Just Like Em

by Marion Ekholm

  “Do you remember an Emmy Lou Turner?” He sat up in his chair. “Right. Forget her and get back to work.”

  * * *

  LATER, AFTER A HEARTY supper of enchiladas, courtesy of Sophia Sanchez, their housekeeper and nanny, the Holden family relaxed in the pool to cool off. An enthusiastic game of catch followed between Roger and his six-year-old twin sons. His daughter preferred to continue doing laps in the pool.

  Roger unobtrusively watched Samantha. At thirteen, she no longer cared to be part of the family group. Come August she’d start her freshman year in high school. Already he saw physical changes that she attempted to hide under baggy shirts, not to mention all her mood swings. One minute she was giggling like his little girl, the next she was wearing makeup and behaving like a young woman he hardly recognized.

  He had tried broaching the subjects a mother would normally handle. Boys, dating, bras, menstrual periods—subjects he himself hardly understood. At least she had Sophia and Jodie to help her in those areas. He could deal with the physical changes. After all, they were to be expected at her age. But the mood swings and flippant attitude had him climbing the wall. Now that Samantha refused to involve him in her personal life, he couldn’t even talk to her anymore.

  The ball whizzed by his ear and Roger made a hasty catch before flinging it to one of the twins.

  “Hey, Dad. We gonna have to move?” Chip asked as he caught the ball. Both boys had most of their dark hair cut off for the summer. Another toss in Roger’s general direction sent him dashing for the softball so it wouldn’t land in the pool.

  “No, sport.” He threw it to Chaz, the other twin. “Why do you ask?”

  “My friend Tommy’s dad lost his job. He had to move.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” both boys chorused. “We don’t wanna move.”

  “Hey, didn’t I tell you there was nothing to worry about?” He tried to sound upbeat, as though losing a job held no consequences. Yet the distress he faced daily was becoming more difficult to disguise in lighthearted chatter.

  * * *

  LATER, WHEN HIS children were in bed, Roger continued to brood over the downsizing. He had begun to second-guess every decision he made, and his heart ached as he searched for answers. Would he be able to find another position in Phoenix? Assuming he did, would it pay enough to keep their home and present lifestyle? If only he had someone to talk to, confide in. At times like these, the need for his wife became unbearable.

  Roger entered the living room, with its white walls and turquoise rug, and settled on the dark turquoise recliner that faced the painted portrait of his wife. “What am I going to do, sweetheart?” he whispered. “What on earth am I going to do?”

  The portrait had been a gift from his in-laws to celebrate Karen’s thirtieth birthday. It had been painted only months before she discovered the lump in her breast. The artist had captured the softness in her dark brown curls. And that dress...

  In the painting she looked so vibrant and full of life, as though at any moment she could join him on the chair and encircle him with her warmth. Why did she have to leave them when everyone needed her so?

  Roger looked away from the painting as his thoughts returned to the present. Downsizing, damn! He’d been at Metro since college graduation, and had climbed steadily in a company that had provided his family with security. Or so he’d thought. Now he was going to be tossed out with several hundred other employees.

  Movement caught his eye. When he glanced over, he saw Sophia in the doorway, wringing her hands.

  Her usually neat coif looked mussed. She had been with him since the twins were born, had nursed Karen through her cancer. He wouldn’t know what to do without Sophia. Would he be able to afford her once his job disappeared? He had to.

  “I hope you’re not worried about this downsizing business. Your job is always secure here.”

  Pushing several strands of her white-streaked black hair back, Sophia eased onto the white leather couch. “It’s not that,” she said in a thick Spanish accent, wrapping her arms around one of the pink-and-turquoise pillows. “I have my own bad news. I’m getting married in a month.”

  Roger moved to the edge of his chair. “That’s wonderful news. You and José finally set the date?” José was their weekly gardener, and he and Sophia planned to move into Sophia’s small suite once they finally wed.

