Goldenrod

by Ann McMan

  “Gee, Tom. What thinking woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to hitch her wagon to that?” Syd shook her head. “And you wonder why she’s being distant?”

  “Hey. That’s not fair. I never promised her anything permanent.”

  “Then why are you having so much trouble with her returning the favor?”

  “So you think she’s shutting me out because she knows I might be leaving soon?”

  “No. I think she’s shutting you out—if, indeed, she is shutting you out—because you’re a spineless asshole.”

  He blinked at her.

  “Your words, not mine.”

  “I never said I was ‘spineless.’ You added that part.”

  Syd smiled at him. “I did, didn’t I? See what happens when you pay attention? You ought to try it, Tom.”

  He ran a hand through his hair again. “How about we reboot this conversation? What you’re saying is that you won’t talk to her for me?”

  “Bingo. See? Sometimes half an alphabet is all it takes to get the job done.”

  “Fine.” He stood up. “I’ll ask Maddie.”

  “Whoa.” Syd held up a hand. “Hold your horses, Hoss. That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? They’re close. They work together. She sees more of Lizzy than I do.”

  “Yeah. Therein lies the problem. They work together. Maddie is Lizzy’s boss, Tom.”

  “You’re saying she won’t intervene in something personal?”

  “Let me put it this way. Have you ever seen one of those land speed tests they do at the Bonneville Salt Flats?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s nothing compared to how fast she’ll lay a patch to get away from a conversation like this.”

  “Even when it relates to someone she cares about?”

  “Especially then.”

  “Then I don’t know what the hell else to do.” He turned away from her and walked toward the door. “She won’t talk to me about it—whatever ‘it’ is.”

  The way his shoulders slumped made him look so genuinely miserable that Syd took pity on him. Today if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts. She sighed. Why did those damn aphorisms continue to roll and clatter around inside her head like loose marbles? It made no sense. They were raised Catholic. They didn’t even read the Bible.

  She blamed library school. She hadn’t been born a human Rolodex; it was an acquired characteristic. One she wished she could jettison. Especially right now.

  A high-pitched sequence of beeps sounded.

  The philosophers were all wrong. Authentic being did exist—and it was dispensed to wayfaring pilgrims in ten-ounce cups.

  The library’s ancient coffeemaker had been leaking for months. Even Maddie couldn’t fix it. Syd had finally given up and stashed it in a closet until she could take it to the dump. She’d been resigned to hauling a thermos around until she had time to buy a new unit at the Walmart in Wytheville. But one day after Buddy had been there cleaning the library, the thing reappeared. Its cracked reservoir was wrapped with shiny metal tape. Now it hummed and brewed and dispensed liquid wisdom like a minor prophet.

  It appeared that sometimes broken things could be mended—not just set aside or replaced.

  Her brother was nearly to the door.

  “Tom?”

  He stopped and turned around. Syd thought his eyes looked wet.

  She knew she’d live to regret it, but she stepped into the void anyway.

  “Go and get us each a cup of coffee, and we’ll figure something out.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Buddy was reading Henry’s copy of The Incredible Journey. Backwards.

  Henry didn’t mind. It was different from listening to Dorothy read. She was always very careful and took time to make sure he understood each word. But Buddy never slowed down—not even at the ends of sentences. His words all ran together and sounded the same, too. It was a lot like listening to water drip from the kitchen faucet.

  He’d do that at night when he couldn’t sleep.

  Listening to Buddy read didn’t ruin the story for him at all. It was more like having two books inside the same cover. Besides, he liked that Buddy’s story started from a happy place. It was hard when you had to wait for things to get better.

  He knew a lot about that part.

  His daddy was working late tonight. Buddy would stay with him until he got home. Sometimes that was before bedtime, but mostly not. Henry would lie down on the couch when he got sleepy, but Buddy would stay awake. He’d sit in the big blue chair beside Henry and watch TV with the sound off. He’d stare at the screen and change channels until it was time for the weather—which happened a lot.

  “Weather on the eights,” he’d say.

  Then he’d click the remote again until the next eight rolled around.

  Daddy would leave food for Henry to eat, but it was always cold stuff. He wasn’t allowed to use the stove. But tonight Buddy brought hot food from town. Chicken and mashed potatoes. Green beans. Two brownies. They were all tied up in a bag with a note from Syd. “Dinner for two handsome men.”

  It was Tuesday. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Buddy cleaned the library.

  Syd knew that Henry’s daddy was going on a trip tomorrow. That meant he’d be staying at the farm for a while. He’d sleep in the big front bedroom with all of Maddie’s airplane pictures—and Pete would lie across his feet.

  He missed Pete. And Before. He got to see them every week on taco night. The black and white tuxedo cat was coming in the house now. Henry wanted her to sleep on his bed, too. But she wouldn’t.

  Rosebud always slept on Maddie’s desk in the downstairs office. At first, Maddie chased her. But then she put an old fuzzy blanket in a box and left it on the floor in there.

  It didn’t work.

