Read Born Under a Lucky Moon Online
Authors: Dana Precious
Born Under a Lucky Moon (29 page)
I had no doubt that I now owed him the ad work on
Cosmic Cruisers
. And I now felt like I needed a shower. Exhausted, I didn't even try to attend the meeting with Katsu and Stripe. I left work early at 7 p.m. and straggled home. Lucy was already there and had poured herself a glass of wine and lit the gas fireplace.
“I'd cook . . . but do you care if I just get something delivered?” I flopped onto the couch.
“No problem.” She waved her hand while studying important-looking legalese documents. I ordered some Italian. When it arrived, Lucy and I ate together and discussed our day. Mine wouldn't have made much sense to her, so I let her do most of the talking. She seemed to be hesitating about something though and I prodded her.
“I'd like to see Sammie and Elizabeth while I'm here.”
“Sure, of course.” I nodded.
“So I invited them over here to your house tomorrow afternoon. You said you thought you could take some more time off.”
“Luuucccyyy.” I drew the word out as I threw my head back against the chair. An emotional confrontation was absolutely the last thing I needed right now.
Lucy pushed her food around on her plate. “It's been a long day for both of us. Why don't we just talk about this in the morning?”
Glad for any delay, I said yes. We both went to bed. I assume Lucy fell asleep immediately as usual. Also as usual, I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and couldn't get my brain to shut down. At 6 a.m. I finally went to the kitchen to make some coffee and surf the Internet for news. Running water in the shower alerted me that Lucy was now awake as well. When the doorbell rang I looked up, startled. Who in the world would be here at this time of day? Scuffling in my slippers and robe through the living room, I pulled the curtains aside slightly to see who was on my porch. It was Aidan.
Oh my God. Aidan. And Lucy. Together in my house. No, no, no, this was not going to happen. They were
not
going to meet. I opened the front door without removing the chain.
“Hi, babe! I got done early in Vancouver and took a red-eye flight to surprise you.” He was all smiles.
“Uh, hi,” I said hesitantly. Instinctively I looked over my shoulder. Reassuringly, I could still hear the shower running. Lucy wouldn't come out soon.
Aidan paused and regarded me. “Are you going to let me in?” He pointed to the chain.
“It's not such a good time right now.” My eyes darted over my shoulder again.
Behind me, I heard a door slam. Aidan heard it too. He took a step back on the porch. “Jeannie, is someone else here?”
I hung my head and nodded. He was going to be so freaking angry with me that I hadn't told him my sister was coming into town. Looking up I saw his face had crumpled.
“I . . . I can't believe this. I can't believe you would do this to me. To
us
. Why didn't you tell me?” Aidan's voice was rising. Then abruptly he stopped and spun on his heel. Halfway down the steps I heard him say, “Have a good life, Jeannie.”
Lucy called out behind me, “Hey, Jeannie, do you have a blow dryer?”
Watching Aidan's car pull away, I slowly shut the door. “Sure,” I said faintly.
I got Lucy the blow dryer, then sat, stunned, at the kitchen table. Lucy came out brushing her now-dry hair and trying to pull on a shoe at the same time. “I'm late,” she said. “I'll just grab breakfast at the . . .” She caught sight of my face. “My God, Jeannie, what's wrong?”
Violently, I shook my head. I didn't think I could speak. But Lucy sat quietly at the kitchen table with me, minutes ticking by, until I finally found my voice. I poured out the whole story, ending with the confrontation with Aidan this morning.
Lucy eyed me. “So you told Aidan that someone was here at 6:30 in the morning?”
I twirled my coffee cup between my hands and didn't meet her gaze.
“Did you happen to mention it was me, your sister?” Lucy inquired.
I shook my head no. I mean, who else would it have been? Lucy waited for me to catch on. Then alarmed, I shot my eyes to hers. Oh God. Aidan thought I had another man over last night.
D
ad and Evan studied the broken hose. They couldn't figure out how Grandma had managed it. Dad finally told us that this had happened before, right before Grandma ran away to Florida. His own father had come home from work, smoking a cigarette as usual, to find their kitchen filled with gas. In that case it was from the stove. The damage had been contained to the kitchen when the gas went boom. Dad's father had sustained only minor burns. No one else was in the house at the time.
The next day Mom and Dad sat down with Grandma. I joined them for moral support. What they gleaned was that she was ready to go back to her nursing home and she figured if the house were uninhabitable, we'd have to ship her back. I eyed Mom across the table. Grandma had asked for spaghetti, knowing Mom had to go downstairs to get the sauce. She knew Mom often had a lit cigarette in her hand. Maybe Grandma thought she could get rid of Mom and get sent back to her nursing home in one fell swoop.