  “Labor Day weekend.”

  With a quick slap to his knee, Roger stood. “Well, that’s not much time, but we still can have the reception in the backyard....”

  Sophia shook her head. “We’re getting married in Tucson. José wants to move back there and take care of his mother. She’s very sick.”

  Roger fell back into his chair and grasped the arms for support. “You’re leaving us?”

  Sophia wiped away a tear. “I don’t want to, but my José...”

  Although his insides had twisted into knots, Roger controlled his emotions so he wouldn’t upset her even more. He waved his hand and said, “No, no, Sophia. We wish you the best. We’ll manage. A month, you say?”

  Sophia nodded.

  After she left for her suite, Roger sat numbly, staring at Karen’s picture. “You hear that? Life can’t get worse. How can I ever replace Sophia?”

  The telephone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Samantha shouted from her upstairs bedroom. She pounded down the steps with enough noise to wake the whole house. Why wasn’t she asleep? But then, she considered herself above her brothers and usually read until her eyes drooped shut.

  “No, I’ll get it. It’s probably for me anyway,” he said, rising from the chair. Maybe it was Hilda needing another chance to vent or a manager wanting to consult with him before Monday’s major meeting.

  He arrived at the staircase in time to hear Samantha say, “Yeah, he’s here. What’cha want?”

  When he reached for the receiver, she maneuvered away from him and held it close to her ear. Soft brown curls, still damp from her swim, complemented a delicate long neck. She looked more and more like Karen every day.

  Roger put his hands on his hips and waited, not too patiently, for his call. How come he could handle a whole boardroom of people and never feel out of control? His boys didn’t give him trouble, either. Yet in his own household he felt powerless, his authority usurped by this teenager who flaunted hers.

  “Who is it?” He tapped a bare foot on the cool tile that ran through the hall.

  “Aunt Jodie.” Several high-pitched giggles followed.

  “What’d she say?”

  Instead of answering him, his daughter turned her back and stuck a finger in her ear. Another giggle.

  Roger started to walk away, then Samantha said, “It’s for you.” She held the phone out to him, then dropped it onto the straight-backed chair in the hallway. He grabbed it just before it skittered to the floor.

  “Get to bed,” he said, his hand covering the mouthpiece. She turned and looked down her nose in haughty annoyance, a quality inherited from her mother’s side of the family.

  “What’s Sam doing up at this hour?” Jodie asked, after Roger greeted her.

  “She was in bed when you phoned. And don’t call her Sam. She hates that name.”

  “Just a minute.” A long pause followed while Jodie talked in muffled tones to her husband. Roger yawned. He’d keep the conversation short and try to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  With the phone against his ear, he walked into the kitchen. The aroma of enchiladas hung in the air, making his mouth water. He’d miss Sophia’s cooking. He clutched the door handle of the refrigerator and momentarily closed his eyes. He’d miss more than the food. Opening the door, he searched the cool interior for a snack.

  “Remember Emmy Lou Masters?” Jodie asked when she came back on the line.

  Roger jolted and sma
cked his forehead against the refrigerator light switch, causing it to flicker. He moved away from the fridge, massaging his sore forehead. Was his sister psychic? How could she know who had shown up at his work? “Why?”

  “The operative word is either a yes or a no.”

  He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, I recognize the name. No, I don’t remember her. Why are you asking?” Roger ran his free hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. After circling the barstools by the sink, he settled on a padded kitchen chair.

  “She called today. Said she bumped into you at Metro.”

  “Not literally. Kind of embarrassing, actually. I couldn’t place her. Did I meet her at one of your parties?”

  Jodie chuckled. “Not recently.”

  What did that mean? “Is she a friend of yours or not?”

  “Of course she is.”

  He heard the taunt in her voice, the same one she used to use on him when they were young. The same one Samantha used on her brothers. Roger closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead again. It still hurt. “It’s late, Jodie, and I’m not up to playing twenty questions. Tell me who she is.”

