Ma’s head tilts. “I have to admit, although she hasn’t lost weight, her steps seem lighter.”
Granny throws half of the potatoes into a casserole dish and lays onions over them. She adds the remainder and drowns them in milk. “It’ll take some time for her to trust men. But at least she’s going out a bit more. Just last week, she lunched with Emilie Price, and she’s talking about joining a women’s club.”
Ma brings the beans to the sink. “Fran was always social. It’s good to see the real Fran come out.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Marriage should help you become all that you can, but in Fran’s case, Herb took something away from her.” Granny slams the oven door. “It will do her good to get out of the house and be the person she was meant to be.”
I look up from my homework. “Why didn’t she join clubs when she was with Uncle Herb?”
“She couldn’t,” Granny says.
“He wouldn’t let her?”
“No, Herb wanted Fran to join clubs. He thought she could help him with his business.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
Granny’s tongue whips across her teeth. “It’s difficult to go out when you have to cart a big bag of lies with you wherever you go. It’s often too weighty.”
The whine of the screen door alerts Ma. She spins around and calls out gaily, “Fran, how nice to see you.”
“I don’t know why you sound surprised. I’m always here.”
“Let me make you a fresh pot of tea.”
“Sit down. You don’t have to serve me. I can get it myself.”
Fran puts the kettle on the burner and talks nonstop. “The plans are going well,” she says as she goes to the cupboard and grabs two bags of orange pekoe. “Since your birthday is October 29th, we’ll have a Halloween theme. Invite all the kids in your class.”
“That’s too many children,” Ma protests.
“You gave me carte blanche. Don’t pick away at my plans.” Fran grabs hold of my arm and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “Invite them all. The more the merrier. Tell them they have to wear a costume.”
“What time should I tell them to come?” I ask.
“Six thirty,” Aunt Fran says.
“An evening party?”
“Yes, is there something wrong with that?”
I feel myself swell with pride. “An evening party is so grown up.”
“You’re getting big, Munchkin.”
I try to discover more, but my aunt guards her plans. I know nothing about the goings on inside her house, and her covert actions guarantee that I won’t find out anything until the night of my party.
My mother, like mothers of the time, gives little thought to Halloween costumes. I always grab what’s at hand and apply makeup. I’m usually a hobo, or, quite frankly, just a kid with an empty sack who aims to fill it up. The party ensures that I can be more enterprising.
My grandmother and mother are also attending the party. “I’m not dressing up,” both protest when Fran tells them that everyone has to wear a costume.
“Then you’re not coming.”
Annoyance laces Ma’s voice. “Dressing up is for children.”
“Then you’re not coming,” Fran repeats.
“We don’t have costumes,” Granny complains.
Fran’s hands smack the table. “If you don’t dress up, you can’t come.”
The three of us end up in the attic, rifling through disregarded boxes left by previous owners decades before. My aunt’s costume, like everything else, remains a secret.
Granny stands four feet ten inches. “I can’t wear something cute,” she barks when Ma suggests that she go as a cat.
“But you just have to wear black and add a tail. It’ll be easy.”
“I don’t want to look like an aged child,” Granny insists. “I want to be scary.” She rifles through an old trunk and finds a black cape. It smells musty, but her allergies allow her to disregard the smell and see the cape as perfect.
“I’m going to be a vampire,” she says. She puts on the cape and swings around. The stench is enough to make my eyes water. “I’ll go to the joke shop tomorrow and pick up some vampire teeth.” She quivers with excitement. Her eyes become big and round. “I can’t believe I found such a perfect costume.”
“I’ll spray it with Lysol when she’s not looking,” Ma whispers when she sees me wrinkle my nose. I suspect that spraying won’t help. The cape smells worse than a corpse. I breathe through my mouth, not having the heart to tell Granny it reeks. She seems so happy with it.
My mother, who dresses plainly, hoots when she finds fox fur tails. “I’m going to wrap them around my shoulders.”
She digs deeper into the box and pulls out a long lavender satin dress with pearls covering its bodice. “I think it’ll fit,” she mumbles as she pulls the dress over her head.
