The Lyre and the Lambs

by Sydney Avey

  “When a man pours his passion into the church, other passions don’t get served. I have disciplined myself over years to practice professional ethics when I wear this collar.”

  “And you wear your collar all the time.”

  “I do.” I hear the brogue of his stubborn ancestors.

  “Times are changing, Father Mike. Maybe it’s time you remove your collar in Laura’s presence.”

  “Dee. What would that look like? Me, walking off with the beautiful, grieving widow?”

  “To me, it would look like love.”

  R

  We resolved nothing in our conversation in the olive grove. I urged Mike to confess his love to Laura before he goes. I chose that word carefully. Confession cleanses the soul of sin. To hide love is a sin. Leora died hiding the love she once had for my father, and the love and longing she felt for the baby she gave up. In life, I knew my mother as a disdainful woman with a short temper and a sharp-edged wit. In death, Father Mike helped me understand the fierce intelligence that drove her westward, the thirst for independence that fueled her successful career, and the price she paid for burying love. How blind people can be!

  What will I say to Laura the next time I see her? I’m picking up in our room when Roger pokes his head around the door post.

  “We’re all out on the patio. Andy is barbecuing hamburgers. Valerie asked me to come and get you.”

  “Sounds like a party.”

  I’m happy for the distraction. As we cross through the atrium, a shadow blocks the light that filters through the glass panel in the front door. Someone is standing there.

  “A delivery at this hour?” Roger starts to turn toward the door, but I put a cautioning hand on his arm.

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s probably Scott trying to decide whether to ring the doorbell or just go around to the patio. I really don’t want him here tonight. You go on out. I’ll go get rid of him.” Roger shrugs and heads for the patio. I move quickly to the front door and open it just in time to see Scott turn away. He turns back and gives me that practiced smile, but his eyes have an odd glitter.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Russell. I didn’t mean to bother you. I don’t need to come through the house. I’ll just go around to the back.”

  This boy is like a cockroach exposed to light. He’s scuttling for a corner to get away from me. I swipe a hand across my forehead, trying to clear away my bad thoughts about Scott. He is such a pest!

  “Scott, come here.” He turns toward me, balancing on one foot, the other foot poised to take a backward step. “Stop.” I say. “Just, stop.”

  I want to say stop coming around, stop bothering the boys, stop making Sophie feel uncomfortable. I look into his wary eyes and see the child who has been told to go away too many times. Years of being shunned have immunized him so that he seems not to know or care how people feel about him. He only cares about what he wants.

  I soften my tone. “Scott, we are having a family night tonight.”

  I’m hoping I don’t have to say any more.

  Scott stands in front of me. His eyes grow mean and cold, and then the smile comes on, like a delayed broadcast. “Sure, Mrs. Russell. Would you tell Sophie I’ll be by later? I have something I want to give her.” I raise an eyebrow. “It’s a book I borrowed from her.”

  “I can give it to her, Scott.” I look at his empty hands.

  “I left it in the car.”

  I look up the driveway and see his old blue VW bus parked on the street. “I thought you lost your license, Scott.”

  “Got it back.”

  Roger is standing behind me in the doorway now. Scott reaches around me to shake Roger’s hand. “Hello Mr. Russell. Mrs. Russell tells me you are having a family party. What’s the occasion?”

  Roger places his hands on my shoulders. “No occasion, Scott.”

  “Okay, well, I don’t want to crash your party. Tell Sophie I’ll be by with her book later, will you, Mrs. Russell?” Scott turns and does a purposeful little jog up the driveway.

  Roger pulls me back inside and closes the door, shaking his head. Taking my hand, we walk through the house out to the patio.

  The kids are running in and out, pulling condiments out of the refrigerator and setting the picnic table. Nothing smells as good as a burger grilled outside. Puffy thinks so too. Her joints may be arthritic but her nose works just fine. Underneath the table, she twines around our legs and bats at our knees, hoping for a tidbit. How nice it is to sit down as a family and hear the noises of satisfaction; chewing, slurping, Danny’s big burp that sends Sophie into paroxysmal hooting. Across the table, Valerie looks serene.

  Valerie pushes herself back from the table and stands up. Andy follows her lead, rising to his feet. They stand there, leaning into each other. Behind them, the birches that root by the creek dip their branches in the water and the leaves catch the first color of the setting sun. What a lovely picture these two make. I remove my napkin from my lap, preparing to help clear the dishes, but Valerie raises her hands in a signal that we are to stay in our seats. The patio door opens and Sophie comes through holding a sheet cake, one sparkler spitting stars into the sky.

  “Tonight is a celebration.” Valerie takes a dramatic pause while Sophie sets the cake down on the table. Andy reaches over to pluck the burned out sparkler from the cream-colored frosting with pink and blue piping. Valerie’s eyes sparkle like the fireworks. “Andy and I are going to have a baby.”

  Missing

  Missing

  Summer 1964

  We amuse ourselves with discussions of where to fit an eighth little person into a house that is still trying to digest seven.

  “If it’s a boy, he can bunk with us,” Danny says.

  “But when he cries, he’s going in the garage,” David says.

  Sophie is quiet.

