Double Trouble (14 page)

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Subject
: re: LIFE!

Dear Tess -

Contentment, comfort and conformity are the dreams of sheep. Fulfillment, fortune and fame are the dreams of people. Unless the IQ of livestock has vastly increased - and their manual (hoofial?) skills - you must be of the latter genus. You only get one life so dream big.

Dream bold.

Dream in color.

Aunt Mary

***

Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!

Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:

http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com

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O
f course, you know that I got suckered into supporting the Sunday fishing adventure.

I should have seen it coming. My father doesn’t drive anymore, a favor to the life-loving people of Massachusetts, but I had foolishly expected James to manage the transit issues. Dad was hardly going to take the bus from North Station, not at his age.

First Jimmy hit on me, then Johnny, then my dad called, all three of them singing the pathetic male chorus. Their lives were in ruins without me and my driver’s license and my entire effing Sunday.

Grrr.

I’ve got to get better at saying no. Otherwise I’ll end up with a chronic case of psychosomatic psoriasis. I already had serious twitchies from all these people depending upon me. Ewww.

James was notoriously silent—James, notorious? I know, I know, I’m having trouble with that myself. Seems like an oxymoron. This man is too much of a straight arrow to make much of a pirate king, but still his lack of involvement seemed portentous. Maybe I’m getting even more neurotic.

If so, I suspected that it was because of that kiss. Or more likely, because of his strategy to tempt my curiosity. He was counting on me to buckle. And he had set this up, set
me
up, on that you can bet your last buck, just to tempt me a little closer.

I might have gotten suckered into doing the duty run, but I’d go down swinging.

In fact, in honor of my new orange—ahem,
persimmon
—hair, I decided on the swinging vintage zone of my closet. What to wear was a definite issue (isn’t it always?) because I didn’t want to look either inviting or indifferent. Just casual. But good. I needed to look really, really, really good.

I like men to salivate when I turn them down. It’s a power thing.

The chartreuse boots were a definite. They’re buttery soft leather, smooth and thin, and fit like my second skin. Spiky little stiletto heels, but only two inches high. Ha, I like the mixed message there.

Pointy toes, naturally, and they zip up tight, ending mid-calf. They are truly wonderful “come bite me, baby” boots. We called them go-go boots when I was a kid—well, we did when they were white—but these I call my Nancy Sinatra boots.

As in “made for walking”. Ticka boom ticka boom ticka boom.

Which incidentally, they’re not. A couple hours hiking in these puppies and I’d be soaking my feet for a week, but that’s not the point.

They make me feel good. Women stop me in the street to ask where they came from and how they can find a pair. They are conversation-openers in the arcane feminine language of Shoe.

Well, the flower power zip ankle slim pants were an obvious choice to go with the boots, as was the chunky funnel neck yellow sweater. A pair of St.Laurent-ish frames that were yellow-tinted shades and I was ready to rock. Little Miss Psychedelic Citrus.

Worked for me. By the way, I went with the Jockey sport-bra, just to short-circuit any ideas the man might have. You and I both know that those things are about as sexy as support hose. Going without, well, I’ve enough kazunga that it would hardly go unnoticed. Support is not an optional accessory and lack thereof might be construed as an invitation.

It was a great day in early March, the first clear day of spring, all sunshine and blue sky, and I was even glad to be awake for it. I took public transit to my dad’s, because I was too cheap for a cab and not anxious to be on time.

My father still has a car, don’t ask me why. It’s a grey K Car in mint condition. I suspect he has a secret dream that he will regain both vision and response times in a miraculous moment and take to the highways again with a vengeance.

It is a frightening prospect. But on this day, the K was handy if not elegant.

I was almost early, but my father still insisted that I was late, neglectful, and a pale shadow of my sister’s shining light. He was prepared to pick a fight, probably just for something to do. Sadly for that plan, I was prepared to forgive him much, having finished a butt-kicking firewall for the client the night before and having heard James’ dad have at him.

That lasted until Dad started on my driving.

