Paul and I came to terms over Karen bringing Timmy to the quarry after I slowly and deliberately pointed out how much care she had exhibited and the punishment I'd assigned. Missing two soccer games was bad enough, but having to admit the embarrassing reason must have been a hard pill to swallow. However, she offered no complaints to either of us.
The nefarious Mary Ellen, instigator of my daughter's isolated delinquency, was not mentioned, much to the delight of my husband and me. Paul suggested an out and out forbiddance of any contact with the miscreant, but I felt it best to trust in Karen's good judgment. I kept my fingers crossed.
We both dutifully traveled to Dr. Mason's office each Wednesday with neither Karen nor I experiencing any problems. My visits consisted of highlighting family activities, both present and past. When I casually asked Karen about her meetings, she lightly replied, same-old, same-old. I f there was any discussion about her mother, I hadn't heard about it from either party.
The love chair remained empty except for occasional story reading session with Timmy. The kitchen and outside grill were the busiest places of the house, especially weekends. Paul and Timmy handled our frequent outdoor meals. Grilling was performed not on a gas grill as Paul would have preferred but on charcoal briquettes, just like in Sarah's constantly copied parents had used.
The kitchen was the female's domain, accompanied in spirit by mother. Her ghostly form joined to us at the stove and grocery store, and as the author of all recipes and menu suggestions. While I worshiped kitchen time with my daughter, her obsession with historical detail was becoming very annoying.
"Which did you use for hot chocolate, Nestles or Hershey?"
"I can't remember." I'd earn a roll of the eyes for my memory lapse.
"Do you use milk or water?"
"What do the directions tell you?" I'd counter.
"I mean what did you use?" So it went. But what the hell, we were getting along famously. I was the mother, at least by actions if not by name. I remained Sarah, not Mom, and love was a term for use to a little brother and, once again, Dad. I could live with the situation but it irritated Paul to no end.
"We've been married going on six months now. It wouldn't kill her to call you Mom." He threatened to speak to her about but I called him off.
"What would you accomplish by forcing her do something against her wishes? It has to come naturally, and even if it doesn't, I can live with that. She and I have an understanding."