Trying the Knot

by Todd Erickson

  Becoming a doctor’s wife and a teacher was the perfect escape from her blue collar past, which clung to her like the dirty coveralls her father wore. Chief Engineer Ed Hesse was in charge of the monstrous after-end of a freighter, and he made a boatload of money, but he was still salt of the earth.

  As they drove past the town graveyard, Chelsea pointed to a decorated tombstone and said, “How morbid, who has a party in the cemetery?” Streamers and balloons blew in the wind with obligatory festivity. Stuck near the headstone was a sign, resembling a can of chewing tobacco.

  “So strange,” Kate said, not paying any attention. Instead, she was thinking about how her mother always kept more money stashed in the cookie jar than the bank. Unable to balance a checkbook, Kaye Hesse had lived from paycheck to paycheck. It was not an uncommon way of life among boat wives. Perhaps it was the root of her stinginess, but Kate was unable to imagine a fate worse than being impoverished.

  Kate only agreed to marry Nick when her Uncle requested she start paying rent. What was the point of paying money to live at her uncle’s house, when she could get married? Nick was generous nearly to a fault, and once married he would remedy the fact she was such a miser. She could not help being a penny pincher because she had an ingrained terror of being poor.

  One unfortunate year Thad’s family received food stamps, and that ended the extended family trips to the grocery store, along with most all other familial functions. Kate could not fathom such a humiliation as not being able to afford food; the Feldpausch’s only consolation that lonely year was every other family whose sole breadwinner worked at the local quarry also ate compliments the U.S. Government. She vowed back then never to subjugate her fate to the fickle whims of supply and demand.

  Kate was such a frugal tightwad she opted to wear her Matron of Honor’s wedding dress rather than buy one of her own. So what it was being recycled. It was not as if she intended to wear it again, and who in Portnorth would know? She liked to think of herself as being thrifty. Kate’s only concern was the dress was jinxed because its previous owner, her first college roommate, had become a bored suburban housewife who regularly cheated on her dullard accountant husband.

  As Chelsea drove past the house where Kate grew up, she said, “Maybe I should remind my brother what time the church rehearsal starts.”

  Chelsea nodded to the beat and cranked up her favorite John Gorka song while Kate silently noted her childhood home was comfortably understated and nurturing. Nestled in a hamlet at the bottom of a hill, the home symbolized the sheltered existence her mother had protectively carved out for them. It was a glaring contrast to the kitsch ponderosa where her father now lived with his new wife and Jack. The residence was set a couple feet from the road, and it was exposed on all sides – like a tacky reminder of the scandal her father created upon making Shayla Whiley the next Mrs. Ed G. Hesse. Their marriage caused such a furor Kate took to secretly staying at Chelsea’s mother’s house or with Nick’s parents on those rare occasions she came back to town.

  As Chelsea pulled in the driveway, Kate promised to only take a minute. She scrawled a note to her brother in the kitchen among piles of pizza boxes, beer cans and overflowing ashtrays. Unlike the pleasant smells of her youth, a mixture of stray animals and home cooking, the new house reeked like a tavern.

  The doorbell rang, and Kate called out, “Come on in.”

  Nyda Czerwinski, the haggard home economics teacher and mother of Jack’s dead prom date, approached carrying a large package. Honeycomb frown lines bookended her downturned mouth, and her hollow eyes remained unfocused. The woman’s hair was a mess of frizz, the result of years of abuse suffered by over-the-counter dyes and perms.

  “I’m so glad I caught someone home, finally,” she began. “I’m Mrs. Czerwinski, Jule’s mother – well, I was her mother, you know, before the accident.”

  “Yes,” Kate said, confused.

  Nyda-the-Living-Dead, as she was still called by her Home Economic pupils, was also an aerobics instructor, Tupperware saleswoman, and Mary Kay Representative, and director of the annual Portnorth Queens Pageant. At various times in her life, Kate had been Nyda’s student, make-up model and a pageant participant, but Nyda seemingly had no recollection.

  “This parcel arrived by freight shortly after we bought your parent’s house over on Superior Street. I’ve called repeatedly, but no one takes any interest. It’s addressed to Mrs. Ed G. Hesse.”

