The 8 Mistakes of Amy Maxwell Read online

  What is he doing at the mall alone? If he can’t even be trusted to go across the street, why would Mary and Walter let him go to the mall by himself?

  “He’s coming this way, Mom!” Lexie declares. “Let’s go say hi!” She lurches forward but I quickly grab her arm.

  “Shhh, Lexie,” I hiss and I pull her behind our car.

  “But why, Mommy?” She is staring at me with bright green eyes, full of innocence. I don’t want to tell her that I want to spy on this kid. See if he’s really who he says he is.

  “Because we’re playing a game,” I fib.

  “Oh, I love games,” Lexie announces as she joyfully claps her hands together.

  “Oh good,” I remark absently as I peek my head around the side of the car. Now Sean is jogging past the front of our minivan.

  “Hey, Dad! Wait up!”

  Startled, I notice that there is a man walking about 50 yards in front of Sean, cell phone attached to his ear. In my rush to leave the house, I forgot to put my contacts in so, I can’t really see him. I assume it is a man. It has the shape of a man. Or a woman with a lot of testosterone. But Sean called him Dad, so it must be a man.

  So this is the famous Jason. He actually does exist. Hmmm.

  Sean catches up with the guy and together they climb into a silver sedan.

  “Come on, Lexie!” I dash to my driver’s side door as I unlock Lexie’s door with the key fob. It automatically opens, which is just about the only perk of the infernal minivan.

  Just for the record, I loved my Altima. I did not want to part with it. But after the birth of a fourth child…well, let’s just say Roger didn’t like my idea of one of the kids riding on the roof rack.

  I toss my bag into the back and pull my seat belt over my chest. Of course it sticks. I’ve been telling Roger he needs to get that fixed for at least a month. I tug harder as Lexie climbs in the car, still chattering away. Once she is buckled, I give up on my own belt and speed off towards the mall exit. Yes, I’m a bad example for my kids. I should always buckle up. I know. I’m ashamed; I really am.

  “Damn it, I lost them,” I mutter, my eyes scanning the parking lot for Sean and his father.

  “Who did you lose, Mommy?” Lexie asks.

  “Um, nobody, Lex. Nobody,” I reply, embarrassed that I am chasing after my neighbor and his son, just to get a glimpse of him.

  “If you mean Sean, he probably went home,” Lexie pipes up as she blows on the car window and begins to trace her name in it.

  Duh, Amy! Of course! He probably went home! All you have to do is get there before he does and you can see him get out of the car!

  I am so pleased at Lexie’s realization, that I don’t even admonish her for writing on the window. I hate that. It’s a bitch to clean.

  Now, to get home quickly….

  I take the short cut down the back roads that Sean’s father probably doesn’t know, being new to the neighborhood and all. I race down the side streets, blowing stop signs, nearly hitting a bicyclist and rendering Lexie speechless for once. I peek at her in the rearview mirror. She is dry heaving in the plastic bag I keep in the back for puke emergencies.

  Finally, I arrive on our street, just to see Jason’s car pull into the driveway. Giddy, I punch the gas, then screech to a halt in front of our house. My head nearly hits the dashboard as I realize he has pulled the car all the way up the driveway. He and Sean have their backs to my car as they climb out of their vehicle and head directly into the backyard.

  Damn it! They have a back entrance!

  “Wow, Mommy! I didn’t know you could drive like you were in Nascar!” Lexie says, obviously impressed, despite the fact that she is still trembling from her near death driving experience.

  Frowning, I maneuver into the driveway. “Yeah, well sometimes Mommy needs to get somewhere in a hurry.” I throw the car into park and sigh. How am I going to get a look at the damn guy now?

  “I bet Daddy would be impressed,” Lexie is still nattering on. “He always says you drive too slow. I can’t wait to tell him you can drive faster than him!” She opens the car door and as her feet hit the pavement, I leap from the minivan.

  “No, Lex!” I shout. Roger cannot know I was speeding home! He would instantly be suspicious!

  Lexie, who is skipping up the sidewalk with absolute oblivion, turns and stares at me. “Why not?”

