The Sisters Montclair

by Cathy Holton

  Stella snorted. “Alice, you were awful!”

  “Terrible,” Alice said.

  “I wouldn’t want to owe you money.”

  “No, you would not.”

  “You’re worse than Tony Soprano.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. At least it was for a good cause.”

  “Amen to that,” Alice said serenely.

  Stella put Alice down for her nap and then she lay down, too. She fell instantly into a restless sleep, and dreamed about her mother. They were in a car going somewhere and Candy was driving; only as they drove down a country road shaded by tall trees, Stella became gradually aware that it wasn’t her mother at all behind the wheel. It was someone else, a person in a hood whose face she couldn’t see. The dream took on an ominous tone at this point and the landscape began to darken. Stella knew she should turn to look at the figure but she was too terrified to move, afraid that she might draw attention to herself. She made herself as small as she could in the corner but she heard a loud whooshing sound outside the window, and turning she saw a great owl flying beside the car, fixing her with its savage, golden eye.

  She awoke with a start. She was in the sunroom, lying on the hard, dilapidated sofa. Alice’s furniture looked as if it hadn’t been replaced for forty years; the fabrics faded, seats hard and devoid of any springs or padding. Outside the long windows the sun shone brightly and a line of pale clouds drifted across the deep blue sky.

  She lay for a long time watching a pair of starlings build a nest in the top of a tall white oak on Sawyer’s front lawn. The birds flittered about, carrying twigs in their tiny beaks, and Stella watched, amazed at their tireless energy and sense of shared purpose. Who had taught them to work like that? Did they know chicks were coming, were they capable of looking into the future and assessing the needs of their brood, or were they operating solely on instinct?

  A sudden childhood memory. She was in the driveway with her little brothers. Her step-dad was cleaning out the garage and he had hauled an old chest freezer to the end of the short driveway to make room for an assortment of tools, bicycles, bins, and metal shelving. He had gone inside to get a cold beer and he’d told her to watch her little brothers, who were racing their skateboards through the scattered debris on the driveway like a couple of demolition derby drivers.

  She said quietly, “Yes, sir,” watching him disappear into the shadowy depths of the garage. When he first married her mother, Moody Bates had been a generous, tolerant stepfather. But as the boys were born, and especially since she’d reached puberty, his attitude toward her had changed. He was cold and distant now, and Stella had the feeling that no matter what she did to please him, it would never be enough.

  She sat down on a metal stool, listlessly tapping the concrete drive with a yardstick. Far off in the distance, a dog barked incessantly. Stella slumped on the stool, watching the tap-tap-tap of the yardstick, listening to the roar and clatter of her brothers’ skateboards.

  Without warning, a pick-up truck pulled to the curb and screeched to a halt, and two guys in cowboy hats jumped out and began to maneuver the freezer toward the bed of the truck. Before she could say anything, the screened door swung open behind her and Moody rushed out shouting, “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get away from there!”

  The two men looked at him. He tossed his beer can like a grenade and it bounced against one of the men’s chests and exploded on the ground at his feet. Moody rounded his shoulders and came on, and without a word, the two turned around, jumped back into their truck, and drove off.

  He seemed heroic to her, standing there with his plaid shirt flapping against his thighs and his shoulders rounded for battle, shaking his fist at the retreating truck. Like something out of one of her history books. King Leonidas facing the Persians at Thermopylae. William Wallace exhorting the Scots at the Battle of Sterling Bridge. Wanting to express her appreciation for his courage, she said instead, quite unexpectedly, “I saw them coming. I knew they were going to steal something.” The words just fell out of her mouth.

  “Well, then why didn’t you say something?” Moody said, rounding on her. “Why didn’t you yell?”

  She wasn’t sure why she had lied. She hadn’t seen them coming. She had wanted to impress him, she had wanted him to notice her, but instead she could see from his pained, disgusted expression that he was not impressed at all.

  “If you saw them coming, you should have said something! Now get that shit picked up and start stacking those shelves in the garage in case they come back.”

  “Yes sir.” His disdain was like cold water thrown in her face. She kept her expression blank; she wouldn’t cry until later, when she was alone. He didn’t like it when she cried. Her little brothers watched her gravely, and then they, too, began to carry items back into the garage.

  Later that night after a few beers, Moody entertained Candy at the dinner table with his tale of saving the freezer. “Those old boys didn’t know what hit them! I lobbed a beer can at one of the sumbitches and he just stood there, staring at me like he was looking at a crazy man, and then I rushed them. They ran like pussies. Didn’t they boys?” he said, grinning at Anthony and nudging George on the shoulder.

  “Yes sir,” George said. “Like pussies.”

  Candy giggled and looked at Moody in loving admiration. Stella pushed her black-eyed peas around on her plate with a fork, listening to them.

  “We showed them a thing or two, didn’t we boys?” Moody said, slapping his sons on their frail backs.

  And George, who as the middle child was the peace maker, who always tried to put broken things back together again, whether they were crockery or electronic devices or family bonds, took Moody’s hand and laid it down on top of Stella’s.

  “Stella was there, too,” George said. “She helped run off those old boys, too.”

