
“I’d love an extra room in the house. When Brandon decided to go to junior college for two years, I told him he should stay at home and save up his money. Now, I sort of wish he was living in a dorm.”
“Hang on to him as long as you can. I miss Rob so much, I feel like I’m going through withdrawal. Like I’m shriveling up.” Putting it into words only made me feel worse, which she must have read on my face.
“You’ll probably get over it in a few weeks,” she said.
”Maybe.” Holding in tears, I fixed my eyes out the bedroom window and stared at the brick house next door.
She took my hand. “When I’m down, I try to keep busy. Just about any diversion can do the trick.” Her voice turned merry. “I like eating best, but your drawing class sounds less fattening.” She chuckled when I cracked a smile.
A clattering racket suddenly erupted on the roof above us.
She cowered, her hands balling under her chin. “Birds?”
“I hope so.” I dove into my purse to find my keys. “Let’s get out of here before the roof collapses.”
I dropped Susan off, then jetted off to my next appointment on time. I arrived at the Henricks’ home with two minutes to spare. I had already shown Sherry and Wayne seven houses and had tried every tactic to get them to choose one, without success.
They were such nice people, I thought as I rang the doorbell, sending the first eight notes from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony through the fifties bungalow. But were they just another name on my list of lost causes?
I could remember plenty of similar incidents. Clients who looked and looked. Pleasant people, who insisted they liked me, said I was the greatest agent they’d ever met, then evaporated like a drop of rain on hot pavement. Sometimes, I’d find out later they’d wandered into an open house and bought from another agent without even contacting me. Didn’t they know I could have sold that house to them? Didn’t they know I worked on commission and had bills to pay just like everyone else? Maybe I needed to be more assertive. That’s what Dad would have told me.
I knocked several times, then stabbed the bell again.
Finally Sherry, clad in a pink terrycloth bathrobe, came to the door.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. Her button nose and small intent eyes reminded me of the Beanie Baby piglet I’d given my four-year-old niece on her birthday.
“Am I early?” I asked, knowing I wasn’t.
“No, I’m running late, just got home from tennis. Come on in and make yourself comfy.” Leaving me standing in the family room, Sherry ambled off to the back bedroom.
A stack of fashion magazines lay on the coffee table. I grabbed the top one and sat on the overstuffed leather couch. Across the room, an expansive TV set, its volume just audible, caught my attention. As I opened the magazine, I glanced over at the screen and noticed an attractive black woman interviewing several teenage girls, about fifteen years old, all holding babies that looked to be their own.
Seeing them filled me with a self-righteous indignation I had no right to own. Hadn’t young women learned anything in the past twenty years? Were they just as easily fooled as ever?
Then I remembered how at age twenty my own resolve to remain a virgin floated out the window the night Phil invited me to his one-room apartment. “I’m flunking out of psychology,” he’d said. “Could you come help me study for an exam?” But when I arrived, I didn’t see a single book.
The TV show was too painful to watch. I found the remote and clicked off the set. I congratulated myself for having a son. There was so much less to worry about with boys.
Fifteen minutes later Sherry meandered into the family room and started transferring items from her mock crocodile purse into a navy blue one that matched her shoes.
“Wayne and I drove all over Ballard after lunch yesterday,” she said, squinting into her compact mirror to apply lipstick. “We saw lots of cute houses down there.”
I shaped my face into a cheery facade. “You poor thing, you must be exhausted by now.” I knew I needed
