Focused

by Julie B. Cosgrove

  Looking back on it, Christina marveled how her upper class urban parents could purposely desert their lifestyle every summer for a crude cabin with no TV, no air conditioning, and especially no maids. That all came later, after her dad’s law practice became prestigious and they hosted more weekends in the country for their social crowd. A cedar garage with the servant quarters were added at the back of the property, as was a separate guest house. In fact, the hot water heater hadn’t been installed in the cabin until then, during her preteen years. That’s when her parents had the bath modernized as well. Up until then, she and her sister refused to use the shower in the cabin. It had Daddy Long Legs bouncing in the rust stains that drooled towards the drain. It reminded them both of a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Besides, when you swam all day long in a crystal clean river, who needed a cold-water bath?

  That thought curled her lips in a long overdue smile and led her mind to the first time her mother considered her old enough to carry the bowl of boiled water for her father’s shave. She must have been six or seven. She remembered her mother telling her to be very careful. Her mother handed her the metal basin. Even through the pot holders, Christina could feel the heat. Sensing her mother’s proud eyes following her, she tiptoed the sloshing bowl into the bathroom, determined to pass this milestone with flying colors. Mouse-like, she inched over the threshold and watched out of the corner of her eye as her father leaned into the metal medicine cabinet’s mirrored door, chin cocked, face frothed and razor in hand. With tongue tip stuck out between taught lips, she set basin onto the toilet seat. When he reached down to take it, he winked at her with a twinkle in his Irish eyes. She knew she’d done a good job.

  Christina, warmed by that memory, now racked her brain for others. Had they all been that pleasant? Surely not. Life wasn’t like an episode of The Waltons. Still, over all of those summers, she couldn’t recall any harsh words or hurt feelings penetrating the cedar walls. They must have been erased as easily as an edited paragraph in Microsoft Word. Highlight the thought, right click the mouse, choose cut and poof—blank it out.

  So, how do I blank out the hurt and anger I feel now? Her hand crunched the quilt. I miss ya, Dad. You’d know what to say.

  Christina rolled onto her back and sank into the old springs of the cot. The indentation from years of use by various sized bodies left a cocoon effect. She snuggled into the recollection of simpler summer days.

  Except on Sundays, only two modes of dress existed then: a bathing suit under shorts and P.J.’s. The locals had nicknamed the three siblings and their friends the River Rats. Together they combed the hills for imaginary treasures and conquered villains like the heroes in the comic books they were rewarded for good behavior during weekly trips into Riley’s General Store.

  Christina eyed the stack of yellowing Archie, Disney and Marvel comics in the wicker bin. They must have been good a lot. Or, her dad’s soft heart caved into his kid’s pleas. That seemed more likely. Oh, how they tried to manipulate him. Her sister, Carrie, was the openly devious and clever child. Carl, her older brother, acted more aloof. But Christina’s innocent blue-eyed smile masked a quiet defiance. A typical Daddy’s little girl. Yes, her dad had been wise. It was he that manipulated them without crushing their individuality. As a parent, she could see that now.

  She grabbed the top comic and flipped through it. She wondered if they are worth anything now? Nah, probably not. Definitely not sellable on eBay. Christina sat up and tossed a Cinderella comic across the floor. Total garbage. Prince Charming. Love ever after. What a joke.

  She rolled her eyes and plopped back on the cot in a huff. In her twenty-five years of marriage, she had never felt as empty as she did now.

  From off in the distance came the mournful cooing of a dove—steady, monotonous, soothing. It called out for its mate.

  Chapter 4 The Old Red Rocker

  Christina stared at the red wicker rocker perched in the corner of the bedroom. Her eyes fell to the cobwebbed left front leg. A smile etched the sides of her mouth. She pointed out that leg to Jeff on his first tour of the cabin twenty-three years ago while they were courting—when she’d been gaga over him. She closed her eyes and let the memory seep into her mind.

