Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (2 page)

Email has been our close friend these last five years and she has consoled me via the internet often.  Since we both have children, it’s hard to find the time to sit and chat, so pouring out our souls through a late-night email has always worked wonderfully for us.

We’ve talked each other through long, tearful nights of kids with earaches, boogie men, and homesickness.  I couldn’t wait to be able to catch up with her over lunch, now, rather than the glow of a computer screen.

Even though I’m not really “qualified” for any working position, per say, Charlotte assured me that five years as a mom was enough experience for this job.  She had asked me to make a resume anyway, so it would look official, and not as if she were simply hiring her best gal pal.  Wondering what to put on it, I had been as truthful as possible:

Works well with others

Excellent work ethic

(I’ve done the exact same thing every day for five years.  Laundry, dishes, dinner.  Laundry, dishes, dinner . . .without complaining or asking for a raise)

Special qualifications

Multitasking and remaining calm in a crisis
.  (Laundry, balancing the checkbook, and mending Halloween costumes can all be done simultaneously.)

Oh yes, I was truly eager to try my hand at something new. 

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I couldn’t help but notice how much Violet had grown in the last few hours.  I rarely spend any time away from her, and when I do I miss her terribly. 

She looked delightful all covered in dirt and who knows what else.  At the first traffic light, I resisted the urge to pull out the wet wipes and wash her off and just turned around in my seat to stare at her.  She was gazing out her window and humming.

“Did you have a nice time?”  I asked, absorbing her radiating contentment.

I could not compute most of what she said next because she was off . . . talking about wonderlands and dragons and
moats.  I turned around, accelerated at the green light, and relished in the nonsensical ninety-mile-an-hour story with a smile.  It continued right through the fruit stand trip (“Don’t touch
every
thing, you still have cat-pee sand on your hands . . . yes you still get a free apple . . . no, not
three
apples, put those down . . . tell the lady ‘Thank you’ . . .”) and all the way through the front door.

I tried with some difficulty to concentrate on the last of the potato peeling as I went over and over the previous day’s events in my mind. 
Obviously Elizabeth was a poor choice for my first neighborly visit.  After much deliberation, I decided to stop worrying about her and concentrate on dinner.

The potatoes were dropped in to boil and I turned to the fridge to grab the pork chops. 

Is everyone on this block as picture perfect as Elizabeth
? I wondered.  We will be sorely out of place if that is the case.  I already felt uncomfortable in this neighborhood.

“Hey princess,” I heard unexpectedly.

“Daddy!”

I didn’t even have time to spin around, thankful for the break in thought, before there was a strong arm around my waist and a kiss lingering on my ear.  In one instant I’d forgotten everything except the sudden warm welcome.

And the potatoes boiling over.

TWO

I wish I were a morning person.  I wish I were a morning person.

Hmmm.  Fairy godmother must not be on duty yet.  I rolled out of bed and into my house shoes – magically, I think – because my brain usually does not function properly for at least an hour after I wake up.  I rubbed my eyes with the back of my fists like a sleepy toddler and headed for the bathroom.
  Not only was there a “school-ager” in the house now, but I also had a job to start getting up every day for.  This
morning
thing would definitely take some getting used to.

I
was used to getting up whenever Violet came into my room and turned on cartoons.  She would usually lie there while I pretended to watch it, actually drooling on my pillow for another half hour, and we’d get around to eating breakfast at nine o’clock or so.  What would I do when I had something to wake up for every day?

Today, I supposed, would be practice.  I needed to be at the school at
eight to meet with Charlotte and go over everything my new job would entail.  I was pretty sure I was excited.  I mean yes, excited.  Definitely.

Yawwwn . . . stretch . . . moan.

After all, I’d been invisible for the last five years.  Of
course
I would love to show everyone (mainly myself) that I’m able to do something besides rot at home.  That may sound harsh, because I do
love
my job as a stay-at-home mother.  It’s just that when you do the same thing, day in and day out, sometimes you wonder where it’s getting you.

Like most mothers that don’t work, my entire day consists of doing laundry, washing dishes, dusting, vacuuming, making beds in case someone comes over in the middle of the day (which they never do),
and making breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Well, Captain Crunch makes breakfast, but two out of three is still work. 

Then there’s the most tedious, daunting task of the day:  picking up after my
five-year-old Tasmanian devil, who streams through the house dragging everything she owns around after her.  And each day when my husband gets home, I don’t usually catch a “Hey, the house looks great!” or a “Thanks, honey, for the doing the dishes again today.”  He hugs us, kisses us, and sits down to relax after a hard day’s work.

