Born Under a Lucky Moon (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-one
July 1986

M
om immediately got down to business. “How do you want your eggs?” she asked Lucy.

Lucy popped the top on a Tab. “I don't want any eggs.”

“So, tell me, what's wrong?” Mom demanded from the stove.

“Mooooommm.” Lucy stretched it out into a two-syllable word. “I haven't even woken up yet.”

Mom put a plate down in front of Lucy. “Here are your eggs.”

“Does she not listen to me?” Lucy asked me.

Mom pointed a spatula at her. “Eat. Then we're going to shake this thing out.”

“What ‘thing'? You don't even know yet if there
is
a ‘thing,' ” Lucy complained.

“
Is
there a ‘thing'?” I asked.

Lucy poked at her eggs. “Yes.” Then she made a face and pushed the plate away. Mom watched her for a second. “I knew it.” She sat down. “You're pregnant.” She was careful not to show any expression until Lucy let her know how she should feel. Happy? Not happy?

Lucy looked up at her, and tears ran down her face. Ah. Not happy. “I just don't know how this could have happened,” she wailed.

I opened my mouth to knock this easy ball out of the park, but Mom put her hand on my knee. Mom wisely didn't say anything until Lucy had spit out the story as fast as a chipmunk on speed: she and Chuck weren't getting along, but they got along once in a while, hence the baby, but she had been on birth control; she might have forgotten a couple of pills, but could you really get pregnant if you missed just a couple of pills, okay, it was two weeks worth of pills, but still, and she and Chuck fought a lot, but maybe everybody did, and if they lived together instead of apart maybe it would be easier. Lucy paused for breath and Mom patted her shoulder. Then Mom got up to get Lucy soda crackers and a can of flat Coke that was in the refrigerator. Lucy continued. What was she going to do with a baby? She wanted to go back to school and who could do that with a baby, but she knew that Mom went to school when she had a baby, but what was Chuck going to do for a job, and her whole life was over, and she was tired of everything being so hard. She stopped, made a twisted face, then raced out of the kitchen and threw up mightily in the bathroom.

Grandma came and took Lucy's place at the table. “I would like to get out of this house and go for a walk.”

Mom took this as a good cue for me. “Jeannie, why don't you help your grandmother into her wheelchair and take her out for a while? Buddy, too,” she said as an afterthought.

We heard Lucy retch again.

“Is that girl pregnant?” Grandma demanded. “Bad business, babies. Never could stand 'em. Lumpy lumps of flesh.” I was glad Dad wasn't around to hear this from his mother. My own mother was getting the wheelchair out of the hall closet and didn't hear her, which was a good thing, because Mom probably wouldn't have let this one go unanswered. I loaded Grandma into the chair and nearly lost her down the ramp.

“There's a brake on the left side,” Grandma instructed over her shoulder. I pushed her down the street while Buddy pulled at his leash, trying to go any way but the way I was going. We strolled up to where volunteers were setting up tables and chairs in Custer Park for the ice cream social. It was starting later today, with a parade featuring the Shriners, the fire truck, and the high school band. Mrs. Mearston came over to say hello.

“Hi, Jeannie,” she said, and then in that cooey voice people use with old people and dogs, she said, “And who might this be?” She knew Buddy, so I assumed she meant my grandmother. I introduced them, then continued wheeling Grandma through the park. After fifteen minutes I figured Mom had had enough alone time with Lucy so I took her home.

Lucy was curled up in Dad's red chair and Mom was on the phone. I helped Grandma out of her wheelchair and stuck her at the kitchen table with her deck of cards. She immediately began playing solitaire.

“What's going on?” I asked Lucy.

“She's making an appointment for me. She wants me to see a counselor so I can understand all my options.”

“Did she say what she thinks you should do?”

Lucy looked at me wearily. “You know she would never do that. If I have it, she'll say I made the right decision, and if I
don't
have it, she'll say I made the right decision.”

“If you knew that already, why did you come all the way home to talk it over?” I asked.

“Because she's the only one who knows exactly what to say to me.”

Mom hung up the phone and told Lucy to get her coat. The counselor would see Lucy right then since she had to leave in a few days to get back to base. When they left, I was feeling a little lonely, so I decided to make brownies. I don't care if they come out of a box; I am proud of my brownies. Tom, the handyman, knocked on the back door just as I was pulling them out of the oven

“When did you suddenly start knocking?” I asked as I opened the door. He trailed in behind me.

“Seemed the polite thing to do, since you have company.”

I was puzzled until I realized he meant Grandma.

“Your dad said he was leaving me a check, and there should be a big manila envelope here for me, too.”

I looked on the counter but didn't see them. Searching in the mess of papers on top of the refrigerator I finally located both the check and the envelope. Eyeing the mound of letters and junk mail, I itched to organize it all. But I knew Mom and Dad would kill me if I changed their “system,” as they called it. Climbing down from the chair that was my ladder, I handed the items to Tom. He peered into the empty Mr. Coffee, then looked at me, wounded.

“We're out,” I explained. “Want a Coke?”

“Nah.” He took off his John Deere hat and scratched his head. “But I'll take a brownie.” He sat down at the table and I put the whole pan in front of him. He delicately cut out a piece and looked at me. “What? Do you live in a barn? Can a guy get a plate around here?”

I looked right back at him. “You know where they are.” It's not like I was running a restaurant or something. This guy spent more time at our house than I did.

Tom went to the cupboard. When he sat back down, Grandma shuffled in and sat with him. “Did you bring these?” she asked him.

“No, Mrs. Thompson.” Tom smiled. “Jeannie made them.”

“They haven't had food in this house for days,” Grandma insisted. She jerked her head at me. “Her father lost his job, you know.”

