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been cut short, I still needed to make another run. A quick glance into the refrigerator and pantry
revealed that we still needed all manner of dairy products (we were nearly out of milk and the cheddar
cheese was starting to sprout fuzz) along with the basic life staples supplied by Chef Boyardee and
Kellogg's.
The pile of laundry in the utility room was threatening to reach the ceiling, but I'd pawned part of that
disaster off on my daughter. And while the house needed a thorough cleaning, I decided that my
investigations into the demonic were much more important. (I love it when my justifications for avoiding
housework are actually legitimate.)
I tapped the pen against the pad, trying to think what else I needed to do while I was out. Timmy needed
new clothes since he'd outgrown everything he owned. For that matter, I realized that I did, too. Need
new clothes, that is. The museum party required a nice dress. Without drool stains or smears of ketchup
that had only partly come out in the wash. Unfortunately, much of my wardrobe had that particular
element of toddler chic.
I might have something in my closet that would work, but I didn't bother looking. I was in the mood to
splurge. Since my husband works for the county and since I have two kids who need new outfits about
every seven seconds our discretionary clothes budget tends to be allocated first toward the kids, then
to Stuart (who legitimately needs suits, ties, and shirts with clean collars). Anything leftover trickles down
to me. Usually the trickle barely pays for a T-shirt at Kohls.
Today, though, money wasn't a problem. I'd been back on Forza's official payroll for almost three
months now, and my monthly stipend was deposited directly into a brokerage account held for me in
trust and in secret. We're not talking a lot of money I could probably make more selling Pampered
Chef products but I didn't return to Forza to get rich.
Although I intended that the money go to the kids someday, at the moment, I figured a few hundred for a
decent dress and shoes wouldn't detrimentally impact their futures. And it would totally boost my
self-esteem. It's one thing to wear Kmart couture to a cocktail party being held in my living room. It's an
entirely different matter to forego Donna Karan for the latest Jaclyn Smith duds while mingling with the
rich on their own turf.
(And if you're worried that Stuart would be suspicious, the answer is no. The man is entirely clueless as
to the cost of women's clothing. I could tell him that a pair of Jimmy Choo sandals costs $49-99, and
he'd not only believe me, he'd be shocked by the expense. Men.)
I glanced at the clock. One-fifteen. Our bank closes at three on Saturday, so I assumed most of the
others in town did, too. If I hurried, I thought I would be able to check a few places before they locked
up for the weekend. (I hoped the key would open a safe-deposit box at my own bank, but I couldn't
imagine being so lucky.) After that, I was heading to Nordstrom.
I shoved my to-do list into my purse, tucked the key into my wallet, grabbed my car keys, then headed
into the living room to say good-bye to my brood.
I found Eddie asleep in the recliner, the Herald's real-estate section open on his lap, and a stubby pencil
loose in his hand. The television was still blaring, but Timmy wasn't anywhere to be found.
"Tim!"
Beside me, Eddie snorted and shifted, but he didn't wake up. From upstairs, I heard Allie call down,
"Did you say something?"
"I'm looking for Timmy," I said.
"Not here."
"Where's here?"
"Duh. I'm in the bathroom. Scrubbing the stupid toilet, remember?" She didn't sound happy about it, but
at least she was doing it. "Hold on, I'll check his room."
I could hear her steps in the hallway as she moved in that direction. Meanwhile, I checked the den and
Stuart's study. Nothing. I also checked all the doors. Everything was locked up tight. So where was my
kid?
Honestly, I wasn't too worried. It's a big house, and we'd taken down the baby gate a few weeks ago,
so Tim had the run of the place. Still, the whole demon-on-the-prowl thing made me a little nervous. I
wanted to know where my boy was, and I wanted to know now.
"Timmy!" I yelled, this time making Eddie jump.
"What? Who? What!"
"I'm looking for Tim," I said.
"Right there in front of the oh." He dropped his outstretched finger. "That little one's a pistol."
"Mmm." I tried again. "Timmy! You answer me right now, or no television for the rest of the day!"
That worked. Which probably says something about bad habits and my parenting skills, but I wasn't
inclined to think about that.
"But I want TV!" The little voice came from upstairs, followed by the patter of footsteps and then a much
more concerned yelp of "Mommy! I WANT TV!"
"He's here," Allie shouted unnecessarily. I heard her make shooshing noises, and then, "Oh, man. You're
in for it, squirt."
Since I didn't like the sound of that, I took the stairs two at a time and met them in the hallway, just
outside of the master bedroom. Sure enough, Mom was not a happy camper. There my little boy
stood his mouth completely rimmed in bright red lipstick and his eyes so encircled by purple
eyeshadow that he looked like a raccoon on an acid trip.
"Timmy," I wailed. I checked my watch. I really didn't need this.
"Pretty!" he said.
"I thought Eddie was watching him," Allie said. "It's not my fault! I was cleaning." She held up her Playtex
encased hand as if to demonstrate the point.
I just sighed. "Come on," I said, holding out a hand to Timmy.
"The Wiggles?" he asked.
"Don't push your luck, sport. We need to get you cleaned up, and then we have to go run some errands."
Honestly, I'd rather shove bamboo under my fingernails than take Timmy clothes shopping with me, but I
didn't see any other choice. Allie was going to be gone before I could get back, Laura was tethered to
her garage until we passed the demon off to Father Ben, and Eddie was no longer on my list of approved
babysitters.
I told myself it would be okay. I'd pretty much saved the world just a few months ago. Surely I could
manage to buy one little dress despite having a two-year-old attached to my hip.
Couldn't I?
I didn't let myself think too much about that, though, since I was a little bit afraid of the answer. Instead, I
focused on wiping the makeup off Timmy's face and hoped the smell of cold cream wouldn't warp his
masculine sensibilities.
"Funny!" he said, looking at his Ponds-slathered mug in the mirror.
"Hysterical," I acknowledged as I quickly wiped the bulk of the makeup away. I gave him a washcloth
and let him help ("help" being a relative term). In the end, I had a sweet-smelling little boy with very
smooth skin, and a slight hint of blue around the eyes. His lips looked like they might have been
sunburned (when Maybelline says long-lasting, they mean it), and I feared he might randomly strike a
Cover Girl pose.
Still, it was good enough, especially since we didn't have time for a full-blown bath. I hoisted him up on
my hip and hurried down the stairs, calling out to Allie that we were leaving and that she should lock up
behind her.
She grunted in reply, and I figured that was about the best I could do. At least I was getting clean toilets
out of the deal.
Five minutes later we'd said good-bye to Eddie, Timmy was strapped into his car seat, and I was back in
the living room desperately trying to find Boo Bear. I managed to locate him under the sofa, then returned [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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