Free The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom by Robyn Harding Page A

up my
jacket.
    Jimmy Neutron held their attention.
Eventually, Chloe murmured an acknowledgment.
    “Mrs. Williams is going to stay with you.”
    Chloe’s head snapped in my direction.
“What? Why?”
    “I’ve asked her to come over for a little
while. End of discussion.”
    “That’s so like, totally stupid!” My
daughter continued. “You can’t leave me in charge for like, ten minutes? You’re
only going to be fifty feet away!”
    “Fifty yards away.”
    “Whatever. I can’t believe this. Why do you
always do this?
    “Because…” I felt a stirring of the
emotions I’d been suppressing. “…Because I love you two… so much.” Chloe gaped
at me like I’d just told her I was actually a lesbian. Thankfully, the doorbell
rang, signalling Mrs. Williams arrival and my, somewhat relieved, departure.
    Moments later I was on Carly’s doorstep.
Even as I lifted the heavy, brass knocker, I had no idea what I was going to
say to her, but she had to be told. And if she already knew, she had to be
comforted. When there was no response after several seconds, I tried again… and
then again. Maybe she was downtown at a meeting? Or sharing a free Diet Coke
with the vending machine guy? I knocked one last time, and was just turning to
go, when the door opened.
    “Oh, hi, Paige,” Carly said brightly.
Obviously, she didn’t know. She was wearing baggy, navy blue sweatpants, and a
large, white T-shirt that said “Molson Canadian Rocks”. Around her neck were
slung the headphones of the iPod she clutched in her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t
hear you. I was downstairs in my office and I had my music on.”
    “Can I come in for a minute?”
    “Sure.” She stepped back to usher me
inside. “Come on in.” In Carly’s three bedroom abode, it would have been easy
to forget that a male of the species existed. Her walls were faux-finished in
shades of peach and cream, a border of stencilled miniature roses running
around the periphery. Her couches were off-white leather, accented with peach
and mauve throw pillows. I perched awkwardly on one, taking in the plethora of
vanilla-scented candles in hand-painted ceramic holders on the coffee table
before me.
    “Can I get you anything?” Carly asked. “Cup
of tea? Glass of wine? Diet Coke?”
    “No… no thanks. Umm… why don’t you sit
down?”
    “Okay.” She plopped down beside me.
    “I have to tell you something… something
terrible.”
    “What?
    “Uh… It’s… it’s… Karen...”
    “Karen? What is it?”
    I reached out and took both her hands in
mine. “I don’t know hot to say this Carly… I just... I’m just going to come
right out and say it. Karen… Karen has… passed on.”
    “What! Oh my God!” She pulled her hands
from mine and covered the lower part of her face.
    “I know, hon. It’s just so… terrible, so…
tragic.”
    “But, she can’t be dead. I just saw her
this morning. What-what happened?”
    I heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t know much,
but it sounds like she fell and hit her head on something in the garage.”
    “Oh God,” Carly said quietly, her soft
voice muffled further by her fingers over her mouth. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
    “I know. I know. I know.”
    There was a long and mildly uncomfortable
silence. I knew I wasn’t doing a very good job of comforting Carly, but it
wasn’t like I’d had days to come to terms with the tragedy. In fact, I was in
desperate need of some comforting myself. If Paul didn’t get home soon, Karen
wouldn’t be the only one with a head injury. Still, I felt I should be hugging
my friend, or at least holding her hand. But Carly stayed as she was, hands on
her cheeks Macauley Culkin—style, knees drawn up to her chest. Awkwardly, I
patted her shin a couple of times. Finally, I cleared my throat and spoke. “Why
don’t you come to our house? It’s not a good idea to be alone right now.” Carly
didn’t respond. I wasn’t even sure she’d heard me. “Carly… come on. Let’s go