Crazy Little Thing (5 page)

Perspiration prickled on my skin. “What the hell?”

“Isn’t it darling? I was bored without you in town so I redecorated.”

I didn’t even want to set my purse down.

Penny bubbled with laughter. “Oh my God, I forgot about your ladybug thing. You’re such a freak.”

“I’m not a freak. But we had, like, a thousand of them in our garage that one year, remember?” I shivered and flipped over her ladybug placemats before sitting down at the table.

“Whatever. Do you want some wine or tea or something?” She pulled glasses from the cupboard.

“I was just at Mom’s.”

She met my eyes. “Wine it is, then.”

She poured a goblet of white for me, then iced tea for herself and sat down.

“You’re not having any?”

My little sister shrugged. “Not right now. So are you going crazy in Podunk? Have they put in a traffic light yet?”

I sipped my wine, but only because gulping it would be tacky.

“Yes, last year. Apparently it was cause for a parade.” I filled her in on my time at Dody’s, even confessing my voyeuristic observations of Running Man. This was the sort of thing she usually loved, but today she was acting weird, toying with the iced-tea glass and all but avoiding eye contact. Finally I could take no more suspense.

“All right. What the hell’s up with you? You’re a bigger drunk than I am so why no wine?”

Penny flushed a lovely shade of pink and glanced around the kitchen as if CIA operatives were about to pounce.

I looked over my own shoulder, expecting to see Secret Service agents guarding the door. None appeared.

“Jeff and I are trying to get pregnant.” Her whisper was hoarse with excitement.

“It’s about time!” I thumped my hand on the table, almost upending my drink. “Thank goodness. Paige and Jordan would be teenagers if you took any longer.” I’d been pestering my sister for years to reproduce. My kids needed cousins. Plus I wanted her to understand the unique joys of parenthood so I could give back all the great advice she’d given me over the years. Because no one is more qualified to give a new mother advice than a twenty-two-year-old coed with no children of her own.

“Jeff is so excited. He keeps talking about one of his swimmers making captain of the fallopian swim team. And the other day I was ovulating so I sexted him a filthy message about coming home for a conjugal visit. He’s all about the baby making. But don’t tell Mom, OK?”

“That you’re texting filthy messages to your husband?”

“No. That we’re trying to get pregnant. I don’t need her nagging me.”

“But if she knew about you, maybe she’d get off my back about Richard.”

Penny pointed at me. “Seriously, do not rat me out on this one. I’ll tell people when I’m ready. OK? Jeff’s family will drive us crazy if they hear about this, so he wants to keep it quiet too.”

“Of course. I get it. I promise to keep your dirty little secret.”

Penny smiled again, lifting her glass for a toast. “Thank you. In that case, I won’t tell Mom you’re fantasizing over some shirtless jogger from the beach. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good. And since your kids are with Richard for the next two days, you can stay here and help me plan the nursery.”

I shook my head. “I still have my own house here, you know. And there are a couple friends I should connect with, but I will certainly help you.”

I hadn’t heard much from my neighbors over the last few weeks and I had lots of catching up to do. So often socializing plans were hatched while we were all out in our yards—impromptu barbeques, trips to the community pool, things like that. So it wasn’t terribly odd none of them had called. But I kind of wished they had.

CHAPTER 4

“SEE THIS TEAPOT?” DODY ASKED, waving it at me from her seat at the kitchen island. “It belonged to a member of the French Resistance during World War II. Walter and I bought it from this darling little shop in Paris.”

I looked over from my precarious perch on a wobbly stepstool. Actually it was the teapot I’d given her for her fiftieth birthday. It was from Sears. I didn’t have the heart to correct her.

“Pretty.” I nodded.

“Isn’t it? I love things that have a story to them.” She stroked the side of the pot.

Every relic in Dody’s house had some story attached, although more often than not one that wasn’t true. Our family often joked that Dody remembered everything, whether it happened that way or not.

“Thanks for letting me practice on your kitchen,” I said.

The kids and I were back in Bell Harbor and today I was working on Dody’s pantry. If I could get this episode of
Hoarders
organized, I could tackle anything.

I was still contemplating my leap into going professional. I’d done some online research and discovered there was a National Association of Professional Organizers. Figures they’d be organized enough to have a national association, right? They even offered training sessions. There was one close to Bell Harbor in a couple of weeks. Dody said that was a sign from the Universe. I was not convinced. Still, this gave me the perfect excuse to clear away thirty-plus years of Dody-debris.

So far I’d found eleven jars of uniquely colored homemade jellies, potatoes that had nearly taken root into the shelf boards, a variety of ground, milled, pressed, and whole flaxseeds, a thirty-pound bag of brown rice, and a box of crackers that would require carbon dating to establish an age. All of that was stashed amid dried finger paints, glittery pine cones, tarantula food, a tambourine signed by Elton John, an Obama bobblehead, three sock puppets, and a variety of board-game pieces.

I plucked at something high on a shelf. “Why are there peacock feathers in here?”

“Careful with those!” Dody hopped from her chair and took them. “Jasper gave those to me for Mother’s Day one year. I wondered where they’d gotten off to.” She looked at them lovingly for half a second then jabbed them into a potted houseplant.

I pulled out another chess pawn. “What’s with all the chess pieces?”

“Oh, those are to remind me I don’t know how to play.”

“Naturally.”

I lifted the lid off a shoebox. “Pictures.”

“Really? Let me see those.”

I handed them over.

Dody pushed back the oversized sleeves of her Red Wings jersey and started flipping through the box.

