by Lisa Wingate
He nodded, his mouth a straight, somber line, so that I couldn’t tell how he felt about my sudden descent into dysfunctionality. Leaning back on the couch, he reached across the space between us, and I fell into his arms, glad not to be alone.
You should tell him the rest. You should tell him about the doctor’s appointment. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do, I couldn’t force myself to go through with it. Telling James, bringing it into the open, would make it as real as the job layoff—another disaster waiting to crumble our lives. This one would be harder for him. It would remind him of losing his mother. Even though he’d never admitted it to me when I had my first cancer scare, I knew that when he saw me in that hospital bed, he thought of his mother and her five-year battle with lung cancer. He thought of losing her, and his father’s depression afterward, and the years of trying to keep the family emotionally and financially together while his younger brothers and sister grew up. If I told him about the news at Dr. Conner’s office, it would bring all of that back. He wouldn’t react calmly or try to interject humor or agree with putting off the biopsy for a little while, until I could handle it.
If I told him, I would have to schedule the biopsy immediately, as soon as we returned. What if the test came back positive? I couldn’t face that and the disaster at Lansing at the same time. Surely, a few weeks, maybe a month, wouldn’t make any difference. In a few weeks, I’d have my feet under me again. If the test did come back positive, I’d be ready to handle it.
For now, it was enough just to be together, here in this quiet place, where the evening breeze swished through Grandma’s flower beds, and the long, slanted sunbeams were fine and golden. In a strange way, I was relieved that the situation at Lansing was finally over. I felt as if I’d been clinging to a lifeline for months, and James had just stepped in and grabbed the other end. It was good to be together, hanging on against a storm. If there is any reason to be grateful for a storm, that must be it: It reminds you of who you can rely on.
James drew a contemplative breath, his chin resting on my head. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing—that it felt good to lean on each other, to need and feel needed.
“I have a question,” he said softly, his breath brushing my hair.
“Yes?” I muttered, the anxiety draining from my body.
“Do I get a Trekkie voodoo doll?”
I laughed, then smacked him in the stomach, and he let out a loud Ooof!
“No, you do not.”
“Well, can I at least stick some pins in the board-of-directors dolls?”
“Sure.” I gave a rueful snort. “But don’t bother sticking them in the wallet. They’re pretty well padded there.”
“I’ll bet,” he muttered, and we sat there, united in a moment of mutual rage against the machine. It felt really . . . good.
Voices drifted through the screen—the sound of Kate and the rest of the family coming through the blackberry patch, reminding us that we weren’t alone.
“I don’t want to tell Kate.” I knew how that sounded. “I mean, I don’t want to tell anyone yet. I don’t want to spoil the weekend, all right?”
James squinted one hazel eye, then shrugged and said, “All right,” before both of us stood up and went to the yard to greet the family. James patted me on the shoulder as we walked out the door. “Don’t worry, hon. It’ll be all right.”
I hope so, I thought. I hope it will.
We sat in the kitchen over a late dessert, talking about James’s flight, Jenilee’s first year in premed, Ben’s work developing drafting software, and Caleb’s upcoming summer internship with the county hospice program. We talked about Kate’s volunteer work at church, Rose learning to walk, and Joshua starting preschool.
We talked about everyone’s work but mine. Kate thought that was odd. She kept glancing at me, waiting for me to bring up whatever big, new megajob my team was into. James caught the look a couple of times. He knew what she was thinking. Something’s wrong. Karen’s not bragging about her job. By the time dessert was over, I was ready to get out of there.
Ben suggested that we head down to Shorty’s to see if the Saturday night pickin’ and grinnin’ crew was still playing on the porch. “It’s only eight thirty, and they usually go until nine thirty or ten,” he remarked.
Kate frowned doubtfully at baby Rose, who was already starting to yawn and rub her eyes.
“Sounds interesting,” I said, a little too quickly, and Kate clearly sensed an evasive action. She wasn’t used to such blind enthusiasm from my side of the table.
