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Free Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 9

November 11, 2011 by admin

Boats on the Water
A perfect day!

Good morning, everyone! Greetings again from Washington State. We seem to have found the “perfect” house. We saw it online first and were excited about it, but this time the pictures actually match the hype! Of course, there’s the little matter of selling the house in Houston, but that’s another story. In the meantime, these photos are a little gift ordered up by the local chamber of commerce. 🙂

PT Full Moon
Full moon reflecting on the water

Meanwhile, the ladies at The Foreign Language of Friends are getting more stressed out about their lives. In this chapter, Ellen starts to recognize the value of having someone to talk to. If you’re just joining this blog, I post new chapters each Friday…or, you can purchase the entire book for the low, low price of $1.99 on Amazon.com! A print version will be available soon.

CHAPTER NINE – JUNE 28

After the latest emergency room scare, Ellen’s father returned to the nursing home, his hip not broken, though he was badly bruised. She re­minded herself that the fall was not serious, but it didn’t ease her worries. She spent the bulk of the day working on the new writing job, then de­cided to visit her parents to make sure they were okay. Part of her wanted to keep working and avoid facing them, but her sense of duty overruled. She scolded herself for her resentment. After all, she no longer had to care for them 24/7, right? Yet she felt bone weary. Though she had always assumed she would have children, she felt relieved not to have that responsibility, too. Just an hour, she told herself. Go see them for an hour. You owe them that much. Eventually, she coaxed herself outside, to the car, and over to The Venice.

Taking a deep breath, she opened one of the ornate double doors and went inside. She listened to the sound of her shoes clop, clop, clopping on the shiny floors. She regretted changing from her usual shorts and tank top to a slacks outfit with pumps, wishing she didn’t feel the need to impress the staff. Did she really think that dressing up would make her look like a better daughter, not some mean ungrateful child who put her parents away?

The building nearly shouted its scrubbed bacterial-free environ­ment. Sunlight streamed in, some of it shining in the eyes of the residents, whose wheelchairs hadn’t moved since after breakfast. They were lined up along the walls, staring vacantly ahead, many of them restrained, and no one seeming to pay attention to anything but their own mysterious inner thoughts. From time to time one of the residents screamed. Even so, the entire staff looked oh so cheerful, and how was she today, and wasn’t it a great day? Ellen wanted to throw up.

Heading toward her parents’ room, she reminded herself to be grate­ful. The Venice offered her parents care that Ellen was ill-equipped to pro­vide. Cleaning women bustled up and down the halls all day. Her parents were fed well, with meals far more sumptuous than Ellen could ever conceive of, much less execute. It ought to be good, for all this place costs. Thankfully, her parents had lived a frugal lifestyle, so staying in the home was not a problem. They had always played by the rules, working hard, sacrificing, putting away for a rainy day. She wished they had saved a little less and celebrated life a little more. They had always planned to travel but never did, and by the time they were ready Mother’s disease had robbed them of their opportunity. Her father gave up after that, leaving Ellen to suddenly play the role of parent to the people who had raised her.

She found them side by side, in their wheelchairs, holding hands, smiling like shy children who have fallen in love for the first time. Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. At least they knew each other today.

“How are you doing, guys?” she asked, keeping her voice bright and cheery. Must be the effect of this place, she thought. I’m starting to talk like the staff.

“Hello,” her father said, leaning his forehead toward her as she kissed it. “They’re not very nice in this place. I seem to have hurt myself, and now I can’t walk at all.”

“What happened?” she asked, though she already knew. She had learned to play this game with her parents to find out how well their brains were working on a given day.

“I’m not sure. I think someone pushed me,” he said. “There’s a man down the hall who has tried to break into our room, and I think it might have been him.”

“Is that right?” Ellen asked. She pulled up a chair, studying her moth­er, who sat silently, staring at nothing. “Mom, is that what happened?”

Her mother turned toward her, gazing at Ellen with vacant, gray eyes. “Are you the girl who’s bringing me my lunch?” she asked. “Because if that’s the case, I want you to make sure it’s hot this time. The food is never hot.”

“No, Mom, it’s Ellen.”

“Ellen who?”

“Your daughter.”

“Oh?” Her mother studied Ellen more closely. “I don’t have a daugh-

ter.” She recoiled, her childlike face filled with suspicion. “Who are you, really? What do you want from me?”

Ellen stepped back at the sound of her mother’s agitation. It wasn’t the first time that her mother didn’t recognize her, but she had never lashed out before. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Rattled and helpless, she stood up and backed away, not knowing what to do. Before she knew it, she had rushed out of the room and run to the nurses’ desk. She stood there, wide-eyed, feeling suddenly foolish.

“Oh, hi, Ellen,” said Virginia. The head nurse, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, had been reviewing a file, where every page lay in perfect alignment with the others. When she saw Ellen, she closed it and placed it in a basket. Every item on her desk had found its perfect place, with noth­ing extraneous creating clutter. Ellen knew Virginia to be a no-nonsense woman who had worked at the facility for years and always spoke with authority. “Your father is doing much better than expected. He must have amazing bones for a man his age.”

“He’s pretty bruised, though.”

“Well, remember the CAT scan that they did – all clear, so he’ll be fine. All that bruising will be gone in a few weeks, and he’s already forgot­ten what happened.”

“He thinks he was attacked,” Ellen said ruefully. “He’s getting para­noid.”

Virginia closed the file she had been working on and stood up, a knowing look on her face. She walked over to Ellen and placed one hand on hers. “It’s part of the process, dear. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s not unusual.”

Ellen swallowed hard to try to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “And Mother? She was afraid of me today.”

“I know. That one’s harder because she’s so young. Your father could go on for years the way he is, but your mother…You can’t take it personally, Ellen. She just can’t help it. I’m so sorry. This must be so hard on you.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, knowing she could say no more without choking up. She thanked Virginia and left the facility, wincing less at the sound of her shoes, knowing that the real noise was the guilt in her own head. When she got to the car and turned the key in the ignition, she knew she couldn’t go home just yet. She decided to drive to Sláinte before going to her quiet, empty home. A nice chamomile tea would calm her down.

She was surprised to find Julia there, sitting alone, Spanish book on the table, her fingers flipping absently through the pages, a melted iced tea next to her.

“Julia?” Ellen asked.

Instantly, Julia’s face changed, and a bright smile appeared. “Ellen, it’s great to see you! Would you care to join me?”

“Sure,” Ellen said. “I’ll get some tea.”

“I’d be happy to upgrade if you want. The wine is pretty good here.”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ellen thought about her day and decided to aban­don the anti-Alzheimer’s campaign, at least for a day. She hadn’t had a drink in, how long? A couple of years? But stress wasn’t good for the brain, right? “Sure, yeah, that sounds good, actually. Tell you what, I’ll buy the first round. What do you want?”

“Oh, just get the happy hour white for me, that will be fine. And thanks.”

Ellen stood in line for the drinks, amused that Julia wanted the cheap drink when everyone knew she could afford the best. Maybe she thinks I’m poor, she thought, then pushed the negativity from her mind. Julia knew this place, so she knew the wine. There would be no reason for her not to get what she wanted. When her turn came, she ordered two of the whites and paid ten dollars, plus the coins in her pocket for the tip jar. After she threw them in, she realized that she hadn’t paid attention to the amount. Was it enough? Too much? Doubtful, she pulled another dollar from her wallet and dropped it in, just to be sure.

“Studying hard?” Ellen asked as she took a seat and handed Julia her glass.

“Thanks for the drink. Well, not really. I thought it would be good for me to come out here, that maybe I could focus more than at home, but everything blurs together. Class is harder than I thought.” She sipped the wine and smiled. “I’ve had great wines all over the world, but this is one of my favorites. It comes from a little winery not far from Austin.”

“It is good,” Ellen agreed, and truthfully. “That’s really tasty.”

“Cheers,” Julia said, raising her glass. “Or, I guess I should say, salud. I guess I’m learning the important words, anyway: vino and cerveza. I’ll be able to drink freely in any Spanish-speaking country.” They both laughed. Then Julia’s face turned serious. “You look like you had a rough day,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ellen stared at her glass, thinking. No one knew her story. She had no family to tell, and there was no point bringing it up to work contacts. No one ever talked about anything personal. “I’m not sure,” she said, fi­nally. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything, but I don’t know. I don’t know you that well.”

“Well.” Julia cleared her throat. “Look, you’re right. We don’t know each other well. But maybe that’s a good thing. And, despite how some of our fellow classmates have decided to judge me, I really am a good listener. Try me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ellen said. “Mickey seems very sweet, but she’s young, and it sounds like she has some things on her mind. I’m sure you were just the nearest target.”

“I suppose,” Julia said with a wry smile, “but it still hurts. I have had a lucky life, I know, but I need friends, too. I have bad days and fears just like everyone else. Money doesn’t change that. But let’s not talk anymore about me. What about you?”

Ellen took a sip of wine, taking in Julia’s statement. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I mean, you’re right, we all have needs.”

Julia nodded. “Thanks for recognizing that. It means a lot to me. But you…what is it?”

“My parents both have Alzheimer’s Disease,” Ellen said. She won­dered if she had ever said those words aloud before. “I put them in a nurs­ing home recently, and they’re not doing very well. Today my mom accused me of lying about being her daughter.” Tears welled in her eyes, and when she looked at Julia, she saw tears in hers, too.

“Oh, no, that’s so sad. So that’s what you were talking about that first night in class.”

Ellen reddened, remembering how she almost didn’t go back to class after that. “I guess it sounded pretty weird, huh?”

