Where Yesterday Lives (31 page)

“I remember when we moved to Petoskey and I was a little girl. I fell in the backyard and cracked my chin on the patio.”

“You were four, I think,” Ellen said.

“Right.” Amy’s eyes grew distant at the memory. “Daddy picked me up in his arms and took me to the hospital. I don’t remember how they fixed me up or what happened after that. Just that he took care of me.”

“Okay, now you’re getting somewhere. He was bigger than life, he took care of you. Jot those things down.”

Amy did as she was told and Ellen turned to Aaron.

“Now, Aaron, you do the same. What do you remember?”

Aaron thought awhile, and Ellen could almost see the memories battling to take shape in his mind. But before he would give them a chance to materialize, he forced the chair’s footrest down and stood up in a sudden burst of motion.

“Forget it!” He hitched up his jeans and turned to leave the room. “All I remember is how he paddled my butt while you girls got off easy.”

Ellen stared at him, completely baffled. Not so much at what her brother had said as the fact that he seemed to believe it. “Aaron!” she called him back into the room. She did not expect him to return, and when he did, she pointed to the chair. “Sit down. We need to talk about something.”

“What?” It was more of a grunt than a word but Aaron sat down and waited.

“Those things that happened to you when you were a child, they’re in the past. They weren’t Dad’s fault, they were ours, mine and the other girls’. But I can tell you now, one adult to another, that everything we ever did to you was done in fun.” She hesitated. “You might not have thought it was funny, you might have felt picked on. But you were our only brother, and we felt it was our duty to gang up against you. It was just a way of getting a few laughs.”

“I didn’t laugh then,” he said, surprisingly articulate. “And I’m not laughing now. How would you have liked being the only boy with four girls picking on you all the time? And no matter what I said back then, Dad took your side.”

“Is that the whole story Aaron? Really?” She made sure she had his attention and she continued. “I remember things a little differently Every Saturday you and Dad went out and had fun while Mom and us girls stayed home and cleaned the house. How do you think that felt? And what about your bedroom? Do you think any of us girls wouldn’t have been thrilled with a room of our own?”

Aaron was quiet.

“Dad loved you, Aaron. You were his only son. Don’t tell me about how bad you had it.”

Ellen saw Amy and Megan stare at their brother. Oh,
please, Jesus. Don’t let any of them jump in and say anything that will anger Aaron. Just this once, please, let things be peaceful
Ellen knew they were all hurting now; it wasn’t the time to fight about Aaron’s leftover emotional baggage. The girls remained silent and Ellen breathed a sigh of relief.

When Aaron’s anger seemed to subside, she continued. “Maybe you could write about something that happened in the last few years. Like when you and Dad spent all that time golfing.”

Aaron put his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders sank but otherwise he was silent, unmoving. The others watched him carefully, and though he didn’t make a sound, they could see huge tears dropping onto the floor. Ellen felt her throat constrict. The ice was melting.

Jane entered the room then and looked around at the faces of her siblings, unaware of the moment taking place. “What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to figure out what to write about Dad,” Amy said quietly. “Thinking of memories.”

“Hmph.” Jane crossed her arms. “You have to have memories to think of them.”

“You have memories.” Ellen heard the weariness in her voice. “All of us have memories.”

“Yeah, well some of us have better memories than others,” Jane said pointedly She sat down next to Amy and picked up a magazine from an end table. Thumbing through the contents she found an article and began to read, seemingly uninterested in the conversation around her.

“Aaron,” Ellen tried again. “Pretend you’re in a room all by yourself and an imaginary person wants to know what you remember about Dad.”

Aaron grunted.

“Write down whatever you would tell that, person. That’s all you need to do.”

Aaron nodded, sniffing loudly and discreetly wiping his eyes. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He stood up and lumbered from the room. It was just after six o’clock and he had a date that night with a girlfriend he’d seen the previous year. It was a date he’d clearly looked forward to. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Jen, I have to cancel,” Ellen overheard him say “That’s right. I need some time by myself. Right. Okay, talk to you later.”

Aaron straightened himself up and there was an air of determination about him. He picked up some paper and a pen, grabbed his keys, and left the house without another word to his sisters.

When the door closed behind him, Ellen looked at the others. “I think he’ll get the eulogy written.”

Megan nodded. “His feelings are there, they’re just buried so deep it’s hard for anyone to find them.”

“Yeah,” Ellen agreed. “Even him.”

Amy studied the notes she had written in the past few minutes and sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll go home early tonight. I think I can work with these notes and put something together. At least I hope so.”

“You’ll do fine,” Ellen said.

Jane looked up from her magazine. “Don’t tell her how she’ll do! She doesn’t need your opinion to make her efforts worth something.”

Ellen leveled an ominous glare at Jane as she stood and turned to Megan. “I’ll be in Mom’s room lying down. Wake me for dinner.” She started to leave and then stopped again. “Oh, and another thing. Tell Mom I’m staying here tonight. It’ll be easier on everyone.”

Megan looked disappointed but she didn’t argue. “You’re probably right.”

Jane watched Ellen go, angry that her older sister had given up so easily If only Ellen cared enough to take her aside and ask what was wrong, Jane might consider telling her about the rape. Maybe then they could work through the barrier between them and find love again, even friendship. Tears stung at her eyes and though her vision was blurred, she stared down at the magazine and pretended to read so no one would see her cry.

E
llen was tired from the bike ride and her day at the beach with Jake. She lay down on her parents’ bed and hugged one of the pillows to her stomach.

