The Reverse Commute
by
Sheila Blanchette
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Sheila Blanchette
All poems quoted and italicized in the chapter titled The Belle of Amherst written by Emily Dickinson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any means without the written permission of the author.
Cover Design by Victorine Lieske
Ebook formatting by Jesse Gordon
Book Shepherd Publishing, LLC.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
The Reverse Commute
Home From the Picnic
Dead Celebrities
Squirrels in the Bathroom
The Sad Sound of an Oboe
A B&B in the Islands
About the Weekends
The Wine Emergency
The Best Boy
I Had a Dream Last Night
A Hat Trick
Do You Go To The Movies?
The Belle of Amherst
The Forty Hour Work Week
Happy Birthday
I Thought It Was the Flu
The Bachelorette Party
You’re Lucky to Have a Job in this Economy
Fat Tuesday
Thanksgiving
Don’t Mess With Texas
What Else Can Possibly Go Wrong?
Tilting at Windmills
Ice Storm
Azure Hair Salon & Spa
Better to Light a Candle Than Curse the Darkness
Summer Wedding, Part One
A Raspy Old Hen
Summer Wedding, Part Two
Be Brave
The Company Picnic
A Day Just Like Today
Let’s Go Back to the Beginning
Happily Ever After?
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I have so many friends and family to thank.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my book shepherd and dear friend Sandy Staines. She was there every step of the way, from the time I told her my idea and she said I had a home run to the actual publication of the book. I could never have done this without her. Also, thanks to her very patient and understanding husband Michael.
My sister, Maureen Stabile, read the very early drafts and giving me sage advice on dreams and flying turkeys. My nephew, Nick Stabile, for devoting an evening of editing and tequila to straightening me out on my prepositional phrase problem and telling me to crush that beach chair.
My good friend Liz McConnell, you have always been a shoulder to lean on.
Mary Jane Doughty, thanks for the title advice, Mardi Gras and more stories to come.
Liza Jones, my editor, for getting the ball rolling and all the great input. To Freddie Templeton for being on call in Vermont. And to all my beta-readers who gave me positive input and encouragement. You kept me going even when I thought this was an impossible dream.
To Rich, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Kathy, you are my guardian angel and you are always with me.
“You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.” -Sam Keen
ROSE: “Do you love him, Loretta?”
LORETTA CASTORINI: “Aw, ma, I love him awful.”
ROSE: “Oh, God, that’s too bad.”
-from the movie Moon Struck
THE REVERSE COMMUTE
She met the Best Boy on the train heading home from work, having almost missed the five-fifteen. Working on the North Shore, she lived in Boston with her college boyfriend. A reverse commute.
Another slow and tedious day in her cubicle finally reached its long awaited conclusion, her daily requirement of editing five articles not quite finished. Rushing through the last piece, she realized it was sloppy work. She was sure she would hear about it tomorrow, when her boss had to edit her work.
Outside it was dark, snow falling, starting to pile up quickly. White mushroom caps grew on the roofs of the cars in the parking lot. Several people scraped ice off their windshields, waiting for windows to defrost, headlights sparkling on the freshly fallen snow.
Dan ran up behind her. He was thirty years old, handsome, with golden brown hair, blue eyes and a scruffy beard neatly trimmed to look like stubble. He and his fiancé were planning a destination wedding at a resort in the Bahamas, sixteen months from now. She thought it very odd, planning a wedding so far in advance. Who knew what could happen between now and then? There was an awful lot of wiggle room in such a long engagement. But maybe that’s just me, she thought. Engagement was a commitment after all, right?
Dan grabbed her arm, shouting, “Come on, we’ve got to catch that train. Otherwise we’ll be waiting in the pub for another hour.”
“Did you know it was going to be snowing like this?” she asked.
“Yeah, I watched the weather last night. Six to twelve inches by tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I guess I heard that too. I forgot about the snow, after spending the day on cubicle alley. I ate my peanut butter sandwich at my desk and never once looked out a window. But if you asked me what I did for eight hours, I couldn’t tell you, certainly not anything of value. To make matters worse, I’ve been nursing a hangover all day.”
“I know. It sucks, doesn’t it?”
They ran through the snow, occasionally slipping, holding onto each other. It wasn’t that easy. Dan had a laptop on his shoulder, she was carrying her purse and a canvas bag over a heavy winter coat, causing the bag to slip off her shoulder, getting caught up with her purse and Dan’s laptop.
Slipping and stumbling across another parking lot, the traffic lights at the railroad crossing started flashing, the bells ringing. They could see the red and white gate lowering to stop traffic, the train’s headlights off in the distance, the platform a football field away. Dan grabbed her hand, laughing. “Come on, we’re gonna make it. Holy shit, look at all these people. Have you ever seen this many people waiting for the five fifteen?”
“No, never. Where are they all going?” she asked.
“Must be the snow. Everyone wants to get home,” Dan replied.
They ran up the steps to the platform as the train came to a stop. Both winded, Dan bent over, resting his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. He coughed as he exhaled, as if he’d taken too big a hit off a joint.