  “See that rocker? That’s Dad’s favorite chair. When we were kids, he used to sit there and read to us every night. One day I came up from the riverfront to get a Coke and found a Mexican rat snake wrapped around that front leg.” Her outstretched finger twirled in its direction.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I was eight. Maybe I’d just turned nine. Boy, did I scream bloody murder.”

  “I bet.” Jeff crouched on his boot heels and peered at the rocker leg, as if it might still be possible to see where the snake had slithered.

  “Dad came running to my rescue. He hollered to my brother, ‘Son, get the garden shears from the shed so I can whack off its head.’”

  Jeff grinned at her attempt to imitate a man’s voice. She felt her cheeks warm and swallowed hard. “Naturally, Carl came running. We always came when Dad called.”

  Jeff straightened up and turned to her. “He chopped it off right there in front of you? Your father?”

  Christina nodded. “Carrie and I cowered behind the door watching as Dad unwound the headless snake from the rocker. I swear it seemed ten feet long. He took it out onto the rock porch. Laid some newspapers in the sunlight and set the pieces on them.”

  “Why?”

  “An old wives’ tale from the Revolutionary days says a headless snake wiggles until sundown, trying to rejoin its body to its head.”

  “That’s right. That’s why they carried that flag showing a chopped up snake representing the colonies. I remember that from 7th grade U.S. history.”

  “He wanted to prove it was false. That’s my Dad. Never miss a chance for a nature lesson.”

  “I see.”

  She could tell by the tone of Jeff ‘s voice he really didn’t. Christina sighed and sat in the rocker. She ran her fingers over the wooden arms, then cocked her head. “His passion has always been to teach us to observe what most people never notice.”

  Jeff shook his head. “Like?”

  “Like where different birds choose to nest, or an abandoned skin of a katydid locust dangling under an oak leaf. Or how to spot a doe with her fawn camouflaged in the tall brush. Things like that.”

  “Valuable lessons.”

  A giggle bubbled in her throat. “That’s not the end of the story. Everyone from nine months to ninety years in our family knows it backwards and forwards. The day the little sisters finally got even with big brother.” She moved her hand as if reading it across an imaginary marquee.

  Jeff smiled. “I’m all ears. Tell me.” He leaned back against the door jamb to the bedroom.

  Christina nodded and began to gently rock. “Later that day Carrie cornered me. She whispered in my ear, ‘I bet Carl put that snake in the house. He knew one of us would come back up here to go potty or get a Coke.’ She figured he wanted to look like a hero to the girlfriend he’d brought for the day.”

  Jeff’s eyes glimmered. “Most of us do, ya know.”

  Christina gave him a sweet smile. “I wanted to tell Dad. She told me she had a better idea. She crept over like an Indian brave to the snake’s body. It already had flies all over it. When she picked it up, they buzzed around her.”

  Jeff raised his left eyebrow and interrupted the story again. “Pretty gross. Carrie wasn’t a bit squeamish?”

  Christina shook her head, then continued with the tale. “Carrie was always the bold one. She took the dead snake and wrapped it around the tire to my brother’s VW. The passenger side. She made sure the headless part was tucked out of sight, so all he’d see was the rattles. I sat there watching, twisting my hair. A nervous habit I had that my mother always hated.”

  “You still do that you know, like when you are trying to solve the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Sometimes, you do it in church when the re
ctor’s sermon is a bit too intellectual.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded, “Which, I admit, it can be at times.”

  Christina knew she blushed. She saw a loving twinkle in her beau’s eyes.

  Jeff shifted his weight against the wall. “I interrupted you. Please, go on. What happened next?”

  “Okay. Where was I? Oh, yes. When Carl opened the car door for his girlfriend, he screeched like a hoot owl, ruining the macho male image he tried so hard to achieve. Carrie and I watched through the bedroom curtains unable to stifle our laughter.”

  When she finished her story, Jeff was laughing as well. “So, tell me. Is it common for ya’ll to bring the people you date up here?”

  “It’s one of the little tests the three of us learned to perform. If our current beau loves God and the Texas Hill Country they’re worth dating in my dad’s eyes. That’s why Carl brought up his girlfriend.”