Julia took another sip of the wine. “Not weird, just…well, maybe a little. They have a great cheese plate here. Want to split one?”

Ellen nodded, laughing a little. “Sure, I guess…telling this story is new to me. I mean, yes to the cheese plate.” They both laughed again, and she felt herself relaxing a little. “But as you can imagine, I’m a little nervous about the whole thing. I’m only thirty-five, but I may have a ticking time bomb inside of me, and yeah, that scares me a lot.” She took a deep breath. “A lot. Listen, I’d rather you didn’t tell the others, okay?”

“It’s just between you and me,” Julia said, holding up her glass for a toast. “To new friends and to keeping confidences. And hope for a future when science understands Alzheimer’s.”

“Salud,” Ellen said, and they drank together.

They sat in Sláinte for hours, eating cheese, ordering more wine, and sharing. “So, what made you sign up for class?” Ellen asked.

“The brochure,” Julia said, rolling her eyes, and they laughed again. “Seriously, I needed something to do. My husband travels all the time — he’s been spending more and more time in Paris these days – and I get sick of playing tennis all day, to tell you the truth. I love it, but I would like a little more from life.”

“Why not study French?” Ellen asked.

Julia stared at her wine glass. “Hmm, that’s a good question. Well, we’re also looking at getting a little place in Belize, so Spanish would come in handy there, I guess. French would make more sense though, ultimately, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at Ellen, her eyes wide with confusion. “I’m going to have to think about that. I mean, I could say it was Belize, or I could also say that Spanish comes in handy in Houston, but that isn’t really the truth. I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I’m a little sick of Paris. I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said.

“Why, what did you do?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I brought up something painful. You seem so sad.”

Julia grinned, and her facial muscles relaxed. “No, I’m glad you brought it up. I don’t know the answer to your question, but I’m happy you asked. I think it will help me to think about it. But I have a question for you, my friend.”

“What’s that?” Ellen asked, taking another sip of wine.

“How come you apologized for something that wasn’t your problem?”

Ellen nearly spat out the wine. “Oh, God, I did, didn’t I? It’s a bad habit I have. When Daddy started going downhill, he would get really agitated. At first I argued with him, but then I learned to keep the peace. I would just say ’I’m sorry’ to him until he calmed down. I’ve been doing it for so long now, that it’s practically a reflex. I’m sorry I said I’m sorry.” At that, both women started to giggle.

“We’re a mess!” Julia said, gasping the words out through her laughter.

Ellen glanced around and saw that some of the other customers were looking their way, some curious, some grinning. “Oh, Lord, everyone’s looking at us. They probably think we’re really drunk or something.”

Julia held up the empty bottle that they had graduated to when they realized that one glass wouldn’t cut it. “I think we are,” she said, and they descended into another round of giggles.

“We should get Mickey and Claire drunk,” Ellen said. “Then maybe we could all get along.”

Julia nearly shrieked with laughter. “Could you imagine Claire Malone out of control? Now that would be something to see!”

“Mickey, too. So young, yet so uptight. Scary.”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about our study group this way,” Julia said. “It’s not very nice.”

“Nope,” Ellen said. “But let’s do it anyway. I like them, don’t get me wrong. They’re just – I don’t know. Whose idea was this study group, anyway?”

Julia raised her hand. “That would be me. But you know, I do this a lot. I throw people together at dinner parties, and everyone ends up happy about it. I’m sure we’ll all find a way to get along.”

“If we don’t kill each other first,” Ellen said. Then she looked at her watch.

It was eight o’clock. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I still have to get some work done tonight. Julia, it was great. Thanks for being here.”

“My pleasure,” Julia said. “I enjoyed the company.”

As Ellen left, grateful to have walked, she wondered how long Julia would stay at Sláinte. Julia had everything, and yet she was still alone. The money is nice, Julia had admitted, but it doesn’t mean I don’t bleed.

We all bleed, Ellen thought. Every one of us. We are all lonely in our own way, and we all carry burdens. Understanding that somehow made her own feel lighter.

Filed Under: books, fiction, women Tagged With: books, fiction, Foreign Language of Friends, free, free fiction, novels, writing

Free Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 8

November 4, 2011 by admin

Good morning, everyone! I’m deeply enmeshed in NaNoWriMo and have drafted more than 11,000 words so far! Yay! In addition, I am nearly done with the layout for the print version of The Foreign Language of Friends, and next week I’ll do yet another round of revisions on Blood & Loam. It’s a full, busy month, but also a lot of fun.

Thanks for coming over for yet another chapter of The Foreign Language of Friends. Last week, Julia’s character sparked additional conversation, and we’ll see more of her story here. Mickey’s troubles are going to assert themselves, and she’s going to project a lot of anger onto Julia.

If you like what you’re reading, I invite you to consider investing the modest $1.99 to purchase the book…and please, I could use some reviews. Many thanks!

***

CHAPTER EIGHT – JUNE 27

One by one the students filed in to the classroom. Rita Martin always loved the beginning of the semester, when students still felt eager and hopeful that they could learn a new language. Soon enough they would start to disappear, and she never knew for sure who would last, though some were shaky from the start. But sometimes they surprised her.
Claire arrived first and marched up to Rita. “I’ve made a list of questions,” she said. “I also have ideas about ways to speed up the class. When can we talk?”
“Buenas tardes,” Rita said. “¿Cómo estás?”
Claire frowned, impatient to get to the point, but apparently decided that cooperation would bring the faster result. “Bien, gracias,” she said. “¿Pero, mis preguntas?”
Rita never lost her smile. “Your questions are important, Claire, but part of what I teach here is the culture as well as the language. If you are going to work in business in Latin America, you must do so with good manners.”
“Fine. Muy bien. ÂżY tĂș?”
“That’s ‘y usted,’” Rita said. “I am the teacher, so you will always use the formal form with me. Now, why don’t you have a seat? We will keep busy this class, I promise you. You will leave tonight with more knowledge than when you arrived.”
Claire took her seat with a sigh, which Rita ignored. Ellen strode in with the bulk of the other students, head down and glancing furtively for the seat most suitable for hiding. Mickey ran into the same desks she’d hit the week before, and Julia brought up the rear, rushing in at the last minute, frantically offering apologies.
“Okay,” Rita said, unperturbed, “Let’s begin.” The din of the room fell quickly to silence, save only for the sounds of books and notebooks opening. “We’re going to go through a lot of vocabulary today, so be prepared for a quick pace. For now, though, let’s practice our greetings.” She strode into the circle as students continued to settle themselves into their seats. From the center of the circle, she turned and pointed at each student at random asking questions. ¿Cómo está? ¿Cómo se llama? Mucho gusto. ¿De donde es? With each turn she became more of a dancer, twirling and animated, challenging each of them, correcting, cajoling, encouraging.
After about ten minutes of this, she said, “Bueno, bueno,” and clapped. The students reacted with nervous laughter, having survived this first test.
“Now, we count. Mickey, why don’t you begin? One to ten.”
Mickey tried leafing through her book, but Rita stopped her. “You can do this,” she said. “Do your best. It’s okay if it’s not perfect.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said, dropping her eyes. She closed her book with a nervous bang, causing it to fall on the floor. Julia picked it up for her and whispered, “You’re fine. Remember, we studied this on Saturday.”
“You’re right. I can do this. Uno, dos, tres, cuarto
”
“Cuatro,” Rita corrected.
“Sí. Cuatro, cinco, um. Seis. Um.” Mickey looked up at Rita, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember the rest.”
“Claire,” Rita called.
“Siete, ocho, nueve, diez,” Claire said, her voice mechanical. She tapped her pencil and took a quick glance at her BlackBerry.
“Perfect. Remember, class, it’s the repetition that will help you in the end. The more you practice and listen to the recordings, the more you’ll remember. Let’s keep going, shall we? Who’s next?”
Rita saw students come and go for years, and students like Mickey generally didn’t last long. She always hoped to find ways to keep them from getting discouraged, and sometimes they worked, but more often than not students at Mickey’s level would leave before they could have a breakthrough.
Ellen, shy as she was, participated easily in the next several exercises. Rita expected Ellen to be prepared, but if she had offered a “most improved award” since the previous class, she would have given it to Ellen. At the break, Rita decided to ask her about it.
“We formed a study group,” Ellen said. “Well, Julia did, anyway, and some of us went along with it.”
“Bueno,” Rita said. “Excelente. I can see you already have more confidence. Who else is in the group?”
“Mickey and Claire.”
Rita did her best to hide a look of surprise. Claire didn’t seem like a joiner to her. “Ah, so you have a place to practice,” Rita said, nodding at Mickey, who had started to walk over.
“Yeah, it does help, I have to admit,” Mickey said, then added, “I’m still not sure I can learn this stuff, but it’s nice to have people trying to help you.”
“Sí, sí. Mickey, Ellen, I think this is wonderful. I wish more of my students would do such a thing. Where is Claire, anyway?”
“I think she’s outside on the phone,” Mickey said. “She said she’s working on some big deal and needed to call her assistant.”
“At this hour?” Ellen asked. “Wow, I don’t think I would like that job.”
“Julia, would you like to join us?” Rita asked. “I’ve heard that you’ve instigated a study group.”
Julia walked over, smiling but somehow more subdued than usual. “Guilty as charged. I thought it would be fun,” she said. “But may I ask you something, Señora?”
“Yes, of course, what is it?”
“Well,” Julia said, suddenly engrossed in the carpet at her feet, “Most of the time when my husband and I travel, we’re staying at a resort or a nice hotel, and I’m not really sure how I’ll get to use the language I’m learning. The staff always speaks flawless English. I know Mickey has been on some volunteer trips, and I wondered if you had any advice if someone like me wanted to do something like that.”
Mickey stared at Julia. “You? Really?”
“Why not me?” Julia asked, indignant.
Mickey reddened and looked away. Ellen jumped in and said, “I don’t think she means you’re not the type. We’re just a little surprised, that’s all. If you wanted to do some volunteering, I think that would be great. What do you think, Señora?”
Rita started to open her mouth, but Mickey jumped in instead. “Look, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, okay? I had a horrible time. I didn’t understand anything, and I don’t think I did anyone any good. I wish I could run off and just have a good time at a resort or something. Some people just don’t know how good they have it.”
Julia’s eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing.
Rita put her arm around Julia’s shoulders and gave Mickey a scolding look. “We’re here to explore,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice soothing. “We all have our reasons for being here, and sometimes they change as we go on. We shouldn’t judge each other. Mickey, I’m sure you did more good than you know, though I can understand why you were uncomfortable. That’s why you’re here, ¿verdad? And Julia, if you want to consider volunteering, I have a lot of resources for you to look at. Send me an e-mail, and I’ll help you as best I can. Now, ladies, shall we get back to class?”
Mickey and Julia stared at each other, faces guarded, like fighters in the ring, then broke and took their seats.
Mickey’s outburst had surprised all of them, and Rita wondered how long Mickey’s frustrations had been building. She had seemed so passive before, but the change didn’t surprise Rita. It helped, as a teacher, to have raised children herself, and Rita recognized a phase that her own daughter had gone through, perhaps more as a teenager, but it was clear: the girl was trying to get out from under the shackles of other adults. Rita just hoped she could keep the class intact long enough to get through Mickey’s phase. She also hoped that Mickey would see the other women as helpful support, and not more of the enemy.
The group settled in as the break ended, with one empty seat that Claire filled after class reconvened, offering a quiet “sorry.” Despite her impeccable appearance, her pale skin and puffy eyes suggested exhaustion. The word “haggard” came to mind.
“Now, we learn to tell time,” Rita said. She taught them additional vocabulary, such as de la tarde (in the afternoon) and medianoche (midnight). She explained the use of singular and plural, as in “it’s one o’clock” (es la una) and “it’s two o’clock” (son las dos). She followed her explanations with more rapid-fire review.
As students began to tire, the remainder of class felt disjointed, as though the difficulties that had emerged during the break controlled the rest of the class. Julia’s responses were hesitant, Mickey’s almost nonexistent. From time to time Rita noticed Ellen whispering in Mickey’s ear, and she chose not to confront her about it. Mickey obviously needed calming down. Even Claire, with her spotless professionalism, faded in and out of paying attention and seemed to struggle visibly. By the time it was over, Rita needed a drink. She always looked forward to class, but some nights she wondered why.