I took 93, because I like to go fast and it was more or less heading in the right direction. I fully expected him to take issue with that—which he did—and to blame me for the traffic jam at one exit—which he did—but not for any criticism of my flawless execution of the passing technique which
he
taught me all those many years ago.

“Jesus, Joseph and Mary! You’ve nearly killed those people!”

I was remarkably temperate in replying. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I most certainly do. You’ve nearly killed us!”

“Thereby depriving you of the chance to one day live on cat food.” I glanced his way. “You should be thanking me.”

“I will not be thanking you for risking my life!” He was indignant and started jabbing his finger toward me. It was somewhat distracting as the silhouette kept appearing and disappearing in the rear view mirror. “You are not fit to be driving my car. You are not fit to be driving any car. In fact, you clearly
cannot
drive a car!”

I slapped my forehead with my palm. “Oh my God, you’re right! I forgot that I can’t actually drive.”

“Do not be taking the name of the Lord in vain, Mary Elizabeth!”

“All these years I’ve been living a lie!” I wailed, then snapped my fingers. I knew it drove him nuts when I took either hand off the wheel.

It took them both off. The K has perfect alignment, I know because I took it in to have it checked just two weeks before.

I surveyed the long empty stretch in front of us, then turned to face him dead on. His eyes boggled. “In fact, I’m going to stop driving right this minute. You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’ll just turn off the car right here.” I reached for the keys.

“Don’t be touching the ignition when you’re on the highway!”

“Oh, right. Silly me. I forgot, seeing as I don’t know how to drive and all.”

“Cheek!” he huffed. “That’s what you’re giving me...”

I pretended not to hear his muttering. “Think I should pull over? No, the road is really straight and we’ll be late for your fishing trip if we stop. Tell you what, we’ll just switch places. It’ll be just the easiest thing, thank heaven for bench seats. Come on, slide your leg over here while I squeeze mine over there...”

I chucked my right leg toward him, and the car slowed immediately with my foot off the gas. I deliberately knocked the engine out of gear and steered a bit jaggedly with my left knee. There was no one near us and we were in the right lane anyhow.

My father began to roar. “Mary Elizabeth O’Reilly, you stop these shenanigans this very moment!”

I looked at him, all innocent. “I could only stop if I was going to drive. Which I could only do if I knew
how
to drive.”

He inhaled half the planet’s atmosphere as he glared at me, then let it out in a long slow wheeze of concession. “Just don’t be passing anyone like that again.”

I whistled once I got my foot back on the gas. I waved cheerfully at the guy who honked and gave us the finger as he passed us, those gifts in return for the unpardonable sin of daring to slow to the posted speed limit.

We rode almost the rest of the way in silence, my father hunkered down in his coat, glowering like an old sourpuss.

He cleared his throat when we were getting close and I braced myself. This is his way of ensuring he gets the last word and wins the argument—he launches his last salvo as you park, then bounces out of the car, leaving you no time for return fire.

We turned down the street of the Coxwell residence and he began. “Your sister would never have given me such a fright. Your sister would never have willfully stolen a dozen years from her father’s life.”

And I had finally had enough. “Shame she didn’t pick you up then. It’s not as if I had anything better to do today than play chauffeur.”

“You’ve an impertinent tongue in your head.”

I tried, I really did.

“Not like your sister...”

I interrupted him. “And why was it exactly that she couldn’t pick you up today?”

My father gave me a wary look. “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you talk to her?”

“No.”

“And didn’t you think that was a bit odd?”

He sat forward, suspicious now. “What is it that you’re knowing that I’m not?”

“Oh look, we’re here.” I pulled into the drive, turned off the K and smiled brightly for him. He opened his mouth, but this time, I got out of the car and had the last word. I heard him sputtering behind me all the way to the porch. I rang the bell and waited.

“What are you knowing that I am not? What has happened to your sister? Why couldn’t Marcia pick me up today?”

I shrugged. “It’s not for me to tell you.”