  “Remember when you were in college? She stayed with us one summer while her parents were divorcing. You couldn’t stand each other.”

  Roger focused on college and the girls he knew then. Several close friends came to mind. One of them had been Karen, his eventual wife.

  “She soaped your car,” Jodie continued, “and you called her Auntie Em.”

  “Em!” Roger shouted and jumped to his feet. The whole summer returned in all its nightmarish details. A young girl, not much older than Samantha was now, had come to stay during his summer vacation from college between junior and senior year. He remembered short spiky hair, long legs, braces and a mouth that spewed more profanity than he’d heard in his frat house. His mother claimed it was Em’s way of dealing with the disorientation brought on by her parents’ divorce.

  Nice girls didn’t talk like that. Certainly not the ones hanging out with his sister. He’d attempted to remedy the situation by washing Em’s mouth out with soap. From that day on, she managed to soap his car several times a week no matter where he parked it, usually just before he needed it for an important occasion. Her pranks cost him several dates and nearly destroyed his relationship with Karen.

  With a lilt in her voice, Jodie asked, “Remember now?”

  “Yes.” He uttered the word slowly, with a hiss. Try as he might, Roger couldn’t reconcile the woman he’d met today with the teenager he remembered.

  “She was my very best friend, and you know what? Sam reminds me of her.”

  For a millisecond, Roger’s entire body trembled. Losing his job and Sophia were nothing compared with the nightmare that suddenly loomed in his mind—a teenage daughter like Auntie Em! He wouldn’t last the year.

  “Want me to set up something? The four of us going out to dinner?”

  “Not interested,” he said as the room started to come back into focus.

  “Not interested or afraid you might be?”

  Roger took in a deep breath before saying, “Since when are you trying to fix me up with married women?”

  “Oh, she’s not married. Not anymore, anyway. She was only married a few years or so, then it broke up.”

  No wonder. With her personality she’s lucky it lasted that long. “I’m still not interested.”

  “So, you’re not coming to your nephew’s birthday party?”

  “It’s tomorrow?” He smacked his forehead with his palm and winced.

  “Yes. It begins at eleven. Don’t be late. Timothy’s really looking forward to seeing the twins.” Jodie hung up.

  “Damn!” Roger walked back into the hallway and slammed the receiver into its cradle. Of course he’d have to take his kids to their cousin’s birthday party. Jodie knew that and planned to trap him in her matchmaking scheme. Well, no way.

  After a formal introduction to Emmy Lou Masters Turner, he’d leave—preferably after soaping her car.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “YOU’RE NOT GOING like that,” Roger said when his daughter walked into the kitchen. He looked away, afraid his surprise might be obvious on his features. The makeup, meticulously applied, made her look years older than thirteen. He placed his coffee cup in the dishwasher before turning back to face her. “Wash that gunk off your face. It makes you look...”

  “Sophisticated?” Samantha offered.

  “You’re too young for that.”

  “You’re the one who has to grow up.” Her ruby-red lips curled, and she placed her hands on her hips. “This is what everyone looks like in high school.”

  “You’re not in high school yet. And until you are...” And until I have a chance to check out what goes on in high school...

  “You’d prefer hand-drawn daisies on my cheeks. Something childish. Well, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “Then stop acting like one. Get cleaned up so we can leave.”

  “I’m not going.” She stood her ground, her head tilted to one side, the exact stance Karen had taken whenever she disagreed with him. Except for the slight wobble in her chin, Samantha remained defiant.

  How did these discussions escalate into full-fledged wars? Roger took a deep breath and tried changing tactics. “Everyone will miss you, and you’ll miss out on all the fun.”

  “Yeah, right. Like I really care about kids under ten and adults over thirty. No one my age will be there. I hate these get-togethers.” With that she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

  “Samantha,” Roger shouted, but she didn’t respond. Well, he couldn’t wait around. He turned to Sophia as she came through the patio door with the twins, who carried snorkels and swim fins.

