This Old Souse

by Mary Daheim

  “I can make a discreet exit,” she offered.

  Mike shook his head. “No.” He attempted a smile. “You’re my favorite aunt.”

  “I’m your only aunt,” Renie reminded him. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

  Mike hesitated. “A beer, maybe?”

  “Sure,” Renie replied. “Coz?”

  Judith was staring at the carpet. “What? No, I don’t feel so good.”

  “I’ll bring you a little brandy,” Renie said. “Frankly, I could use a stiff bourbon.” She hurried out of the room.

  “Has this been coming on for some time?” Judith finally asked. “You all seemed so happy when you were here at Easter.”

  “I thought we were,” Mike responded. “But that was the end of March. It was about a week later that Kristin told me she didn’t think things were working out. She feels stifled up at the summit. She wants to have more of a life than chasing two little kids through the snow.”

  Kristin, like Mike, was a forest ranger. But she hadn’t worked since their wedding six years earlier. It was difficult to post married couples to the same place. Little Mac was now five; Joe-Joe was going on three. Kristin was a big, hearty young woman with enough energy and endurance to run an entire wilderness area. Judith could understand that she’d feel frustrated, and said so.

  “But,” Judith continued, “she knew what she was getting into when you got married. Furthermore, she’s only an hour from the city, and much less than that from the Eastside, with all its stores and restaurants and other things to do. What on earth does she plan on doing as a single mom? It’s going to be harder than it is right now.”

  Mike looked bleak. “She wants me to keep the kids.”

  “Oh, dear.” Feeling a headache coming on, Judith rubbed her temples. “Really, Kristin is going through a serious crisis.”

  Renie entered with the drinks. “I heard most of that.” She looked at Judith. “You need some aspirin, right? I’ll get it.” She left the room again.

  “Do you still love her?” Judith inquired softly.

  Mike nodded emphatically. “Yes. Yes, I really do.”

  “Does she still love you?”

  He grimaced. “She says she does. But she says she needs her space.”

  Judith frowned. “Does that mean this is only a trial separation?”

  Mike sighed. “I guess. My head’s so messed up I don’t know what anybody means.” He waited until Renie had delivered the aspirin and the glass of water to Judith. “I thought if it’s okay I’d spend the night here and then go back tomorrow and get the kids.”

  Judith swallowed the pills and stared at her son. “And what?”

  Mike looked upward. “There’s room, isn’t there? I mean, there’s my old room on the third floor along with the guest room, right?”

  “Wrong,” Judith said, realizing she sounded harsh. “That is, we’ve rearranged things upstairs. Your old room is Joe’s office. Granny’s room is a sitting room. There’s not much space for you and the boys.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Renie said as Mike turned toward his aunt. “Uncle Bill and I just spent thirty-odd years shoving our kids out of the nest. We’re enjoying a little peace and quiet. Maybe that sounds selfish, but,” she added wistfully, “there’s always the chance that our children may come home to visit.”

  Judith looked at the grandfather clock across the room between the bookcases. It was almost three-thirty. Phyliss had left for the day, which was a good thing. Judith wouldn’t want her cleaning woman to overhear this particular conversation. “I wish your father would come home,” she said. “Maybe I should call him on his cell phone.”

  More than thirty years earlier, after Judith and Joe’s engagement, she became pregnant. But Joe was a rookie cop at the time, and had become distraught after seeing his first teenage OD fatalities. To ease his pain, he’d gotten drunk in a cop watering hole and run off to Vegas with Vivian, the bar’s hard-drinking chanteuse. Vivian—or Herself, as Judith had always called her—had somehow managed to get Joe to a justice of the peace.

  The next day, Joe awakened in horror, not remembering exactly what had happened. He’d phoned Judith at once, but Gertrude refused to let him talk to her, informing him that her daughter never wanted to see or speak to him again. The old lady never mentioned his call. In desperation, Judith accepted a proposal from Dan McMonigle to provide a father for her unborn child. Dan had died at forty-nine, having eaten and drunk himself into a four-hundred-pound machine of self-destruction. When Judith and Joe finally met again, his marriage was on the rocks—bourbon-rocks, Vivian’s favorite hobby. When she remembered to add the rocks.

