Drinking Closer to Home

by Jessica Anya Blau

  It was assumed that Louise would die from her night in the snow, making her a perfect test case for penicillin (It’s hard to further harm the imminently fading, one nurse had said). Penicillin was then a new drug that the government was stockpiling in case Americans were sent to the war overseas. The doctor claimed that Louise was one of the first humans, and the first infant, to receive it. At the time, her survival seemed like a true miracle.

  At the story’s end, Portia had said to Emery: Otto always said that the lesson he learned from that calamity was always to go drinking closer to home. Emery loved when his sister said the word calamity. It reminded him of Western movies, shoot-’em-ups, order instilled through chaos. And, as usual, Portia had allowed for questions after the story. This was Emery’s favorite part of Portia’s stories because his sister would answer anything, no matter what, even if it were impossible for her to actually know the answer. When he asked Portia what their mother’s frozen skin felt like, she said, “Like a hot dog straight from the freezer.” And when he asked her what it felt like to be frozen, she said, “It feels like you’re moving in slow motion and the air is made of clay.” And when he asked if Otto and Billy were mean old people, Portia said, “They weren’t old then, they were forgetful.”

  Louise forbade the kids ever to speak of the event with Billie and Otto. But Portia, Buzzy, Emery, and even Anna, at times, liked to bring it up to Louise—it was like a handicap she had overcome, something they could joke about simply because she’d survived.

  Buzzy followed Louise out of the car. The three kids slid out of the back seat. They stood there, all five faces turned toward the solid, looming house. Emery checked for movement behind the windows, three stories up, but everything looked dark and still, as if there weren’t a single light on. It was dry and calm out—the lake as flat as a sheet of slate. The empty dock stuck straight into the water, an exclamation point without its dot. A giant gray bird appeared to plummet from the sky, then landed gracefully on the end of the dock.

  “Where are they?” Emery asked. He couldn’t even remember what they looked like. The one picture in the house of Billie and Otto had been taken during World War Two. In it, Otto was wearing a cloth soldier’s hat not unlike the paper hats people wear in fast-food restaurants. He looked bulky and tough, which Emery knew to be true. Otto had been hit by lightening three times and, obviously, survived each strike.

  “They probably forgot we were coming,” Louise said.

  Buzzy laughed. “They tend to forget about your mother.”

  “Don’t they want to see their grandchildren?” Emery asked. Because he was so adored and beloved by Portia, his parents, and even Anna at times, Emery expected all relatives to adore him. Even the ones who had accidentally left their baby in the snow.

  Everyone looked down at Emery. Louise messed his hair with her hand and pulled him up against her hip.

  Portia leaned over and whispered in her brother’s ear, “Otto believes that only the firstborn kid should be given any attention. Everyone else is a spare in case the first one dies.”

  “A spare?” Emery was astounded that children could be thought of in the same way as tires. But he saw that it had worked out well for his grandparents, as his mother’s older brother, Rex, had been killed in the Vietnam War before Emery ever had a chance to meet him. It was funny to think of his mother as a spare.

  “That’s why Anna’s the only one to get birthday cards—’cause she’s the firstborn.”

  “They send birthday cards?” Instead of explaining, Portia took Emery’s slick, sweaty hand and pulled him to the front door behind Anna, who was leading the family. Louise came up beside them and took his other hand.

  “I’m the firstborn son,” Emery said, and he tugged his mother’s hand. “Does that count?”

  “In China,” Louise said, and she laughed. Emery couldn’t believe this; it seemed impossible to him that anyone would favor a firstborn. Maybe his parents would tell his grandparents that even though he was only in fourth grade, he had to go to the advanced sixth grade reading and math classes. Or maybe they’d tell them about the Corny Kids Variety Show that he and his best friend Josh had written and starred in. The principal at school was so impressed, he had Josh and Emery tour the school, giving performances to each grade. Emery was a celebrity at Fairview Elementary.

  Anna knocked on the door, then Louise scooted in front her and opened it. “Billie? Otto?” she called. There was no answer.

  Louise walked in and the family followed behind. The stone-floored foyer had bookshelves from the baseboard to the ceiling on two full walls.