***

Mickey stomped out of class as soon as it ended. Who did Julia think she was, anyway? That rich bitch could do anything she wanted. Mickey didn’t know if she felt angrier that Julia lived a life Mickey only dreamed of, or that Julia was stealing onto her turf. The volunteer trip, though difficult for Mickey, set her apart from the others, and she wanted to feel special. She knew in her heart that part of volunteering was to encourage others to work with her, but Julia…well, didn’t she have better things to do, like deliver orders to her servants?
Unaccustomed to the rage that welled up inside of her, she decided to run the path around the campus, even though darkness had fallen. The path was well-lit, and joggers customarily traveled it well into the night. Mickey ran underneath the tree canopy, her nose catching wafts of pine as they fought for their place among the majestic live oaks. She knew that Doug would worry, but she didn’t care. She needed to blow off steam, and she hoped that running would help. Already, Julia’s pained face haunted her as shame rose to match the anger. She’s been nothing but nice to me, Mickey reminded herself. It’s not her fault that I have such a sucky life.
Her anger had arisen well before class, first becoming noticeable right when she got home from work. She had opened the mail to discover a notice that they had exceeded their limit on one of their credit cards. Doug had ordered a few more electronic toys. He never bothered to check with her, or to check the account balance, or to think about his spending ahead of time. He wanted the bright shiny objects, so he bought them, and then left her to clean up the mess. He was more than happy to let her parents contribute to their support, even if it meant following their rules. After just six months of marriage, their arguments about money had escalated.
Footfall by footfall, Mickey admitted the truth, as though she drew it up from the very ground that she ran on. Julia had already proven herself to be friendly, kind-hearted, and generous. She had organized the study group and seemed eager to keep it going, checking with each woman individually after class to make sure she was coming. She did not avoid Mickey after their altercation. At the end of class, she reached out to touch the younger woman’s shoulder and said, “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you, and I’m sorry if I did. I hope you’ll stay in the group.” Mickey had nodded, already ashamed in spite of the anger she still felt.
Running along the path, Mickey felt herself calming. She ran until her legs threatened to collapse underneath her. As she finished, her skin drenched with summer sweat, she felt cleansed, renewed. She was ready to go home and to face the real problem: a life that was not her own.
Doug jumped up from his chair as soon as she came in the door. “Honey, I was worried sick about you! Why didn’t you call?”
Although her anger toward Julia had dissipated, her anger toward Doug erupted with laser focus. She didn’t want to have this discussion. She just wanted all the problems to go away so they could be a happy newlywed couple, and her first words were, “I’m sorry. I should have called.”
“You better believe it! I didn’t know what to do. I even called your parents to see if you had gone over there for some reason.”
“My parents? You called my parents?” Anger turned to rage, and she knew that once again, she would not be able to contain herself. Nor did she want to. Without saying another word, she walked over to the stack of bills and handed him the overlimit notice. “You’re lucky I went for a jog before I came home,” she said. “Care to comment on this?”
He studied the notice, then handed it back to her. “What do you want me to say?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry or challenging. More than anything, he seemed helpless.
Mickey sighed. “Look, we don’t have a lot of money, and we need to stick to our budget. You have to know what’s going on with the bills and not just leave them to me.”
“But you’re the organized one,” he said, his doe eyes soft and pleading. “Besides, that’s part of your job. You know how I am. We men are more about the big picture. You’re the one who needs to keep me on the straight and narrow. We’ll be fine. You just need to relax a little. Once we’ve both finished grad school, we’ll both be making a lot more money.”
Oh, God, she thought, not that again. “I don’t want to start talking about grad school right now. It’s just one more thing that everyone wants me to do. Besides, it’s off the subject. We were talking about your spending habits.”
“Whatever. Anyway, your parents have offered to help us out. Maybe you shouldn’t have so much pride and let them give us a hand. There’s no need for us to suffer. Come on, Mickey, let’s just go to bed and forget about all this. It will work out.” He reached out and pulled her to him.
She melted momentarily once his strong arms surrounded her, but stopped and steeled herself against her attraction. “We’ve talked about that, too, and you know how I feel. I’m trying to have an independent life, and between you and my parents I keep feeling like I’m stuck in childhood. There are always conditions, no matter what they say, and you knew this before you married me. You seem to think it’s going to be different now, that I’m going to change, and I’m not. I want us to stand on our own two feet.”
“Fine,” he said abruptly. “I’m going to bed.” He turned around and left her standing there, still holding the notice.
“Doug!” she called. He did not respond. Don’t go after him, she told herself. He always did this, always walked away when he felt threatened. Over and over she had followed him, begging, giving in to him every time. Every time she did, he won.
When did it become a competition, all about winning and losing? She had seen the signs before they married, but he hadn’t been so stubborn then. He seemed to want what she wanted. She had asked him pointed questions about finances before they married to make sure they were compatible, and he’d always given her the right answers. Now, it seemed, he had changed the rules of the game.
She curled up on the sofa and turned on the television, keeping it low so as not to disturb him. It was always about him and his needs. These things always ended with some sort of negotiation, except that he never seemed to give up anything. He would go to her parents, and they would end up lecturing her. They would write a check that he would deposit before she came home. Was she wrong? Her mother had lectured her about marriage. “The man is in charge,” she said. “The woman is to submit to her husband. I honestly don’t know what we’re going to do with you if you refuse to learn this.”
She fell asleep alone on the sofa, waking once in the night, briefly, to turn off the television. The sofa felt good, and she decided to stay there. She covered herself with an afghan that she kept draped over the back of the couch, a homemade wedding gift from her mother, hoping that sleep would bring happy dreams to counter the nightmare of the marriage trap that was now her reality.

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Free Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 7

October 28, 2011 by admin

Good morning! In this installment of The Foreign Language of Friends, we learn more about one of Julia’s dilemmas (she will have PLENTY more by the time this story is over!). It may seem like a problem we would all like to have, but for someone with Julia’s big heart and extroverted nature, it’s a tough one. Some of you like Julia best, so I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you like the story, remember that it’s just $1.99 on Amazon Kindle software, so tell all your friends! Muchas gracias.

Have a great weekend! Next week I’ll tell you all about our evening with Michael Pollan (along with 1,100 of our closest friends). I’m also going to share a book on Tuesday that has meant a lot to me…and I was reminded yesterday yet again as to why it’s worth talking about. There might be a freebie involved, too, so come on over to see what’s going on! Thanks for visiting me, and see you next week!

 

CHAPTER SEVEN – JUNE 27

 

With a swing of her racket, Julia slammed a shot in the corner of Geri’s court. “Game, set, and match!” she called.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I even try,” Geri said, laughing. “You’ve gotten too good at this.”

“It’s all the practice,” Julia said. “I’m here almost every day.”

