Alice's Summertime Adventure

by Suzanne Jenkins

  While his sisters prepared to have a wonderful day at the beach, John Bradshaw arrived at work, thinking of only one thing: Why was his mother’s car found at the side of the road? And where the hell was she? He’d received the call from his brother-in-law Todd at six in the morning. “Last night I saw that piece of shit your mother drives abandoned about two miles past our exit,” he said.

  “Was she at your house yesterday?” John asked, ignoring the veiled insult. It was a long-running argument why John drove a BMW and Alice a fifteen-year-old car that didn’t have airbags.

  “Yeah, until about noon, I think,” Todd replied.

  “Okay, thanks,” John said, wanting to keep the conversation brief. “I’ll give her a call.”

  “I already did, last night and again this morning, and there’s no answer. I didn’t say anything to April because I don’t want her to freak out,” Todd said.

  John felt his blood pressure rise, annoyed that his sisters weren’t involved, who regularly spent the day in the beauty parlor while his mother babysat.

  “She’s in Atlantic City with Faye today anyway.”

  “Faye lives six miles from my mother. If you’d said something to her, she could’ve gone right over there,” John said, annoyed. “I’ll call my aunt and get her to run over. Thanks for calling.” He hung the phone up without waiting for a reply, seething. He punched his aunt’s phone number into his cell phone.

  “Aunt Vicky, Todd called and said Mom’s car was left at the side of the road on 295 yesterday. She’d been visiting April. Have you talked to her?”

  “No! I tried calling yesterday around dinner time, but there was no answer. Let me hang up, and I’ll run over to see if she’s home and just not answering,” she said, afraid that Alice couldn’t answer. John tried to put the concerns out of his mind so he could safely do his job, putting people to sleep in the OR all day. Vicky grabbed her purse and ran out the door to make the journey to Alice’s.

  As she drove down the driveway, the sun was just beginning to make its way overhead. But even with the bright light, the house looked sad and lonely. She ran up to the door and pounded, then tried the handle when no one answered. The door was unlocked and swung open easily, scaring Vicky, who fell through the opening. She regained her balance and looked around, immediately spooked. The front door opened directly onto the kitchen area, and she went to the sink. The dish rag was slightly damp, and there were two cups upside down on the drain board. She turned around and noticed the coffee pot, empty and clean except for a little water in the bottom. It wasn’t the way Alice left her coffee pot; after she washed it, she always put it upside down.

  Vicky went into the bedroom Alice used, the largest one in the house right off the kitchen, in back of the living room. Her bed was made neatly, but there was a pile of clothes folded on the coverlet, an odd assortment of sweats and shorts, jeans and pajama bottoms, underpants and heavy socks. It was so unlike Alice to leave anything out of place, she was obsessively neat as a pin. Vicky thought it looked like she might have been choosing clothing to take on a camping trip. It was the dead of summer; why would she have sweatpants and underpants out together?

  “I’m reading too much into this,” she said out loud. She got her phone out and dialed John’s cell phone number. A message answered on the first ring. “John, I’m at your mother’s. It looks like she might have had a guest. Were you here yesterday?” She ended the call and looked around the house one last time, just in case she’d missed something when a little voice said, Call the police.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lying on a beach towel, April flipped over on her stomach and put her head down on crossed arms. Faye’s voice was in the background; she was speaking to her husband Bill, April thought it was Bill on the phone, a soft droning sound broken by intermittent laughter and an occasional call out to one of the children. Seagulls called, and waves hit the sand. The droning of a small plane as it pulled advertising banners meant for beach dwellers filled in any gaps.

  “You’re too far out, Dougie!” or, “Stop pushing, Mario!” April knew she was dozing off, but her body was so relaxed, the sound soothing, so she allowed it. Faye would watch her boys.

