Red, White & Dead. Laura Caldwell

there was a shriek in the background.

      “Lucy?” I said, alarmed.

      Another sigh. “It’s my kids. I’ve been promising to take them to the nature museum for weeks now, and we’re finally going this morning.” She paused. “Is there any way you’d want to come with us?”

      “I’d love to see you, but …”

      “What?”

      “Well, does Michael know you’re asking me?”

      “No. He’s already gone this morning. He’s networking to try and find a new job.”

      “Hmm, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, too.”

      “Look, I’ll tell you one thing. I’m trying to make this work with my husband, and I’m trying to be honest with him so he’ll be honest with me. But I am not going to tell him I’m seeing you. No way. I’m just so confused.” A pause. “I really need a friend. Someone who knows John.”

      I trusted Lucy. It was impossible not to. But still … “I’m not sure, Lucy.”

      A pocket of silence. “I understand.” Then a tiny sniffle. “I just feel like I’m going crazy. Crazy.”

      “God, I’m so sorry.”

      One of her kids yelled in the background. “Noah, give me one minute!” she said, sounding as if her voice might break. “I have to go, Izzy. Don’t worry about it.”

      The heartache in her voice killed me. “Of course I’ll meet you.”

      “Really?”

      “Sure.”

      “Oh, thank you. Thank you. We’re going to the nature museum at ten. Do you know where it is?”

      “Fullerton, near Lake Shore?”

      “That’s it. Inside, there’s a big stuffed bear to the right. My kids love it, so we’ll be there for at least fifteen minutes.” Another shriek in the background. “I’ll see you there, Izzy.”

      I called Mayburn and told him. “She wants to talk to me about you.”

      “What about me?” he said quick, anxious. “I’m not sure.”

      “Well, as much as I want to hear what she says, I’m not sure I like this. What about Michael?”

      “She said he’d left the house. And she’s not telling him we’re meeting. Do you trust her?”

      “Hell, yes.”

      “Me, too. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

      At a few minutes before ten, I parked my Vespa outside the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum, an oddly unnatural-looking structure made of glass and sand-colored steel. It was surrounded, however, by the rolling, green lawns of Lincoln Park and gold ornamental grasses that fluttered in a balmy breeze. Behind the building, ducks in a pond glided by a snapshot view of the skyline.

      The North Pond Café, once a favorite of Sam’s and mine, was at the other end of that pond, and I stood outside the museum for a moment, gazing in that direction, thinking of the last time we were there. It was a few months ago, when we were trying, and failing, to patch up our relationship.

      I made myself shut down the memories. Inside the museum, the sounds of children’s voices filled the place. I paid and made my way past parents corralling kids inside the entrance. A few steps down the hallway, I easily found the giant white polar bear standing on its haunches, its mouth open in a ferocious, silent roar.

      I looked around, didn’t see Lucy or her kids. I checked my watch, wondering if I’d misunderstood her. I was about to call her cell phone, when I heard someone shout my name.

      Lucy was hustling down the hallway, wearing white jeans cuffed at the bottom and a light blue cotton blouse with short sleeves. She had a kid by each hand. Noah, a boy of about five or six, had a smear of something red on his face, which was also red with frustration. “I don’t want to see the bear again!” he whined. Noah’s little sister, Belle, was a three-year-old mini replica of Lucy, who looked at her big brother with a calm kind of wonder that said, What’s all the fuss about?

      I hugged Lucy when they reached me and took Belle by the hand. Lucy, in turn, hauled Noah up and onto her hip, although the kid looked too big to carry around.

      “Can you say hi to mommy’s friend?” she said.

      He shook his head hurriedly. “I don’t want to see the bear!”

      “How about the butterfly room?” I said. I’d heard lots about the museum’s famous butterfly exhibit but had never seen it myself.

      Noah’s eyes got big. He looked at his mom for confirmation. “Butterfly room?”

      She nodded, wiped at the red spot on his cheek and set him back on the ground, where he took off. He obviously knew the place.

      “Thanks,” Lucy said as we tailed Noah, pulling Belle along with us.

      We followed Noah upstairs, down a hallway, past exhibits of stuffed prairie animals to a dimly lit hallway with two sets of swinging rubber doors at the end.

      Noah jumped on his toes outside the first doors where a sign read Enter. “Can I, Mommy?”

      Lucy laughed, nodded. Noah pushed the doors open, and we followed him into a bright humid room full of lush green trees, shrubs and plants. And on every surface—butterflies. Some were small and bright yellow. Others were the size of a fist with complicated zigzag bolts of color on their backs. Some were as large as a human head, their wings spread wide on the high glass ceiling of the room.

      “Mommy, look!” Noah dashed into the room and grabbed a laminated card that was essentially a butterfly menu. “I see this one!” He gestured excitedly at a picture of a black butterfly with iridescent blue and white markings, then pointed at a bush where the real-life butterfly perched and fluttered.

      “I see one,” little Belle said, waving at a blue butterfly on a plant frond.

      Noah pointed at the huge butterflies on the ceiling. They were gray but with a glistening green sheen to them. “Look, Mom, those are moths.”

      “Let me see,” Belle said. She tugged at the card, trying to snatch it from her brother’s hand. “It’s mine!”

      “Belle Josephine, you play nice,” Lucy said. “Share with your brother. Now go find more butterflies.”

      Off they went, clutching the laminated card between them, two blond heads swiveling, four little hands pointing in awe.

      Lucy and I walked to the side of the room and took a seat on a stone bench.

      “Great to see you,” I said.

      “You, too.”

      “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble when I saw Michael the other night.”

      She ran a thumb over a fingernail on the other hand that was perfectly painted shell-pink. “John has to let me make decisions for myself. He has to respect me right now and give me space.”

      I nodded. “I know. I told him that, too. I think he’s just afraid to lose you forever.”

      “I’m afraid to lose him, too.” Tears popped into the inside corners of her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped the tears swiftly with her hand. “But I need to do this for myself. I knew Michael still saw Dez socially. So telling me that they’re meeting at Gibsons doesn’t change anything. I need to be the one who decides if Michael is good for me or not, whether we can raise our family together or not.” She gave a sad laugh. “All I’ve ever wanted in my life is to marry one wonderful man and have a few wonderful kids and live a simple, happy life. For a while, I thought I had that. Then everything changed, and now I’m trying to put that dream back together