“Shall we get a bite?” Geri asked. “No dessert today, though. Ron and I are going out tonight, and so I need to stick to a salad.”

“You’ll have wine, though, right?” Julia asked.

“Absolutely. Wine is health food, you know. And we must hydrate, right?”

They laughed and took a table on the patio, which the club kept cool by blowing air conditioning outside so its patrons could enjoy the outdoors in the summertime without sweating away their glamour. Each woman ordered a salad with dressing on the side, and they ordered a bottle of wine to share.

Geri and Julia had met at the club ten years before. They were the same age and both had husbands who traveled routinely. They even had similar builds: short and muscled, but curvy and feminine at the same time. Both wore their hair in a similar short style, easy to manage. Their main difference was that Geri had vast experience as a mother. She had four children spaced well apart. Julia found herself envying Geri whenever they got together, longing for the chaos and noise of a big family.

“Thank God for first grade,” Geri said often. “And nannies. I’d never get any tennis in without them.”

Julia laughed. Geri, unlike Julia and Larry, had lived with money her entire life, and she made no apologies for it.

“So, when is Larry coming home this time?” Geri asked, as a waiter refilled their wine glasses.

Geri always seemed to know what lurked under the surface, less because she cared and more because she sought gossip like a heat-seeking missile. “I’m not sure,” Julia said. “He may even be another month this time.”

“Stuck for a month in Paris,” Geri said, running her hands through her wind-tousled hair. “Now there’s a problem. Why don’t you go hang with him?”

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know. He’s always working when I’m over there, and a girl can only do so much shopping in a day.”

“Wow, are you not feeling well? Julia isn’t in the mood for shopping? Weren’t you the one that told me there weren’t enough shopping hours in a day?”

Julia took a sip of her wine. “That’s a nice chardonnay,” she said. “I don’t know. I guess. Something’s happening to me, Geri. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m changing. I’ve always been happy, even with Larry gone. I have my friends, and shopping, and tennis, and I always manage to keep busy, but I’m starting to feel like maybe there’s more to life.” She hoped she wouldn’t regret her disclosure. They normally didn’t get to deeper subjects. Must be the wine talking.

Geri, who didn’t seem to mind, smiled and patted her friend’s hand. “Listen, when someone like you starts complaining about her life, we’ve got real problems in the world.”

“That’s just it,” Julia said, sitting back in her chair. With a light haze of alcohol descending over her, she said, “What the hell,” and flagged down the waiter for a slice of chocolate cake.

Geri raised her eyebrows. “How many hours of tennis are you playing today?”

“It’s just one piece of cake,” Julia said. “I get so sick of dieting all the time. But you’re right, I don’t have any problems, and lots of people do. I don’t know, maybe I should do some volunteer work or something.”

“But you’re always involved with the fundraisers that we have at the club. Everyone knows that you’re the one to contact when it’s time to organize the next event. You can shake the loose change out of anyone’s pockets.”

“I know, but I was thinking of something a little more hands-on. You know I started taking this Spanish class, and there’s a young lady in it who’s been on all these missionary and volunteer trips. That’s why she’s in the class. And here I am, just trying to communicate with the lawn guys.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Geri said, holding up her glass for a refill. “Remember the old days when our fathers did the lawn, at least until the boys became teenagers? Well, my Bruce wouldn’t know how to start a mower, and whenever I try to give Jay any kind of chore he just laughs at me. Now we hire people to do the work, but if we need something special done we need a Spanish dictionary.”

“Well, anyway, here’s this young girl who’s thinking about other people, about the rest of the world, and I just don’t. I think about how the spa’s going to be in the resort we’re staying at, or whether to order dessert. I’m in a classroom full of people of all different income levels, and it’s just making me think, that’s all.”

Geri shook her head. “You’re never going to be able to make friends there, not like you can here,” she said. “The envy always gets in the way. As soon as people find out you have money, they act differently toward you.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I mean, what happened to looking at what we are on the inside, and not what we drive or where we live?”

“You’re kidding, right? Oh, Julia,” Geri said. She started to laugh, and then the laughter took over her whole body. Julia watched and waited in amazement.

“Hold on, give me a minute.” Geri paused, giggling until little tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, which she quickly wiped away. “Oh, Jules, you’re so naïve sometimes about the world we live in. That would be great, but it’s not how things work, especially these days. No, seriously. I mean it, and you know it, too. You don’t wear your diamonds to class, do you?”

Julia looked down at her hands, perfectly manicured and glittering with precious stones. These were the small rings, the ones she wore when playing tennis. “It’s true,” she said, “I just wear a plain wedding band to class, and I dress down quite a bit. I accidentally wore the good rings to our study group, and they noticed. I guess I was adapting without even realizing it.”

“It works the other way, too,” Geri said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Try going into some little boutique one day, someplace you don’t normally go. Wear something really casual, like some simple shorts and a t-shirt, no makeup, no jewelry. Watch how they treat you when they don’t think you can buy out their inventory.”

Julia finished her wine and stared thoughtfully into the distance. Thoughts churned through her mind. She wanted to tell Geri she was wrong, that it didn’t matter. Instead, she said, “Well, so what good does that do us? Are you saying I can’t make friends in this class?”

“Not really, no,” Geri said. “I’m just saying that once they figure out you’re one of the ladies who lunch, they will find ways to avoid you.”

“Well, there’s an attorney in our group, and I’m sure she’s well off.” Julia felt more and more defensive.

“Yeah, and she’ll dismiss you because you don’t have a career. I’m telling you, you should have hired a tutor if you wanted to learn Spanish.” Geri looked at her watch. “Oh, my I have to go. I’ve got some clothes to pick up for the kids this afternoon. Yesterday I was late picking Baby up, and she decided I’d forgotten about her. Can you imagine? She cried for two hours.”

The two “ladies who lunched” air-kissed good-bye, and Julia zipped away in her cherry red Mercedes Cabriolet convertible, aware of the new car smell and the admiring glances of the men on the road. She and Geri had never agreed on everything. That was part of the fun of their friendship. She didn’t want to agree with her now, and she hoped Geri was wrong. I can make friends with anyone, she reminded herself. A vision of Claire’s haughty face appeared in her mind’s eye, but Julia held firm. Anyone.

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Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends

October 21, 2011 by admin

If you’re just joining this blog, please feel free to look back at previous Fridays to get earlier chapters of The Foreign Language of Friends (now available on Amazon as an e-book — Sony, B&N, and Apple soon!). I’m working on a POD version of the book as well.

Have a great weekend! See you Monday!

CHAPTER SIX – JUNE 26

 

Claire woke in the morning feeling as though she hadn’t slept at all. Her head ached, and her eyes struggled to focus. She stretched, circling her sore left arm. Must have slept on it wrong. She hadn’t overindulged the night before and had, in fact, gotten plenty of rest. Thank God it was Sunday, when she always maintained a light workload, just three or four hours.

She’d planned to meet Heather and Anne for Sunday brunch, a monthly ritual they’d begun after the girls finished college. Claire often lost track of time during the big McClendon projects, so the monthly brunch was her way of not losing touch with her girls. Evelyn’s idea. Evelyn, Claire’s longtime and long-suffering assistant, had nudged Claire toward a more involved motherhood, despite Claire’s ongoing resistance. Claire brushed off a moment of guilt, reminding herself that Heather and Anne were far better off with their hard-driving, ambitious mother than if she had let them stay poor. She had provided them all the advantages she’d had to fight for, and now they were strong, successful women themselves. Claire enjoyed visiting with her daughters and looked forward to their monthly gatherings, where they could relate as adults. She had struggled through their childhood, seeing her children as mysterious and unfathomable creatures. Never playful herself, Claire found their sense of whimsy and silliness confusing. Now that they were grown, they could all speak the same language.

She moved slowly, fatigue adding heaviness to her limbs. When she tried to move more quickly, a wave of nausea stopped her, and she hoped she wasn’t getting the flu. Never having taken a single sick day during all her years at McClendon, Claire couldn’t even remember when she’d last had a cold.

She thought back to the day before, to the so-called study group that looked like it would end up being a waste of time. Everyone seemed nice enough, but the slow pace drove Claire crazy. Afterwards, she had gone straight to work, just as she did every Saturday, relieved to slip into the one environment where she felt like she belonged. She was most productive and enjoyed going into the office when few others were there. Of course, with the end of a major deal drawing near, this time she had plenty of company, but everyone tended to be quiet on Saturdays so they could get home as soon as possible. Claire always outlasted everyone else.

They were down to final clauses. McClendon had won a bid to construct a natural gas pipeline to connect Atlanta Energy’s platform in the Gulf of Mexico to McClendon’s processing plant in southern Mississippi. Atlanta, flexing its “Big Oil” muscle, had sent its lawyers shut down the deal during their last meeting, wanting McClendon to cut its bid to the bone. McClendon had already cut their profits just to get the business, and while Claire knew that deals like this always worked out in the end, those last weeks and days were the worst. One pissing contest after another.

Yes, she had put in a long day, but she’d felt satisfied when she walked out the door that evening. She had picked up an order of pasta primavera from the Italian place around the corner from her loft, and had drunk just one glass of wine.

No matter how much she dissected the day, Claire didn’t notice anything odd or different. Well, there was that sinking spell she’d had at mid-afternoon, but that was probably from lack of lunch. She had been too absorbed in her tasks to take a break, but that wasn’t unusual. An overall indifference to food was what helped her maintain her lean frame.

