Eileen Slovak

Chapter Sixty-one: Send in the Clouds

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

Saturday morning, it’s a balmy day with marshmallow clouds drifting overhead in a cornflower blue sky. It nearly puts a smile on my face. As a child, when I heard the song by Judy Collins, “Send in the Clowns”, I thought it was “Send in the Clouds”. That’s how I always sang it. Years later, Catherine finally told me that I had it wrong. Still the sight of clouds gets me humming the tune again. I feel more like clouds than clowns lately anyway. The ground is squishy from the melted snow. I definitely need to add bath time into the course of the evening somehow. My plan is to busy the children and wear them out before they wear me out. We begin with a picnic in the park.

     While I’m unbuckling Charlotte from her car seat, the boys tear off toward the playground.

      “BOYS WAIT FOR…us!”

      They’re already gone, but thankfully I can still see them. I grab the blanket, slinging the soft-sided cooler strap over my shoulder, I take Charlotte’s small hand. We walk in the direction of the boys, catching up with them on the playground. They’re chasing one another up the ramps, then through the plastic tunnels.

     “Well, you’ve certainly got your hands full,” comments a mother of two young girls. She sits on a bench scrolling through her phone while her girls slowly move up and down on opposite sides of the teeter-totter. Dressed in identical outfits of different colors, the girls have a surfeit of freckles and long, blonde ponytails. The park is otherwise deserted for the time being, but it’s early.

      “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I answer, right as Michael and Christopher start fighting. By the time I reached them, Michael has Christopher pinned underneath him in the sand surrounding the play area.

      “He started it!” Michael says.

      “Did not!”

      “Did so!”

      “Did not! Poopy head!” Christopher yells.

      “You’re a poopy head!”

      Christopher’s swinging at Michael with his arm cast. I lift them apart before someone gets hurt. It takes all of my strength to hold Michael who’s wildly kicking his legs.

      “That’s enough! If you ask me, you’re both being poopy heads!”

      The boys burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

      “Aunt Scarlet said poopy head!” Christopher shouts, holding his sides rolling on the ground.

      The woman with the girls quickly gathers up her things ushering her daughters away as if bad behavior is contagious.

      “Time to go now girls. Have a nice day,” she coos in a singsong voice.

      Sensing her judgment, I give her a closed mouth mock smile. What can I say, I’m a novice to this parenting gig.

      “Well, guys, now we have the whole playground to ourselves.”

      “Yay!” The three of them shout in unison. The boys have already forgotten about fighting and are now racing toward the slide. I strap Charlotte into a baby swing, pushing her gently.
      Other families come and go. A dad with two boys who seem close to Michael and Christopher’s age join them in a game of chase. A young mother with a toddler, scoops him up whenever the bigger children are nearby. In the sandbox, Charlotte finds a playmate, a four-year-old named Nicole. According to Nicole’s mother, the pair have played together before. All is going well until Nicole dumps an entire bucket of sand over Charlotte’s head. Nicole’s mother apologizes profusely while Charlotte cries.

      “I WANT MOMMY!”

      Doing my best to console her, I brush the sand out of her hair and wipe her face with a wet wipe. The promise of lunch is my only device. I call the boys who come but not without complaint.

      “Why do we have to go? We’re not done playing yet.”

      “Because, it’s lunch time and I have cookies.”

      We make a potty stop. I attempt to wash more sand from Charlotte’s face and hands, while asking the boys wash up. Then, we find a large expanse of grass to lay down the blanket. I divide up the lunch. There’s peanut butter and puff, as Charlotte calls it, sliced apples, raisins, juice boxes and cookies for later. After lunch, the four of us lay on the blanket staring up at the downy clouds in the sky.

      “That one looks like a rabbit. Do you see it Auntie?” Christopher points up toward a large drifting cloud mass.

      “Hmm, it looks like a giant rat on a fence to me,” I say.

      “Look at that one!” Michael shouts. “It’s a dolphin jumping in the waves.”

      “Right there?” I ask pointing. “I see a great white shark with his jaws open. Chomp, chomp.”

      “Hey! Now I see a Stegosaurus!” Christopher says.

      “That one? You mean the crocodile eating the duck?”

      “Auntie, why do you see all the scary clouds?” Christopher asks.

      I try to think of an answer but nothing comes to mind.

      “Wait, this is the best! A wizard waving his wand,” Michael says.

      “Nope. That’s an angel waving.” Christopher counters.

      I bite my lip. To me, the cloud looks like the messenger of death pointing his bony finger at me. Christopher’s right. Where is my head today? Charlotte’s falling asleep on the blanket with my jacket draped over her. I look at her flushed cheeks and sandy matted curls’

      “I do see an angel now,” I smile.

      I need to get them home for bath time, plus come up with something to do about dinner later. Catherine left a huge pan of homemade macaroni and cheese with reheating instructions. I was thinking more like the McDonald’s drive through. As we approach the minivan, I see a familiar pickup truck and feel my temper rising.

      I lead the children to the van. I strap Charlotte in, then get the boys settled saying, “Auntie will just be a minute, stay in your seats.”

      I consider driving away, ignoring Scott, but instead I approach his truck. He steps out slowly putting his hands in the front pockets of his jean. He’s shifting in his cowboy boots. I notice he’s unshaven with dark circles under his eyes.

      “If you don’t stop stalking me, I’ll report you to the police. I have connections there as you know. I’ll bet you even know what brand of mouthwash I use, what prescriptions I take. Did you rifle through my trash too?”

      “Scarlet, this,” he says gesturing with his hands, “the you and me part, wasn’t planned.”

      I cut him off, “there is no you and me. You are a con man. As for me, I’m forgetting I ever met you. You’d be amazed how easy that is.”

      “Scarlet, I was conducting an investigation. Checking you out began as part of the job. When I fell in love with you, I didn’t know what to do. I gaffed it…badly. They can fire me. I don’t regret getting involved with you only that I wasn’t honest with you. Let me ask you this, would you have gone out with me if you knew I was investigating Sean’s death?”

      “What are you talking about? You completely manipulated the situation.”

      “I was wrong. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to risk not seeing you anymore.”

      “How did that work out for you? First you see me, now you don’t. I have to get the children home.”

      I turn, walking toward the van. Stopping, I turn because I have one last thing to say. “For the record, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t believe for a second that Sean committed suicide.”

      “I don’t either. Mind if I ask you a question? Since you hate me anyway?”  He holds the van door open.

      I glare at him.

      “Why were you in Arkansas in December?”

      The question throws me. I have to think about it for a minute before answering. “Myself and a colleague had a factory tour and we met with the Walmart buyers. What has that got to do with anything?”

      He looks away. 

     “I didn’t even see Sean on that trip. I thought about calling him, but changed my mind. It was over. I didn’t want to make things complicated. You know something…you’re unbelievable.”

      “Any chance you’ll change your mind about me?”

      “No,” I say, closing the minivan door.

      He taps on the window.

      “Wait, Scarlet,” he says through the window. “I have something for you.” He’s holding a letter sized envelope.

      “I don’t want it.”

      “It’s not from me. It’s from Sean.”

      I open the window a crack just enough to take the envelope.

      “I found it during my investigation. I thought you should have it. I think he would have wanted that. I won’t bother you anymore, but if you ever want to talk, I’ll be waiting to listen.”

      I stuff the letter in my purse without looking at it. Then I leave him standing alone in the gravel parking lot in a cloud of dust.

      “Who’s that?” Michael asks.

      “No one important,” I answer.