Blind Acorn Page 5

  I looked to Mitch, again hoping for help. He just shrugged and continued to eat dinner. I was the next one to leave the room. None of us saw Dylan again until morning. And, by then, he seemed to be fine. I didn’t yet feel fine, and I still wanted to know what had happened, but it appeared that I wouldn’t be told anytime soon, if ever.

  Sixteen

  We’d decided to have the house painted during the summer and I wanted to be out of it before the painters arrived and blocked the driveway. I didn’t like having to ask them to move once they’d started. You’d think they’d know better than that! I grabbed my car keys, computer bag, and a stack of reports from the den and headed out to the garage.

  Five minutes later I arrived at my favorite café, looking forward to a hot coffee and some soft music. I congratulated myself on my timing; I was the only one at the counter as I ordered a large latte. I browsed the pastries that always looked so perfect but talked myself out of that indulgence. Coffee in hand, I settled at a table by a window and just gazed out for several minutes. The red brick church on the opposite corner looked imposing in the morning sun. The various shops and offices that lined both sides of the street were coming alive as doors were unlocked and both employees and customers arrived. I liked the start of the day; there was a gold tint to everything, and anything was possible at this early hour.

  I brought my attention back to my immediate surroundings. The room glowed with painted pastel tones and was bright and sunny. The mismatched furniture and coffee cups added to its quaint charm. And, of course, the music was a wonderful bonus. I could sit here happily for hours, I thought, if it wasn’t for that stack of reports. Sighing, I pulled them toward me and prepared to start. But when I looked up, I saw my neighbor, Lila, come through the back entrance. Great. There goes the peace and quiet. With a reluctant smile, I waved my hand in Lila’s direction as she made her way through the room, knowing she’d need no encouragement to approach, anyway.

  “Aren’t you the early bird!” Lila chirped, pulling out the chair across the table from me. “I thought I was out early today but here you are, already drinking coffee before I even got here!” She made it sound as if we’d planned to meet and I’d arrived too early.

  Intending to be gracious, I smiled again and turned the reports face down on the table. “How are you, Lila?” I asked. I was about to hear the answer even if I hadn’t.

  “Oh,” Lila sighed heavily, “what a week! First, of all things, the dog was sick. I’ve spent soooo much time going to the vet’s, getting his prescription —can you believe it? —and trying to get him to take the pills. Then there’s the cleaning up after him. Ugh! And, as you know, I’m chairing the committee for the church’s Colors of Fall tea, the fundraiser for the heating assistance program. So, I’ve been up to my elbows in menus and decorations. And then I somehow volunteered to be the incoming PTA secretary. Does it ever end?”

  The eye roll at the end, I thought, was a nice, but insincere, touch. If ever a person needed to feel inadequate by comparison, they need only talk to Lila for a few minutes. She was the mother who baked for every school event, always had extra drinks and sweatshirts in the car for the kids whose own mothers fell short. She served on every committee known to man, usually as chair. She showed up at every phonathon and always, always allowed the sleepover when asked. In the retelling, she sounded like it was all an imposition, but anyone who knew her would tell you that she thrived on it, all of it. She probably even had a treadmill and used it on a regular schedule.

  “I see that you’re painting the house,” Lila observed. “I wish we could do ours. Isn’t it nice to freshen up the things around you?” I nodded as she continued, “I’ll have to wait, I guess. We’re taking my in-laws on a cruise as an anniversary surprise, so it isn’t in the cards for this year.” Of course, Lila would be putting everyone else first … again.

  “Will I see you at the band’s carwash on Saturday?” Lila asked brightly. Too brightly.

  “Yes,” I said emphatically. No! No, I will not give up a Saturday for that! Lucy never even told me it was happening!

  “Oh good! Maybe I can ask a favor? The uniform committee will be selling raffle tickets there. Could you possibly sell tickets between 10 and noon? We’re a little short-handed.”