Still, something had felt a little off. And certainly, today was worse. She would never cancel the brunch, though, and closed her eyes for a while longer, hoping that the feeling would pass. It didn’t, and when she realized she was going to be late unless she got moving, she gathered her will to get up from bed. She waded through the quicksand of her tired body, showered, dressed, and put on her makeup. The shower helped, at least. When she got to the restaurant, she felt triumphant. I just needed a little rest. I’m fine. Squinting under the sun’s glare, she scanned the restaurant until she saw two hands waving at her. Smiling, she went to hug her daughters.

“Mom, you’re late again,” Heather scolded. “Working all morning, I suppose!”

Claire shook her head. For a moment she felt vulnerable — small, as her mother used to say. She ignored the feeling and smiled. “No, believe it or not, I took the morning off to rest.”

Anne laughed as she reached out to hug Claire. “That’s funny, Mom.”

“No, really, I mean it. If it’s any comfort to you, I worked all day yesterday after my study group.”

“How’s that going?” asked Heather. “Have you chewed up and spit out your fellow classmates yet?”

“Not all of them,” Claire said, “but there’s still time.” She made herself comfortable at the table. Heather and Anne had already ordered mimosas, and Claire waved to the waiter for the same.

“My girls,” Claire said, appraising them. Heather looked like her father, something that still pained Claire after all these years. Though tall like Claire, she had a sturdier build, wavy brown hair, and large, deep-set brown eyes. Anne, Claire’s little fairy princess, resembled no one in the family that Claire knew of. Petite and small-boned, Anne looked almost frail. She had straight blonde hair, which she wore loosely down her back, making her look younger than she was, and a dusting of tan freckles covered her nose and cheeks. Annie sometimes deceived people with her looks, disarming them with her soft appearance. She had inherited Claire’s ability to go for the jugular and had followed Claire’s footsteps into the energy industry, though she preferred the “real action” of selling the commercial deals to prospective customers over legal work, which she saw as boring paper-pushing.

“Are you okay?” Heather asked. “You seem a little pale.”

“Just tired, dear,” Claire said. “And I could use some food. I’m famished.”

They chatted as they always did, though Claire at times lost track of the conversation. From time to time she saw Heather giving her quizzical looks, but she just smiled and pretended that nothing was wrong. She talked about work, of course, though she found herself talking more about the Spanish class and the new friends she had made.

“Mom, that sounds great,” Heather said. “You could use some friends who talk about something other than work.”

“Maybe so,” Claire said with a sigh. “I’m just not sure that your mother has anything else to talk about anymore.”

“What about taking a little time off?” Heather asked.

“Not going to happen anytime soon. The big project I’m on now has gone on long past what we expected it to, and we’re going to start negotiations with a multinational corporation soon.” Claire spoke in code to her daughters, as all of her work was highly confidential. She never used corporation names, even when they weren’t out in public.

Heather laughed, the earthy, hearty sounds echoing those of her father. “Seriously, Mother, why don’t you do something fun? They’ve got to let you out sometime.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Heather, this is how things are done. We’re not all teachers, with the summers off and a long winter break. Some of us have to work for a living.”

“Excuse me for trying to bring out the humanity in this family,” Heather said. “And I won’t even go into the myths about a teacher’s schedule. Mom, I know you’re a big mover and shaker and all, but haven’t you ever considered relaxing for once?”

“Not really,” Claire said, her face deadpan. Seeing the look of horror on Heather’s face, she added, “Honestly, work is my fun. I’m sorry you don’t understand that. Although, Anne,” she added, noticing the triumphant look on her younger daughter’s face, “we should be thankful that we have someone trying to keep us in balance.”

Anne frowned at that, and she and Heather eyed each other warily. Though grown, with fulfilling lives of their own, they had never stopped competing with each other.

Claire changed the subject then, regaling them with stories of outgoing Julia, shy Ellen, and Mickey the human pinball. She wondered aloud what Señora Martin’s story was. Claire and her daughters spent the rest of their brunch in relaxed conversation, and Claire found herself laughing more than she had in a long time. She realized that in the study group, despite her impatience, she had felt — dare she think it — happy. For the time being, her fatigue disappeared.

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Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends

October 14, 2011 by admin

Back home from our visit to the Big Apple, I’m ready to return to a normal daily routine. Today we return to our regularly scheduled programming with another episode from The Foreign Language of Friends. Book Baby has finished converting the manuscript and has sent it off to Amazon and Sony, so the e-book will be available soon!

In this chapter, the women meet for their first Spanish study group, and all does not go well. Enjoy, and have a great weekend!

—-

CHAPTER FIVE – JUNE 25

 

Julia sat at the coffee shop, checking her watch repeatedly, noticing that only a minute or two had passed each time she looked. She had arrived fifteen minutes early, parking her Mercedes convertible right in front, and found a table with a good view of the door so she could wave everyone inside. She ordered a croissant, fruit, and coffee, her favorite Saturday breakfast. During the week she kept to an omelette made with egg whites, a slice of dry whole wheat toast, and, of course, black coffee, lots of it. She fought the looming middle-aged spread with a vengeance, but a little treat on the weekends never hurt.

She had invited all of the class, but had only heard from three. Claire’s response had come first, much to Julia’s surprise. Julia hadn’t expected her to answer, let alone show up, but Julia operated on the principle that it never hurts to ask for what you want. Claire seemed interesting, especially with all that outer prickliness. Julia felt determined to see what, if anything, lay underneath that tough exterior. She hoped that Claire wasn’t someone who accepted an invitation and then backed out later.

Mickey arrived first. She bounced in, hitting tables along the way like a pinball. She wore baggy, rumpled shorts, and a pink t-shirt with the word “Jesus” set inside a heart. She had pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, and she wore neither makeup nor a smile. She didn’t even say hello. Instead, she began with, “I wasn’t going to come. I can’t learn languages. But I decided my mom wouldn’t want me to join a group, so here I am. Isn’t that awful of me?” She paused to drink in a huge breath.

“Absolutely,” Julia said, her smile wide and warm. “But I think it’s the job of every young person to rebel now and then, right? Or how else do they know you’ve grown up?” She decided not to ask Mickey why her mother would want her to stay away from a study group. She didn’t want to seem too nosy on their first meeting.

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “That’s good to hear, I guess. Sometimes I feel really bad when I think things like that. Wow, those are some pretty rings.” Her face showed a trace of disapproval. “Do they wait on us here, or do we go to the counter?”

Julia, as if acting on reflex, dropped her hands under the table. She could feel her cheeks getting warm. She had put on the “good rings” without thinking. “Thank you. You get the coffee at the counter and bring it back. Say, you’re a newlywed, aren’t you?”

Mickey offered a faint smile. “Yes,” she said, then, “I’ll be back.”

Julia stirred her coffee thoughtfully. She remembered when she and Larry first married, and how excited they both were. She announced her new status to everyone she met. She was surprised, then, at Mickey’s reluctance to show the same enthusiasm. She smiled at Mickey when the younger woman returned to the table, and they sat in awkward silence.

Fortunately, Ellen walked in shortly afterward and waved on her way to stand in line at the counter. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a baby blue t-shirt, with a baseball cap perched precariously atop her thick, plain waves. Claire strode in right behind her, dressed smartly in white capris, a blouse of tiny white flowers on a mint-green background, and a matching green scarf draped over her shoulders with an air of planned casualness. She removed her Maui Jim tortoiseshell sunglasses and glanced around, giving a small nod to Julia before she, too, stood in line.

Mickey leaned over to Julia. “How many people did you invite?”

“Oh, I invited everyone,” Julia said, “but a lot of people didn’t want to commit. I think this is the total of the group. We’re small, but that could work out better, actually.”

“You don’t say,” Mickey said, glancing at Claire. “Hmm.”

“What?” Julia asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just younger than everyone else. That Claire is older than my mother, you know.”

“I like having a mix of backgrounds,” Julia said, chuckling. “If everyone is the same, then the conversation is less interesting.”

“Oh,” Mickey said. She opened her mouth to say more, but by then Claire and Ellen had sat down with their drinks. Claire had black coffee, while Ellen had ordered a fragrant herbal tea.

“Great!” Julia said. “We’re all here. I thought this would be a fun way to study and maybe get to know each other better. Maybe we can chat for a few minutes before we get started, you know, get comfortable with one another, and then we can begin.”

The others nodded and murmured, and then they all fell silent. Great, Julia thought. I’m going to have to drag everyone along. Why can’t people just relax and have fun?

Ellen cleared her throat and spoke first. “I guess I just want to say thanks for organizing this, Julia. It never would have occurred to me, and I think it will help. I hope so, anyway.”

More nodding and murmuring, and then more silence. Julia didn’t know when she’d ever sat at a table of women who couldn’t start a conversation. She had never met a stranger, but she struggled to say something that would keep the group going. “So, what do you think of our teacher?” she asked, grateful to have thought of something to say.

“She’s nice,” Ellen said.

“Yeah,” Mickey said.

Claire studied the other women at the table, her perfectly shaped brows raised lightly in amusement. “I’m not much for small talk. It’s obviously not working anyway. Shall we get down to business? I’m a busy person, and I’m sure everyone else here is, too. Besides, we did introductions in class.”

“Of course,” Julia said, her tone even and controlled. “I’m sure as we start studying, we’ll get to know each other better. Did everyone bring their textbooks?”

Ellen’s face went pale.

“Ellen, are you all right?” Julia asked.

“Oh, I forgot my book,” Ellen said. “I don’t like it when I forget things.”

Julia, remembering Ellen’s remarks about Alzheimer’s in class — and her sensitivity about the class’s laughter — decided to downplay the comment rather than draw attention to it. No sense running her off. “It’s okay, dear,” Julia said, patting Ellen’s arm. “I do that all the time. You can share with me. It’s no big deal.”