  Jeff grabbed her hand to help her from the old red rocker. “So, is that why I’m here?”

  “Could be.” Christina winked. “We better finish the tour before I see if mother needs help with dinner. Looks like her maid no-showed.”

  Much to her delight, she could see Jeff fell in love with her summer place from the moment he set foot on the property. He was a true nature lover, just like her dad.

  Christina looked at the old rocker, now laced in cobwebs, and wiped a tear from her cheek. The memories of the times her dad sat there, once so tender, now ached inside her. So did her memories of the day her dad met Jeff. She had been so much in love back then, so ready to fight for her man.

  She thought she’d made the right choice. She was so sure. She’d even prayed about it.

  Then, Christina heard a rustle outside the cabin bedroom. A skitter through oak leaves whiffed up the aroma of damp earth, as homey a sound and smell as sausage sizzling in breakfast skillets. Some furry little soul rummaged for a tasty morsel. She’d seen enough of them in her lifetime, and not just up here.

  It was not uncommon for a city dweller to have a stray raccoon, opossum or rodent saunter to their back porch to sniff the dog food. How many times had she crouched quietly with her dad and siblings under the bonnet of the fig tree waiting for the pair of iridescent buttons in the dark to turn into a nose, whiskers and tiny paws creeping towards the bounty that beckoned in the plastic blue bowl? Countless times. It was one of her family’s favorite form of entertainment on warm nights.

  Just because hunting was a Texas tradition, it didn’t mean hunters were heartless. Christina and Jeff’s fathers often rescued orphaned or injured critters and taught their children how to care for them. Many healed enough to be released back into the wild. This shared respect and fondness for God’s creatures great and small became a major ingredient that bonded Christina and Jeff as a couple, along with his unpretentious Texas charm and old fashion manners. He’d bow a hatless head for a funeral procession out of respect for the dead and the living and open doors for a lady. Like a fly to paper, she’d stuck like glue.

  She remembered her dad and Jeff joking one summer about this place being their wives’ dowry and the reason they’d married them. Maybe that’s why he and Dad always got along so well. Maybe that’s really why I married Jeff. Probably, she acknowledged. But the revelation didn’t bring her any comfort.

  Unfortunately their fathers never met, except in Heaven. Jeff’s dad died in a hunting accident while Jeff was in Lebanon, two years before he and Christina met. Her dad passed away from a major coronary three weeks after Josh’s graduation. That year, Christina mourned the loss of two of the three men in her life — her son to manhood and her dad to the grave. Now, she felt Jeff slipping out of her grasp as well.

  Were they just holding on because of their vows, the binding words said before God and man over two decades prior? After all they were both Texans and a true Texan’s word was still considered his bond. A strong, warm handshake and a square look in the eye sealed any deal. Had that bond begun to disintegrate after her Dad died? The adhesive of their marriage certificate seemed to be loosening. It oozed down, leaving a sticky trail of tears on the walls of her heart.

  Christina sat down with the next thought. Only now did she realize that she and her mother both married men who preferred the great outdoors and deer blinds to opera houses and tea rooms, wooden rockers to Queen Anne wing-backed chairs perched on oriental carpets. So, in fact, had her grandmother. It was, after all, her grandfather who built this rustic cedar dwelling. Perhaps it was in the genes on her mother’s side of the family to be attracted to less socially refined, outdoorsy men. Did it stem from the rugged, pioneer Texas spirit which once flowed under the rustle of her ancestors’ petticoats? Could she really blame it on that? Hadn’t God chosen Jeff for her and vice versa? It was what she always believed. So why did the choice feel so wrong now?

  She didn’t know the answers. She felt her dad might have known. But he wasn’t sitting in the old red rocker for her to ask.

  Chapter 5 Cover the Bases

  Something in Jeff’s mind pushed its way to the surface ahead of the facts and figures in front of him. It resembled his wife’s voice, but he could not quite hear her words. Why had she stomped out of the room last night and locked herself in the bathroom today?