Leaning her head back, snowflakes fell on her face as she tried to steady her breathing. Her long brown hair was wet, small stray curls framed her flushed and rosy cheeks. Pretty in a pleasantly attractive way, people often described her as the cute best friend or the younger sister. Her parents described her as the girl next door. She was approachable. Guys often flirted with her.
“You’ve gotta stop smoking those cigs, Dan.”
“I know. Next week I’m back off them, just had to finish month end. Too much stress in the accounting department to try quitting right now.”
Passing the first empty seat on the very full train, Dan told her to take it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah. Same time, same place. See ya, Dan.”
She took the seat next to a heavy-set girl holding a sleeping baby in her lap. The young mother was roughly the same age as her, twenty-four. Chewing gum, occasionally snapping it loudly, she stared sullenly at the businessman sitting across from her, working on his laptop.
Squeezing into her seat, she bumped legs with the boy sitting next to the businessman.
He looked up. She caught her breath. Exceptionally good looking, in a Seattle grunge sort of way, he was definitely her type. His long, wavy brown hair, covered with a knitted green, yellow and black cap, brushed his shoulders. His scruffy beard was similar to Dan’s, but not as neatly trimmed. He was wearing an open, untucked flannel shirt over a Blazed and Confused Summer Tour T-shirt, faded jeans and well-worn work boots. His eyes were a beautiful shade of light blue. They twinkled like the first star in the night sky.
His IPod was just loud enough for her to hear the reggae tune he was listening to. Nodding his head, he drummed his hands on his thighs, keeping the beat. Occasionally he sang along, softly, oblivious to the fact that anyone might hear him.
The train blew its whistle as it pulled out of the station. She reached over, tapping his knee. As he looked up, she mouthed the words “I love that song.” He pulled his earphones out and smiled the biggest, most charming smile ever directed at her.
HOME FROM THE PICNIC
On a warm beautiful evening in late summer, a Hyundai with a dent on the front bumper pulled into the long driveway of an old house. On the back bumper were an Obama for NH sticker and the Dave Matthews fire dancer, a headless woman dancing with her arms in the air, one knee bent. A barn and a dilapidated garage with no door sat at the end of the driveway. Piles of firewood, an axe stuck in a chopping block, a rusted wheelbarrow and several ladders stacked in two neat rows filled the space between the two buildings. An army of sumac soldiers marched out of the pine trees, as if planning an attack on the yard.
The Hyundai pulled into the two car garage fighting for space with workbenches piled high with tools, paint cans and dirty rags. Drop cloths were neatly folded on the floor next to mounds of sawdust beneath a table saw. A beach chair rested against an old dresser.
Opening the car door, Sophie bumped the dresser, knocking over the beach chair. “Shit.”
Five feet tall, in her late forties, her blonde hair was tousled and she wore no makeup, which somehow worked for her. She was fairly attractive for her age, in a harried and distracted sort of way.
Leaning over the passenger seat, she grabbed her laptop, pocketbook, the mail and a half full cup of coffee, a skim of curdled cream floating on the top. Struggling to get out of the car, she spilled the coffee on her white pants. “Shit. Damn it.”
Shoes clogged the entryway to her home. A long farmer's table sat in the middle of the room, piled high with unopened letters and bills. She dropped the mail she was carrying on the table, adding to the collection. Walking towards the kitchen, she passed a stone hearth with a wood stove. Happy family photos were arranged on a blue slate sill beneath a bow window looking out to the backyard. Pausing for a moment, she gazed wistfully at pictures of her family at the Grand Canyon, on a Caribbean beach, and making snowmen in the front yard. Lifting her gaze, she stared off into the distance at another log splitting area set amongst apple trees planted from an old Yankee line, the apples now full of worms. Weeds and climbing roses grew up the trunks of the trees, tangling their way through the branches. Another battalion of sumac soldiers marched into the back yard, turning a deeper shade of red as summer turned into fall.
“Ray?” she called.
Another wood stove was tucked into the hearth of the living room fireplace, high school graduation pictures of her twin boys displayed on the mantle. Two large French doors opened onto a deck, which was in desperate need of a drink, the stain worn and fading. Beyond the deck, at the end of the long yard, was the river, the best feature of their property. Sunlight glinted on the water. Sophie heard the crew coach calling instructions from a bullhorn as two long skulls glided by. In winter, the river froze, and during a really cold year, close to a hundred ice-fishing shacks could be out there, rising and falling with the tides.
She stepped out onto the deck and called, “Ray?”
No answer. Back in the house, she noticed the answering machine blinking. She hit the play button and leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to the message.
“Hello, Mrs. Ryan. This is Helen at Central Health. We’re calling about a past due balance...”
Sophie sighed, hit the delete button. Looking inside the fridge for something to make for dinner, she spied a bottle of wine on the bottom shelf, grabbed it and poured herself a glass. Returning to the deck, she sipped her wine, gazing at the river.