Any other family would have shipped Grandma off so fast that her gray pin curls would have spun. Not Mom and Dad. They understood that Grandma was sick and not truly responsible for many of her actions. In the end, though, they called the nursing home, and they agreed to take Grandma back early. That's what Grandma wanted and she was happy with the outcome. It didn't seem to bother her that she had killed our dog to achieve her objective. But her brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.
Dad asked Father Whippet to come up and perform the burial service. Buddy was to be buried under the pine tree by the dock stairs. The last person I wanted there was Father Whippet, but I didn't want to add one more log to the bonfire of chaos by telling Dad about the good Father. We prayed and then laid Buddy in the hole wrapped in my quilt.
Back in the living room, Father Whippet tried to lay a guilt trip on my parents. “Events like this occur when the Lord is angry over our actions.”
My mother's coffee cup literally trembled in its saucer. I had never seen that look on her face before. He continued, “Pearl spoke to me about how you forced her to stay here.”
It was like lightning had struck a tree, peeled away the bark, and laid it raw. Mom stood up, crossed the room, and took Father Whippet's cup from his hand. He did not understand that this was her signal for him to leave. When he didn't, she tore into him. “In case you hadn't noticed, Pearl is very ill. We did not force her into our home. When she needed somewhere to go, we welcomed her with open arms. That's not called force, John; it's called love! And if you think that is so wrong, well, you can just shove it up your ass!”
“Rose!” Dad and Father Whippet gasped at the same time. Then Father Whippet beat it out of the living room and shut the front door behind him. Mom felt behind her for the couch and sat down heavily. Dad sat next to her and put his arms around her shoulders.
“What he must think of me!” she said. My mother never used vulgarity. Ever. And for her first go-around she had told off our minister.
“Now, now, Rose. What you said was right,” Dad crooned.
“What will my kids think of me? What kind of example am I setting for them?”
“Yeah, Mom, some role model you are.” I laughed. “We'll probably be kicked out of church. Hey, Dad, can Episcopalians be excommunicated, or is that only for Catholics? And you know, Mom”âI stroked her hair fondlyâ“now that we may not have church in our lives, I really feel compelled to go out and drink a fifth of Jack Daniel's, find a crack house, and maybe knock over a 7-Eleven. You know, because church was the only example I've ever had in my life.”
Mom wiped her eyes with Kleenex. “Jeannie, don't be irreverent!” Then she started to giggle and we had ourselves the best laugh we'd had in days.
I
t's getting to be that time of year. When you start your truck in the morning twenty minutes before you leave so it will be warm when you hit the road. When the leaves are turning yellow, orange, and red. When bow hunters anxiously wait for the results of the early license lottery for doe-hunting season.” Evan was puttering around the kitchen making frittatas. He gestured to the camera with an egg. “And the salmon. Henry Williamson wrote one of the definitive books on the subject. It's called
Salar the Salmon
. âSalar,' for those of us who didn't have Latin in schoolâokay, that's all of usâmeans âleaper.' This is the time of year when these heroic fish swim against ferocious currents, up and over waterfalls, rocks, logs, and fish ladders to return to the waters of their birth. They do this for one reason only: to reproduce.”
Evan poured olive oil into a pan and chopped a red pepper before continuing. “No one knows why the salmon need to return to the site of their first breath to spawn. Pacific salmon will leave the ocean and swim back up the rivers from whence they came. These fish might swim literally hundreds of miles to make it to the one place they know instinctively as the one and only location to give birth. Then, ironically, after these salmon give everything for their children to be born, they die. Is this a kind of spiritual rebirth?” Evan smiled. “Or is it just that they don't want to raise the kids?”
Mom sputtered her coffee out as she laughed. I buttered toast and watched my brother. “And don't forget,” he continued, “once those salmon turn red they're usually no good to eat.”
Chuck turned to me. “Why?”
“Because their meat is mushy. It's because they're dying,” I said through a mouthful of toast, wondering if he was going to put something decent on over his boxers. Elizabeth leaned back and rubbed her belly. She did that a lot even though she was only three months along and her belly was flatter than mine. Elizabeth, Lucy, and Chuck had arrived two weeks earlier.
I knew Mom was gearing up to extract the truth out of Elizabeth. Every time she talked to her eldest daughter about the situation, Elizabeth would only say, “I'm just exhausted. I don't think I can pull it together to work and I want to be close to someone who has been through this five times.” I knew what Mom was thinking, that if Elizabeth was telling the truth, then she was being a ninny. Mom had worked straight up until her ninth month with all of us. And if she wasn't telling the truth, then there was a bigger story there. Like, where was Ron? Elizabeth hadn't even mentioned her husband since she got home. So Mom was keeping her counsel until she had analyzed the situation and knew from which angle to attack.
