Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom

Chapter Seven

To his credit (and to my relief), it turned out that Judge Larson could bullshit with the best of them. We were back in the house and he was seated at the kitchen table when Allie barreled through the door, almost plowing me over in the process.

“Mom! Mom! Check it out!” She waved a shopping bag at me as I dumped out the old morning coffee and started a new pot, hoping I looked like I’d been doing nothing more than puttering around the house all day. “I got five Tommy Hilfiger shirts at Nordstrom. They had a whole table marked seventy-five percent off and Stuart said I could have one of each, and I got a couple for Mindy, too, and—” She clamped her mouth shut, finally noticing the man sitting at the table. “Oh. Hi.”

I could tell she was trying hard to be polite by not demanding to know who he was. I stepped in to fill the gap, but Larson got there first.

“You must be Allie,” he said, standing. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Mark Larson.”

“Oh.” Allie looked at me, and I smiled in an encouraging mom manner. She hesitated, then held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Kate?” Stuart’s voice drifted in from the garage as I heard the van door slide shut. “Whose car is that? Have you got compan—Judge?”Stuart stood in the doorway, Timmy clinging to him like a baby monkey. Stuart recovered quickly enough, then stepped all the way into the room. “Judge Larson. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He kissed me, but the gesture seemed distracted. I couldn’t blame him. As for me, I was holding my breath. How did spouses who cheat handle it? One tiny little indiscretion and I was already sweating bullets. (Okay, maybe the indiscretion wasn’t so tiny, but still ...)

I held my arms out for Timmy, and Stuart passed the munchkin to me, then went over to shake hands with the judge. “When did you get here? Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I didn’t realize you’d be coming over.” His sentences crashed over one another, and under other circumstances I might be amused. Today, I wasn’t.

Before Larson could answer, Stuart frowned, then looked toward me. I busied myself with kissing Tim (who was quietly begging for Teddy Grahams, but any minute would surely erupt into full-fledged howls). “Actually,” Stuart said, turning back to the judge, “I suppose I should ask why you’re here.”

Larson laughed, the sound hearty and cordial. “I apologize for barging in like this. I was in the neighborhood looking at a few houses, and I noticed your car in the driveway.” He gestured at me. “Kate explained that you’d switched cars, but she was nice enough to offer me a cup of coffee while I waited for you.”

Stuart-my-husband may have been surprised to find Larson in the kitchen, but Stuart-the-polititian stepped seamlessly into the fray. “This is good karma on a number of levels,” Stuart-the-politician said, pulling out the chair across from Larson and sitting down. “I didn’t think we had nearly enough time to chat last night, and I’d been planning on giving you a call Monday morning. I was thinking we might talk more over lunch or drinks.”

“I’d like that,” Larson said. “Clark speaks so highly of you.”

They segued into a political banter that I was beginning to find familiar, and I put Timmy down, grateful to relieve myself of his thirty-two pounds of girth. He immediately started tugging on the kitchen cabinets, testing the childproof latches in a familiar daily ritual. When he came to the one cabinet I keep unsecured, he pulled out two saucepans and a wooden spoon and gleefully settled in for the afternoon concert.

“Hon?” Stuart’s voice rose over the din.

“Sorry.” I leaned over Tim. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you out of here.”