Loving Piper Page 4

  For most of Kathleen’s life, it had just been the two of them—Piper and Kathleen. The tug-o’-war between parenting and her teaching career had stretched her thin many times. Thank God for her dear friends, her backup, and on occasion her mother and brothers. It was fitting that she was being asked for the very favor that had been extended to her so many times. An unexpected teariness gripped her—regret, fear that she had somehow shortchanged her own daughter by divorcing, not providing a united family of mother and father and child. A remnant of the disturbing emotions that had been her constant companion just a month ago. She snapped her bag closed and marched out of the apartment.

  Jennie was sitting quietly reading a book in the office when Piper arrived at the day care. The little girl looked up wearing an expression of both need and relief. With a nod, Piper acknowledged the woman behind the desk and then crouched down in front of Jennie. She looked into the wide blue eyes so similar to those she had stared into such a short time before and took Jennie’s hands in hers.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?”

  “Okay, I guess,” Jennie whispered.

  “Well, that’s a good start, you might be on the way to feeling better. Tell me about your tummy.”

  “It’s kind of funny…it’s going uhhh…and it’s wiggling.” Jennie disengaged one hand and made a swooping motion with her arm.

  “Hmm, I see, and how do you feel when you walk?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think I better walk very far. My feet look funny to me.”

  “Oh dear, just a minute then, and we’ll get you home. Wait here.” She stood up and approached the counter.

  A bright-eyed brunette made sympathetic sounds and produced forms to sign. Piper dealt with the paperwork in short order, expressed her thanks and returned to Jennie.

  “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you home,” Piper said as she shepherded Jennie toward the car. She and Rob had exchanged cars since his had Jennie’s child seat in it. Seeing the familiar car must have reminded Jennie of her father.

  “Will Daddy be there?”

  “Daddy will be there a little later. He has to take care of some business right now. Which means that I get to take care of you. I’m going to fluff up a bunch of pillows and put them on the couch. Then I’m going to tuck you in—it’ll be like floating on a bed of feathers, and I know you’ll start to feel better right away.”

  “Can I watch a movie when I’m tucked in?”

  “Yes, you can watch your favorite movie.”

  “And can I hold the controller so I can watch the best parts over again?”

  “It’s yours,” Piper said.

  “I love chickens,” Jennie piped up, showing evidence of recovery. “We’ll watch Chicken Run.”

  By the time they reached home, Jennie seemed improved from when Piper arrived at the day care. She was no longer woebegone, and the color was starting to return to her cheeks. But Piper noticed, as Jennie started to run toward the house, that she wobbled a bit, then stopped and proceeded slowly.

  “That’s right, sweetie, take your time,” Piper said, catching Jennie’s hand.

  Piper’s intention had been to keep Jennie downstairs in the apartment with her, but when they reached the side door, the entryway to the apartment as well as the house, Jennie led her into the main part of the house. Piper decided she wouldn’t argue. Jennie would probably feel more comfortable on her own turf, and Piper was certain she could find whatever she needed.

  “Why don’t you put on a pair of nice light pj’s?”

  “Okay, but you come with me,” Jennie said, her tone needy. “I forget what I should call you? Daddy said…”

  “Just call me Piper, Jennie.”

  “That’s a funny name,” Jennie said, a serious expression on her face.

  She took Piper’s hand and pulled her up the stairs to the first bedroom they came to, opposite the bathroom. The walls were covered with unusual and vivid posters of animals. Peeking through from behind the posters was a dizzying green. Piper surveyed the room and wondered if recuperation was possible under such extreme visual circumstances.

  “Which drawer do you keep your pj’s in?” she said, already opening a likely candidate. “Never mind, I’ve found them. Let’s see, here’s a—”

  “No, not there,” Jennie said, quickly grabbing Piper’s hand and tugging her across the room. “Over here.” Jennie opened the first of two drawers in a low, small bureau. The clothes were neatly folded and organized into sections—small sections, with very few items in each pile. Jennie took out a pair of light cotton pajamas, blue with pale yellow ducklings parading single file. “These,” she said, holding them up. “These are the right ones.”