Invisible.

I understand, somewhat, his lack of enthusiasm.  I don’t have the most glamorous job in the world.  But it’s not just
his
lack of interest in what I do eight hours a day that bothers me, it’s
everyone
.  Most of my friends have full time jobs, and the few who don’t have jobs— don’t have children.

Some of my working friends back in Stillwater used to call me on their lunch breaks and tell me everything they
had accomplished that day.  Always talking details about some big project the boss trusted them with, or a crazy deadline they were worried about meeting.  I would
Uh-huh
and
Oh, wow
at the right times, while scrubbing the toilet or cleaning bananas off the wall.  Then they would remind me that they were “working” or “busy” and had to get back to their “job”.  I honestly think they pictured me with my feet propped up eating bon bons all day and watching soap operas.

Also
, like most mothers that don’t work, I’d been feeling guilty.  Like I’m not providing for my family in a tangible way, and I often wonder if my husband resents me for not pulling in a paycheck.  Of course, when the subject would come up for discussion, we would always agree that the benefits of raising Vy at home far outweighed what I might earn by being away from her all day; but I sometimes wondered if he ever secretly wished for me to help out with the income so that we could have more
stuff
.  Or live a little more luxuriously.

I understand that moms have a tendency to feel guilty either way, not being home with their
children . . . or not earning money.  So now that I have no excuse
not
to work while Violet is in school all day, I thought I would give it a try.  The anticipation...no, the
horror
...of beginning a career after staying home and being invisible for so long. The only comfort I had is that it would be in the company of a friend.

Charlotte, or Charlie, if you’re one of her oldest friends and remember her boyish figure that didn’t need a bra until she was
sixteen, loved her job as principal.  Such a delight to be around, she always made everyone more comfortable.  Our friendship remained so strong long-distance, it would be a real joy to see her calming face every day.  She has such a way of making me feel whole, and sane, even when I shouldn’t.

On this horrid day of getting up at sunrise, I decided to treasure my shower sans Violet and pulled out all the stops.  Normally, I shower while she plays at my feet, then dry my hair while she takes a bath.  But today was special, and I took advantage of my stolen hours of the morning . . . though I’d rather be sleeping.

I turned up the radio on the counter, lit a candle, and climbed in.

Typically, Vy would be at my ankles, washing my feet with her giraffe puff and asking me when I was going to shave my legs.  I breathed deeply the vanilla scent that quickly filled the small room.  This was like a mini vacation.

Twenty blissful minutes later, I blew out the candle and went to assemble myself.  I fixed my hair in the most business-like manner I could manage and skipped downstairs for some coffee.  Music, coffee, private shower; doesn’t get much better than that.

Ahhh, I was wrong.
  I swung around the kitchen door quietly and wrapped my hands around John’s face.  Without “guessing who,” he spun around and picked me up off the floor in a good morning hug.  I could get used to this
early
thing.

Only minutes later
, he was off for work, and I was waving goodbye to him on the front porch with a warm mug cupped in my hand.  I rarely experienced a morning conversation with my husband because he was always off and running so dang early.  Apparently I was in for a treat every single day.

I breathed in the morning air (
hmmmm,
smells completely different than nine-thirty air) and pulled my robe up closer to my chin.  This was a ridiculous thing to be doing on an Oklahoma summer morning, but it was freezing in the house and I was preparing myself to be chilled when I went back in.

I took one more swig of coffee before going inside and stopped mid-sip.  The curtains across the street were . . .
swishing
. . . how odd.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

They weren’t the heavy curtains I
had noticed during my visit; they were the shears behind them.  Elizabeth must have pulled the larger ones back to let in the morning light.  Come to think of it, I’d
never
seen the bulky draperies pulled back before.  Of course I hadn’t been up this early since we moved here; maybe they were always open in the mornings.

Swish
.

Strange.  It was like a fan was blowing from one side.  A quick, short spurt of air.  Then once
more from the other side.

I decided to pop a squat in the wicker chair on the porch and do something I
had never felt the urge to do before:  I was going to people watch.  Or . . . eh . . .
curtain
watch. 

I settled down into the thick cushion, next to a large potted hibiscus on the side table.  It was the only live thing I’d managed not to kill in three years
and
it actually survived the move.  A feat I deemed astonishing.  It was so large now, I pretended that it concealed me.  I pulled my feet up in the chair and sipped my coffee behind my knees.  I was now the nosy neighbor.