  Daddy was going to California to get Gramma C.’s piano. He didn’t understand why Gramma C. wanted another piano when she already had one at Maddie’s house. But Dorothy said Gramma C. was a lady, and that all ladies had pianos.

  Buddy was still reading. It looked like he had only about half the pages left to go. He was in the middle of a row of words when he stopped and clicked the remote to turn the TV volume on.

  Henry didn’t worry about Buddy stopping. He always remembered his place.

  Another eight had come around. It was time for the weather. Henry wondered how Buddy always knew what time it was. He didn’t wear a watch and they didn’t have a clock out here. But he was always right. Buddy was always right about everything.

  They watched the screen as big blobs of green and yellow jerked their way across the map. Sometimes, a bright wedge of red mixed in, too. The colors inched closer to them every eight minutes.

  “Too soon, Bluebird,” Buddy said. “Low pressure. Too much warm air.”

  “What does low pressure mean?” Henry asked him.

  Buddy clicked the volume off and picked up the book.

  “Low pressure. Too much warm air. Unstable.”

  The stream of words started again.

  Henry could hear rumbling that sounded like the noise the dumpsters at school made when the big county trucks emptied them and dropped them back to the pavement.

  Something started tapping on the windows that overlooked the road.

  Buddy kept reading:

  him brought had that river the towards night the in wraith a like stealing go him watched she tears of blur a through . . .

  The tapping noise got louder, but Buddy’s voice stayed the same. Henry had to strain to hear him over the tapping and rumbling:

  shadows the among lost was form running swiftly low the soon . . .

  The lights in the apartment flickered. Off. On. Off. On. Before the next weather eight could come around, they went off and stayed off.

  Buddy kept reading.

  Bright flashes turned the windows white and filled the room with big, dark shadows. Everything looked different—like it had all been painted blue.

  “Too soon,” Buddy
said. “Unstable.”

  More thunder rolled. The white flashes came faster.

  “Do we need to go in the closet?” Henry asked.

  Buddy’s shape was part of the blue of the chair now, but Henry could tell he was shaking his head.

  “Will you stay with me until Daddy comes home?”

  Buddy held the book up higher and kept reading.

  Henry listened to the unbroken stream of words that floated above the sound of the rain and thunder. He grew sleepy imagining what meaning they had. A story was a story, no matter where it started—and sometimes, waiting for the beginning to happen was better than knowing the end.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  For the second time that week, Maddie managed to make it home in time for dinner. After the meal, they carried their glasses of wine out to the porch and watched the sun set over the pond.

  Pete was busy working the perimeter. His slow-moving figure cast a long shadow along the edge of the water before disappearing into a thicket of fuzzy, white-topped cattails. The tall stalks swayed on the night air. Their fat winter seed pods had already been mostly dispersed by warm winds that continued to push through from the south. Syd couldn’t recall the last time spring had come and gone so soon.

  Rosebud had followed them to the porch. The cat jumped up onto Maddie’s lap and got summarily removed so many times that Syd started counting the exchanges. It was like watching a carefully choreographed pas de deux—with six feet instead of four.

  Maddie returned the cat to the porch floor for the fifth time.

  “She’s not going to give up, you know.” Syd pointed out the obvious. “Why don’t you just let her stay?”

  “And ruin my slacks?”

  “I don’t think she’ll ruin your slacks.”

  “Have you seen her talons? They’re like mini can openers.”

  “Maddie . . .”

  Rosebud jumped up again. Maddie put her back down.

  “Honey,” Syd tried another approach. “Even if she does snag your pants, it’s not like you don’t have nine other pairs exactly like these.”

  “That’s beside the point.” Maddie shook her head. “I refuse to condone aberrant behavior.”

  “She’s a cat.”

  “So?”

  “Cats don’t have aberrant behavior.”

  “This one does.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was brewing. It was still miles away, but apparently the threat was portentous enough to distract Rosebud from her errand. She bolted from the porch like her tail was on fire and made a beeline for the barn.

  Maddie watched her go. “That cat is a spaz.”

  “This weather is unnerving. It’s too warm, too soon.”

  “I know.” Maddie re-crossed her long legs. “Everyone in town is on edge about it. It’s too reminiscent of the pattern that led to the tornadoes.”

  “How can people continue to insist there’s no climate change?”

  “They’re idiots.”

  Syd looked at her in surprise.

  “Well?” Maddie shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

  “No. But that doesn’t sound like something you’d say.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “You’re working too much.”

  Maddie sighed. “I won’t argue with that.”

  Syd didn’t want to waste the opening. “So? Why not change it?”

  “I can’t. Not right now.”

  “Maybe you could pay Lizzy for some overtime? Have her help take up some of the slack?”

  Maddie took a moment to respond.

  “She’s . . . not able to take on extra hours right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “She just can’t. She has other priorities.”

  “Other priorities?” Syd was confused. “What other priorities?”

  “Look,” Maddie drained her glass. “I’m not at liberty to discuss this, okay?” She stood up. “Want some more wine?”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Syd held out an arm to block her passage to the door. “Put your tastefully clad butt back in the chair. We aren’t through with this conversation.”

