Focused Page 5

  “My purse,” she hissed.

  As she chided herself for the jog down memory lane which left her so absent minded, she again retrieved the key, again wiggled it in the lock, again opened the cabin’s front door and snatched her purse from the table. With an under-her-breath curse, Christina stomped back out and slammed the door shut. The cabin shook with her temper.

  The sound vibrated over the silent hills. How often in her youth had her mother yelled for them not to slam that door as they dashed out? Suddenly a rush of cold heat spread throughout her body. The weight she had been carrying on her shoulders slid down her back and shattered onto the stone patio beneath her feet. She clumped to the ground and heaved sob after sob.

  The mourning dove cooed in the distance, still in search of its mate.

  Chapter 8 - The Decision

  After the bawling stopped and the stomach pangs subsided, Christina dug in her purse for a crumpled piece of Kleenex. She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes with the corners of the tissue before she straightened to brush the dirt and leaves from her bottom—again.

  She hated to cry. It felt so self-indulgent. Yet she was usually sympathetic and ready to comfort anyone else who cried with a hug and a box of tissues. Why was that?

  With a cleansing sigh, Christina waved the question away. Not now. Not another soul-searching trek. Instead she chose the more tangible path off the property and back to her life.

  Her tires popped down the gravel road. It signaled someone coming or leaving the property better than a watchdog. The sound alerted a grazing cottontail which bolted into the heavy brush for camouflage. She inched her car over the cattle guard then accelerated onto the road that led back to civilization and reality. Her tires spewed the last bits of gravel in farewell.

  Twenty miles later, she reached the intersection to the highway. She squinted to see if any cars were coming…What? I’m squinting?

  “Darn!” Christina slammed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel. “I left my glasses back at the cabin on that cot!”

  She pulled over to the side of the road. I have two choices. I can either turn back around and go back to the cabin and all those memories again. That thought made her eyes sting. She blinked back the tears.

  Or, I can do what I’ve put off doing for three years—get new glasses.

  Something inside of her warned her not to head to the cabin. She didn’t know why, but the feeling was strong, even for women’s intuition. So, for the second time in a day, the normally routine-laden woman made a spontaneous, off-the-cuff decision.

  She recalled one of those “get your glasses in one hour” places at the new mall. Several summers back when she dashed into JC Penney for new beach towels, she saw it a sign for its grand opening celebration.

  Okay, that’s what I’ll do. Proud to have a plan, Christina already felt more in control. She’d paid off the VISA credit card last month. That firmed her decision.

  She chose to ignore her and Jeff’s steadfast rule to never spend over one hundred dollars on anything other than medical care or groceries without discussing it together first. It guarded them from whimsical buying sprees which might enlarge the credit card balance beyond their monthly budget.

  “Until he went and bought that humongous new power saw,” she spouted through clenched teeth as she noticed more traffic in the side view mirror. “Well, if he can spend three hundred dollars on that, I can spend four hundred on proper glasses so I can see what he’s made with the stupid thing. Besides, this is medical care . . . sort of.”

  She was talking to the air again. That disturbed her. She turned on the radio.

  The deejay said, “It’s 1:04 and already eighty-six degrees… up next on the hit parade . . .”

  No wonder her stomach rumbled. She switched on the blinker and headed for the blue exit sign. On it were two symbols of gas stations and one of a drive-through restaurant which beckoned to the tired and hungry highway masses. Two cars ahead of her had the same idea. The place was packed. She drove around the back, past fly-swarmed dumpsters which spewed the aroma of several days’ worth of business. Her tires hit three pot holes before she spotted an open stall. She pulled in and parked near a door that had a silhouette of her gender. Her bladder overruled her stomach. First things, first. Hopefully, they keep their facilities cleaner than the dumpster area.

