Luckily, the porch light was on. As Theo squatted, examining the scooter, and I settled on the top step of the porch, Bob emerged from the side yard, her hair festooned with twigs, her face smudged. When she saw us, she jumped up and down twice and raced up the steps. “Hi!”
She grinned through her freckles at Theo and stuck out a grimy hand. “I’m Bob Bowers. Nice to meet you. Oh, sorry I’m dirty—I was digging a grave for the moth Gran killed with the flyswatter before it gets too dark out. It was really big. I hated for her to kill it, but Gran said it was as big as a bird, and it scared the hell out of her. Well, she didn’t say ‘hell,’ but it’s the truth. I don’t have a good shovel, so I was just using my hands.”
She stopped to take a breath. Theo put down the screwdriver he was using to bang ineffectually at the bent axle, and took Bob’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bob. I don’t think I’m going to be able to fix your scooter. I’m not really much of a handyman.”
Bob sat down cross-legged beside the scooter and frowned. “I figured that it is a dead dog. Gran said the same thing. But soon, she is going to take it over to the hardware store and ask Mr. Tillis if he can do something about it. She says those men at the hardware store are all retired janitors and mechanics and stuff, and between Mr. Tillis, Mr. Swift, and Mr. Franklin, somebody will be able to fix it. And they have all the right tools,” (Bob scowled at the screwdriver) “so I’m not worried. Thanks, though, Mister. “
“Oh, sorry, Bob. This is Theo Blackburn.”
Bob somehow managed to bounce while remaining seated. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Blackburn. Are you going to marry Beck?”
Theo reared back, his head smacking against the porch railing with a thud. I flinched. Bob gasped and flew up to squat directly over Theo’s head, leaning over to study it. “Did you get a goose egg? I have always wanted one of those! Should I get you some ice?”
Before Theo could reply, Bob zoomed into the house, calling, “Gran! Gran! Beck’s boyfriend smacked his head! We need ice!”
“At least that got her off the subject of matrimony. My God.” I helped Theo to his feet.
We set the scooter against the far wall of the porch, as Bob returned, holding a paper towel filled with too many ice cubes, some of them spilling out and breaking on the concrete. Bob held out the towel, losing more ice in the process.
Theo took the towel, wadded it around the ice, and put it against the back of his head. “I don’t really need this, but it was very nice of you to get it for me. I think Beck and I should mosey on back to her house. Bob, it was very nice to meet you, and I hope you get your scooter fixed.”
As we walked across the street, I looked back and saw Bob picking up shards of ice and putting them into her mouth with gusto.
When we got into my apartment, Theo deposited the paper towel and ice into my sink. “I better get going. Cute little kid. But kind of nutty. No wonder, with all of that family drama going on.”
“You’re wrong. She’s brilliant.”
Theo looked puzzled. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan of kids.”
I took the wet paper towel and put it on top of my head. Just like Mr. Havens when he mowed the lawn. Just like Bob. “I have no real experience with children. They scare me with all that energy and innocence. But Bob isn’t really a kid. She’s just an adult trapped in a child’s body. Kind of like I was at her age, actually.”
Theo shrugged. “I want to change the subject.” He stepped closer. His lips were really quite soft. Plump. “You know what? I read one of your books. Rhett and Reba. Downloaded it onto my Kindle. You are a fantastic writer.” He gently took the wet paper towel off my head and leaned in for a kiss. A fine one, at that. I might have misjudged Theo in the sexuality department.
What followed wasn’t quite as steamy as the chapters I write, but nothing is in actual life. Theo had gifts that I would never have imagined. He had gifts that he demonstrated three times, actually.
By the time we reassembled ourselves and dragged out of the bedroom, it was completely dark, and I had to push Theo towards the door. “I have writing to do, and you have been a true inspiration. Let me get to work while I am still, (cough cough) hot.”
He grinned, again with those soft lips. “My pleasure entirely. But you know how they say writers write from real life? Can you just make sure that none of your readers recognize me? I have my clients to consider.”
“Don’t worry. You will be totally obscured. But I thank you for this afternoon. Whew! Oh, and seriously, for Sunday.” I shoved him out the door and blew him a kiss.