“You gonna do Elvis if we go down there?” Caleb asked James.
James shrugged, a bit reticent. “Don’t know. I might embarrass my wife.”
“You do Elvis?” I said.
“He does a great Elvis,” Kate replied with an imitation grin that looked more like a grimace of pain.
Ben elbowed me in the side. “Come on, Karen, let James do Elvis for us.”
“Ya, Aunt Ka-wen, let James do Elvis,” Joshua chimed in. “Pweeese.”
I realized that everyone was looking at me, and they really thought I might say no—Karen the killjoy. The family stick-in-the-mud. The realization hurt my feelings. Was that what I had become—the one who went around dredging up the past, hauling out old resentments, and bragging about how successful and perfect my life was? Did they really think I couldn’t laugh at James’s Elvis impersonation?
But then, that was the persona I had created. A straightlaced, impatient, demanding caricature that worked to my advantage in my career—no-nonsense, always on top of things, not too social, tough, slightly superhuman. The only problem being that the mask had become who I was. Until now. Now I didn’t know who to be.
I started to say something, but James beat me to it. “Well, as much as I’d like to do Elvis tonight, little man,” he said to Joshua, “it’s been a long trip and I’m wiped out. How about we do a little Elvis in the morning before church?” The look on James’s face spoke volumes. He wasn’t tired; he was worried about things, about us and our future. He didn’t feel like socializing. He wanted to go off by himself and brood.
Joshua frowned. “Al-wite. Can we play pilot?” He held out his arms and James scooped him up, flying him expertly around the room. I realized again that James had a routine here that I knew nothing about. I was jealous of his comfort level. Even more than that, I was jealous that everyone liked having him around. He was part of the family. Seeing him with Joshua hurt, and I knew why. I wanted that too—I wanted to be part of something that no failing economy or crumbling corporate structure could take away. I wanted to love something that could love me back.
How do I get myself to feel that? I thought. How do I let go of all the baggage and the jealousy and just feel the good stuff? How do I love instead of compete? Competition came naturally to me and blind love did not. I’d learned from my father that love had strings. It had requirements. To be loved, you had to prove yourself. How could I banish that idea from my life?
James patted Joshua on the back, then set him down. “You know what? I think I’m just going to get a shower and maybe turn in early, if nobody minds.”
Kate glanced from James to me and back, her expression acute, suspicious, slightly worried. She could tell something was going on. “Sure, James.” She shifted Rose from one hip to the other, pointing to the downstairs bathroom. “You two really are welcome to stay in here.”
“No, that’s all right,” I rushed.
“It’s fine out there,” James echoed. “Thanks, Kate.”
“Sure,” Kate said, studying both of us one more time. Something is going on between Karen and James, and it doesn’t look good. That’s what her face said. “Just let me know if you need anything.” She handed Rose to Ben. “If you’ll take her to bed, I’ll finish the dishes.”
Ben quickly took her up on the offer, grabbing Rose, giving her a sloppy kiss, and winning a giggle.
“I’ll help with the dishes,” I offered,
because I didn’t want to go to the little house with James and either watch him brood or be forced to talk about the next logical step.
“Good night, all.” James waved over his shoulder, then started out the door, looking like he had a hundred pounds strapped to each shoulder.
Jenilee stood up and started to carry dishes to the counter, but Kate took them out of her hands. “Karen and I can do this. Why don’t you two go out and enjoy the stars? It’s such a nice night, and you said yourselves you don’t get out of St. Louis much.”
Jenilee and Caleb exchanged moon-eyed smiles and quickly agreed, then walked out the door holding hands. Kate sent Joshua upstairs to his dad, and with that final exit she had managed to clear the kitchen of everyone but her and me. That, no doubt, wasn’t an accident.
I could tell there was something she wanted to discuss as we cleared the dishes and made small talk about meeting Jenilee and reading Grandma Rose’s old letters to Augustine.