  “How thoughtful of you to bring it by, Mrs. Czerwinski,” Kate said taking the box. “I’ll see to it Shayla gets it.”

  “No, Katie, I think it’s meant for your mom. She was such a wonderful woman,” Nyda said, unmoving. She had not moved since entering the house. Her arms hung lifelessly at her side, and her skeletal head was glued unnaturally forward. The veins at her temples threatened to burst, and her thoughts were permanently fixated elsewhere. Nyda gave Kate the creeps.

  For lack of anything else to say, Kate asked, “How are the twins?” Kate used to baby-sit Jules and her demonic twin brothers. The Czerwinski twins were just as fond of drowning cats off the boat harbor pier as they were of playing doctor with various household utensils. They were holy terrors, but Jules had always been and now would always be an angel.

  “Oh, they’re around – back from the Persian Gulf, I think,” Nyda said blankly. She chewed a strand of frizzy hair between her ghostly blue lips, and she suddenly grabbed hold of Kate’s shoulders. “I heard about Evangelica. First, your mom, then your grandpa, and now your stepsister – it is such a shame. Be strong and keep faith in our Lord.”

  Kate nervously backed away, and Nyda grasped hold of her wrists. “Let us pray,” Nyda said, caressing Kate’s hands in her own bird-like talons. Nyda fell to her knees before Kate and babbled prayerfully until Kate became visibly unnerved. She waited patiently until the pear shaped woman stood upright before thanking her; for what, Kate was unsure, but she had no idea what else to say.

  Stiffly, Nyda left the house as if rigor mortis had set in long ago, and Kate struggled to open the box. Discovering what was inside, she quickly realized the only place her mother would have worn such a formal dress was to a wedding – Kate’s wedding? It was ivory colored and tastefully simple. Had her mom ordered the dress thinking she would live to see her daughter married? Kaye had been an older, heavier version of her daughter; Kate inherited her mother’s olive complexion, dark eyes, and raven colored hair.

  Stifling a tear, Kate quickly left the house with the box tucked under her arm. As soon as she entered the vehicle, Chelsea pointed at the person wandering down the center of the road as if a lost in a fugue state.

  “What did Nyda-the-Living-Dead want?” Chelsea asked

  “To deliver this,” Kate said, holding the package.

  “I heard Nyda and Hop-along Czerwinski are swingers,” Chelsea said casually.

  Years ago, Kate’s Aunt Jane told Thad of a society gathering hosted by Ginny Norris’s mortician boyfriend. Party games consisted of the men throwing their keys in a pile for women to pick blindly whom they would spend the night with. Kaye Hesse walked home alone, and afterwards she strictly forbid Kate to ever baby-sit for the Czerwinskis ever again.

  “Nyda really does look dead,” Kate said.

  “Was Jack home?”

  “No, but let’s check and see if my dad’s truck is parked outside the bar.”

  “Which one, there’s a bar on every corner?” Chelsea asked, and she drove to the nearest tavern. Ed’s truck was parked in back where the regulars half-wittedly attempted to conceal themselves.

  “It makes me sick,” Kate said. In the unlikely event her father or stepmother saw her, Kate slunk down in the seat and hoped they were too drunk to notice. She surmised, “They’ve probably been here since leaving the hospital.”

  “I thought they went to the cottage.”

  “So did I. Apparently, they were side-tracked.”

  “Isn’t there anything else to do in this town?”

  �
�Drive to Nick’s parent’s,” Kate said. “If that’s their only hobby, it’s no wonder Jack dropped out of school.”

  “Jack’s a high school drop out?” Chelsea exclaimed, and added sheepishly, “I shouldn’t sound so condemning; after all, I’m leaving law school.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope.”

  “But why –

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Chelsea said. “Can you really picture me in a courtroom?”

  “If you can imagine it, it will be.”

  “What? Barf me out. Tell me, you don’t believe that Oprah nonsense.”

  “You’ll just drop out, and then what?” Kate asked. Chelsea was always so driven and motivated. Kate spent her entire high school career studying like crazy, never quite measuring up to the academic mentor she found in Chelsea. “What’ll you do?”

