Dying for Chocolate

“With all the money you make, it can’t bother you that much.”

“Oh, but it does, you cute little thing! If only you knew! Sometimes I wonder, how long must I endure such pain to the psyche?”

“Such pain to the. . . ?” The Styrofoam cones scraped against my fingers like chalk going the wrong way on a blackboard. “How long must you endure . . . ?”

He closed his eyes and shrugged.

How long must Aspen Meadow endure such pain to the palate?

“You son of a bitch!” I yelled.

Brian Harrington opened his eyes wide and jumped back. “Now what? I told you I didn’t have anything to do with your boyfriend’s . . . Oh! Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that cake!”

“I suppose your middle name is Peter, eh, Pierre?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been drinking while you’ve been catering, but you must have me confused—”

Julian poked his mowed blond head into the kitchen. “Hello in here! The general sent me up. Can the two of you chill out so we can have dessert?”

I said, “Chill out yourself, Julian. I’ve just found my anonymous food critic.”

Julian glanced from one of us to the other. He said, “Who? Him?” He sucked air into his cheeks, blew it out at Brian Harrington, then set his mouth in a frown. “What have you got against Goldy?”

“Nothing! Nothing! Why are people always accusing me of things I didn’t do?” Brian Harrington turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.

Julian said, “Whoops. Guess you won’t be doing any more catering for the Harringtons.”

I slammed the Styrofoam cones on the tray. “Nothing would give me more pleasure. Now, Julian, if you really want to be helpful, would you please take these matches and try to do a better job with the sparklers than Brian Harrington did with the charcoal?”

When we arrived at the sliding glass and screen doors that opened onto the patio, a drumroll was issuing from the tape recorder. The guests had turned their attention to the pool. Arch was standing on the diving board. I almost dropped the tray. His hands were cuffed behind him.

“Open this door, open this damn door,” I demanded of a startled Julian.

“I haven’t lit the—”

“Just do it!”

Julian scraped the screen in its tracks. I wiggled through, hurried across the concrete, and slapped the tray down on the buffet table. I sent Arch vibes: Don’t dive off that board with your hands cuffed, don’t dive, don’t. . .

His body lifted and nipped. There was a splash. I counted. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. . .

No Arch.

I did what any mother would do. I ran to the pool and jumped in. Water drenched my clothes, pulling me down. I kicked off my shoes, took a deep breath, and went under. Arch was standing on the bottom of the pool, thrashing about with the cuffs. I swam and kicked fiercely until I got to him. I grabbed him under the armpits just as the cuffs came off. Lunging from the bottom of the pool, I tugged him upward as hard as I could.

“Braaugh!” he gargled when we splashed through the surface. He coughed and choked on the water. “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop! What are you doing? Mom! Jeez! You’ve ruined everything!” He broke away from me and doggie-paddled to the side of the pool.

“I was trying to help you,” I sputtered, to no avail.

Effusive clapping greeted us when we climbed up the ladder. Arch gave me his most hateful look.

“You screwed everything up! Why do you always have to embarrass me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” When I could bear his angry eyes no longer, I stared down. My clothes were soaked. Puddles were forming around my feet.

“Did you plan it that way?” cried Weezie. Her voice was shrill with delight. “That was quite a performance!”

Arch slunk into the house. I went after him and plodded upstairs to change. When I got to the third floor there was a tightness in my throat. Next door Arch crashed about, looking, I assumed, for dry clothes. I found tissues, wiped my face, and coughed.

All I had ever wanted was to be a good mother. I hadn’t thought it would be that difficult. I read the books. I took my child to the pediatrician, the park, and the playground. 1 read to him and spent time with him and helped with the schoolwork. I’d never even had a regular job until it was a financial necessity. I just wanted to take care of Arch. I thought all I had to do was love him, keep him safe and well, and do the best I could. In turn, he would turn out well-adjusted, happy, and appreciative.

Right.

The sun finished its slide into the mountains. The air was suddenly chilly. When I was putting on a sweat suit and dry sneakers, there was a knock at my door.

“Mom, it’s me.”

I wrapped a towel around my wet head and opened the door.

He avoided my eyes. His voice was shaky. He said, “Mom, I know you want to help. But it’s just not working.”

“Honey, please. I thought you were drowning.”