Black Ties and Lullabies, page 13
Suddenly Bernie heard the toilet flush. “Mom? Who’s here?”
“Uh…”
The bathroom door opened, and Billy emerged. Just the sight of her worthless cousin made Bernie’s blood pressure shoot through the roof.
As always, he wore holey jeans and a crappy T-shirt, and his muddy brown hair hung down in his eyes. He had the kind of face that showed up regularly on America’s Most Wanted. Of course, to be on that show, he’d have to be something like a serial killer, and Billy just didn’t have the work ethic to pull off more than one murder before he expected somebody else to do his killing for him.
“Billy?” Bernie said. “What are you doing here?”
He flopped on the sofa and picked up the remote. “Aunt Eleanor said I could stay in her spare bedroom for a few days.”
Bernie snapped to attention. “Why?”
He clicked on the TV. “My roommate freaked out.”
“What do you mean he freaked out? Did you stiff him again on the rent?”
“Hell, no. I was just a little short, and he went nuts.”
“In other words, you were three months behind and he finally kicked you out. Which does not mean that you’re going to come here and—”
“Aunt Eleanor?” Billy said sweetly. “You did tell me I could stay here, didn’t you?”
Eleanor gave him a smile. “Of course, dear.”
Billy gave Bernie a smug look before turning back to the TV, jacking up the sound so he wouldn’t miss a single critical moment of monster truck rally commentary.
“Mom?” Bernie said. “Can I see you in the other room?”
Once they were in the kitchen, Bernie turned to face her mother. “What is he doing here?”
“He just needs a place to stay for a little while. Until he finds another job.”
Bernie’s eyebrows flew up. “He lost that job? The one I gave him a reference for?”
Eleanor shrugged weakly. “You know Billy has problems. His panic attacks—”
“Mom. The only time Billy has a panic attack is when he thinks he might actually have to work for a living.”
“He won’t be staying long.”
“Are you forgetting what happened last time he conned you into letting him stay here? He left cigarette burns in the guest room dresser and pawned your microwave!”
“He took my microwave only because he had too much pride to ask for a loan.”
“So why doesn’t his pride stand in the way of him stealing from you?”
Eleanor turned away, picking up a dishtowel to wipe away a few imaginary water spots on the counter.
“Where’s his car?” Bernie asked. “I didn’t see it out front.”
“It’s in the shop.”
“Has he asked to use your car?”
“No.”
“You mean not yet.”
Her mother didn’t respond.
“Why do you do it?” Bernie said. “Why do you help him when he refuses to help himself?”
“Because he’s family,” Eleanor said. “You always take care of family. Always.”
Family. Every time her mother invoked the “F” word, Bernie realized her hands were tied. For Billy, being “family” was nothing more than a fortunate accident of birth that prevented Bernie from taking him out back and giving him the ass-kicking he desperately needed. But what really pissed Bernie off was that Billy knew what her mother was facing in the next few years, and still he took advantage of her. But Eleanor Hogan had always believed the best about everyone even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, and that was never going to change.
“It’ll be okay,” her mother said. “He’s going job hunting tomorrow, and he’s only staying for a week. Then he says he’s moving in with a friend.”
Bernie wanted to pull her hair out. The blind spot her mother had where family was concerned was positively gargantuan.
“Promise me you won’t tell him to leave,” Eleanor said.
“No, Mom,” Bernie said with a sigh, feeling as if she wasn’t in control of anything anymore. “I won’t tell him to leave.”
Her mother smiled. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
No, it wouldn’t. And when things fell apart, Bernie would just have to be there to pick up the pieces.
“Did you get groceries this week?” Bernie asked her mother.
“Of course, dear. And I got the ingredients to make a salmon recipe from the Chef Allen cookbook you gave me. Would you like to come for dinner one night this week?”
Bernie glanced into the living room with heavy sigh. “It’s really best if I don’t.”
“I understand. But Billy will be gone in a week. Then you can come over, okay?”
Bernie knew better. One week would turn into three—or more—before he finally cleared out.
“I’m sending a guy over here tomorrow,” Bernie said. “It’s getting near fall, and I want him to service your heating unit.”
“That’s fine,” her mother said, putting a teakettle on the stove. “What kind of tea would you like?”
“I think I’ll pass on tea today, Mom. I have a hundred things I have to do. I just wanted to drop by and see how you’re doing.”
“Here’s the catalog I talked about,” her mother said. Bernie took it and thanked her for it, then said good-bye and headed for the door. As she went through the living room, she glanced at Billy, who was lounging on the sofa with his dirty feet on the coffee table.
Changing course, she strode over, jerked the remote out of his hand, and muted the sound. Standing over him, she spoke in a low, harsh voice. “Listen to me, Billy. You’re going to behave yourself while you’re here. That means no smoking in the house, no dragging your friends over here, and no eating every morsel of food in the refrigerator. And you’re not borrowing any money this time. Do you understand?”
He gave her a smug smile. “Sure, Bernie. Whatever you say.” He reached for the remote, but she held it away from him.