Lucy, on the other hand, slept all of the time. She only got up to eat and go to the bathroom. Mom was actually more concerned about Lucy than about Elizabeth. But all of us were worried about Evan. Anna slammed down the phone every time he called her. I had run into her at Keefe's Pharmacy a few days earlier and she pretended not to see me, which is pretty hard to do in a store that small. I caught up with her in the parking lot.
“What do you want, Jeannie?”
Was I supposed to apologize for my family? Or tell her that Evan missed her and sat in the gazebo by himself every night? “Are you moving to Florida?” I finally got out.
She brushed her dark hair from her eyes and leaned against her car door. “Yes. I'm going at the end of the month. You can tell your brother.”
This was not the answer I had been expecting. “But why?” I asked in shock.
“I love Evan,” she said without looking at me, “but I just can't fit in. I never should have married him. It's awful to be married to a man who has four sisters who don't like you.” She got into her car and pulled away.
Another Milwaukee. All of us, even Evan, had assumed that Anna was upset by the weird things that happened to the family. But it wasn't really that at all. She didn't feel loved by us. And that, in my opinion, was much, much worse.
I did the only thing I could think of: I called Sammie. She listened to me as I poured out the story.
“I have to think on this one now,” she replied. “Don't tell anybody else yet.” I felt better when I hung up the phone but now, several days later, I was wondering when she was going to finish thinking.
Evan came in the back door. “How'd you like the show today?”
“It was good,” Dad said. “Subtle and interesting. Come on, Evan. It's the big moment.” As the two of them disappeared into the backyard I heard Dad say, “I'm December fourth, 2:45 a.m., Black.”
Lucy was awake now and lying on the couch. “Does being pregnant really make you this tired?” I inquired. “Because so far, it doesn't look very pleasant.” Lucy didn't answer me. The phone rang and I grabbed it.
“Hello?”
It was Sammie. “Pick me up at the Muskegon airport tomorrow night at 7 p.m. Bring Lucy and Elizabeth. Don't tell them what's happening with Anna until the car ride to the airport.”
“Should I bring my miniature camera and spy handbook?” I joked.
“A camera is a pretty good idea, actually,” Sammie mused.
“Are you going to tell me what the plan is?”
“Nope. Just be there.” Sammie hung up.
Dad ran into the house. “Everyone! Outside! Quick!” When language like that was used in our house, everyone obeyed. Mom, Elizabeth, Lucy, Chuck, and I ran outside, where Evan and Dad were grinning like fools. Dad nodded at Evan, who flipped a switch. “Voilà !” Dad cried. The sprinklers came to life, chugging their way around in a slow circle making a “ch, ch, ch” noise. We all stood on the porch and clapped wildly. This had been years in the making. Dad smiled and then took a deep bow toward us.
Dad and Evan strutted to the gazebo, where they congratulated each other over cigarettes. I was on lunch duty at the Blit so I couldn't stay for the celebration. Mom was making lime Jell-O with shredded carrots and mini-marshmallows, which I definitely could live without. I was walking to work when I saw the pink notices stapled to telephone poles.
WARNING: The Department of Natural Resources (DNR) will be treating Bear Lake with weed killer on September 9. DO NOT swim in Bear Lake or use the water on lawns or plants September 9â12!
I ripped down one of the notices and stuck it in my purse to show to Dad. When I arrived at the Blit that day, the lunch crowd was normal since summer was over. School had started and most college kids were gone. Walker was leaving in the morning. I had traded my night shift for the day shift so we could have a last night together.
The Squirrel Board had filled up in a hurry, and now people were taping little scraps of paper to the board to make their bets. As I sailed by with a perch sandwich, Teeni, our neighbor, called out to me. “Honey, why did you bet November thirtieth? We've never had a first snow on November thirtieth.”
I called over my shoulder, “Nineteen sixty-two. Check your stats.”
Teeni was leaning on the bar and sipping a Bloody Mary. She flipped through the Squirrel Board logbook. “Huh, you're right. I never win anything. I guess I'm not very lucky.” She glanced out at the parking lot, straightened her Talbot's catalogue smock top, and patted her auburn-dyed hair. Father Whippet entered the bar. “But I have been
getting
lucky, if you know what I mean.”
Father Whippet headed straight for Teeni. He pulled her from the bar and over to a table.
“Tommy,” I hissed across the bar. “Will you take their order?”
He looked at me over his bifocals. “I do believe that's what I hired
you
for.” He went back to the sports page. Father Whippet was startled to see me standing at his table with my pad and pen at the ready. He must've thought I had gone back to school already.
“I'm here to counsel Katrina,” he said and patted her hand. Teeni stroked his hand with her forefinger in return. He hurriedly pulled it away. It was all I could do not to retch.
