Keepsake

by Kristina Riggle

  “No,” was Jack’s simple reply, face hidden behind his book. On the cover, the Titanic was going down, and some kids and a dog were scrambling around on deck. I knew how they felt.

  Drew cleared his throat. “I thought we could maybe hunt eggs later, here. Jack could go in the other room, and then the grown-ups could hide them. That’s what’s in all those bags.”

  Ellen ducked in from the kitchen. “Eggs? We’d better refrigerate them!”

  “Plastic eggs, Ellen. They have jelly beans in them and stuff,” Drew said. “None of us really like eating real hard-boiled eggs.”

  I pictured Trish in a store in front of an Easter display and bit my lip to keep from visibly cringing. I could just imagine her grabbing everything in sight. She always was a sucker for holiday merchandise. The last day I was at her house I’d uncovered a trove of Halloween party paraphernalia, for some grand gala that never came to pass. There was a punch bowl shaped like a skull. She’d put it in the Keep pile, and I’d snuck it onto the Sell tarp when she wasn’t looking.

  “I got the good jelly beans,” Drew continued. “The really juicy fruity ones. Yum.”

  And then I saw an unabashed smile from Drew, so big I could see his canines, which seemed very sharp. His smile was bright and white, especially compared to all that black he was wearing. Jack finally peeked out from above his book, prairie-dog fashion, and I detected a smile in the corners of his upturned eyes.

  Drew had said “I got,” which meant Drew went shopping. I wondered, then, if Drew had done all the planning for the festive part of the holiday.

  In contrast to punk rock Drew’s big smile, Trish looked like someone had pulled her plug, slumped in the chair as she was, unmoving.

  I wondered at the dress she was wearing, something years out of date, and a few dress sizes ago. Not that I could claim to be the exact same size as in the bloom of youth myself, but it was unlike Trish to dress in such an unflattering way. She was always buying new clothes, and we hadn’t thrown out her best things, I know we hadn’t. I noticed her hair seemed stringier than usual, too.

  Ellen trilled from the kitchen she could use some help with the potatoes. Drew and I leaped from our chairs. Trish didn’t budge. Dad turned on the television and started clicking. I hoped he wouldn’t settle on cable news. The last thing we needed was drama from the outside world.

  Ellen set Drew and me to working on a fruit salad and potato peeling, as she stepped into the dining area to lay the table. That’s what she always said, “lay the table.” It sounded fancier to me than what we always said growing up, “set the table,” or later, when we had no visible table, “grab the plates” or “unfold the TV trays.”

  “What’s wrong with your mom?” I asked him.

  “You mean more than usual? I don’t know.” He cut his eyes back over his shoulder, toward the living room. “Ever since I stopped in to see her on Wednesday, I’ve noticed she’d gone all, robotic, kind of. Listless. That’s a good word for it.”

  “Had she been cleaning?”

  He shook his head, frowning hard at the potato he was trying to chop into bits. “Nothing looked different, anyway. Not worse, though, either. I tried to talk to her, but she claimed she was ‘just tired.’ ”

  “Our mom used to say that. Sometimes she seemed more aware of the mess than usual. Some days she’d deny anything was wrong with her house at all, that she just had a tiny bit of clutter here and there. Other days, without saying it out loud, you could tell she was feeling it, a taste of what it was like for us.”

  “I don’t know. Something else happened, I think.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Jack said she’d been on the phone to Ron a lot. And I tried to text her Wednesday morning, and she didn’t get back to me for hours.”

  “Really? That’s odd.” I was thinking of the new girlfriend, name of Summer, age indeterminate. “It won’t do for her to curl up in a shell now,” I said, chopping some onions with energy, enjoying the solid smack-smack rhythm and sound on the cutting board. “We’ve got so much to do.”

  “Do we, now?” I gasped. Trish was right behind me, opening the refrigerator. “I’m right fricking here, you know.” She slammed the refrigerator shut. “Drew, if you have an issue with me, you should talk to me about it, like the adult you like to pretend to be.”

  “Like the adult who actually did the shopping so Jack could have a frickin’ Easter for once.”

