The Perils of Pauline Read Free Page B

wanted to tell you something. I got a pink slip yesterday.”
    “I knew it. Those idiots have been running in the red for a long time.”
    Tenacity. Mental toughness.
    “I lose my job and that’s all you can say?”
    Donald leans back in his chair. “You were sick of that job anyway. Go find another one.”
    Donald has always had that Canadian stoicism that’s comforting and infuriating at the same time.
    “Just like that?”
    “Sure.”
    “What about the budget?”
    “Didn’t you get a severance package?”
    “Yes. But no one is hiring now, so close to summer.”
    “Take some time off then, do something with the kids.”
    Donald’s right. I was fed up with that job. Now I have freedom to do whatever I want, right?
    Donald says, “Why not take some time to think about what you want to do next? Maybe you could go into business for yourself?”
    “What kind of business?”
    Donald shrugs.
    “But … to start my own business, I’ll need to do market research, put together funding proposals, write my business plan. In a few weeks, summer starts. How will I ever do all that with the kids underfoot?”
    There’s the snag: We can’t afford day camp blessings on a slashed budget. The reality is that if I don’t find something to do very soon, I’m about to be saddled with full-time responsibility for my little darlings.
    Maybe Mom will agree to take Jack and Olympia for a week or two over the summer. She might like to have the kids’ company; she’s been awfully lonely since Dad died. Now all she does is watch golf on ESPN because she likes Phil Mickelson. She talks about Phil all thetime. She’s even visited his website to check out all the photos. “He’s so handsome,” she says, over and over. “He looks like your father did when he was younger.”
    Mom answers the phone, sounding breathless.
    “Were you outside in the garden?”
    “No.”
    I tell her I lost my job. There’s a silence, and then I hear what sounds like muffled giggling.
    “What’s so funny? Mom, are you there?”
    “Sorry, what did you say about your job?”
    “I was let go. Downsized. I was hoping you might be able to help me out with the kids this summer while I look for a new job.”
    “I’d love to help out. But I’m going away. I’ve decided to do some traveling. Like that Julia Roberts girl in Eat, Pray, Love . But don’t you worry, everything will be fine. You’ll find a better job.”
    “Where are you going? Julia Roberts went to an ashram in India. Don’t tell me you’re going to an ashram in India?”
    “Maybe. Sky’s the limit, right? I can’t talk now, Brian is here.”
    “Brian?”
    “Brian from the golf club. We’re partnering today, with another couple. A foursome.”
    “I’ll call you tonight then.”
    “I won’t be in till late. Call me tomorrow. You know, he kind of looks like Phil Mickelson.”
    Her voice trails off. I can hear sounds of more muffled giggling.
    “Mom? Are you there?”
    Then, a disgusting sucking, slurping, slobbery noise.
    “Yes, well—later.”
    Moments after I hang up, the phone rings again.
    It’s a collect call from Serenity, my oldest daughter, who decided last week she hated her high school and wanted to go live with her Dad in Fort Drum. Reluctantly I gave her a bus ticket and helped her pack her suitcase thinking maybe my ex could take a turn at trying to propel her back to school again.
    “Guess what, Mom? I got a ride all the way to Flushing.”
    “Flushing? You’re supposed to be in Fort Drum. With your Dad. Where’s your father? What kind of ride? What happened to your bus ticket?”
    “We decided to save some scrilla and hitchhike. We’re going to the Electric Daisy Carnival.”
    “We? What do you mean hitchhike? What are you thinking? Why aren’t you calling from your cell?”
    “I lost it. Don’t worry. I’m still gonna stop in to see Dad.”
    Her father, my ex, is a Mountain Infantryman stationed in Fort Drum. He fights insurgents for a living.