A Woman Lost Read online

  “Touché, Maddie.” Peter took a swig of bourbon and then left the kitchen, carrying the drinks. I turned to Maddie and asked if my parents were present.

  “Your mother is. Your father hasn’t arrived yet. Something at the office held him up.” She fluttered to the other side of the kitchen. “Really, Lizzie, what does he do? There is always some emergency. And now Peter is always held up as well. This is the first night in weeks that I’ve seen him before ten.” Anger flashed in her eyes.

  “You got me. We don’t talk much.” I shrugged.

  “Yes, that’s right, the mysterious family. Sarah, have you noticed that about Lizzie? Like she tells you just enough about herself, but deep down there’s so much more.” Maddie laughed and continued preparing a salad.

  To my surprise, Sarah came to my defense. “She does have a mysterious side, but when she comes home late, I know what she has been up to. It’s usually because she’s had her nose buried in some book and has lost track of time.” She leaned over to kiss my cheek. Right then, both my mother and brother entered the kitchen. It took a trained eye, but I could see my mother flinch when she saw the kiss.

  Peter smiled. I could practically see him counting the extra money he would inherit.

  “Look, Mother, for once Elizabeth is on time for dinner.” Peter helped Mom to a barstool.

  Sarah glanced at her watch. I looked at the clock on the microwave. It was six-thirty. Sarah looked at me and chuckled. I think she was starting to see why I did certain things, like show up so early for everything.

  “Maddie, is there anything I can do to help with dinner?” asked Sarah.

  “You are a dear, but to be honest, most of it is done. I picked up dinner from this darling restaurant down the street.” She smiled at Sarah. “I hope neither one of you is vegetarian or I’m afraid all you will be eating is this salad.” She tossed it some more and then set it aside.

  I could tell she was nervous. Why? Because of Sarah, perhaps?

  “Fear not, we are both carnivores.” I smiled at Maddie and she reciprocated.

  As she reached for a serving platter on top of the fridge, I saw a large hole in her sweater. It looked like it had been well worn and the hole was testimony to that.

  “Maddie, why do you insist on wearing that sweater? That hole is the size of the Grand Canyon. We are not paupers, my dear.” Peter waved his arm to point out the luxury of their lifestyle.

  “I love this sweater. It’s the most comfortable one I own, so I’m sorry but you’ll just have to endure seeing me in it.” She flashed a stubborn smile at Peter, who turned away to say something to our mother.

  The Scotch-lady did not look impressed by Maddie’s determination to be comfortable. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw Mom in a pair of jeans or shorts. She would always tell me, “It is better to always dress nice, because that one time you wear sweats, the whole world will stop by to see you.”

  Of course, I never lived by that mantra, but Peter did. On the rare occasion he wore jeans, they were guaranteed to be of the nicest quality and the most expensive. Even then, they looked starched. What was the point of wearing formal jeans? Especially when they resembled “mom jeans.”

  “How’s your job going, Maddie?” Sarah asked, an obvious attempt to divert attention from the sweater.

  I looked at Sarah. Usually, she was so quiet she would hardly ever engage in conversation with a group of people she did not know. I stopped to wonder whether she was trying to impress me or support me, or whether she just felt comfortable with Maddie’s southern, carefree attitude. It was like they were old friends.

  “Well, should we sit down and start dinner?” said The Scotch-lady before Maddie could even answer Sarah’s question.

  “It’s all ready. I was waiting for Charles,” Maddie explained.

  “Oh, he can eat the leftovers.” Mom looked at her watch. “Serves him right for being late again.”

  “Mom, I’m sure something important held him up at the office.” Peter looked troubled.

  Was he upset that he would have to choose a side? He was never good at that when it came to our parents.

  “How ‘bout I get you another drink?” he told her.

  “I would never turn that down, but I’m famished. And I have to leave soon.”

  I was sure that was a lie. I examined her thin, persnickety face. Yes, she was fibbing.

