I looked at the web address and saw that this information was buried under “About Magdalene” then “Meet the Town Council” then “Our Administrative Staff” and finally “Other Information.”
No wonder I couldn’t find it.
I went back to my texts, thanked my son, and forwarded it to Robin, telling her, Auden got it. Here it is. Can you look and report back?
She knew what it was about because I’d mentioned it. And I was asking for her help because once, in a very brief period of deciding that perhaps her life was more than wreaking havoc on her ex, she’d decided to become an accountant (part of this, admittedly, was to be around accountants in order to find a new man because, “Amelia, sweets, a boring accountant wouldn’t have it in him to cheat”).
This had started with bookkeeping classes. And even though she switched back to wreaking havoc on her ex, it included her finishing those classes as during one of their clashes he’d baited her about them, telling her she’d never finished anything she started.
She finished those. Two years of them.
But even before that, she was good with numbers.
Roger wilco.
That made my mouth curve up.
Five minutes later, I was back to moping at the same time considering cueing up a movie in order to take my mind off things.
I was considering this because I could be brain dead doing it. I actually should be going over some of the online paperwork I’d told Mickey I’d fill out for him in order to file it so he could establish his new company. I also knew I should check email because, in his stead, I’d requested some insurance quotes for his new enterprise and I knew those would be coming in imminently.
I’d done this after Josie had told me that in order to cope with a busy life, Jake had found a wife.
I was not Mickey’s wife but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. And when I’d offered, I knew the extent of his gratitude just with the way he looked at me.
So I was on it, and although it was a slow process, I was getting there.
But at that moment, in the doldrums, I didn’t think I had the brain capacity.
These were my mental meanderings when my phone rang.
It was Mickey.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey back,” he replied. “Listen, babe, Ash’s plans changed. She’s home tonight. Thought you could come over for dinner.”
To my surprise, I didn’t like this idea.
If it was just Mickey, I’d take time with Mickey. I’d be with Mickey anytime I could.
Except right then, with Ash.
It was nothing against Ash. It was just that I felt I had to be upbeat around her, keeping things light, keeping myself open should she wish to bond or unload or anything with me. She hadn’t been back at Mickey’s house long enough for Mickey to have another try at a sit down so it wasn’t that.
It was that both of us moping I didn’t think would be a good thing. I knew I didn’t have it in me to be upbeat. And Ash was such a concern I didn’t want to introduce any kind of bad mood that she might catch, making her even worse.
“Why don’t you have some time with Ash, Mickey? I’ll stay home and let you have that.”
There was a moment of silence before, “You okay?”
“Not really,” I told him.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Conrad called this morning. He was a dick to me, but reading between the lines, something’s up with him and Martine and he’s taking that out on me,” I told him.
“Fuck,” he growled.
“More importantly, Mrs. McMurphy died last night.”
“Babe,” he whispered.
Then it happened. Like it had happened the time I talked to him when my kids came back to me.
And as a repeat, my sob was audible.
Mickey heard it. “Amy, baby.”
“I haven’t cried yet,” I sniffed.
“Have at it, then,” he offered.
It was a lovely offer, so very Mickey, but I didn’t “have at it.”
I wiped my face, took a deep breath and said, “Maybe it’s good that tonight I just hang at home, watch a movie…”
I trailed off, thinking of myself clutching Mrs. McMurphy’s umbrella and watching Cocoon.
Maybe I should mope with Ash at Mickey’s.
Mickey spoke my thoughts. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I won’t be good company, Mickey. I’ll be okay and I’ll come over another night.”
“Amy—”
“I’ll be okay.”
He didn’t respond immediately and when he did, it was, “Hang on.”
I hung on.
He came back. “Shit, got a patch job that’s come through. After work, gotta go see to that.”
“See?” I asked. “This is not our night.”
“Right,” he replied. “Touch base with you later.”
“Okay, Mickey.”
“Keep your chin up ’til then.”
“I will, honey.”
“Later, babe.”
“’Bye, Mickey.”
We hung up and I pulled myself together, getting some hummus and tortilla chips and camping out in front of the TV not watching Cocoon (or The Notebook or Fried Green Tomatoes). Instead I watched Rock of Ages and did it hoping Cillian didn’t see it because emulating Tom Cruise from that movie might make Mickey’s head explode.
I was channel surfing after the movie when I jerked and lifted up, looking over the back of the couch toward the door because the bell rang.
I didn’t have the best view but I still could see it was Mickey through the stained glass.
“Touching base,” I mumbled to myself, liking that I had a guy who would do that in person after I got really bad news that ruined my day.
I rolled off the couch, went to the door, unlocked it and tipped my head back.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey back,” he replied then pushed a handled, glossy bag my way. “That the right shit?”
I stared at him, brows drawn, before I took the bag, opened it and saw inside a bottle of my cleanser and another of my moisturizer. These were rattling around with a toothbrush in its plastic.
I didn’t use stuff you got at Walgreen’s.
My stuff was expensive and you got it direct from the salon or at the mall.
He’d gone to the mall for me.
Slowly, I lifted my head and, not knowing what else to say, said, “Yes.”
“Right,” he replied, pushed past me, walked to the kitchen, nabbed my purse, snatched up my phone then came right back to me. “Keys in your purse?”