  The car door wedged against the menu board with a thunk. She scraped her back on the door frame when she inched out of her car seat and slid through the narrow opening. The mega-ton, extend-a-cab truck on the other side of the menu board blocked her path. She had to walk around the back of her car, then two more cars before she found space enough to inch to the sidewalk, then back track to the Ladies. She felt every eye on her watching as she slipped into the door.

  Upon return, Christina noticed the mega truck was gone, thank goodness. She slid back in, then leaned forward to squint at the choices. Pride and a throbbing back forbade her to get out again to stand inches away and stare at the darn thing in order to read it. She doubted if she’d fit between the menu board and her closed car door anyway. Maybe twenty years ago.

  She told the voice at the other end of the speaker, “Can I please have a grilled cheese, tater tots and small limeade, please.” Did she really just say the word please twice? May as well tattoo “Woman always trying to be sweet and polite” on my forehead.

  “Do you want to double size it for only a dollar more?” The youthful pitch came through the speaker amidst the din of voices and clattering kitchen noise.

  “No thanks. Not today.” Her tone reflected a forced smile.

  “How about our cherry vanilla shake? It’s on special this week.”

  With a limeade? Yuk. “Uh. No…thanks.” She replied, glad the voice couldn’t see her shudder in disgust.

  “That’ll be five dollars and ninety-six cents. We’ll have it out in a minute.”

  We? How many of you does it take to carry my order out on a tray?

  Christina chided herself for her short temper and sarcastic thoughts. The girl was just doing her job. The order taker, after all, wasn’t the one playing hooky. As she waited for the chipper carhop to deliver her food, she brushed her hair and applied a splash of cologne. With spittled fingers, she wiped away the smudge of mascara under her eyes, a residual sign of her tearful outburst.

  She looked at a pimpled smile holding a tray. The aroma of the tater tots floated through the car window.

  “Here you are. That’s five ninety-six, please.” The carhop lilted as she clipped the tray onto the car window. She smacked gum through her required employee smile.

  Christina returned the same fake smile and tipped the teen a dollar. In return, the gum smacker handed back four cents in change and one of the peppermints the drive-through always gave out with their meals. Then, she thanked her customer and skated away to deliver the next order.

  A thundering “boom-tat-ta-boom” resonated from the radio as a car pulled in next to Christina’s subcompact. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the occupant’s head bobbing back and forth to a beat he assumed everyone else desired to hear as much as he did. At first it irritated her. Then, she noticed the gum smacker skate to the driver’s window. She had a huge grin and love-struck eyes.

  “Am I getting old, or what?” As the middle aged, half-blind woman chomped on her sandwich, she recollected hearing her mother knock on the door to her teenage flower-power poster-filled room. She could see herself sprawled on the bed bopping her head to the beat. She heard her mother tell her to turn it down now. Not everyone in the neighborhood wanted to hear what a whole lot of love Led Zeplin, or whoever that is, insisted on yelling. If she didn’t she’d be grounded. That meant she wouldn’t be allowed to go to Sarah’s swim party at the Club where that dashing Eddie Powell would be.

  The now-turning fifty Christina mused. Eddie Powell. He was the one who jumped at anything in a skirt and whose parents later bribed the District Attorney not to file statutory rape charges. If mem
ory served, he was the D.A. now and in a middle of a scuttle bug about having an affair. I don’t think you’d find him so dashing today, Mom.

  Christina crumpled the wrapper and stuffed it in the tater tot pouch. She signaled to the carhop, who roller-skated over.

  “Have a nice day.” The girl twirled on one skate, unclipped her tray and sashayed away.

  Yeah. Sure.

  The mall was one more exit down which meant she could stay on the access road and pray she didn’t run into a cop along the way, literally. Christina chuckled under her breath. She couldn’t help it. Punning came naturally to her. Her dad had been known for his witticism and puns. It became a game around the dinner table of who could say the most before they all fell over groaning and her mother raised her hands in surrender.

  She checked for bits of food in her teeth via the little mirror on her visor and plopped the mint in her mouth. The voice of her mother echoed in her brain.”No sense having lunch breath when some poor eyeglass clerk has to be up close and personal to fit your new frames.”

