The Daughters of Erietown

by Connie Schultz

  “Yeah, that was rough,” she said, breathlessly.

  “You wanted me to understand more about the Vietnam War, and Platoon pretty much covers it,” Carson said, “although I did hear that Hamburger Hill is coming back to Erietown, too, in a few months. Thanks to Oliver Stone, I can now imagine why it’s called that.” Sam laughed, and immediately recoiled. Had anyone else ever said that to her, she would have launched into a lecture about all the boys in this town who had served in the war.

  “Sam?”

  She pressed her hand against her chest. “What is happening?”

  “What is it?” he said, cupping her elbow. “Do you need to sit down?”

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, knock it off, Doc.” She tipped her face and kissed him. “It’s just that— Never mind.” She looped her arm around his. “Let’s go to the car.”

  She was quiet on the drive home, mulling over what she had been trying to ignore. Carson was that he in her head now, that him. Clipping a story out of the paper because he would like it. Reading a parent’s sweet note and thinking, Can’t wait to show him this. After every shower, she’d towel herself off and think of every part of her body his fingers had touched. When did this happen?

  She shivered. “Okay if I turn up the heat?”

  “You don’t have to ask,” he said, looking at her. “You sure you’re all right?”

  She adjusted the heat and nodded. “Just a lot on my mind.” He slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. “What are you doing?” Sam said.

  He set the gearshift in park and turned to look at her. “Sam, I’m sorry I joked about the movie. I know how you feel about the war. That was really inappropriate of me.”

  “Carson, no, that’s not what—”

  “We have relatives who served, too, you know. On my mother’s side. Her second cousin lost a leg.” He grimaced. “God, that sounded awful. Like I’m auditioning. Or worse, competing.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all,” she said. “I was thinking about how I can’t stop thinking about you, and then I was thinking that’s pretty scary because that’s not something I’ve ever done. Think about a man, I mean. I’m always thinking. Mom says I think too much, but I think it’s important to question things, to figure things out. To go through life just coasting? That’s unthinkable.” She turned to look at him. “What are you thinking?”

  “I think you just used up your year’s supply of every version of the word ‘think.’ ”

  She lowered her voice and spoke slowly. “If you had been any other guy I’ve ever known, I’d already be out of this car and walking home.” She smiled at his stricken face. “But here I am.” She leaned toward him. “You can breathe now.”

  “I wasn’t holding my breath.”

  “Yes you were.”

  “I’m in training.”

  “Oh, really,” she said. “For what?”

  He touched her face. “For what I hope is coming next.”

  * * *

  —

  Sam turned from the stove and pointed to the fridge. “Could you get the shredded cheddar for me? There’s a bag of it in the left bin.”

  Carson set his beer on the counter. “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the bag, and she started sprinkling the cheese into the scrambled eggs. “This skillet was my great-grandmother’s,” she said, stirring. “My mother gave it to me when I bought this house.”

  He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “My mother’s going to love you.”

  “Because I have Grandma Ada’s cast-iron skillet?”

  “No,” he said. “Because you care about family, and traditions. And, yes, it doesn’t hurt that you like to cook. She’ll load you up with her favorite family recipes in no time.”

  Sam turned off the burner under the eggs and gave the skillet of home fries one last flip before turning it off, too. “You don’t seem the least bit worried about what your parents will think of me, or of us,” she said as she filled the plates. She handed them to him. “Not even a little anxious?”

  “I’m almost forty,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Do I even need to tell you how often they talk about wanting grandchildren?”

  She pulled her robe tighter and followed him to the table. “Carson,” she said, sitting down. “Let’s not move too quickly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing grave,” she said. “I just need a little more time to get used to all of this.”

  He set down his fork. “So Ms. Liberal isn’t as open-minded as we thought?”

  She reached for his hand. “That’s not it, and you know it. I’ve never been in a relationship like this. I feel a little off-kilter. I can’t explain it, exactly. I’m not used to caring what a man thinks of me, how he feels about me.”

  “But you know how I feel about you.”

  “That’s not the part I’m getting used to, Carson,” she said, pointing to her head. “Up here is what I’m adjusting to. You’re on my mind all the time now.”

  He picked up his fork and jabbed at the eggs. “Thanks for this,” he said.

  “It’s the cheese,” she said. “Makes them creamier.”

  “I’m not talking about the eggs,” he said. “Thanks for being honest about where we stand right now. How you’re feeling.”

  She pushed around the potatoes, her appetite gone. “I think you’re hearing something I’m not saying. I’m just asking for a little more time to get used to the idea of an us.”

  “I don’t need more time,” he said.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. She tapped her fork on the table. “This is old, too. My great-grandfather made it for Grandma Ada in the first year of their marriage. It was in their kitchen until they died, and then in my mother’s kitchen until I graduated from college and got my first apartment.”

  “What’s the rest of that story?”

  “About the table?”

  “No, Sam. About everything else.”