She thought back on the day remembering how close she had come to giving in to Jake.

Then just as quickly another Scripture, this one from James, besieged her. “
Each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown—”

Stop!
She shouted at herself.
Enough of that! I needed Jake today and besides, I didn’t do anything wrong
. But the argument sounded unconvincing, even to her.

It was wrong. It was wrong to be with him
, a voice within her said.
And dangerous
.

She pressed her lips together. If Mike had come with her this week, she would never have called Jake. And she certainly wouldn’t be wrestling with old feelings that should have died a long time ago.

Mike. At the thought of him, Ellen had to fight off tears again. What had happened to them? Things had been so wonderful at the beginning. Their first date was a complete hit, and after that Mike had been full of surprises, like the time he took her to Canada for the day or out to dozens of wonderful restaurants. At their wedding Ellen remembered looking into his eyes and thinking she would love Mike Miller for the rest of her life.

The trouble had started a few years later. They lived in
Detroit at first, and Ellen was used to making the trek back and forth to Petoskey. Especially during summer.

“Mike, my dad wants us to come up this weekend for a barbecue,” she remembered telling him one summer.

“Sounds good.”

The week passed, and when Friday arrived Ellen reminded him of their plans. “Are we leaving tonight or in the morning?”

“Leaving?” He sounded clueless.

“Yes. For Petoskey Remember? My dad invited us up for a barbecue this weekend.”

“Oh, that. Hey, hon, I don’t think I’ll go this time.”

Ellen’s mouth had dropped open. “What?”

“Sweetheart, I never really said I wanted to go.” Mike looked suddenly pained. “I said it sounded good.”

“When someone says something sounds good, it’s typically safe to assume the answer is yes.”

“Well, you go ahead and go. I have to research the games for next week.”

“I won’t do that to my father. He’s expecting us and I want us there. You said you’d go.”

“I did not. I said it sounded good.”

“It’s the same thing, Mike. Besides, you can do your research in the car. I’ll drive.”

Mike had exhaled dramatically. “All right, fine. I’ll go. But it would be nice if one of these days you could see things from my point of view. It takes four hours to get to Petoskey and it wastes the whole weekend.”

While Ellen talked with her parents and caught up on the latest, Mike grabbed a magazine and found a quiet corner. In the end, Mike made the trip miserable by distancing himself from the others and arguing with Ellen until they were back home again. There were a dozen such incidents like that in the
early years of their marriage.

“Tell them I don’t want to go,” Mike would suggest.

“You don’t understand, Mike. My dad really loves you. He thinks you
like
spending time with him. How do you think he’d feel if I called and told him you didn’t want to come for a visit? That you had better things to do and wanted me to make the trip by myself?”

The worst part, Ellen thought now, was that whenever Mike did accompany her to Petoskey, he made sure she knew it was against his will. In doing so, he robbed her of the joy she might otherwise have felt about the trip. Mike had not pursued a relationship with her parents, and now that her father was dead Ellen was angry at him.

At least Jake knew and loved my dad
.

She pushed the thought aside, feeling disloyal.

There were other problems that developed between her and Mike once they moved to Miami. Birthdays, for instance. Year after year she looked forward to Mike’s birthday She plotted and planned for a month until she had picked out the perfect gift. One year it was a surprise vacation to the Keys, another year it was tickets to Wisconsin so he could take in a Green Bay football game with his aging grandfather. She had created personalized wall hangings for his office and put his baby pictures together in a quilted scrapbook with his name embroidered on the front.

She loved Mike and she wanted her gifts to be a reflection of that love.

Mike’s approach couldn’t have been more different.

He generally did his shopping a day or two before her birthday and was usually gone not more than an hour. One year he gave her a bright orange nylon dress that she wore exactly once before giving it to Goodwill. Another year he
bought her a bulky beige purse with double straps that looked more suitable for her grandmother.

But the worst birthday of all came four years ago. Ellen planned for them to spend the weekend at a hotel south of Miami. Friday night was wonderful with a walk along the beach and a shared bath later in their hotel room. Then, when her birthday dawned the next morning, Mike explained that he had not gotten her a gift.

“Honey, I’ve been so busy lately. You know how it is.”

Ellen did
not
know how it was. She stared at Mike and tried to understand. “Did you get me a card?”

Ellen had always made it clear to Mike that in lieu of a present she would always be thankful for a handwritten card or letter. She was not interested in expensive baubles or costly floral bouquets. But a gift should be a reflection of love and to that end Mike was a dismal failure.

That weekend, after the shock wore off, Mike tried to sound hopeful. “Hey, Ellen. I can go sit on the patio right now and write you a letter if you want.”

“No. I don’t want a letter now that my birthday is already here. It’s too late.”

“Don’t be mad. I meant to get you something. It’s just that the days got away from me.”

“Mike, it’s very simple. May is followed by June, which in turn is followed by July. There is nothing random about the way we arrive at a given date. I don’t understand how the days can ‘get away’ from you if you really love me.”

“Ellen, don’t make this an issue, darling. Of course I love you. Gifts don’t reflect how much a person loves another person. Think about last night.”

“They matter to me, Mike.” She picked up her towel and headed for the door. “You know they matter and still you don’t
make an effort. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

If there had ever been a summer when she was tempted to call Jake Sadler, it was the summer of 1994. After the birthday incident, one of her fellow writers at the paper in Miami invited her to his wedding.

“I can’t wait,” she told Mike that evening. “We haven’t been on a date in months and this will be even better. We can dress up and dance. Can you make sure you’re free that afternoon?”