Moving Can Be Murder (3 page)

“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful,” I lied. “I
can’t wait to see it. Is it a studio, or a one-bedroom? You know,
when Dad and I were first married, we had a studio apartment in New
York that was so small that Dad could literally stand in the middle
of the room and reach out with his arms and touch both walls. No
kidding.”

Jenny eyed me critically. She knew me too
well and didn’t believe my enthusiasm for a single minute.

“I know this is a shock for you, Mom. And it
will take you some time to get used to the idea. That’s why I
wanted to tell you first, before I told Dad.”

“Don’t be silly, honey. You know how much we
like Mark. And I’ve tried very hard not to interfere in your
relationship.” Well, I had. If I hadn’t succeeded, I’d done my
best.

Honest.

“But having you home for a while has been
great. I confess I got used to having you here. I don’t mean to be
selfish, but I am. I can’t help it. At heart, I’m just a selfish
only child.”

Jenny laughed. “No need to be so hard on
yourself, Mom.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I know you and
Dad like Mark, despite the rocky way our relationship began. But
this doesn’t mean we’re moving in together. I made that mistake
with Jeff, and look how badly that turned out.

“Mark and I don’t want to rush into
anything. He’s been burned, too, remember? Worse than I’ve been,
actually. His fiancée practically left him standing at the altar.
We decided that if we live close to each other, we’ll have a chance
to get to know each other better. You know what I’m talking about,
right? More privacy? But we’ll each have our own place to go back
to if we want to.” She flushed a little as she explained this to
me.

Heck, I knew what she was talking about. My
Beloved and I had been young once, too. I’d heard this arrangement
referred to on one of the talk shows recently as “neighbors with
benefits.”

“When can I see it, honey?” I asked,
recovering my composure and showing the hoped-for enthusiasm. “When
did you say you’re moving in? Do you have to paint first? How does
that work with a condo?”

Oh, stupid me. “I just realized. Mark will
be the one to help you with all this.”

“Don’t be silly, Mom. Of course I want you
to see it, as soon as we can get in. It’s rented now, but the
tenant is moving out at the end of next week. And you know I’ll
depend on you for decorating advice. Men aren’t so good at that
kind of stuff. Even Mark.

“We’ll make a date and go over as soon as we
can. Now, I’m going to break the news to Dad.”

I sure hoped Jim took it well. Jenny was the
apple of his eye. Not that he didn’t love Mike. But there’s
something about men and their daughters. Their little girls. It was
hard for My Beloved to see Jenny grow up.

I had to hand it to my sensible daughter,
though. This idea of living “together but separately” made a lot of
sense. I briefly wondered if our marriage would perk up, recapture
some of that old zing, if each of us had our own private space.
Despite the fact that our house was large, now that Jim was retired
and home more, we often seemed to be occupying the exact same place
at the exact same time.

All of a sudden, I had a brilliant thought.
Wouldn’t it be fabulous if My Beloved and I each had our own master
bedroom suite? Hmm. I wondered if those active adult communities
Jim was researching had two master suites.

Maybe this was worth pursuing. We could each
have our own space – mine extremely neat, My Beloved’s extremely
messy – and neither of us would intrude on the other’s. Wow! Just
think of the arguments we wouldn’t be having – “Carol, I put my car
keys on the dresser. Did you touch them? Damn it, I hate it when
you move my things.”

“Jim, can you puleeze pick up your dirty
socks and throw them in the hamper? Is that too much to ask? A
little common courtesy? If your poor dead mother could see what a
slob you are, she’d be shocked.” And be fed up, as I was, with
picking up after him.

Wait a minute. What was the matter with me?
Was I actually considering the “M” word too? Well, what could it
hurt if I were to take a quick peek at Jim’s retirement
magazine?

Just to improve my knowledge.

In case anyone asked my opinion.

While Jenny was talking to Jim, I finished
cleaning up in the kitchen. My Beloved had left his new magazine on
the hall table, so I scooped it up and put it away in the cutlery
drawer for a private read after he went to bed. I didn’t want to
answer any questions about my sudden interest in it. Especially in
case what I saw really turned me off.

I heard low voices in the family room, then
laughter. It sounded like all was going well for Jenny. At least
Jim wasn’t raising his voice and telling her he thought her plan
made no sense. I knew he liked Mark, and if he had to give up his
little girl, which was inevitable, at least it would be to someone
we both knew and trusted.

Not that that mattered, of course. I was
smart enough to know that parents can object to a grown child’s
decision, but keeping mum is the best tack to take most of the
time. We were lucky our kids let us know what was going on in their
lives most of the time. So many kids these days didn’t.

Since the coast seemed to be clear, I
carefully eased the cutlery drawer open and retrieved the magazine.
I scanned the table of contents, and realized most of the stories
and ads seemed to be about communities in the South and West.
Florida, of course. Texas. Arizona. North Carolina. There was one
article on eight terrific low-tax towns for retirees. I was sure
that Jim would read every word of that one. Jeez, didn’t anyone
want to retire in the northeastern United States?

There was a classified section in the back
of the magazine, and I was interested to see that there was a
handful of active adult communities listed in Fairfield County. And
there were many more on the Connecticut shoreline north of New
Haven.