“You behave yourself, or I swear to God—”
“What? What are you going to do? Beat me up? You want to make your mother cry? That’ll do it.” That smug look again. “After all, I grew up without a mother.”
“You little—”
Billy snatched the remote back. “Man, what is it with pregnant women and all the bitchiness?”
He pointed and clicked, and the sound came up again.
Just go. Go before you really do commit murder.
Bernie spun around and walked out the door, feeling as if a two-ton stone was pressing down on her until she couldn’t breathe. It was hard enough dealing with her mother’s condition and a job she hated and a freeloading cousin. What about when the babies came? What then?
And then there was Jeremy. The wild card in this whole thing. The man who seemed born to irritate her, to tease her with the idea that maybe he wanted some real involvement with the babies instead of just swooping in to drive her nuts. Somewhere in her life, sometime soon, she wanted to be sure of something, but right now she was sure of absolutely nothing.
She got into her car and closed the door behind her. She put her hand against her belly and closed her eyes, imagining what her life was going to be like when she had to get up in the middle of the night to feed two babies. How tough it was going to be to find decent child care. How two babies had to be at least twice as hard to raise as one. She took a big, deep breath, telling herself everything was going to be fine. Things would level out, and sooner or later she’d have things under control.
She reached down to put the key into the ignition, only to drop her hand to her lap again. Her throat tightened, and damned if she wasn’t on the verge of crying all over again.
Under control? Who was she kidding? She didn’t have anything under control. Where the babies were concerned, she hadn’t even made any plans yet. For a woman who’d always prided herself on her organizational skills, she couldn’t seem to get any of her thoughts together. Last night she’d pulled out some of the magazines and catalogs her mother had given her and started to make a list of the things she was going to need for the babies, but before long it all felt so overwhelming that she shoved it aside, turned on CSI Miami, and pretended she wasn’t pregnant with twins.
No more pretending. It was time to face things head-on and get something concrete done. She needed some advice from somebody other than her mother, who persisted in talking about things like how darling baby girls looked in those stretchy headbands with bows on top.
She grabbed her phone, called Teresa Ramsey, and asked if she could drop by for a little while. Teresa seemed happy at the propect of having a chat, and Bernie was happy at the prospect of hanging out for a while with a woman who made motherhood seem effortless. How Teresa pulled it off, Bernie didn’t know. But right about now, when she was picturing the motherhood experience as nothing but chaos, she was dying to find out.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of Bill and Teresa’s house. She knocked on the front door. Waited a bit.
Nothing.
She knocked again. Still nothing. She looked over her shoulder to be sure Teresa’s car really was in the driveway, then started to knock one more time. Suddenly the door swung open.
“Hey, Bernie,” Teresa said, a big smile lighting her face.
No. Wait. This wasn’t the Teresa she knew. This was Teresa’s slovenly twin sister, who wore a pair of tattered gym shorts and a faded blue T-shirt, and had her hair pulled up into a pink scrunchy. She held a baby on her hip who was clad in nothing but a diaper with something questionable dribbling down his chin.
As quickly as Teresa answered the door, she turned and walked away. “Come on in and have a seat,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll be just a minute—crisis in the kitchen.”
Bernie stepped into the entry hall and closed the door behind her. “I hope you don’t mind that I dropped by. I just have a couple of questions about—”
And then she turned and saw the living room.
As Teresa disappeared into the kitchen, Bernie stopped and stared, unable to believe what she was looking at. It was as if a tornado had swept through the room, scrambling a pile of toys into a haphazard mess. Sofa pillows were in a heap on the floor. Two juice cups sat on the coffee table. Five-year-old Sarah was lying on her stomach in front of the TV, which was currently tuned to one of those very loud, very busy kids shows Bernie had always thought should be outlawed. Sarah turned to look up at her with wide blue eyes as if to say, Who the hell are you? Then she went back to watching the TV at a sound level in the supersonic range.
“Careful!” Teresa called from the kitchen. “Don’t trip over anything!”
Bernie appreciated the warning. She stepped over a pile of blocks and bypassed a wooden puzzle before finding her way to the sofa. This couldn’t be Bill and Teresa’s house. It just couldn’t.
“Bernie?” Teresa called from the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Coke?”
“No, thanks,” Bernie called back, still looking around in disbelief, willing her bugged-out eyeballs to relax back into her head. A few minutes later, Teresa came back into the room.
“Sarah!” she said. “Turn your show down.”
Sarah grabbed the remote, which looked huge in her tiny hands, and hit the volume button, blessedly bringing the sound down into a range that didn’t burst eardrums. Teresa sat down next to Bernie and plopped the baby onto her lap.
“Sorry,” she said. “Soon as you knocked on the door, Matt here had a puke attack in the kitchen, so I had to do a little cleanup.” She sighed wistfully. “I am such a terrible mother.”
Bernie came to attention. “Terrible mother? Why?”
“Because good mothers aren’t supposed to gag at spit-up. They’re supposed to smile at their little angel like he didn’t just barf. I gag every time. I swear this one’s a spit-up machine.” She turned to the baby. “Hey, kiddo. Keep it down next time, will you?”