  Maddie sat back down.

  “Look, Syd. There isn’t anything else to discuss. Not about this.”

  “I don’t see why not. Lizzy isn’t your patient.”

  Maddie didn’t reply.

  Syd smelled a rat. “Are you saying that Lizzy is your patient?”

  “I haven’t said any such thing.”

  “Then why are you being so cagey?”

  “Honey . . .”

  “Something is going on. Tom came to see me today. He’s all het up about his relationship with Lizzy. He says she’s become distant and withdrawn.”

  Maddie shrugged.

  “He asked me to talk with her and find out what the problem is.”

  Maddie looked alarmed. “Syd . . .”

  “I told him no.”

  Maddie’s features relaxed.

  “Before I agreed to do it.”

  Maddie closed her eyes.

  “He’s my brother,” Syd protested. “What was I supposed to do? He’s miserable.”

  “Stay. Out. Of. It.”

  “So there is an it.” Syd narrowed her eyes. “I knew it.”

  “Oh, good god.” Maddie raised a hand to her forehead.

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “So you admit you do know what the problem is?”

  “I admit nothing of the kind.”

  “Then why won’t you talk about it?”

  “Because it’s none of my business. Or yours, I might add.”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “Yes,” Maddie nodded. “And your brother should be the one to talk with Lizzy.”

  “He has talked with Lizzy. She won’t tell him anything.”

  “I reiterate. Stay out of it.”

  “Come on. Those two have been inseparable ever since they met. And I know it’s not her job—you said she was going to renew her contract to stay on another year.”

  Maddie drummed her fingers against her empty wineglass.

  “What else could it be?” Syd asked. “Is she sick? Is that it? Is that why you can’t talk about it?”

  “Syd . . .”

  “Well? Is she?”

  “No.” Maddie waved a hand in frustration. “She’s not sick.”

  “Well, if she’s not sick, then she must be . . .” Syd’s eyes grew wide.

  “Don’t.” Maddie leaned toward her. “Don’t say it. Don’t ask me. Please. Just. Don’t.”

  Syd dropped back against her chair.

  It started to rain. A soft pattering on the metal roof became louder. More insistent. Something bounced off an eaves spout and landed by her feet.

  Hail?

  More thunder rolled around them, but this time it was preceded by bright flashes of light. She could see Pete loping across the lawn toward the shelter of the porch.

  Maddie said something but Syd couldn’t make it out. Her voice sounded like it was coming from miles away.

  “What?” Syd asked her. “What did you say?”

  “I said we should go inside.” Maddie was back on her feet again. “It’s probably not safe to be out here right now.”

  The flashes of light were coming faster now. The thunder was having a hard time keeping up.

  Her mind raced along with the storm.

  Was Maddie right? Were they in an unsafe place?

  The yard was filling up with tiny pellets of ice.

  “Syd?” Maddie touched her on the shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “In a minute.” Syd gazed up at her. “I just need another minute.”

  “Okay.” Maddie seemed to hesitate. Syd thought she might say something else, but she didn’t.

  After a moment, Maddie withdrew her hand and retreated into the house.

  Chapter 4

  Buddy was raking out the cramped crawl space beneath the porch that ran along the west side of
the house. All manner of winds and weather systems were pretty much constant from this direction and that meant dried leaves from all four corners of the county managed to make their way here and pile up beneath the sagging floorboards. The big rains that had rolled through the county several nights in a row had made the surrounding area safe enough for Dorothy’s father to decree that today would be a good time to burn the big piles of debris that ringed the property like burial mounds.

  An old, rusted burn can stood in a clearing just out of sight, beside a path that led down to the river. Buddy had been working there most of the morning, shifting tall piles of compacted sticks and leaves closer to the can so her father could soak them with oil and set them ablaze.

  He didn’t trust Buddy with matches.

  It was easy to forget Buddy was there. He worked quietly and never said much. Still, having him nearby always gave Dorothy a feeling of calm. Especially on days like today, when her father was at home.

  It was Saturday, and they were doing chores around the house. That meant her father would stride around like a bantam rooster and bark orders at them. He wouldn’t bother to change out of his house shoes and he seldom left the porch. But he always had strong opinions about the work that needed to be done, and he gave them a running commentary about how badly they were doing it. Sometimes he’d threaten to come do it himself. But that rarely happened. And it never happened on days like today, when he started the morning with a drink in his hand.

  Dorothy did her best to stay out of his way. She set to work behind the house, determined to move several partly decomposed piles of leaves that had sat neglected for many seasons because they were out of sight. The leaves were dense and heavy. Any grass that once thrived on the ground beneath the piles had long since given way to thick, black dirt that she knew was rich enough to use in what remained of her mama’s vegetable garden.

  She scooped up the matted debris with a pitted shovel and piled it into an ancient wheelbarrow before pushing it down the hill to the burn can. It was hard work, but the air today was warm and fresh. The sun was already inching above the treetops. Good weather like this meant her father would soon lose interest in chores. Before long, he’d be dressed and on his way into town. With luck, she wouldn’t see him again until after supper.