  “Your grandfather’s a great reader,” Louise said. Emery didn’t doubt this. He thought everyone in their family was a great reader.

  “OTTO!” Buzzy shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth.

  “Let’s go in the kitchen,” Louise said.

  They shuffled into the kitchen, which looked out over the lake. There wasn’t a dish in the sink, or on the counter, or anything, really, on any flat surface.

  “I wish our kitchen were like this,” Anna said.

  “But there’s no food around.” Emery thought it was like the mausoleum the family had once visited in LA. Were there dead bodies behind the closed cupboard doors?

  “If you put down your keys on the counter,” Anna said, “they’d be right there. On the counter. You’d see them.”

  She had a point, although Emery sort of liked the Hidden Object feel of their own kitchen counter. Often when Louise was looking for something, Emery would race Portia to see who could be the first to find the missing thing in the piles and piles of stuff that littered every flat surface in the house. It was like finding the emerald among the heaps of jewels spilling out of a treasure chest.

  “Look!” Emery pointed out the window. A rowboat was pulling up to the dock. Otto was rowing. Billie jumped out and tied up the boat. She was lean, short-haired, and moved like a girl and not an old woman. There were two large speckled dogs in the boat. Otto gave each dog a push on its backside to scoot it out and then hopped out himself. Even as an old man he was broad, muscled, and flat-stomached. He wore khaki pants rolled at the cuff, a white T-shirt, and boat shoes. Billie had on similar khaki pants and a short-sleeved blouse.

  They walked the short dirt path up to the house, pausing when they noticed the rental car in the driveway.

  “They’re here!” Emery said and he jumped up into Portia’s arms. “Let’s go outside and see them!” He had a plan. When Billie and Otto walked into the house, Emery would break out into the Corny Kids opening theme song. Surely they couldn’t resist him then! Emery practiced the song in his head: We’re the Corny Kids! I’m John-John (that was Emery), I’m Miller (that was Josh). . . .

  “Wait here,” Louise said. His mother sounded angry. Emery wondered if he was squirming too much.

  “Louise?” Otto’s voice shouted, seconds later, and then he and Billie were there, standing in the kitchen staring at the family.

  “Heeeey,” Buzzy said. Emery noticed that his father’s voice was suddenly huskier.

  Buzzy walked toward Billie and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Billie patted Buzzy’s back stiffly with both hands and quickly pulled away from the hug. Emery jumped from Portia’s arms, ran to Billie, and gave her a hug.

  “Emery,” Billie said, firmly, as if reminding herself who he was. Emery had never felt a woman who was so hard. Even Anna, as skinny as she was, felt cushier than his grandmother. There was something about her hug that made Emery think of the lice-check the school nurse had done a couple months earlier.

  When Emery approached Otto with both arms extended, Otto said, “Boys don’t hug other boys, sissy. Give me your hand.” Emery dropped one hand and stared up at Otto. He couldn’t believe that a grandfather would call his own grandson a sissy. Wasn’t there a law against things like that? Emery watched as his fingers were fisted up and down a few times, forcefully, in a way that reminded him of Annie Sullivan pumping wat
er onto an astounded Helen Keller. The idea of breaking out in the Corny Kids theme song fell through Emery’s stomach like a sinking stone.

  “So,” Otto turned to Anna, “you graduated from high school, I hear.”

  “Uh huh,” Anna said. “Did you get the invitation to the graduation ceremony?”

  “Oh yeah, we got it,” Billie said, and she turned to the sink, turned on the tap, and poured herself a glass of water. “We got you a present.”

  “Thank you!” Anna said. She had wanted presents for graduation. She had wanted someone to come to the ceremony. It was all she talked about in the days leading up to the event. The night before the ceremony, Emery had awoken when he heard crying. He wandered into the family room and found his sister sitting on the floor, sobbing at their mother’s feet. Anna turned to Emery and told him that Buzzy and Louise refused to go to her graduation and that she would be humiliated by being the only kid there without her parents. Emery offered to go, but Anna didn’t want him there. Emery didn’t count in these things, and neither did Portia—Anna claimed they both were an embarrassment. In the end, Buzzy went, dragging Emery along. Louise showed up about thirty minutes late, waved at Anna on stage so that she’d see that she was there, then snuck out again ten minutes later.