  Yes, mother.

  Christina pulled out onto the access road and, a half mile down, turned into the entrance to the Bluebonnet Mall. It started to sprinkle. She was lucky enough to find a parking space near the door to the eyeglasses factory, with its own outside entrance, thank goodness. Entering the store, a blast of cool air hit her in the face. She looked around a room filled on both sides with glass shelves offering hundreds of styles and shapes of frames. There were only two other customers present.

  “Mom. Those are dorky.” A teenager slumped and twitched her foot back and forth under the optical desk.

  “Well, there are several more here you can try. The pink ones bring out the color in your cheeks.” The mother held up a pair.

  “Everyone at school will laugh.” She rolled her eyes, and looked away.

  Christina tried not to stare. The girl reminded herself of her own reactions to her mom at that age. The same timeless scowl blared across her face. Maybe all teenage girls acted that disrespectfully to their mothers. Christina thanked God she bore a son.

  “You need to see the blackboard, dear.” The mother’s voice strained.

  “Can’t I get contacts?”

  The whine fell on deaf ears. “When you get a job and earn the money, then we’ll talk.”

  Christina strolled over to the women’s frames until the clerk, who had the patience of Job, finished helping them with their selection. Once the mother and daughter moved to the checkout counter, Christina whispered, “Those look really cool on you. Good choice.”

  The girl beamed. Christina smiled back, then looked at the mother who mouthed “Thanks”.

  Ringing up the sale, the clerk winked at Christina and told her, “I’ll be with you in a second.”

  No problem. Take a breather. I’ll wait.

  Christina’s nod of understanding conveyed her message. Feminine telepathy.

  Just then, another clerk appeared from the back room and walked over, hands clasped in front. “Now, what can I do for you?” She had a trace of mayonnaise on her upper lip.

  “I lost my glasses.” Well sort of. But you do not want to hear the whole story, right? “But I kept the prescription.” Christina rummaged through the sections of her wallet. “Ah, I knew I had it. Here.” She held out the crumpled piece of paper with faded ink.

  “It’s over three years old.” The clerk peered at her through half-rimmed glasses perched on the ridge of her nose. She reminded Christina of her junior high principal.

  “I know. But I need them to drive home. Please.” She was immediately sorry she’d said that. Please don’t call the cops, okay?

  “I’m afraid you’ll need an exam.” The clerk replied. “But our doctor is free right now.”

  Free as in available or he won’t charge me? Christina nodded and followed the clerk.

  Thirty minutes and one hundred eighty-five dollars later - obviously he had not been that kind of free - she handed the clerk her new script.

  “Great. Now what type of lens did you have? We have several materials and tint shades.”

  “My old ones were glass and they were supposed to transition into sunglasses. But I often found they never turned back to clear very quickly.” And I felt everyone thought I was on drugs or concealing a black eye.

  “Why don’t you consider our newest tint? It reduces the glare from computer screens as well as that halo affect from lights at night. Blue eyes are always more sensitive to that. And they come in plastic, so they are light weight.”

  “Really. I didn’t know that. How much?” Maybe this is a serendipity after all.

  “And we can coat them while you wait. Only thirty-four ninety-nine a lens.” The eager clerk grinned.

  So, you mean it’s really seventy bucks. Clever ploy. Christina nodded. “OK. Thanks. Let’s do that.”

  “Good. What did you have in mind for frames? We have some nice ones on sale starting at under two hundred dollars…”

  The cash register cha-chinged in Christina’s brain.

  At 2:05 p.m., a smug Christina dodged raindrops back to her car wearing her new invisible lined bifocals with glare resistant tint. She compensated by picking out frames on clearance, which were so similar to her old frames Christina doubted anyone else would notice. Pleased with her frugality, she slid into the front seat and clicked her seat belt. No more adjusting the things on her nose. She could see straight ahead, up, down and off to the sides. And everything seemed so crisp and clear, even in the rain. Why didn’t I do this years ago?

