Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,1

book of cryptograms as I stared at the walls, the family photos, the clothing piled on the bed. Then I set down the book and pushed to my feet, headed for Dad’s bureau.

There on the corner sat the tray where he’d kept his extra pair of glasses, his loose pocket change, and his watch. Each item looked exactly the same as last week, last month, last year, with one exception.

Dad’s gold wedding band now sat among his other belongings.

I’d never once seen the band off of his finger, so I reached for it, tracing the patterns of wear the years of marriage had left behind.

I shut my eyes and imagined Dad might round the corner at any moment, even though I knew he’d never round that corner again.

“Bernie, lunch,” Mom called out from downstairs.

“There in a sec.”

I kissed my father’s ring and set it back on the tray. Then I reached for Dad’s favorite plaid shirt and the book he’d left behind, grateful for any piece of my father I could call my own.

I’m sure your father thought he’d have more time.

Hadn’t we all.

o0o

I’d been headed home from my mother’s when my closest friend called me with an urgent plea. Her period was two months late, and she’d finally taken a home pregnancy test. The good news was she hadn’t started menopause. The bad news was she hadn’t started menopause.

Diane’s ob-gyn had squeezed her into the schedule, and I’d volunteered to pick up her daughter Ashley from school.

Why not? It was a good diversion from the fact my bereavement leave ended in the morning, and I could always count on Ashley to deliver sparkling teenaged conversation--something sure to lighten the mood of my week. Also, time spent in her company was insurance I wouldn’t lose touch with the latest slang.

I didn’t even know if slang was the right word for slang.

I frowned.

“I’m sorry your dad died.”

The teenager sitting beside me looked out the passenger window of my car as she spoke. Young enough to be blunt, she was apparently old enough to be uncomfortable with the topic.

“So, how does your heart split?” she asked.

She turned to face me, this question apparently worthy of direct eye contact. I slowed the car to a stop at a red light and returned Ashley’s stare. There had been a time when I’d diapered this kid’s naked behind. Now she sat next to me all long, sleek blond hair, braces and curiosity.

I flashed suddenly on the image of her mother at the same age. Although a redhead, Diane had possessed the same slender image, while I’d struggled through body waves, hot irons and crash diets.

Back then, I’d done anything and everything to fight my hair and my tendency to carry extra pounds. Some things never changed.

I forced my attention to Ashley’s question, wondering how long it would be before talking about Dad’s death would be easier. “His aorta split. It’s an artery in the heart. Not the heart itself.”

She shrugged and shot me an expression full of impatience. “It’s still his heart. Right?”

I nodded, squinting at her. Wouldn’t it have taken far less effort if she’d simply said, “Duh?”

“Dad said he’ll stick his head in the oven if Mom’s pregnant. Then I’ll have a dead dad, too.”

I bit back an inappropriate laugh and pretended to check my side-view mirror out of respect for Ashley’s fears. “That’s a figure of speech, honey. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t do that.” Though I had to admit the image of David’s head in an oven was not an entirely unpleasant one.

I mentally slapped myself. Bad, Bernadette. Bad.

I patted Ashley’s knee just as the light turned green. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“But what if my mom has a baby?” Her sharp, almost-a-woman-now tone dropped to a school-girl mumble. “What then?”

A lump tightened in my throat at the thought of a new baby. “Then that would be a miracle.” I forced a quick smile. “You’ll have a baby brother or sister.”

She nodded. “What about Dad and the oven?”

“I think you’re safe there.” I pulled my car into Diane and David’s driveway and shifted into Park. “Your dad was never much of a cook. I have a feeling he wouldn’t know how to turn on the oven.”

Ashley giggled as she unbuckled her seatbelt, then inhaled sharply. “Mom’s home.”

Sure enough, Diane’s minivan pulled behind my car. Ashley launched into motion, and I followed close behind.

Tears glistened in Diane’s eyes, her expression a cross between holy-shit-how-could-this-have-happened and I-thought-I’d-never-get-to-rock-a-baby-again.

“Ashley,” I called out, knowing her mother