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

to
my place.”
    She looked at me then, her hands finally
slipping from their resting place on her cheeks. “Uh… no… No thanks, Paige. I’d
rather be alone.”
    “Come on. We’ll call Jane and Trudy. I
think we should all be together at a time like this.”
    “No.” Her voice was firm, resolute. She
stood up, obviously my cue to leave. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    And then I was alone in the cool evening
air. I began to walk home but paused on the sidewalk in front of my neighbor’s
home. It had gotten dark, and I turned to stare at the warm, lamp light
illuminating Carly’s sheer, frilly curtains. She was in shock, just like I had
been—still was. I hoped I’d made the right decision, leaving her home alone to
grieve. I didn’t have a lot of mourning experience, thankfully. Other than my
grandparents and several hamsters, my life had been largely untouched by death.
On TV, grief was best dealt with in large, sobbing groups. But maybe that was
just in mafia movies. This was Denver. This was Aberdeen Mists. This was real.
    When I entered the warmth of my own home,
Mrs. Williams was busy in the kitchen making tomato soup and grilled-cheese
sandwiches for the children.
    “Thanks so much, Mavis,” I said, padding
quietly into the kitchen in my stocking feet.
    “Can I fix you something, dear?” She turned
to face me. “You’ve suffered a terrible shock, and this must be so hard for
you. I know you two girls were such good friends.” As my chin began to quiver,
Mrs. Williams put down the flipper, and pulled me into her rose scented bosom.
And that did it. That gesture of sympathy released all the sorrow I’d been
repressing. I felt a deep, painful sob shudder in my chest. I didn’t want the
kids to see me fall apart—at least not until I’d had a chance to explain what
had happened.
    “Would you mind staying a little longer?” I
asked, in a voice hoarse with emotion. “Just until Paul gets home?”
    “Of course, dear. I’ll stay as long as you
need me.”
    And with that, I escaped to the quiet and
seclusion of my bedroom, where I cried for all I was worth.

Chapter 9
     
     
    Somehow, I managed to sleep that night.
When Paul got home, he brought me a glass of brandy and some painkillers left
over from when he’d had his root canal. That may have helped a little. “Take these,”
he’d said, handing me two small, white tablets. “You need to rest. This has
been such a huge shock to your system. You’ve just lost one of your best
friends.” This set me off weeping hysterically again, but I managed to choke
down the pills and most of the brandy. While I knew mixing alcohol and
narcotics was not normally a good idea, this was not a normal time. And I
needed to numb myself, to turn off the pain, at least for a little while.
    When I awoke, I enjoyed a brief moment of
innocent contentment before the horrible reality of the situation descended
upon me like a leaden blanket. Paul had taken the kids to school and had
offered to stay home if I needed him. I’d sent him off to work, confident that
a little time alone would help me come to terms with Karen’s death. But this
morning, I suddenly felt so isolated, even uneasy in my empty house. Rolling
over, I grabbed the phone off the side table and called Jane.
    “How are you?” she asked, sounding much
stronger than she had the previous night.
    “I don’t know. I’m as good as can be
expected, I guess.”
    “Me, too. I’m devastated of course, but I’m
holding it together. Not like poor Trudy.”
    “Trudy?” I hadn’t called Trudy yet, mostly
because I wasn’t worried about her. I just assumed that Trudy would be a pillar
of strength, busily making casseroles for Doug and sweets for the eventual
funeral.
    “Trudy’s fallen apart. She can’t even get
out of bed. Carly’s gone to look after her. She even had to take Emily and
Cameron to school. Ken’s not back from his business trip until the weekend.”
    “Thank God for Carly,” I