  Valerie assures us that no decisions need to be made right away. “We’ll keep the baby in a bassinet in our room for at least six months.”

  “That long?” Andy frowns.

  Sophie sits on an arm of the living room sofa, next to David. They’ve just gotten back from an afternoon at the beach. Just as Roger predicted, the kids have been gone more now that they have a car.

  Roger bought a used Pontiac Tempest that is stuffed with athletic gear, books and magazines, jackets and towels. Sophie has been struggling to learn to drive a car with a stick shift. I haven’t encouraged her, either. I’m just as happy that she prefers to take the train to the city when she can’t catch a ride with her friends.

  Sophie has changed into a red and white polka-dot crop top over red shorts that showcase her long legs. Her hair, caught back in a white eyelet triangle scarf, gives her the look of a Seventeen Magazine cover girl. She has started babysitting in the neighborhood to pick up extra money to pay for classes and clothes. Her parents have given her an ultimatum. They will not send her an allowance past the end of the summer.

  “Valerie, I have an idea,” Sophie cradles one knee in her hand, dangling her other leg over the sofa arm and wiggling her foot back and forth. “I’m planning to move to San Francisco but I have to save up some money before I can move out.”

  “San Francisco is a pretty expensive place to live,” I say.

  “Nobody is asking you to move out, Sophie,” Valerie says.

  “I know, but listen. Let’s turn my room into a nursery for the baby, and when you get ready to move it into its own room, I can help you take care of it. I can be a mommy’s helper, or a baby nanny, or whatever you need. We can move my bed over by the wall and...”

  “Well that certainly is a possibility. Let’s go take a look.” Valerie pushes herself up out of her chair and the two head down the hall. I can imagine that Valerie has been itching to get back into that room and prepare it for the baby. This plan would also put the brakes on Sophie’s intention to go live in San Francisco and join some modern dance movement before she’s established solid connections. I like it.

  R

  T
he next day, I drop Sophie off at the train station on the way to see Laura. The train she intends to take has not arrived yet, but Sophie thinks it will be by shortly. I watch her walk to a covered bench near the tracks, lugging her heavy dance bag. Bright, hot sun beats down on the commuter cars parked along the tracks.

  “You sure you don’t want me to take you to Mountain View? I think the train has more runs from that depot. If you miss the morning train, you’ll have to walk back home and you’ll miss your class.”

  “No, I’m sure it’s just late. It’s often late. You go on. Say ‘hi’ to Laura for me.”

  With some misgiving, I wave goodbye and drive off through the neighborhoods across town to Laura’s house. As my car comes around the corner, Laura opens the screen door to let Goldie out. Goldie bounds to the edge of the grass and then sits down, thumping her tail wildly.

  “I taught her a new trick,” Laura grins, walking across the lawn to stand next to Goldie. “I don’t want her to run out in the street. It’s busier than I thought it would be.” She gives the okay to Goldie and I get my proper greeting. “It’s hot today. I’ve made some iced tea. Let’s go inside.”

  Ranch style houses and Craftsman bungalows dot the street, most in various stages of remodeling. Laura’s house is due for a remodel but it’s been nicely kept up.

  I’ve tried to get over to see Laura once a week, but since Valerie’s announcement, I’ve been busy helping her assemble the baby’s wardrobe. Valerie has a light teaching schedule this summer. She’s planning to resume teaching in the fall and then take the winter off after she has her baby.

  Laura splashes tea into tall glasses. “Gosh, Dee, it feels like a month since I’ve seen you.” We talk about Valerie’s pregnancy and Laura’s volunteer work at the high school.

  “Have you made friends in your new neighborhood?”

  “Not really. I still play cards with my old bridge group.” She pours a second pack of sugar in her glass and swirls a spoon around in her tea. “The people on the street are all young families with kids or older couples, except for the guy next door whose wife died last year.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s eighty.”

  “Oh. Do you ever hear from Father Mike?”

  “All the time. He writes me long letters describing Berkeley, and the school he’s at, and the courses he’s taking.” Laura’s voice is sad. “I really miss him, Dee. I don’t know what to do about that.”

  “Has he suggested that you visit him?”

  “No.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “What? Just show up on his doorstep unannounced? Don’t you think that would be,” Laura searches for the right word, “forward?”

  “Yes. Do it anyway. What have you got to lose?”

  “Not my virginity.” Laura claps her hand over her mouth, and we laugh until we cry and I have to go the bathroom.

  R

  I unlock the front door and walk into the atrium to water the plants. Opening all the doors does little to dispel the heat today. The leaves on the trees hovering over the creek are still. Adapting to the seasons in a glass house with single pane windows is like settling into a new marriage. You begin to notice that the charms that attracted you on a good day can annoy you when things start to heat up.

  Roger’s easy, calm nature is beginning to look like passivity to me. He will not take seriously that Scott is dangerous. Why is Scott suddenly on my mind? This is a rare afternoon that I’m alone in the house. Everyone is off in different directions. In this heat, wouldn’t it be sensible to just sit down in a cool corner of the house with a magazine? Instead, I’m working up a sweat flitting from chore to chore, trying to distract myself from some unnamed dread blooming in my gut. While I’m washing dust off the leaves on the rubber plant, my head starts to buzz because I’m holding my breath.