  Stella said nothing but smiled at George, not looking at anyone else, not even Moody. Least of all Moody.

  As his hand touched hers, she had distinctly and unmistakably, felt him flinch.

  After she and Alice finished their afternoon walk, Sawyer called to tell them the cable was back on. He had called the cable company’s headquarters in Knoxville and complained to the CEO that everyone a street over had cable, and there was no reason why Brow Road should not have it, too. He had explained all this to Alice and Stella that morning when he came to fill Alice’s pill box. Whatever he said had obviously worked, because when Stella looked out the kitchen window at lunch time, she saw a cable truck with a guy climbing a pole in front of Sawyer’s house.

  Alice’s televisions were high-def with more electronic equipment attached than Stella could possibly understand and she was unable to get the game show channel back on. Alice called Sawyer and he agreed to come over and reset the channels.

  He was in a good mood when he arrived.

  “Thanks for calling the cable company CEO,” Stella said. “I never would have thought of that.”

  “I may have been a bit rough on him. I sent him flowers this afternoon.”

  “I never would have thought of that either.”

  He sat down and began to fiddle with the television. They were sitting out in the sunroom, Alice and Stella in their worn club chairs and Sawyer in a straight backed wooden chair pushed close to the set.

  Behind him Alice said, “See how handy he is? His father was never like that. He couldn’t even change a light bulb.”

  “He could, too!” Sawyer said, swiveling his head and giving his mother a reproachful look.

  Stella could imagine him as a boy, blonde and sweet-natured, always trying to shore up the family façade. To convince himself that everyone was loyal and light-hearted and loving. Just like George.

  Alice laughed at his expression. “I don’t even think Bill knew where the light bulbs were kept,” she said.

  “Yes he did! Stop it, Al.” He picked up the remote and began to punch buttons, looking at the blank screen.

/>   Alice giggled. “I don’t know where he gets his height either,” she said to Stella, talking about Sawyer as if he wasn’t even there. She grinned at Stella and then swung her head back to her son. “How tall are you?”

  “Seven foot six,” Sawyer said.

  Alice giggled.

  The blank TV screen bloomed suddenly with images. Sawyer began to scroll through the channels.

  “See if you can get Family Feud,” Alice said. “I think it comes on now.”

  “Take it easy, Al. I’ve got to get it programmed first.”

  They were still arguing good-naturedly when Adeline swept in. She hadn’t rung the bell or anything; she just walked in like she owned the place. Stella got up so Adeline could take her chair, and went into the kitchen. She stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the neatly landscaped lawn and listening to the three of them. Alice was in a fine mood, and they were all laughing and gossiping about a neighbor who was building a monstrous house at the other end of the brow.

  “You know he petitioned the city council to put in his own private Incline up the mountain,” Adeline said.

  “Oh good Lord,” Sawyer said. “Some people have more money than sense.”

  “The house looks like a country club,” Adeline said. “It’s obscene.”

  “I hope they turned him down on the private Incline,” Alice said.

  “That’s exactly what they did,” Adeline said. “After they finished laughing.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Petrakis.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “Greek. I think.”

  “He’s from Birmingham.”

  “Well that figures,” Alice said.

  “Made his money in the pest control business.”

  “The what?”

  “Pest control. You know. Bugs. Rodents. Things like that.”

  The theme song from Family Feud blared suddenly.

  “Oh, goody,” Alice said. “You fixed it.”

  Sawyer hit the mute button. “Well, I don’t know about that but I got it programmed.”

  “You’re a good kid, as your father always used to say.”

  “Stop it, Al.”

  After he left, Alice called to Stella to come in and sit with her and Adeline. Adeline wore a tailored skirt and a blouse that tied around the throat and a pair of high-heeled pumps. Her hair, unlike Alice’s, which was curly, was straight and cut stylishly just below her jaw.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Stella asked, standing in the doorway.

  “A glass of water please,” Adeline said.

  “Alice?”

  “I guess so. I might as well hydrate while I’m sitting here.”

  She and Stella grinned at each other.

  Stella brought their glasses of water and then sat down in the chair vacated by Sawyer. She was nervous still, in front of Adeline, but not as nervous as she had once been.

  Adeline sipped her water and then sighed, staring out the long windows overlooking Sawyer’s beautiful lawn. Her expression was distant, pensive. She set her glass down on a small table near her chair.

  “We’ve lost Brooks,” she said in a deep, somber voice.

  Alice stared at her a beat. “What do you mean, we’ve lost Brooks?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Adeline, Brooks has been gone since 1979.”

  “I had him in that urn on the mantel and when the new cleaning girl left, the urn was gone. I could see little pieces of broken pottery near the wingback chair, you know the one Mother gave me, and there was ash on the bricks. I think she knocked Brooks over and was afraid to tell me.”

  “Who, Mother?”

  “No, Alice, not Mother! The cleaning girl.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to sprinkle his ashes over Augusta National thirty years ago?”

  “Don’t start with me, Alice,” Adeline said, giving her a sullen look. “You know I never liked golf.”

  They were all quiet for a few minutes, sipping their water.