  Peter’s face was priceless. He looked as if he might cry. I reveled in the moment, wondering whose side he would take: Mother’s or Father’s. Come on, Peter. Make a choice for once in your life.

  “Hello all.”

  Goddamnit! Why did he have to show up right then? I turned to find my father standing there, his expertly tailored three-piece suit hiding his belly.

  “Dad, you made it!”

  For a second, I thought Peter was going to wet himself with excitement. He reminded me of my neighbor’s cocker spaniel, who peed whenever he was excited.

  The Scotch-lady took another sip of her drink, but she didn’t even look in her husband’s direction. Was this why I was so screwed up about relationships? I glanced over at Sarah. To my astonishment, she showed no reaction to the scene at all. Was she just overwhelmed by it all?

  “Sorry I’m late … got held up, you know,” he said in a deep voice.

  Maddie’s jaw almost hit the floor. She looked at me, and I could tell she wanted to shout, “Oh my God! That’s the most your father has ever said.”

  Peter must have seen the expression on her face too, because he said, “Maddie, do you think we can get some food on the table and feed all these hungry people?”

  I wanted to hit him.

  She retorted, “I could if you would get your lazy buttocks out of my way.”

  To his credit, he didn’t rebuff her. Did he know he would lose the battle? Her southern charm didn’t quite take the sting out of it, but gave her words the illusion of being heartfelt.

  I could tell my father was impressed. He loved a woman with a spark. That explained why he hated my mother: her spark went out years ago.

  “If you’ll take a seat, I’ll bring out the salads?”

  I followed my father into the dining room. He was the man to follow. His girth announced that he never missed a meal.

  The dining room, considering the size of the house, was quite modest. The table could seat eight comfortably. In the middle was a beautiful yellow rose centerpiece in what I assumed was a Waterford vase. No paintings graced the wall; instead, an elegant candelabrum hung on the wall behind the table. And, of course, all of the votives were lit.

  Sarah and I took a seat together on one side, and my parents sat at the ends of the table. I found that surprising, but maybe they figured they paid for the house so they might as well have that honor. I was pleased. At least I didn’t have to stare at them across from me all night.

  Maddie walked in with the salad and seemed to wince a little when she saw the seating arrangement. Peter gave her his not-right-now smile. She shook her head and said, “I’m happy that all of you could join us this evening.”

  After placing the bowl by the man of the house, Charles, she sat down. “Peter and I have an announcement.” She placed her hand on Peter’s.

  Panic overcame me. I stopped breathing.

  “That’s right. After much finagling we have finally got our schedules squared away, and we have set a date for the wedding.”

  What a relief! I thought for sure she was going to say she was pregnant. I didn’t think I could handle that.

  “That’s great news. When’s the big day?” asked the romantic, Sarah.

  “July fourteenth,” replied Peter.

  I started to panic. Please Sarah, don’t say anything.

  “Did you say July fourteenth? That’s Lizzie’s birthday.” Sarah sounded baffled by Peter’s oversight.

  I wasn’t shocked at all.

  “Peter, you didn’t tell me your sister’s birthday was the fourteenth.” Maddie genuinely seemed upset.
I hoped she’d throw the salad bowl at his head.

  “What? I thought … that’s right it is. I got so caught up on scheduling I totally spaced it. It’s not easy you know, coordinating mine, yours, Mom’s and Dad’s schedule.” He threw his fork down on top of his salad defensively. Coordinating with my schedule obviously wasn’t important to him.

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to come up with a different date,” Maddie said, scowling at him.

  I was glad we had come to dinner; the drama was pure entertainment.

  I stammered, “A-are you kidding … keep it on my birthday. That way I won’t forget it. I’m horrible at remembering things like that. You have to keep it.”

  “Doesn’t say much about you as a historian, if you can’t remember dates.” Maddie laughed and took a sip of wine. I could tell she was seething but was trying to regain control.

  “I told you history is the greatest story ever told, remember … not just dates.”

  She nodded, but the anger was still present.

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Peter seemed relieved. “Because we already started reserving everything and making initial plans.”