  Piper watched the little girl shed her clothes and quickly put on the pj’s. Jennie had a fine sense of color coordination. Her eye and hair colors closely matched those of the pj’s. Piper tried to picture in her mind the clothes she had seen Jennie wearing. Yes, blue and yellow were definitely the favored colors.

  “Piper, I’m ready now. Can we watch Chicken Run?”

  “Yes, dear. Is there any animal in here that you think might like to watch Chicken Run with us?”

  Jennie shrieked and grabbed first a large plush rooster, which she shoved into Piper’s hands, then an armful of small squishy chicks. She tiptoed down the stairs, leaning against the wall, careful not to let any of the chicks fall. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned and nodded at Piper to follow her into the TV room, a cozy, dark den. Piper turned on a floor lamp and spotted multicolored cushions thrown haphazardly at the end of the couch and on the floor. Perfect, just what she had in mind. While Jennie stood, quietly peeping to her chicks, Piper fashioned a circular ring of pillows on the long, deeply upholstered couch.

  “Here’s a nice comfy nest for you and your brood,” she said, leaning back from her creation.

  “Thanks, Piper. But they’re not a brood—my chicks are a clutch.”

  “Is that a fact? So, you really know your feathered friends. Remind me, what is a brood again?”

  “Hens,” Jennie said. “I’m thirsty. Where’s the controller?”

  “You’re talking to her.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding, okay, here’s the controller. I see the movie on the shelf, and I’ll put the disk in. You set it all up while I get you something to drink, okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jennie said happily.

  Piper came back with ginger ale on a small tray that she set on the table beside Jennie. Jennie took a sip and snuggled back into her nest, her arms filled with the rooster and the chicks. Piper covered her with a mossy green cotton-weave blanket and then lowered herself into a La-Z-Boy chair. She pressed a button and the leg rest lifted. Another, and the back tilted lower. Piper hoped she could stay awake.

  Jennie chattered along with her favorite dialogue from Rocky the rooster and Ginger the hen. Piper had seen the movie before, but not for several years, and she laughed out loud many times. As promised, Jennie was allowed to replay her favorite scenes. Piper felt warm and alive. Even five repeats watching Ginger bouncing a Brussels sprout off the wall in her solitary confinement cell didn’t seem excessive.

  The movie was under an hour and a half, but with replays and bathroom breaks and a few times when Jennie drifted off to sleep and then had to find the scene where she’d fallen asleep, it was almost four o’clock by the time it finished.

  Jennie pressed the off button and lay still with her eyes closed. She looked peaceful, Piper thought, and she remembered Kathleen at that age. She’d been a fireball right from her march out of the womb, something that had never really let up. “Strong willed” was as gentle as it got with Kathleen. And then there had been all the problems between Piper and Manny. Would her little girl have felt she could stop fighting the world if her early days had been more tranquil. These reflections on the past usually led Piper to the discouraging feeling that she had been a poor mother. Now she recalled an article she’d
read recently suggesting many mothers were critical of and regretful about their own parenting skills. Good, that was good news. She wasn’t alone. It was strange how being a part of a group, even one that was nothing to strive for, was reassuring.

  Piper closed her eyes, let her head drop to the back of the chair and listened to the gentle, regular breathing coming from the neighboring couch. The sound of a child sleeping was soothing. You could market it, she thought, and billboards advertising the product began a slow parade through her mind, small puffs of child breath rising and scattering as the procession moved forward.

  Chapter Four

  OH, LORD. ROB stood in the doorway of the TV room, unable to move. He could do no more than stand there, gripping his briefcase, watching as a tidal wave of longing flowed over him, through him. For a moment he felt he would be physically swept away. A woman and a child. They looked so natural, so beautiful, as if they both belonged exactly where they were. He wanted his old life back. He leaned against the doorjamb for support and closed his eyes.