Ellen looked uncertain, but nodded her head in agreement.

“Well, then, let’s begin. Shall we run through the vocab to start?” Julia wondered if she was going to get anyone in the group to talk today.

“I’ll start.” Mickey looked around at the group. “But I’m not any good at Spanish. I don’t think I’ll ever be good at it.”

“If you take that sort of attitude, then I’m sure you’ll be right,” Claire said with a sniff. “If you make up your mind to learn something, then you will. It’s that simple.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ellen said. “I do think that some of us are more wired to learn languages than others. Mickey has the advantage of being younger, so that might help her, but I don’t think any of us can say who can learn what. Me, I’m just worried about being able to retain what I’m learning.”

Mickey nodded her head. “I know what you mean. I’ve tried,” she said. “I took Spanish in high school and again in college. I didn’t pick up anything when I visited Costa Rica. I think they thought I was stuck up, but I had trouble with anything past buenos dias.”

“If you’re so hopeless, why did you take the class in the first place?” Claire’s blue eyes bore holes into Mickey, who slumped down into her chair.

“I-I-I-well, I
” Tears formed in Mickey’s eyes. She looked around at the others, her face reddening.

Julia glared at Claire. “What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you ever hear about picking on someone your own size? Or in this case, age?”

Claire shrugged. “She looks like an adult to me. I’m sure she’s quite capable of speaking for herself.”

Mickey reddened but said nothing. She slumped back in her chair and crossed her arms, her face defiant, but saying nothing. So young, Julia thought. She’s afraid to speak up.

They were all glaring at Claire, who promptly burst into laughter.

“I don’t see what’s funny about this,” Julia said softly.

“Me neither,” Mickey said, wiping her eyes with a napkin and staring sullenly at the table.

Claire showed no signs of backing down. “If you could see your faces,” she said. “Mickey, I’m not the most sensitive person in the world. I speak my mind and assume that everyone else will do the same. I’ve had to be that way for my entire career.” She looked around at each of them. “Look, I’m used to working with men in the energy industry. It’s a tough, no bullshit environment. I’m not used to hanging around with ladies, and I can see I’ve overstepped my bounds. I apologize. Though I do think, Mickey, you should develop a bit more backbone.”

Julia cleared her throat. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but if we’re going to help each other, then we can’t be worried that one of us is going to attack another. I really just wanted this to be fun.” She choked on those last words, feeling the loneliness and the longing for friends, and lots of them. She loved her life, with all the travel and adventure, but she wanted real friends. While she always found a tennis or lunch partner at the club, she had found those relationships shallow and lacking the real connection she wanted. This group, though, was threatening to blow up before it even got started.

“You’re right,” Claire said, now flashing a winning smile. Turning to Mickey, she said, “Mickey, I apologize. I have two daughters of my own that are around your age, and I should know better.”

“You have kids?” Mickey asked. “Wow, I’m sorry for them.” Life came into her eyes for the first time as they shone with triumph.

Claire’s smile left her face. “Well, I never
” Then she sat up straighter, obviously composing herself. “Yes, believe it or not, I have two daughters. Heather is a teacher, and her younger sister Anne is, for better or for worse, following in my footsteps in the energy biz.”

“Does anyone else have kids?” Julia asked, seizing the opportunity to return the conversation to normal. “I don’t. It just didn’t happen for us, and my husband travels so much, it just didn’t seem like a good idea.” She didn’t talk about the years of trying. She had refused in vitro fertilization, deciding that having children wasn’t meant to be, but the subject remained sore and private, one of those things that married couples keep to themselves.

Ellen chimed in. “I’m still looking for Mr. Right,” she said. “I’m already thinking that by the time I meet a guy, get married, and spend some time with just the two of us, I’ll be too old to try. I don’t really get out much, either, so hey, if anyone knows someone
”

The women all laughed, and Julia noticed that Mickey’s face had returned to a normal color. Maybe there’s hope for us after all, she thought.

They settled in to their study, stumbling through the vocabulary and trying to string together some rudimentary sentences. Claire’s pronunciation was flawless, Ellen’s only slightly less so. Mickey, true to her word, stumbled over every word, apologizing after each attempt. Julia was moderately better; she’d had several tennis matches and luncheons since the class and hadn’t studied as much as she should have.

Still, an hour of study flew by, and everyone seemed more relaxed at the end. “Well,” Julia said, “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Useful,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t mind working ahead of the lesson, though. I think this class is going to go too slowly for me.”

“Oh, God, I can’t work any faster,” Mickey said, “but maybe a study group will help.”

Julia ignored the bemused look on Claire’s face and turned to Ellen. “How about you? Are you game to do this again?”

“Sure,” Ellen said. “Claire, I do think we need to trust the teacher. I checked her out thoroughly before I enrolled. She has a Ph.D., and her former students rave about her.”

“Well, maybe it’s fine for people who just want to order in a restaurant,” Claire said, “but I’m not so sure. I mean, look at this vocabulary. Why do I care about the Spanish word for chalkboard? ‘SMART Boards,’ maybe. ‘Boardroom,’ ‘CEO,’ ‘I want to wring the customer’s neck,’ but ‘chalkboard’?”

“I agree with Ellen,” Julia said. “Let’s give Rita a chance. Besides, I think it would be great for us to get to know each other better, don’t you think? Who knows, maybe we’ll even learn to like each other!” The other women laughed, much to Julia’s relief.

As they left the coffee shop, smiles and laughter all around, Julia turned toward Claire to say something. She couldn’t help but notice that Claire’s alabaster skin seemed pasty, and she suddenly looked older. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“What?” Claire asked.

“Nothing, I just
well, nothing. See you in class.” Julia dropped her eyes and found a spot of nothingness on the wall to study with great interest. Something was wrong, she could tell. Julia reminded herself that she didn’t know Claire at all, but she couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.

“I’ll see you soon,” Claire said.

Julia forced a smile. Looking back at Claire, she blinked in surprise. The pasty color had disappeared. Julia decided she had imagined things and finished saying her good-byes.

Filed Under: books, fiction, women Tagged With: books, Foreign Language of Friends, free fiction, women

Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 4

October 7, 2011 by admin

Happy Friday, everyone, so time for another chapter of my upcoming novel. You’ll learn more about the characters of Claire, Ellen, and Mickey, the remaining characters of the book. Enjoy!

——

CHAPTER FOUR – JUNE 21

Claire wandered her loft, wine glass in hand, and stopped to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the downtown area. She had splurged on the loft when her younger child Anne left for college. It reminded her of her success and sacrifices — putting herself through law school when the girls were still babies. Her home pulsed with sleek, leather furniture and stainless steel appliances, with all of the enviable names: Viking, Sub-Zero, Roche Bobois. In the kitchen, granite countertops gleamed like new; yet, for all the fancy equipment, Claire didn’t cook.

She kept one guest room. Having moved on with their own lives, the girls seldom came home at the same time. Claire still felt daily pangs of guilt about not having spent enough time with them, but what else could she have done? She took another sip of her wine. After her husband died, she could have remained an impoverished single mother, but instead she worked to give her girls the best. She sent them to the best schools and on travels abroad, denying them nothing. They weren’t bothered by wearing used clothing from Goodwill in those early days, though they reminded Claire often that she had frequently left them with a neighbor, a goodhearted woman who had mothered them generously when Claire could not.

“I can get away for the evening.” John’s voice on the phone still excited her, even after ten years. He had a deep, resonant voice that could have provided him a lucrative career in radio, but instead he had opted for life in the oil and gas business, which was where he and Claire had met.

As she waited for him, Claire sat on the sofa, looking around at the art on the walls. All modern, the art served only to go well with the room. She had no idea who the artists were or what the various paintings and prints symbolized. Her decorator had chosen the pieces, and Claire felt indifferent to them. Studying them now, she felt like a stranger in her own home. She hadn’t cared before, and she wondered why she cared now.

She had no real interest in studying Spanish. Honestly, why couldn’t the company just hire some good interpreters and leave it at that? They would still expect her to put in the same amount of hours — not that she complained about that, she loved the job — but she would still have to find time to study.

Already impatient about the class, Claire wondered if there were other alternatives. Should have hired a private tutor to come to the office, she thought as she poured a second glass of wine and decided to catch up on her e-mails. There were drafts to read that would keep her up well into the night. Meeting notices awaited her confirmation. Every now and then someone sent her one of those annoying chain-letter e-mails, always so lovely and glowing until the threat at the end that if she didn’t forward it, her toes would fall off. Most people, though, knew better and left her alone.

She noticed a new e-mail from someone named Julia. Julia, Julia. She tapped her forehead. “Oh, duh,” she said aloud, and opened the e-mail from her new classmate. Nice meeting you, looking forward to the class, blah blah blah, then an invitation to coffee on Saturday morning to get together and practice.

“Hmm,” Claire said. She poised a finger on the delete key, but just then, her doorbell rang.

“Hello, beautiful,” John said as she opened the door for him. “I can’t stay long, but I really wanted to see you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her plastic bags filled with Chinese take-out. She took them into the kitchen and set them down while he took off his shoes. When he joined her in the kitchen, she was already pouring the wine.

“Red?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

At forty, John was far younger than Claire, but he had pursued her relentlessly, probably the only way any man could get her attention. Handsome, with broad shoulders, thick black hair, and green eyes with lashes that any woman would envy, John turned heads. Sadly, she couldn’t show him off in public, because he also had a wife and children. She had never intended to get involved with a married man, but the relationship suited her, because John came and went as he could, and didn’t bother her between visits.

