“Day after tomorrow my Rob’s off to college.” I raked a hand through my shoulder-length hair and found a snarl. “It’s hard to believe. Like the end of an era.” Rob’s choosing to attend school down in California had seemed like a good idea last spring, but not anymore. I couldn’t imagine how I would fill the long expanses of my days without my only child close by.
“Are we even old enough to have children in college?” Laurie asked.
I coughed a laugh. “I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t believe I’m turning forty in six months.”
“Welcome to the club.” Not that sliding into another decade had hit me that hard. I liked to think I’d grown wiser. Although looking back now, it was plain to see I hadn’t.
“Never mind. I’ve decided to stay thirty-nine for a few more years,” she said, a grin fanning across her face.
I heard footsteps behind us, then recognized my ex-husband’s voice saying, “Let me introduce you to the mother of my child.”
He sounded like an elephant trumpeting in my ears, and my first impulse was to dive under my desk for cover. But I figured I was imagining things. Phil here? Impossible.
I inhaled a whiff of spicy aftershave, his favorite brand, then felt a pat on my shoulder, making me flinch. I turned around to find his baby blue eyes gazing into mine. Against all logic, a warm breeze buzzed through my chest as I examined his handsome face crowned by curly blond hair. I hadn’t seen him for more than a year, but he hadn’t aged one bit, which struck me as profoundly unfair.
I clenched my jaw and waited for this momentary attraction to Phil to pass. It always did. I reminded myself that he’d given me nothing but grief. And if I hadn’t threatened to sue him two years ago, he never would have paid me the back child support.
Henry, several inches taller than Phil, stood at his side. “Hank, meet Marguerite Carr, my ex-wife,” Phil said, as if he were introducing his two best friends.
“Margo,” he said to me, “do you remember my talking about Hank Marsh? We go way back—shared studio space and did several shows together.” His hand moved to Henry’s shoulder. “You’re in for a treat. This man’s talented.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, Henry was avoiding making eye contact with me. I flushed with annoyance. “Nice to meet you,” I said, and noticed his vision finally taking me in.
He replied, “Good evening,” then pivoted his head to speak to Laurie, who said something about how much she was enjoying the class.
“This is just like old times finding you here,” Phil said, smoothing his jaw line with his fingertips.
I got to my feet. “I wouldn’t go that far.” I looked him over and saw that a dusting of white plaster sprinkled the front of his ragged jeans and T-shirt. I sniffed the air for alcohol. He appeared to be sober. And I couldn’t even detect a hint of cigarette smoke.
I crossed my arms and said, “I’m still not comfortable with you driving Rob to school.”
“I thought we had this all settled. I’m the one with the passenger van, and you’re the one who has a hard time taking a day off from work.”
“Are you going to show up?”
“Of course.” He raised his right hand as if being sworn in. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
I knew better than to believe what he said. I arched an eyebrow the way my father did to show disapproval. “See that you are.” I couldn’t stand having Rob disappointed again by his flaky father.
“I’m helping a buddy do some casting tonight and need to get back to work.” He turned to Henry, and the two men began discussing a gallery opening as they strolled toward the door.
“I haven’t seen Phil in years,” Laurie said. She watched him shake Henry’s hand, then leave. “He looks different somehow. Better.”
I frowned as a thousand agonizing memories coursed through my brain. When we were married, I’d seen Phil crawl into the bathroom, hang his head in the toilet and vomit his insides out, and then get up and chug down another beer. I’d smelled marijuana and cheap perfume on his clothes after a night of partying with his buddies. And in the dead of the night, I’d felt his hot breath caress my ear, then heard him murmur another woman’s name.
“Not that I’m suggesting you two—” Laurie added.
“Don’t worry,” I snapped. “I know way too much about Philip Carr to ever be sucked in again.”
I watched Laurie zoom in on the display of best-sellers planted inside the doorway of Seattle’s biggest Barnes and Noble.
“There it is.” She scooped up a hardbound book with the title Unearthing Your Childhood Dreams printed across its jacket and handed it to me. I turned it over to examine the photo of the author, a woman in her early thirties with short permed hair and a pixie face.
“Are you sure this is good?” I asked. I didn’t have extra money to waste on books I didn’t need.
“I saw her on Oprah. She sounded fabulous.” Laurie grabbed another copy and hugged it to her breast. “Let’s both buy one. Please. Then I’ll have someone to talk to about it.”
As we headed to the cash register, I silently tallied my collection of self-help books. Most of the two dozen or so pertained to child rearing, a subject quickly becoming obsolete. I gave the cashier my money, careful to slip the receipt in the book in case I decided to return it.
Moments later, Laurie and I climbed the stairs to the café on the mezzanine. Up ahead I could hear an espresso machine blast, then sputter. On the final step, I felt exhaustion blanket me like a lead apron. I scanned the room, which overlooked the rest of the store, to see that only three of the dozen or so tables were occupied. I bought a single nonfat latte and plopped