  The boys wore swimming trunks and T-shirts with Diamondback logos, which meant he’d be spending a good deal of the time playing lifeguard at the pool. Roger had on a shirt that matched the boys’ and khaki shorts.

  “Can you see that Samantha gets to the party? I’ve got to drive the boys over now, and she isn’t ready.” His jaw tightened. “And see if you can make her presentable.”

  Sophia nodded. “Sure. When I take the birthday cake. Don’t you worry.”

  The phone began ringing as the twins ran for the front door. “Don’t answer it, Dad,” Chip shouted over his shoulder. “We’ll be late.”

  It could be important. Roger hesitated by the hall phone, picked it up and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “Hello, Millie,” he said, trying to put a smile in his voice. He hadn’t told his mother-in-law about the downsizing at work and had no desire to go into any details now.

  “You know what day Monday is?” Before he could answer, she added, “Karen’s birthday. Are you coming up?”

  No way. He had taken the kids to visit their grandmother in May, on the anniversary of Karen’s death. Black drapes had been hung around the living room, and the flames of dozens of scented candles had consumed all the oxygen. But the séance, with a spiritualist trying to communicate with Karen, had really caught him unawares.

  Even though he’d removed the children as quickly as possible, the twins had had nightmares for the rest of the week. Samantha had been reluctant to leave.

  Losing a daughter and husband in the same year had affected Millie’s ability to cope. Although he sympathized, Roger wasn’t about to subject his children to another harrowing experience.

  “I’m sorry, that’s out of the question, Millie. Too busy this weekend. We’ll celebrate Karen’s memory on Sunday.” He might mention it, but had no other plans. “Maybe you could come down here?”

  “And have my blood boil away? You know I can’t tolerate a Phoenix summer.”

  That he did. Fortunately, he could count on her staying aw
ay for a good portion of the year. “Sorry to run, but the kids are waiting for me in the car. I’ll talk to you soon.” He shook away the disturbing feelings, something her conversations always created, and put down the phone.

  “Grandma Millie?” Sophia asked from the kitchen doorway.

  Roger nodded. “If she calls again, give her some excuse.”

  “No need. She won’t talk to me. Can’t understand my accent.” Sophia sniffed and turned back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  IT WAS A brilliant, blue-sky Saturday morning when Em and her son drove toward Jodie’s house. “What do I have to go for?” Sammy asked. “I don’t know anybody.”

  Em smiled. “It’s a party. You’ll make lots of new friends.” Sammy gave her an “I don’t believe you” look in the rearview mirror and placed his chin on his fist. He stared at her through the baby-fine blond hair that fell over his forehead and eyes.

  If only she could reach him, she’d finger his hair back. “Don’t be such a Gloomy Gus.”

  Em pushed her left spaghetti strap into place. It had a tendency to flop off her shoulder, and she kept forgetting to shorten it. But she was wearing the only cool sundress she owned, and she had no intention of roasting today. “You’ll have a great time, and if you’re not—well, we’ll leave.”

  “You always say that. But you start talkin’ and we never go.” He made his mouth droop as he glanced at her. So small and precious. Em wanted to pull over to the side of the road and give him a hug.

  “I promise. You say the word and we’re out.”

  The party invitation had come as a delightful surprise when she’d called Jodie the previous day. A bunch of seven-year-olds at play would help Sammy meet kids his own age. He hadn’t made any friends since they moved from California, and he still had a month to go before school started.

  Jodie had told her that Karen had died, and Em empathized with the children’s loss and with Roger. She knew from her own experience how difficult it was to be a single parent.

  When they reached Jodie’s house, Em pulled her car past the row of vehicles parked in front of the balloon-bedecked mailbox. Another white van, a duplicate of hers, pulled past her and parked. Before it came to a full stop, children poured out and ran down the sidewalk.