  “I’ll grow my hair out and drive out west.” Chelsea smirked at Kate’s bewildered expression. “So, Jack’s a dropout too?”

  “He spent some time in a psych ward after the accident, the one that killed Nyda’s daughter on prom night.”

  “It must’ve been horrible. Was he driving?”

  “No, she was, or at least that’s what Alexa told the police. Jack fled the scene with a concussion,” Kate said. She shook her head as if life itself were incomprehensible. “When released from the hospital, he refused to go back to school. Nick tried to convince him to get a GED, but he won’t listen to reason.”

  “Maybe you should have a talk with him.”

  “Me? What could I possibly say that would make any difference?” Kate asked. “We don’t have one thing in common.”

  “Well, you have the same parents,” Chelsea said incredulously.

  “He has more in common with his stepfamily. They’re all hopeless. He’ll end up a bar fly. He’s cruising for a bruising, on a fast track to nowhere.”

  “Kate, oh my God, he’s your brother! You’re a teacher, is that how you write off your students?”

  “Let’s drop it,” Kate said. The car pulled up in front of the Paulls’ lakefront home, and Kate extended an overly polite invitation to Chelsea.

  “Oh, all right, but only if they have wine or booze. I need to unwind from all this stress,” Chelsea said. “My run didn’t quite cut it.”

  As they made their way up the flower-lined driveway, Reggae music sounded louder, and they exchanged perplexed looks of bewilderment.

  “This sucks, someone’s having a party and we weren’t invited,” Chelsea said. They followed the beat of the music and the lull of the waves to the other side of the house, where four Rastafarian wannabes danced wildly in the sand around a bonfire.

  Kate let out a smattering of nervous laughter as she approached her future husband. Without warning, the world had gone mad. She felt herself shrinking and wanted to crawl back into bed in order to sleep away several eons like Rip Van Winkle. Her only hope for escape was to pass out in a Valium induced stupor.

  Ben called out for her to join the celebration. He danced with Nick’s tall skinny sister, who appeared out of place on the beach in her all-black ensemble, nose ring, and permanent look of aloofness. Chelsea recognized the type, and she instantly withdrew. At least there had not been anyone so pretentious at law school.

  “What’s going on?” Kate demanded. “What are all these palms doing here?”

  “You’ll never guess,” Thad said.

  “Try me.”

  “Our little siblings stole them from the Catholic Church,” Thad said. “We’re burning the evidence.”

  Kate asked dumbfounded, “Who stole these palms?”

  “Alexa and Jack,” Ben answered. “All two-thousand of them.”

  “What’s that juvenile delinquent thinking?” Kate asked no one in particular. Growing irritated, she pointed out, “This is clearly in violation of his probation.”

  “Probation,” Chelsea repeated, “for what?”

  “Setting fire to an abandoned building on Main Street,” Thad answered.

  They could not understand Kate’s bristling disapproval. She was acting positively middle-aged.

  Ben assured, “It’s just a prank, Kate, nobody knows except for us.”

  The long, cool woman in black said, “I want to meet this kid, Jack.”

  Nick stepped forward, “Kate, you remember my sister, Nanette.”

  “It’s Tristana now,” Nanette corrected. She spent her formative years locked away in an expensive disreputable boarding school, which was renowned for accepting mildly disturbed girls from Nouveau Riche families. Once freed from boarding school, she enrolled in a university and made it a point never to come back to Portnorth, except when her presence was required to celebrate the milestones in her baby brother’s life. She took Kate’s outstretched hand and announced she currently stayed in Royal Oak, Michigan.

  Unimpressed, Kate turned to Nick and said, “I can’t believe this. You’re stoned, aren’t you?”

  Despite Nick’s protestations to the contrary, Kate whirled around and marched to the house. She climbed the patio steps two at a time and disappeared through the second story sliding-glass doors. Nick offered his guests an apologetic shrug and sheepishly followed his fuming wife-to-be.

  “And everyone thinks I’m uptight,” Chelsea said loudly. Nick called out he would bring more beer if anyone wanted any, and they all wanted more. Chelsea muttered, “Such an accommodating asshole.” She decided she could retrieve the beer faster, and she jogged to the house after taking drink orders.