  I sigh. “Just let’s not tell him, ok? Daddy gets mad if Mommy speeds. That’s why I always drive slowly. I just forgot because I…” Think of a believable lie, Amy.

  “Did you have to poop?” Lexie offers.

  “Uh, what? No! Why would you ask that?” I balk at the personal question. Even though I shouldn’t. I haven’t been alone in the bathroom in thirteen years.

  Lexie shrugs and skips ahead of me, turning a cartwheel in the middle of the sidewalk. “Can I have a cookie?” she asks, as I dig into my purse for the front door key.

  “No,” I mumble distractedly. “We don’t even have-” And then, an idea is born. I raise my head, grinning at my daughter. “Actually, yes. Yes, you may have a cookie. Come on, Lexie! You’re brilliant!” I exclaim as I rush up the front steps.

  “I am?” she squeaks with disbelief.

  “Absolutely!” I exclaim as I stick the key in the lock. “In fact, I think you may just be my favorite child.”

  She beams as we step into the house. “I am?”

  I nod. “Let’s go make some cookies.”

  I know the way to a man’s heart is through food, and the way to a neighbor’s living room is through cookies. I’m going to meet this Jason and I’m going to do it today.

  Yup, you guessed it…Mistake #2.

  ~SIX~

  I’m not sure what I was expecting. Well, Amy, you shouldn’t have believed Colt when he told you he knew how to crack eggs…

  Oh, I’m not even talking about the cookie making debacle. Please. I’m not new. I’ve made cookies with these kids before. I do have this reoccurring daydream that we will all work together and create delicious cookies and warm, fuzzy memories that will make me smile for years to come. It’s like one of those bullshit ads you see on TV for Mother’s Day. Thus far, that has not happened. In fact, I haven’t been able to make a single batch of cookies without throwing out at least half of the product.

  I sigh loudly, staring at the pathetic fruits of my labor and the massive mess that resulted from producing it. And by mess, I mean, flour all over the floor, egg dripping from the counter and butter smeared on the door of the fridge.

  “Can I have a cookie?” Lexie asks, hopping up and down next to me. She hasn’t left my side for a second. Yah! Evan is thankfully passed out in his high chair, Colt gave up after he got egg shells in the batter, and Allie refused to even come down to help.

  I inspect the cookies on the cooling rack. Approximately half are burnt and the other half are so gooey that they are dripping through the holes of said cooling rack. It appears that approximately seven cookies are salvageable.

  “Um…take one of the burnt ones,” I instruct.

  She wrinkles up her nose. “Ewww! That’s gross!”

  Grabbing a small Tupperware container I shrug. “Well then take one of the gooey ones.”

  “That’s even grosser!”

  I am barely listening as I select the few cookies that I can actually bring over to the neighbor without being mortified. Hmmm, if I put the good ones on top and then cover the bottom with the burnt ones, they won’t notice them…

  “Mommy! You’re putting all the good cookies in there!” Lexie wails. “Why can’t I have any? I helped you! You said if I helped you-”

  “There are Oreos in the pantry behind the-”

  I don’t even get to finish the sentence before she hops off the counter and darts down the hall to the pantry. My children are addicted to Oreos like a drug addict is addicted to crack. Ooo, bad analogy, Amy. With that drug ring and all.

  I snap the lid on the container and poke my head down the stairs. �
��Hey, Roger?”

  There is no answer. I hear him snoring.

  Clenching my fists at my sides, I refuse to get annoyed. Lexie can watch the boys. I’m only going to be gone a few minutes. Just long enough to get a glimpse of the new neighbor…uh, I mean, to make sure everything is on the up and up across the street.

  “Lexie, watch your brothers,” I instruct as I sweep through the living room. She is lounging on the sofa, shoving cookies into her mouth as she stares at the TV, eyes glazing over.

  “Uh, huh,” she mutters as I walk out the front door.

  Great. Roger Junior in the making, I think as I cross the street and jog up the neighbors’ front walk. Knocking loudly on the door, I am wondering if it was a good idea to leave Lexie with the boys. Roger was home, but you never know.

  What if they get hurt? What if they choke on something? What if Evan tries to climb out of his high chair? What if Colt does fall out of his treehouse?

