Things I Want to Say

by Cyndi Myers

  He had had this talent all his life, the knack for twisting words to throw the blame back on someone else. The talent had enabled him to talk his way out of failing grades, traffic tickets, job layoffs and relationship troubles more times than Karen could count. She hated it, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but marvel.

  Casey rose and stood at her side. “I think Uncle Del had a good idea, bringing us this dog,” he said. “This has been kind of a lousy summer for us so far, what with Grandpa being sick and all. A dog like this could give us something to laugh at.”

  God knew she could use a few laughs. Only she didn’t see how a big dirty mutt was going to provide them. She looked down at the dog, who was on her back again, both paws over her nose as if she was hiding her face. It was a ridiculous pose, and Karen felt herself weakening. She still didn’t want the animal. She hated being manipulated this way. But she wasn’t hardhearted enough to sentence the pup to death, or to risk alienating her son further, at a time when she needed at least one member of her family on her side. She blew out a breath. “All right. She can stay for a little while. But if she causes any trouble, out she goes.”

  “That’s super, Mom.” Casey’s hug squeezed all the air from her lungs. “I promise I’ll help look after her. Come on, girl.” He motioned to the dog. “Let’s go outside and look around. And we have to think of a good name for you.”

  The dog trotted after him, tail waving. When Del and Karen were alone again, he turned to her. “I need to talk to Dad. Is he awake?”

  “He’s on the front porch.” Martin liked to sit out there in the afternoons, alternately napping and scanning the area for birds. “Why do you want to see him?” As far as she could remember, Del hadn’t spent a single minute alone with his father since Martin’s stroke.

  Del arched one eyebrow. “I have to have a reason?”

  “No.” Though she had no doubt he was up to something. She led him to the porch, half hoping Martin would be a sleep. But he looked up as they approached.

  “Hey, Dad. How you doing?” Del loomed over his father, his broad shoulders and air of radiant health in sharp contrast to his shriveled, pale sire. Still, Del was the one who looked awkward, head bent, hands clasped in front of him, posture slightly slumped, like a boy awaiting reprimand.

  He glanced at Karen. “I need to talk to Dad alone,” he said.

  Translation: I’m going to ask for something, or propose some scheme that you won’t approve of. She debated staying where she was, ready to defend her father against Del’s manipulations.

  Martin made a shooing motion with his hand, and grunted, waving her away. Hurt, but determined not to show it, she turned on her heel and fled to the kitchen. Why did she even bother resisting? Del always got his way.

  The thought made her feel childish, and she struggled to regain an adult perspective. Del had aright to talk to his father in private. The stroke had left her father physically weak, but mentally he was as strong as ever. It was none of her business what Del did with his life. If she let him manipulate her, it was her own fault for giving in.

  The thought rankled. Who wouldn’t be annoyed at being manipulated? Why should she take the blame for Del’s bad behavior? Maybe that was part of the problem between them—she was too willing to let him get away with being “just Del,” too ready to think her own attitude was the one that needed adjusting.

  She sagged against the counter, heart pounding. What would happen if she stopped letting the men in her life get away with unacceptable behavior? The idea was tantalizing, and more than a little frightening. Did she really have what it took to be more demanding and less accepting?

  “So, you’re looking pretty good,” Del said when he and Martin were alone.

  Martin frowned at the lie, and watched his son, enjoying his discomfort. Del stood awkwardly in front of the wheelchair, as if he was contemplating hugging his father or perhaps shaking his hand.

  Martin had no delusions that Del had stopped by out of some concern for Martin’s health. The boy never made any pretense of closeness unless he wanted something—to park his trailer on part of the land Martin owned, his father’s signature on loan papers for his business, to borrow a car or a tool or money.

  Theirs was a relationship of give and take. Martin gave; Del took. They both understood this and were comfortable in their roles.

  Del dragged a heavy Adirondack chair over in front of his father and sat, hands on his knees, back straight. “Karen says you still can’t talk much.”

  He couldn’t talk at all, which might be an advantage in this instance. He shook his head no.

