Porch Lights (6 page)

I could hear Charlie groaning from his room, so I stuck my head in his door. “You feeling a little green around the gills?” I asked. “Want me to see if Glam-ma has something to settle your stomach?”

He sat straight up, and his face was filled with panic.

“No! Don’t say anything!”

“Why not?”

He whispered to me, “Because I don’t want her to think her soup made me sick.”

“Oh, honey. I don’t think it was the soup. I think it might have been the quantity.”

“Whatever! Just don’t say anything, okay? I’m fine!”

“Okay. I won’t say anything. Why don’t you relax for a bit, and then we can take a walk on the beach? How’s that? Say, half hour?”

“Sure,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

The half hour came and went, and when I went back to his room he was fast asleep. Poor thing. He was worried about my mother’s feelings. He would do without something to ease his distress rather than risk bruising her ego. Even at ten years old he already knew not to upset her nerves. It just wasn’t worth it. I’d pick up something for him at the drugstore when I went out. It wasn’t a bad idea to have our own first-aid kit anyway. Then if I needed a Band-Aid I’d know where to find it without having to explain every nick and splinter.

I took off my jeans and pulled on a pair of shorts. I didn’t want to go to the beach without Charlie, but I wanted to feel the sun on my legs. I picked up a magazine from the stack in my room and wandered out to the front porch. Mom was sitting there deeply engrossed in one of the many romance novels she loved. I knew it had to be a hot one because it had a calico print cover over it, like something she might have picked up at a craft fair to disguise the erotic promise of the cover’s art.

“Whatcha reading? Are things bulging and bursting?”

I startled her.

“What? What did you—? Bulging?” She took her reading glasses off and narrowed her eyes at me. “You listen to me, young lady. You know I only read these books for the history!”

“Oh, I see.” I giggled, and so did she. “And where is this historic saga placed?”

“Tenth-century Scotland! The ladies of the Castle MacDougall are in hiding because the lord of the manor has gone insane from a terrible fever. He’s running amok with a hammer, threatening to bludgeon anyone whose shadow crosses his. Pretty exciting stuff. Come sit with me.”

“Does he have black flashing eyes?” I sat in the rocker next to hers and flipped the pages of my magazine. Who cared about all those stupid movie stars anyway? They were all twenty years old with fake boobs and fake long hair and too many real tattoos. You could swap one for another and never know the difference. “And a thick mane of hair to match?”

“Of course! And his shirt has come free of his kilt and—”

“What’s he wearing under that kilt anyway?”

“You know I cover my eyes when I get to that part.”

“Of course you do. I know that. I would too.”

Mom laughed, and I thought at that moment she was the most benign creature in the world.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said.

“Me too.”

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Snoozing. He’s completely fried.”

“I imagine so. That’s a long trip for a kid. And with everything else . . .”

“Yeah, I’m thinking just let him find his schedule, let his body get the rest he needs for his brain and his bones. Have you heard from Dad?”

She bristled. “Certainly not!”

“No, I mean, he told Charlie he’d come down and see him, show him how to make ice cream.”

“In what? That old churn under the house?”

“Yep, that’s the one. You know where it is?”

“Of course I do! Glory be! That nasty old thing is probably filled with bugs and snakes!”

“You think I’m afraid of bugs and snakes?”

“No, dear.” She shot me an anti–GI Jane look of dubious support and continued. “But better to go over to Haddrell’s and buy a new one. You don’t have to churn anymore. Now you just flip a switch. Electric. On my momma’s soul, there’s a new gizmo every five minutes. But I have such sweet memories of turning that old crank with my momma . . . and with you when you were a little girl.”

“I think I like the old-fashioned way better,” I said, “maybe because it’s a sweet memory for me too.”

With those simple but heartfelt words, we found our first moment of solidarity. I suddenly realized that I wanted Charlie to have the memory of churning ice cream the old-fashioned way. Solidarity was sure to come and go over the coming weeks, but we were united in one purpose. Charlie.

Don’t ask me what else we talked about, because I think we talked about everything in the world that afternoon, everything that wasn’t too heavy, that is. We took turns checking on Charlie, who was sleeping soundly, which pleased both of us to no end. We probably drank a gallon of tea while the sun moved from east to west and finally began to set. She told me about Deb and her Zumba classes and she told me about the hot doc next door, saying I should meet him in case I wanted to fill some time at the VA hospital or at the medical university downtown. She didn’t want me to get bored, and she was more than happy to see about Charlie.

On an odd note, she became animated but very circumspect when she talked about this Steve Plofker fellow. Her voice went up an octave, which led me to consider that perhaps she had a crush on him. The thought of that sort of rocked my brain, but I tried very hard to maintain a poker face because it was one of the rare occasions when I felt like she was talking to me as a girlfriend. Besides, the truth would reveal itself in its own good time. I wondered if Daddy suspected any competition. Probably not. I wondered if he would care. Of course he would. His ego would get up on its hind legs and start bellowing like Tarzan. Funny. I’d never thought about my mother’s needs in the romance arena. Probably because I have never had a single thought about my mother
being
in the romance arena.

We probably would have spent the whole night on the porch, just swapping old memories and stories and reliving easier days. I wasn’t even hungry because lunch was on the late side and I had eaten a lot more than I usually did. I guess I was sitting there in that rocker just time traveling back to my childhood. Maybe I was too exhausted to get up. Maybe I thought Charlie would just sleep through the night. I never expected what happened next.

Mom got up to go to the kitchen to pour us a glass of wine and to get a box of Cheez-Its, which are my personal devil to resist and she knew it.

“Do you want me to flip on the porch light?”

“No, I think I like it like this. Check on my boy, will you, please?”