“Look, here’s one of Walter riding an elephant in India. Or was that at the zoo?”

I sneezed from the dust and then peeked at the picture. It was definitely not taken at the Bell Harbor zoo. “I’m guessing India.”

She nodded. “I didn’t go on that trip. Jasper was a baby. Here’s one of Fontaine’s Mohawk. I’m glad that look didn’t last. Oh, goodness, here’s one of your mother and me. When was that?” She tapped the picture against her head as if to prod the memory. “I think it was the day our pop took me to get my driver’s permit.” She looked back at the photo. “Oh, yes! See how I’m holding it up? That was right before I drove his Ford into the side of the garage.”

“You drove his car into a wall?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not on purpose!”

Tales of my aunt’s mishaps were so woven into our family lore, the expression “Totally Dody” now applied to anyone who did something unexpected and ridiculous.

“I’d only had my permit for an hour before Dad took it away. But I’m glad he did. Why, if he hadn’t, I might not have been walking home the next day in the rain. And then Walter never would’ve offered me a ride in his car and I might never have met him.”

“You got into his car when you didn’t even know him?” I threw another chess piece into the pile.

“Oh, I knew who he was! He just didn’t know me yet. We went to the same school but he was older.” She sighed like a bobby-soxer dreaming over an Elvis poster. “My, he was handsome. All the girls thought so.”

I pictured Uncle Walter with his freckled bald head, soft belly, and thick-framed reading glasses. Dody’s Mona Lisa smirk told me she remembered him differently.

“We used to skinny-dip, you know. Every year at midnight on my birthday. Walter called it ‘celebrating under a full moon.’” Her cheeks went pink.

I shook my head in wonder. Imagine, forty years with the same man and still the thought of him made her blush. If true love ever existed, that was it.

“Wow! The kitchen looks amazing! I could actually cook in here now.”

Jasper’s effusive compliment almost made me forget I was grimy, sweaty, and exhausted from my mammoth endeavor. The sheer volume of random paraphernalia that erupted from Dody’s kitchen had trapped me for hours. I’d spent the entire day clawing my way out. But now I was finished, and Jasper was correct. The kitchen did indeed look amazing, functional, and clean.

My kids had even helped, though not without grumbling. Now Paige was coloring and Jordan sat on the floor playing with some trucks.

“Looky, Jasper. I have labels on my shelves!” Dody grinned from the pantry doorway, twirling her wrist like a game show sidekick.

He stepped past her and cocked his head. “How’d you make those labels?”

“With a label maker,” I answered.

“You own a label maker?”

My hands went to my hips. “Everyone should own a label maker.”

Dody stepped out as Jasper laughed. “I must admit, you’ve got some mad skills.”

“Thank you. Now will you make me some dinner? I’m starv—”

My words were cut off by a whoosh, a whoop, and a sickening
smack
! Dody tripped as she walked from the kitchen, catapulted forward, and whacked her head against a sharp-cornered table. Her body collapsed to the floor with a thud.

“Dody!”

“Mom!”

We reached her simultaneously, just as blood began to seep from her temple. I felt woozy. Blood was so not my thing. I nicked myself shaving in the shower once and nearly had to dial 911.

“Oh, my,” said Dody wanly, pressing her hand against the wound.

“Are you OK, Aunt Dody?” Paige asked. “Mommy, we were just playing here and she tripped over Jordan’s truck.”

I turned to see my son holding up the two halves.

“Aunt Dody broke my truck.” His lip trembled.

Blood dripped faster now, dribbling down Dody’s cheek. My stomach heaved. I swallowed hard.

“Paige, grab a towel from the kitchen. Hurry!”

“I’m fine,” Dody said faintly, slumping toward Jasper.

“Let me see it, Mom.” He nudged her hand away and grimaced.

She had an inch-long gash right along her hairline. The skin puckered open. Please tell me that’s not
brain matter
oozing out. I felt the room spin and struggled to maintain my bearings. I’d never live it down if Dody got hurt but I was the one who fainted.

Paige handed me the towel, which I passed to Jasper. He patted it gently against Dody’s head.

“Stop fussing, you two,” she said. “I just bumped my head. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.”

“I’m so sorry, Dody! This is my fault,” I murmured.

“Of course it’s not your fault. You didn’t push me.” Her gaze rolled my way. ”Did you?”

“No, but I shouldn’t let the kids leave their toys around.”

Jordan’s lip trembled faster and a tear popped from one eye. “I’m sorry, Aunt Dody.”

She pulled him close. “Oh, nonsense, darling. It’s not your fault. It was just an accident.” Jasper continued patting at her head with the towel. “Mom, I think you might need stitches. This is kind of deep.”

Stitches? Now I felt even worse! Here she had invited us into her home, welcomed us like prodigal children, and all because of that, she’d split her fool head open.

“Let’s take you to the med center.” Jasper moved to pull her upright, but she resisted.

“Absolutely not. It’s Friday night. I have a poker date with the girls, and I have to win my six dollars back from Anita Parker, so you’re not dragging me to some crowded emergency room.”

“Stop being stubborn,” Jasper said. “I’ve cut myself enough times to know when somebody needs stitches. We are going to the med center.”

She shook her head, flinging a droplet of blood onto the carpet.

I looked away. I would make a terrible vampire.

“No, we’re not,” she said. “But you can get Dr. Pullman, if you want.”

Dr. Pullman lived a few houses away. Dody consulted him whenever someone in her family ran a high fever, had a mysterious rash, or accidentally stuck something up their nose.