  The door creaks open and I glance up, expecting to see Mary in one of her many velour track suits, or her husband Walter, a jolly, balding older gentleman. Instead, Sean is standing in the doorway, staring at his feet.

  “Hi,” he says, eyes not meeting mine.

  “Hi, Sean!” I call out cheerily, with a voice too high and girlie than necessary. Cut it out, Amy. He’s not a four year old. Treat him like a normal teenager.

  “Sean, is your grandma home?” I ask. He responds with a shrug.

  “I brought cookies-”

  At the mention of cookies, his head whips up and he lurches forward, snatching the container from my hands. “Cookies!” He dashes off into the house leaving the front door wide open and me staring after him. He turns around the corner and is gone.

  Okay, what now?

  I step into the foyer of the house while gazing around. I haven’t been in this house since the previous owners, Jackie and Bob Hayes, moved out last year after they got divorced. Jackie was bored when her kids went off to college. So she got a hobby. The neighbor’s pool boy, Raul. Bob did not approve.

  I stand in the foyer, poking my head into the sparsely decorated living room. There is a coffee table in the middle of the room, a TV on a stand in the corner and a couch along the wall opposite the TV. There are no pictures adorning the walls or shelves housing dusty knickknacks like at my house or my parents’ house. Of course, their knickknacks aren’t dusty. Heaven forbid. Only mine.

  Very strange, I muse as I step towards what I believe was the kitchen. They’ve lived here for three months and they haven’t made the place more homey yet? There are no boxes lying around like they’re still unpacking. It’s not like Mary goes to work or anything…

  I step into the kitchen which seems typical, dishes in the sink and an empty pizza box sitting on top of the recycling container. But just like the living room, there’s nothing that screams “we live here!” Almost as if they’re not planning on staying too long.

  A row of prescription drugs lining the counter catches my eye. I step closer to peer at them and see most of them have the pharmacy label ripped off. Hmmm. Weird. The only one that is actually labeled says Sean Sanders. It says, Methylphenidate. What the hell is that? I wonder as I replace the pill bottle and notice that the others bottles have writing on the tops. Mary am. Mary pm. Walter am. Walter pm.

  I wonder why they didn’t leave the labels on them? Maybe they aren’t pharmacy drugs in there, but street drugs instead?

  And in my usual fashion, I find that I am arguing with myself. Oh cut it out, Amy! This is Mary and Walter! Your sweet, elderly neighbors! Don’t be crazy!

  “You read too many crime novels,” I mumble to myself as I turn away from the counter to examine the rest of the room. On the table is a laptop and a stack of newspapers from neighboring towns. Casually, I peek at the headlines. “Drug Bust in Montclair School”, “School Drug Ring Crack Down”, and “Feds on the Hunt for School Yard Junkies”. Hmmm. Someone is certainly interested in the drug trade in schools…

  “How did you get in here?” a male voice in the doorway behind me accuses.

  I am immediately on the defense as I retort, “Sean let me in.” Quickly, I spin on my heel and find myself staring at a middle aged man who can only be described with the cliché phrase devastatingly handsome.

  My examination of his features starts at his feet. My eyes work their way up his body, probing every inch of the comely stranger. He has a pair of scuffed work boots on; probably Timberlands. They cover his socks if he has any, so I notice how muscular his calves are. He has a tattoo of an eagle wrapped in an American flag that snakes up his left leg and disappears under his cargo shorts. My eyes continue to graze up his body, hastily skipping over the pubic region and settling on his torso. He’s wearing a soft faded gray tee shirt that was probably once blue. There are several small pinholes in the fabric and it is tearing at the armpits because it is so form fitting around his taut biceps. Speckles of blue paint are scattered across his lightly hairy arms and the tee shirt.

  My roving eyes arrive at his face and they are not disappointed in the view. He sports an angular jaw with a scant amount of dark stubble dispersed on his tanned face. His smiling mouth boasts two rows of very straight, very white teeth that were either an act of a very generous god or the work of a now well off orthodontist. His nose is unremarkable except to say it is underneath the most stunning set of crystal blue eyes I have ever had the pleasure of looking into. His dark hair is slightly shaggy, a curl flopping over his right eyebrow.

