by Mary Daheim
“Count your blessings,” Renie said. “You get to see Mike and his family fairly often. Our three and their spouses live too far away. Not to mention that we have no grandchildren.” She made a face. “I just did mention it. Damn.”
The cousins stopped by Joe’s MG. “What’s our plan for getting to the train?” Judith asked. “I’m almost packed, but I feel edgy. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Renie’s gaze shifted to Bill and Joe, who were standing by the church’s south entrance. “Pretty much. Which reminds me, I’d better get in the car first. Stand by for further instructions.” She hurried off to the Joneses’ Toyota Camry.
A few moments later Joe joined Judith in his cherished classic red MG. “I could almost put the top down today,” he said cheerfully.
“It’s nice out.” Judith’s tone lacked enthusiasm. “Do you know how Renie plans to get me to the parade and the train at the same time?”
Joe frowned before shifting into reverse. “I thought Bill was picking you up at three forty-five. Are you sure Renie’s not joking?”
“She isn’t. I suppose she’ll tell Bill they don’t need to leave until four and can pick me up on top of the hill.”
“Makes sense.” Joe pulled out of the parking place and headed for the avenue. “Bill didn’t mention it. We were talking about fish.”
“Naturally.” The husbands were both avid anglers. Judith remained silent during the final three blocks to the cul-de-sac, trying not to tie herself into knots over how she could get through the day—and out of town—without causing a family rumpus.
After Joe put the MG in the garage and turned off the engine, he gazed at his wife. “So you really don’t know what you’re doing today.”
“No.” Judith sounded bleak. “Renie thinks she does, but…” She stopped speaking and shook her head. “All I know is that I’m packed except for a few last-minute items. I’ve tried to keep from worrying, but I can’t. Except having you ask the Rankerses to take over while we’re gone, I haven’t done any of the things I usually do before going away. No trips to the dry cleaners’, no balancing the checkbook, no grocery inventory. The three parties who were checking out today left before we went to church, and I asked Arlene to welcome the new guests.” She sighed. “I still have to tell Mother I’m leaving. I’m going to do that now before I lose my nerve.” She offered Joe a tremulous smile.
“Wish me luck.”
Joe looked unusually somber. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell her. We’ll fake it.”
“What?”
Joe took Judith’s hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time you told your mother a…” He grimaced. “An altered version of what actually happened.”
Judith thought about trips she had taken to far-off lands, while convincing Gertrude she was only a couple of hours away from Hillside Manor. Her memory tumbled back even further, to when she and Joe had been engaged over forty years ago. “Like the time we drank too much at the Clover Club and drove to the ocean to get married?”
Joe nodded. “Like that.”
Judith glanced at the MG’s dashboard. “You kept your money in that ashtray. You told me we could afford to drive all the way to California and spend our honeymoon in Carmel. But when we stopped in that little town on our own part of the coast, we couldn’t find a justice of the peace at three in the morning.”
Joe chuckled. “We walked on the beach at low tide to sober up. You tripped over some driftwood and turned your ankle.”
Judith laughed softly. “We slept on the sand until the tide started coming in and woke us up before we drowned. The worst part was ruining my I. Magnifique evening gown with the deep V-neck down to my waist and the slit in back almost up to my rear.”
Joe put his hand on Judith’s knee. “Great dress. Easy access.” The magic gold flecks had returned to his eyes. “When I finally brought you home the next day, your mother believed your tall tale of how we’d been mugged at the salmon derby. She did wonder, though, why we’d gone fishing in evening clothes.”
“It was the early sixties,” Judith said. “Everybody dressed better then. That was my Jacqueline Kennedy/Audrey Hepburn phase.” She frowned. “I’d better finish packing. It’s after one.”
Joe slid his hand off of Judith’s knee and got out of the car. Judith remained in the passenger seat, mulling her options. “Wait for me,” she called, finally deciding that Joe was right. Discretion was the better part of cowardice. “I want to ask Renie what she’s told Aunt Deb.”
The house was quiet when Judith entered through the back door. Mike had pinned a note to the bulletin board by the half doors. Went to noon Mass at the cathedral. Stopping for lunch at McDonald’s, back around two.
Judith had hoped Kristin would make Gertrude’s lunch. That hope was in vain. She hurriedly put together a ham-and-cheese sandwich, sliced pears, chips, and the last two snickerdoodles. When she reached the toolshed, her mother was doing a jumble puzzle in the Sunday newspaper.
