Five Gremlins That Combat Organization Efforts
Fear of Failure
. Staying positive fights this meanie. You must think you can, like the "Little Engine That Could." Small progress is still progress and leads to big finishes.
You'd Rather Do Something Else
. Overcome this tyrant by scheduling an early hour each day to work on organization, leaving the rest of the day free for more enjoyable tasks. Or make doing a favorite activity contingent upon completing specific projects.
Setting Goals and Priorities That Are Too Broad
. Masked as a life-coach, this baddie challenges you to do your best but ultimately guarantees failure. Instead, define exactly what the assignment is. List each clutter-task—then prioritize. Do big stress chores first, and break everything into mini goals that can be completed within small periods.
Trying To Finish Too Quickly
. Pushy gremlins get beaten when you realize many organization projects can't get done in one sitting. On the other hand, waiting until you 'have time' often means projects never even get started.
Hanging On To the Past
. Sentimental and thrifty, this organizational jinx hates saying goodbye to anything. Determine each item's real importance. Strive to discard 30%. Can't bring yourself to throw away something still good? Give to charity or hold a tag sale.
*
Sophia and Keith. Sophia and Keith. Sophia and Keith.
An icy sensation had settled in Kate's spine after hearing the names together in Jane's voice, and she shivered as the names looped continuously in her brain, twining through treasured memories like demented ivy. All the conversations she and Keith had shared over the Nethercutt job, both before and after the murder, and he had never once mentioned anything about knowing Sophia.
Why hadn't he said something?
Her conscious mind told her he'd just been taking the husbandly, wimp-out approach to the situation. But, that cold sharp fear at the base of her brain scratched like a finger scraping off a scab, and made her wonder if he…
No. She hadn't listened as those few witchy hockey wives whispered their lies whenever the team played away from home, so why should she build up deceptions in her own mind now? Still…
The obsessive frigid finger tapped again, leaving her numb with the next thought. Could Sophia be setting Kate up in order to make another run at her former beau? He didn't answer his cell. She speed dialed Keith at the radio station, taking deep breaths as ringing began at the other end.
The bright voice of Eileen, the station's pert, nineteen-year-old receptionist, answered after four rings. "WHZE radio. All talk all the time."
"Hi Eileen, it's Kate McKenzie. Can I speak with Keith please?"
"Um, sorry Kate, but he's gone to the Big Apple. Didn't he leave you a message?"
"New York?"
"Uh, huh. He took off with Mrs. Nethercutt-White about an hour ago on the corporate jet. He has some big sports interview lined up for tonight."
Pain shot through Kate's left temple. She dropped her head into her hand. "I haven't checked the messages…Sorry I bothered you."
"Oh, no trouble at all." Eileen's voice maintained its cheerful chirpiness, never realizing what she'd said set off an atom bomb in Kate's world.
Sophia and Keith
. Sophia and Keith winging their way together to New York City. Numb, Kate replaced the telephone on its cradle. Sounds of a developing screaming match drifted down from upstairs. She experienced guilty relief knowing her daughters would stay in their room, prolonging the argument unless she intervened.
Which won't be anytime soon.
She didn't like taking advantage of a negative situation, but she needed time, alone, to work through all of this.
In the kitchen, the phone system light blinked to signal a missed call and message. She loved the money they saved running voice-over-internet-protocol instead of a landline or souping up their cell minutes, but at that moment she hated their Ooma system. The long gap between each red flash silently accused her of being a fool. After she hesitantly pushed the touchpad's pulsing triangle, Keith's voice penetrated her funk.
"Hi, honey. I get to interview Wayne Gretzky in New York tonight while he's in town for some benefit. Can you believe it? Buzz was supposed to, but the boss thought it'd be better if a former hockey player, namely yours truly, interviewed the hockey legend. Is that awesome, or what? WHZE has connections with a TV and sound crew to tape the interview, too. If I do this right my ugly mug may show up on ESPN!"