  “Nah. I don’t really celebrate my birthday anyway.”

  Sarah squeezed my leg under the table. I could feel her nails digging in. We had planned a trip to the Tetons that week. I glanced at her again, but didn’t know what to say. What could I do? Say, “No way, Jose, that’s my birthday?” Wouldn’t that be childish?

  “Good. It’s settled then. The date is July fourteenth,” declared Peter. “And we won’t have to buy Elizabeth a cake, since there will be wedding cake.”

  What a nice thought, Peter. I tried to remember if I had ever had a cake on my birthday.

  Maddie looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I smiled and raised my water glass in her direction. A weak attempt, I know, but it was all I could do at the time.

  She smiled and turned to Sarah. “How are your classes going?” she asked.

  “What? Another student?” cackled The Scotch-lady.

  “No, Mother. Sarah teaches high school English.”

  “My classes are good. They’re always good this time of the year … wait and ask me in December and my answer will be quite different.” She giggled.

  “High school, huh?” Peter looked at me. “They don’t pay you guys much. Would you consider yourself more of a volunteer?” He chuckled.

  “Peter, what an awful thing to say.” Maddie’s beautiful face scrunched into a frown.

  “All that I’m saying is that teachers don’t make much.” He paused, looked briefly at Mom and Dad, and then said, “It’s a good thing Elizabeth has a trust fund, since she didn’t go into the family business.”

  Family business. What were we‌—‌gangsters?

  My mother bristled. I often wondered if she had tried to cut off my trust fund. My father just looked bored, but that was normal, so I wasn’t sure how he felt. He would be great at Texas Hold ‘em.

  “Peter, thanks for your concern. But I have my own trust fund.” Sarah’s expression was one of triumph.

  Maddie glowered at Peter.

  “What? I was just making a joke. She gets so touchy about these topics. You know, Maddie, I’m starting to think you aren’t a Democrat at all, but a hard-core liberal.” Again he chuckled, but it sounded nervous this time.

  “How can you be a Democrat? You’re from the south? Aren’t all Democrats supposed to be from the northeast?” asked my mother.

  “I thought Arkansas was a southern state?” I quipped.

  “You know, I’m not from there, but I think you are right, Lizzie,” Maddie replied, a huge grin on her face.

  “Wasn’t one of their governors … oh, what is his name … a Democrat?” I went further. “And didn’t he become president?”

  “And didn’t he marry a lesbian?” My mother pronounced it Les-Bi-An. Some words she liked to enunciate for dramatic purposes. Lesbian had always been one of them, for obvious reasons. However, she only did it in certain settings; in public, she ignored me completely. Even when I was a child she acted like I was a stranger. One time, when I was small, I accidentally knocked over a display in a store. I turned my beet-red face to her. She looked me up and down and said, “You better go find your mother to clean up this mess.” I was devastated.

  I squeezed Sarah’s leg to give her some support. She placed her hand on my knee. Peter, technically the host of the meal, stayed out of it and refused to make eye contact. Maybe he felt that, since he was denied the host position at the head of the table, he wasn’t the host after all. Father, seated at the table head, didn’t really accept me anyway, but he appreciated anyone who could ruffle my mother’s feathers so he looked on with a smirk.

  “Jesus, Mother! She isn’t a Les-Bi-An. Just because a woman is powerful, doesn’t mean she is gay.”

  “That’s obvious.” Mom raised her drink in my direction.

  Bravo, Mother. Bravo.

  Maddie caught my eye. “Maybe we should start on the entrée? Anyone else hungry?” She stood and started for the kitchen.

  “You know me, Maddie. I’m always hungry.” Peter nearly shouted after her as she rushed away. He patted his stomach to emphasize the point. I noticed that, for the first time, it was starting to bulge a little, which made me smile. The only one who didn’t have a belly in our family was The Scotch-lady, but only because she kept to a strict liquid diet.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Les-Bi-An!” Ethan laughed while saying it. “I can’t believe she said that … and at the dinner table. How rude! No one in my family would say it during dinner.” He continued to giggle.