She set the toddler on the floor. He took a few wobbly steps before falling to the carpet and crawling up next to his sister, who was still glued to the TV.
“I guess kids watch a lot of TV, huh?” Bernie said.
“Yep. Some people say it rots their brains, but I don’t sweat it too much. I limit it as much as I can, but sometimes it’s a godsend. Ninety-five percent of mothers say they use it as a babysitter at least some of the time.” Teresa leaned in and whispered confidentially. “If you ask me, the other five percent are liars.”
Bernie was glad to hear that. Every time she imagined plunking her kids down in front of the TV now and then, she also imagined being branded an unfit mother for the rest of eternity. One worry put to rest.
She had only about a thousand more.
Teresa turned and tucked her legs up beside her on the sofa. “Bill said you missed poker at Lucky’s this week. Everything going okay with your pregnancy?”
“Yeah. Fine. Actually, I had a little news this week.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Bernie was still having trouble verbalizing it. “Turns out I’m having twins.”
Teresa gasped, and a big smile lit her face. “You’re kidding me. Twins?”
“Believe me,” Bernie said, “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”
“That’s so exciting!” Teresa said, and then her smile faded. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course it is. It’s just that…” Bernie closed her eyes. “God, Teresa. I’d barely gotten used to the idea of one, and now I’m having two.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be a little bit of a shock.”
“You have no idea.” She sighed. “I guess it’s like poker, huh? I just play the hand I’m dealt?”
“Just be glad you drew a pair and not three of a kind. Now, that would be tough. Might as well just tack on five more and have your own reality show.”
Bernie shuddered at the very thought.
“Why do I feel like every other woman on earth was born for this, and I’m the odd woman out?” she asked.
Teresa laughed. “Come on, Bernie. Ninety-five percent of women feel that way with their first baby.”
“And the other five percent are liars?”
Teresa smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”
“I don’t even know what to buy for a baby. I’ve gone through catalogs, looked online, poked around in a few stores—”
“Wait a minute,” Teresa said, holding up her palm. “Don’t get caught up in all that. There are only a few things you really need.”
“Like what?”
“Disposable diapers,” Teresa said, counting the items out on her fingers. “Formula if you’re not breastfeeding. Enough clothes that you don’t have to do laundry every five minutes. Someplace for the babies to sleep. A couple of car seats.” She thought for a moment. “And a diaper bag. Oh! And a stroller. One of those double ones, I guess, since you’re having twins.”
Bernie blinked. “That’s it?”
“Pretty much. Well—except for the musical potty that plays ‘It’s a Small World’ to reward your kid every time he pees.”
Bernie drew back. “They make those?”
“Yep. Can you believe it? But you can also just stick your kids on the john and tell them to go. If they do, give them an M&M. Works like a charm. Musical potty chair, forty bucks. Sack of M&Ms, two ninety-nine.”
“Aren’t you setting them up to have to have an M&M every time they pee?”
“Nah. And even if you are, which would you rather have? A kid who can’t pee unless he has a pocketful of M&Ms, or a kid who can’t pee unless he hears ‘It’s a Small World’?”
Bernie smiled. “Excellent point.”
“And with the M&Ms, you always have a stash of chocolate if you really need it.”
The longer Teresa talked, the more Bernie felt worry being lifted from her shoulders. This was exactly what she needed. Practical advice from somebody who could assure her that the challenge of motherhood wasn’t insurmountable.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Bernie said.
“Do what?”
“Every time we come here for poker, your house looks perfect. You look perfect.”
Teresa laughed. “Thank God for poker nights, or I’d probably never clean house.”
“Oh, boy. So you’re telling me that once the babies are here, my apartment will never be clean unless I’m hosting poker?”
“No. I’m just telling you that cleaning isn’t important. No kid ever became a happy, healthy, well-adjusted adult because he grew up in a house with a spotless kitchen floor.”
Yet another good point.
“Motherhood isn’t rocket science,” Teresa went on. “Even with two kids at once. Can you hold a baby? Change a diaper? Read to them? Stick Band-Aids on their boo-boos? Tell your daughter hell no, she can’t pierce her labia? Tell your son he’d damned well better treat women right or else? Can you do that?”
Bernie couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. I can do that.” Then her smile faded. “The question is, can I do it all by myself?”
Teresa sat back, eyeing Bernie carefully. “Are you going to have to?”
Bernie sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“Does the father want to be involved?”
“He acts like he wants to be, but I’m not sure I can completely trust him.”
Teresa nodded. “Are you in love with him?”
Bernie was thunderstruck by the question. “In love with him?” She shook her head wildly. “No! Of course not. ”
“Oh. Okay.”
“No, really. What happened between us was a mistake. We hadn’t even been seeing each other. Not like that, anyway. And what happened between us is never going to happen again.”
“Okay. So there’s nothing between the two of you. It doesn’t mean he can’t still be a good father.”
“If you knew who the father was, you might not be so quick to say that.”
Teresa paused. “Care to tell me?”
What was the point in keeping it quiet any longer? The whole world was going to know soon enough, anyway. She might as well just spit it out.
“Jeremy Bridges.”
