“Wow, that’s awfully generous of you, Mr. . . .”
“McKinley, but call me Buddy. Everyone does. Mom named me William after her uncle, who didn’t die as the doctors promised he would right after my birth, so they called me Buddy just to keep these things straight.”
“Buddy, then.” Brandon glanced at Molly, who was intently examining her chipped black nail polish. “But . . . I was wondering, if . . . well, maybe there’s something we should all talk about, before I get settled in?”
Here it comes, thought Suzanne. I really am gonna be a thirty-six-year-old grandmother. I kept saying it’s not real ’til I hear it, and I’m about to hear it. Good God, my mother was at least forty-six. And I didn’t take it seriously when she kept saying, “I’m going to be a forty-six-year-old grandmother!” because forty-six seemed really, really old at eighteen.
Suzanne was supposed to have at least two more years before she had to worry about this.
“Hmmm,” Molly thought it over, chewing her thumbnail, and finally spat it out on the ground. “Nope.” She cheerfully slung one of Brandon’s bags over her shoulder and headed up the stone walkway to Buddy’s house, Brandon only a pace behind. “Thanks so much, Buddy!” she called back over her shoulder, her perfect button of a nose revealed sweetly in profile. “This is really cool of you!”
Suzanne drew a deep breath, surprised to find she was half-relieved at the reprieve. As long as it hadn’t been spoken, maybe it wasn’t true. Right? Right. And somewhere deep inside her, she heard her father say, That’s right, baby girl, and if you pull the other leg, it plays “Jingle Bells.”
FIVE
“You hear that?” Buddy tapped his puffed-out chest. “I’m cool.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. Just this side of a decade ago, she thought Barney and Santa Claus were cool,” said Ava as she gathered up the empties and stacked them neatly on the tray. “Besides, we think she’s pregnant, so her hormones are making her crazy and affecting her judgment.”
“Mother!” Suzanne flipped her cigarette butt into her Diet Pepsi can. It made a distinct hiss as it hit the last sip. “My daughter is not pregnant. I told you, I’m sure of it.”
“Okay, Cleopatra.” Ava took a long, casual sip of her lemonade, adding, “Queen of De-Nile.”
“You know, you’ve got plenty to worry about in your own life as well, Mother.” Suzanne whispered under her breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Suzanne rolled her eyes, then held up the cigarette she’d just lit.
“It’s supposed to mean you watched me put out my last cigarette, and yes, I lit another one right away, but I’m going through a pretty stressful period. I’m a grown-up, and well, if I want to chain-smoke two, or three, or seven, I’d like to be able to do that without someone hovering over my shoulder watching me.”
“Watching you? What do you mean, watching you? I love you, sweetie, but you’re not interesting enough for me to spy on.” Ava tossed her hair haughtily. “And from the looks of the past couple of weeks, my love, you could chain smoke seven standing on your head.”
“See? See?” Suzanne shook her head, exasperated. “All you have to do is give me the ‘Mommy disapproves’ sidelong glance. I know that glance, Mother. I spent years perfecting it in the mirror. So, please, I’m asking just for the next week or so, cut me some slack. Take your own inventory, Mother. Isn’t that what they say?”
Suzanne took one more long drag and grudgingly put it out. Ava was right: Chain-smoking was a bad—and pricey—habit to get into.
“Your grandfather, both your grandmothers, and your aunt Julianne all smoked to the day they died. Every one of them, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I went to their funerals with you, Mother. I know how they died.”
“Does this mean you have some kind of plan to quit in the future? If I just knew that, then I’d . . .”
“Agghhhhh!!” Suzanne covered her ears with her hands. “Mom! My back’s going to buckle if you don’t climb off it once in a while!”
Buddy guffawed at that one, unable to stop himself, but Ava’s icy glare sent him hastily back to his macramé.
“I’m your mother, all right? I worry. I don’t care if you don’t need me to worry about you. It’s my right to worry about you, so I’m gonna.” Ava crossed her arms and leaned back; it was the stance that meant, conversation over.