Five, maybe ten minutes passed as I watched
Elizabeth’s window carefully.  It was not a steady, timed rustle of the fabric.  Just a few whooshes here and there, then nothing.  Then again.  Then nothing.

I was practically chugging my coffee to keep myself looking busy, and not like I was engulfed in a drama forming deep in my mind. 
If
there were some funny business going on via the sofa underneath the window, I would at least see some hands . . . or legs.  Surely.

Actually, that’s what I was counting on.  I was waiting to see flailing limbs or at
least
the curtains ripped down in a fit of passion.  How I would explain my blatant staring or look of
ah-ha!
if I were caught was beyond me.  But I was insanely curious, so I stuck my nose deeper into my cup— my eyes fixed on the window.

Huh!

I drew in a deep, coffee-filled breath as I caught a flash of someone’s face peering at me.  Only for a second.  Then the thick, taupe curtains fell into place.

I blushed wildly and unfolded my numb legs from the chair.  I sat frozen for a second, waiting for the blood to return to my extremities.

Was
that
what I was waiting for?  Whoever it was, they were most undoubtedly
not
happy that I was watching them.  It happened so quickly I had no idea if it were male or female—
scandalous! 
I was sure I’d seen a scowl in that tiny moment.

I fumbled in through
my front door, clanked my mug into the sink and went to wake up Violet.  Utterly flustered and embarrassed, I hurried up the stairs and busied myself with collecting toys along the way.   I turned the corner to Vy’s room, pink and purple from floor to ceiling, and quietly laid the small armful of toys on her dress-up chest.  All thoughts of getting caught prying in my neighbor’s business immediately vanished as I edged softly onto her bed and watched her sleep.

Nothing comes closer to Heaven than this,
I thought as I ran my fingers through her mess of tangles.

“Vy, honey, wake up.”

“Ugghaargh.”

It was the response I’d expected.  She was not a morning person either.  Getting out the door on time for school would definitely be fun.

I leaned down over her and brushed her hair away from her face.  “Sweetheart,” I whispered, refusing to let the preciousness slip out of the moment.  “Auntie will be here to pick you up soon.  We need to eat breakfast.”

“I’m not
hu-u-ungry,” she stretched.

I smiled wide, scooped up
the sleeping beauty, and carried her downstairs.

“Get your arm out of the cereal!” I ordered,
once she had gotten ahold of the cereal box.

“But I can’t find the
prize!”

“They don’t put the prize at the bottom anymore, honey.  For that very reason.  I got it out already.”

She started to speak again and I interrupted her.

“It’s a light up spoon and you can have it later.  Auntie just called— hold still.  She said she’ll be here any minute.  Eat up and then get your teeth brushed.”

I pulled her favorite over-sized cartoon tee over her head and tugged her hair into two quick, but even ponytails.  Making ponytails that even, that fast, should be an Olympic sport.

Kate would hate it that I didn’t dress her up.  Of course, if Kate could have children, they would
always
be dressed for church – or a fashion show – just in case.  She and all her mini-me’s would probably all have coordinating outfits as well.  Ick.  I had always erred on the side of comfort and for things that can, and will, get dirty.

I piled the dishes into the tiny sink
and shuffled Little Miss Groggy up to brush.  The doorbell caught us as we were racing back down the stairs and Violet screeched, piercing my eardrum.

“Auntie!”

A quarter of an hour later, I was blowing theatrical kisses and backing out the front door.  I bustled toward the car and looked, unthinkingly, across the street. 

Elizabeth was watering her miraculous garden
and looked preoccupied, probably thinking of ways to improve her masterpiece.  She looked up to meet my harried expression, her perfect hair falling over her shoulder, and smiled.  It was a wide, gleaming, innocent smile that immediately brought my meddlesome morning to the front of my memory.  I grinned uneasily and settled into the front seat of the car.  I rested my sunglasses on my flushed cheeks and drove the route to school.

It sure would be handy having Kate around now, I thought as I drove.  She was the fill-in librarian at the tiniest of the libraries in town, only working a few days a month.  And she’d made it clear that she was available for childcare practically whenever I needed her.

In Stillwater, I had hardly ever gotten a sitter, so Violet went everywhere I went.  We have spent pretty much every waking moment together since her birth, which I will always cherish.  I wasn’t so sure I
liked
running errands by myself, which I would be doing more often now.  My brain actually functions better with constant chatter in the background.

My heart sank a little as I thought of Kate and how much she enjoys Violet.  I was glad that they
would be spending more time together; they’re so good for each other.  But I wished she had her own child to pamper as well.