  “Well, I guess you don’t need to wear yourself out talking. You can just nod your head and we’ll communicate fine.” Del’s shoulders relaxed a little, as if he liked this idea. “I wanted to ask you a favor,” he said.

  Martin nodded. Did he know the boy, or what?

  “You know Sheila and I split up?”

  He nodded again. Del’s third wife had surprised him by staying around as long as she had. On Martin’s visits home between birding expeditions, he couldn’t fail to hear the fireworks from next door: the shouting, tears and slamming doors. Sheila could swear like a sailor, and had once fired a shotgun over Del’s head as he and his girlfriend of the moment raced from the trailer one evening when Sheila had arrived home unexpectedly. Martin himself had paid to bail her out of jail that time, and advised her that a load of rock salt and a lower aim might do more good next time.

  She had been the best of the Mrs. Del Engels, regularly bringing over casseroles and leftovers, keeping the bird feeders filled when he was out of town, collecting the mail and even mowing the grass Del let grow long. When she hadn’t shown up to help since his stroke, Martin had figured Sheila had finally had enough of Del’s flirtations and affairs and packed it in. He couldn’t blame her, though he would have liked the chance to tell her goodbye.

  “Anyway, she’s hired some big-shot lawyer and is trying to get pretty much everything I own.”

  Half of little or nothing hardly seems worth fighting for, Martin thought, doing a mental inventory; the trailer house wasn’t worth much, the oil change business was mortgaged to the hilt and, as far as he knew, Del had never had any savings to speak of.

  “I told her I couldn’t afford to pay what she wanted. She had the nerve to suggest I sell the truck and the motorcycle to get the money.”

  Martin chuckled. Heaven forbid Del part with his expensive toys.

  “You okay?” Del half rose out of his chair and looked around, possibly for help. “You’re not choking or anything, are you? Do I need to get Karen?”

  He shook his head and waved the boy back into his seat, then motioned for him to continue.

  Del sat, still eyeing him warily. “Anyway, I hired a lawyer who says he can work this so I don’t end up in the poorhouse, except he wants five thousand dollars up front. I just don’t have that kind of money.”

  Unless you sell the truck or the motorcycle.

  “So anyway, I was wondering if you could lend me the money. I can pay you back a little at a time, if the business has a good quarter.”

  The business never had a good quarter, and Del had never paid back more than a hundred dollars of the thousands he’d borrowed over the years. Martin nodded.

  “So you’ll lend me the money? Great.” Del stood, beaming. He glanced toward the door to the house again. “Uh, can you sign a check?”

  Martin nodded again. He could sign a check. And then he wouldn’t see much of his son until the next time Del was in trouble. It wasn’t a very satisfactory pattern for a relationship, but at least it was predictable.

  Del left, presumably to get the checkbook, and returned a few minutes later with Karen trailing after him. “Dad, what are you doing, agreeing to give him that kind of money?” she said.

  Del sat again, opened the checkbook on his knee and filled in the blanks. “This is none of your business, sis.”

  Karen turned to Martin. “I
t’s true? You’re just going to hand over five thousand dollars?”

  Martin nodded. It was his money. If he wanted to piss it away on his shiftless son, that was his business. He took the pen Del offered and bent to inscribe his signature on the check.

  Karen folded her arms across her chest and frowned at them. “I can’t believe you’re taking advantage of a helpless old man,” she said, as if Martin weren’t sitting right there.

  Martin glared at her, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy facing down her brother.

  Del let the anger roll off him like steam off wet pavement. He tore the check out of the book, folded it in half and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Dad’s in his right mind, so he isn’t helpless. And if he wants to do me a favor, why shouldn’t he? I’m his only son.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Shame’s a wasted emotion. It doesn’t fix anything, change anything or stop anything. I don’t see any point in bothering with it.” He turned back to Martin. “Thanks, Dad. You take it easy now.” He crossed the porch and exited down the steps, whistling as he went.