  “Well,” Alice said finally. “Well.”

  Stella stared at the bricked circular drive in front of Sawyer’s house. His wife’s Nissan was parked in front, with Sawyer’s ten-year-old Lincoln parked behind it. It was one of the things about the old-moneyed rich that Stella found amusing, the fact that they drove ordinary cars. Not a Mercedes or Lexus in the bunch.

  Adeline sighed again, putting one hand to her throat. “Poor Brooks,” she said. “Swept out with the rubbish.”

  Alice snorted and looked at Stella. Stella put one hand to her mouth, stood up quickly, and walked out.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Adeline said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Alice said, pulling a Kleenex out of the box and covering her face.

  Later that night, as Stella was getting Alice ready for bed, Alice looked up and said, “Did I ever tell you about the time Roddy was supposed to ride the Incline and the teacher forgot to put him on? I was waiting at the top and his cousins were there, but no Roddy. So I went down to the school and Ann Ricks, his teacher, said, “Oh, did I forget Roddy? I’m sorry there are just too many little Whittingtons to keep up with.”

  Stella, remembering their exchange that morning and not wanting to piss the old lady off again by laughing, widened her eyes and said, “Oh, Alice that’s terrible.”

  “You’re darn right it was terrible! I let both Ann Ricks and the headmistress have it. I mean, I really lit into them.”

  Stella rearranged the pillows behind Alice’s head and then began to smooth baby oil on her legs. Her skin was blue and mottled and thin as wax paper. The baby oil wasn’t even absorbed; it just sat on top of the skin, slick and shiny.

  “And later when Dob said he was going to marry Ann Ricks, I said, Oh, no you’re not. I still had not gotten over the Roddy incident.”

  Stella stopped rubbing. “Your cousin Dob?”

  “He was married to Ann Ricks. She was his first wife. He married her when he got back from the War. Old lady Ricks, her mother, was the richest woman in St. Elmo. She owned real estate all over town and she’d go out every month and personally collect every rent dollar that was owed her. She was rich as Croesus but she still had the first penny she’d ever made. That woman did not believe in spending money.

  Anyway, she wasn’t happy about the marriage either. She had two other daughters who had married and she’d told Ann, You can’t marry. You have to take care of me in my old age. She had Ann’s whole life planned and it didn’t include marriage to Dob Montclair. She wouldn’t even speak to Ann after the wedding. She disinherited her, wouldn’t give her a cent, and Ann and Dob could have used the money because Dob was a poor law school student and they had five children in quick succession.”

  Stella put the cap back on the baby oil. “She sounds like a character, that old lady Ricks.”

  “Oh, she was a character all right. She lived in a big house next to the Incline. A huge old house that hadn’t been painted in fifty years. The city got tired of looking at that eyesore so they told her she was going to have to paint it. They wrangled back and forth for awhile but finally the city threatened to condemn the property. So she complied. She had the front painted. The other three sides she left as they were.”

  “I’ll bet the city didn’t let her get away with that.”

  “Oh, she got the last word.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She died before they could cite her.”

  Stella went into the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came out, Alice was staring at the TV screen with a faraway expression on her face. Stella pulled the covers up to her chest, plumped the pillows behind her head. “Did she ever forgive Ann for marrying Dob?”

  “Old lady Ricks? Oh no,” Alice said. “When she died she was worth millions but do you know how much she left each of Ann and Dob’s children? Her own grandchildren? One dollar each.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I thought so.”

>   “How could you do that to your own daughter? Your own grandchildren?”

  “Funny what some people will do for money,” Alice said.

  On the drive home, Stella thought about Ann Ricks. What was worse; to be raised in poverty knowing you had no choice, or to live in poverty knowing your mother could do something about it if she wanted to? She decided that poverty without choice was worse. There were no delusions there, no glimpses of a hopeful future.

  Her cell phone beeped. She checked and it was a text from her carrier, saying that she was to call immediately on an important matter. Meaning that once again she was being threatened with disconnection if she didn’t pay her bill.

  “Get in line,” she said to the phone and tossed it down on the passenger’s seat. She had so many bills to pay now it was not even worth opening the stack on the coffee table. Mostly medical bills from when she’d had to go to the emergency room last fall for a broken ankle that still bothered her on cold, rainy days. It would be better if they did disconnect her cell because then she wouldn’t be hounded by creditors calling at all times of the day or night.

  And to make matters worse, Josh was loosing his patience with her. Last night he had pounded on the bathroom door and demanded that she pony up her share of the rent.

  “What are you doing in there?” he said suspiciously. “You’ve been in there for hours.”

  She stood and quickly cleaned herself up. “I’m going to be a little late this month,” she called to him, running the water in the sink to distract him. She put the razor away in its little case and tucked it behind the toilet.

  “So what else is new?” he said.

  “I’m looking for another part-time job,” she lied.

  He gave a quick thump on the door with his fist and then walked away. It was the only way they talked to each other these days. He on one side of a door and she on the other. Whatever small feeling she had felt for him was gone and she was left now with only resentment and bitterness. She would leave him tomorrow if she had anywhere else to go. She would start over, if she could.