  “Of course,” I smiled. No! Don’t agree to that! You don’t have to do it just because she asked!

  “Thank you so much! For some reason, it’s a job our members seem to dislike.”

  “My pleasure,” I said with a little less enthusiasm. What is wrong with you? I asked myself.

  Thirty minutes later, still sitting there with the dregs of our now-cold coffee, Lila was still talking. I glanced out the window and saw, at the traffic light, a car that looked as if it had seen better days. Lots of them. Almost all of them. In the driver’s seat, I thought I saw Rona but couldn’t be sure. The car made a lot of noise and called attention to itself. The rear bumper was tied to the body with rope and the passenger side door was red, whereas the car itself was black. Through the windows to the back seat, I could see, well, nothing. There was so much packed in there that I could not make out anything distinctly. It looked like boxes piled up, with colorful objects interspersed and filling the entire space. As the car moved through the intersection, I mused that maybe everything around Rona was grumpy and ill-tempered. That is, if it was Rona driving.

  When Lila next stopped for breath, I jumped up so quickly I nearly overturned the table. Grabbing my stack of untouched reports, I exclaimed, “Look at the time! I’ve been so involved with our conversation that I didn’t realize how late it was! Thank you, Lila, for the company but I really am late!” And with that I bolted for the door, not looking back.

  “See you Saturday,” she called cheerfully before I was through the door.

  I felt myself disappear in the face of a force like Lila. She had this enormous energy and it seemed to consume everything around it. And I needed to escape before I was further consumed.

  Seventeen

  I got up early on Saturday morning so that I could get a few things done before the carwash. Although I was still annoyed with myself about that, I’d finally stopped trying to think of ways out of it. True to my word, I would show up.

  Lucy had been out for a run and came in about 9:00. She splashed water on her face in the kitchen sink (a practice that I hated but seemed to be unable to stop) and then opened the refrigerator door. “You didn’t tell me,” I said nonchalantly, “about the band carwash today. Are you going to be there?”

  “No!” she laughed. “Why would I do that?”

  “I guess to be supportive, like I’ll be doing. It’s your band, isn’t it?”

  “You’re going?”

  “Yes, I’m going. I was asked to help this morning.”

  She chuckled and said, “That’s too bad!” Then she bit into an apple and left the room.

  I hadn’t really thought she’d be going but I sometimes wished she’d made more of an effort. I worried about her. Weren’t teenagers legendary for wanting each other’s approval? Lucy didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought. Part of me was proud of her for that, but part of me worried about it. I tried to remember what I was like when I was her age. I wasn’t sure if I’d truly engaged with the world only when I had a family of my own to protect, encourage, inspire. Maybe we were more alike than I’d ever care to admit. I showered quickly and left without seeing Lucy again. A friend had asked to borrow some folding chairs and I brought them to her on my way to the carwash. By the time I arrived, it was in full swing. Lila came running as I approached.

  “Trinity!” she called. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve had lots of customers already and there’s no one else to sell the tickets yet. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She grabbed my hand (another practice I disliked) and pulled me toward a pile of boxes on the ground beside her car. “Here are all of your supplies and I’ve
got to get back.” As she went back to orchestrating the washing of cars, I heard her telling the kids, “Yay! Mrs. Barrett is here. This will be the most successful carwash ever.”

  Wearing a carpenter’s apron, I spent the next three hours selling raffle tickets to people in both clean and dirty cars. There was an enthusiastic response to both the carwash and the raffle, and I grudgingly had to admit that it was time well-spent. As I returned my apron to Lila, the band master came by. “Is Lucy here?” she asked as she scanned the group of wet, soapy kids.

  “No. I’m sorry, but she couldn’t make it.”

  “Oh. I was hoping to have a word with her about a piece of music I’m considering. She’s a pretty good judge of what the band can handle. I guess I’ll just have to decide without her input.”

  I shrugged, thinking, well, that’s too bad.

