Two by Two(21)

"Go where?"

"You're going to ask me if I can watch London tomorrow, since Mom closed that door. Or Thursday or Friday. Or all three."

Like I said, Marge is wise. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I could practically hear my sister rolling her eyes. "Don't play dumb  and don't bother denying it, either. Why else would you be calling? Do  you know how many times in the past five years you've called me at  work?"

"Not offhand," I admitted.

"Zero."

"That's not true."

"You're right. I'm lying to you. You call me every day. We chat and  giggle like middle-school girls for hours while I'm doodling. Hold on  for a second."

I heard my sister cough, the sound deep and harsh. "You okay?" I asked.

"I think I picked up a virus."

"In the summer?"

"I had to bring Dad to the doctor yesterday and the waiting room was  filled with sickness and disease. It's a wonder I didn't leave on a  stretcher."

"How's Dad?"

"It'll take a few days for the labs to come in, but the stress test and  EKG showed his heart was fine. Lungs, too. The doctor seemed pretty  amazed, despite how surly Dad was."

"Sounds like him," I agreed. My mind circled back to London again. "What  am I supposed to do with London if I can't find anyone to watch her?"

"You're smart. You'll figure it out."

"You're such a supportive and helpful sister."

"I try."





The meeting with the owners of the sandwich shop went about as well as  the one with the chiropractor the day before. Not because they weren't  interested. The owners, a married couple from Greece, knew that  advertising would help their business; the problem was that they were  barely earning enough to keep the doors open and still cover their  expenses. They told me to come back in a few months, when they had a  better handle on things, and offered me a sandwich as I was getting  ready to leave.

"It's delicious," the husband said. "All our sandwiches are served in fresh pita bread that we make here."

"It's my grandmother's recipe," the wife added.

I had to admit that the bread smelled heaven-sent, and I could see the  great care the husband took when making the sandwich. The wife asked if I  wanted some chips and something to drink-why not?-and they handed me my  lunch, both of them wearing smiles.

After that, they presented me with the bill.





I made it to the lunch gathering of the Red Hat Society at a quarter  past twelve. Despite the inconvenience I'd no doubt caused my mom, I had  the sense that my mom was proud to show off her granddaughter, who was  something of a novelty in that group.

"Daddy!" London called out as soon as she saw me. She scooted off her  chair and ran toward me. "They said I could come back to one of their  lunches any time!"

My mom got up from the table and gave me a hug, away from the group.

"Thanks for watching her, Mom."

"My pleasure," she said. "She was a hit."

"I could tell."

"But tomorrow and the rest of the week … "

"I know," I said. "Tulips. Volunteering."
         

     



 
On our way out, I reached for London's hand. It was small in mine, warm and comforting.

"Daddy?" she said.

"Yes."

"I'm hungry."

"Let's go home and get you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

"We can't," London said.

"Why not?"

"We don't have any bread."





We went to the grocery store, where-for the first time-I grabbed a cart.

For the next hour, I slowly worked my way through Vivian's list,  backtracking to a previously visited aisle more than once. I have no  idea what I would have done had London not been there to help me, since  she had a knowledge of the brands that went well beyond her five years. I  had no idea where to find spaghetti squash, nor could I tell whether an  avocado was ripe by squeezing it, but somehow with her and a few store  employees' help I was able to cross everything off the list. While I was  there, I saw mothers with children of all ages, most appearing as  overwhelmed as I felt and I felt a fleeting kinship with them. I  wondered how many of them, like me, would rather have been in an office  instead of the meats section of the store, where it took me nearly five  minutes to find the organic free-range chicken breasts that Vivian had  specified.

Back home, after making a sandwich for London and unpacking the  groceries, I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately working and  cleaning while making sure London was okay, feeling the whole time like I  was swimming against a never-ending current. Vivian arrived home at  half past six and spent time with London for a few minutes before  meeting me in the kitchen, where I'd started putting together a salad.

"How's the chicken Marsala coming?"

"Chicken Marsala?"

"With spaghetti squash on the side?"

"Uh … "

She laughed. "I'm kidding. I'll get it going. It won't take long."

"How was work today?"

"Busy," she said. "I spent most of the day learning about the journalist  I mentioned yesterday and trying to figure out the angle he wants to  take for the article. And, of course, how to contain the story once it's  out and generate some positive coverage instead."

"Do you have a guess as to the kind of story it might be?"

"I suspect it's just the usual garbage, similar to what's been written  before. The journalist is an environmentalist nut and he's been talking  to people who claim that one of the oceanfront condo developments took a  lot of shortcuts and was not only illegal, but has caused severe beach  erosion on another part of the beach during the last tropical storm.  Basically, it's all about blaming the rich people whenever Mother Nature  strikes."

"You know Spannerman's not an eco-friendly guy, right?"

By then, Vivian was pouring herself a glass of wine. "Walter's not like that anymore. He's changed a lot since you knew him."

I doubt it, I thought. "It sounds like you've got a good handle on it," I offered instead.

"I'm just glad the article isn't coming out this week. Walter's got a  big fund-raiser scheduled this weekend in Atlanta. For his PAC."

"He has a PAC now?"

"I mentioned it to you before," she said. She placed a frying pan on the  stove, added the chicken and began riffling through the spice cabinet.  "He started it a couple of years ago and has been funding it himself.  Now he's decided to reach out to others for support. And that's what I'm  going to be overseeing for the next three days. He hired an event  company to run the program and while they've done a good job, he wants  it to be perfect. That's where I come in. He knows I was in  entertainment, and he wants me to see if I can find a musical act.  Someone big."

"For this weekend? That doesn't give you a lot of time."

"I know. And I told him exactly that. I put a call in to my old boss and  he gave me the names of some people to call, so we'll see. On the plus  side, Walter is willing to pay whatever it costs, but it means I'll  probably be working late all week. And I'll have to go to Atlanta."

"You're kidding," I said. "It's only your second day at work."

"Don't be like that," she said as she began browning the chicken. "It's  not like he gave me much of a choice in the matter. Pretty much every  major developer from Texas to Virginia is coming, and all the executives  have to go. And it's not all weekend-I fly out Saturday morning and  come back Sunday."

I didn't like it but what could I do? "All right," I said. "It sounds like you're already becoming indispensable."         

     



 

"I'm trying." She smiled. "How was London today? Did she do okay at piano?"

"She did great, but I'm not sure she likes dance all that much. She was quiet after class yesterday."

"The teacher was upset because you were late. So London was upset, too."

"The instructor seems a little intense."

"She is. And that's why her dance teams win so many competitions." She  nodded toward London. "While I get dinner going, will you get London  into the bath?"

"Now?"

"That way, you can read to her after we eat, and get her down for the  night. She's tired and like I told you, I've got a ton of work on tap."

"Sure," I said, realizing that once again, I'd likely be going to bed alone.





CHAPTER 7





Two by Two


When London was three and half, the three of us went on a picnic near  Lake Norman. It was something we only did once. Vivian packed a  delicious lunch and on our way to Lake Norman, and because the day was  breezy, we stopped at a hobby store on the way to buy a kite. I'd picked  the kind of kite that had been popular when I was a kid; simple and  inexpensive, nothing like the kind of kites that avid enthusiasts would  dream of flying.