  “You won’t ask me to go to yours, will you?” Louise had asked Portia and Emery, later that day.

  “We won’t ask,” Portia had promised. Then she put her arm around Emery and whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll go to yours.”

  “What about you?” Otto nudged Portia’s cheek with his fist. “You still in Dummy School?”

  Emery looked up at his sister curiously. Why, he wondered, was he always the last to find out the happenings in the family? Portia in Dummy School? No one had told him about this!

  “I’m not in Dummy School,” Portia said, and she looked down at Emery, who felt a great surge of relief.

  “Yeah you are. Dumb girl like you. You’re in Dummy School!” Otto laughed in quick, deep barks. Emery looked at Portia to see if she was hurt by this mean joke. She seemed unbothered, but still, Emery thought it was cruel to tease Portia about being dumb. He hoped Otto wouldn’t quiz his sister about politics, as even Emery was recently surprised to find that Portia didn’t know the names of the heads of state of any country other than the United States. Not even Canada!

  “Let’s go get your present,” Billie said to Anna, and they left the room together.

  “So, are you in second or third grade?” Otto asked Portia. Emery couldn’t believe he was carrying on like this. He was as bad as Ron Stinson at school who tormented wormy Doug-Doug Finney so ceaselessly that Emery felt it was his duty as a living, breathing fellow human to visit the principal, Mr. Devereaux, and inform him of Ron Stinson’s word-torture.

  “I just finished ninth grade,” Portia said.

  “Nah!” Otto laughed. “I don’t believe it. Dumb girl like you. You’re in fourth grade in Dummy School!” Emery wasn’t worried that Otto would pick on him in the way that he was picking on Portia—his sister often did things that could be seen as dumb. In fact, he couldn’t wait for his grandfather to ask about him—there was so much to tell. He could start with academics, move on to soccer, then end with Corny Kids. Maybe Otto would want to see a performance with Emery doing both his and Josh’s parts.

  “How are the dogs?” Louise asked.

  “Bentley, that big motherfucker, knocked up Belle and we had nine goddamned pups here last week.”

  “Can I see the puppies?” Portia asked.

  “Yeah, if you jump in the lake about three hundred yards out. I stuck them in a burlap bag with a bunch of rocks, rowed out and let them drop.”

  Emery pushed in toward’s Portia’s leg to steady himself. He felt a little queasy.

  “Oy!” Buzzy groaned.

  “And if that’s not bad enough, the cat, who just lies on the porch like a fucking socialite in Palm Beach, had six kittens last week.”

  “Are they in the lake?” Buzzy asked. He had his sturdy voice on again.

  “Nah. I just let them run free. There’ve gotta be enough goddamned field mice out there to feed an army of cats.” Otto looked out the window. Emery followed his gaze to see if he could find any little kittens running around with mice hanging out of their mouths.

  “Look!” Anna said, running into the kitchen. She extended her right hand to show off a glamorous diamond ring that looked odd on her short-nailed, boyish hand.

  “Two fucking karats,” Otto said. “It was my mother’s.”

  “That’s nice.” Louise didn’t seem impressed as she leaned over the ring.

  “Lemme see it.” Emery put his hands up toward Anna.

  “Don’t touch!” she said, batting him away. “Your hands are gross.”

  “Look at those little hands!” Otto said, staring down at Emery. “He’s got sissy hands!”

  Emery looked at his own hands. His fingers were squared at the tips, sort of large for his frame, flopping on the end of his arms like a puppy’s paws. They didn’t appear to be sissy hands to him, and he was fairly certain his sisters would agree.

  “What are you going to do with a two-karat diamond ring?” Buzzy asked. He, too, seemed unimpressed.

  “She can save it for her wedding,” Billie said. “When Mama gave it to Otto, she told him to give it to his firstborn daughter for her wedding.”

  “So why didn’t you give it to Louise?” Buzzy asked.