  “Well, we aren’t from the polite south, my friend.” I stared at the hot barista while she made our coffees. Was I a pig? Or did I just appreciate beauty?

  “What did Sarah say about it?” He flipped the pages of a book that sat on the table. It was The Da Vinci Code.

  “You know that book is riddled with historical inaccuracies.” I gestured to the novel.

  “Oh, I know, professor.” He raised one palm in the air. “But somehow I’m persevering. Have you ever looked up the word ‘stodgy’?”

  “Hmph!”

  “Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Loosen up, Lizzie! Now tell me how Sarah reacted to your mom.” He placated me with a smile.

  “To be honest, she was really quiet on the ride home. And when she was getting ready to go shopping with her mom this morning, she barely talked to me.”

  “Does she go shopping with her mom every Saturday?” He looked at his phone, its insistent beeping telling him he had a text. “Dammit, I’ve only been here ten minutes and she’s already getting on my case.” He slammed the phone down on the table.

  His wife hated that we spent so much time together.

  “What do you think her silence means?” he asked while he fired off a text to his wife.

  “Got me? Maybe she realized I’m a much bigger challenge than she thought.”

  “Or she felt bad for you.” He paused to read his wife’s return text. “Her family is accepting, right? Maybe Sarah doesn’t know what to say to you. She’s been pushing you to let her into your family, and now she sees how they treat you.”

  “Maybe. It’s a possibility. But she should know me. I don’t care what they think.” I leaned on the table and propped my chin in my right hand.

  “Not at all? Come on, Lizzie, deep down most of us want acceptance, especially from our families.”

  I tilted my head in my hand and leered at the barista, ignoring Ethan. Seconds passed and I noticed he followed my gaze.

  Ethan casually said, “She looks like your ex.”

  Holy shit! I thought to myself, bolting upright. He’s right. She had long blonde hair, deep green eyes, and a beguiling smile. “I thought she looked familiar.”

  He laughed. “Maybe Maddie is good for you. Before, you would have made the connection right away and gone on and on about it.” He made limp-wrist
ed circular movements in the air.

  “Don’t you mean Sarah?”

  “Nope. I mean Maddie. You have been so different these past few weeks‌—‌more relaxed, happier, and easier to talk to. You’ve always opened up after some coaxing, but now you don’t need any prodding.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  My phone beeped. A message flashed up on the screen. “Oh great, Sarah wants me to have dinner with her mom tonight.” I paused before sending a text back.

  “Are you going?”

  “Don’t see how I can say no. She had to put up with my family last night. Besides, her mom is nice.” I shook my head. “You know me, I just hate family dinners … I’m not good at things like that. Geez, Sarah and I hardly go to dinner, let alone with other people.”

  “And you say my marriage is bad.”

  I chuckled. “I guess people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

  “Especially you! You wouldn’t hit a thing. How is it you never played softball as a kid? Don’t all dykes play in college? Sorry, I mean Les-Bi-Ans.”

  His joke caught me by surprise, and chai almost streamed out my nose. It burned like hell.

  “Have you been drinking long?” He smirked.

  After coffee with Ethan, I decided to hit the Poudre River bike trail. One thing I love about Colorado is that even in late October the weather can be gorgeous. I looked at the mountains to see if any clouds were rolling in, but all I saw was clear blue sky.

  For the first ten miles, the vibrancy of the red, orange, and yellow leaves contrasting the lazy river awed me. I had always loved being surrounded by nature. Since it was late in the season, there weren’t too many people out on the trail.

  I pulled off the trail at my favorite spot and sat by the river. Sunlight glittered on the ripples of the slow, meandering stream. This time of year, before the winter snow melt, it was more like a dribble. In the spring, it gushed.

  Picking up a smooth stone, I tried my best to skim it all the way across. It jumped twice and then sank to the bottom. Infuriated, I tried again. Skip. Skip. Then nothing. I had seen countless fools skip stones here. Why couldn’t I?