  This was not Sandra and Jennie. He breathed deeply and lowered the case to the floor. Two steps forward, one back, stay quiet and wait. Remember where he was, who he was, state facts, unemotional facts. That always helped…eventually. The overwhelming sense of loss began to give way to balance. He held his stance, physically and emotionally, remained still, eyes closed, focused on breathing.

  When he knew he had regained control, he slowly opened his eyes and took in the scene before him.

  Jennie’s mouth was slightly open as she lay curled into a tight ball on the couch, asleep and breathing quietly. She’d arranged her plush chicks around her, and the big rooster he’d won for her at the Canadian National Exhibition last September was stuffed into the corner of the couch, its large beak and comb leaning over Jennie. It was the only prize he’d ever won in a contest pitting him against a carnie machine, and he’d surprised himself, been ready to make a straight cash offer to the carnie. He knew how much Jennie had wanted the pink and green rooster. Brocky, she’d named him, after the rooster in Chicken Run. Now, perched above her fair hair, Brocky looked like a kind of primitive headdress.

  Then his eyes moved away from the couch and fastened onto Piper, who lay sprawled in his favorite chair. She looked different, more peaceful, certainly, than she had running out of the house earlier. Twice in one day, he had viewed her sleeping. The somnambulant state was a transparent one, he thought, noting her rag doll posture and the smooth skin across her forehead and around her eyes, as though she had dropped into the chair and not moved since. One arm hung down, her fingers fanned out gracefully.

  After Piper had moved into the apartment, she’d moved into his head. For the three weeks she had lived there, he’d been preoccupied with her, and annoyed with himself. He knew too little about her to be so focused on her. And he didn’t want to know more. He’d done his best to steer clear of her, successful for the most part. He continued to study her from across the room. His mental image of her had been more alluring than he’d wanted it to be, though he hadn’t wanted any image, not even a dowdy one. Unfortunately, in real life, rather than not living up to his fantasy, she surpassed it. Real life… He sighed, noting that each of her features seemed ordinary. If he were to dissect her features, describe them to an impartial observer, his report would be unexceptional. Lips normal shape and size—not too big, as if she’d had surgery, or too small or too thin or too wide. Nose normal, though maybe a bit long, but he liked that. A strong nose indicated a strong character, or at least he thought so. And her chin was soft and pretty, normal too. Still, those ordinary features had been assembled into extraordinary loveliness. And that wasn’t taking into account her eyes, which were closed now, and withholding the vivid green that had mesmerized him when they first met. How unceremonious that had been, her lying in the driveway, him sloshing water all over her in his efforts to revive her. As he’d replayed the scene many times, he’d understood that she had been embarrassed, but at the time he’d missed it, preoccupied with trying to help her while feeling incompetent and clumsy.

  Almost all of him, in the broad light of logic, did not want to be attracted to any woman, especially one living at the same address. He was still a trauma victim himself at this point, and a man who had made a promise to his wife that she was the only woman for him, the only one he would ever love. They had made the pact in the early days of their courtship, and had, on their anniversary date every year, toasted their love and commitment and marriage, even beyond death. Rob had replaced “till death” with “beyond death” in their wording, which had at first amused Sandra. Then, saying that she adored his sentimentality and always wanted to be accommodating on the small stuff, she’d joined him in the pledge.

  He stood in the doorway for a few more minutes. Periodically, probably a holdover from a statistics course that had nearly done him in, he thought of his life as a pie filled with time and space and emotion, and he measured the pieces in it. He thought of that now. Jennie was always a substantial wedge of happiness. The size of the happy wedge that was Jennie varied according to what else was going on. The past, which never seemed to be truly the past these days, was always a dark portion, the ending of his happiness. The heady beginning and the comfortable middle of his life had been extracted from the pie of life.

  At that moment he was aware of a new piece of the pie, just a sliver, but a sliver of something that gave him prickles of awareness. If circumstances were different, if he were different, if he were a man starting over, a man who hadn’t made promises, a man without a history, a sorrow, a beautiful child, if, if, if… That brought him up short. No, he was not that man and he could not behave otherwise. He would not be pursuing Piper, or anyone else, for that matter. Not now, probably never. That part of his life was over.

