(1)
— Originally published in The Baltimore Review, Volume 2, Number 2, Summer 1998
Jane looked up at the pots of fuchsias hanging on each side of the front door.
Full and lush, trailing large red-and-white blossoms and dark green leaves, meticulously trimmed and
perfectly balanced. No sign of die-back yet. That would come. By this time next month, the
plants would be wilting in the heat. Bill had watered them this morning, within the past few
minutes. She could almost feel his presence as he pushed back the tendrils and nourished the
roots. He handled these plants with the same care he showed when he helped Sarah fix her bike
or Jenny braid her hair.
But he wasn’t here now. Where had he gone?
She heard a shout from the backyard. Touch-tackle—the midshipmen along with Jenny
and Sarah. Mother’s Day. Thirteen mids here to celebrate. They’d come early from the academy
to surprise her. And Bill disappears. How could he agree to sponsor the mids, offer them a home
away from home on weekends, and then hide when they show up?
She went back into the house, stepped into the bathroom off the hall, closed the door, and
studied herself in the mirror. A motherly presence? She hoped so. She was, after all, old enough
to be the mids’ mother.
She smoothed her hair, freshened her lip gloss, and turned to the side to get a glimpse of
her profile. She reached for the hand mirror and stopped. Bill’s shaving mug was gone. His
toothbrush was gone from the holder above the sink. She opened the medicine chest. His razor
gone. Maybe he’d finally decided there was no need to shave and shower in the downstairs
bathroom. Or maybe . . .
A flicker of panic. His talk about moving out. Like his mood swings. For the last year,
she could almost time the season by them. Every three or four months he withdrew and got
crabby. There’d be talk of separation. Then, after a week or two, everything was fine again.
Friday night, before any of the mids got to the house, she’d asked him please not to ruin the weekend.
And here he was, missing. Maybe not. Maybe he was somewhere in the house.
She left the bathroom and walked through the family room. The kitchen door was closed.
She pushed on it. It was bolted from the inside.
“Hey,” she called.
Laughter inside. Some of the mids were in there.
“You can’t come in,” a young male voice said.
Of course. Mother’s Day. They were fixing her breakfast. She’d eaten long before they
arrived, but she’d go along with the surprise.
TOM'S TALES