They sat on the sofa looking out on the city and sipped their wine. They talked about their work, as much as they could without violating confidentiality. She told him, in droll detail, about her language class. “They tell me it’s good for business, but honestly, what a waste of time,” she said.

“They’re right, you know,” John said. He had, through the years, offered Claire invaluable insights. While she would rather just work, he helped her plan her future. “There’s not much left in the Gulf, and we’re going to have to keep going deeper or find new sources. We’ve had no luck getting in to some of the offshore areas in Central America, and we need to be able to talk to them.”

“I know, but I just have so much to do. I’ll be working for hours after you leave.”

“Speaking of,” he said, looking at his watch, “I should be out of here in about an hour. Shall we eat in bed?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said with a grin. Claire loved John’s no-nonsense style that extended to the bedroom. She didn’t understand all the fuss about snuggling and spooning. She had needs, he would fulfill them, and then he would leave, allowing her to luxuriate in the entire bed without having to share.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, noticing that he was studying her face.

“Why don’t you take your hair down?” he asked. “You know, in all these years I’ve never seen it out of that twist.”

“Oh, Lord,” Claire said, draping her lean body languidly over his. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it out of the twist. Someone does this for me, you know, and I’m not sure I could get it back into place.”

“Take it down,” he whispered, insistent. “Let me see what it looks like.”

“Whatever.” She reached up and pulled each pin one by one. “I feel like I should have some striptease music going.”

John laughed. “Feeling a bit more naked this way, Beautiful? Who knew that Claire Malone had a shy side?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled the last pin and uncoiled her hair, coarse and thick, letting it tumble past her shoulders.

John gazed at her and propped his body up on one elbow, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You look softer,” he said. “I like it.”

“All the reason for me never to appear this way in public.” Claire shrank away from him, suddenly annoyed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Sex is one thing. This feels different. You’re getting too close.”

He flopped onto his back, then, looking at the ceiling. “Would that be so bad?”

“Don’t,” she said. “We have sex, then you go home. That’s the deal.”

“Okay, fine. You want to have sex?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Now get that gooey look out of your eyes and ravish me.”

He chuckled then, and she knew the awkward moment had passed. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. What Claire Malone wanted, Claire Malone got: emotionless sex, keeping him at an emotional, if not physical, arm’s length.

After he left, she spent more time than she wanted, trying to get her hair back into place. From now on, she decided, the hair would stay up.

She went back to her e-mails. Julia’s reappeared on the screen, and once more Claire planned to delete it. Then she paused, trying to remember the last time she’d had coffee with friends. “Hell,” she said aloud, wondering about who she could even call a friend. Her co-workers worked as many hours as she did, and she couldn’t even remember the names of their husbands and children. Back when the girls were young, she’d met other mothers, but they seldom talked beyond coordinating transportation and juggling school activities, most of which Claire missed, anyway.

Julia seemed a bit frivolous for Claire’s tastes, and obviously was not the most serious student in the class—Claire had always had that honor from first grade on—but practice would be good, if they could keep the group focused. Besides, Julia seemed nice enough and would probably ask little of Claire in terms of keeping the group organized. Why not? To her own surprise, she responded with a short, “Sounds good. See you there.”

***

Still embarrassed by having her classmates laugh at her, Ellen thought seriously about dropping the class, but she could not discount the fears that had driven her there, the possible ticking time bomb in her brain. Though only in her mid-thirties, Ellen knew that Alzheimer’s could hit at any time. Her father, not a young man when Ellen was born, developed the disease in his mid-seventies. Her mother, however, had sickened sooner. “Early onset,” they called it, and now, though only sixty, her mother had suffered for years and seldom recognized Ellen anymore. Ellen read everything she could about the disease, and the stories of those struck in the prime of their lives stayed with her. With two parents suffering the same fate, what chance did she have?

Just last month she had put her mother in the nursing home with her dad. She had tended to them at home for as long as she could, and her writing work gave her more freedom than most. She worked from home, so she could take care of them for quite a while, but as she became more and more distracted by the demands of caring for her parents’ needs, her work had dwindled. She had to make a living, so she reluctantly “put them away,” as she put it.

Her home rang with silence. There were no doctor appointments to take them to, freeing up hours of time. She hadn’t realized that she had become a full-time caregiver. It had snuck up on her bit by bit as she added an appointment here, sitting up with one of them in the night there, until their needs had consumed her. Only now, without them in the house, did she notice how her life had changed.

Each day she checked herself for new signs of forgetfulness. She knew the odds of avoiding Alzheimer’s were not in her favor, so she had embarked on a program that she hoped would be an all-out assault on the disease. First, great nutrition. Ellen had eliminated wheat, corn, soy, and dairy from her diet, and she limited her sweets to the occasional sliver of dark chocolate. Now that her parents had gone to the nursing home, she was able to do an hour of yoga every day. When breaking for lunch she did crossword puzzles, and she constantly looked for new ways to exercise and challenge her brain. A friend recommended foreign language study, which was what led Ellen to the Spanish class.

With her parents settled in at their new home, Ellen felt ready to take on another work project. She seldom had trouble finding work when she needed it, and over the years she’d had enough flexibility in her schedule to handle her parents’ needs and still make a reasonable income. She never enjoyed picking up the telephone for sales calls, though. She enjoyed her work, but she still struggled, even after all these years, with marketing herself. She eyed the phone, then looked away. She paced the floor. She finally took a deep breath and placed several calls, secretly relieved as one by one they went to voice mail. She made her last call to Jim, who worked for her favorite agency and always came through for her. “Hey, Jim, it’s Ellen, how are you?”

“Great, great, Ellen,” he said in his calm, reassuring voice. Unlike other placement specialists, as he was called, he never seemed frantic or worried. He also offered the best-paying jobs. “It’s nice to hear from you. Are you ready to jump back in?” He didn’t ask her about her parents, though he knew the story, and she silently thanked him for that.

“Yes, please, I’m ready to get going. Sounds like you have something for me?”

“Well, maybe. Are you willing to go into the client’s offices from time to time? I told them you preferred working from home. It would just be every few weeks or so to attend meetings and check in. You know, to give them the warm fuzzy.”

“Yes, yes, in fact, that sounds great,” Ellen said. Although she liked working from home, often she had felt trapped and isolated with her parents there. Once again she noticed the lightness and freedom in her body, followed closely behind by guilt for enjoying the freedom.

“Awesome,” Jim said. “It’s a yearlong project, more or less. Technical manual and online documentation, the kind of stuff you can do in your sleep. They liked your resume and want to chat with you on Monday. The usual pay range, but I think I can get the upper end for you. Is that okay?”

“Sure, Jim, thanks.” She jotted down the time and location for the interview. As she hung up the phone, she felt more excited than she had in a very long time. I get to have a life. She had said those words silently and aloud ever since Mom and Daddy went to The Venice, but now it felt like life was really happening.

With a job on the horizon, Ellen felt emboldened and ready to take on the scariest task: to sign up on an online dating website. Others cautioned against it, saying that the best way to meet men was through mutual friends, but she had not found that to be true. Her married friends hung around with other married friends, never including her in couples’ dinners. She was the odd woman out, the half of a nonexistent couple, the childless trying to have conversations with soccer moms. On rare occasions when she was included, some of the wives seemed to feel threatened by her. Most were more attractive than Ellen, but still insecure and possessive.

When her parents’ condition worsened, she’d had an excuse to avoid worrying about her light social calendar. Now, though, she felt alone, with empty days ahead, one after another. She wanted, needed, to have some fun.

Ellen’s work required detail, logic, and the ability to research, and she applied all those skills to her dating search. First, she browsed the profiles of other women to get a feel for what they wrote. As a writer, she was stunned by the lack of imagination. Was it actually standard fare to write “I like long walks on the beach in the moonlight
”?

Then she looked at the men, uncomfortable with looking at their income ranges. Too personal, she thought. It seemed as though every man looked for a woman at least ten years younger than himself. At thirty-five, Ellen was already too old for some of the men, despite the fact that they were over forty, and some even over fifty. More than once, she ran across profiles where men required their prospective women to maintain regular manicures and pedicures. When did men start expecting things like that? She looked at her own nails, some broken, some long, and all scraggly, and decided she would at least dig up her emery boards, which had to be somewhere in the house.

She spent hours scouring old photo albums, looking for the right photo to put in her profile. Ellen had never enjoyed getting her picture taken, and in fact was often the one taking the photos. She managed to find one of her with her parents, and she was able to cut her parents out of the photograph. It looked far better than the profile photos where a former spouse or lover had been cut out. She had chuckled at those, at least until she discovered the dearth of her own photo collection.

After adding, deleting, and revising text, she finally erased everything she had written and stared at the blank screen, not knowing what to do next. Do you like long walks on the beach at sunset? she wrote, then giggled and deleted her words.

Poising her fingers over the keyboard, she tried to remember what she enjoyed doing. “Well, okay, I can put down that I’m studying Spanish,” she said out loud. “It’s okay that I’m just getting started, isn’t it? Oh, God, I’m talking out loud in an empty house.”

After staring at the screen for a long time, she decided to tell the truth. She didn’t want to play a lot of games with guys, not at this stage of her life.

I’m a freelance technical writer who has worked all over the city, she began. I haven’t dated in a while because
 No, that would never do. No point looking like a loser from the get-go. Even though she wrote manuals for a living, she remembered her creative writing courses. Grab their attention at the beginning, they all said. Come up with something to make the readers want to keep reading. She had to laugh. Writing the most complex manual seemed easy compared to a dating profile. Writing about herself, her words came out stilted and bland.

