Jackson Robard: The cub-scout mother

The late afternoon sun was low and sinking fast behind the shopping center, leaving a spray of glowing color in streaks across the luminous sky. Bette Jean lagged behind the hurrying bag boy and turned to look at the coral streaks. Brilliant wavy flags billowing across the sky like gossamer silk. She stood for a moment, warmed by the color despite the nip in the air. At last she turned and followed obediently to the rear of the pale blue station wagon where the boy was loading her groceries.

"There you are, Mrs. Lyons," he said panting, then slammed the rear door and turned to her grinning. "All loaded up and ready to go."

"Thank you so much." Bette Jean pressed a coin into his hard young palm. The tall youth blushed in confusion and tried to put the money back in her hand.

"Aw… no… you don't have to do that. It's a pleasure to load your groceries and stuff… I mean… well… I like doing it for you…"

Bette Jean insisted and in the fumbling he held her hand far too long, blushing and embarrassed. She felt a tiny little thrill chase up her forearm from the contact and then she too was embarrassed. Oh dear. The boy wasn't much older than her son, Gary. A stab of fear shot through her then. Would Gary start acting like men always acted around women? He was sixteen now but she didn't want him to start acting like a snorting bull in a china shop. "Thank you again… sorry to be so much trouble…" Bette Jean almost whispered in confusion and slid into the driver's seat quickly, slamming the door behind her. The bag boy grinned and waved, wheeling the cart back toward the supermarket.

Driving home Bette Jean tried to sort her thoughts. It had been a difficult day. The doctor still hadn't been too sure about her symptoms. Mostly he'd patted her and reassured her… and now that she thought about it, grinned at her just the way that grocery boy had done. But then men had always grinned at her fatuously ever since she was fourteen. If he had a few beers too many, even Lester, her own husband, grinned at her that way.

It had something to do with her being small and having curling chestnut hair and large innocent blue eyes. Every male in sight thought he had to protect her. Well, the only thing she wanted protection from now was male attention. It was time they left her alone. Certainly it was past time for Lester to leave her alone.

At his age and hers… with the children all gone from home now except Gary… it was almost indecent the way Lester wouldn't leave her alone. Though she couldn't prove it, Bette Jean thought that surely must have something to do with all her headaches and fatigue lately. Couldn't Lester see that she was too old for all that nonsense? At forty after four children she was just plain tired of sex. It was dull and useless and ridiculous.

Bette Jean shook her chestnut curls out of her eyes and her mouth straightened in a line of determination. The doctor hadn't actually said she was not to sleep with Lester… but he had asked a lot of questions about her sex life… wanting to know how often and if she had orgasms… and he had said she was not to overdo. Well, that was enough. She'd been trying for a long time to find a way to have separate bedrooms. Not that she wanted to hurt Lester's feelings but she had her health to think of too. Certainly he couldn't willingly want her to get worse.

By the time she'd put all the groceries away and folded the brown paper bags neatly out of sight, Bette Jean was exhausted. It was familiar exhaustion she experienced often these days and had gone to several doctors about. They hadn't actually laughed at her but they hadn't taken her problem seriously either. At least Dr. Madson had given her those pills and told her not to work so hard. He was better than the rest of those quacks. They just didn't understand female problems. How could they? They'd never been females.

Bette Jean sat down for a minute at the shiny white Formica table. She just had to get her breath. And there was still dinner to think about. Wearily she pushed the curls up off her collar. Gary wasn't home yet either and then she remembered. Lester had given him permission over her protests to spend the night with Jimmy Herter. So there'd be only the two of them for dinner tonight.

She fought down a little shiver, knowing from experience that Lester never failed to get amorous when Gary was out of the house… not that Gary's presence really stopped him. Sometimes she just lay there dying of embarrassment when Lester was venting his animal passions on her helpless body, knowing that their son Gary could be lying awake listening and maybe hearing every sound through the thin walls. A four-bedroom, housing-development house was not made for privacy.

Still it was a nice house. She looked around appreciatively. The new wall-to-wall carpeting made it look even larger, the soft celery green pushing the walls further apart. Lester was a good provider and she should be ashamed of herself for not appreciating him more.

But with her head beginning to ache and this awful fatigue settling on her like a plague, she didn't feel very appreciative. She wondered what mischief Gary might get into at the Herter boy's house. Gary was such a good boy most of the time, but he did need handling. He was shy and sensitive like her. You'd never even know he was Lester's child except when he flew into those unpredictable rages now and again.

Bette Jean forced herself to get up and change her clothes before starting dinner. It wouldn't do any good to get her new beige suit dirty making dinner. She hung it up carefully in the bedroom closet and started automatically to put on her old blue wraparound… but a chance glance at herself in the mirror stopped her.

It seemed a shame to cover herself with that old thing. For a stolen moment she allowed herself to look at her reflection. She did look younger than she was. The face smooth and unlined and youthful. Her skin was still flawless and creamy, the chestnut hair curling softly around her pretty face, the blue eyes wide and innocent, framed with thick lashes. Even after four children her body looked exactly the same as it had when Lester was courting her except that her breasts were even fuller. They almost spilled out of the pale, nude-colored brassiere but her waist was still very tiny and her hips trimly curved, her legs slender and shapely. She did look young and pretty and at her age she should be grateful, but looks had never brought her anything but lecherous glances, Lester's awful pawing and lusting and four children in almost as many years. She'd raised them and nursed them and now they were all gone except Gary. Damn it. It was time she had some peace, some time for herself, maybe even some night courses to keep her occupied.

She turned back to the closet and fingered the clothes. The habit of wearing slacks around the house had never appealed to her. Finally she settled on a pink flowered cotton blouse and skirt. At least it was permanent press so it could be washed if something spilled on it. If she was going to convince Lester of anything she'd have to look halfway presentable. Bette Jean cinched a wide pink leather belt around her tiny waist and went back to the kitchen.

As she bent to peer into the refrigerator to check the leftovers she felt the uncomfortable clamminess of her panties. She straightened and shivered delicately. Those awful examinations at the doctor's always left her feeling unclean. That terrible jelly they used when they had to examine a woman inside. Some of it always oozed out and dampened your panties. Bette Jean went back to the bedroom. Holding her skirt up she shed the dampened panty hose and underpants, washed herself thoroughly and slid on clean white panties.