Tears spilled from Kate's eyes.
"Anyway, I won't be home tonight. I'm really sorry. I figure you're probably still a little stressed about last night, but hey,"
his voice turned gruff for a moment, and he cleared his throat.
"The cops seem to be focusing their attention away from you, right? I talked to Gil at lunch, and he told me the paper's police beat reporter said the state guy pulled in the family members again. Wish I could be home with you, though, but the boss has business in the City tomorrow morning, and I gotta wait until the corporate jet returns to Vermont. Tell the girls I'm sorry about missing their soccer game tomorrow, but I'll bring something back for them—for you too. Love you, babe."
The click at the end of his words sounded to Kate like a steel door slamming shut on her marriage. If he loved her so much, why hadn't he tried to reach her on her cell phone?
*
Kate wandered sightlessly through the house. When her fingers twisted nubby fabric she realized she stood by the sofa in the living room and had no recollection of walking there. She sank into its comfy embrace, conscious thought slipping away. Minutes passed, maybe hours. She had no idea how much time elapsed, or what her jumbled ruminations were all about until two blond heads popped up in front of her.
"What's for supper?" Suzanne asked.
"We're hungry," Sam added.
Better than a clock, the lengthening shadows outside the window marked time long past the regular McKenzie dinnertime. Kate sighed, took a second to get her bearings, then forced her way back into mom-mode and asked, "Your room's all clean?"
"Perfect!" the girls chorused.
"Even under the bed and in the closet?"
Sam gave a calculated nod, as Suzanne's shoulders shifted infinitesimally.
What to do, what to do
.
Forget it.
"Terrific. Want to go for pizza at Hazey Pie?"
She took their screams as assent and ushered them toward the van, driving in silence while the twins chattered nonstop behind her.
The aroma of spicy sauces assaulted the senses even before the girls wrestled open the heavy oak door. Waiting to be seated, Kate scanned for Louie, and the twins played hopscotch on the tiled floor.
"Is Louie on duty tonight?" she asked the high school-aged hostess. Their booth sat near the front window. Sam and Suze were handed coloring menus and individual quad-packs of crayons. The pair attacked the pages, each wanting to be the first to complete her artistic masterpiece.
"Sorry, no. He had to go out of town for a few days." The teenager smiled, and turned to leave.
"Just one second." Kate stopped her. "By any chance is the person working who took phone orders last night?"
The hostess wrinkled her forehead. "Let's see, that was Pete and Ellie. Ellie's here, but Pete called in sick."
"Could I talk to her?"
The girl took a step back and looked at the order area behind the counter. "She's super busy."
"Well, could you ask her a question for me?" Kate heard desperation creep into her voice. The hostess apparently detected the anxiety, too, because she nodded and said, "Sure. What do you need to know?"
"A mistaken pizza order came to our house last night. I just wondered who placed the order."
Smiling ruefully, the girl said, "Happens all the time. People give the wrong address or a bunch of teenagers playing pranks."
"I'd like to find out whatever I can, though," Kate prodded. "I live at 223 Chestnut Circle."
With a shrug, the girl said, "No problem. I'll ask. A server will be by to take your drink order in a minute."
The hostess returned just as they slipped straws in their sodas. Her look made it clear the answer wasn't the one Kate wanted.
"Sorry, but Ellie said it was Pete. They talked about it for a second with Louie. He came back steamed from going out on a no-sale. She remembers Pete saying he'd thought he remembered a woman placed the order, but it was busy so anything's possible."
"Mommy, can I have an ink pen?" Sam was already tired of her crayons.
"Me too," Suzanne mimicked.
"Thank you," Kate said to the hostess, and grabbed her purse to search for additional drawing options.
Their segregated pizza, half artichoke hearts and sun-dried tomatoes and half pepperoni, arrived perfect. The girls dug into their spicier end with such zeal they stayed oblivious to their mother's somber mood.