Johnny opened the door, his gaze flicking from me to my father. The boy could smell conflict a bit too well, which was a shame at his age. I guessed that he’d had a few good whiffs of it in this house.

“Johnny, my boy, where is your mother?”

My younger nephew’s face crumpled, before Jimmy pushed him aside and took charge. “Open the door, you dope. You can’t leave people out there all day. Hey, Grandpa, we going to catch some big ones today?”

It was what my father always asked the boys and I appreciated that Jimmy was truly becoming a small adult. I saw in his eyes that he had not only heard my father’s question but had deliberately deflected it.

He was going to have to get a lot better to play that game with my father, though.

“I asked you a question, young man, and I’ll be waiting for my answer. Where is your mother?”

“She’s gone,” Jimmy said flatly. “And no one knows where.”

“What is this?” My father’s reply was mingled horror and disbelief. “Well, she must have had an excellent reason. What is the story here? What has happened?”

Johnny sniffled, averting his face when his older brother rolled his eyes. Jimmy was showing the insouciant indifference that would have marked a truly cool fifteen year old in my day—and he was only ten.

How times changed.

Neither answered my father, probably because they didn’t know the answer. My father began to sputter.

“Connor! Good to see you.” James strode down the hall, making a timely arrival, greeting my father with a smile and a firm handshake. “I apologize. I was on the phone with the realtor.”

Realtor? I glanced back and only just now noticed the For Sale sign on the lawn. Well, would wonders never cease. I hadn’t really expected James to make any tough choices or changes in his life. I hadn’t expected him to listen to me, or take my advice.

Looked like I had underestimated Mr. James Coxwell one more time. I looked back and noticed immediately that the chinos had been chucked in favor of faded Levis. He was wearing a T-shirt that was tight enough to reveal that investment at the gym and red enough to make his hair look coppery. He had thrown on a plaid flannel shirt and shoved his bare feet into Dockers. His hair was rumpled as if he’d been running his fingers through it in exasperation.

Most of this did nothing to explain the way my mouth went dry, much less why I had nothing to say. He was watching me, though, those eyes twinkling as though he could read my thoughts.

Okay, it wasn’t just my boots that were bitable in this vicinity.

“You’re not selling this house?” my father demanded.

“Yes, I’m hoping to.” James frowned. “Marcia has wanted to move into the city for a long time.”

“Is that where she is? Looking at houses?”

“No, Connor.” James sobered and held my father’s gaze. “She’s left us. The choice of living in the city vs. the country was just one of our many disagreements.”

My father blinked and leaned more heavily on his cane. It was a bittersweet moment for me to see him finally disappointed in one of Marcia’s choices.

I was pretty ticked with her, actually, for letting him down.

“She left you? And the boys?”

“All of us.”

“But, but, where has she gone?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell us that part.”

“She must have had a good reason...” My father visibly faltered, but James stepped out onto the porch. He gripped my father’s elbow, supporting his weight under the appearance of just escorting him into the house. It was a nice gesture.

And James spoke with quiet assurance. “She must have done and I hope she comes back to tell us what it is.”

“But...”

“What’s done is done, Connor, and I’m certain that she’ll call. It’s only been a few days. Why don’t you come in? Johnny will make a pot of tea, just the way you like it, and we can all have something to eat before you boys head out to your favorite creek.”

James’ words were low and soothing, coaxing everyone to follow along. My father was over the threshold probably before he thought about it and didn’t halt until he was halfway down the hall.

Then he pivoted and glared at me accusingly. “You
knew
! You knew the truth and you didn’t tell me.”

I shrugged. “You’ve spent my whole life telling me to mind my business. You can hardly blame me now for doing just that.”

He turned away so quickly that he almost fell, but James was there to catch his elbow. Jimmy chattered to him of fish and lures and bait, smoothing with the moment over with the expertise of a much older person. He actually coaxed a response from my father in short order: a correction, not uncharacteristically, of which lure would work better on a sunny day like today.

I didn’t realize right away that Johnny was still standing beside me. “Auntie Maralys?”