  They talked through the night, first at the table, and later in bed, naked and entwined. She told him about waiting for the deputy, alone in the house, when she was five. About Rosemary knocking at their door. How their family unraveled behind the closed door as Sam rocked Paull-two-els to sleep.

  Sam studied Carson’s face as she talked, searching for the slightest sign of judgment, of pity. He didn’t blanch when she told him about Rosemary driving off the bridge, and when she described seeing Paull again when he was eight.

  “I feel so guilty that I never tried to find him after that. We all acted like he didn’t exist.”

  “You were barely eighteen, Sam,” Carson said. “You were a kid who never got to be a kid.”

  “I could have helped him.”

  “You were still taking care of your mother, and you were about to leave for college.”

  “He wants to meet Reilly.”

  “Paull? You’ve talked to him?”

  She nodded. “His five-year-old son is a student in my school. His name is Charlie.” Her eyes welled up for the first time. “I knew who he was before he told me. Paull looks so much like my father, Carson. And get this: Dad actually went to one of Paull’s games, just a few years ago.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Showed up and helped him with his batting. He’s always known Paull was his son. I’m afraid this is going to kill my brother. And my mom, oh my God, when she finds out about Charlie.”

  He propped up on his elbow. “Why does any of that have to happen?”

  “Carson, they’re family.”

  “They are a family, but they do not have to be your family. None of this is your responsibility, Sam.” He sat up and faced her. “Has no one ever told you it isn’t your job to take care of everybody?”

  “It’s not like that,” she said, si
tting up. “This is who I am.”

  “It’s who you were raised to be, and if you ask me, it wasn’t fair.”

  She was covered in goosebumps, shivering again. Carson draped the comforter over her shoulders. “What you must think of us,” she said. “Of me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “What I think is that you’re still trying to save your family. Maybe it’s time to let them find their own way.”

  “Oh, man,” she said, her face relaxing. “Wait’ll my father meets you.”

  “I’m the last thing your father wants to see dating his daughter.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Sam said. “You’re exactly what he expected. I hate it when he’s right.”

  Reilly walked through the door and Sam waved him over, watching as he weaved his way through the crowded bar with the grace of a dancer. At thirty-three, Reilly was still lean and muscular, his biceps stretching the sleeves of the faded Cleveland Indians T-shirt she’d given him a decade ago.

  “Hey,” she said, swinging her arms wide. “Give your sister a hug.”

  He set a fat paperback book on the table and lifted her up. “Look at you in your fancy suit,” he said. “All dressed up and no one to boss around.”

  “Put me down,” she said, laughing. “Buy me a beer.

  “A Bright Shining Lie?” she said, fanning the pages of his book. “From all your notes, looks like you’re enjoying it.”

  “ ‘Enjoy’ is probably not the right word,” he said. “All those lies about the Vietnam War; so many lives ruined.”

  Sam set the book down. “Clayton County was never the same. Every third house, it seemed, had a boy in Vietnam. Mom and I used to pack a dinner in the wicker picnic basket whenever another son came home. On our way to their house, Mom would warn me about how they’d changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  Sam counted off a finger with each story. “Davey Ryan can’t take loud sounds, so don’t slam any doors. Elaine Dempsey keeps the blinds drawn for Bobby because he can’t stand bright light. Don’t ask Robbie Jackson about Clara because he called the wedding off.”

  “I didn’t know any of that.”

  “You were too young. When I was at Kent State, I met a lot of students who didn’t know a single person who fought in that war. First time I ever thought about what it meant to be working class.”

  Reilly rolled his eyes. “We never called ourselves that. Dad said we were just working, period. ‘Class’ was a rich people’s word to make clear our ranking in the world.”

  A waitress came over and stood next to Reilly. “What can I get you?” she said, smiling at him.

  “We’ll have a couple of Dortmunders,” he said, pointing to Sam. “You got it,” the waitress said, still looking at Reilly, and shimmied off.

  “Oh, brother,” Sam said. “Do you think it would help if you told her I’m your sister, and not the competition.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Just don’t tell her you’re married. I can’t handle another brokenhearted waitress.”

  Reilly snatched a menu from behind the napkin holder. “I’ll let you talk to yourself while I figure out what to eat.”

  The waitress set down the beers and quickly took their orders. “Uh-oh, no smile this time,” Sam said. “She thinks we’re on a date, and we both know who she hates. Let’s swap cheeseburgers.”

  “You’re stalling,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “We could talk about how Mom wants to know when you’re coming for a visit.”

  “I talk to Mom every week.”

  “I know, Reill, but she wants to see you. And she wants you and Dad to start talking more.”

  “I’m not angry at Dad,” Reilly said as he unrolled his napkin. “We just don’t have much in common.” He smiled at her. “Until now, maybe.”

  Sam smiled nervously. “When you were little, I used to count all the freckles on your face. You’d lay your head on my lap, and I’d tap each freckle as I counted.” Reilly pointed to the top of his forehead. “You called this one your north star.” He downed the rest of his beer. “Okay, Sam. What’s going on?”