After he left, I realized that I had never in my entire life blown a kiss, so I sat down on the sofa and questioned my sanity.
CHAPTER TEN
“Why don’t you wear nail polish? Dark pink would go good with that dress.”
I had broken down and gotten a sky-blue-and-white striped dress at Old Navy for the Mother’s Day “festivities.” Bob had showed up just as I was starting to get ready. She supervised the entire process, charging back and forth, surveying me from all sides, commenting on every move. She rummaged through my jewelry box, selecting a pair of filigreed hoops, whooping with approval when I put them on. We studied my sandal assortment, and Bob held up every single pair against my dress, finally selecting the tan gladiator sandals with bronze studs. “They match your earrings, almost.” Appropriately attired, according to my small wardrobe consultant, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, putting on my “makeup,” which for me is some blusher and lip gloss. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, per Bob—“It looks more sophisticated.” I had managed to find a blue hair tie to put it back with, so I matched, sort of.
“Bob, I am not a girly-girl. Nail polish always smears when I try to wear it.”
Worn out from all of the supervision, Bob had come to rest on the edge of my bed. She studied her own bitten-down nails critically. “At least you don’t chew them. Gran says if I keep on biting my nails, I won’t get a boyfriend. But I don’t want a boyfriend. Are you going with Theo someplace?”
“Yes.”
“Is it fun having a boyfriend?” Bob continued to study the stubs of her nails.
I was as good as I was going to get, makeup-wise. I turned from the mirror and sat down on the bed beside her. “Fun? I’m not sure you’d call it fun, exactly. But it is nice to have someone to go out with. Especially today.” I squeezed my eyes shut and envisioned D holding court and both Bryan and Theo panting after her.
“What’s the matter? Are you going someplace awful today?”
I opened my eyes. Bob grabbed my forearm. “Are you going to a horror movie? Gran won’t let me go to those—she says I’ll get nightmares. Or are you going to a movie about war? I can’t go to those, either—because of my dad.” Bob looked down at the floor, keeping her back very straight. She squeezed my arm tighter. “The war movies; they stink.”
I wanted to hug her, but that ramrod little back told me otherwise. So I put my hand over her small one on my arm and squeezed back. “No, I am not going to the movies. I am going to my mother’s house. But I don’t want to go. Theo is going with me for moral support. Do you want to hear the story?”
Bob lifted her head and looked at me with such clarity, her dark eyes filled with concern. “Oh, yes. I want to hear about your mother.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get comfortable.” I punched my pillows and smoothed the wrinkles out of the quilt. “Here. Lean on these.” We lay on the bed, our legs outstretched, thighs touching companionably. Simpson padded in, leapt onto the bed, and curled up against Bob, his paws kneading the air. Bob stroked his stripes.
“This is not really about my mother. My mother is part of it. But it’s mostly about my sister. And my ex-boyfriend.”
Bob lurched, sending Simpy hurtling sideways off the bed. “Is this going to be like the movies on Lifetime? Gran makes me watch those with her. I hate
them. They aren’t true at all. Happy endings are stupid.”
“Bob, this is a long story. And we don’t have all morning. So I will just give you the important details.” I wondered at this point if I was doing the right thing, sharing all this ill will about my sister with Bob, but it would take her mind off war movies, and her father out there in peril. But the happy endings? Bob’s jaded eyes made me shiver. I plunged ahead, anyway.
“My sister Diana is a selfish person. She is kind of like those bad princesses in fairy tales. She is very beautiful, and she only thinks of herself.”
Bob nodded.
“Diana and I have never gotten along very well. As we got older, it got worse. In high school, she had all the boyfriends, and if a boy seemed interested in me, she made sure that she flirted with him, so that he would fall for her instead of me.”
“She sounds mean.” Bob scowled, drawing up her lips against her teeth.
“She is, kind of. No. She just IS!”
I hesitated, not knowing where to go next with the saga. Bob motioned for me to go on with one hand, while stroking the cat’s head with the other.
“So while I was in college, I met a boy named Bryan Dallas. Bryan was very smart and funny. He was also handsome. He seemed just perfect. I just liked him right away.”