Ray was never around when she needed him. She desperately wanted to talk to someone about what happened that day. She could not fathom going about her daily routine right now. How could she even begin to make dinner and fold the clothes she knew were waiting for her in the dryer?
Despite the glass of wine and the soft light of the sinking sun, she couldn’t forget the disaster in the kitchen. Dirty dishes were in the sink. Crumbs scattered across the counter. It looked like the handiwork of Jesse, one of her twin boys. After graduating from college over a year ago, he moved back home while he continued to look for a job. He promised it was only a temporary situation. Now, finally, after fifteen months of searching for work, he was moving to Providence next week, to work as a baker at a coffee shop. She audibly breathed a sigh of relief.
She took another big sip of wine. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and felt the warm sun on her face. She imagined herself kayaking down the river through tall saltmarsh reeds and cat o’nine tails, the sun setting in the distance, the sky ablaze in shades of red and orange. A heron flew out of its nest. The only sound, paddles quietly slicing through the water, birds chirping their evening song, and the croaking peepers.
* * *
Ray was in his recliner. His hair was white but he was very fit thanks to a life of manual labor. His biceps bulged against the tight, white T-shirt he was wearing. A self-employed house painter and carpenter, a jack-of-all-trades, he could do electrical work, plumbing, lay tile and fix oil burners and automobiles, a very handy guy to have around an old house like the one they lived in.
When Ray got home, he went straight to the shower and was now eating the sandwich Sophie brought him. She sat down on the couch and started to tell him about her day and the awful accident that happened at her company picnic.
Suddenly, Jesse came flying through the room. He had a backpack on his shoulder and was holding car keys dangling from a long strap. Tall and athletic, with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, he was wearing a Bob Marley T-shirt, long baggie gym shorts past his knees, and flip-flops. Turning to his parents as he rushed by, he said, “I’m going out.”
Just drifting off to sleep, Ray opened his eyes and sat up straighter. “Who’s driving?”
“I am,” Jesse said.
“I thought I told you no car for the rest of the summer. Every time I get in that car, it reeks of marijuana.”
“Yeah, well that’s stupid, Dad. I’m moving out next weekend. Labor Day is this weekend, so summer’s basically over. There is no rest of the summer. It’s a ridiculous punishment. Besides I’m twenty-three, you can’t punish me anymore. You smoke too, man. Oops, I forgot my IPod.” He turned and ran back upstairs.
Sophie shot an exasperated look Ray’s way. “I told you that would come back to bite you, Ray. You think you’re all set smoking in the barn, but you reek as much as the car does when you get back in the house. You don’t realize the smell clings to you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No?” She arched her eyebrow and shook her head. “It’s really funny, he’s all grown up at twenty three and thinks he can’t be punished, but he also can’t clean the kitchen after making a sandwich. I got home to a huge mess. Are you going to stop him, Ray? It’s my car he’s planning to take.”
Sophie rested her head back on the couch, closed her eyes and thought about her boys. Jesse’s twin brother Sean graduated from college last year too, but with honors. He now had a job in Providence with an Internet startup company and lived on the East Side with some college friends.
On the other hand, Jesse barely got through college. He too
k Internet summer courses just to graduate on time then moved back home and got a job at the bakery he worked at in high school. After a few months, he graduated from working the cash register to learning how to bake. This led to the job in Providence where, thankfully, he would be living with his brother.
Baking meant he woke up at four in the morning, showered and for some unknown reason ran up and down the stairs numerous times before he left the house. Therefore, Sophie and Ray also woke up at four in the morning. Finishing work at two in the afternoon, he went to bed then got up at ten, right around the time Sophie and Ray were collapsing into bed after a long day at work. He banged around the kitchen making food before spending the evenings getting high with friends, hanging at the beach, or in the winter just lounging around the house, playing video games and watching TV.
In high school, Jesse was always getting into trouble. Never a good student, he struggled in all his classes. He always hung around with the wrong crowd, drinking and smoking pot. Sophie couldn’t help but think his friends’ parents thought Jesse was the wrong crowd. Often defiant, he loved starting arguments with his parents, never wanting to be the first to back down. I’m sorry was not a part of his vocabulary.
Sophie looked at her husband, eyes wide open, overwhelmed. “Quick, Ray. He’s got the keys. Pull the spark plugs or something.” Visibly angry, Ray was immobilized in the recliner. “Come on Ray, you’ve got to stop him. Disable the car, for Christ’s sake.”
They heard Jesse stomping down the stairs. He ran by them. “See ya. I won’t be too late.
Thanks.”
Jesse turned the corner, breezed past the farmer’s table, knocking some mail onto the floor as he headed out the door to the garage. Sophie got up and followed him.
“You better not be getting high and driving. What about the bong I found on the deck? That is not your car, by the way.”
Meanwhile, Ray was moving slowly out of the recliner. Jesse had already hopped in the car and was backing out of the garage as Ray caught up to Sophie. They both stood watching their son pull out of the driveway on to the road, feeling helpless as the taillights disappeared into the warm summer evening. A fingernail moon left the night dark, despite the hundreds of stars blanketing the sky.
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