“It’s a perfect fit, Ellie,” Granny says a moment later.
She keeps digging and yanks matching pumps from the box. She quickly tries them on. “The person they once belonged to has bigger feet than me, but if I stuff toilet paper into the toes, they’ll do fine.”
Ma looks elegant in her outfit, but she doesn’t appear to be anything but a made-up lady. She struts around the attic with a smile wider than any I’ve seen since before Daddy’s demise. Why does she usually dress so plain when fancy clothes add a bounce to her step?
Chapter 26
It has finally arrived! Tonight is my party. The day drags, burdened with boring tasks. My disposition shoots up when the sun plummets.
Ma, Granny, and I go to our bedrooms to change for the party. Self-satisfied smiles brighten our faces. Currents of sneakiness light our eyes. I hid my costume in my closet behind a wooden chest. Ma and Granny saw me take the tight-fitting beige silk dress, but they didn’t notice me grab a lampshade that matches the fabric of the dress perfectly.
I rifle through my closet, slide the chest out a few feet, and there it is, sitting in ingenious simplicity. I slip into the dress, zip up using both hands, and stand in front of the mirror. I perch the lampshade on top of my head. I cut out holes for my eyes and circled them with sequins. Voila, a floor lamp stares back at me.
I grab the flashlight from my top drawer and shove it up my sleeve. When I place my hand alongside my neck, a press of a button makes my costume shine.
Laughter bursts through the bedroom walls. When it becomes hysterical cries, I dash to Ma’s room and barge in. I screech when a horrible face grimaces at me.
They laugh so hard, Granny cries, “I gotta stop, I’m going to pee my pants.” She hurries from the room, and the bathroom door slams shut seconds later.
Ma’s look causes me to shiver. She’s dressed in the fancy clothes she showed me, but her face is white. Black bags loop around her eyes. The dead foxes hang from her shoulders. Their marble eyes look cold and hateful. Blood oozes from fresh bite marks puncturing her neck. A necklace of garlic circles the foxes.
Granny leaps back into the room. She threatens to bite Ma with her bloody fake teeth. Ma holds up her necklace as she retreats. They break out in giggles and embrace one another.
“What do you think?” Ma asks.
Envy makes my words come out slow. “I think it’s great. For people disinterested in dressing up, you sure thought of good costumes.”
“Your costume is nice, too,” Granny adds. Her index finger rubs the bottom of her chin. “What are you?”
“A floor lamp,” I snap.
“Oh, I see it now.”
Ma checks her watch. “We better get going or we’ll be late.” She sounds like Ma again, not some silly girl.
The stink of Lysol and garlic makes me anxious to leave. Ma and Granny will definitely win an award if they have one for the smelliest pair at the party. We cross our lawn, and the world changes. Spider webs cling to my aunt’s ruby-red chrysanthemums, coating the loveliness with creepiness. Askance grins gleam from jack-o-lanterns as we make our way to the front porch. Boots p
eep out of the partially opened garage door. An axe, inches from the boots, give the impression that someone is watching, and you’d better not anger them, for they will use the handy axe.
Granny’s voice squeaks. “When did she do all of this?”
Ma trips on her dress. “I don’t know.”
I ring the bell. Granny covers her ears as ghosts shriek and rattle their chains. Ma grabs my arm. Her voice rings with false gaiety. “She sure went all out. I hope she doesn’t scare the children.” She leans closer to me. Ma won’t admit it, but she scares easily.
Granny’s small brown eyes look big and round. She doesn’t say a word as she points to Fran’s rose bed. Her eyes find Ma’s, and they begin to laugh.
Aunt Fran made a tombstone out of Styrofoam with an inscription in bold letters.
Rest in pieces.
Herbert Thomas Tuscan
Feet and hands jut from the dirt in every direction.
“Looks like she’s over him,” my mother remarks dryly.
Barely suppressing a giggle, Granny adds, “She’s obviously not the one who’s torn to pieces over the divorce.”
My aunt chooses that moment to open the door. Hearing the last remark, she quips, “Too bad it’s only figuratively speaking.”
Clothed in pink chiffon, she resembles someone’s fairy godmother. By the end of the evening, I’m sure she’s mine.
