Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners

by Gretchen Anthony

  This was bait, Violet knew. Cerise wanted nothing more than to draw her into an argument, to distract her from the real, more pertinent subject at hand. Of course, as a young mother she would have fallen for such nonsense, but decades of experience had taught her that this was simply the rhythm of things between mother and daughter. Today, she remained still, ready to wait out the storm.

  “Heck, I did know. I did! Even Barb warned me this would happen.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Cerise.” She did not allow her voice to pitch or rise, but let serenity guide the moment. “We’re simply making a list of things you’ll need for the baby. There is no need for a tantrum.”

  “Then why are you obsessing on where this baby comes from?” Cerise was now working herself into a near fit. “It comes from me—I’d think that would be perfectly obvious.” She motioned at her growing belly as if Violet were some sort of simpleton.

  “You know, Mom. I think I finally get it.” Now with the finger wagging. Violet wanted to grab it with her fist like she did when Cerise was a child. “Silly me. I always considered myself fairly transparent about my relationship with Barb. We never specifically talked about it, of course, but you knew. You and Dad both knew. And you never made it an issue. But now, you just can’t seem to see it as real. That two women can make a real family.”

  Violet stiffened. “Do you mean to imply that I have a problem with your being gay?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. You tell me. Because considering your reaction at Dad’s party, you either can’t stand the fact that I’m gay or you hate the fact my partner and I are about to have a baby together.”

  “Of all the things,” Violet sputtered and wound her locket tight around her finger, feeling the rush of pain as she pulled. “Honestly, Cerise. I can’t even begin to tell you.” She opened her hands to the heavens and looked up. God help her.

  “Tell me what?”

  “What?” Despite her best efforts to restrain herself, she let out an exasperated huff. “Where do I begin? Let’s start with the fact that Rhonda Nelson—who, if I’m not mistaken, is not even a close friend of yours—knew about the baby before your father and me. And then she had the nerve to share the news with two hundred of our closest friends.”

  Violet made a face. Did Cerise need her to go on?

  She went on. “And your poor father. At his own retirement party. During a toast, of all things.”

  “So, it’s not that I’m gay or that I’m having a baby. You just couldn’t stand being embarrassed in front of all your friends!” Cerise huffed and color swept her cheeks like wildfire.

  “Oh, but you think it’s just fine to tell the world that you trust the weather girl more than your own mother!”

  Cerise threw her hands in the air as if in surrender, though Violet knew she was far from it. “Oh, that’s rich, Mother. You can’t forgive me for embarrassing you at Dad’s party, but it’s perfectly fine for you to send a note to your two hundred closest friends implying that I’d had an abortion!”

  So, Ed had been right. Their daughter had gone tattling to Daddy. Talk about rich. As if he’d been home for any of the big issues when Cerise was a girl. And hadn’t there been plenty? Toddler tantrums turned to adolescent sulks turned to outright teenage assaults on Violet’s authority as a parent. And now he was supposed to step in and play the hero? No, this would not stand.

  “I refuse to tolerate such a vindictive accusation in my own home.” Her head was buzzing with stimuli—ringing in her ears and stars in her vision—but she wasn’t even close to finished. She’d never allowed insolence from her daughter when she was a child and she certainly wasn’t about to start tolerating it now.

  “It’s such an interesting predicament you find yourself in, Cerise. In fact, I was just discussing it with your father before you arrived.” She began ticking evidence off on her fingers. “You’re not married. You’ve never talked about wanting children. For all anyone knows, the baby could have been the result of a—” she leaned in and hissed “—one-night stand.”

  “You know I’m gay!”

  At long last, Ed appeared in the doorway wearing yellow dishwashing gloves and an apron that read, “Minnesota Lutheran Jell-O Society.”

  “Ladies, what on earth is going on in here?”

  Violet waved away his concern and buttoned her lips tight. She’d always been responsible for guiding their daughter’s behavior and she saw no reason to change roles now.