Tom snapped his head around to me. “What? Jeannie, you didn't tell me!” He fingered the check in his hand like it could bounce right then and there. “You would have thought it would be in the paper, with your Dad being the county administrator and all. Do you have today's
Chronicle
?”

Oh, for crying out loud, I thought. Tom had the biggest mouth in town. Now this rumor would be all over the place. “Grandma!” I said sharply. “You know very well that Dad did not lose his job. Will you please stop saying things like that?”

Grandma leaned over and whispered loudly to Tom, “The kids are always the last to know.”

Tom nodded conspiratorially, then got up and took another brownie with him. As he was heading out the door I asked, “What's in the envelope anyway?”

“Your parents' taxes.”

“What are you doing with that?”

“It's time for them to file. I got them an extension in April, but they need to get these finished up now to avoid late penalties. Course, with your father losing his job and all, there may be complications.”

I stared at our handyman, who apparently was also (hopefully) an accountant. “I didn't realize you were a jack of so many trades.”

Tom stopped at the door. “I graduated first in my class in undergrad and grad school at Northwestern. But accounting is so damn boring. I just do it for the cash once in a while.” He slammed the door behind him and I heard him pull the cord on the lawnmower. After a couple of tries, it came to life. I watched him run over half the marigolds while wheeling the mower to the lawn. He paused, looked back at the marigolds, shook his head, and began mowing.

I turned back to Grandma. “Why do you keep saying Dad lost his job?”

“There are some things adults don't tell children,” she said. “They think you're too young to know.”

I was wrapping up the rest of the brownies in Saran Wrap when I remembered Elizabeth's hysterical phone call to the Blit. That had been night before last. In the panic of thinking Lucy was dead, I had forgotten about her. I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Elizabeth?”

“Hi, Jeannie.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know why you care. You didn't even call me back yesterday.”

“We thought Lucy was dead, but it turned out she was all right. So we were busy, sorry.”

I could feel Elizabeth's exasperation humming over the line. She said tartly, “I have a real life problem and Mom decided that one of us was dead again? She has got to stop imagining things.”

“We had more evidence than usual so you can't blame Mom this time. But anyway, what's wrong?”

“I'm moving home.”

I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor with the phone still to my ear. This was going to be a long call.

Elizabeth sobbed out her story. My liberated sister had agreed to having only Ron's name on the checking account. She dutifully signed her name on the back of every paycheck she got and turned it over to him. He took care of, or was supposed to take care of, the bills. Today, a repo man had come to her door to repossess the car that had just been sold.

“Where was the money going?” I was bewildered.

“Who knows? There may also be a woman involved in all of this somewhere.”

I could hear the heaviness in her voice as she continued. “He told me he was a therapist. But whenever I call his office, he's not there. So I asked some people who work in offices on the same floor if they ever see him. They didn't even know who he was. I don't think he was working at all.”

“Mom will be back soon. Do you want me to keep quiet or do you want me to tell her you're coming home because Ron took all of your money?”

After a long pause, Elizabeth said, “Tell her I'm coming home because I'm pregnant.” Then she hung up the phone. I got up from the floor and put the phone back in its cradle. I could hear the band warming up for the parade. It was almost noon. When the firehouse blew its whistle, then the parade would start. It was a source of consternation to most of the town that the firehouse blew its whistle every single day at noon. It wasn't a pleasant sound, like church bells. It was a horn that sounded like we were being warned that the Japanese were flying in for a bombing raid on North Muskegon. It went on for a full minute and had been doing so since 1943. After Mr. Vanderman dropped dead unexpectedly at 12:01 one day, Mrs. Vanderman petitioned to stop the infernal noise. But the city council voted her down because they said that since he was raised in this town he should have been used to, and therefore should have expected, the racket.

I suddenly realized Grandma wasn't anywhere in sight. I checked the sliding doors but they were closed.

“Grandma?” I called. There was no answer. I didn't think she could make it up the stairs by herself but maybe she had tried. I called up the stairs, but again there was no answer. She wasn't anywhere in the house. I went outside and tried to make myself heard over the lawnmower. “Hey, Tom!” Finally, he looked up and put a hand to his ear, and then he bent over and shut off the machine. Just then the noon whistle went off and we were both rendered speechless for the full minute. We stood with our fingers in our ears until it died away.

“Have you seen Grandma?” I asked.

“Nah, but I haven't really been looking. I meditate when I cut lawns. It's a Buddhist method that—”

I cut him off. “I'd love to know more, but I have to find Grandma.” I ran back inside to double-check the house. She hadn't reappeared in the kitchen. As I was deciding where to look next, the phone rang.

“Jeannie, honey, this is Mrs. Mearston.”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Mearston.”

“Honey, I just wanted to let you know I saw your grandmother wheeling up the street. She's headed for the ice cream social.”

I didn't wait to hear any more. “Thanks, I'll run up and get her right now.” I hung up quickly and ran out to the garage and grabbed the green Schwinn. I would have to wheel the bike and Grandma back. I pedaled up the street until I saw the crowd gathered for the parade. As I got closer, I noticed there was an opening in the crowd, like everyone was avoiding something. I got off the bike and put the kickstand down. Leaving it on the sidewalk, I trotted into the mass of people. I heard some shrieks and ran faster. I spotted Grandma in her wheelchair, all right. She was tearing through the crowd like a scythe in a field. I stopped cold. Mrs. Mearston had neglected to tell me that Grandma was bare-ass naked. I yelled for her to come back, but either she was ignoring me or couldn't hear me over the John Philip Sousa music the band was playing. Several people turned to me. “Is that your grandmother, Jeannie?” one asked.