Ghosts moan before we can sit down. Children arrive en masse, their bodies quivering with excitement.
“Your aunt’s house is so scary,” Susan says as bats dangle over her head and spiders and snakes stare malevolently from dark corners.
It’s true. My aunt’s normally cheerful house is devoid of cute knickknacks and fluffy pillows. Johnny jumps when a peculiar noise hisses through the radiators. He turns to scowl at Susan. “It doesn’t always look this way.”
“No kidding, Einstein,” Susan mutters when he walks away.
My aunt claps her hands. “Who wants to play pin the tail on the devil?” When no one makes a move, she holds up an orange box. “I have a prize for the winner.” A huge queue forms. She steers some of the children to a table full of black pipe cleaners when she sets another box on the table. “Let’s see who can make the scariest spider.”
My aunt points to a barrel with shiny apples floating on top. Children bob for apples even before she holds up another orange box.
My aunt doesn’t stop at decorating and games. The food looks like Halloween but tastes like Christmas. No one in the history of Holy Cross has ever had a party so grand. Neighbours drawn by the decorations and laughter join in, and it becomes a gathering for adults as well as children. My aunt provides music, expecting the children to dance, but the adults occupy the dance floor.
A portly devil swings my aunt around and around as if she’s a dainty flower. Only when the evening nearly ends does he expose his identity—it’s the principal of my school. His unmasked face reveals that he finds my aunt enchanting in pink chiffon and rhinestones. He spends a great deal of time smiling stupidly and giggling inappropriately.
Franklin J. Hennesy is a nice man, but he’s a permanent fixture of Holy Cross. It seems wrong for him to be outside of the school walls. His obvious interest in Aunt Fran makes my stomach feel queasy.
When Franklin samples Auntie Fran’s buffet offerings, his eyes roll back in his head. He touches her glitzy arm and gushes, “You must be a caterer.”
Aunt Fran blushes as she shakes her head.
Frank Hennesy’s full smile and excited eyes tell you that he thinks Fran is wonderful. “You should consider it. You’re amazing. You can do the whole deal,” he says breathlessly, as his eyes take in the decorations, the laughing children, and the laden food table.
“Anyone can do it,” Aunt Fran says with a shrug.
“That’s not true. Many people would love to throw a party like yours, but they wouldn’t know where to begin. You don’t realize how talented you are.”
My aunt laughs.
“I’m serious. Give me your phone number. I can be your first client. Our Christmas faculty party needs someone like you.” Franklin takes out a pad and pen, and Fran gives him her number.
Tricky bugger, he has her number. Already thoroughly shocked, I’m electrified by another jolt when Granny sails past. Her grey head weaves in and out of the dance floor. Her poise stuns me as much as her partner does. Toothless and wearing rags, he resembles a scarecrow. It’s not a costume. It’s old Jake Wheeler from down the road. Widowed for over ten years, he’s let himself go. Nonetheless, both of them smile so widely, it’s a wonder they can see.
Fran stops the music. Everyone abruptly stands still. She claps sharply. “It’s time for the cake!” she yells.
She beckons everyone around the dining room table. She flicks the light switch. Darkness falls. A squeak approaches. Sparklers hiss and candles flicker as Aunt Fran wheels a small table into the room. My cake stands two feet tall. It has three tiers. A jack-o’-lantern is the top layer. “You made this?” I shriek. “It’s incredible! The pumpkin looks real.”
“It’s real chocolate cake,” Fran says as she nudges me toward it. “Make a wish and blow out the candles.”
A wish pops into my head. My cheeks puff, and I hope I have enough steam to make the wish come true. Let Auntie Fran be truly happy, I silently mouth.
Smoke from the candles float, light returns, and the devil’s food cake is sliced and devoured. Children hand me presents. Adults hand me money. I rip open parcels and thank everyone. Johnny hands me his gift. He looks away as I open it. It’s a necklace. A silver heart dangles from a silver chain.
It’s the best night of my life.
“Thanks, Johnny. I love it.”
“My mother picked it out. She thought you’d like it.”