  “Oh, ‘for once,’ like we’ve never had an Easter at the house.”

  Drew never stopped chopping, never looked up as he continued, “Last year he went with Ron for Easter, and I stayed with you and ate takeout so you wouldn’t be alone.”

  “You’re too old for Easter baskets, c’mon.”

  “And the year before that? Remember that? He didn’t find out about the Easter bunny because someone at school told him, or because he just got old enough to figure it out. He knew when all the eggs were ‘hidden’ right on top of everything, in plain sight.”

  “That’s not fair to put on me.”

  “He looked right at you and he went, ‘Mom, you put the eggs out’ because they weren’t actually hidden, because you didn’t want to lose any.”

  “Stop it!”

  “And then you lost the Easter baskets you bought, so his Easter basket was a plastic ice cream tub you’d washed out.”

  “Shut up, damn you!”

  Ellen popped her head into the kitchen from the dining area, her eyes wide, hoop earrings swinging. “Patricia?” she asked, her voice tinged with anxiety and maybe a bit of irritation, too.

  Trish ignored Ellen. She said to Drew, “You think you can do a better job parenting than I do? With your store-bought Easter baskets and Starburst jelly beans? Have at it, pal. Good luck to you.”

  At this she pushed past our father who’d appeared in the opposite kitchen entry and slammed her way through the front door.

  Drew gaped at me, finally with his knife stilled. “Did she just, like, resign? From being a parent?” he whispered.

  My dad shot me a look. In the instant of his stare, I could read it all. A lifetime of living in a screwed-up family will do that, will make a person fluent in silent looks and body language. See? I knew she wasn’t up to it, and now she’s gone and ruined Easter for her little boy.

  He turned away and boomed out, much too loudly, “Hey, Jack, I challenge you to some Wii bowling. I’m gonna top your high score this time. I’ve been practicing with Grandma Ellen.”

  I put down the knife and retrieved my jacket from the front hall. Drew was still too stunned to move, and anyway, he’d be the last person she’d want to see just now.

  I might be only second to last. Third, behind our dad.

  Ellen called out behind me as I went out the door, “But when will we have dinner? The ham!”

  I stopped in the doorway to turn back to my stepmother. “Screw the ham, Ellen.”

  Chapter 23

  I knew without turning that it was Mary behind me. She had an unmistakable gait when she was in a hurry, a pitter-patter of feet, on her toes, like she didn’t dare run without her jogging clothes, special shoes, and a water bottle.

  I wondered if she’d run if an axe murderer were chasing her, or if she’d still do that silly prance.

  Her shadow was in my peripheral vision, and her stride slowed to match mine, which was more of a plod.

  So I hadn’t had the energy to rustle up a holiday. What no one seemed to understand was that I had cleaned Jack’s room totally—only to have him refuse to sleep in his bed—then I had to submit to a humiliating government shrink with the threat of losing my son hanging over my head. And I almost got fired by my dragon lady boss. After that, something settled on me like that heavy blanket you have to wear at the dentist while getting x-rays. Every step was harder to take. Even words were harder to speak. I sa
ved what little energy I had for Jack, and I feared he could tell how hard it was for me.

  Early spring was always hard in recent years, since I closed up that one room. I used to try to talk to Ron—some of what I was going through he understood all too well—but as patient as he tried to be, this time it didn’t help.

  “Drew thinks you resigned from parenthood,” Mary said, still puffing from her attempt to catch up with me.

  “Jack didn’t hear that, did he?”

  “I don’t think so. He was busy in the other room. He’s playing Wii with Dad now.”

  “Let Drew think I quit. Maybe if he ponders what it’s actually like to be a parent, he’ll quit being so judgmental. Not to mention maybe he won’t knock up his girlfriend.”

  “You think he would?”

  I stopped and stared at Mary through a curl of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail. “Duh. He’s seventeen and he’s always at her house and her parents don’t get home from work until six. What do you think he’s doing in all that time? I gave him condoms, so I hope he’s smart enough to use them.”