“Okay, okay, okay. I don’t know when I’ll quit, but I will look into it. And hey—I’m not the only one in this family with bad habits.”
“I have never smoked a day in my life, and you know it.”
“That’s true. And I also know that there was a time when it wasn’t even noon, and you’d be in your cups.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Ava scoffed. She glanced casually over at Buddy, whose fingers worked furiously but whose ears were sharply keened their way. “Believe it or not, I remember at least some of those days.” Ava spoke casually but loudly enough for Buddy to hear. “I haven’t so much as looked at a drink in fifteen years, and you darn well know it.”
“Yes, I do know it,” Suzanne said patiently, “but it’s not what I asked you. I asked you if taking your own inventory was still the name of the game. Working the program.”
Buddy didn’t even glance up, but Suzanne noticed that his gnarled fingers were working even faster.
Ava sighed irritably. “Yes, my darling daughter, I still go to meetings.”
“Sensing a big ‘but’ here, Mom.”
“I do yoga—my butt is perfection,” Ava sniffed haughtily, picking up the tray. “Yours, on the other hand, could use a little . . .”
“Okay, okay, fine.” Suzanne covered her rear end self-consciously with her hands. Lately, it had felt a smidge fuller back there than she was used to. “I’ll go with you to a couple of your kick-boxing classes. Just stop minding my business, my smokes, and my behind.”
“I was not minding your business, nor was I taking your inventory. And I don’t want to discuss this in front of you-know-who.” She tilted her head ever so slightly in Buddy’s direction.
“She means me, by the way,” Buddy called helpfully.
“Thanks for clearing that up, Bud.” Suzanne said wryly. “Look, Mom. I’m honestly not trying to bug you. But just tell me, have you found anyone from the village to go to meetings with since Alice passed away? I know it’s a lot easier to go with a friend than all by yourself.”
“Suzanne,” Ava implored, “you don’t know these meetings like I do. The key is finding one where the assholes haven’t set up camp.”
“They have camping assholes in AA?”
“You bet your chubby pink fanny they do,” Ava sighed grimly. “The ones who just show up for the free coffee and to hog the spotlight—and worse yet, because they know we have to listen to them, they feel free to whine on for forty-five minutes or so at a clip. You think I’m kidding, don’t you?”
“But,” Suzanne quietly pressed, “you still go, right?”
“Honey,” there was a note of finality in Ava’s voice, “I read the big book every day, I go to at least three meetings a week, if not five, and I exercise every day, rain or shine.”
“What does exercise have to do with it?” Suzanne wanted to know.
“Nothing.” Ava put her hand on her hip, shoulder out, striking a pose for the benefit of anyone who just happened to be watching. “Just bragging.”
“Okay, fine, you win.” Suzanne threw her hands up, completely surrendering. “I just worry about you. I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”
“You, worry about me?” Ava looked at her daughter in horror. “You don’t get to worry about me, sweetie. I’ll tell you when it’s time for you to worry about me. And at that time I’ll be crapping my pants and drooling into my Jell-O.” She yanked the cigarette that Suzanne had just lit out of her mouth and snapped it in two. “This is how it works, my child: I worry about you. You worry about Molly. Actually, we both worry about Molly, but
it’s your full-time job, okay? You don’t get to worry up the food chain.”
“Mother,” Suzanne persisted, “I wasn’t insinuating that you’re not . . .”
“You’re damn right you weren’t,” Ava stood, closing the subject for good. “Now, if anyone’s interested, I’ve grown weary of these judgments and accusations, so I’m going inside.”
“All right, Mom.”
Ava stopped dramatically at the top of the stairs.
“First, I’m going to prepare something wonderfully delicious and completely fattening for myself for supper. Then, after I’ve eaten the whole thing, I’m going to load up your father’s rifle and shoot myself.” With that, she turned, put her hand daintily on the railing, and sailed regally into the house.