Bob clapped her hands. “Popcorn?” This was too much for Simpson, who leapt off Bob’s lap in a huff.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, kiddo. So anyway, Bryan and I got together. We lived in Chicago. It should have been happily ever after, but he and I just didn’t agree on a lot of things. It didn’t work out, and so we broke up. But after that, my sister swooped in and she and Bryan fell in love and got married.” Bob looked at me, her eyes widening in confusion. “I know. Diana didn’t actually steal my boyfriend. But it kind of still feels like it. Even though I am a grown up, I guess I have to admit to you that I am jealous.”
Bob looked over the edge of the bed for Simpson, but he had departed the bedroom in disgust. Sighing, she righted herself. She swiped her nose against her palm, wiped her hand off on her shorts, sighed, and leaned against me. I took a long whiff of her wiry curls, which smelled like a combo of cut grass, mud, and Ivory soap. We stayed companionably in sync for a few seconds. I swung my arm around her shoulders and patted her hard little arm.
“So you are always mad at her now?”
I sighed. “Yup. I felt that my sister ruined my life, and I had a very rough time. I moved back here, and after a while, I got better. But I have never forgotten what my sister did. And so I am dreading this brunch. Especially since Diana and Bryan are going to have this baby.” Why was I telling this garbage to a little kid?
I felt Bob’s body stiffen. Her eyes blazed. “You should be excited about a baby! Babies are so much fun! Everybody should love babies! And it wasn’t just her fault, was it? You shouldn’t be mad and jealous of the baby!” She looked down into her lap and whispered to herself, “People are so mean to babies . . .”
This sank in. Coming from an eight-year-old. I felt nauseated all of a sudden. I remembered how Bob flinched the first time I touched her. Some intimations I had entertained about Bob’s past suddenly snapped into place in my mind. “Bob, was your mom mean to you when you were little?”
She crossed her arms on her chest and gazed into space. There were three scabs on her forearms, and her face was dirty. She reminded me of the feral kittens that showed up in the parking lot at work—lost, helpless, and yet fierce. “Gran says I mustn’t think that my mom takes drugs because of me—because I’m not good. Gran says that my mom had something called poor impulse control. So that is why she . . .” Bob hung her head. “Punished me so much.”
She lifted her hands and covered her eyes. “Because I wasn’t good enough for her to stop taking drugs to look after me. Because I was a bad baby. Gran says that isn’t true. She says I shouldn’t think I was a bad baby. Because babies aren’t bad.”
I gently pried Bob’s hands away from her eyes. “Honey, look at me.”
Bob turned her head. Eyes dry, she stared past me, seeing things I didn’t want to imagine. Rowena, damn her.
I touched her cheek. “Bob, you are the smartest person I have ever met. I am going to go over to my mother’s house today, and I am going to give my sister a hug. And I am going to think of you all afternoon—every time I feel angry or jealous, I am going to think of you. Even if my sister flirts with Theo. Even if he flirts back. I will think about what you just taught me. I will think about the baby coming into our family. I will think about goodness. About you. Because you are not just good, you are absolutely superior. In every way.”
I wrapped her in my arms very tightly. Bob took a deep, jagged breath, then relaxed into my chest. I stroked her back, one little knobby vertebra at a time. Then I did it again, and again, and again—until we both stopped crying.
Babies aren’t bad. I tried to get that out of my skull, but it remained, a throbbing earworm.
▷◁
Claire Throckmorton’s loft apartment is as stylish as she is. Eclectic. All white walls, dark hardwood floors, built-in bookcases, geometric rugs, and strategically placed houseplants. Books. Mom answered the door wearing a caftan made out of an antique gold, red, and teal sari. Silver hoop earrings. Barefoot. She held a Bloody Mary in one hand. Central casting: Audrey Hepburn in her sixties. As soon as she caught sight of Theo standing behind me, holding the forty dollar bouquet of multicolored roses we had bought to impress, Mom gasped, spilling half of her drink onto her left foot.
