After dinner, as we sat together on the sofa, Mr. Tibble and Scram once again snoozing next to us, Chase asked. “What’s Mitzi been up to today?”
The Mitzi saga is Chase’s idea of a soap opera, and I’m his verbal TiVo. I replay my day with Mitzi every evening so he can have a few laughs.
“That podiatrist husband of hers is clamping down on shoes with pointed toes. She says he’s seen a rash of bunions lately and wants her to wear flats. As you can imagine, Mitzi is fit to be tied. She’s been wearing sensible shoes out of the house and hiding high-heeled shoes in a briefcase and bringing them to work but has begun to feel that’s being ‘unfaithful’ to her husband. Recently she forced Betty Noble to stay late and teach her how to sell her shoes on eBay.”
“At least she didn’t waste work hours on it,” Chase commented.
“She didn’t have time. She was too busy researching cellulite cures during the day.”
“How is Kim?”
I waved my hand. “Up and down. Chase, do you think Kurt is right to be so worried about her having another child?”
“Kurt’s cautious. The man is going to be a certified public accountant. Those types don’t make their money taking risks. It’s in his nature to be cautious. There was a time that it was assumed that the hormone surges of pregnancy fueled breast cancer. That’s not so black-and-white today, especially in women like Kim whose cancers were caught early. Kurt and Kim need to get all the facts from their specialist and then make the decision.
“It can go either way,” Chase added matter-of-factly.
“For women whose cancers are caught early, a subsequent pregnancy may not be nearly as dangerous as was once assumed. Still, Kurt can find information out there that says a woman’s survival is affected negatively, as well. They need to be talking to their doctors, not scaring themselves on the Internet.”
“It’s so hard for them.”
“They’ll be okay, Whitney. They’re a praying pair.”
Of course. I felt my mood lighten. “You’re right. They have the God factor on their side.”
Chase pulled me close. “Did you think anymore about our conversation last night?”
“I didn’t think about much else. Poor Harry didn’t get much bang for his buck from any of his employees today. I prayed about it, too.”
“I know. I did—”
The phone rang, interrupting what Chase was about to say.
“Whitney, this is Kim. What are you doing?”
“Having a romantic tête-à-tête with my husband.”
“Oh, good, I didn’t interrupt anything important, then.”
Chase overheard her comment, rolled his eyes and went to make coffee, leaving me alone with the conversation.
“Very funny.”
“What are you guys doing tonight?”
“Nothing. Especially since you interrupted our romantic talk.”
Kim didn’t take the hint.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I came over? I’m feeling a little stir-crazy here. Today Wesley developed a fascination for fishing in our saltwater aquarium. He spent the morning turning light switches on and off until I thought I was either living with a strobe light or having a stroke. Then he picked up a terrible word from the neighbor child, which he’s finally tired of saying. And about two minutes ago I discovered that he’d been tinkering with the knobs on our stereo. I thought I would turn on some nice, soothing rain forest music and nearly blew out my eardrums.”
So it had been a day just like any other with Wesley.
“Does Kurt have class?” He’s finishing up his degree in accounting and preparing to sit for the CPA exam while driving a truck during the day to pay the bills.
“He does. It’s me who needs the diversion. Wesley discovered he can make the entire house tremble if he sets the tuner knobs just right. Until Kurt arrives to put a lock on the cabinet door, I’ll be peeling Wesley off the entertainment center. If I go deaf before Kurt gets home, I won’t be able to hear what Wes is doing next.”
My experience with Wesley is that when I can hear him, it’s okay. It’s when things are silent that I begin to worry. Entire rooms can be colored with crayons up to a height of two feet from the floor in virtually no time at all. Uncleaned litter boxes can be emptied onto many square feet of flooring. Kitchen cupboards can be cleared of their contents and many cereal boxes opened. Oh, no, noise isn’t the problem with Wesley. Silence is. Of course, it’s not my house that’s trembling.
“Can we come over?” Kim was as determined as a bulldog. I knew that even if I did say no, it probably wouldn’t stop her.
“I suppose…”
“Good. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” The line went dead.
“What was that about?” Chase returned from the kitchen carrying a huge butterscotch walnut sundae and two spoons.
“Kim’s sanity is slipping. Wesley has discovered he’s mechanical.” I told him about the stereo.
Chase shuddered and then sighed. “I guess I’d better start making more sundaes.”
When in doubt, eat. It’s one of my coping mechanisms, too.
When they arrived, Wesley marched into the house first and flung himself at Chase’s leg, where he stood with both his little Nike-shod feet on Chase’s shoe. He refused to let go of Chase’s leg, forcing him to walk stiff-legged down the hall to greet Kim, dragging Wesley with him.
“Too bad he doesn’t like you,” I muttered to Chase. “The child is like a barnacle attaching itself to the hull of a ship. How are you going to scrape him off?”
Chase winked at me. “You’re just jealous that it’s not bedtime yet.”
Chase is Wesley’s favorite playmate, but I am queen of the bedtime story and back-scratching professional extraordinaire. I come into my own with Wesley the moment he starts rubbing his eyes and wanting to cuddle.
The color was high in Kim’s cheeks, and from the glint in her eye, I could tell that she and her son had come to an impasse and leaving the house was their only logical recourse. With Kim and Wesley, as with Kim and Kurt, when stubborn meets stubborn, it’s like two mountain sheep ramming horns. Nobody wins, and everybody gets a really bad headache.
They didn’t even have time for the normal niceties. Wesley bounced off Chase’s shoe and went straight for the huge plastic box that harbors his toys, dumped them onto the floor and then started chasing the cats. Mr. Tibble, wise to Wesley’s ways, dodged him by leaping onto the just-out-of-reach-for-Wesley back of the wing chair. With an intelligence born of experience, he also tucked his long black tail beneath him so that there were no handholds for Wesley to swing on. Scram—not the brightest bulb in the package—was rescued