“I never knew Grandma was such a writer,” I said. “I guess I just never pictured her as the poetic type.” Even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t exactly true. While Augustine spoke of fairies and dreamlike secret places in the wood, Grandma saw the poetry in ordinary things. She mused on the meaning of life while her hands were busy with everyday chores. Anything else would have been far too impractical to suit her.
Kate put a stack of dishes in the cabinet and turned to face me, resting her hands casually on the countertop. “She didn’t have time for nonsense. I think that made it seem like she didn’t care about things when actually she did. It made her seem harder than she was. You know, she regretted that in the end. She wished she had been a little more open with people instead of being so stoic all the time.” I wondered if she was talking about Grandma or about me. “Did you ever read her journal—the one with the stories she wrote before she died? Remember, I sent it to you for your birthday last year?”
I pretended to think about it, but in reality I knew exactly what book she meant. It had arrived with a birthday card, last summer, and an invitation to come to the farm for a visit. It was waiting in the mail the day I came home from a big job overseas. I’d glanced at the card, then flipped through the book, my eyes skimming writing that trembled, running downward across pages. I could feel the end of my grandmother’s life, her slow decline in those pages, in the changes of the handwriting as the book progressed. When I looked at it, I saw her on her deathbed, watching me with that silent message in her eyes.
I couldn’t bear to read the book, so I put it away where I would be guaranteed not to stumble across it. In the piano bench under the old sheet music.
“I didn’t read it, Kate.” I realized I had stopped wiping the table, and there were tears pricking behind my eyes. “I just didn’t . . .” There was so much more I should have said, that I should have explained to my sister. I should have told her that I appreciated the thought, but it was too hard to look at something Grandma had written so close to her death. Instead, I said, “I just didn’t have time right when it came, and you know, after that I forgot it was there.” I knew Kate would be disappointed in that answer. I knew it even before I turned around and saw her looking wounded. Why was it so hard for me to admit my weaknesses to her?
“Well, just don’t lose it,” she snapped, then seemed to catch herself and softened. “I mean, I think she would have wanted you to read it. I learned a lot from that book. It was such a tough time for us when we came here—new baby, job problems, Joshua’s heart surgery, and Ben and I were having problems with each other. Grandma was watching all of that, and she wrote the stories down as advice, I think. She wanted me to see what things really matter when you’re ninety years old, looking back on your life. I’m not sure if I would have ever figured it out without her.”
Kate’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, all of the barricades fell away. “You’re lucky, Kate,” I said quietly. “You’re really lucky you had that time with her.”
“She wanted you to be here, too, you know. She understood why you weren’t, but she wanted you to be.” Kate looked down at her hands. Something about the curve of her cheek in that moment reminded me of the past. She was my little sister again—my sweet, perfect, brilliant little sister, who had figured out algebra, calculus, physics, and now the meaning of life before I did.
How could I let anyone know that?
“You’re just more forgiving than I am, Kate. I’m sorry.” I felt my defenses going up brick by brick. The old chip was weighing heavily on my shoulder. “You do the family thing much better than I do. You know, to this day, I still can’t stand to be around Dad. He knows everything, and nothing is ever good enough.”
Kate smiled slightly. “So what?”
So what? I thought. What kind of an answer is that? “It doesn’t matter how hard you try, Kate. You’re never going to get what you need from him.”
She shrugged again, regarding me very directly when she replied, “Life isn’t all about getting what you need from people. Sometimes you’re put with someone because you have what they need.”
I crossed my arms over myself. It all sounded very philosophical, but not very much like Kate, not very much like our family. We had always been every man for himself. “So your theory is just be nice and keep taking whatever he dishes out.” It sounded more bitter than I meant it to.