This type of guilt-inducing ploy had never failed to arouse sympathy—and, ultimately, an apology—from Suzanne’s father, Jimmy. It had even gotten her a couple of seriously atoning presents, including the emerald on her right ring finger.
But Suzanne wasn’t Jimmy.
“Can you hang yourself instead?” Suzanne called casually. “I mean, when the cops get here, I have to convince them that it was you who pulled the trigger on yourself, and, well, they might know you.”
The screen door slammed, and the sound of Ava’s indignantly clicking heels echoed down the hallway, out the door, and into the autumn air.
Suzanne looked at Buddy, who hastily buried himself in his macramé. Try as he might, he couldn’t smother the broad grin Ava had brought to his lips.
“I was wondering,” Suzanne asked innocently, “do you think she’s still mad at you?”
SIX
Buddy’s rich laughter filled the courtyard. “I always said you had a mind like a steel trap—rust optional.”
Suzanne took off her sandals and rubbed her feet.
“Seriously, though.” Buddy brought out a beautiful hand-carved pipe that Suzanne had seen a thousand times before, in another lifetime. “You can hardly blame her. That pub, it wasn’t just a pub. It was her family’s whole livelihood. Not to mention, it was the great love of your father’s life.”
“Yes, it was,” Suzanne agreed. Just thinking about the pub gave her a warm feeling of familiarity, of family, of home. “I remember when I was really little and he was selling insurance. He’d come home and plop in front of the TV to watch to the news. He’d have this look on his face, like he was . . . sinking. I don’t have any other word for it.” A bitter chuckle slipped out. “His bosses loved him, but I guess being a depressed and frustrated asshole is an asset when you’re heading the sales management team—it makes people really not want to give you bad news.” She drew her legs up close to her, hugging them tightly, trying to squeeze away the bad feeling.
“That must have been right before I looked him up to go into business together,” Buddy realized. “He was pretty unhappy in his job—not that I exactly loved being a district manager for Kmart, driving from Maine to Connecticut and back again, looking at the same identical stores, giving them the same old speeches about bringing up numbers. But finally, after working my tail off for ten years and saving every dime I could, I finally had enough to start my dream.”
“O’Shenanigan’s?”
Buddy’s eyes shone just at the sound of the name.
“From the first moment I thought of it, I knew it was gonna be him and me. He was the only guy I trusted enough to open a restaurant with. We were in the army together, you know.”
He held up the first two fingers of his left hand, and Suzanne suddenly remembered he was a lefty.
Weird how things like that came back to you out of nowhere.
“That’s two,” he went on. “Two tours of Vietnam.”
“He used to say,” another memory was pushing its way to the surface of her mind, “that he’d almost bought the farm for you . . .”
“ . . . and the farm was a fixer-upper!” they spoke together, before they laughed.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Buddy agreed, after a moment. “He took a bullet for me. You hear that? The man actually took a bullet for me.” He shook his head, still amazed after all these years. “How many people can actually say that?”
He quickly reached up behind his glasses. Touched, Suzanne looked down, for his benefit, pretending not to see.
“Not too many. Not too many, Suzie Q, I can tell you that.” The front door creaked. Buddy cleared his throat and barked, “Got to get some WD-40 on that.” Brandon came bouncing down the short steps and across the yard.
It must be so damn nice to be young, and have all that energy—enough to knock up my daughter, Suzanne thought sourly.
“Where’s Molly?” She produced a smile, trying to make it pleasant but not expecting any miracles.
“Oh, she took one look at the daybed and one whiff of the air conditioning and curled up into a little ball,” Brandon laughed—affectionately, Suzanne was relieved to note. At the very least, he did seem to care about her. That was something. Then again, there was a time you thought Steve cared about you.
“So.” She rocked back and forth on the bench, searching her mind for something else to say. She came up blank, which didn’t happen often, so when it did, it was alarming.
“So,” Brandon grinned, “I decided to come out here and start the process of making you all love me!”