  By then the Bob Marley CD was over, and the mood dampened as the three remaining dancers burned palm leaves one at a time. Thad stood in his bare feet and stoked the fire. Then he rolled his jeans past his scrawny ankles, and frothy waves lingered around his feet.

  A haze was rolling in off the lake, and it momentarily obstructed the blazing sun. Ben inched closer to Tristana, and his mind raced with the possibility of rekindling the romp they shared at Nick’s graduation party. They eagerly anticipated Chelsea’s return. She emerged carrying a paper sack and handed everyone a Molson Ice. From the cupboard, she had stolen marshmallows, a jar of peanut butter, chocolate bars, and a box of graham crackers.

  Ben laughed, “Sweet, let’s have a sacred palm burning feast.”

  With her mouth full, Chelsea lamented gleefully, “We need music, to make it even more sacrilegious.”

  Wistfully looking toward the lake, Tristana/Nanette smoothed her hands over her black mock turtleneck dress and lit a clove cigarette. Unlike Nick, his sister had never received the memo that her only duty was to be satisfied. In order to go along to get along in Portnorth, she was to project an image of healthy small town happiness. Naturally, she perfected a disposition of disenfranchised detachment. Consistently sullen and indifferent, she made it a point never to take notice of the world around her.

  Typically nervous and hyper, Ben fidgeted from side to side and tossed around his long black hair. As Tristana moved nearer to him, Ben recalled the kinky details of their naked twister match in Nick’s bedroom. When Tristana was still Nanette, she had taught him every pleasurable trick in her book of love torture. Ben studied her bored eyes for any hint of an invitation to a repeat performance, maybe even on Nick’s old bed where their original encounter took place.

  Tristana turned her full attention to Ben and ran her fingers enticingly across his thigh. “Tell me more about my future brother in-law, the arsonist. Is Jack a genuine hick?” she asked sincerely. “I want to spend time with real, Grade-A hicks. You people are future suburbanites.” Tristana took Ben’s hand into her own. “What about Jack? Tell me, is he the real deal?”

  “Jack’s my sweet inspiration,” Chelsea cried out. She took a swig of beer and steadied herself as she threw another marshmallow at Ben. It soared over his head and rolled past the bonfire into the endless lake. The waves lapped it out to sea. “I will quit law school and set fire to all the vacant buildings in Portnorth in the name of rural development, if only Jack will
run away with me.”

  “Not if I get to him first,” Tristana said competitively.

  “I guess it’s good to want things,” Thad said as if their burgeoning aspirations to become female pedophiles were not at all unusual. Thad toyed with the fire until the music resumed, and then he grabbed another beer and attempted to open it, but it was not a twist-off.

  “That’s my microbrew,” Tristana said, taking the bottle from him. “Does anyone have an opener?”

  They looked questioningly at Chelsea, who seemed like the only one anal retentive enough to carry around an opener. She admitted, “Well, I do have a Swiss Army knife in my car.”

  Tristana suggested, “Why don’t you be a doll, and run along and fetch it?”

  “I would, but it’s just I’ve never used it before,” Chelsea said, torn as to whether or not she wanted to break out the can opener for its maiden voyage. “It’s a gift from my aunt, she bought it in Europe.”

  “How about you and I, together, let’s devirginize that tool,” Tristana said, but Chelsea failed to move on cue.

  Ben reached over, grabbed the bottle and opened it with Thad’s lighter.

  “Yikes.”

  Chelsea hollered drunkenly, “Hey, throw me another brew-ski”.

  “Aim for her head,” Tristana offered as she kissed Ben’s sore thumb.

  After twisting off the cap, Thad handed her a beer and Chelsea took a long swig before joining the others. Laughingly, they waved their palms and swayed to the beat of the music, “The Salvation Army Band played, and the children drank lemonade, and the morning lasted all day –

  “Hey, I remember this song,” Chelsea said, and all at once she burst, “Life in a Northern Town!” She hummed, listening for any lyrics she could recall, “In the winter of 1963, it felt like the world was free –