Off Her Rocker. Jennifer Archer
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They started the tradition after all their kids left home.”
Carl sputters and spills his coffee, but maneuvers so that it hits the place mat rather than his crisp white shirt. “You’re kidding? Pot, as in marijuana?”
I nod. “As in grass, weed, pass me that doobie, dude, wow, man, this is some good shit.” The coffee cup warms my fingers as I lift it. “Apparently, after Lynette’s daughter left for college, Lynette was cleaning out the girl’s closet and found a joint hidden in an old shoe. She brought it with her to bridge that night and bridge went up in smoke, so to speak.”
“Back up.” Carl lifts a knife to spread cream cheese on his bagel. “Lynette said ‘Pass me that doobie, dude’?”
“No, I did.”
The knife pauses in midair; Carl stares, looking uncertain and a tad bemused.
“Relax. I’m only kidding. I said no to the joint.” I take a bite of bagel. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Lynette is a lot friendlier and fun stoned than she ever was sober. They were laughing hysterically by the time I left. I could use a good laugh.”
Carl frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to end up like those women, Carl. So bored that the highlight of my week is sneaking off to bridge night and having a few bong hits with the gals.”
“How do you know they’re bored?”
“They said so. Do you know how bad off Lynette must be to admit that to me? They were all stay-at-home moms and now they’re stay-at-home wives trying to figure out how to fill their time. Just like me. I swear, I’m thinking about firing Myra and doing all the housework myself. That’s how desperate I am for something to do.”
Carl laughs, then mutters, “That oughta last until you break a fingernail.”
I glare at him.
Sobering, he says, “So do something. Find a hobby. Take piano lessons. Art lessons. Redecorate the house. Go spend a week at some fancy spa.”
“Why is everyone so fired up to get me to a spa all the sudden?”
“You love going to spas.”
“Not as a career. I want to do something productive.” Wincing, I stand and walk to the counter where the paper lies folded.
“Are you hurt?”
“Shin splints. From my brief stint as a marathon runner.” When he frowns, I add, “Don’t ask. It’s just another of the many things I suck at.” The look Carl sends makes me blush. I’m feeling sorry for myself and he knows it. I know it. “At least I’m a good mom,” I mutter, feeling pathetic.
“You’re a great mom.”
“Yeah, well, the job description has changed now that the kids aren’t living under our roof. I guess I’m having a hard time learning the new rules.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He clears his throat. “Polly called last night. She said you showed up at the PTA meeting.”
“She did, did she?” The traitor.
“She’s worried about you.” He coughs. “Barbara Smart called, too.”
“Troy’s fifth-grade teacher? Why?”
“She’s the elementary school principal now.” He coughs again. “Some mother complained that you were, um, scoping out the children on the playground yesterday?”
“Scoping—” Remembering the woman and her little boy I passed in front of the school, I slap a palm against the counter. “I wasn’t—”
“I know that. Barbara does, too. She assured the woman you’re harmless.”
I return to the table and sit again, avoiding Carl’s eyes. “Jesus.” I press fingers to my forehead. I’ve never felt so humiliated. Well, maybe when I was caught playing Peeping Tom at the high school yesterday, but that’s the only other time.
“Barbara had already spotted you out there before the woman complained,” Carl continues. “She suspected you were crying, and she wanted to make sure you’re all right. That’s the only reason she called.”
I could tell him I’m not all right, that I feel as if I could cry another bucket of tears right this minute. That I’m ashamed of myself for being so pitiful, for not being able to pull myself together and get on with my life. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to get things done, but since Troy went to college and Taylor married, I’ve lost that ability, along with my pride.
I unfold the paper. “I’m thinking about looking for a job.”
His gaze flicks away from me then back again. “O-kay.”
I hear an unspoken but at the end of that word.
“Say it, Carl.”
“It’s just…I don’t want you to tie yourself down to anything.”
“Why not?”
He continues to avoid my eyes. “I don’t know. Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Nothing.” He faces me. “I’ve been looking forward to spending more time together now that the kids are gone.” He pats my thigh. “The end of November, I have a conference in Vegas. While I’m in meetings you can hang out at the pool if it’s warm. Or you could shop or head for the spa.”
The spa again. I sigh. “That doesn’t solve my problem of what to do when we’re home. Which is the majority of the time.” I open the paper to the Classified section.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then says, “Getting a job can be expensive. There’s the increase in income tax and the cost of a new wardrobe. Not to mention the extra gas to drive to work and back every day.”
I lower the paper. “So it’s okay with you if I go to work just as long as I find a job that…one—” I lift a finger “—allows me to schedule my hours around yours…two, is within walking distance of our house, and…three, pays cash under the table. Did I cover all the requirements?”
Carl’s neck reddens above his collar.
“Oh,” I continue, “and my boss should allow casual wear at the office so I won’t need new clothes.” I thrust out my lower lip and nod. “No problem, honey. That should be an easy job to find.”
“I don’t care about the expense. I just don’t want you to have to plan your life around someone else’s schedule.”
Other than yours, I think, but keep my mouth shut.
“Why don’t you just volunteer?” Carl murmurs, careful not to look at me. “We don’t need the extra money yet.”
“Yet?” I tilt my head and study him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“No, it was a slip of the tongue.”
What’s up with him? “I’ve been volunteering for the past twenty-two years,” I say. “For once in my life I’d like to know how it feels to earn money of my own. To actually accomplish something and be compensated for my work.”
I’m on the verge of tears again, though I’m not sure why. Blinking them back, I glance at the clock on the wall, put the paper aside and scoot over to grab the phone.
“You already found a job listing that interests you?”
“I’m calling Troy. It’s time for him to get up.”
“What happened to his alarm clock?”
“Nothing.” I punch in the number. “He’s developed a bad habit of turning it off, then rolling over and going to sleep again. So, I’m his backup. He said if he missed another eight o’clock class, the professor