Stop Here by Beverly Gologorsky Page B

me like I’m asking him to climb Mount Everest.”
    â€œRicky, you talk to him,” Joni says, which surprises her. Joni’s a quiet girl who’s loved her son since junior high. And why not? He’s earnest, handsome, and energetic. He used to polka his mom around the living room, lift her right off the floor, and laugh. Or was that Bruce? There was a time when Bruce was the man. They were married, but they were lovers, four or five times a week, which is no easy feat with a bunch of kids in the house. Bruce always had his quirks, he’s a vet, isn’t he? When he first returned all those years ago, he’d open up after a few drinks and talk about the war. She never liked what she heard, but comforted herself that it was over and done with. Except maybe things don’t go away, maybe they go into hiding like bears and come out when you’re too old to fight them. Bruce will be leaving his fifties real soon.
    â€œWant something to eat?” Joni asks, her tone less than inviting. She can’t blame her; these kids don’t have much. Besides, Joni’s got her hands full with the house, the baby, her telephone canvas job.
    She shakes her head. “Where’s the baby?”
    â€œAsleep in the carriage. He was up all night. I had to wheel him around. Don’t wake him.”
    â€œNo, I wouldn’t think of it.” She turns to Ricky, “Joni’s right, talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
    â€œI’ll take him out for a few beers.”
    â€œLike he needs the calories.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind. Pick him up at the diner after his shift.”
    He nods. “Gotta go.” He grabs his jacket. She’s about to tell him it’s pretty warm out there, but it’s none of her business. It’s Joni’s business now. Joni kisses him hard on the mouth. The girl’s still crazy about him, but just wait. Such negativity . . . it’s not like her. Where’s the bright-eyed, perky Shelly, a woman determined to get what she wanted? A woman who said yes to whatever it took to make it happen, and god help any who stood in her way. Bruce used to laugh at her combativeness, said it would put a grunt to shame.
    She’s careful not to slam the car door and wake the baby. No point hanging around without Ricky there. Maybe if she’d had a daughter . . . but her sons, they’re men, they feel with their dad. Oh they love her, but sometimes she’s on a planet by herself. Joni’s sweet, but the only thing they have in common is Ricky. She doesn’t want to hear Shelly’s problems. Does she want to hear Joni’s? She could find a therapist who’d listen, or maybe she could go to confession for free. Except you have to believe to receive solace. She could drive till the car runs out of gas and see where she ends up. Her fantasies of flight are beginning to scare her. But what scares her more are the thoughts piling up in her head like so much garbage she can’t get rid of.
    â€¢ • •
    Searching the mall for a shady spot to park, she pulls in between a pickup truck and an SUV. With keys in hand, she slings the bag over her shoulder and hurries toward the bakery. As usual, the mall seems endless and unrewarding, but where else to go? A hotel in the city for a few days, not too expensive, with room service, a bar, a restaurant? A temporary escape. She’ll take in a show, something deep, not a musical. Ricky will fire how-come questions at her she won’t be able to answer. Her sister, too, will be calling to ask if she’s okay. Well, she’s not.
    The well-dressed, stout woman who owns the bakery sits on a stool behind the cash register. The warm scent of fresh bread fills the shop. A gorgeous display of cakes and cookies offer themselves behind a domed glass. She spies a man near the large oven icing cakes on a flat table, his apron a palette of colors.
    â€œShelly?”