Swim, Butterfly Ch. 05

a Miracle

June and Rudy play in the kiddie pool in the backyard, protected from the mid-July sun by the pop-up tent. I shake my head, baffled by my chronic discontent; I wait out spring's soggy tease for summer, then summer arrives, and now it's too hot for me to stay outside. Always waiting for the next thing.

I stand by June's window in the back of the cool house, keeping an eye on June and Rudy as they splash each other. What's the temperature in Manhattan, I wonder? Check the weather app. I turn to fetch my pocketbook from the living room, then stop. The weather in Manhattan? Really? I get my pocketbook anyway and bring it back into June's room. I reach for my phone, then instead reach into the interior pocket and dig out the tube of lipstick.

The lipstick hasn't moved from that pocket since April, and it's a miracle that June hasn't found it. I rotate the tube back and forth in my fingers. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about him. What I really can't believe is how normal I've acted since I got home. That first night after the affair, I warded Pete off for a few days claiming a yeast infection. I really don't know if Pete would be able to tell if I fucked someone else or not, but better safe than sorry.

I haven't had one drink since New York, about three months ago. I wonder if Jimmy ever thinks about me, that wild night, the pub, the weight bench. Rolling the lipstick back and forth in my fingers, I finally pull off the lipstick cap. As it rises, I notice something etched on the metallic part of the tube. Bringing it close to the window for better light, I see numbers. Ten numbers.

A phone number.

My heart thumps a beat. No. Why not? How do I know it's his number, anyway? Well, who's else would it be, and only one way to find out for sure. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly to try to calm my heartbeat. June and Rudy run in circles and blow bubbles in the yard, and that should occupy them for at least five more minutes. Just a phone call to a friend, right? An acquaintance. Pete always says I should be more social. Funny, I think the same about him, and Facebook doesn't count. And he's not interested in anything I do besides cook and occasionally fuck.

I take a huge breath, fish my phone out of my pocketbook, and start entering the number. Breath, hold it, exhale, my hand shaky. I press Call.

... brrt... brrt... brrt... Hang up! No.

I hear a breath. "Well, hello, beautiful," a deep voice answers. Does he know it's me?

"Hi, Jimmy, it's uh..."

"Yeah, Julie, you left me your number, remember?"

"Julie," I mumble, "Uh, yeah, uh, sorry. Wrong number," I almost laugh, almost cry, as my heart sinks.Julie? Fool. I always sucked on the phone anyway, a hopeless phone-phobe. I sink onto the corner of June's bed, just about to hang up.

"Hey, just joking--Caroline!"

My stomach jumps. "Very funny! Good Lord Almighty, I just wanted to call and say hi, see how you're doing."

"Well, I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you." I hear high-pitched voices in the background.

"Me, too. I mean, I've been thinking about you, not about me." I laugh, more like a hiccup.

"I know what you meant. I wanted to call you, but I didn't want to get you in any trouble. I mean, I don't know how private your phone really is, you know, kids and all."

"Yeah," I smile, "Thanks. I never really have a good time to talk on the phone, especially when the kiddies are home." I lean over to peek out the window.

"Where are they now? June and Rudy, right?"

"Yep. Out back, in and out of the kiddie pool."

"Ah, and Pete? It's Pete, right?"

"Yep, again! You're good! Running errands," my voice lowers.

"Good, so you have a little time to chat?" I swear, the timbre of his voice vibrates through my chest.

"Maybe two minutes tops, if I'm lucky!" Sounds like a joke, but it's true.

"I'll take two minutes. I'll take whatever I can get." Jimmy inhales. "So, how've you been?"

"Okay. I got home all right that day, nothing suspected." I take a deep, wavering breath. Jimmy remains silent. "Sometimes I get a little spacey. Pete asks if I'm okay. I just tell him I enjoy watching the clouds."

"Thinking of me?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's just a blessed moment of absolutely nothing on my mind." I take another deep breath, then exhale in a laugh. "Just watching the clouds."

Jimmy chuckles. "I'm watching the clouds now."

"Really? Where are you? At the park?"

"No, on my parents' stoop, Sheepshead Bay."

"Sheepshead Bay? Where's that?" I ask.

"Brooklyn, southern half, near Brighton Beach, Coney Island..."

"Oh, oops, Jimmy, I've got another call," I sigh. It's Pete. "Can I call you again, sometime?"

"Whenever you want," Jimmy replies.

I pause. He doesn't hang up. "Jim, I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Call me as soon as you can, next time you have a chance. Three months is too long."