  Cerise, on the other hand, chose not to control herself. “We were talking about my being gay. Or were we, Mother?”

  Violet could feel Cerise’s eyes on her from across the table but refused to meet them.

  Ed snapped the rubber gloves from his hands and pulled out a chair. He sat down beside Cerise and tugged thoughtfully at the resilient yellow fingers. “Why? Has something changed? Did you and Barb split?” His eyes went misty and he looked as if he might tear up.

  For goodness’ sake, he had never been poised for the difficult moments. Every snapshot the photographer had taken at the retirement party had Ed looking as sorrow-jawed as a man who’d just shot his most loyal retriever while out on a hunt. This from a husband who’d never even picked up a shotgun.

  “No, Dad. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Well, then, I’m afraid I don’t understand the issue.”

  Of course he didn’t. Just one more thing she’d have to explain to him about their daughter. Like when Cerise went off to college and came home a lesbian. And why Barb moved in with Cerise and never moved out. And now, why this wasn’t just any pregnancy, but one that required aggressive sheltering.

  “It’s just,” said Cerise, looking up at her dad, “we’ve never talked about me being gay. I assumed you knew. I assumed we didn’t need to talk. But now everything feels so, well, backward. Barb and I are about to become parents—committed, loving parents who want this child so much—and yet, I feel as if I’m being punished for something wonderful and good.”

  Of all things. “Babies are wonderful and good,” said Violet, exasperated but willing to look her obstinate daughter squarely in the eyes to settle a point. “They’re nothing but bundles of innocence. But like I’ve told you for years—ever since the boys started calling in middle school—babies don’t just appear out of nowhere. I do not want this father showing up out of the blue one day, upsetting our lives all over again.”

  “Now, Violet—” started Ed, but she held up a hand, hushing him. She intended for this moment to sink in, for her daughter to understand that she wanted no more surprises. She’d had absolutely enough.

  “Secrets will destroy this family, Cerise. Take it from me. I’ll have no more of it.”

  No one spoke for several moments until Ed finally broke the silence. “We do love you, Cerise. We love you and Barb and this baby.” He put his hand on hers and squeezed. “I guess our generation just lives by different rules than yours. We believe some stuff ought to be talked about and some stuff is better left unsaid.”

  “I know, Dad. That’s why it’s such a mystery to me—” she shot her mother a direct look “—why Mom is determined to get me to talk about all the stuff I intend to keep private. I’d have thought this was exactly the sort of thing you didn’t want to hear about.”

  “Well, now, that’s a good point.” He nodded slowly and caught Violet’s eye with a pleading look.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake.

  “Cerise, now listen. We love Barb, we love you.” Violet reached out and patted her on the arm. “And if you really want to sit and talk with us about your being gay with Barb, that’s fine. Just so long as you sit and listen to your father tell you about all the women he dated while he was in the army.”

  That ought to settle things.

  Cerise reached for the first book on the pile and opened it. “No, thanks. Those are details I’ll never be able to un-hear. Which is exactly
why I expect this to be the last time you ask me about where this baby came from. There was sperm. There was an egg. Someday very soon, there will be a baby. And that’s all you need to know.”

  February 10, 2018

  Dear friends and supporters of EyeShine—

  2017 was a wonderful year for our organization. Thanks to you, EyeShine collected more than 400 pairs of new and used prescription eyeglasses and received more than $10,000 in monetary donations.

  Your extraordinary support has allowed us to plan our next mission trip, scheduled for May. This year, founder and president, Kyle Endres will be joined by three optometrists, each of whom have volunteered their time and skills to this mission, and who, together, will provide eye exams and prescription eyeglasses to the members of three poor and remote villages in the African nation of Ghana.

  In the spirit of full transparency, the EyeShine Board of Directors also wishes to announce that it has hired accounting firm, Rivera, Rivera, & Craft to perform a five-year audit of the organization. The work is expected to be complete by the end of Q2 and the findings will be discussed at the Q3 Board of Directors meeting.