  Judith’s memory of her nineteen miserable years with Dan made her angry. “You took a sacred vow,” she asserted, snapping out of her dumbfounded state. “If your father—your stepfather, I mean—and I could stay married, so can you.”

  Mike sighed. “It takes two.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Judith shot back. “Sometimes it only takes one.”

  “You don’t understand, Mom,” Mike began. “It’s a—”

  Judith cut him off. “I understand all too well. Don’t you remember how it was before Dan died?”

  “He was a good father,” Mike asserted. “I loved him.”

  Judith’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I give him credit for virtually raising you—since he wouldn’t work and I had to have two jobs to support us. I went from being a librarian by day to a bartender by night. Sometimes I feel as if I missed out on much of your childhood. But yes, we had some good times—though I wouldn’t call it a happy marriage.”

  “Gruesome,” Renie noted.

  Mike wore a surprised expression. “I always thought you two got along pretty well.”

  “We tried to, in front of you.” Judith took a big swig of brandy. “Look—give yourselves some time apart. Think things over. Consider what’s best for the boys. Come up with ways that Kristin can have more of a life outside of the house.”

  “Like competing in tractor pulls,” Renie murmured.

  Mike turned toward his aunt, who was sitting on the arm of the opposite sofa. “What did you say, Aunt Renie?”

  “Like meeting with actor girls,” Renie said. “I mean, actresses. And actors. You know—amateur theatrics or something.”

  Mike shook his head. “She isn’t interested in that kind of stuff.”

  The phone on the cherrywood table rang. Renie, who was closest to it, answered. “It’s for you,” she said to Judith. “A Mrs. Beecroft.”

  “Oh. She’s one of our guests for tonight.” Judith stood up and took the receiver from Renie.

  Mrs. Beecroft had called to say that their car had broken down on the other side of the mountains. She and Mr. Beecroft would have to cancel. Could they stay tomorrow night instead? Judith informed her that wasn’t possible, but she’d check with the state B & B association to find another nice inn for them. Would Mrs. Beecroft please call back in a couple of hours?

  “Okay,” Judith said to Mike as she resumed her place on the sofa. “You can stay in the empty room tonight.”

  Mike brightened slightly. “Gee, thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it. I’ll get my gear.”

  When Mike was gone, Renie shook her head. “I suppose I can look forward to some of that, too. Damn, why does this generation have to be so egocentric? Kristin feels stifled, and her reaction is to bolt. Whatever became of holy matrimony? Whatever happened to remembering that ‘we’ isn’t spelled with an ‘I’?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith replied. “It must be partly our fault. We were so intent on making sure they grew up with more than we had as kids that we spoiled them rotten. Maybe this bunch will figure it out before it’s too late for their own children.”

  “Call me tonight,” Renie said, picking up her purse. “Good luck.”

  Judith was certain she’d need it.

  THREE

  JUDITH DIDN’T SLEEP well that night, tossing and turning, fretting and fussing
. She’d gotten up early, but in her muddled state had managed to drop two raw eggs on the floor, set fire to the bacon, and step on Sweetums’s tail; the cat retaliated by shredding the new dish towel Judith had left on the counter. It was a rocky way to start a Wednesday.

  Mike, as well as the guests, left by ten-thirty. Joe had stayed home, having another heart-to-heart talk with his son. The results hadn’t pleased Joe any more than had the session the previous night.

  “He’s got an answer for everything,” Joe grumbled, helping Judith clean up the kitchen. “Hell, I’m twice his age, and I still don’t have the answers for anything.”

  “Yes, you do, Joe,” Judith responded. “They’re just not the answers Mike wants to hear.”

  Joe sighed. “I guess. God knows I mucked up my life when I was young.”

  “You were younger then than Mike is now,” Judith pointed out. “I didn’t do much better.”

  “That was different,” Joe pointed out. “I did something very foolish, but it could’ve been mended if your mother hadn’t interfered. Then you did something foolish, too. But the point is, once we’d married a pair of drunken sots, we tried to make a go of it. We wouldn’t break our vows, even though we had damned good reasons to do it.”

