Page 7 of Misadventures Of A Single Mom

It was true. I hadn’t.

“Didn’t know one end of a man from the other, either.” She chuckled. “You met Nate right away. I bet he was your first too, hmm?” She winked at me.

No way was I answering that one. She knew the answer. Making me say it out loud was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Then you up and married him. Your first. Youronly.” She casually rearranged the basket of foiled condoms we offered like mints to customers. “Your mama has always entrusted me to bethere for you. I swear Savannah’s gotta be on the other side of the world and you needed all the help you could get. Still do, for that matter.”

Goldie had been a fixture in my life from the very beginning of my fateful relationship with her son. Sweet and kind, yet over the top crazy, I’d fallen in love with her almost as fast as I had Nate. Since I’d grown up in Maryland, Bozeman was as far from home geographically as possible, barring moving to Alaska. Lifestyle-wise, it would have been more familiar to me if I’d been launched into space.

At the time, I’d wanted something different, something far away. My dad had walked out and my mom divorced his sorry ass lickety-split. I’d figured I’dfindmyself in Montana. I was still working on that one. During my college years, my mom had moved south to Savannah to find herself, and Goldie became a substitute mom as I settled into Bozeman. My real mom, more apt to wear Lily Pulitzer than Levi’s, had forged an unusual bond with Goldie and was comfortable with her acting as mom-by-proxy.

“The way I see it, you’re due.”

I groaned and shook my head. Not because she annoyed me, which she did, but because she was right. I was due. Overdue, like a carton of milk.

The night Bobby was conceived was the last time Nate and I had had sex. The last time I’d had sexperiod. I’d discovered I was pregnant the same day I’d discovered Nate with another woman in Goldilocks’ storage room. Pants around ankles, Nate’s white butt thrusting Bimbo into the shelves of porn. I’d had his clothes tossed out across the front yard an hour later.

“Ty seems nice,” I replied as neutrally as possible. “I don’t even know if he’s got a girlfriend. Besides, I’ve only talked to him for about five minutes. Total. I think I need a little more foreplay than that.”

She winked at me again. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll help.”

Oh god. Goldie help? This was so not good.

Four hours later,I unzipped the tent to haul my kids back to their rooms. They weren’t up for an all-nighter yet. I whispered goodnight to the Colonel as he climbed out and went into his house.

It was really dark. No street lights shined, the Milky Way easily seen stretching across the sky. All was quiet. Even though we lived only a few blocks from MSU, and on the south side of town near Main, not much happened this late at night in the summer. Except snoring. Or sex.

The college students were off partying in their hometowns. The locals had church in the morning. I was inside the tent lifting Bobby into my arms when I heard the ruckus. It sounded like a large animal foraging through my yard. Plodding footsteps, leaves rustling. Had a dog gotten loose? Was a deer eating my tomato plants? I froze in place, Bobby’s heavy head cozy on my shoulder. Neither he—nor Zach—would have woken up for a parade coming through the Colonel’s backyard. They were no help.

Wild animals didn’t scare me. Bears hadn’t been seen in town since spring when they’d woken up from their long winter’s nap. All other creatures of the night were more afraid of me than I of them. Except snakes. I was definitely more afraid of them. But snakes didn’t have feet, or hooves, so I ruled them out. I figured all the noise I’d make to get Bobby—and myself—out of the tent, across the Colonel’s yard, through the gate and into mine would scare away any animal. By the time I got to the fence, I heardits retreat across the grass and past the lilac bush separating my yard from Mr. Blumenthal’s behind us.

The next morning, bright and early, my right eyelid was pried open by little fingers. “Mom! There are footprints in the backyard!” Bobby exclaimed. “I think Santa was here.”

My brain was slow and foggy. I blinked several times and peered at the clock on the nightstand. Eight. Not too shabby for a Sunday. I wouldn’t have minded ten, but beggars couldn’t be choosers with kids around.

“Mooom!”

“Shh! Zach’s still asleep.” Footprints, right. “It’s July. No Santa. But I think Shrek or Donkey was out there rustling around when I came home last night.”

The previous winter, we had a family of deer visit the crab apple tree in the side yard, rooting around in the snow searching for fallen fruit. The family of four had made a path through the snow in a circuit around the neighborhood. They’d known where to forage for food in the lean months. Stopping to paw at the crusty snow and frozen ground, they’d eaten up the rotten fruit. The cold winter morning we’d first seen them the boys were watching Shrek II. Thus Shrek, Donkey, Dragon and Fiona joined the family, if only extraneously. Once spring came, they’d moved to greener pastures. Literally.

Bobby shook his head, kneeling next to me. “No, Mommy, people footprints.”

That woke me up faster than a cup of coffee. “What? People footprints?”

Bobby nodded.

“Wait, what were you doing outside by yourself while I slept?”

“You didn’t bring in the gnomes from the tent last night. They were out there all alone. ‘Sides, the Kernel is out having his coffee so I wasn’t by myself.”

The gnomes. Couldn’t leave the gnomes alone outside.

“Okay.” I sighed as I hoisted myself out of bed. I wore pink and white striped cotton drawstring jammie pants and white tank top. Following Bobby out the back door, I crossed my arms over my chest in deference to the coolness of the morning and my lack of bra.

Bobby ran to the lilac bush. “See!” He pointed to the ground and walked all around the yard. I decided to follow him, careful not to step in deer poop with my bare feet. Where there were deer, there was always poop. Shrek and family were nice leaving little presents like that. But instead of deer poop, there were footprints. Bobby was right. The ground was soft from the sprinkler and slip-and-slide and it was easy to see indentations of footprints all around the yard. My arms fell to my sides as I took in the big man prints shaped like work boots. It looked like someone had been blindfolded for Pin the Tail on the Donkey and hadn’t found the donkey.

Who was in the yard last night and why?

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