Club Sandwich (21 page)

Laughter. “How’s Trixie girl?”

“Asleep. Finally. Mom gave her a Jolly Rancher stick at nine.”

“What was she thinking?”

“That’s the problem. Not much these days.”

“Oh no. Going the kooky way of all aging Starling women?”

“I think so, although I prefer to think of us as eccentric. I don’t know what I’m going to do once Mom moves back to the apartment. Lyra’s tired of bearing the brunt during the day. Who wouldn’t be? And yet I can’t bring myself to put Trixie in day care.”

“Pity all the other children.”

I can see it now. Getting kicked out of day care after day care. Oh yeah, that would be great.

Rusty says, “Maybe you should think about it seriously.”

At least he doesn’t say
we
. That would be too much to take after a day like today. Two doctor appointments for Mom, and Trixie pooped her training pants right in the middle of the supermarket.

“How would we pay for it? We’re almost hand-to-mouth now. And Lyra’s starting high school this year. Hey, on a lark, I saw if she couldn’t get accepted at Notre Dame Prep.”

“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I feel my ire rising. “Gee, Rust, it must’ve slipped my mind.” I
stand to my feet and head into the living room and my new couch, which I haven’t told him about either. I don’t plan to. But what a time I had with Brenda and Lou when they brought a million swatches on rings big enough for a giant’s nose. I’m not talking Andre the Giant, I’m talking
The Land of Canaan
or
Gulliver’s Travels
. We settled on a simple, squarish sofa in a muted berry color with mossy green-and-cream trim. Lots of floral pillows that coordinate with the curtains Lou’s sewing. Let’s just say, we’re going to be stylin’ up a storm on Allegheny Avenue. Brenda’s giving me tons of furniture she won’t need when she moves. And it’s the good stuff.

Rusty’s voice escorts me back to the real world of how-could-I-forget-to-tell-you-that.

“Ive, we said we’d still make all these important decisions together.”

“Look Rusty, I haven’t enrolled her or anything. I’m trying the best I can. You can’t be an absent father and husband and expect me to remember every little thing.”

“Our daughter’s education is a little thing?”

“Look, the point is, we can’t afford day care, can we? Not with you gone.”

“How would my being home make a difference? I wouldn’t make any more money. In fact, I probably wouldn’t make as much. And I’d still be working and unable to take care of Trixie.”

“Well, then. Stand up to Marlin. Tell him you want a raise.”

“I could lose my position.”

“Aren’t we even worth the risk?”

Dramatic sigh. “Okay, I’ll ask.”

“Thanks.”

And now I feel indebted. Great.

Oh boy, here he comes. Harry in all his glory.

But he shuffles by the window this time, the Zig Ziglar gait gone.

Shuffle, shuffle, head down. Mr. Wiggins, can I help you?

Aw, shoot.

My heart wilts, darn it. Why am I cursed with this terrible caring instinct? I’ll blame Mom. She won’t know the difference these days. I had no idea dementia could progress so quickly.

He swings the door wide, stepping in, stopping as his eyes adjust.

“Hey Harry.”

“Hi Ive.”

“Come on in.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

The August heat follows him and soon dissipates in the air conditioning.

Only a few early lunchers assemble at one of the front tables, lingering over coffee and business conversation. The scream of a siren hits us as a fire truck bustles by. Hopefully a false alarm.

“Mind if I sit for a bit?”

“Nope. Go ahead.”

I know he’s in a bad spot. I should really stop this clipped speech, but I can’t. Instead, I pour him a fresh cup of coffee and set it in front of him. “Just brewed.”

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

“Brian in?”

“Just went down to the fish market. Garret’s here though. Want anything?”

His brows raise. “Um, yeah, sure. Fried egg and toast, okay?”

“Fine. Sure.”

I turn back around, head into the kitchen. Garret preps for the lunch rush, slicing up tomatoes and onions and roasting red peppers on the open flame of the gas burner. Garret’s our resident hippie. Long hair the color of dark honey curls in a ponytail down his back. Lots of piercings in his ears, and well, his eyebrows wing in a lovely way. I’ve always liked our rock-climbing, free-spirited Garret.

“My dad just came in.”

One brow rises. “Wants a filet mignon?”

I laugh. “Fried egg and toast, believe it or not.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thanks, man.”

I need to roll cutlery, but I stop. “On second thought, I’ll make it. You’ve got enough to do.”

“No prob.”

I pull a saucepan from the shelf beneath the range and set it on to heat. He likes wheat bread, so I grab two slices from the fridge. Five minutes later, I set the meal before him.

“Tell Garret thanks.”

“I made it.”

Brows furrow. “Thanks, then?”

“Sure thing, Harry.”

