Nancy Thompson - Out With The Old, In With The New

Rainey’s a pro when it comes to cameras. She’s by far the most creative of the three of us. She’s argued that point with me on more than one occasion, giving me credit for my “decorating flair.” But my panache, as she calls it, does not hold a candle to what Rainey can create with a lump of clay and the artistic equivalent of a funky manicure set. She’s amazing. By default—and because Alex and I didn’t even bother to bring a camera—she’s the official photographer of the tenth annual girls’ getaway.

She snaps a shot of me with the phone pressed to my ear. I’m counting the rings on the other end of the line. Seven…eight… A couple more and the answering machine will kick in, but in the nick of time Caitlin picks up the receiver. Her little voice sings, “Hello, Hennessey residence.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Mommy! When are you coming home? I miss you.”

“Pumpkin, I haven’t been gone twenty-four hours. How can you miss me already?”

“I just do. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I do, but I’m having fun, too. We went shopping today and had our nails done. We just checked into our room.”

“Did you get me a surprise?”

“I sure did.”

“What color did you get your nails painted?”

“Natural.”

“Just like always. When you get home will you paint my nails pink?”

“I will. Maybe I’ll even find a special bottle of pretty pink polish to bring home to you.”

“Ohhhhhhhh! Don’t forget, okay?”

“All right, sweetie. Can you put Daddy on the phone for a minute?”

“No.”

No? My heart kicks against my breastbone, and I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. “Why not?”

“He’s sleeping.”

What? In all the time I’ve known this man, he’s never napped. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

“I think so.”

A bad feeling creeps into my veins. Caitlin isn’t a baby, of course, but if he’s sick he should’ve called my mother to come help, rather than leaving her to fend for herself while he slept. I turn toward the window. It’s dark outside.

“How long has he been asleep?”

“I dunno.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, and I’m hungry.”

I stand up. It’s nearly bedtime. I knew this trip was a bad idea.

“Take the phone into him and tell him Mommy wants to talk to him.”

Rainey and Alex have stopped their shopping show-and-tell and are staring at me.

“He’ll get mad. Just like you’re mad.”

I take a deep breath and soften my tone. “I’m not mad, honey. I’m concerned about Daddy. And you. I’m sorry if I sounded angry.”

I walk into the living room, away from my audience. “Honey, put him on the phone, and then I’ll talk to you again before I hang up. Okay?”

A few moments later, a groggy voice croaks, “Yeah? Doctor Hennessey.”

“Corbin, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

He grunts. I picture him sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and running his hand over his eyes and through his hair in one motion. “Oh, Kate. It’s you.” His voice is breathy. “I thought it was the hospital. Oh God… I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I just…passed out.”

Passed out? I quell the mother tiger urge to tear into him. You don’t pass out when you’re taking care of a child. Staring at the maroon-velvet-striped wallpaper, I silently count to ten and give him the benefit of the doubt. “Are you sick?”

“No. I was…tired.” His voice tightens on the last word. “I’m entitled to take a nap every once in a while.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. But it’s seven-thirty, and your daughter hasn’t even eaten dinner. When you’re caring for a six-year-old, entitlement gets put on hold for the weekend.”

He snorts.

The urge to ask if I need to come home wraps around me like a scratchy wool blanket begging me to throw it off my shoulders and onto the table. But I draw it tightly around me and endure the itch.

“It’s only two days. Come on, you can handle it.”

The long, drawn-out silence underscores every mile that stretches between us, until I can’t stand it anymore.

“Corbin, she’s only six. If you have to check out, or pass out or whatever you did, take her to my mother’s house so someone’s looking after her, okay?”

“Oh, for God’s sake—” He draws in a heavy breath. Lets it out. “You’re right. You’re always right, Kate. I’d better get in there and start cooking. Have fun shopping. Goodbye.”

“Don’t forget the—” click “—lasagna in the refrigerator.”

I look at my phone. Call ended.

He hung up on me.

Oh! Irritation simmers in the pit of my stomach, threatening to rage into a full boil. I squeeze the phone until my knuckles turn white and stare at it as if it will channel all my anger back to my husband and reach out and slap him. What is his problem?

A vision of my daughter’s face pops into my mind. We didn’t even get to say good-night. I start to call home again—

“Everything all right?” Alex asks.

I jump and turn toward her in one quick, jerky motion, and snap the phone closed. Alex is standing in the middle of the living-room floor, hands on her hips. From the concerned look on her face, I’m certain she heard every word of my conversation. Through the bedroom doorway, I see Rainey seated at the dressing table, touching up her makeup, watching me in the mirror.

Heat floods my cheeks. I feel like an idiot.

“Everything’s fine.” I grab my purse off the coffee table and shove the phone inside. “We’d better go or we’ll miss our reservation.”

Out in the hall the air is cool and carries that old, upscale hotel smell of brass polish and carpet shampoo. Our suite is at the end of the corridor. Three doors down a fortyish man and twenty-something brunette step into the hallway. They don’t see me. Or maybe they do, but they don’t care. He closes the door, draws her to him in a feverish kiss. I watch them shamelessly. His hands skim her slim body, wind their way around to her derriere where they linger, kneading and pulling her into him for the duration of the kiss.

They laugh, kiss again, coo at each other, and finally walk away, arms entwined, past the other rooms that stretch down the passage like twin rows of soldiers standing at attention, guarding tawdry secrets. Shiny knobs and numbered plates glint in the dim light, but betray nothing of the lovers who grace these halls.

A voice deep inside me prods and pokes me in vulnerable places. “You know what’s going on, Kate. You know. Now you have to decide if you’re going to turn the other cheek or start opening some doors.”

We get back to the hotel before midnight. I’m remarkably relaxed. Equalized, you might say. Amazing the miracles worked by good friends, a delicious meal and more than a few glasses of Chardonnay.

Ahh… Medicine to soothe the weary soul.

I fall onto the overstuffed, floral sofa, let my head loll back into the cushion and close my eyes for a minute.

“This is exactly what I needed,” Rainey says as she toes out of her sandals. “It’s good for us to get away. It makes our men miss us. And appreciate us.”

I nod and look at Alex. I see two of her and blink until the images meld into one. My head is spinning. I put my hand on my forehead to make it stop.

I never drink this much. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. It was either anesthe…a—nes—the—tize—phewwww, say that after several glasses of wine. Anyhow, it was either numb myself or cry in my soup and ruin everyone’s dinner. That wouldn’t have been very nice. Especially given that the girls didn’t even ask about my phone call. Wise women. I like that about them. Good friends. They have a sixth sense that tells them when to prod and when to leave it alone.