“What’s that?” Gertrude asked, scowling at the tray.
“It’s lunch.” Judith moved closer to the card table in front of her mother. Several dirty dishes were stacked haphazardly on one of the elegant frosted glass trays Judith used for guests. “You already ate?”
“’Course,” the old lady said. “Kris brought my lunch before they went to church. One of those omelets with all kinds of good stuff in it. She gave me dill pickles, some of her tasty jam, and a real nice quilt. It’s on my bed. Take a look—or do you have time before you leave town?”
Aghast, Judith set the tray on the card table. “Where did you hear that?”
“Your aunt Deb. As usual, she talked my ear off, but she told me about your trip.” Gertrude glowered at Judith. “What’s this boondoggle for?”
Judith sighed as she sat on the small sofa. “It’s Renie’s idea. You know how she hates to fly.”
“I don’t blame her,” Gertrude said, peeking inside the ham-and-cheese sandwich.
“That’s one thing about her that makes sense. I’d never get in one of those things, not after what happened to me with Ozzie Popp. Some pilot! He turned that plane upside down and said he wouldn’t land until I kissed him. He should’ve known better than to get fresh with me. That was the end of that.”
“And that was the end of Ozzie,” Judith murmured, having heard the story a hundred times.
“It sure was,” Gertrude declared, her hearing obviously more acute than she let on. “A week later he crashed that cardboard contraption into a barn that had a chewing tobacco ad painted on it.” The old lady snorted. “Ozzie bragged that he could land that airplane on a dime. I told him he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. I was wrong about that. I’ve never been on an airplane since.”
“Flying’s changed,” Judith said for the hundredth time. “That was 1928.”
“So?” Gertrude snatched a snickerdoodle off the plate. “Those planes still leave the ground, don’t they?”
“Never mind, Mother,” Judith said wearily. “I’m going to Boston with Renie because she has a free ticket. Both Bill and Joe have business there, so we’ll meet them and spend a few days sightseeing.”
Gertrude had taken a bite of cookie. After pausing to swallow, she wagged a finger. “That part makes sense, which is more than I can say for some of the stunts you and my niece pull off.”
Judith leaned forward. “You’re not upset because I’m leaving?”
“No. Dumbcluck’s going away, isn’t he?”
“Well…yes,” Judith said, wishing that her mother would use Joe’s actual name. “He’s got Renie’s plane ticket and I’ll take Bill’s place on the train.”
“Good,” Gertrude said. “The plane might crash.”
Judith’s shoulders slumped. “Mother—” She stopped. “Skip it. Have you told Mike or Kristin I’m leaving this afternoon?”
“Nope.” Gertrude picked up half of the sandwich. “They were in a b
ig rush to get to church when they brought out my lunch and the other goodies.” She started to take a bite of the sandwich, but paused. “They don’t know, do they?”
“No.” Judith stood up. “I may be able to watch some of the costume parade, but I can’t trick-or-treat with them in the evening.”
“You’re in a bind, toots.” Gertrude bit into the ham-and-cheese.
“I know.” Judith picked up the tray Kristin had brought to the toolshed. “Maybe I can do it with the boys next year.”
The old lady put the sandwich back on the plate. “Next year.” She stared into space. “Yes, next year. If there is one for me.”
“Mother!” Judith exclaimed. “Don’t say things like that.” Gertrude shrugged. “I don’t kid myself.” Her smile was bittersweet. “Nobody’s guaranteed next year—or even tomorrow.” She picked up the sandwich again. “Enjoy yourselves in Boston. Don’t let the Redcoats get you down.”
The McMonigle brood didn’t get back to Hillside Manor until almost a quarter after two. Mike explained that the McDonald’s they’d gone to had a play area. “It was really hard to get the boys off the slides,” he told Judith. “Finally we had to tell them, if they didn’t stop horsing around they couldn’t go to the costume parade. Kris is getting them ready now. We’ll leave here about ten to three. See you at Moonbeam’s.”
“Okay.” Judith had second thoughts. Maybe she should tell Mike about her early departure. Before she could speak, he hurried down the hallway to the back stairs. Judith sighed, staring out the window over the sink. The sun had come out, promising good weather for the trick-or-treaters. She sighed again—and gave a start when the phone rang. Judith all but dove to snatch up the receiver from the kitchen counter. “Hello?” she shouted.
“Why are you yelling?” Renie asked. “We’re set. We’ll pick you up at four-thirty.”