  I gulp nervously, unable to speak to the man who must certainly be Jason. He is grinning at me in a mischievous way that makes me nervous and giddy at the same time. His teasing eyes seemed to say, ‘hey baby, how you doing?’ like Joey from Friends, and ‘beware, I’m trouble’ at the same time.

  Our eyes lock; neither of us seeming to be able to look away. I am nearly catatonic from his stare. Look away, his sparkling eyes tease as they bore into mine, but I can’t. There is something in his gaze that is holding me captive, almost like hypnosis. It’s a sensation that is delighting and scaring the shit out of me at the same time.

  Finally, the man holds out his hand and speaks. “I’m Jason, Sean’s father. You must be…” he trails off, obviously expecting me to finish the statement.

  Shaking his hand slowly, I find that I need to let go before I can finally speak. “Amy Maxwell. I live across the street.”

  Then appallingly, I start babbling in a Lexie-like fashion. “I live there with my four kids, Allie, Lexie, Colton and Evan.” I pronounce their names in one run on sentence. “I’m a stay at home mom. I don’t work outside of the house.”

  Duh, I’m sure he knows what a stay at home mom is, Amy. No need for the explanation. “Oh, and my husband, Roger. He’s a principal at the high school. He lives there, too.” I add Roger’s qualifications as an afterthought. Jason nods appreciatively, but I can see the get to the point already lady look crossing his face.

  “Um, but anyway, I brought cookies,” I finally manage to say, beaming like an idiot.

  Jason stares at me. “Really?” He raises one eyebrow, making me feel like the butter I just melted to make the cookies. “Where are they?”

  “Uh, Sean took them,” I stammer.

  Jason shrugs. “Typical. That kid is like a Hoover vacuum.” He steps into the kitchen, his body brushing past mine. He touches my arm in the process and the hairs on my arm stand on end.

  He saunters over to the cabinet, opens it, and retrieves a bright blue package. Pulling open the top he removes a black and white cookie. “Good thing I prefer Oreos to homemade.” He shoves the cookie in his mouth, as he offers me the package. “Oreo?” he asks, crumbs flying everywhere. I hate to admit that I am a little disgusted. The display is actually ruining the godlike image of Jason.

  I put my hand up. “Uh, no thank you.”

  He shrugs and replaces the package in the cabinet after removing three more.

  We stare at each other for another second or two before
I speak. “I guess I should get going then…if Mary isn’t home. I came over to see Mary,” I inform him.

  “And bring cookies,” Jason remarks with a coy smile.

  Yes, and bring cookies. Not check you out. I am a happily married woman, thank you very much. Who happens to fantasize about Raul the pool boy and Joe the bagger at Stop & Shop.

  “Well, she’s not here,” Jason tells me as I take a step back towards the living room. “She went out. Walter, uh, my dad, took her to church.”

  I resist the urge to glance at my watch. But even without knowing the exact time, I am pretty certain it’s a little late in the day for church. The hairs on my arm raise slightly. This time it feels more like a warning rather than a turn on.

  “Sean and I had things to do, so that’s why we didn’t go,” he explains.

  Is it my imagination or is he looking uncomfortable? Shit! What if he’s got Mary and Walter tied up somewhere? Maybe he’s part of the drug ring and Mary and Walter found out and threatened to turn him into the police!

  My heart is racing as I reply, “Right, right. I’m sure you have a lot to do, just moving in and all. You know, like making yourself at home…” Shut up, Amy!

  “Oh yes. I was painting,” he explains, pointing to the blue splatters on his shirt.

  I nod. Painting, huh? Well, that sounds a little more like something a person would do if they were planning on staying here awhile…

  “I’ll tell Mom you stopped by,” Jason informs me as I stagger backwards towards the living room, reluctant to take my eyes off of him.

  He’s not going to kill you, Amy. Just get out of the house and mind your own business.

  When we are at the front door and I whirl around, pushing at the screen. “Well, have a nice day!” I call to Jason in a sing song Lexie voice.

  “I will,” he replies. “I’ll have Sean bring over your cookie container. That is, if you really brought cookies over and didn’t just come here to snoop.”