Stay Tuned

Chapter 5

While I was de-fogging the downstairs, one of the WSGA reporters called my cell. My phone number was tacked up in ten locations throughout the newsroom for weekend emergencies.
    
“Hey Melissa.” It was Rob Glass, one of our go-getters. He’d just started at the station, was fresh out of college, and seemed like a hard worker.
    
“What’s up?” I asked and opened a few more windows.
    
“We’re shooting a piece today on the Macon Firefighters. You know, the memorial service for the guy who was killed after that plant explosion?”
    
“Right, yes.” So tragic. This man had saved ten lives, suffered serious burns, and smoke inhalation. After two weeks in the ICU, he died. These were such difficult stories to report. Fallen heroes and their families.
    
“I need the VO from the explosion to use in my package, and I can’t find the footage,” Rob coughed. “I’m sorry to have to ask. Everyone else is busy.”
    
“No problem. Find the date of the explosion and look up the story in the run-down. The video is listed by number. Call me back if you can’t find it.”
    
“Thanks,” Rob sounded relieved.
    
“Anytime.”
    
My brain contained a genetic anomaly—a gift from my mother—an encyclopedia of news facts, neatly filed in virtual drawers, just waiting to be accessed. I knew, in detail, why factories started leaking toxic gas in Belarus, how many people died in Hotel Rwanda, and exactly, to the minute, what time Flight 97 hit the Pentagon on September 11th.
    
I could name the members of Congress, by state, and political affiliation. I effortlessly memorized school budgets, city council agendas, and election results.

My cell phone started blinking with a new voicemail. Candace had called during the toast debacle. It was as if she had a sixth sense. She knew she should save me from holing up in the empty house all weekend. I listened as I pulled off my smoky tee-shirt and yoga pants and tossed the clothes into my laundry basket.
    
Her cheerful voice floated into the room. “Hey, it’s me. Can you swing by the salon around ten? Huge news. Can’t wait to tell you!” She squealed with excitement and hung up.
    
I closed my eyes tight and smiled at her message. Now I really had a reason to find something to wear and get out of the house. I padded into the walk-in closet and surveyed my choices. Back in August, Kelly had deemed my wardrobe choices less than acceptable.
    
She had been looking for an Abercrombie hoodie I borrowed eons ago. It ended up getting lost in the piles of shirts, pants, and shoes I had accumulated over the past two decades.
    
“Mom!” she scolded and held up a pair of worn-out Levis. “These are so eighties.”
    
“Oh,” I replied, trying not to seem hurt.
    
A moment later, she shrieked and displayed a striped silk blouse and deep garnet jacket from Talbot’s, circa 1991. “You can’t keep these.”
    
“I need them,” I insisted.
 
  
Kelly rolled her eyes. “Bor-ing.”
    
She found her hoodie, and by the day’s end, had helped bag up half my closet for Goodwill. It felt good, like shedding fifty pounds of dead weight, but my remaining options were sparse and uninspiring.
    
I thumbed through the array of navy, black, and gray outfits I’d refused to give away.
    
Nope. I slid one hanger to the right. No again. I slid another hanger. Definitely no.
    
Kelly was right.
    
Not that I’d thought about it before, but Kelly had never criticized her father’s wardrobe. My head swiveled to his side of the closet. Maybe she didn’t have a reason.
    
Chris’s clothes were immaculate. A dozen Brooks Brothers suits hung on wooden hangers, spaced two fingers apart. Starched Ralph Lauren shirts in every color were flanked by twenty Tommy Hilfiger ties, each one splashy but not over the top. There were khakis in shades of tan and brown, with golf shirts to match. His shoes shined so much I could see my reflection in them.
    
Conscious of being face-to-face with clients every day, Chris made an effort to always look professional and put together.
    
What was stopping me? Looming credit card debt? I couldn’t justify that—we didn’t have any. Kelly’s college fund crossed my mind, but she had a partial scholarship. Time was always an excuse, but I had lots of it now.
    
Okay. I’d try what was hanging in the closet and grab a few accessories. With a sharp tug, I snatched at the first jacket on the rack, slid it on, and surveyed myself in the mirror.
    
Hmm. Instead of a snug fit, it hung from my shoulders. I tried on the next one. Same story. The third jacket, ecru linen, swallowed me whole. I looked like someone’s grandmother going out for Sunday church. Or my own mother, for that matter.
    
Which reminded me, I needed to visit Ruth Anne. My trip to the nursing home was way overdue. I should go today.
    
I tossed the jacket on the bed and gave myself a hard once over. In my bra and panties, I didn’t look half-bad. With Chris gone most of the time and now Kelly at college, I knew our grocery bill had dwindled. Fewer snacks meant less temptation. That, in turn, equaled a smaller me. A few pounds, maybe? I felt a surge of optimism.
    
The light overhead shone on my more prominent cheekbones, my now-thinner arms. I turned and glanced behind me. Yep, even my backside was taking up less room. Hallelujah!
    
Chin up, shoulders back, my reflection in the mirror smiled and nodded.
    
Okay, I’d admit it. This collection of clothes wasn’t doing me any favors. I walked across the hallway, through Kelly’s door and opened her closet. There were Juicy Couture tracksuits, Hollister jeans, Aeropostale shirts. I pushed at the hangers, searching for something a bit more conservative. Some J. Crew khakis and sweaters hung in the very back.
    
I slipped on a pair of pants, chose a light sweater, and pulled it over my head. With a glance in the mirror, I had to admit, the clothes made a difference. I looked younger, brighter.
    
More like the girl I used to be.