But I sure didn’t want to live at the shore.
Hordes of tourists in the summer and sidewalks rolled up in the
winter. No thanks.

Some of the southern communities looked
pretty enticing, with their swimming pools and golf courses and
tennis courts. Not that we played golf or tennis. Nor did I intend
to learn either sport at this stage of my life, and I doubted
whether Jim did. He always made fun of men who spent every waking
moment on the golf course. We did enjoy swimming, but the beach in
Fairport during the summer months and the YMCA community pool in
the winter answered all our needs in that department just fine.

I sighed deeply, lost in thought. Could Jim
and I ever be happy in one of these places? I was not ready to
discuss any of this with My Beloved. Not yet. Maybe, not ever.

“So which ones do you want to check out,
Carol?”

I jumped guiltily. “Jim, you snuck up on me.
I thought you were talking to Jenny.”

“I was talking to Jenny, and even though I’m
not thrilled with the arrangement she and Mark have worked out, at
least they’re not moving in together right away. And don’t try and
weasel out of this. I saw you flipping through the retirement
magazine. You can’t deny it.”

I was flustered, yes indeedy. Way to go,
Carol, I congratulated myself. The one conversation you did not
want to have seems to have started, thanks entirely to your
stupidity.

Jim chuckled. “I knew that if I got that
magazine you wouldn’t be able to resist looking at it. You just
love seeing how other people live. You fell right into my little
trap.”

Huh? Had My Beloved set me up?

Jim reached out and took the magazine from
my hand. “Come on, what do you say? We haven’t looked at real
estate together in over thirty-five years. We’re not too old to
have a new adventure or two.

“Besides, I made appointments for us to see
two of them tomorrow. It’ll be fun just to look. For the hell of
it.”

And he walked out of the kitchen whistling,
leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

Chapter 4

In my next life, I’m gonna get
organized!

The next morning brought gray skies and
drizzle, what the Irish would call “a soft day.” The color of the
sky perfectly matched my mood. I’d had a restless night in our big
four-poster bed, my sleep punctuated with dreams of strangers
knocking on our front door, moving vans, and my purse being
stolen.

The purse dream is one I have quite often. I
read a book on interpreting dreams a while back, and apparently,
the purse is the symbol of a woman’s identity. It makes sense when
you think about it, because of all the stuff we cart around in
them. Anyway, dreaming about losing one’s purse is supposed to mean
a woman is subconsciously worried about losing her identity. Food
for thought.

My friends disagree with this
interpretation, however. They claim that dreaming about losing your
purse means you’re afraid of losing your memory, not your identity.
Which also makes some sense. How many times recently have I walked
from one room into another, and then have completely forgotten why
I walked in there in the first place?

And I’ve also noticed my communication
skills have lessened since I’ve gotten older. Nouns, for instance,
seem to gallop right out of my head much too often. Fortunately, my
friends are mostly the same age, so we have the same memories and
we can fill in each others’ blank spots.

Jim’s side of the bed was still warm, so he
hadn’t been up very long. I hoped he’d put the coffee on. One of
the perks – forgive the pun – of having My Beloved retired was that
he made the coffee every morning. I hated to admit it, but he did
make better coffee than I did.

I stared at the window overlooking our front
yard and contemplated my options, none of which were appealing. I’d
been so mad at Jim last night that I deliberately stayed up and
watched a late movie, so we didn’t have to talk about his plan to
kidnap me and whisk me away to see some active adult communities
today. By the time I came upstairs to bed, he was sawing wood like
a chainsaw.

I didn’t want to start the day with a fight
with My Beloved, but damn it, I wasn’t going with him to check out
those places. I wasn’t old, and I wasn’t moving. That was all there
was to it.

I heard the furnace groan and then kick in.
I knew exactly how it felt. I was groaning too, because it was time
to face Jim and get an unpleasant conversation over with.

I was splashing cold water on my face and
counting my new wrinkles in the bathroom mirror when I hear Jim
come back into our bedroom.

“Hi honey,” he said. “You should have stayed
in bed a little longer. I brought you breakfast.”

Huh? Was my hearing failing me too? My
Beloved had brought me breakfast? I hadn’t had that treat since
Mother’s Day 20 years ago. Boy, was he buttering me up. Well, he
wasn’t going to get on my good side that easily.

I tried to ignore that niggling little voice
inside my head reminding me that Jim was using the same underhanded
method on me that I’d used on him for years. It sure felt different
to be on the receiving end.

I decided I could eat and make my position
crystal clear at the same time. I knew how to play this game.

“This coffee’s delicious,” I said to Jim,
taking a sip and trying hard not to spill it. “Thanks for bringing
it up to me, and for the cereal, too. But don’t think this is going
to make me change my mind and go with you today. I’m really mad at
you for making these appointments without talking to me first. I
thought we made decisions like this as a couple.”

I slammed the coffee cup down into the
saucer – fortunately, it wasn’t my good china -- and gave him a
withering look.

Jim threw up his hands in a motion of
defeat. “Carol, you’ve got this all wrong. I did it as a surprise
for you. I thought you’d love the idea. It’ll be an adventure.
We’re not going to buy anything, for God’s sake. We’re just going
to look at a few places. Get some ideas. Maybe we’ll even go out to
lunch.”