She shook her head, which surprised me. In the past, the one thing that Kate and I always had in common was resentment of our workaholic parents. We could count on that to bind us together, in a twisted sort of way. “No, my theory is to move on. What other people do is out of my control. I only have control over what I do.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Did you learn all of that from Grandma’s journal?”
“Some of it. I’m still working on getting it right, but I know that I don’t want to end up ninety years old, alone in this house for years on end because I’ve driven everyone away.” She held her hands in the air between us, pleading. “Karen, Grandma Rose had so many regrets. She wanted us to do better. The one thing she wanted before she died was to piece this family back together.”
I sighed, feeling Grandma in the room with us, standing at the old Hoosier cabinet, listening while she measured out the ingredients for bread. “I know. I know she did.”
“It’s possible,” Kate whispered into the still air. “Anything’s possible.”
“You’re such a positive thinker, Kate.” Even as I said it, I wondered if she might be right. Inside, I felt a growing need that hadn’t been there before—a need for this place, these people, a family. This family.
With everything else in my life spinning out of control, I needed something solid to cling to. When things around you change—where you are, where you’re going—the one fact that remains constant, the one anchor that holds fast, is where you have been.
Chapter 10
In the morning, Kate was up early fixing breakfast, so that we could eat together before heading off to church. By the time I got to the kitchen, she had already fried bacon and eggs and was putting biscuits on the table. She sent Joshua to gather the family, and we ate a quick breakfast, during which Kate and Ben shot questioning glances at James and me. Even Jenilee and Caleb seemed aware that there was an undercurrent at the table. Caleb rescued us by filling the conversational gaps with various news from town. Because his grandfather was the Baptist preacher, he knew who had died and who’d had a baby, who’d built a house or started a new business or gotten a divorce.
When breakfast was over, I went out to the little house to finish packing my suitcases so I could head for the airport after church and Sunday dinner at the café. My mind hadn’t quite settled on the idea of returning to the corporate jungle, but I knew I didn’t have any choice. The world would start turning again on Monday, and I had to jump on or be left behind. No more time for wallowing in self-pity. I had to get out there and circulate résumés before the job pool filled up with Lansing’s castoffs. It was the logical next s
tep, and I knew I needed to face it.
“I can trade out the rest of my trip and go back with you,” James said as he came into the bedroom.
I realized that I was sitting on the bed beside my suitcase, silently crying. “No, it’s fine.” Feeling stupid, I wiped my eyes. James was supposed to be in Kansas City until Tuesday morning, then fly several legs before coming home. “Go ahead and finish the rest of your trip. You’ll be home Wednesday.” I knew that was what he wanted to hear.
Stopping in the bathroom doorway, he studied me with obvious concern. For just an instant, I could tell he was wondering, Karen, is something else wrong? Is there something more?
I didn’t give him the chance to ask. “Guess we should go.” Closing my suitcase, I stood up and dabbed at my eyes. “Sounds like everyone’s out in the yard already.”
“Let me get my wallet,” he said, and by silent mutual agreement we dropped the subject.
“Aunt Ka-wen . . . Aunt Ka-wen,” Joshua called from the porch, and then the screen door squeaked as he peered inside.
“Who’s out there?” I peeked into the living room, then walked through the door, wheeling my suitcase behind me.
Joshua gave the wheelie suitcase a look of fascination. “I can pull it.”
“All right.” I slipped the handle into his tiny fingers, holding open the screen door so he and the suitcase could get through. “Sure it’s not too heavy?”
“Nope,” he replied confidently, as the suitcase bounced down the porch steps sideways, dragging him with it. He and the suitcase landed in a pile at the bottom, and he scrambled quickly to his feet, laboring to roll the suitcase back onto its wheels. “I can do it. It’s not hebby.”
“I can see that.” I ruffled his hair as we started down the path, Joshua walking backward with both hands on the handle, lugging my suitcase over the uneven stones, determined to be my helper no matter what. I was suddenly filled with a rush of affection for him. “Hey, big man, you gonna miss me?”