He smiled broadly, his white teeth shining almost as much as the stud through his lip, but Suzanne couldn’t force her lips to turn upwards in return. Her hands gripped the edge of the bench, and she bowed her head, covering her face with a sheet of auburn hair.
“Great!” She said from behind the hair curtain in a tone that aimed for friendly. “That’s great, isn’t it, Buddy?”
Buddy nodded, reading her discomfort and tipping her a small wink to try to console her. “Sure, honey. It’s just great.”
I have to get out of here, Suzanne thought. Or I’ll leap on this perfectly likable if overly pierced man and wring his tattooed neck.
“Well,” she cheerfully jumped to her feet, smiling so broadly her back teeth showed, “I’ll just go fold some laundry, and the two of you start the chat without me.”
She flew up the stairs before either of them could say a word to stop her. She took a few deep breaths after she got into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Brandon’s woeful stare.
She saw Brandon start to take a few uncertain steps after her, and she hoped with all her heart he wasn’t going to follow, that he couldn’t see her now. The Universe must have felt the weight of her plea and held him back. She wished with all her heart there was a bottle of something—anything—she could take a good long slug of.
Damn this living in an AA house!
It wasn’t until she was safely in the kitchen, breathing hard, the sweat beading on her forehead and under her arms, that she realized she’d left her cigarettes and lighter downstairs. She groaned again and looked skyward.
“You couldn’t have been on my side just this once, could you?” She shook her head. “That’s it—no more church, period.” Since she never went to church, it wasn’t much of an ultimatum, but she hoped that God, in all His wisdom, would get the point.
Back in the courtyard, Brandon made a comic show of sniffing himself.
“Is it a deodorant thing?”
Buddy chuckled. “It’s a mother in torment because her daughter hasn’t made her big announcement thing.” Buddy patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I tried!” Brandon exclaimed, settling himself on Buddy’s bench. “You heard me try, right?”
“Yes, I did indeed, and so did Molly, Suzanne, and Ava.”
“She’s just not ready yet. And there’s no making her do something if she’s not damn well ready.” Brandon punched his palm for emphasis. “You know Molly.”
“Just barely, actually.” Buddy tossed Brandon some ropes, to help the boy calm himself. “Here you go, start working. It’s macramé; it’s supposed to be good for my arthritis,
but I’m making some ropes for Suzanne’s party.”
“How do you do . . . macramé?” Brandon asked, wondering what to do with the four thin ropes he’d been given.
“Watch,” Buddy told him. Cross, under, flip, cross, under, flip. After a few clumsy attempts, Brandon began to get the hang of it.
Suzanne took a deep breath and emerged onto the deck.
“Don’t mind me,” she called merrily. “Just toss up my smokes, and then go on with your boy talk.”
“You want ’em, you come get ’em,” Buddy intoned solemnly, but Brandon was already mid-toss. He smiled apologetically.
“Sorry, I’m a fellow victim of the nicotine gods,” he said, ashamed. “I’m in the process of quitting, but don’t worry, I’m not recruiting Molly.”
Suzanne smiled her thanks tightly. If he thinks being a smoker will get him on my good side, he’s got a whole new series of things coming.
Not wanting to say this aloud just yet, she went back into the kitchen. With relief, she noticed that there was a dryer full of towels just waiting to be folded. Gripping her cigarette tightly with her lips, she began folding the laundry with a vengeance, with one ear out to the courtyard . . . but who would know that?.
“Hey.” Brandon tied one end to the arm of the bench, and peered over Buddy’s shoulder, doing his best to mimic his finger-work. “Is it really true, what you were saying?”
“What was it that I was saying?” Buddy’s memory, much to his chagrin, wasn’t quite what it once had been.
“That Molly’s granddad got shot for you. Is that really true?”
“Oh, yes. Yes siree, Bob, that’s true.” Buddy’s proud grin lit up his weathered face. “Your grandfathers, or at least one of them, must have been over there in Vietnam too, yeah?”
“Yeah, but neither of them talked much about it. I was in a production of Hair once, though,” he was happy to offer, “and it changed my life.”
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