  “Your father is a pain in the ass,” Faye said into the phone. Bill called her to give an hourly update about his dad’s activities, what their dogs were doing, how many jobs he signed on for that day. He ran the construction business his father had started, and had never been busier than he was that summer. His father was taking calls and booking estimate appointments for Bill, keeping busy and out of Faye’s hair.

  “Why do you say that? You love the attention, and you know it,” Bill said, laughing.

  Faye stretched her legs out in front of her and moved in the chair; she was proud of her slender body after five kids. If Bill only knew about the attention his father was giving me, he wouldn’t be laughing, she thought.

  “Whatever, Bill. By the way, the church called, and they need some work done on the storage shed.” They were regular attendees of the same church her late father’s family attended. There was something emotional she needed from them, a sense of family and security that she never got from Alice. Why they abandoned Alice after their son died was a mystery, but knowing her mother, she probably deserved it. Faye never took it up with them because she was afraid of losing the ground she’d established as a granddaughter. She was part of the Bradshaw Blueberry Farms. The land her and Bill’s house was built on came from the farm property, a gift from her grandmother. None of Alice’s other kids showed an interest in their father’s family, so what they were doling out came to Faye alone.

  “The others were so young,” Alice argued the first time Faye brought it up. “You were old enough at ten to know your grandparents and aunts and uncles. Lynn was nine, and you know she wasn’t going to pursue it. John was three and April only two when your father died. If they wanted a relationship with Doug’s children, they sure as hell had a strange way of showing it. Why not ask your grandmother someday why she cancelled our health insurance the week after her son died?”

  “Mother, that’s your fight with them, not mine. I’m not picking up your battles,” Faye answered at age sixteen, already disrespectful. She was expecting her grandmother to buy her a car for her birthday, and she got her wish. Faye also got new clothes each fall, spending money, and lavishly wrapped Christmas gifts, while the three younger children were forgotten. Alice often wondered if they thought the other children didn’t belong to Doug. She never asked, hoping they’d continue to acknowledge Faye. Aunt Vicky was a critic, however.

  “You are going to regret allowing that brat to talk to you like she does. And you should’ve stopped Hilda Bradshaw’s interference right after Doug died.” But it was too late.

  Faye and her family went to church each Sunday to keep that connection with her grandmother. Bill would have to do his share. “Great,” he answered sarcastically. “They’ll expect me to fix it free because of the Bradshaws. Why not ask them for the handout? I need the money from every job I do.”

  “I can’t ask for money from church, you know that. Just do it as a tithe. You’re doing it onto God,” Faye said.

  “Now I’m married to a nun,” Bill said.

  “Whatever!” Faye said, laughing. If you only knew. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Pick up a pizza for you and your dad.”

  “Okay, be careful,” Bill said. They said good-bye to each other, and Faye shut her phone off. He’d call her again and again; she wanted to take a nap as soon as April woke up. The sun was hot, and the smell of coconut suntan lotion wafted toward them. Someone had a radio on, and music from the nineties played in the background. Memories of her teen years prompted by the familiar tunes danced through her mind, bringing a smile to her face. In spite of the struggles her family had, both financially and because of Lynn, Faye’s high school years were wonderful. An excellent student, Faye was popular and well-liked. She cheered on the squad for four years, was Homecoming Queen and Quee
n of the Prom. She dragged Bill to her high school reunions, but none of the college gatherings. She was embarrassed that she married a local guy, even though they lived a life to be envied with a big house and the best of everything. Bill simply wasn’t an intellect. He wore T-shirts with Vasiglio Carpentry printed on the back and had a gun rack on the back window of his expensive pickup truck. Your husband’s a good ole boy, her brother, John, told her once. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. There was a vicious but good-spirited competition between Faye and John; they definitely fought hard to stay ahead of each other in the home, car, clothes, vacation arena.