Let’s be real, she began again. I don’t play games, and I don’t want you to play games, either. I’m reasonably attractive and manage my finances well. For the past several months I’ve taken care of my elderly parents
 Once again, she paused. She didn’t want it to sounds like a sob story, and she didn’t want to be so straightforward that she put men off.

The phone rang. “Ellen, this is Nurse Anne from The Venice.”

“Is everything all right?” Ellen asked.

Nurse Anne’s voice was soothing and gentle. “Your father has had a fall,” she said. “He may have broken a hip.”

“For crying out loud,” Ellen said, then caught herself. “I’m sorry. But wasn’t he in restraints?”

“Yes, but he managed to get out of them,” Nurse Anne said. “Your father is quite the Houdini, you know.”

“Where is he now?”

“We’ve taken him to the hospital. We thought you might want to get over there as soon as possible.”

Ellen gathered the details and thanked Nurse Anne. As she hung up the phone, weariness smothered her. She glanced around her modest home and the clutter she had looked forward to clearing. She noted the old paint on the walls that needed freshening and sighed. It would all have to wait, at least a while longer. She prepared to shut the computer down before leaving the house but saw Julia’s e-mail and decided to take a moment to read it. She remembered Julia’s kind face, one of the few students who hadn’t laughed at her, and who had invited Ellen to sit next to her. A study group? Her heart picked up a little speed. Maybe continuing the class would be a good idea after all. She could use some friends.

She logged off the dating site and turned off her computer, ignoring the message that all of the information she had input so far would be discarded. Maybe it would take just a little longer to get her life back. She gathered her purse and her keys and walked out the door.

***

Mickey pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Doug wouldn’t be home for another two hours or so, so she decided to spend some time on her Spanish homework. She had finished her day at the medical clinic, where she worked in the billing department. Having taken the job to pay the bills until graduate school, Mickey found that she liked her work more than she had expected. At twenty-three, her regular paycheck, though meager, gave her a feeling of being grown up for the first time in her life. She would be the main breadwinner while Doug completed his religious studies degree. Although she had expressed disappointment at having to wait her turn, secretly she breathed a sigh of relief. Social work had been Mother’s idea, arranged as a compromise when she turned down her father’s offer to put her through divinity school. Mickey preferred divinity in the form of the white fluffy candies that her mother made at Christmastime, and her “day job” had grown on her.

She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life, not really. She had traveled on missionary trips with her parents since childhood. She had gone along with their plans for her to continue, even though she was tired of it. It was fine when the family had gone together, but the good Reverend and Mary Watson, her parents, had decided they were done. Mary’s parents had left them a nice inheritance, some of which they poured into their church, a small parish where Reverend Watson could sell his unique brand of Christianity. Mary Watson apparently wanted to use the rest of the money as leverage to dictate their daughter’s life path. Mickey knew they just wanted the best for her, but sometimes she just wanted to be left alone. They had been a happier family, she thought, when her parents had been poor missionaries.

She had signed up for the language class in part because her parents thought it would be good for her. After taking a “volunteer vacation” in Costa Rica, she felt frustrated with her inability to communicate.

Mickey had worked at a center for adults with disabilities, and she couldn’t understand a word anyone said. No one admitted to speaking any English, though she noticed during breaks that if she spoke to another American volunteer, the staff seemed to understand her. The volunteer organization offered little consolation, hiring local managers for whom English was also a second language. “You are visiting someone else’s culture,” they told her. “It’s important that you try to fit in.” Yet with each day, she felt more and more uncomfortable, and toward the end stopped trying to communicate. She ended up painting recycling containers and doing other odd jobs that allowed her to stay away from people.

The weekends were a saving grace. She traveled with another volunteer to Monteverde, where she ran along the paths in the cloud forest. There, the air was cooler. She didn’t mind the heat at the lower elevations, because it felt much like Houston, but she found pleasure in the cloud forest, listening to the growls of howler monkeys and stopping from time to time to watch the birds. From the tiniest hummingbirds to flamboyant toucans, colorful birds filled the cloud forest with song. On one of her runs, as she was passing by a group of tourists, their guide motioned her to come over, where he had set up a scope. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a quetzal, a male,” he said, his voice heavily accented, but his English skills, to her relief, refined. “It’s good luck to see such a bird.” Its back feathers were an iridescent green, and at one point the bird turned to reveal a vivid red breast.

“Oh my,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“The quetzal is the god of the air,” he said.

God of the air. She studied the quetzal, wishing she could spread her wings and fly away, far from here, and far from the life she felt forced into.

Other than jogging in the cloud forest, Mickey had enjoyed one other aspect of her trip: helping students practice their English. She had to use English with them, which made her life easier, and they were grateful. So why learn Spanish when she could do just as well with her own language? Because Mommy said so. Mickey groaned at the thought, wondering if her parents would ever see her as a grown-up.

She grabbed her guitar and curled up in a chair, strumming it softly. She didn’t feel like singing just then, and contented herself by just enjoying the chords. She didn’t hear Doug come in.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She stopped abruptly. “Just playing a little,” she said with a sigh.

“Is dinner ready? I don’t smell anything.”

“Sorry.” She put the guitar away. Doug didn’t like it, and she kept that part of her life private from him, justifying her secret-keeping by telling herself that everyone did that to some degree. In Costa Rica, she was surprised when people asked her to play, and even more surprised when they liked her music and asked her not to stop. “How was your day?”

“I have a lot of studying tonight,” he said. “I really need to be able to come home to dinner on the table, Mickey. We’ve talked about that.”

“Sorry,” she repeated, thinking that it must have been one of the first words she’d learned as a child. “I’ll take care of it right now. It will only take a few minutes, you’ll see.” She ran into the kitchen, running into the side of the dining room table along the way, but refusing to cry out. There would be a nice bruise on her hip in no time at all, but she was used to it. She opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the contents. “Hamburgers it is,” she said aloud to herself. She pulled out the meat and pressed it into patties while the skillet heated. As she threw the burgers into the pan, they made a loud sizzle.

“I hope it’s not hamburgers again,” Doug called out from the other room.

“What’s wrong with hamburgers?” She rummaged in the refrigerator for a salad, but the lettuce was wilted and the tomatoes too soft. She decided she might have enough to put lettuce and tomatoes on the burgers, but that was all.

He stood at the doorway of the kitchen. “It would be nice to have something else now and then,” he said. “I am studying hard, and I need to eat some decent food.”

She slammed the refrigerator door and glared at him. “I work, you know, and I get tired, too. It would be nice if you helped me every now and then.”

“It’s not my job,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears stinging her eyes. “I’ll try to do better. It’s just that
”

“It’s just that what?”

“Nothing. Go watch TV while I get this on the table. I’ll work on the variety, I promise, but this is the best I can do tonight.”

“Whatever,” he said, and left the room.

In Costa Rica, she had sometimes found herself raising her voice, as though the natives would understand her English if she spoke it loudly enough. They made her the butt of good-natured teasing, which she felt uncomfortable with because she had no idea what they were saying. Yet their faces seemed open, lacking any guile or meanness, so she tried just to go along. Here at home, though, she still felt as though she were speaking a foreign language, and raising her voice to be heard was just as ineffective. So far, the easiest way to deal with Doug was to keep her mouth shut and just give him what he wanted. She had seen her mother do it over and over with her father, and they would tell her that this was her role as a wife.

She started to pull paper plates from the pantry, but thought better of it and used the CorningWareÂź instead. She had forgotten to run the dishwasher earlier, so she had to scrub the silverware that still sat in the sink. She wished she had made more of an effort to make a proper dinner, but when did she have time? She wiped out some glasses and poured milk into them. She discovered half of a cantaloupe in the back of the refrigerator. It wasn’t exactly fresh, but it would still be edible. Studying her efforts, she felt better. It would probably pass muster with Doug. “Dinner,” she called in her most cheerful voice.

“How was your day?” she asked when they sat down.

“Fine,” he said, his mouth already full of food. “Mmm. It may be hamburger, but it’s good.”

“Cool. Thanks!” She waited, but he said nothing more, keeping his head down as he ate. When he finished, she asked if he wanted another, and he just nodded. She put a fresh burger on the plate, trying to make the simple meal look as attractive as possible. I need to do a better job.

She had met Doug at church, and he fit into all she had been taught about what a mate should be: stable, reliable, and with a similar background. At least he was good looking. She never questioned whether she loved him or not. He fit the bill of “good catch,” and they liked each other well enough. As for Doug, she suspected that he saw a preacher’s daughter as someone who would stand by his side and understand the role of a preacher’s wife. Love, as her parents had taught her, would grow in time, and she had trusted that. She didn’t love him now, not yet, and she hoped that the love would kick in soon.

Now she had Spanish class and studies to tend to, and she would spend time after dinner working on her vocabulary. Mother had arranged it, of course, as Mother arranged everything, including Mickey’s future career plans. “We need you and Doug to help us expand the church in the Spanish-speaking areas,” she said.

Mickey went along, as she always did. She would go to each class, and then Mother couldn’t complain. She didn’t have to like it, though. So when she read Julia’s e-mail later in the evening, inviting her to a study group, she had no real interest. What was the point? And she wondered where she would fit in, anyway. Everyone else in the group was pretty old, maybe even as old as her parents. She decided at first not to reply. Only later, when she realized that her mother probably considered the other class members to be heathens, did she change her mind.

Filed Under: books, fiction, women Tagged With: fiction, Foreign Language of Friends, free fiction, novels, women, writing

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