Back to Square One (Brandon Bay Babes) (4 page)

As she flicked the TV channels, “Casablanca” came on and she watched the last ten minutes.
 
Kit couldn’t help thinking that if Humphrey and Ingrid’s “hill of beans” didn’t amount to much (and they had Nazis, a husband and World War II to contend with), then maybe she should rethink just how bad she had it.
 
She could always find a new job.
 
Sure, it wouldn’t be easy in these times, but it wasn’t impossible.
 
Come to think of it, even Bambi could be replaced by a bigger and better version.
 
Maybe a guy?
 
Yeah.
 
A male version of Bambi; possibly a
Chippendale.
 

While she mulled over that idea and took another mouthful of Chunky Monkey, Kit knew deep down that replacing her job and roommate was not what was really bothering her.
 
It was her life in general.
 
She was stuck in a rut the size of the Grand Canyon, without a mule to guide her out.

Flicking the channels once again, she stopped on an old
Tony Roberts
infomercial and paused.
 
If anyone could help her, he could.
 
She thought about “Calling now”, but just couldn’t do it.
 
Thanks, but no thanks Tony, she thought to herself wryly.
 
His form of motivational self-improvement was way too conventional for someone like her.
 
What she needed was someone she identified with to give her advice.

Sighing, she pressed the remote again and came upon an episode of
Seinfeld
.
 
Oh, this was a good one; the one where George does everything opposite to what his gut tells him, and things start going his way. Kit giggled; If only that could really work.
 
Yeah right.
 

Looking over at the phone, she bit her lip.
 
She still had to call her mother, but had been putting it off.
 
Her gut told her to avoid it as long as possible; that it wasn’t worth the aggravation.
 
But then again, maybe it was a good time to test George’s theory.
 
Go against the gut and see what happens.

Plucking up the courage, Kit dialled her mother.
 

When the call connected, the voice on the other end immediately cut in. “Kit!
 
I’m so glad you called!” Her mother was clearly happy to hear from her, and Kit relaxed a little at the thought.

“How did you know it was me?”
 
Was her mother now adding “psychic” to her repertoire of wackiness?

“Caller ID of course.” she said simply.

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong Kit?” her mother asked in a concerned manner.
 
The utterance of those few words, had her eyes brimming in moments.

“Oh Mom.” she tearfully replied.
 
“You have no idea.
 
Everything! Just everything!”

By the time Kit hung up the phone forty-five minutes later, she had revealed to her mother just how unhappy she was.
 
The words came like verbal diarrhea.
 
And once it was out of her, she felt much better; cleansed and ready to tentatively take a bite out of life again; much like
actual
diarrhea.
 

She’d managed to quell the eye-rolls and critical comments through her mother mentioning “crying over spilt milk” and that it took time to “find your feet”, and by the end of the conversation, she’d agreed to come to stay until she worked out exactly what she wanted to do with her life.

Her first reaction to her mothers’ suggestion of returning to Brandon Bay was an internal “Not on your Nellie” (whatever that means).
 
But before voicing her response, she decided to once again follow George’s advice, and go against her instincts.
 
Maybe by returning to Brandon Bay, she could work out all the past nuisances and frustrations that had plagued her relationship with her mother, and she could in some way heal whatever ailed her.

My God
, she was getting deep and reflective in her old age, Kit thought with a chuckle.
 
Either that, or Ben and Jerry’s was laced with something she didn’t know about.
 

With her new resolve still fresh in her mind, Kit grabbed her suitcase and started packing right there and then, before sense and her AWOL intellect caught up with her.
 

Six years?
 
Had it really been that long?
 

As Kit drove through the main street of Brandon Bay, she noticed that not much had changed.
 
The hardware store slash tackle shop was still there; the faded sign blowing in the breeze, threatening to come right off with a stiff wind from the ocean.
 
Of course, it had been threatening for thirty years to break away from its hinges and hit some self-respecting Brandon Bay resident in the head.
 
But did that encourage old Mr. Falridge to fix it?
 
Hell, no.

As a teenager, Kit was sure the reason Mr. Falridge spent so much time looking out his store window, was to catch the moment the sign fell.
 
In fact, she was positive he lived for the event (he had to be well over ninety); and would probably leave this earth the instant it dropped.
 