“Of course!” she said and closed the screen door gingerly.

Slamming screen doors, car doors, cabinet doors—doors slamming was a shared pet peeve. Anyway, a few minutes later Mom reappeared with Charlie at her side. Even in the dim light I could see that he had been crying.

“Sweetheart! Come here! What’s wrong?” I held out my arms to him, and he climbed up on my lap, burying his face in my shoulder. “Tell me, baby. What happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No . . . I was just . . . listening to him . . .” Charlie choked up and began to cry in earnest. I could feel him shudder, and with each sob my heart broke a little more.

“Oh, my poor sweet boy! Tell me, honey. Tell me who you were listening to.”

“He was listening to his voice mail,” my mother said, holding up his cell phone. “There’s a long message on here from Jimmy.”

“It was the last time he called me,” Charlie said. “I just don’t want to erase it.”

“You don’t have to, sweetie. You don’t ever have to.”

It was then that I realized that no first-aid kit in the world could fix this. But at least I didn’t have to worry about Charlie working Mom’s nerves; he already owned her heart.

Chapter 4

Nonsense! no!—the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color—about the size of a large hickory-nut—with two jet black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The antennœ are—

—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Gold-Bug”

Annie

W
ell, I don’t have to say this, but I’m going to say it anyway. When I found Charlie listening to his father’s voice mail, it just about broke my heart into a million and one pieces. After I pulled myself back together and I could really see just how off kilter Jackie was, I decided I simply had to step in and take over. I was going to keep the boy’s mind busy. And I was going to find plenty for Jackie to do too. My mother always said, “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.” The same thing applied to brains. Mercy! Was that the truth or what?

So at seven thirty the next morning, while the house still slept, I called Deb. “You up?”

“Of course I’m up! Already worked the word jumble and read Dear Abby. What’s going on?”

“Can’t walk with you this morning. I’m throwing you over for a younger man.”

She whispered, “Dr. MD?”

I sighed. “Unfortunately, no. Younger. Charlie.”

“Oh! Well, I guess I’ll live. How’d the first day go?”

“A little rough. But they’ll be all right in time. They just need time.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. But thanks. I’ll call you later.”

I went to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and started making a batter for pancakes. I heated some syrup and blueberries in a small pot with some butter and put some bacon in a pan to fry. I knew the smells of maple and bacon would rouse them and then we could all launch our day. I was going to ask Jackie to wipe down all the windows that faced the ocean because they were covered in salt spray and I was taking Charlie out to discover what treasures had floated to shore overnight.

Within fifteen minutes they both wandered into the kitchen, rubbing their eyes.

“What smells so good, Glam?”

“Come give me a smooch and I’ll fix you a plate!” I said. Charlie obediently gave me an antiseptic peck on the cheek and plopped into a chair. “Be a good boy and pour some OJ for all of us, will you, hon?” I gave a nod to the juice glasses on the counter.

“Sure,” he said. He got up again, opened the door of the refrigerator, took out the carton, and began shaking it.

“Shake that over the sink, Son,” Jackie said, filling a mug with steaming coffee. “Morning, Mom. We got any half-and-half?”

“Here it is,” Charlie said, putting the carton on the table.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I blew her an air kiss and said, “Oh wait, Charlie! We don’t put the cartons on the table.”

“We don’t?” he said.

“No, baby. We pour the juice right into the juice glasses and the half-and-half goes in my special cow.” I took my white ceramic cow from the cupboard and filled it through the hole in its back. “Now watch this.” I began to pour the cream in a trickle into Jackie’s mug. “Moooooooooooo!” I said in a low-pitched bovine voice, and Charlie looked at me with eyes the size of saucers like I was out of my blooming mind.

“Glam likes a side of theater with her breakfast,” Jackie said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, come on,” I said, “let’s lighten up around here! It’s a beautiful day!”

We were all finally seated, and I said, “Should we put a blessing on this?”

Charlie said, “Sure!”

“Do you want to say grace, sweetheart?” Jackie said.

“Okay. Um, bless this food, Lord, and us, and thanks . . . uh, amen.”

“Amen,” I said and cut into my pancakes with the side of my fork. “That blessing of yours sounds a little rusty, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, back home, Aunt Maureen always says the blessing, and boy, does she go on and on and on . . .” Charlie made a face to reflect the extreme suffering he endured for the sake of a sanctified meal.

“And let’s see. You’re sitting there and the food’s getting colder by the minute and your stomach is growling like you haven’t eaten anything in months?”

“Exactly!”

“Well,” Jackie said, “Aunt Maureen is very devout and she means well. The pancakes are so good, Mom.”

“Thanks, hon. Well, Charlie, I think there’s real merit in thanking the good Lord for a nice meal, but I agree with you, it’s the intention that matters, not the length of the prayer. How
is
Aunt Maureen?”

“She’s great,” Jackie said. “The whole world could use a dose of Aunt Maureen’s heart. I mean, she’s picking up our mail while we’re gone and sorting it in case there’s anything important. And she’s watering the plants so they don’t die. I mean, she just can’t do enough to help us.”

“Isn’t that grand?” I said, hoping I sounded genuine. Yes, I was a little jealous of their obvious affection for her. I couldn’t help it. “I wish she’d come and visit me some day.”

“She should get out of Brooklyn once in a while,” Charlie said. “I don’t think she ever goes anywhere on vacation except to Chicago to see her relatives who are so old and smelly they can’t even get out of bed.”

“Charlie!” Jackie said. “That’s not nice. Maureen has to go see about them once in a while. She’s the youngest member of her family by at least ten years.”

“How
is
the rest of Jimmy’s family? I haven’t heard about them in ages.”