My smile fades. “Tell her I do.”
Chapter 27
When the last guest says goodnight and the door closes, it leaves me with a sense of disappointment. It was quite the party, and I hate to let go of it.
Little did I know that I wouldn’t see the full importance of the day until it was long gone.
Ma gathers plates and heads to the kitchen. Fran does the same, but before Ma can run the water, she says, “Leave it be. Tomorrow is another day.”
Ma, who believes in getting things done, doesn’t argue.
As we walk home, I poke Granny in the ribs. “I saw you dancing.”
She shrugs her shoulders as if it’s inconsequential. “Didn’t hurt me any. My allergies being what they are made the dance pleasant.”
I know what she’s referring to. Jake is a pig farmer. He often smells worse than the animals he tends. What Granny doesn’t know is that even outside with a slight breeze, she reeks of Lysol and mustiness. She’s definitely giving Jake Wheeler a run for his money, since the real Dracula can’t smell any worse than she does.
Jake obviously didn’t mind the smell. Shortly after, he buys himself a pair of dentures and starts dressing better. More importantly, he smells better.
I rarely saw him pass our house prior to the night of the party. Suddenly, it becomes a nightly occurrence to hear him yell, “Evening, Melina!”
“Evening, Jake,” Granny replies.
Before long, she begins dashing to the porch the minute dinner ends. She still hollers, “Evening Jake,” but she now adds, “Why don’t you join me for a drink?”
Stopping by quickly becomes a habit. He and Granny sit on the porch and discuss old friends or grumble about rising prices. Granny covers up her pleasure with complaints. “He’s taking up too much of my time,” she squawks the minute he leaves, and she joins us inside.
“You should be happy to have a friend,” Ma says.
“He’s an old fool.”
Ma laughs. “At your age, most women are widows. You caught yourself a live one, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly, Ellie. It’s just Jake Wheeler.”
Ma isn’t silly. Before long, Jake and Granny begin dating. We ca
n never say the words out loud—Granny would have a conniption—but they have lunch together at least once a week. Granny refuses to talk about it. She won’t even tell Ma where he takes her, but we have a gas stove, and Granny always brings home matches from wherever she’s been. One day, I see her light the pilot light with matches from Chez Henri’s, a fancy French restaurant. It tells me Jake thinks a lot of her.
His feelings become even more apparent when lunches are no longer enough. One night, as Ma and I are watching TV, the door slams. We dash to the window to see Granny hop into Jake’s old truck. We try to wait up for her, but we fall asleep before she returns home. The next morning, when Granny makes her way to the kitchen, Ma asks, “Where did you go last night?”
Granny’s face turns as red as a beet as she snaps, “Don’t be so nosy.”
Ma drops the matter. When Granny stomps to her room, she leans in to me and whispers, “Guess we’ll never know.”
“Guess not. I’m sure not going to ask her.” I grab my books. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” I grumble.
“Mom’s a private woman. Let’s just leave her alone.”
“Fine.” I kiss Ma’s cheek, hurry to the corner, and wait for the school bus. As soon as I climb the steps, Donna yells, “I saved you a seat. Come sit with me.”
I barely sit down before she says, “I saw your grandmother at the evening show last night.”
I don’t say anything, and she asks, “Is Jake Wheeler her boyfriend?”
“No, they’re just friends.”
“They looked pretty cozy for just friends.”
I don’t ask for an explanation.
The day drags its feet. I can’t wait to get home to tease Granny. When I rush through our front door, I’m anxious to begin. Granny turns, and her pretty dress flutters. “New dress?” I ask as I set down my books.
“Yes, it was on sale,” she explains. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
I’m ready to rib her when something stops me. “Just hungry,” I reply.
“I have some deviled eggs in the fridge. You can have one if you want.”
I head for the fridge, knowing that I made the right decision. Granny is happier now that she has someone her own age to talk to. She’s thick skinned, but she can be sensitive about the silliest of things. My teasing might ruin her new friendship. It’s not worth the risk. Granny always calls Jake an old fool, but I suspect she really likes him, and deep down, I think she’s afraid that everyone will see her as an old fool.
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