  Karen turned to her father, hurt in her eyes. “How could you? Why do you let him take advantage of you like that? He never does anything for you. He just uses you.”

  Martin gave because it was easy for him to do so. The money or material goods Del needed didn’t mean much to him. He could give them without a second thought. Sign the check, make the loan, hand over the goods and his obligation was met and his relationship with Del returned to normal.

  With Karen, things were always more involved. She had always been the difficult child. The needy one. She wanted complicated things—words and emotions. And whatever he surrendered wasn’t enough. Time hadn’t changed that.

  And who was she to accuse her brother of using him? She’d scarcely visited all these years and now that he was helpless, she’d dropped everything and swooped in to run his life. He’d been around long enough to know such sacrifices didn’t come without a price. She wanted payment from him in a currency he didn’t have in him to pay.

  He turned away from her, steering his chair toward the door to his house. All this arguing had tired him. He needed to spend time at his computer. Later, he’d sleep, and be comforted by dreams in which he knew no limitations.

  The following Thursday, Karen gave in to Tammy’s pleas to have lunch. At eleven-thirty, she found herself seated at Tammy’s kitchen table, a glass of iced tea in her hand, a pleasant lethargy enveloping her as she watched her friend bustle about the room. Karen had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone else wait on her, and to not spend every waking moment listening for some signal of distress from her father’s room. Or lately, sounds that the dog, whom Casey had named Sadie, was getting into trouble or needed to go out. So far, the dog hadn’t made any messes on the carpet—if you didn’t count the hair she shed everywhere or the occasional fleas that showed up despite the bath and flea dip Karen had given her. But knowing that she might make a mess only added to Karen’s stress.

  And she could admit, if only to herself, that she’d lost far too much sleep stewing over the five-thousand-dollar loan Martin had given Del. While he’d been in talking with their father, she’d told herself she was going to call Del on his impossible behavior, that she wasn’t going to let him charm her or browbeat her into meeting his demands.

  But in the end, he’d worn her down, defeating her with the argument that while Martin’s body might be damaged, his mind was working just fine. If he wanted to give his son money, it wasn’t any of her business.

  Maybe he was right, but she’d lost more than a few hours wondering what she could have done differently.

  “I’m so glad we could get together like this,” Tammy said as she chopped celery for chicken salad.

  “Thank you for talking me into it.” Karen sipped tea, the flavor of fresh mint sweet on her tongue. “It feels so good to get out of the house for a while.”

  “Now that Casey is here to help you with his grandpa, you should get away more often.”

  “I never realized what a big help he could be.” Karen smiled as she thought of the one really bright spot in the past few weeks. She hadn’t spent this much time with Casey since he was a preschooler. Now she had a chance to see a side of him she’d only guessed at before.

  “A lot of the time he’s more patient with Dad than I am,” she said. “And he’s better at the messy jobs, like managing bedpans and stuff. And Dad cooperates better for him.” Sometimes she wondered if her father wasn’t being obstinate on purpose, as if he blamed her for his infirmity, or the indignity of his condition.

  “Mo-om, have you seen my new swimsuit?” Tammy’s oldest daughter, Sheree, hurried into the room. At seventeen, she was all long legs and straight blond hair.

  “In the top drawer, left-hand side of your dresser.” Tammy added mayonnaise to the chopped chicken and celery and stirred vigorously. “Maybe Casey will be a nurse,” she said when the women were alone again.

  “Maybe.” Karen looked into her half-empty tea glass, as if the answer lay somewhere in the jumble of ice cubes. “He doesn’t know what he wants to do.”

  “Give him time. He’s young.” She reached into the cabinet overhead and took down two plates.

  “Honey, did you pick up those shirts from the cleaners?” Brady stuck his head around the kitchen door. “Oh, hi, Karen. How’s your dad?”

  “He’s a little better. Slow going.”

  “That’s good. And tell Del I said hello.” He turned to Tammy again. “My shirts?”

  “On the hook on the back of your closet door.” She spooned chicken onto slices of bread.