  Mary grimaced slightly. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Anyway, Trish, he’s just being a teenager. He’s frustrated.”

  “Join the club.”

  “You had a rough week?”

  “Ding ding! Mary wins the prize! You are correct!”

  We’d left the town house development by now and turned onto a busier street. We had to stop in front of a church whose occupants were spilling out of the doors, and the parking lot, such that we had to stand and watch them go rather than cross the drive.

  The sun was climbing higher. I reckoned it was probably sixty degrees or so. The women and girls coming from the church wore pastel dresses and pretty, delicate shoes. The men wore suits, or at least natty ties and dress shirts. I wondered how many of them went home to a hoard of objects, or some other dreaded secret. A husband who might hit them when he drank. A wife addicted to pills. A son surfing porn. Why did everyone have to look so perfect all the time and make you think your life was terrible? Couldn’t the screwed-up people look the part at least so we wouldn’t feel alone?

  “What was so rough about your week? Like, in particular, I mean.”

  I wasn’t about to tell her about Dr. Tom and his perfect blond children.

  I sighed. “Ayana came back.”

  “The social worker? Was she pleased with your progress?”

  I shrugged. “She liked that Jack had his own room cleaned, but I had to confess he wouldn’t sleep in it, because I knew she’d ask him anyway and I’d just get caught in a lie. I saw her jot that on her notepad and wanted to shove her pen in her ear. Her ear if she’s lucky.”

  “Then what?”

  “She stayed and tried to help me sort, but it was so stupid. She just doesn’t get it, what it’s like to be a parent. She kept saying that his old keepsakes weren’t important, like a ribbon he won for field day.”

  “He won first place?”

  “Well, no, it was a participation ribbon everyone got. But that’s not the point! I can’t ever get that time back, but if I keep some tokens, I keep some of little Jack with me. Otherwise he really is gone forever, my tiny little boy. And before you know it, he’s grown up to be a man who’s gonna leave me. Another one.”

  “But he’s going to grow up whether you keep it or not.”

  “So Miss Ayana says,” I retorted, unable to keep the sneer out of my voice. “You think I’m stupid, too?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “Anyway,” I continued, finally turning away from the church with all its perfect people, heading back toward where we came. “I moved half the stuff we threw away back out of the garbage bins. She has no right to force me to give up my own things.”

  “Well . . .”

  I wheeled on Mary. “No right! None! Don’t you start, too.”

  We walked along in silence. I would have enjoyed the warm day if not for my cluttered, broken life. Tree branches were speckled with green buds, but I felt as dead inside as withered autumn leaves.

  “What are you going to say to Drew when we get back?” Mary asked.

  “I’ll apologize. Thank him for buying the Easter things. Ask him to hold his gossip for when I’m not in earshot. Same goes for you, too, sister dear.”

  I froze for an instant when I felt her touch me. In the next moment, I recognized the gesture. She’d put her arm around my shoulders. We’d walked like this as little kids, when we were going somewhere fun, like to get ice cream, or over the dune to get to the lake.

  I should have slipped my arm around her, too, just like old times.

  I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm, but I allowed myself to marvel at my bumbling younger sister, trying to take care of me.

  For all my indignation, the Easter egg hunt turned out to be almost fun. We’d turned it into a boys-against-girls contest with us girls doing the hiding and my dad, Drew, and Jack trying to find the eggs. I drew from energy reserves I didn’t know I had to pretend I wasn’t furious with my father and his ongoing threat to take Jack from me and act like I was having a fine time. We gorged on jelly beans and foil-wrapped eggs to the detriment of our teeth and to the chagrin of Ellen, who’d made an angel food cake no one wanted.

  Then came the doorbell, and my heart sank. I’d been trying all day not to think about the moment, which is why I’d also neglected to tell anyone but Jack what was coming.

  Dad looked up from his rummaging under the couch for the final egg—none of us could remember where we’d put it—and they all exchanged confused looks.

  “But I’m not done with the egg hunt yet!” wailed Jack.

  “I’ll get the door,” I said, heaving myself up. “It must be Ron.”

