by Carol Ross
“So I like things neat and tidy. Last I checked, it isn’t against the law.”
He aimed his pointer finger at the ceiling, preparing to add to his big brother tirade, but she cut him off.
“Eliot, let’s not spoil Grampa’s birthday dinner, all right?”
“What. Ever.”
An hour later, her mom suggested getting the dinner dishes cleaned up while the rest of the Turners relaxed in front of the evening news.
“And then we’ll have coffee and cake while Grampa opens his presents!”
Maleah’s tension heightened; if she left the room, Eliot would invite a repeat of the for-your-own-good lectures they’d been delivering since that horrible day.
“Let’s leave them.” Facing her younger brother, she said, “Joe, will you get the TV trays out of the front hall closet while I—”
“Maleah, honey,” her mother interrupted, “those mashed potatoes will harden like cement if you don’t rinse the plates soon.”
“I’ll soak them overnight and load the dishwasher in the morning.”
She’d tackle the job just as soon as her family left, but her mom didn’t need to know that.
Joe returned with two TV trays under each arm. “Where do you want these, sis?”
“You can put them right back where you found them,” her mother said. “We’ll have cake and ice cream at the table, like civilized people.”
He began setting up the trays. “Mom, this is Maleah’s house.”
Their mother’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine. Do whatever you please.”
“Happy birthday to me,” Grampa sang off key.
“Sorry, Grampa,” Maleah said, grinning. “I’ll get the cake.”
She’d barely had time to turn toward the kitchen when her father said, “Eliot says you have something to tell us?”
Traitor.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Maleah sat on the sofa arm beside Joe. “Got a promotion and a pay raise day before yesterday.” The perfect cover-up.
Her dad beamed. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. New title, too?”
“Assistant Vice President for the School of Autism Services at Washburne-Albert Institute.”
“Whew. That’s a mouthful!” Joe elbowed her ribs. “Raised-print business cards and the whole nine yards?”
“And a private office—with a window—and my name in gold letters on the door.”
“That’s my girl,” Grampa said. “A chip off the ol’ block.”
“Don’t be silly, Frank. You’re a retired policeman. Our granddaughter is a psychologist.”
“Hey. I used plenty of psychology on the job, Teresa. At home, too, every time you tried to talk me into getting a safer job.”
His wife rolled her eyes. Her dad took a sip of his iced tea. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Real proud.”
“Ditto that,” Frank said. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s light the candles on my cake and celebrate two great occasions with one big puff.”
While Eliot poked candles into the cake, Maleah placed napkins, dessert plates, forks and a book of matches on a big wooden serving tray.
“Grab the ice cream, will you?”
“Nice try out there,” he said, opening the freezer door, “but you can’t keep me quiet forever.”
She’d had about enough of his superior attitude. Maleah faced him head-on.
“Look. I know you mean well. And I appreciate that you think you’re protecting me from my once-fickle self. But trust me. I don’t need your protection. Besides, there’s a time and place for everything, and this is Grampa’s night.”
His mouth formed a thin, grim line as he lit the candles. Then he picked up the tray, and marched into the living room singing “Happy Birthday.” The others joined in, and although her heart wasn’t in it, so did Maleah.
Eliot didn’t say much—and neither did Maleah—as they devoured cake and ice cream. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the tension between them. Or, if they did, had decided to keep the observation to themselves.
“You guys are great,” Grampa said after unwrapping his last present. “But y’all went to way too much trouble and spent way too much. Especially you, Maleah.”
He’d been dropping hints since last Christmas about wanting an e-reader, so Maleah had ordered one and downloaded half a dozen books onto it.
She patted his bony knee. Would he ever gain back all the weight he’d lost during his chemo treatments?
“It was no trouble at all.”
“Speaking of trouble,” Eliot said, “there’s something important we need to discuss as a family.”
Maleah’s mouth went dry. “Eliot. Please. Don’t...”
He held up a hand. “They have a right to know. It affects them, too.”
Mom’s eyes widened and her husband’s brow furrowed.
“What affects us?” they asked together.
“Quit beating around the bush, boy.” Grampa scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion.
Eliot used his chin as a pointer. “Li’l miss party maker over there is still sweet on that felon.”
Maleah’s cheeks went hot and her heart beat double-time. Which of them would be the first to take her to task for holding on to that photograph? Her father, if she had to guess.
Her mom said, “Maleah, what on earth is he talking about?”
She glared at Eliot.
“It’s nothing, really. He found an old picture hidden away in a drawer, and as usual, jumped to conclusions and decided it means I’m still involved with Ian.” Maleah threw back her shoulders. “I’m not, and that’s the truth. But you know Eliot...”
“True or not,” her grandfather said, “you have to admit that boy is trouble. Even after all these years, the mere mention of his name is enough to get everybody’s bloomers in a knot. Told you he was no good.”
“But would you listen?” Eliot put in. “No-o-o. You hung in there like a suckerfish, right up until the sheriff’s deputies dragged him away.”