"Yes, I will," I whisper, as if Pete on the other line could hear me. Jimmy hanging up feels like a lid shut on a coffin. I switch to Pete's call. "Hey, what's up?" I ask, a little breathy.

"Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound surprised or something," Pete shouts, sounds of rushing air and revving engines in the background. The life of the highway commuter.

"No, I'm fine. I was putting away clothes in Junie's room. Trying to do it in record time."

"Why the rush? What else have you got to do all day?"

"What else have I got to do? Jesus Christ, Pete, you sound like your father. Anyways, I thought I'd grill chicken tonight." I hope Pete hears me exhaling through my nose.

"Sure, I don't care. Did ya' get the duct tape I asked for? Oh, and my mother called to remind me about dinner at their house on Sunday."

"Remind you? Did I know about this? Can't wait. Anyway, I got the duct tape. She want me to bring anything?"

"Nah, I don't think so. I'll talk to you about it when I get home."

I roll my eyes, "Okay, we'll be here." Of course we'll be here. Like. Every. Fucking. Day.

Grilled chicken. Duct tape. Sunday dinner. I watch June and Rudy chase each other across the yellow, scorched lawn. The prickly grass must hurt their feet, unlike that tender, cool grass on the hill in Central Park, a lifetime ago. I'd like to lie in the cool grass with Jimmy one day, or sit together against that tree, watching people in the park, making up stories about their lives.

In the meantime, I congratulate myself; I did it! I called him! I'm a little hurt he didn't call me, but then, he had a good point about not wanting to get me in trouble. People used to find secret love letters; now they find secret texts or recurring phone numbers with no name.

I look at the sky and smile, warmth flowing through me, replacing the jitters. I want to call him back already. He sounded sleepy, though. Up all night? I should leave him alone. He didn't miss a beat though, knew it was me and joked about it, even! Why am I cataloguing every detail of a two-minute phone call, like a giddy schoolgirl calling a boy for the first time? My hands stop shaking as I turn the phone over and over. I'm a little embarrassed for telling him I loved him that night, even if it was just pretend. But was it? Have I done that before? How often do I tell Pete that I love him? I don't know. I just don't remember. But Jimmy's long, lean body, the heat and spice close to me, the huge icy blue eyes.

I lie back on June's bed, my hand wanders down. Soft, warm pressure.Jimmy....

"Mom! Mom!" June screams. The dream evaporates. I pull a cramp in my stomach sitting up too fast. I tug the window up, ready to yell, and see that June is fine. She's just squabbling with Rudy.

Fuck, time to be Mom again.

***

I wish I could slip into my car and drive, drive and drive and drive. Let the kids come back in the house and slurp down two popsicles, before sneaking a third, then wondering where the hell Mom is to bitch at them. I don't want to do this anymore--dishes, cleaning, laundry--dishes, cleaning, laundry--dishes... oh, you get it. Yeah, okay, I understand some women work full-time and come home and do the housework bullshit. I quit work to be a stay-at-home, and in terms of time and taxes, it's not practical to go back to work yet. But how am I going to do this for ten more years? I miss my little city apartment and walking out the door with museums, coffee shops, and any kind of restaurant only a few minutes away.

And the night with Jimmy; it made me feel young, attractive, alive. Whether it's all in my mind or not doesn't matter. I hate getting older, and I miss a man who not only captivates me with his looks and his sex, but listens to what I say without judgment; a man confident and secure, keeping me amused and off booze, for with him why would I need it? A fascinating friend presenting to me the world in gently cupped hands, like offering a delicate, beautiful butterfly to a delighted little girl.

I peek at the backyard again and catch a flash of red polka-dot bathing suit dashing towards the side yard. I leave the cool, quiet sanctuary of June's room and head to the kitchen side-door, intercepting the crisis.

"Mom!" I hear June's high-pitched cry.

"Yes, dearest, what is it?" I cry back in my best falsetto.

"Mommy, Rudy's trying to hit me with a stick!"

Fuck. I roll my eyes and scream out the side door, "Rudy! Leave your sister alone!"

"But Ma! June splashed water in my eyes and then she tried to trip me and..." blah blah blah. I shut the door midway through the yammering. Air conditioning's expensive, and I'm letting in flies.

I groan, shoulders falling. Already a long summer, and it's only halfway through. I lost touch with most of the Mom's club a few years ago, so I have little planned for the kids. Oh well. Time to hang the load of whites, bake a cake for Sunday, just to show I care, and sweep the floor. Sweep everything away.