The
Brandon Bay Times
would then publish an obituary for Mr. Falridge and another for said sign; the sign’s loss likely being mourned more than the cantankerous and nosy Mr. Falridge.

No, the place hadn’t changed much at all; apart from a few boutique shops that had moved in to take advantage of weekend visitors.
 
Kit could see there was a candy store; a jewellery shop; and a rather odd establishment that apparently sold life size versions of
Betty Boop
and other characters made of resin.
 
Just who bought things like that, and what they did with a life size
Betty Boop
, Kit didn’t want to know.

As she turned into her mother’s drive, Kit was apprehensive.
  
Coming home with her tail between her legs was disheartening.
 
Her mother had said on the phone that she could stay as long as she wanted to.
 
But Kit knew better.
 
In no time at all, her mother would be “driving her up the wall” and she’d want to flee Brandon Bay as desperately as she had all those years ago.
 
No.
 
She would stay for two weeks or so, get her act together and move on.
 
To what and where, she had no idea at this particular moment, but it would come to her.

Gladys Davidson came out of her gingerbread house waving the moment Kit turned off the engine.
 
Her mother had aged some in six years, Kit noticed, but she still held the air of perpetual youth.
 
Her hair was long and showed some signs of grey, but for the most part she was exactly the same as Kit remembered.
 
The other kids at school had called her Mom a hippie, but she wasn’t.
 
She was much too conventional to be called that.
 
No, her Mom was more of a free spirit.
 
She loved life, and life loved her back by letting her look a good ten years younger than her forty-six years.

At the beckoning of her outstretched arms, Kit ran and hugged her mother tightly.
 
She felt five years old again.
 
In the safe haven of her mothers’ arms she was protected from the big, wide, horribly disappointing world of her maturity.

Her mother drew back and took a long, overly-analysing look at her.
 
“You look thin,” she commented, “and tired”

Kit let the “thin” comment pass, but replied, “I think I could probably sleep for a week.”

“It’s been a long time, baby” her mother noted.

“I’ve been pretty busy” Kit said, trying to avoid Gladys’ direct stare.

“Busy for six years.
 
You must be even more tired than you look”

Looking around at nothing in particular, Kit shrugged, “Brandon Bay hasn’t changed much”

“No, it hasn’t”

“It’s hot” Kit remarked, at a loss.

“Dog days of summer have kicked in”

Facing her mom, she smiled a little.
 
“Thanks for letting me come stay, I really appreciate it”

“Kit, you may not have visited any in the last six years,”
  
When Kit started to speak; Gladys raised her hand to stop her, “but this is still your home.
 
And it always
will
be”

“Thanks mom.
 
I must say, it feels strange to be back home” she replied sincerely.

“There’s no place like it, so they say” her mother replied with a knowing smile.
 

Kit rolled her eyes.
 
Gladys was at it again with the proverbs.
 
But it wasn’t quite as grating on the nerves as she remembered.
 
The smile her mother gave her had her thinking that maybe her mother had a sense of humour.
 

“You never run out of them, do you?” Kit responded with smirk.

“Well, you know me.
 
Always ready with an appropriate remark” she said, ushering Kit towards the front door.

******

After putting her bags in her old room, Kit joined her mother at the kitchen table.
 
Her mother had made the requisite
visitor
cup of herbal tea, and paired it with home-made scones she’d baked that morning.

“My room looks different” Kit stated as she smothered a scone with raspberry jam.

“Well, you could hardly expect me to keep it as a shrine” she replied with a small chuckle.

“No. I guess not.”

“I use it as a meditation room now.”

Well, of course you do, Kit thought unkindly.
 

Gladys peered over the lip of her cup, and studied her daughter. “How’s the scone?”

“Great.
 
Just like when I was a kid” she shot back.
 

“Good.
 
So I was wondering …?” Gladys began.

“Yes?” Kit cut in.
 
Uh-oh,
she thought, here we go!

“I was wondering …, just how long you think you’ll be
hiding out
here?”

“
Hiding out?”
Kit said in a huff.
 
“I am not
hiding out
mother!
 
Might I remind you that you asked me if I would like to come stay for a while.”

“That’s very true” her mother calmly ventured.
 
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you spend your time here ignoring your real problem.”
 

“And just what is my real problem?”