  Eighteen

  The day after the carwash, I stopped by the apartment for a while. I just wanted a little quiet time to think. I was worried about Mitch and me. I toggled between thinking that he was working too hard and thinking that there was something deeply wrong between us. I’m not sure why I thought that those were the only two options, or why I thought that they couldn’t both be true.

  It was beginning to feel like I lived in a soap opera, like there was a camera cutting to my reaction to everything. In the scene in which we have dinner with friends, and we clink glasses in a friendly toast, his glass touches all but mine. Camera flash to my neglected and saddened face.

  Or, the scene in which I get waylaid by Nellie Harrop mentioning that she’s noticed that I keep late hours, often leaving well after sundown, when other people are just coming home. Trying to convince her that I am not up to no good, without explaining any particulars, takes time. And, so, I am much later getting home than I’d planned. When I walk in, Mitch barely looks up from the work he has spread over the kitchen table. He doesn’t even look pointedly at the clock. Nothing. Camera flash to my defensive but disappointed face.

  I tried not to be so dramatic but felt like I was being ignored. I thought I could have taken anything else; anger, dismay, disappointment, hurt, resentment. But indifference felt sadder than I could have imagined. I wanted to spark one of those other emotions but didn’t know how.

  I sat staring out the window as dusk approached. I wasn’t ready to give up on us. And I didn’t seem to be helping anything by sitting here. So, I went down the stairs as quietly as possible, hoping to avoid alerting Nellie Harrop. I breathed a sigh of relief as I opened the car door and checked my mental grocery list before stopping at the market on my way home.

  I grabbed a hand basket as I hurried into the store and turned sharply left, making my way quickly to the produce section. I couldn’t contain my surprise when I nearly collided with Mitch as he stepped from the cereal aisle. “Oh!” was all that came to mind immediately.

  He looked almost as surprised as I felt and said, “Hi! Fancy meeting you here…”

  We both stepped aside to let other customers pass and I asked him, “Why are you here? What did you need? You could have told me.”

  “I know,” he said reasonably. “But I was out of cereal and I didn’t think I should make that your problem. I can shop as easily as you can.” He waved the box in his hand.

  I nodded. “True,” I said. And there was a moment of awkward silence before I added, “Okay then. I’ll only be a minute and I’ll see you at home.”

  Mitch went toward the registers and I continued on my course to the produce area, thinking that there was a time when he would have just told me he was out of cereal. I would have been annoyed that he’d expected me to do something about it, but I would have made sure to get some for him. So, why was I so annoyed that he did it for himself? Was I worried that he didn’t need me? That’s ridiculous, I thought. Ridiculous or not, though, the encounter clearly made me uneasy. I wondered if he was uneasy, too.

  Nineteen

  After a yoga class late on Wednesday afternoon, Gina and I sat in her car in the parking lot. We were working on our wish list of items for the apartment. When we’d both brought coffee makers there, but neither of us had yet brought a toaster oven, we knew we needed some teamwork.

  “…and potholders! We definitely need some potholders,” Gina was saying.

  My mind had been wandering, but now I paid attention. “Are you planning on doing some baking, Gina?”

  “And a cookie sheet,” she added, taking the list from my hands because I hadn’t written the potholders on it. She added both items and asked, “What else do we need?”

  “Sponges,” I said. “And rubber gloves, the kind with thumbs attached.”

  “That’s the boring stuff,” she complained, but she added them to the list.

  “Did we put light bulbs on here yet?” she asked, as she held the list away from her and squinted.

  “Oh, for— Gina, would you just get some reading glasses?” I had made this suggestion to her many times.

  She flashed me a radiant smile and said, “Nope.”

  I sighed and took the list from her. “Yes,” I said. “Way back here near the beginning.”

  “Okay. Maybe this is enough for now. We can make a new list later.” With that she tore the page in half and handed me one of the halves. “It’ll be like a scavenger hunt. The first one to get all of the items on her list gets to choose a sofa. How’s that for an incentive?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Her enthusiasm never failed to cheer me. “You’re on,” I told her.