  “Louise!” Otto said. “She’s already got a wedding ring! The one you gave her! You want her to have two?!” Otto laughed, went to the cupboard, and got down a low, thick-bottomed glass. “Who wants scotch?”

  At breakfast the next morning Louise announced that she had gifts for her parents.

  “What is it?” Otto asked. “A seashell we can put to our ears to hear the California ocean?” He laughed and gave Emery a little punch in the shoulder. Emery took the punch the same way Portia took being called a dummy. He now understood that you had to steel yourself against Otto like a cement wall, hold yourself up against his constant butting.

  They were at the oak, claw-footed kitchen table. Diagonally cut toast sat on one plate, a softened stick of butter sat on another. Louise had made scrambled eggs that lay wet and shiny in an orange plastic bowl. There were only six chairs at the table so Emery shared a chair with Portia, each of them on half the seat. Billie drank Sanka that she spooned out of a glass container into a thin, brown coffee cup. Otto, Louise, and Anna drank coffee.

  “She brought you some of her etchings,” Buzzy said, and he spooned more eggs onto his plate.

  “Etchings?” Otto said. “Etchings? Hippies do etchings! You a hippie now, Louise?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Louise stood from the table and adjusted the waist of her batik skirt. “I’m a hippie.”

  Louise asked Anna and Portia to clear the table while she showed Billie and Otto the etchings she had brought for them. Emery’s sisters did as they were told, silently moving the dishes from the table to the sink while Louise untied the black portfolio she used to carry her work. Inside were three etchings, each precisely matted by Louise. Emery had been allowed in her studio that day. He had stood at the edge of her worktable watching as Louise, with a cigarette burning in her mouth, penciled out the interior cut using a long silver right angle. The exterior cut was done on a paper cutter. Louise worked so quickly that Emery imagined her snipping a fingertip off. It would tumble into the wire trash can that sat waiting below the edge of the paper cutter.

  “This one was in a show.” Louise pulled out a magazine-sized etching with a moss green matte board. It was a picture of a fat naked woman whose entire being, cheeks, chin, breasts, and belly, drooped toward the ground where a sheet lay puddled at her feet.

  “Oh my.” Billie pursed her lips and handed the etching to Otto.

  “Who is this woman?!” Otto shouted like he was angry, although he was smiling.

  “She was a model,” Louise said. Louise
had been attending night classes at City College where they had live models she could draw.

  “Why’d you use such an ugly model? Couldn’t you get a pretty girl or at least a sexy girl to model for you?!” Emery had to admit, it might be a nicer picture if the model were a prettier girl. Or a boy even.

  “It’s not about being pretty.” Louise took the etching from her father, lay it on the spot on the table where Anna had cleared Buzzy’s plate, and pulled out another one.

  “Ach, Louise!” Otto looked at the etching of a naked, bony woman standing on a stage. Her giant, arched big toe hung off the edge of the stage where a man in a baseball cap had his mouth open, poised to bite it.

  Billie shook her head, stood up and cleared the coffee pot and the trivet it had sat on.

  “Wait, there’s one more.” Louise pulled out the third one, then turned and watched her mother return from the sink. “There’s one more.” She was almost whispering.

  “This one’s my favorite,” Buzzy said. “It won an award!”

  “No, this isn’t the one that won the award,” Louise said, and she handed the etching to her mother.

  “Yes it is!” Buzzy stood halfway from his chair and peered down at the etching in Louise’s hand. Emery stood and worked his way in front of his father so he could see. It was a picture of a dying, naked man, floating down a river with fish biting chunks out of his flesh.

  “No it’s not,” Louise said firmly, glaring at Buzzy.

  “Well, it’s still my favorite!” Buzzy said.

  Billie said nothing and handed the etching to Otto.

  “Jesus Christ, Louise!” Otto said. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you make such ugly depressing shit?! Why don’t you paint flowers or something beautiful! Or if you’re going to do naked people, do a pretty girl, for God sakes! Who needs to look at this shit?! This is nothing but shit!”

  Emery felt his mouth drop open. He was afraid to blink. Anna and Portia were poised beside the table. Buzzy dropped his head in his hands, then lifted his head for a second as if to say something, but said nothing and let it drop again.