  With heartfelt thanks,

  The EyeShine Team

  18

  Richard

  “YOU COULD AT least tell me where you’ve been.” Eldris was at it again. Always with the questions. He’d told her before he left that he had an appointment, said it about a dozen times.

  She’d walked in the door to find him in the kitchen eating leftover macaroni casserole. She hadn’t wasted any time in swatting his fork away from the pan, then dished him out a plate and stuck it into the microwave, all the while going on about having spent the afternoon helping Kyle—some business with his charity fund EyeShine.

  “He could use your help, you know, Richard. Kyle’s doing practically everything for EyeShine by himself. Let alone running his practice during the day. Told me he hasn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep at a time for weeks.”

  “He has my number,” he said, carrying his plate of casserole to the table. “If he wants help, he’ll pick up the phone.”

  “Oh, because you’re so dreadfully busy. Do you know what I just spent my day doing? Matching donor’s checks against a paper printout of every single donation EyeShine has ever received. Five dollars. Twenty dollars. Two hundred dollars. Doesn’t matter! It all has to add up.” She rubbed at a splotch of ink on her finger. “But not you. You couldn’t possibly make time to help our son.”

  “How was I supposed to know, Eldris? Like I said, the kid hasn’t exactly been ringing my phone off the hook. And anyway, a man has a right not to be hounded about his own business.” He stuck a forkful of macaroni into his mouth. Eldris had been right. It did taste better hot.

  “And in case you haven’t noticed—which you obviously have since you won’t quit with the questions—I’m not exactly home much lately.”

  “Oh, far be it from me—your wife—to want to know where you’re off to at all hours.”

  They’d been down this street so many times lately he ought to name it. “For cripes’ sake, I said just give me time. I’ll tell you when there’s something to tell.”

  “Do you have a job interview? Is that what you’re not telling me?”

  Like a dog with a bone, this one.

  “I’ll bet that’s it. You think you’re being clever, but don’t forget I know you, Richard. I can see right through you. You were gone for two days straight—not to mention that one of them was Valentine’s Day.”

  Damn it. All right, so the holiday had slipped his mind.

  “We’ll go out to dinner tonight. You and me. Where do you want to go? Feel like steak?” Maybe he’d even take her to Murray’s for a jumbo shrimp cocktail and a plateful of pierogi, like they used to do, back before Kyle and the four-door sedans and having to show up at church every goddamn Sunday morning to push the offering plate down rows of men who’d only agreed to come because their wives promised they’d be home in time for kickoff.

  “Steak! Where on earth did you come up with that kind of money?”

  “We have an income, for God’s sake, Eldris. As much as you like to think otherwise, I’m not completely useless.”

  Again with Eldris pouting and him apologizing and all of it ending, like it always did, with him feeling like an altogether rotten son of a gun. Aw, hell.

  “Let me worry about the money. Really. We’re fine.” Richard stood and pulled her to his chest. “I’m sorry I hollered. You just gotta trust that I’m taking care of things.”

  And he was. Plans for March and April were shaping up, though he knew better than to share them with Eldris just yet. Advance planning gave her too much time to stew.

  He was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t a book in all this—Baby Boomer Goes Boom, or something like that. He’d have to think about the title. But the story line wasn’t so far-fetched: middle-aged executive puts the brakes on his career and makes a name for himself on a completely new adventure.

  Hell, plenty of well-known people must have hit the reset button.

  While Eldris went upstairs to change her clothes for dinner, he escaped into the office. He opened his laptop and went straight for Google: famous midlife career changes.

  Ronald Reagan. Yeah, everybody knew that one. But politicians, they didn’t really count. Colonel Sanders, though—that one caught his eye. Turned out, the Colonel didn’t open his first chicken place until he was in his forties. And even then he didn’t get rich until after he went out of business and was forced to franchise his recipe. There was George Foreman, too. Hell, his body was probably so beat up by the time he retired, he could hardly walk.