  Tucking her list in the pocket of her jacket, she asked, “So, what’s up, Trin? You’re here, but your heart doesn’t seem to be in it today. Something wrong?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “It’s Mitch and I. I don’t know if something is wrong or not. It doesn’t feel right between us, so maybe there is something.”

  “Is this more than, you know, those times that happen in marriages? Those times when you seem to have disconnected for a while?”

  “I think it is,” I said.

  “Have you talked to him about it? Maybe it isn’t as real as you think.” She had a point. I overexaggerated sometimes. But I didn’t think this was one of those times.

  “Talking is one of the things we don’t seem to be doing these days. It feels like we’re too separate to even have a good conversation.” I reminded her about that rock-climbing dream.

  “And you think,” she said when I’d finished, “that it means that he doesn’t have your back anymore.”

  “Exactly!” I said. I knew she’d understand.

  “But it was your dream, Trin. Maybe it means that you think he doesn’t have your back. Not the same thing. Sounds like you need to talk to him.”

  “Well, why would I think that if there weren’t some indication of it? I never felt that way before. Why would I come up with it now? Don’t we dream about what’s on our minds?”

  “I’m no expert. I can’t say what we dream about. I never know what my own dreams mean. But, maybe,” she paused to think for a moment, “maybe it was your way of telling yourself that you deal with things on your own too much. That you think you don’t need much help from Mitch, and he knows that. Maybe it means that you both think you’re pretty self-sufficient.” Then she added once more, “You should talk to him.”

  I shrugged again. “Maybe,” I finally said noncommittally.

  “It sounds,” she said softly, “like one of those things that could get away from you, you know what I mean? Don’t let that happen. Take charge! That’s more your style than letting it fester.”

  I knew she was right. I just didn’t know how to get a handle on this one. “Thanks, Gina,” I said sincerely. “Stay tuned —I’ll let you know how it goes.” But I still had no plan.

  Twenty

  Halloween, one of my favorite holidays, fell on a Saturday that year. The entire f
amily found it humorous that I loved Halloween night so much.

  Pleased that it wasn’t a school or work day, I began pulling decorations from the attic first thing in the morning. I’d have all day to do it right. I refreshed batteries and hung motion-sensitive skeletons from the trees lining the walk to the front door. When triggered, they’d jump around, and the eyes would flash red. I put a speaker by the door, ready to broadcast scary music through the neighborhood. The jack-o-lanterns had been outside all week, but I moved them to the sidewalk in front of the house.

  I’d bought more than enough treats. We always had too much left over, but I was afraid of running out too soon. The composition of the neighborhood changed (as did the weather) and, in any given year, it was difficult to predict the number of trick-or-treaters. I was always ready for more than whatever it was.

  Mitch had left early for work and expected to be there all day. I was fine with that; this wasn’t really his holiday as much as it was mine. When our kids were young, we’d always plan on Mitch taking them out trick-or-treating while I waited at home for other young goblins. By the time he brought them home, they’d be heavily sugared, inside and out. When the doorbell began to quiet, I’d remove my costume and makeup. We’d start the struggle to settle Dylan and Lucy for the night. Baths and excited chatter would finally give way to soft snoring from both rooms. That’s when Mitch and I would turn off the lights and collapse on the couch with a suitably scary movie on TV. And we’d laugh at the amount of candy that I hadn’t managed to give away.

  We hadn’t done that in years, not since the kids were little. As I remembered it all fondly, I thought maybe this would be a good year to revive some of that tradition between us.

  So, I cleaned the family room with a vengeance. I vacuumed, dusted, and fluffed pillows. I chilled a bottle of wine, but also made lemonade. We could both use some down time, I thought. I could just imagine the smile on Mitch’s face when he caught on to my plan. I’d make popcorn while he found a suitable movie. It would be fun!