Madam Of The House. Donna Birdsell
his disappointments would be many, over the weekend. But thankfully none of them would last too long.
A few minutes later he said, “Did you know there are 512 M&M’s in a one-pound bag?”
“But this is…was…a two-pound bag,” she said. “How many were in this one?”
Brian looked out the window for a moment, and said, “One thousand and twenty-four.”
She smiled and said, “Very good, honey!”
Meanwhile, she was trying to calculate how much time she’d have to log on the stationary bike to burn off the calories in 1024 M&M’s.
That was one equation she wasn’t eager to solve.
The phone was ringing when they walked into the house. Cecilia picked up the cordless in the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Cece, it’s me.”
“Dannie?”
“Yeah. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“I need you to—” Cecilia heard screaming in the background. “Wait a second…”
Cecilia walked back into the hallway, half listening to Dannie yell at Richard for stuffing a waffle into the DVD player.
Brian stood just inside the door, quiet and unmoving, and for a nanosecond—a dark, regretful nanosecond—she wished Brian would put a waffle in the DVD player, just once.
She wished he would laugh and play baseball with the neighborhood kids and hug her spontaneously.
She held her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s okay, honey. You can go up to your room if you want.” She gave him a gentle nudge on the shoulder and picked up his small suitcase, following him up the stairs.
“All right. I’m back.” Dannie sounded breathless.
Then again, Dannie always sounded breathless.
“What do you need?” Cecilia asked.
“I need someone to take Quincy for a couple of days.”
“Quincy?” Cecilia ran through Dannie’s kids names in her mind. Quincy wasn’t there. “Who’s Quincy?”
“My dog.”
Before Cecilia could say anything, Dannie rushed on.
“I’ve got to go out of town. It’s an emergency. My mother-in-law is going to take the kids, but she’s allergic to the dog. Or so she says.”
“I don’t know—”
“Please, Cece. You’ve always been a dog lover. Quincy is great. You’ll adore him!”
“I’ll adore him, huh?”
“Absolutely. And you know I wouldn’t ask unless it was an emergency.”
Cecilia thought about Brian asking for a puppy. Maybe this would be a good way to see how he would handle an animal in the house.
“For a couple of days?” Cecilia said.
“Right. Two, maybe three, tops.”
“Okay. What the hell. Ben’s coming over for dinner and he hates dogs. Besides, I’ll be home most of the weekend with Brian. Bring him over.”
“Great! Thank you so much. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Cecilia left Brian alone in his room to get reacquainted with his things—which remained exactly as he had left them a month and a half ago when he’d gone off to school—and went back downstairs.
She dialed Ben’s mother’s number.
When Ben answered, she said, “Well? Are you coming over?”
“Why? Was I supposed to?”
She counted to ten under her breath. “Yes, you were supposed to. I’m making a roast for dinner. Brian’s here.”
“Brian’s there?”
“Yes, he is. I told you two weeks ago I was bringing him home for the long weekend.”
“Oh, right. Great. Okay, I’ll be over in a little while.”
BY SIX O’CLOCK, it became painfully apparent Ben wasn’t coming.
More angry than upset now, Cecilia went out onto the deck, wishing to God she hadn’t quit smoking, and checked the roast she’d been cooking on the grill.
When the weather was mild, she cooked everything on the grill. Pizza. Turkey breasts. Casseroles. Chili. In a few weeks, though, it would be too cold. She always got just a tiny bit depressed when she had to move her base of operations back to the kitchen.
She loved hanging out on the deck in her bare feet, drinking a beer or maybe a Margarita, watching the sun set. Sometimes she would imagine she was going to leave all this stress behind and move to some tropical island, where she would whip up spectacular meals in coconut shells over a fire pit, and spend her life tanned, relaxed and slightly tipsy.
She and Brian would take long walks on the beach, looking for shells. She’d make necklaces out of them, and they’d sell them on the beach. Or maybe she could braid hair.
No. She’d be terrible at that.
She’d once tried to braid Grace’s hair for school pictures, and Grace had ended up looking like an insane Pippi Long-stocking. People probably wouldn’t pay to look like that.
She daydreamed about beaches and Jake and cigarettes, and then about ways to dispose of Ben’s body. And then the doorbell rang.
Cecilia made her way through the house to the front door.
Dannie stood on the step, a twin on each hip, little Betsy clinging to her skirt, Richard running circles in the yard and a Shetland pony on a leash trampling the yellow corydalis in the bed beside the door.
“Hi,” Dannie said. “Are you ready for Quincy?”
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