“Want to sit with me a bit?”

I shake my head. “Got to roll cutlery.”

“Oh, come on, Ive. Sit with the old man. You can roll it here at the table.”

I stiffen. Honor your father and mother that your days may be long. Okay then. But just for You.

Gathering napkins, forks, knives, and spoons, I pray for a wise
mouth. My head usually knows what to do, but my mouth wills its own way around this man, God knows.

I set the items out across from him at the table. “So. Brian told me about your plight. I don’t want to hear about the whys, Harry, but I will say I’m sorry you’re out of work.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s the best I can do right now.”

“Then I’ll take it.”

“Good.”

“How are the kids?”

“Not bad. I’ve checked out four day cares for Trixie, and none of them are what I’m looking for.”

“Day care?”

“Yeah. Mom’s beyond watching her now, and Lyra’s really worn thin. Those two don’t get along under the best of circumstances, let alone times like this. A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t have to bear the brunt, you know?”

“I could sit in for a while.”

“Oh, Harry. You and Mom under the same roof? I don’t think so.”

But I appreciate the offer. It’s more than he’s ever done before.

“Guess you’re right. How’s her hip?”

“Not bad.” I won’t offer more.

I start rolling napkins with a vengeance. Not to be prideful or anything, but I can go like a cat with its tail on fire with this stuff. What a skill. “Find a place to live yet?”

“No. I have to be out by Friday.”

“That’s only three days away.”

“No kidding.”

“We have the basement if you’re interested.” I knew it was slated to issue forth; I just didn’t expect it to sound so glib.

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m not the most loving daughter, Harry, but I won’t let you go out on the street.”

“Okay. Appreciate that.”

“But … we’ve got some house rules.”

He bites some toast. “Shoot ’em at me. I can’t be too choosy right now.”

Did he actually say that?

“First of all, Mom can’t know you’re down there. Absolutely not. She doesn’t deserve that kind of stress, okay?”

“Agreed.”

“Second of all, you can’t come up whenever you want. It’s your apartment, and you’ll come and go through the basement door around the side of the house.”

“Won’t she see me?”

“It’ll be up to you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Third, no women.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Then we understand each other more than I thought.”

“What else?”

“It’s a mess down there. For rent, you can fix it up. Other than that I won’t charge you a cent.”

“Got it.”

I look up at him, and for the first time ever I feel extremely sorry for the man. I try to imagine finding myself in his circumstances at his age. I can’t. How awful is that? And as macho and vivacious as
he’s always been, I think he’s finally staring his own mortality, as well as his choices, in the face. Maybe he sees things a little more clearly now. Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit. I hope not. But I’ve got choices to make too. And I’ll do the right thing. God will bless me. I’m hoping that’s true. I really am. And am I fooling myself? Who’s to say I’ll have the strength to do the right thing day after day after day? I mean, so far so good today, and maybe even tomorrow. But next week? Next month?

“So when can we expect you?”

“I can pack up my stuff over the next two days. A buddy of mine has a pickup truck. He offered to help with the move.”

“Okay, but this is the deal. Mom goes to bed around nine. You can’t move in until ten.”

He just nods.

“You need a couch?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we just got a new one. I’ll put the old one down there. It’s not all that great.”

“There cable hookup in the basement?”

“Harry!”

“Just asking, Ive, just asking.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Well, I know this guy—”

“Nothing illegal, Harry. Rule number four.”

I’m done with rolling. I stand up and begin to gather.

“Good eggs, Ive.”

“Thanks.”

Trixie’s dancing around the kitchen. “School! School!”

Day care really, but calling it school makes me feel better. Sort of.

I feel sick, in spite of Rusty’s raise.

I found the perfect lunch box last night. Disney princesses.

A whole new world.

The final surrender.

Oh, baby girl. I’m so sorry.

Persy lays back on the couch,
Ancient Marvels and Mysteries
leaning against his raised knees. “Hey Mom. The people of Baghdad might have had electric batteries. Look at these jars.”

I look over his shoulder. “Too bad they don’t have those now.”

He flips several pages. “Look at this figurine. Doesn’t it look like a little jet?”

“Yeah. Wow.”

“Found in an ancient tomb in Colombia. Wow, that’s close.”

“Colombia, bud. Not the District of Columbia. It’s in South America.”

“Cool.”

I kiss his sweet cheek and finish dusting the room.

M
om enters the kitchen as I work on my secret book, thinking maybe Candace Frost the agent will call me any day now.

“The sink is full of dishes, Ivy.”

“I’ll get to them.”

“I never let dishes sit like that.”

Huh? What’s this?

“No. You were a great housekeeper.”

“You were raised better than this.”

Okay, okay!