Chapter Four #2
“Oh, just leave it,” Sylvia sighed, turning and walking back to the table.
“The party’s over, anyway.” But Milly couldn’t leave her son’s feces floating in the swimming pool, with the kids traumatized and those “fabulous” women, especially that snippy one, Maureen, sitting there sipping their Tom Collinses, staring at it.
She spotted a rectangular skimming net with a long metal pole hanging on the side of the wall just beyond the pool, near Jack and Debbie, who stood wet and shivering, huddled together away from the others.
She marched toward them. “Debbie, I need you to take my bag and walk Jack to the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“He ruined the pool party!” Debbie cried.
“We all make mistakes,” Milly mumbled, but she resisted the urge to comfort her little boy beyond a pat on his head, with Sylvia and her friends watching.
Then she retrieved the net off the wall, skimmed the poop out of the pool, and carried it away to the bathroom, where she flushed the damned thing down the toilet.
It wasn’t until she pulled up and parked on their street, rushed the kids inside the house, and locked the door behind them that she was able to even speak.
“What were you thinking?” she said as Jack cowered into his sister’s side. “Why would you do something like that and not just get out and go to the bathroom like every other child?”
Jack started crying again, then Debbie joined in.
“Why?” Milly asked, as if it made any difference now.
“We were having too much fun,” Jack whimpered.
“You could have had more fun if you’d used the bathroom or called to me.
Now head upstairs and change into dry clothes.
” She hesitated, but couldn’t help herself from going on about it some more.
“You can’t just poop in a pool. You embarrassed me.
” She didn’t want to look at their sad faces.
“Think about that in your rooms for a while.” They thumped up the stairs as fast as they could, likely relieved to get away from her.
Milly slumped into the couch, mortified, and thought of all the horrible things those women must be saying about her, about her children, how they’d never invite her back to the club.
They’d never accept her now. They would be outcast, ridiculed.
She pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead.
When Lloyd’s car pulled up outside a little after seven, she rushed to the bathroom to wipe the smudged mascara from her eyes and tidy her hair.
She wouldn’t mention it. It was too humiliating and he’d blame her.
He’d be horrified to know that his own son had done such a thing.
He’d be angry with Jack but might be even more angry with Milly for letting it happen.
No, she told herself, she’d simply ask him about his day and pretend it didn’t happen.
But as soon as he walked in the door, she blurted out the tragic events of the day.
“Good God, Milly, why didn’t you take him to the bathroom?” Lloyd said once she was done.
“I didn’t know he needed to go, Lloyd! The club has a teenager who was supposed to supervise them. Or I thought Debbie would take him, or that he’d at least ask me.”
“He’s four, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s almost five, and he always goes by himself.”
“Well, not this time.” He poured himself a drink and stared out the window. “What’s for dinner?”
She shook her head incredulously. “I haven’t even thought about dinner. I’ve been very upset. The other women—”
He sighed and wasn’t listening. “I’m starving. Should we go out to eat?”
“We can’t!” Milly said. “I can’t show my face in this town. Everyone will be talking.”
“You don’t even know these people. You care too much what other people think.”
Then he too marched up the stairs to change, leaving her all alone.
He was right: She cared. She cared deeply, about everything to the point of utter exhaustion, and she was filled with shame, as if she herself had fouled the pool.
She felt worse than she had when she was at the club.
This was her fault; she’d been caught up in the moment, wanting to make a good impression, too eager to make friends and laugh along with the other ladies, too eager to not feel so alone, that she hadn’t paid enough attention to the children.
Maybe she’d been the one having too much fun.
“I have to do something to make it right,” Milly said to the empty kitchen.
She stayed up until midnight baking a pineapple upside-down cake.
Then early the next morning, before Lloyd left for work, she transferred it into the prettiest cake tin she could find in her half-unpacked kitchen and snuck out of the house.
It was barely 7 AM and slightly foggy as she walked down her street toward South Bay Front.
She was in her housecoat and curlers, certain she wouldn’t see anyone at that time of the morning, but when she turned onto Onyx Avenue and passed the small white cottage on the corner of Balboa Avenue, Adele, the woman with a French accent, whom she’d met a few days earlier, was kneeling on her lawn, weeding, with that same orange bandana tied around her head.
She was older than Milly, in her late forties perhaps, and she looked up, squinted her eyes, then went back to what she was doing.
Milly hesitated. It felt rude for her not to stop and say hello, but she didn’t have the time or the inclination to chat.
She turned onto Bay Front and, as quietly as she could, she unlatched the gate to Sylvia’s house and tiptoed down the short pathway to the front door.
She was carefully placing the cake tin on the front step, along with a note apologizing profusely for the incident, when the door swung open.
“Milly, what are you doing here?” Sylvia asked, standing there looking confused, in a pleated white skirt and matching top, tennis racket in hand.
“I-I-I made you a cake,” Milly sputtered. She felt doubly humiliated, sneaking around like this in her housecoat and curlers.
“Thank you, but why?”
“To apologize for…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“For what?” Sylvia asked, and then it dawned on her. “Oh, for crying out loud, Milly. They chlorinated the pool. Everyone forgot it even happened.”
This made Milly feel moderately better, even if it wasn’t true, but she still felt like a fool standing there, a pineapple upside-down cake between them, so she set it down on the step.
“Are you off to play tennis?” she asked stupidly, because wasn’t it obvious?
Sylvia gave a little twist and swung her skirt around her thighs. “Yes. You know I’d love for you to join me again.”
“Now?” Milly asked.
“Well, you don’t quite look court-ready, but maybe another day. It’s much more amusing to run around after a tennis ball like a buffoon with someone else in tow.”
“Well, I-I’d have to ask Leticia if she could come early again and watch the children,” Milly said. “But it sounds like fun.” Nothing really sounded like fun at that moment; she just wanted to rush home and get back under the covers, but she was trying, she was really trying.
“Another day then,” Sylvia said, stepping over the cake tin. “But you know, if you want to join me on a regular basis, you’d have to join the club.” She winked.
“You’d still have us, after yesterday’s turn of events?”
“Honey”—Sylvia placed a hand on Milly’s shoulder—“at some point in your life someone’s going to come along and take a shit in your pool, and you can either sit around and cry about it or you can clean up the mess and get on with your life.
In my experience, it’s always best to move on with your chin held high. ”
Milly stared at her, not quite sure how to respond. She wasn’t sure how she’d ever move on from her darling son having a bowel movement in the swimming pool, in front of all those women and children.
“Anyway…” Sylvia walked toward the gate and left Milly at the steps to her house. “I’ve got to get to the club. Talk to Lloyd and let me know what he says. Toodles.”