  “You and Herself were drunk as skunks and got married by an Elvis look-alike, yet you managed to do your best to stay together,” Judith declared. “Dan and I were married at SOTS,” she went on, using the nickname for Our Lady, Star of the Sea. “To me, divorce wasn’t really an option. Making marriage work, no matter what it took, was what most of my family believed in.”

  “Murder was considered, as I recall,” Joe said with a bemused expression.

  “I stabbed Dan in the rear end with a meat fork after he threw the Thanksgiving turkey, dressing and all, out onto the sidewalk,” Judith replied, putting paper products in the recycling wastebasket. “He was so fat he didn’t even feel it.”

  Joe shook his head. “We both had a hell of a lot to put up with.”

  “You finally got out, though,” Judith noted.

  “Leaving Vivian was my last attempt to get her to save herself,” Joe declared, shutting the dishwasher with unnecessary force. “It didn’t work. She kept right on drinking. And, of course, there was Caitlin,” he added, referring to the daughter he’d had by his first wife.

  “And there was Mike,” Judith said. “He needed a father, especially since he was a boy.”

  The phone rang. Judith picked up the receiver from the counter by the sink.

  “Hi, Mom,” Mike said. “Guess what? Uncle Al says the kids and I can stay with him for the next few days while Kristin decides where she wants to go.”

  Uncle Al had never married, despite plenty of chances. By coincidence, he lived in a bungalow in the Langford district, about a mile from Renie’s mystery house.

  “That’s very generous of Uncle Al,” Judith said. “But what about your job?”

  “I’ve taken the week off for family reasons,” Mike replied. “If Kristin hasn’t moved out by next Monday, I’ll just have to commute for a while. It’s less than an hour and we won’t have snow on the pass this time of year. Say, can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure,” Judith said in a dull voice. “What is it?”

  “I’m not going to get out of here with the boys until lunchtime. That means I’ll have to stop along the way to feed them. By the time we get to Uncle Al’s, Joe-Joe will have to take his nap. I left in such a hurry this morning that I forgot most of my stuff. Can you bring it over to Uncle Al’s? He probably won’t be home—he was going to the racetrack. Just leave it on the front porch.”

  “Sure,” Judith said, sounding even less enthusiastic. “Have you thought any more about what Joe and I said to you?”

  “I really haven’t had time,” Mike replied.

  “Okay. Be careful. When will I see you again?”

  “Dinner? Uncle Al will still be at the track,” Mike explained. “He always stays for the last race.”

  “Fine.” Recognizing the apathy in her voice, Judith tried to make amends. “It’ll be fun to have the boys here, too. What do they like to eat?”

  “Fried chicken,” Mike responded. “They love your fried chicken.”

  “Okay, that’s what we’ll have. See you later.”

  Joe was watching Judith. “Now what?” he inquired.

  Judith related Mike’s end of the conversation. “I’m going to Uncle Al’s. Mike needs his gear.”

  Joe tucked his shirt into his pants. He still wore a size thirty-four belt, but it rode much lower on his torso than it had in years past. “Do you want me to go over there?”

  “I thought you had to go back to the insurance company,” Judith said.

  “I told them I wouldn’t be there until one,” Joe replied.

  “Well…” Judith paused. It would only be a few blocks out of her way to swing by Moonfleet Street. Focusing, however briefly, on something else would be good for her. “No, I’ll do it. I need to get out of the house. The fresh air might wake me up. I still feel kind of out of it. But I could use your help loading the stuff into the car.”

  After collecting their son’s belongings from the guest room and evading Phyliss’s questions about why Mike had spent the night, Judith and Joe headed for the Subaru.

  “We’d better put it in the trunk,” Joe said. “Why did he have to bring a sleeping bag along with all this other stuff?”

  “Maybe he thought he’d have to camp out,” Judith replied.

  Joe unlocked the trunk. “Since Uncle Al’s out wheeling trifectas at the track, you be sure to carry each of the heavy items one at a time. Forget the stairs. Just dump it all on the lawn.” He winced as he tried to open the trunk. “This damned thing’s sticking. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have taken it in to be fixed.”