I took the Bloody Mary out of her hand and stepped in, motioning with my head for Theo to follow. He smiled weakly and entered, looking around for enemies. “Mom, this is Theo Blackburn.” I took a swig of her drink for courage.
We walked through the entry hall, past the chrome kitchen. Theo didn’t seem to know what to do with the roses. He looked around for help.
“These are lovely! Let me get a vase!” Mom got down a tall crystal vessel and proceeded to arrange the roses, only pricking herself once. We stood awkwardly and watched her. “Go on in, you two! There are homemade cheese biscuits out there!”
I braced myself as we entered the living room, the centerpiece the sea blue and sunset pink Murani glass chandelier Mom got on her last trip to Italy. Posy bouquets on seemingly every surface, the glint of sun from the huge picture window highlighting the lone figure slumped on the creamy suede sectional.
I stopped abruptly, Theo banging into me from behind. Mom swept around us and set the vase on the coffee table in front of the dejected wreck that was my sister, clutching her distended belly. Diana, my God. Her hair was dull. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her red nail polish was chipped, and she had no makeup on. She had a pimple on her right cheek. Bryan was conspicuously absent.
“Mom, what is going on?” Brilliant opener, but I was in shock. “Diana, what happened? Mom, where is Bryan? What on earth is going on?”
For an awkward few seconds, we shuffled around each other. Mom ended up dropping heavily down beside D on the sofa. After colliding against the coffee table and each other, Theo and I ended up perched uncomfortably on the two Windsor chairs at either side of the fireplace. Theo cleared his throat at least three times.
Diana looked like somebody had hit her. She hardly seemed to notice that we were there. But of course, that was a misperception, because no sooner had we all settled into our seats, D began:
“Oh, hello, Beck. And I guess this is your newest boyfriend?” She glared at Theo. “I am sure you have heard all about me from Rebecca, right? I am the horrible slut of a sister that stole her boyfriend? Despite the fact that they had broken up months before that? The bitch-sister? Well, guess what?” D reached for what looked like a gin and tonic, and took a huge gulp. Alcohol and pregnancy—not apparently on D’s taboo list. She thunked the glass back down, of course, not on the coaster Mom had though
tfully provided. The condensation would make an indelible white ring on the lovely table Mom had brought back from London. D caught my glance. “It’s sparkling water and lime, for God’s sake.”
I reached out and put her drink on a coaster and shot my sister a snotty look.
“So guess WHAT? I am in an advanced state of pregnancy, and my husband and I just had the monster fight to end all monster fights. I am hugely pregnant with a child who keeps kicking the crap out of me, I can’t sleep because of it, my arms are flabby, and I can’t go to my yoga classes anymore because I vomit when I smell incense, and Bryan gets his feelings hurt when I don’t feel like making dinner, and I slap him away when he tries to be romantic! Romantic, my fat ass!”
Mom leaned towards us. “It’s a boy.” Sotto voce.
Theo, bless him, tried to turn the tide. He leapt out of his seat, grabbed the tray of cheddar biscuits, bending to offer them first to me, and then to Mom. I saw him nearly extend the tray to D, but then he thought better of it, popped one into his mouth, and set the tray back down on the coffee table next to the bowl of cashews.
“A boy. That is wonderful.” Spoken with a mouthful of bread, but sincerely. “How exciting.”
We all stared at Theo. Diana, I swear, picked her nose a little. My God. Theo seemed to lose the will to live and sat back down.
My sister, miserable because Bryan called her on her own personality. My mother, at a loss. Me, staring at both of them, my new boyfriend beside me. In a room containing the two women who had always made me feel mediocre. I grubbed around in my head for something to say, but came up empty. So I babbled, “Well this isn’t good, is it? Not good. Just a terrible thing. Does anyone want anything? Another gin and tonic—sparkling water, D? Some cashews?”
I scuffled over to the coffee table and picked up the nut dish. Both women looked at me as if I had just offered them a bowl of eyeballs. I set the nut dish back down and looked wildly around for ideas. My armpits began to drip. This was going nowhere. I decided to just go for broke. I sat down on the other side of D, our shoulders touching. Diana’s felt spongy. I glowered at my sister.
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