  “Ronald?” asked Ellen. “Oh, dear, I guess I could make him a plate.”

  I ignored her and answered the door. Ron was wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt. He must have gone somewhere nice for Easter with his girl. He also smelled good, but foreign, wearing a scent I didn’t recognize.

  He gave me a hug, but it was distant, more arm-and-shoulder than an embrace. “Is he ready?”

  Jack called out, “We haven’t found the last egg!”

  “Honey, your dad’s here to pick you up; we can find it later.”

  Ron shrugged. “I ain’t in a hurry. I can wait.”

  “Your girlfriend isn’t in the car?”

  “Naw. I’m not going to introduce Jack in the car. That doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

  “Well, come in then. Don’t just hover in the doorway like a deliveryman.”

  The greetings all around were warm and friendly. My family always liked Ron. This made me set my jaw in remembering how they all lined up against me after the split, more or less. I mean, no one came out and said, “He was right to leave you,” but I didn’t get as much sympathy as your average wife left by her husband. And Mary, she didn’t even call me.

  True, I never called her. But I figured Dad must have told her, and wouldn’t she reach out then? Wouldn’t she want to see how I was doing? Why didn’t she care?

  And why did she care all of a sudden now?

  Everyone cheered as Jack yanked the final egg out from between sofa cushions with his one good arm, and he held it aloft like the Olympic torch.

  Oh yes, that was why. This was all for Jack, in the end. It was still true that no one gave a good goddamn about me.

  Chapter 24

  When I opened the door of Dad’s camper Monday morning, I came upon Trish surrounded by boxes in the driveway. Her hair was pulled up in a frizzy ponytail, hands on her hips. She stared hard at the boxes, biting her lip and shifting her weight.

  I stepped out and blinked in the slanting sunlight. The air seemed brighter with the promise of spring, like a drug to us soggy, cold Michiganders. But wet leave
s blanketed much of Trish’s yard. The wind carried a sickly rich and sweet smell of rotting plant life, like a big pile of mulch, or compost.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to catch her attention since she’d not yet looked up.

  She waved at me, eyes still on the boxes.

  “Are you watching to make sure they don’t run away?” I asked. I could gauge her mood by this. If she smiled, great. If she snapped my head off, well . . .

  She cocked her head like a spaniel. “I just . . . These are Ron’s. Old tools. I don’t know what to do with them.”

  “Have you talked to him this morning? About how Jack’s doing?” The parting at Dad’s house last night had been tearful, for both Jack and Trish, though she tried to hide it. I thought I’d seen some dampness in Ron’s eyes, too. Then I’d followed Trish back to her house, and I sat with her watching television in her living room until the scattered remains of her hoard made me feel jumpy enough I retreated to the camper, my home-away-from-home for this cleaning week.

  “No,” Trish said. “I haven’t heard from Jack yet.”

  I found myself surprised by how much I was used to seeing the little guy. A pang snapped like a rubber band at how many years I missed because we weren’t speaking, Trish and me. And here I thought we were only hurting ourselves.

  “What about Drew?”

  Trish shrugged. “He hasn’t shared his plans with me.”

  “So he’s not going with his girlfriend on vacation?”

  “I said I don’t know.”

  “Sorry.”

  Trish sighed, looking up at the sky. “Whatever. Never mind, OK?”

  “Sorry.”

  “If you say sorry one more time, I’ll knock your block off.”

  I bit my lip. “I’ll just, uh, brush my teeth, I guess.”

  “What time is your friend getting here?”

  “Any time now, I’d guess.” Hurry, Seth, I thought, knowing that Trish would at least try to make nice in front of someone new.

  I stalled inside the camper, rearranging my few toiletries on the tiny bathroom counter, straightening the inside of my overnight bag. I used to be able to navigate the ocean of Trish. That is to say, yes, I’d run into storms, but I’d usually know they were coming. Like when we were kids and I’d try to horn in on the fun she was having with her friends in the school cafeteria. That would set her off. Or when I’d go running to Mom for support when Trish told me what an idiot I was. I didn’t seem to know anymore where the dangerous currents were.