  “It’s even harder to close,” Judith pointed out as they loaded Mike’s gear. “It just started doing that in the last couple of days.”

  “I’ll make an appointment with Jim at Nabobs Auto Shop,” Joe said. “You sure you can manage?”

  “I’m sure.” Judith gave Joe a quick kiss on the lips. “If I’m not back before you go to the insurance office, good luck. I’ve got errands.”

  Backing down the drive, Judith waved to her neighbors, Carl and Arlene Rankers, who were working in their impeccable garden. Impeccable, that is, except for the laurel hedge that seemed to grow a couple of feet every year. Judith wouldn’t dream of complaining—Carl and Arlene were wonderful, kindhearted people. And Arlene, with her insatiable curiosity, had often proved an invaluable ally to Judith when it came to keeping track of any criminal doings on Heraldsgate Hill.

  Reaching the avenue, Judith drove another five blocks before pulling over next to the Presbyterian church. She took out her cell phone and dialed Renie’s number.

  “Want to do a drive-by on Moonfleet Street?” she asked.

  “Ohhh…” Renie sounded flustered. “I can’t. Guess who gets to draw Bucky Beaver? Mom recommended me, probably figuring I could do a self-portrait. Wirehoser called this morning. They have a Monday deadline.”

  “You can use the money,” Judith pointed out.

  “That’s very true,” Renie replied. “How are you doing?”

  “Upset. Sad. Tired.” Judith gazed out at the church’s playground, which was shared with Pooh Pals Preschool. The sun was out from behind the clouds, and the children were playing on the slides and swings and a small merry-go-round. They looked so happy. With a pang, Judith thought of Mac and Joe-Joe, who were the same ages as most of the preschool kids. She shook off the thought, and told Renie about Uncle Al’s offer of hospitality. “I decided another visit to the Moonfleet house might distract me.”

  “Go for it,” Renie said. “A good mystery always takes your mind off your own troubles. Keep me posted—on all fronts.”

  Judith went directly to Uncle Al’s. Ignoring Joe’s advice, she placed Mike’s belongings behind a porch pillar that was shielded by a
huge red geranium. But she made three trips to do it, not risking an overload on her artificial hip. The trunk stuck again, but she finally managed to get it closed. Or so she hoped. At least it didn’t fly open when she started down the street. Backtracking for much of the way, Judith reached Moonfleet in less than five minutes.

  To her surprise, there was activity in front of the house. A Dairyland milk truck was parked there, and the milkman was coming down the path carrying an empty delivery basket.

  Judith parked behind the truck, hopefully out of sight from the house’s prying eyes. “Hi,” she called just as the milkman reached the sidewalk. “Can you spare me a moment or two?”

  The milkman, who was middle-aged and slim as a reed, grimaced. “I’m already running late, ma’am. My truck broke down this morning. Can you make it quick?”

  Judith noticed that his name, Vern Benson, was stitched on his blue jacket. “I’ll try, Mr. Benson,” she said, offering him her warmest smile. “Have you ever met the people who live in this house?”

  “Call me Vern,” the milkman said, looking somewhat surprised by the query. “No, I can’t say that I have. I guess they aren’t home much.”

  “I understood the Blands never left the place,” Judith said.

  “Then maybe that’s why I never see them.” Vern brushed a leaf off the front of his striped overalls before moving toward his truck. “All I know is they get the same order every week.” He glanced at the checklist in his hand. “Half gallon of milk, pint of cream, pound of butter, dozen eggs. They pay the bill on time. The money’s always in the milk box. That’s all I need to know. Sorry, got to run.”

  Vern hopped into the truck and drove away. Briefly, Judith considered marching up to the door and knocking. But she had a feeling no one would respond. Maybe she’d try it another time when her spirits weren’t so low. With one last look at the desolate house, she started back to her Subaru. Before she could open the car door, a UPS van pulled up where the Dairyland truck had been parked.

  Judith retraced her steps. The driver was still inside, wrestling with a large parcel. As soon as he emerged, she greeted him with a friendly smile.