Why were the two people she needed unavailable? Coincidence, or calculated? She longed to drag out a pad and pencil and scratch her thoughts and concerns onto paper but didn't want to explain to the girls. When none of the pepperoni side was left, Kate requested a carryout box for her half, minus the one piece she'd taken a single bite from, and paid the bill.
They saw the phone message light pulse frenetically as they arrived back home.
"Hi, hon,"
Keith's excited voice came through the speaker.
"Thought I'd catch you now, but here's the update. Everything went great! Met up with some New Jersey Devils I know, too, and we're all going to get together tonight. I'm staying at the Metropolitan, room 447. Tell the girls I love 'em. Love you, too. Bye."
Kate called Directory Assistance for the number of the Metropolitan Hotel.
"Keith McKenzie's room, please," she said.
After four rings, the hotel's automated voice mail came on. She didn't leave a message.
"Don't even worry about this," she muttered to herself, "He's just spending some hockey-catch-up time with his Devils friends—not some demon home-wrecker."
"What mommy?" Suze asked.
Kate started. "Oh, nothing, sweetie."
"Okay." Her daughter smiled, then grabbed her Barbie off one of the kitchen chairs and skipped from the room. Kate wished reassurance came as easily for adults.
*
Once the girls were asleep and the house quiet, Kate documented the questions rolling around in her mind. Danny and Sophia were top of her list at the moment.
Consider:
1) Why is Danny implicating everyone in the murder—is he really trying to be helpful, or diverting suspicion from himself?
2) Why didn't Sophia say something about knowing Keith when we met at Amelia's? For that matter, why didn't Keith tell me Sophia had the hots for him ten years ago?
She stopped for a moment and thought over the last entry. Was her earlier doomsday outlook due to lack of sleep and not having either of her most supportive allies around to talk to? Normally she took her problems and concerns to Keith or Jane. Should she try to talk everything over with Meg?
Kate sighed. Their friendship was too new to have the heavyweight foundation needed to unload this kind of personal baggage, but she knew the relationship might never advance any further unless she forced herself to let down her guard and allow Meg to really come into her world. Her neighbor had certainly done her part these past few months, always inviting Kate to activities, introducing her to anyone and everyone in town, and being a generally great person. She sighed again.
It wasn't that she didn't want to be friends, but her history whenever she took the chance to open up to people made her more than a little wary. Keith always teased about her reserve, but after having moved constantly during childhood—and having found herself in much the same program after becoming Mrs. Keith McKenzie, pro NHL goalie-wife—an attitude of caution in regard to personal relationships had become standard operating procedure. Couple that with certain toxic hockey wives.
Well…trust is a precious commodity.
She'd always been a worrier, she had to be with the lackadaisical way her parents had approached life, and things had gotten worse after the girls were born. She'd ended up in various therapy programs, but the therapist in Pittsburgh was the best and had been the one to convince Kate to write as many detailed notes as she needed to get all of the never ending tasks and troubling thoughts out of her brain.
Funny how hard it was to escape the patterns created in childhood. Sure, all the family moving had honed her organizational skills at an early age, but the practice made it more difficult to be flexible. Each change gave her new things to stay concerned about, problems she was often still too immature to worry over—but that hadn't stopped her.
Friendships were a wild card she finally decided to forgo almost completely. Just as she thought she'd made a real friend in her new school, found a confidant—whoosh! Another day, another protest to hook her parents, and Kate found herself in another new apartment in another new town where her mother and father heeded a new calling.
Wait a minute.
Enough anger coursed through her veins from the current circumstances, she didn't need to dredge up kid-years ire, too. Her parents had a mission, and she'd just been trapped in the jet stream they'd created.
That's all, and that's history.
She snapped her rubber band. Nothing positive came by revisiting the past, especially to keep from dealing with the present.
The question on the table was could she, and should she, open up to Meg?