  An earsplitting clap of thunder vibrated across the mall parking lot and bumped into the hills. She jolted and dropped her keys onto the floor mat. A second clap drowned out her curse as she unclicked her belt to reach underneath her legs to see where they fell. Then, as if God had turned on the tap full blast, the deluge burst open.

  Chapter 9 Faded stitches

  A strange chill hit the back of Jeff’s neck as if someone was breathing mouthwash down his collar. It made him twitch, then turn to look behind him.

  All he saw was the credenza. Books, soccer coach trophy, the framed picture of a buck peering through the brush that his wife had stitched in crewel work while she was recovering from a broken leg. How long ago had that been? Josh was in elementary school then. When it happened, Jeff made a deal with a coworker to cover for him so he could leave early and get his son from day care on the days Christina couldn’t find a church friend to pick him up. It took a good two months of rehab before the doctor agreed to let her drive again. The whole time Jeff had dreaded it, afraid his boss would need something at the end of the day and he’d be gone. It never occurred to him to ask. That would have been a sign of weakness. Bosses don’t need to know about your personal life. What made me think of that now, for Pete’s sake? He rubbed the back of his neck, then jerked it to the side and let the pop resound in his ear. The achy tension temporarily oozed away.

  Years of afternoon sunlight through the office window faded the colors of the stitchery. It reminded him of his wife. In the past few months her colors had been slowly fading, as if some force sucked out her life’s energy with a straw. A cloud loomed over their lives, turning everything dull and washed-out in a grayish glare, like the world on an overcast day. Was it all her doing?

  Okay. He admitted to himself the promotion to manager a year ago had taken its toll. What at first seemed an honor for years of a job well done, weighed him down with too much responsibility. Weekends shackled to this desk. Pressures she just could not understand made his neck hurt and his temper short. How could he talk to her about it? She’d parrot back some Scripture as if she could erase his stress off the chalkboard of life and replace it with parables neatly written over it in the chalk dust.

  A memory of how he had raised his hand in third grade and volunteered to come to the front to solve a math problem flashed in his mind. He felt so proud. He and his Dad worked for hours on decimals before he understood them. Mrs. Whitaker
in her tight proper bun simply grunted a half approval and quickly erased it—along with his ego. After that, the teachers marked him as a quiet but smart child who rarely participated in class. His mother figured it was a phase.

  Why can’t women understand the pressures we have? Jeff tapped his pencil on the legal pad in front of him, again. At times sitting at this desk was better than sitting in his recliner and feeling the coldness that hung just above his head at home. At least here he had control, well somewhat. Figures, measurements. Those he could understand, sort out, calculate and determine the end result. Not like his wife’s emotions as of late. What he dealt with at work added up. It was tangible. Logical. Well, except for these drawings in front of him by some idiotic architect. So obviously straight out of grad school, trying to impress everyone with his rendition of the new high school addition. His figures were not making sense. No way would that roof be in spec. But, Jeff’s job was to clean it up so the company could build it. And to think this kid, the creator of this mess, little mister junior-junior in the architect firm whose seal was on the lower right hand corner, probably made twice what he did.

  He thought of his lunch conversation with Bob about how he and Christina met. They dated three more times that week, talked for hours on the phone in between, then went out again the next weekend, twice. Six weeks later they ventured to the cabin to meet her parents—the day he received her father’s blessing. Driven by pure, blinded love and determination, he endured the long parental cross-examination, sweating bullets until he saw the twinkle of approval in her dad’s eyes.

  Jeff leaned back in his office chair. His desktop screen saver depicted stars streaming towards him. He had always been a Sci-Fi freak. It began when he’d set the alarm for 3 a.m. so he could get up with his dad to watch the space capsules zip by. They’d wave frantically as if the astronauts could see them. He remembered Christina told him once she used to do that with her dad, too. Another memory they shared, like so many.