  Last year they spent their family Thanksgiving together. It was Faye’s turn to host; she and John had big houses that could accommodate the entire family and their in-laws and extended families and friends. It made it possible for everyone to be together, to never have to choose who to spend a holiday with. Beth and her mother had just gotten back from a cruise of the Greek Islands. Everyone would have loved to hear all the details of their trip, where they stayed during layovers and the food they ate, the gifts they bought and the friends they made. It was the way the family had always been. You get your turn to brag.

  But Faye wasn’t in the mood. She’d had it with Alice dropping hints about trying to find Lynn, and the guilt she felt about the conditions her mother lived in. During cocktails, her siblings made comments about why Bill’s father moved into her comfortable home when their mother lived in the shack at the edge of a blueberry field. The final blow came as Faye was setting out lavish hors d’oeuvres, huge trays of shrimp and caviar bites, expensive, gourmet offerings she’d had made especially for her family.

  Alice stood to the side of the buffet table, watching the display come together, and innocently spoke of the Christmases of their past. “Who’d ever think our family would be celebrating in this way, in this lovely house, eating such exquisite food. It’s really unbelievable. And I’m so grateful.”

  John held his glass up to her. “Hear, hear, Mother. It really is lovely, Faye,” he said, smiling.

  Everyone raised their glasses to toast Faye, who beamed in pleasure. And then, unaware of the fury he’d unleash, April’s husband, Todd, stupidly spoke the words the rest of the family thought but kept stuffed down inside. “Anybody hear from Lynn?”

  April elbowed him so aggressively he grunted and bent over, spilling his drink.

  “Shut up,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Lynn? Who’s Lynn?” Bill’s dad yelled, laughing, knowing exactly the effect the name would have on his daughter-in-law. The murmuring swept through the room, the focus taken from Faye and the gorgeous spread as the tale of the long-lost Lynn was related to the uninformed.

  Faye paused, and with one movement, flipped a thirty-inch diameter tray of handmade puff pastry into the air, spewing little discs of goat cheese and chive stuffed shells all over the place.

  “Oh, fuck!” Bill yelled. “What the hell did you do that for? Jesus Christ, Faye!”

  The women with courage scrambled to clean up the mess, Alice grabbing the tray closest to her daughter, afraid it, too, was going to take a spin. Faye stomped off, and doors were heard slamming. Little children came scurrying over to see what the fuss was, happy they weren’t the guilty ones. Brave ones picked up the delights to eat, not caring they’d hit the floor.

  “Why’d Aunt Faye throw the snacks?” April’s oldest, Todd Jr., asked.

  She patted his head and rolled her eyeballs at Todd, who kept repeating over and over, “What’d I do? What’d I do?”

  “Shut up, Todd,” Beth said. “Come on, John, round your kids up, and let’s get home before the game starts.” The Eagles were playing at six, and there was no way she was missing one minute of the game, turkey or no turkey. It would summon an exodus of guests, infuriating Faye further, who expected everything to continue in spite of her childish display.

  She’d taken refuge in her bedroom, locking the door. She went to the bathroom and washed her hands, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like hell, white circles around her eyes and flushed cheeks. She put her hand up to her forehead, convinced she had a fever. What else would make her overreact like that? She was old enough to be over Lynn, to not let the mention of her name cause her to ruin a holiday meal she’d been planning for weeks. Going back to the bedroom, she sat at the edge of the bed. She heard a timid knock on the door and, sure it was her mother, called out, “Go away, Mom.”

  “Let me in, Faye, please?” Alice had a wonderful ability to look the other way and, if confronted with evidence, deny its existence. She truly had no idea why Lynn’s name would evoke such strong emotion in her kids. Faye walked to the door and flipped the lock.

  “I really need to be left alone,” Faye said. She sat back down on the edge of the bed. A headache was brewing at the back of her head. If she didn’t deal with it soon, she’d get sick to her stomach, the pain blinding as it crept up to her forehead.

  “What’s going on?” Alice just didn’t get it, or didn’t want to get it. “Why’d you throw the tray like that? What am I missing?”

