J is for Judgement

at her and a car that won't start. Her voice dropped. "I can't deal with this. I'm sorry, but this is all nonsense as far as I'm concerned. I'll have to ask you to leave.'" She rose to her feet, and I rose at the same time.
    "Hey, Mom?" Dana jumped. Her oldest son, Michael, was coming down the stairs. He caught sight of us and paused. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were busy down here." He was lanky and slim, with a dark mop of silky hair much in need of a cut. His face was narrow, nearly pretty, with large dark eyes and long lashes. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt emblazoned with a fake college decal, and high-top tennis shoes.
    Dana flashed a bright smile at him to disguise her distress. "We're just finishing. What is it, baby? Did you guys want something to eat?"
    "I thought I'd make a run. Juliet's out of cigarettes and the baby needs Pampers. I just wondered if you needed anything."
    "Actually, you might pick up some milk for breakfast. We're almost out," she replied. "Get a half gallon of low-fat and a quart of orange juice, if you would. There's some money on the kitchen table."
    "I got some," he said. "You keep that, honey. I'll get it." She moved off toward the kitchen.
    Michael continued to the bottom of the steps and snagged his jacket from the newel post where it was draped. He nodded at me shyly, perhaps mistaking me for one of his mother's bridal clients. Despite the fact that I'd been married twice, I've never had a formal wedding. The closest I'd ever come was a bride of Frankenstein outfit one Halloween when I was in the second grade. I had fangs and fake blood, and my aunt drew clumsy black stitches up and down my face. My bridal veil was affixed to my head with numerous bobby pins, most of which I'd lost by the time the evening came to an end. The dress itself was a cut-down version of a ballerina costume. . . some kind of Swan Lake number with an ankle-length skirt. My aunt had added sparkles, making squiggles with a tube of Elmer's glue that she sprinkled with dime-store glitter. I'd never felt so glamorous. I remember looking at myself solemnly in the mirror that night in a halo of netting, thinking it was probably the most beautiful dress I would ever own. Sure enough, I've never had anything quite like it since, though, in truth, it's not the dress so much as the feeling I miss.
    Dana came back into the living room and pressed a twenty into Michael's hand. They had a brief chat about the errand. While I waited for them to finish their business, I picked up one of the silver-framed photos. It looked like Wendell in high school, which is to say dorky-looking with a bad haircut.
    Michael left for the store, and Dana moved over to the table where I was standing. She took the picture from my hand and set it back on the tabletop. I said, "Is, that Wendell in high school?"
    She nodded, distracted. "Cottonwood Academy, which has gone out of business since. His was the last class to graduate. I gave his class ring to Michael. I'll give Brian his college ring when the time comes."
    "When what time comes?"
    "Oh, some special occasion. I tell them it's something their father and I always talked about."
    "That's laying it on a bit thick, isn't it?"
    Dana shrugged. "Just because I think Wendell's a schmuck doesn't mean they have to. I want them to have a man to look up to, even if he isn't real. They need a role model."
    "So you give them an idealized version?"
    "It might be a mistake, but what else can I do?" she said, coloring.
    "Yeah, really. Especially when he pulls a deal like this.�
    "I know I've given him more credit than he deserves, but I don't want to bad-mouth the man to his sons."
    "I understand the impulse. I'd probably do the same in your place," I said.
    She reached out impulsively and touched my arm. "Please leave us alone. I don't know what's going on, but I don't want them brought into it."
    "I won't bother you if I can help it, but you're still going to have to tell them."
    "Why?"
    "Because Wendell could beat you to it, and you might not like the effect."
    8 IT WAS NEARLY 10:00 P.M. by the time I hoofed it through the strip lot behind the Santa Teresa Yacht Club. After I left Dana Jaffe, I hit the 101 north, tearing back up the coast to my apartment where I hastily tried on several hangers' worth of hand-me- downs Vera'd passed along to me. In her unbiased opinion I'm a complete fashion nerd, and she's trying to teach me the rudiments of "shiek." Vera's into these Annie Hall ensembles that