“Do you know what you want?” I hadn't bothered bringing menus because the locals already had everything memorized.
“I know what
I
want,” Teeni said to Father Whippet meaningfully. I rolled my eyes. Teeni had been married for forty and some odd years. Her husband was a boring, high-level executive at Generated Power, and he only talked about pistons and stock prices, but still.
“If it's on the menu, I can help you out.” I couldn't help the sarcasm. “Otherwise there might be other establishments that can accommodate you better.”
“The Thompson family certainly has gotten rude lately,” Father Whippet said.
I figured now that I had learned to use my mouth I might as well go for broke. “We're just saying what we have always thought. Communication, as you pointed out in your last sermon, is very healthy.”
“I'll have the Junior BLT burger, rare.”
“Does your wife know you're, ah, having lunch today?” I asked as I wrote down his order. Father Whippet tried to throw his napkin down in a snit but since it was paper it just floated to the floor.
“That's it! Katrina, you'll just have to receive counseling another dayâperhaps when Miss Thompson has a little less to say.” I watched his Adam's apple bob above his white collar as he swallowed hard. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out the door.
Teeni wilted at the table. “Bring me another Bloody Mary, honey. But hold the Bloody and hold the Mary. Make the rest of it a double.”
I was surprised at how good I felt finally saying exactly what I thought. That night I fairly danced around while I got ready for my date with Walker. I even had the bathroom to myself for once. I wore my best jeans, yellow short-sleeve shirt with the little polo player on it, and Sammie's yellow sandals. I was all smiles when I answered the door for him. All six-foot-two of him looked and smelled good. “You ready?” He smiled back at me.
“All set.” I grabbed my purse and followed him down the walk.
“Feel the temperature?” He held out his hand like he was weighing the air. “It warmed up nicely today. I'm taking you somewhere I've never taken anyone: the last bend on the Little Manistee River.”
As I climbed into the car I prayed that maybe he had a romantic Indian summer picnic planned. We bumped along a two-track with branches scraping the roof of the car. Finally we came to a clearing next to the river. “Here?” I asked hopefully, looking for the candles and champagne.
“Oh no.”
He went to the back of the car and lowered the tailgate; then he handed me what I least wanted to see. “I brought you my little brother's waders.”
“Gosh, thanks.” Walker completely missed the tone in my voice. I abandoned Sammie's sandals and struggled into the waders, pulling the suspenders up over my shoulders and tightening them as much as I could. The waders still came up past my chest. My bare feet felt mucky inside of the too-large rubber boots. I was ticked off at Walker that I had spent any time on my makeup and clothes. He got out his fishing rod and tied on a fly.
“See here?” He showed me the fly. “It's called a Royal Humpy.” It was black and hairy with a red dot in the middle. “The trout love them.” Darkness was falling and Walker turned on his headlamp. He got into the river first, then held my hand while I slid down the bank. He walked with sure steps through the slow-moving water. I held his hand and fumbled along behind him. After a while my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could see the outline of the trees along the bank. My foot hit a submerged branch every once in a while but I was getting the hang of it.
“Hold on, we're almost there,” Walker whispered. Almost where? I thought. The middle of nowhere? But I had relaxed and the night was beautiful. Stars were overhead and lending some light. Even though I hadn't said anything, Walker said, “Shhh,” then turned out his headlamp. We stood still, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness. Then I saw them: flickers of light ahead of us, flitting in the trees, above the river, in the grass. There were thousands, perhaps millions of fireflies. It was like the secret place where fairies frolic in the forest. We waded into the glowing lights. Then Walker turned to me and tilted my head up. He kissed me and I pressed into him.
“Jeannie, will you marry me?”
I was so startled I couldn't help myself. “Why?”
He laughed. “For all the normal reasons people get married.”
I was so unprepared for this, I didn't know what to say. I didn't even ask him if he loved me. Instead I stuttered, “Wh-What about my family?”
Walker folded me in his arms and pulled me as close as two people can get in fishing waders. “Honey, it'll be fine. After I graduate I'm sure I'll get a job in some big city. We'll still see your family at Christmas.” From where my head rested on his upper arm, I stared at the black water encircling us. Walker then gently held me out at arm's length and regarded me. I couldn't stand the look on his face. He was waiting, hopeful. I wanted it to feel right but it didn't. But I didn't want to disappoint him.
Just then a fish jumped and Walker couldn't help himself. He turned on his headlamp to study the size of the ripples. That's when I saw it: the sign I didn't know I had been waiting for. His lamplight caught the stone arch of an old bridge, and there, etched into the side in formal lettering, was my grandmother's last name:
HARMON
. The Harmon Bridge. I turned to Walker.