  Faye looked at her mother, searched her face. The very thing that allowed Alice to tolerate Faye and her children’s bad behavior over the years made it possible for her to overlook the issue of her crazy daughter Lynn. Freely terrorizing the rest of the family with her embarrassing behavior, destroying her chances at having a normal life because no one could convince Alice to get her help, the thought of Lynn could ruin the day.

  “Mother, are you serious?” Faye had to be harsh with Alice; she asked for it, her often simple responses driving those around her into a rage. “You really don’t know what this is about.”

  Alice looked at Faye’s face, trying to read her expression like it was a cup of tea leaves. She was clueless. “I really don’t know,” Alice answered. “Why did Todd asking about Lynn make you so angry?”

  Faye got up from the bed to pace, afraid she would put her hands around her mother’s throat.

  “Mother, you always protected Lynn. The reason she’s living in a cardboard box in Wilmington now is because you let her get away with murder when she was a kid. The rest of us had to toe the damn line, but not Lynn. Precious little Lynn. Do you remember when Aunt Vicky told us she’d heard Lynn had been banned from Favorite’s Party Store? We kids knew she was stealing; I even came to you and tattled. Your response was, ‘Oh no, not my Lynnie! She’d never steal.’ She stole from the Bradshaws, too. Oh yes, she did, don’t look at me like that. Why do you think they didn’t want her around? They put up boundaries for Lynn, and you got angry.”

  “The Bradshaws would be the last people on earth I’d let talk trash about my kids. Screw the Bradshaws! The truth is I hated it that you spent one second with them, still do. But that doesn’t explain why you threw the tray. I still don’t get it,” Alice said.

  Faye shook her head back and forth and laughed. “It’s a hopeless conversation, because you fail to see your part in the way Lynn ended up. If you had gotten her help in the beginning, she might be living a much different life.” Faye could tell by the expression on her mother’s face that she’d never admit any wrongdoing where Lynn was concerned. She stood up and straightened her shirt. “Let’s go back out to see if there’s anything of this meal to salvage.” When she discovered her brother and sister-in-law had gone and others had followed behind them, it would be the last family meal Faye would host for a long time.

  ~ ~ ~

  After he finished his cases for the day, John dialed April’s number first. She answered hello, slurring her words. “Where are you?” he asked, both worried and disgusted. April’s alcoholism was an ongoing problem that continued to be swept under the rug.

  “Faye and I are in Atlantic City with the kids. We spent the day on the beach, and we’re just getting dinner now. What’s up?” she asked.

  “Are you driving?” John asked, the hostility in his voice clear.

  “Not right this minute
, but after we eat I will be. Not that it’s any of your business,” she answered.

  “It is my business, because you’ll be driving my nephews while you’ve been drinking. I think you better stay right there and sober up for a few hours, or I’m calling your husband,” John said.

  April laughed out loud. “Good luck with that!” she said. “He couldn’t give a shit.”

  “Whatever, April. Look, Todd told me Mom’s car was found at the side of the road, right outside of Deptford,” he explained. “Aunt Vicky is headed over to the farm now. Did you talk to Mom today? What time did she leave your house yesterday?” There was silence for a moment.

  “I didn’t talk to her today. What could’ve happened?” she asked, the concern clear in her voice. But concern for who? John wondered.

  “You tell me,” he replied. “It looks like her engine finally died. Was she having any car trouble that you know of?”

  “No, but I didn’t stand there while she started it up. She drove off, and that was it.” April didn’t go into details about her final moments with Alice, about Alice being angry with her for her comments. “I need to get something to eat, and then I can get on the road and get home. I’ll tell Faye; she can drive over.” They said good-bye to each other.

  John was angry at his sisters; they were self-centered and immature, but he was angrier at himself, that old guilt seeping in. He knew once he told Beth she’d be full of theories and recriminations, all directed at the Bradshaw children and their innate ability to look the other way. It must be inherited.