  She clasped her hands on the table. “What if I told you that there’s another little boy who—” She cocked her head at him. “Wait a sec. You said, ‘Until now.’ That you and Dad had nothing in common until now.”

  His smile was slow and wide. “Took you long enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, let me put it this way. Do you want to be called ‘Aunt Sam’ or ‘Auntie Sam’?”

  She squealed and leapt out of her seat. “You’re having a baby,” she said, pulling him out of the booth. He laughed as he hugged her. “We’re having a boy, Sam. A son, can you believe it?”

  “Wait’ll Mom hears,” she said. “And Dad.”

  “Right?” Reilly said. “For once, I’m the one with good news for Dad. I’m going to give him his first grandchild.”

  She grabbed the edge of the table. “Oh, Reilly,” she said softly, sitting down.

  “That’s my news,” he said, still beaming as he sat down. “Top that.”

  She thought about Paull and Charlie, and what her mother had said about the monster at the door. The ghost, Sam preferred to call it. Finally, she could see the ghost had been with her all along. The ghost was ready to leave, if only Sam would let her go.

  Sam smiled at Reilly as he continued to talk. She would not do this to her brother. “Enough people have suffered,” she’d tell Paull tomorrow. “Let’s not hurt anyone else.”

  She closed her eyes and felt a rush of relief as she imagined Rosemary picking up the little red-haired boy and walking out the door.

  “Sam? Sam.”

  Sam opened her eyes. “Reilly, I’ve met someone.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is Carson,” she said. “Carson Marino. And I think he might just love me.”

  “Holy cow,” Reilly said. “How do you feel about him?”

  “That’s my news. I think maybe I’m going to love him right back.”

  Ellie backed out of the driveway and waved at Brick, who was sitting on a porch step, sulking. He hated that she got her hair done on Saturdays now. She smiled anyway and drove off, turning right at the corner, instead of left.

  What a ridiculous argument they’d had last night. He’d picked her up at the hospital because her car was in the shop. On their way to the American Legion club for supper, Brick had started lecturing her again about opening a new bar of soap before using up the old. “I’m a grown woman with a weekly paycheck. I’ll buy a brand-new bar of soap for every day of the week if I want.”

  It was the first time in her seventeen years as a nurse’s aide that she had mentioned making her own money. She could tell by the way he drove in silence that she had hurt his feelings. “Liv Ansley said that Curly Bumpus and his band are playing at the club tonight,” she said. “I love that Glenn Miller music.”

  He shifted a bit, but said nothing.

  “If they play ‘In the Mood,’ we could jitterbug.” He gave in and smiled. “We should call Sam from the club and tell her,” he said, giving in. “Just to embarrass her again.”

  Ellie imitated Sam’s voice: “ ‘Dad is six feet two and you are four feet eleven. When he picks you up and swirls you, people can see all the way to the top of your pantyhose.’ ”

  “I thought she was going to die that night,” Brick said, chuckling. “The look on her face when I lifted you over my head.”

  Ellie squeezed his hand. “I pinched those red cheeks of hers and said, ‘How do you think you came into this world?’ Shut her up for the night.”

  “El, I shouldn’t have gone on about the soap. I’ve got a lot on my mind, trying to decide exactly when I should take the buyout. And then what do I do?”
<
br />   “I think you should do what you want to do, Brick. Retirement doesn’t mean you’re old. We’re not even sixty yet. And last I heard, my husband intends to jitterbug with me tonight.”

  He pointed to her hospital smock. “You plan on dancing in that getup?”

  She unhooked her seatbelt and leaned over the seat. “There’s a reason I asked you to bring this,” she said, propping the tote bag on her lap. She pulled out a green satin blouse, wrapped in tissue paper. “Pull the car over, honey,” she said. “I need to change. You can even peek.”

  Still thinking about last night, Ellie pulled into the pancake house lot and thought about something Brick had said during one of last night’s slow dances. “You don’t need to keep working anymore, El. The kids are grown, and with the buyout and my pension, we don’t need your money.”

  He just didn’t understand her job. In Brick’s world, everyone was always trying to take something away from him. Ellie got back as much as she gave to her patients. She felt necessary, and appreciated.

  Ellie parked in the farthest space from the entrance and grabbed her old vinyl Women’s Guild folder engraved with MRS. ELLIE MCGINTY in gold. It had been a gift from the guild membership after the church elders finally approved Ellie’s resolution that women be listed in the church directory by their own names, instead of their husbands’. Sam was sixteen at the time, and gave Ellie a handmade card for “supporting the sisterhood,” which was still tucked into the back flap.

  Ellie had never dined alone at a restaurant, but she needed to do this away from Brick. The hostess led her to a two-top by the window and motioned for a server. “Getting a break from the family?” the waitress said, filling her water glass. “That’ll add years to your life.”

  Ellie was not going to complain about her family to a total stranger. “I’d like the short stack,” she said, looking at the menu. “And bacon. Crispy, please.” The waitress scribbled, no longer smiling. “And to drink?”

  Ellie sat up straighter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am happy to have a little time to myself. I’m on my feet all day like you are.”