  He wondered if his stepfather ever had times like this with his mother. Surely they did. He could call and ask him, but the first thing out of his stepfather’s mouth would be the reminder that Jeff’s choice of a wife had been someone way out of his league. No one in Jeff’s family ever betted on it lasting this long.

  The Missouri–Pacific tracks divided the city into class zones, making Jeff’s boyhood house literally “on the other side of the tracks”, yet no more than two miles from Christina’s house in the more upscale zip code. Even though Jeff was five years older, he and Christina shared many of the same memories. But they never met as children. He went to inner city Catholic schools, she the posh Protestant parochial amidst an oak-lined avenue. Their worlds were the distance between Venus and Pluto.

  Jeff threw down the pencil and rubbed his eyes. The numbers in front of him blurred and faded to black, pushed away by the underlying tension present over the past few months like a slow, gurgling lava of emotions that pushed through the foundations of his marriage into the cracks left by unsaid words and strained silence. Perhaps last night, the volcano had begun to erupt. There was a time they’d stay up to the wee hours jabbering about nothing at all, and everything. Was it that long ago?

  Bob leaned against the doorjamb of Jeff’s office and knocked. “You on a diet or something?”

  “Huh. No. Why?” Jeff peered over his reading glasses, barely raising his head from the plans rolled out on top of his executive desk.

  “Well, you didn’t grab one of the bear claws Midge brought.”

  The desk chair creaked as Jeff adjusted his position. “Didn’t you see the line waiting out there to get in here? I feel like getting one of those ‘Take a Number’ dispensers like they have at the DMV.” He leaned forward and tapped his pencil back and forth on the legal pad trying to find a rhythm. It had evaded him all day.

  Bob pushed off from the opening, uncrossed his leg and took a step in, his hands in his pockets. “Well, it’s now half past lunch. Wanta get outa here?”

  Jeff shuffled papers back into stacks, then logged off. “Yeah. Sure. Where are we eating?”

  Bob knitted his brow and leaned his hands on the back of one of the customer chairs in front of the desk. “It’s Tuesday. Where we usually go on Tuesdays. You sure you’re okay, man?”

  Jeff’s answer was a quick peer over his glasses before he grabbed his jacket and exited to tell Midge he was going to grab some grub.

  The two walked around the corner to deli. The chalkboard announced: Today’s Lunch Special: Corned Beef on Rye .

  Grabbing his tray, Bob chose the banana pudding, and a table near the window. Jeff followed.

  “Okay. You’re way too quiet. Spill.” Bob sh
uffled in his seat and leaned his arms on the table, making it wobble. The matchbook, jammed under one leg in an attempt to steady it, flipped into the aisle. Jeff kicked it back with his toe.

  “It’s… heck I don’t know, Bob. Christina’s been super moody.”

  Bob cupped his hand to the side of his mouth. “That time of the month?”

  “Huh? No. Uh, uh. This has been building for two or three. More. She seems to be getting worse. It’s like watching Mount Vesuvius rumble, wondering when it will explode.” He stabbed his fork into the potato salad.

  “She has been through a lot of stuff, Jeff. Lost both parents so close together. Josh growing up and off on his own …”

  “Yeah. And work’s been a bear for her.” Jeff rubbed his forehead a minute and then looked across the table. “I’ve been working almost every weekend. Hey, I guess I’ve been a bear, too. “

  Bob raised an eyebrow then bit off a chunk of Rueben.

  “Right.” Jeff nodded. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”

  “No. But something tells me you’re going to.” His friend winked. “Go ahead. Lay it on me.”

  “It was on the bus. I rode it downtown to work to save on gas. I’m sure she did because parking was slim to none. The first time she got on, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She had on a tailored suit and high heels. She oozed pure class. So did the perfume she wore. I could smell it when she passed by my seat. Yet there was a humbleness about her, ya know? No high nose stuck in the air.”

  Jeff took a bite of sandwich and swallowed. Then, he continued.“When the bus jerked away from the curb, she wobbled backwards. She grabbed the bar above my head. I grabbed my breath. I instinctively reached for her waist to steady her.”