Shit.
He pushed back from his desk and grabbed the phone. “Hey, Jo. Happy birthday. ”
“Thanks. ”
She didn’t scold him for forgetting, although she knew he had. Jolene had the tightest grip on her emotions of anyone he’d ever seen, and she never ever let herself get mad. He sometimes wondered if a good fight would help their marriage, but it took two to fight. “I’ll make it up to you. How about dinner at that place above the marina? The new place?”
Before she could offer some resistance (which she always did if something wasn’t her idea), he said, “Betsy is old enough to watch Lulu for two hours. We’ll only be a mile away from home. ”
It was an argument that had been going on for almost a year now. Michael thought a twelve-year-old could babysit; Jolene disagreed. As with everything in their life, Jolene’s vote was the one that counted. He was used to it … and sick of it.
“I know how busy you are with the Woerner case,” she said. “How about if I feed the girls early and settle them upstairs with a movie and then make us a nice dinner? Or I could pick up takeout from the bistro; we love their food. ”
“Are you sure?”
“What matters is that we’re together,” she said easily.
“Okay,” Michael said. “I’ll be home by eight. ”
Before he hung up the phone, he was thinking of something else.
Two
That evening, Jolene chose her clothes carefully. She and Michael hadn’t had dinner alone, just the two of them, in forever, and she wanted this evening to be perfect. Romantic. After feeding the girls, she bathed in scented water, shaved, slathered her skin with a citrus-scented lotion, and then slipped into a pair of comfortable jeans and a black boatnecked sweater.
Downstairs, she found Betsy seated at the coffee table, doing homework, while Lulu was on the sofa, wrapped up in her favorite yellow “blankee,” watching The Little Mermaid. The remnants of their impromptu birthday party were still on the dining room table—the cake, with its candle holes; the pink journal Betsy had given Jolene; the sparkly barrette that had been Lulu’s gift; and a pile of wrinkled paper and discarded bows.
“She’s not the boss of me,” Lulu said when Jolene walked into the room.
“Tell her to shut up, Mom. I’m trying to do homework,” Betsy responded. “She’s singing too loud. ”
And it started. Their voices climbed up and over each other, rising in volume.
“She is not the boss of me,” Lulu said again, more adamantly. “Tell her. ”
Betsy rolled her eyes and left the room, stomping up the stairs.
Jolene felt a wave of exhaustion. She hadn’t known how tiring it could be to parent a preteen. How much eye rolling could one girl do? If Jolene had tried that, her father would have smacked her across the room.
Lulu ran over to the toy box in the corner of the room and rummaged around inside it. Finding the kitten-ears headband that had been a part of last year’s Halloween costume, she put it on and turned around.
Jolene couldn’t help smiling. There stood her four-year-old daughter, wearing gray cat ears that were beginning to look worn in places, with her hands on her hips. The sharp little gray triangles framed Lulu’s flushed face and made her look even more elfin than usual. For no reason that anyone could explain, Lulu thought she was invisible when she wore the headband. She made a mewing sound.
Jolene frowned dramatically and looked around. “Oh, no … what happened to my Lucy Lou? Where did she go?” She made a great show of looking around the room, behind the television, under the overstuffed yellow chair, behind the door.
“Here I am, Mommy!” Lulu said with a flourish, giggling.
/> “There you are,” Jolene said with a sigh. “I was worried. ” She picked up Lulu and carried her upstairs. It took Lulu forever to brush her teeth and get into her pajamas, and Jolene waited patiently, knowing her youngest had a strong independent streak. When Lulu was finally ready, Jolene climbed into bed beside her, pulled her close, and reached for Where the Wild Things Are. By the time she said, “the end,” Lulu was almost asleep.
She kissed Lulu’s cheek. “’Night, Kitten. ”
“’Night, Mommy,” Lulu murmured sleepily.
Then Jolene walked down the hall to Betsy’s room, knocked, and went inside.
Betsy was sitting up in bed, with her social studies book open in her lap. Her corn silk blond hair fell in fusilli curls along her bare, skinny arms. Someday Betsy would prize her porcelain skin and blond hair and brown eyes, but not now, when straight hair was all the rage and pimples had ruined her complexion.
Jolene went to her daughter’s bed and sat down on the edge. “You could be nicer to your sister. ”