  Now Piper was snoring a little, and he laughed at a particularly creative inhalation. He knew she wouldn’t like that, not the actual snore—more of a snork really—or the fact that he’d laughed. Women disagreed with anyone who said they snored. Sandra had always denied it .

  “Hey, sleeping beauties…” he said quietly, uncertain that he wanted to wake them at all. There was no answer, not even a twitch of movement. “Hey girls,” he said, slightly louder. Still no response. “Okay, I’ll give you a few more minutes’ snooze time…” He started to back out of the room, then checked his watch. Almost six o’clock, past the regular time to start dinner.

  Rob approached Piper, moving quietly, not quite sure what to do next.

  “Piper…hey, Piper.” He crouched low and touched her arm lightly, hesitantly. “Piper…” He moved his face closer to her ear, reaching his hand forward to place it on her shoulder. “Hey, there, wake up, Pi—”

  Piper gasped, startled. Her arms were suddenly wrapped tightly around Rob’s head, the side of his face now touching hers. He remained in the unexpected headlock long enough to catch the faint scent of lavender and feel a jolt from the close contact. Then he was pushed back with surprising strength as she jerked forward in the chair, exclaiming loudly, “Jeez!”

  “Whoa, it’s okay, Piper,” he said as he stood and regained his balance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you—I was just trying to wake you.”

  She jumped up, disoriented, then sank back down on the chair. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to yell…waking me up twice in one day. What a miserable experience.” She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I don’t know what hit me. Oh…Jennie,” she said, turning quickly toward the sleeping child.

  “She’s out, and she seems to be sleeping soundly. I knew you would have called my cell if she’d taken a turn for the worse. Did they say anything more about what might be going around at the day care?”

  “Nothing more than they told you. Probably just a touch of something that makes you queasy and pale. She definitely perked up when we started to watch the movie.” Piper rose from the chair, leaned over and looked at Jennie more closely. “And her color has returned. I’m glad about
that.” She pulled the covers up around Jennie’s shoulders and twisted toward Rob, her head at an angle. “What a little sweetheart she is. She smiled. You’re doing a good job with her, Dad.”

  Rob pulled the marinating chicken out of the fridge and then began chopping vegetables, multicolored vegetables, Piper noted. Admirable. Jennie continued to nap around the corner in the nearby den.

  “You’re pretty handy with a chef’s knife—semi-pro?” Piper said, and laughed, glad she had the simple task of washing already washed lettuce.

  “Hardly, but I’ve gotten better, watched cooking shows, tried some techniques I was unfamiliar with. What am I saying, I was unfamiliar with every technique except maybe toasting toast, frying an egg.”

  “What prompted that?” She knew immediately the question was a mistake, but her words hung in the air, impossible to retrieve.

  “My wife died,” he said simply.

  “Oh, Rob, I’m so sorry…I…I’m just so sorry.”

  A dull cocoon enveloped them, the room silent except for the sound of water running and the knife slicing through thick crisp carrots.

  “You couldn’t know that, and the only way you’d learn is by me telling you—or Jennie saying something.” Rob continued chopping. His voice had a robotic quality. Slow, emotionless. “Car accident, Sandra, my wife, and her mother, Christine. Wrong place, wrong time. They weren’t at fault, and they didn’t have a chance. And it still doesn’t make any kind of sense to me, but there it is, a piece of life that doesn’t make sense…happens all the time.”

  Piper remained mute, unsure whether the concise report meant that Rob wanted to talk about his terrible loss or move on to another topic. Maybe he just wanted her to go away.

  “You haven’t done or said anything wrong, and I’m glad you’re here,” he said, reading her correctly. “I can’t really remember how I got through it, how Jennie got through it, those first months. You always wonder where strength comes from. I can see that I’m better than I was a year ago. Just like the saying, time does heal. Heal all wounds, completely, I don’t know. I’m a work in progress, I guess.”