  I take a couple of deep breaths to clear my head, finish my grocery list, and start for the car. My Rambler, parked in the driveway, is sitting at an odd angle. My right front tire is flat. I walk around the car where the left rear tire seems to be losing air as well. Now I see why. Construction nails are scattered in the driveway. I must have driven through them and punctured at least two tires, maybe more.

  I try to think of a reasonable explanation. Could Roger or one of the boys have spilled these? Not likely. They aren’t building anything big right now. Besides, they know better than leave a mess like this. Could the neighbors be starting up again? Things have been quiet since the meetings stopped. Could Scott have done this? I suppose he could be expressing his anger at us over trying to keep him away from Sophie, but that doesn’t make any sense either. Scott is antagonistic, but he’s not childish. There is no reason for this I can think of. Now I’m stuck in the house.

  Valerie and Andy have gone shopping in the city for a crib. Roger is playing golf and won’t be home for hours. Danny dropped David off at Stanford this morning on his way to work. I have to take care of this myself.

  By the time a tow truck arrives to deliver the car to Gordon’s garage up at Loyola Corners, my family starts trooping in.

  “Dee, why didn’t you wait for me to come home?” Roger was over par; now he’s out of sorts. “It wasn’t necessary to have the car towed. I could have changed the tires myself.”

  “I didn’t want to wait.”

  “You have somewhere to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? My car is in the garage and I can’t go anywhere. Gordon says he’ll have it ready tomorrow. The back tire needed to be replaced anyway.”

  Roger looks at me like I’m some airhead teenager and shakes his head. “Then you should have had both back tires replaced, Dee. Gordon should have told you that. You should have waited for me.”

  I turn on my heel and go to my room, slamming the door behind me. Of course, it’s not my room, it’s our room. My only personal space in this house is my closet-sized studio. To cross through all that open space now would mean I’d have to play my anger and frustration out in front of everyone.

  I’m so mad I want to start yanking drawers out of Roger’s armoire and throwing his clothes all over the room. Instead, I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Then I go back in the room, turn on the ceiling fan, spread out on top of the bed under the cooling air, and fall asleep.

  It’s dark out when Roger opens the door an inch.

  “Can I come in?” he whispers through the crack.

  “Yes.”

  Roger comes through the door carrying a tray of fruit salad and cold chicken. I put a hand to my throbbing temple. “I’m sorry I got so mad.”

  “That’s okay, I understand.”

  “What do you understand?”

  “That you handled stuff like this quite well for years before we got married. It’s your car and you have the right to get it repaired any way you choose.” He sits down on the bed next to me and rubs my shoulders while I eat. A burst of fresh pineapple on my tongue banishes the pain in my head. Roger hugs my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Why don’t you come out now and have dessert with us.”

  “Is everyone home?”

  “Yes.”

  Roger takes my tray and I sit at my vanity to redo my make up before showing my face in the family room. When I appear in the doorway, they look up with sympathetic smiles. I look at them and count my blessings. Then, the dread that has haunted me all day returns.

  “Where is Sophie?”

  Poor Excuses

  Poor Excuses

  In all my fretting over the car, I forgot I was supposed to pick up Sophie when she came in on the evening train. Still, it’s at most a twenty minute walk. The train gets in at six o’clock. It’s almost nine o’clock now, and it’s dark.

  David jumps up. “I’ll drive down to the train station and see if she’s there.”

  But we all know she won’t be. She wouldn’t sit and wait for three hours when she could be home in twenty minutes. He goes anyway.

  “She’s been late befo
re.” Danny says. “Remember last week she stayed late and caught a ride home with someone she takes class with?”

  “Danny’s right,” Valerie nods. “She’s missed the train before and caught the late one into Mountain View.”

  “But she’s always called,” I frown.

  “Maybe she had a babysitting job tonight and forgot to tell you,” Roger says. “She probably walked from the train station to one of the houses where she babysits.”

  “Maybe.” I want to believe this. “I’ll call and see.”

  I make several phone calls, but no one has seen Sophie.

  David has returned home shaking his head. “I drove around the neighborhood to see if she was hanging out somewhere. I went the ice cream shop, but everything is closed up.”

  “Should we call the police?” I look at Andy.

  “Not yet, give her time. She’s eighteen. She’s lived in New York City. She knows how to take care of herself. The police won’t do anything until she’s been gone over twenty-four hours anyway.”

  “Mom, I bet she’ll be home soon with some perfectly reasonable explanation.” Valerie places a protective hand on her belly where my grandchild sleeps peacefully. I can tell she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

  I go to the kitchen and make some coffee. It’s going to be a long night. I look at my family’s worried faces. “When was the last time any of you saw Scott?”

  Danny thinks for a minute. “He hasn’t been in the garage for a while. He came by a lot when Father Mike was holding his meetings here, but he lost that excuse when school let out and Father Mike moved to Berkeley.”

  “I think it was when he started driving again that he stopped coming around so often,” David says.

  “Did he get his license back?” I want some evidence that Scott is a law-abiding citizen.