Those final moments in the courthouse were as vivid now as it had been that dreary morning: Ian, looking like a terrified boy as one guard slammed the prison van’s side door and another put the vehicle into gear. He’d raised a hand to wave goodbye, but the chain connecting handcuffs to leg irons stopped him. Tears had filled his eyes, and unable to watch, she’d closed her own. By the time she opened them again, the driver had already made the first turn onto Lombard Street and started the hour-long trip to Lincoln Correctional of Central Maryland.
Joe squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, sis. I believe you.” He faced the family to add, “So she saved one lousy photograph. Big deal. It doesn’t mean she’ll do anything stupid. We’re supposed to be her support system, for cryin’ out loud. If an institution like Washburne-Albert can put their faith in her, why can’t we?”
She might have hugged him if her grandmother hadn’t said, “Joe’s right. Maleah is a smart girl. She knows what life would be like with...” She wrinkled her nose. “...with a man like that.”
“Then why is she still single?”
“Same reason as you, maybe?”
Grampa laughed and Eliot said, “Shut up, Joe.”
“Person can’t earn college degrees and work her way up the corporate ladder if her mind is on guys and dating and whatnot...”
“Joe’s right again,” their grandfather said. “There’s no denying our girl has worked hard to get where she is.” He turned toward Maleah. “Tell your newly-confirmed bachelor brother that there isn’t anything going on between you and that ex-con.”
She raised her right hand. “There isn’t anything going on between me and that ex-con.” Neither Eliot nor her father seemed satisfied.
“Okay, but just to clarify...when was the last time you were i
n contact with him?”
Joe heaved a frustrated sigh. “Aw, Dad. Really?”
“I know you feel like we’re picking on her, son, but Eliot is right. We need to get to the bottom of this, for her own good.”
Her younger brother had earned more department commendations than Eliot and their father combined, yet had somehow managed not to turn hard-hearted and suspicious, especially of those closest to him.
“It’s okay, Joe,” she said. “I brought this on myself by not getting rid of that picture years ago. I don’t want you putting your neck on the chopping block to defend me.” She looked her father square in the eye. “There’s nothing to get to the bottom of, Dad. I was still living at home after Ian’s sentencing, so you know as well as I do that I returned his letters, unopened. All of them. And after I wrote ‘leave me alone’ across the back of that last envelope, you mailed it. And the letters stopped coming.”
Her grandmother was stuffing her husband’s gifts into a plastic bag. “It’s late. We should all be getting home.”
Her actions and tone reminded the family that she’d always detested family discord, and one by one, they stood and made their way into the foyer. Amid a flurry of uncomfortable hugs, they complimented Maleah’s dinner and thanked her for having them over.
Her mom hesitated. “You sure you don’t want help with the dishes, honey?”
“Thanks, Mom, but I’ll be fine.”
Arm in arm, her grandparents led the way to the semicircular drive.
“Looks like snow,” Frank said, pulling up his collar.
Maleah wished for summer temperatures, so Gramps could enjoy balmy breezes without needing to bundle up. The cancer that had nearly killed him refused to loosen its grip. But at least the family had remission to be thankful for.
Maleah stood on her bungalow’s covered porch, shoulders hunched into the wind as the family started up their cars, waving as they drove away. She loved them dearly, even at their annoying worst. Sometimes, though, it was difficult trying to protect them from bad news—like Ian’s return from prison years ago—to ensure nothing would upset them.
After bolting the door, she leaned against it and exhaled a relieved breath.
Reminding herself that self-pity never got anyone anywhere, she walked purposefully into the living room. There, Maleah collected cake plates and flatware, and after loading them into the dishwasher, started clearing the dining room table. Halfway through the job, she noticed the corner of the photograph protruding from the buffet’s silverware drawer.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had mentioned Ian or her involvement with him. Now thanks to Eliot’s mistrustful nature, the entire family would start watching her every move...again.
“Thanks a bunch, big brother, for opening Pandora’s box.”
A rush of memories rained down on her as she removed the picture...
When he’d called that night, Ian’s trembling voice described how his mother and new husband were expecting a baby. Hurt, confused and angry, he’d pleaded with Maleah to meet him. “I just need to talk it out. I promise not to keep you out late.” She’d wanted to comfort him, but homework, chores and three generations of disapproving Turner cops prevented it. Her refusal fueled his fury, and he’d hung up without saying goodbye. Months passed before she saw him again, slump-shouldered and chained to the defense table like a rabid dog.
Now, staring at his likeness, Maleah wondered for the thousandth time: If she had met him that night, would Ian have made a different choice?
“Enough!” She slammed the frame onto the table. “You destroyed your life, Ian Sylvestry, not me!”
Glittering shards of glass crisscrossed his once-carefree face, and that was fine with her.
Copyright © 2017 by Loree Lough
ISBN-13: 9781488012273
Summer at the Shore
Copyright © 2017 by Carol Ross
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