  “The videos need returning,” Brady said. “I don’t have time to do it.”

  “I’ll take care of it this afternoon.” She sliced the sandwiches in two and arranged them on the plates. “How is that brother of yours these days?” she asked Karen. “Aggravating as ever. You’ll never guess what he did the other day.”

  “What?”

  “He brought over a dog. This half-grown yellow mutt. Said he got it as a present just for me. As if I needed something else to look after.”

  Tammy smiled. “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? Casey fell in love with the dog the minute he laid eyes on it and Del threatened to shoot it if I didn’t take it in.” She shook her head. “So now we have a dog. Casey named her Sadie.”

  “Mo-om! I need ten bucks for the pool.” B.J., fifteen, swept into the kitchen, pausing at the refrigerator to help himself to a can of soda.

  “In my purse,” Tammy said. She set the plate of sandwiches on the table. “Don’t forget to wear sunblock. It’s in the medicine cabinet.”

  “I’m tan enough I don’t need it.” He began eating the rest of the chicken salad directly out of the bowl. “Is there any more of this?”

  “No. Don’t eat too much if you plan to go swimming.”

  “I won’t.” He set the empty bowl in the sink and dropped in his fork. “See you later.”

  Tammy watched him go, a faint smile on her face. “When he turned fourteen, it was as if someone threw a switch. He’s always hungry. And every time I turn around, his pants are too short.” She turned to Karen. “Please tell me it gets better.”

  “Not for a while, I’m afraid.” Karen shook her head. “I’d be happy now if the most I had to worry about was keeping Casey fed. If only he weren’t so…so aimless.”

  “He’s a smart kid. He’ll figure it out.”

  “That’s what I try to tell Tom, but he thinks Casey should be like him. He had his whole life mapped out by the time he was sixteen.”

  Sheree hurried past them. “Bye, Mom.”

  “You be home by six,” Tammy called after her. “Call if you need a ride.”

  “I will.”

  B.J. and Brady left shortly after that, each receiving instructions and parting hugs from Tammy. Karen took it all in with mixed amusement and awe. Tammy was a
general, in clear charge of her territory and her troops. As far back as Karen could remember, this was what her friend had always wanted.

  “Did you ever want to do anything else with your life?” Karen asked.

  Tammy froze with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you ever want to be more than a wife and mother? Not that that’s bad. You’re obviously really good at it. But did you ever wonder if you made the right choices?”

  Tammy blinked. “What else would I do?”

  “I don’t know. I—” They were interrupted by the oven timer dinging.

  “I’d better get that.” Tammy jumped up from the table. “I promised the Boy Scouts I’d make four loaves of banana bread for the bake sale Saturday,” she explained as she opened the oven and peered in at the loaf pans. The banana and walnut odor made Karen’s mouth water.

  “You could open your own bakery or catering company,” Karen said.

  Tammy laughed. “And run it in all my spare time?” She shut off the oven and slid the loaves out, one at a time.

  “I guess you’re right. Who has spare time these days?”

  “If I’m not taxiing the kids here and there, I’m cooking or cleaning this place,” Tammy said. “Weekends are full of more sports activities and racing.”

  “I can’t believe Brady’s still doing that.” When they were teenagers, Brady had fixed up an old car and raced it in competitions all over the area. Tammy and Karen had spent many a Friday night or Saturday huddled on sun-scorched bleachers, watching cars race at insane speeds around an oval track.

  “Gosh yes. He’s in a seniors league now. Lots of guys our age. He’s spent three years fixing up his car. You’ll have to come see it sometime.” She grinned. “Remember the fun we used to have at the track?”

  “I remember getting my nose blistered on sunny Saturdays, and flirting with the mechanics in the pit.” Karen laughed at the memory. She’d been an awkward teenager desperate to appear sophisticated and older. This translated into a pair of soot-black sunglasses and four-inch platforms that endangered her ankles every time she picked her way across the gravel parking lot to the track. She’d no doubt looked ridiculous, but at the time she was convinced she gave the impression that she was a woman of the world.