  Those were the comeback stories he could relate to.

  He closed the laptop and grinned for what felt like the millionth time in as many breaths.

  Not that he should have been smiling. There’d been another rejection last week. Two punks barely out of diapers needed a “seasoned” executive—their words, not his—to steer their upstart digital advertising firm. They’d launched no more than two years ago but were already throwing rolls of cash at their staff with no more concern than a guy buying a round of Cokes from the vending machine.

  “We need someone who’s been there, done that.” This from the guy with the slicked-up hair and the ridiculously pointy shoes. Richard’s toes ached just looking at them, which he had plenty of opportunity for because the kid wasn’t sitting at the table, but several feet back from it, like a territorial dog making a point. The iPad he’d carried into the room sat dark on the conference table, but his right thumb hadn’t stopped strumming the screen of his phone since he’d sat down. “Word around town is that you’ve been around and done plenty.”

  That’s how they got rich, exploiting clichés for cash? And hadn’t anyone taught this kid the importance of eye contact? Richard hadn’t wasted his breath on a response. Instead, he’d worked up half a smile and aligned his gold pen more perfectly with the edge of his legal pad.

  “How would you react to being the oldest person in the office every day by, say, thirty years?”

  This was the second kid, the one with the paunch and the greasy ring around the collar of his faded T-shirt. He was device-free, but he’d already drained a sweating can of Diet Mountain Dew and Richard could hear a tinny clang every time he forgetfully raised the empty can to his lips, only to bring it back down to the ring it bled into the table.

  Eldris would have sputtered herself blue over that water stain.

  Everything in this office, he’d suddenly noticed, was old: the table was constructed from some sort of reclaimed wood, and the offices were really a repurposed warehouse. Even the conference room looked out onto a gutted boxcar whose rusting railroad tracks served as the boundaries of a community garden. Everything, Richard included, came from another time and place.

  Everythin
g except the two upstarts staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  “You ever go work in that garden out there?” Richard had thrust his chin toward the oversize windows lining the wall behind them.

  Ring-Around-the-Collar appeared briefly confused, but turned and looked. “I’d like to, someday.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “But I really haven’t had time.”

  Pointy Toes kept his face buried in his phone and added, “A bunch of the team goes out there every summer and posts pictures of the produce to our Insta feed. Some great exposure.”

  Richard wasn’t a gardener himself, though Eldris managed a few salads each year from the tomatoes and basil she grew in pots on the deck. They were called “caprese” salads. Until this very moment, just knowing the term had kept him feeling young and smug.

  Their rejection hadn’t taken long to arrive, a tidy letter—on letterhead and mailed USPS, he was amazed to see—thanking him for his time and wishing him well in his search.

  Aw, hell. He never would’ve been the legendary Richard Endres there, anyway. Never would have been the guy who laid out new accounts in front of him like dominoes. But there had been a time, goddamn it. Those two punks had said as much when they’d hauled him in to check his oil and gauge the tread life on his tires.

  Sitting in that warehouse—that wannabe office straight out of his father’s cigarette-smoking, fedora-wearing, punch-the-clock-at-five existence—he’d felt like a Pontiac waiting for parts. He’d once been everyone’s favorite ride to the drive-through. Now, they didn’t even make his kind anymore.

  But here’s what they’d missed, those kids: Richard Endres still had plenty of miles left in him.

  “Eldris!” he hollered up the stairs. “What’s taking so long? Steaks are all gonna be burned up by the time we get outta here.”

  He picked up his overnight bag, pulled out two hundred dollars in cash and pushed the bills deep into his pocket. Then he grabbed a stack of Post-it Notes, wrote a few words to himself and stuck it on his computer screen. “Kyle—inventory pickup?”