“You talked Bill into leaving that late?”
“Sort of. See you.”
Joe had already put her luggage in the garage. She decided to wait until after the costume spectacle to break the news to the rest of the family.
Joe ambled into the kitchen. “What now? Last-minute jitters?” She gave her husband a sheepish look. “Bill and Renie are picking me up here at four-thirty. I can stay for the whole parade.”
Joe frowned. “Isn’t that cutting it close for a four forty-five train?”
“It should take less than ten minutes. All we have to do is check in and try not to act like terrorists.”
Joe shrugged. “I trust Bill’s judgment. It just doesn’t sound like him.” He turned at the sound of raucous high-pitched shouts from the back stairs. “Well!” he exclaimed as two square entities with feet hurtled down the hallway. “What’s this I see?” He murmured over his shoulder to Judith. “What are they?”
“Boxes,” Judith said under her breath. “Cute,” she enthused loudly. “Clever.”
The red and the silver boxes nodded assent. “Mom made our costumes,” Mac said.
“I’m a race car.”
“Ah,” Joe said. “Yes, I see your number now. It’s sixteen for…um…”
“Greg Biffle’s car,” Mac said, and ran from the hallway through the kitchen and back again. “Varoom! Varoom!”
The silver box hopped up and down. “Guess me!”
Judith went for the obvious. “Another race car?”
Joe-Joe stomped his silver foot. “No! I’m a robot! Woof, woof!”
“A robot dog?”
Judith said.
The silver box swung from side to side. “No. I’m Tekno, the Rheumatic Puppy.”
“Shouldn’t you have a cane?” Joe asked.
The red box thumped the silver box. “It’s Robotic Puppy, dopey.”
“Cool,” Joe said. “Very good. Why don’t you show GeeGee?”
“Why don’t you wear signs?” Judith murmured as the boxes scampered out the back door. “Good grief—Kristin really is Aunt Ellen’s clone.”
“At least those outfits didn’t cost big bucks for—” Joe stopped as Mike and Kristin appeared at the bottom of the back stairs.
“Don’t they look great?” Kristin asked with a big smile.
“Yes. Yes, very creative,” Judith said.
“Did the boys go to the toolshed to show Grams?” Mike asked. Seeing her in-laws nod, Kristin made a thumbs-up gesture.
“We’ll get them and start walking,” she said. “See you there.”
As Mike and Kristin went out the back door, Judith and Joe exchanged bemused looks. “The kids don’t mind,” she said.
“Maybe that’s good,” Joe said, retrieving his jacket from the peg in the hallway. “I’ll take homemade anytime over the big bucks that rich parents around here spend on extravagant getups for their kids.”
Judith sighed. “I suppose. Renie never spent money on costumes for her kids. Every year she’d hand them each a white sheet and say, ‘There. You’re a ghost. Have fun.’”
“For a graphic designer, she didn’t have much imagination,” Joe remarked as they headed out the back door.
“She saved the good ideas to earn a living,” Judith said. She paused when they entered the garage and glanced at her luggage stacked in a corner. “We can leave that stuff here. The Joneses always park in the driveway.” She grimaced. “I hope Renie’s plan works. We’re not allowing for any unexpected problems getting to the station.”
Joe didn’t respond until they were both in the MG. “We’ll be back by four-fifteen. Why not tell Renie to come a few minutes earlier?”
“I will,” Judith said, digging into her purse for the cell that always ended up at the very bottom of the bronze-toned hobo bag that had been a birthday gift from Joe’s daughter, Caitlin.
Renie answered on the second ring. “I suppose we could leave a few minutes earlier,” she said. “Let me ask Bill. He’s talking to Oscar.”
Judith groaned. “Please. I’m not in the mood for your fantasies about that stuffed monkey.”
“Ape,” Renie said emphatically. “Oscar is not a monkey. He’s a dwarf ape, dammit. Unlike monkeys, they don’t have tails.”
“Okay, okay.” Judith took a deep breath. “Just ask Bill. Please.”
“Fine.”
Judith waited impatiently for her cousin’s response. Turning out of the cul-de-sac, Joe headed for Heraldsgate Avenue. “Well?”
“Renie’s talking to Bill, who’s talking to Oscar,” Judith said in disgust. “I can’t hear what they’re saying. It sounds muffled.”
Joe frowned. “I hope Oscar hasn’t talked Bill into using my plane ticket.”
“Stop!” Judith glared at her husband. “Don’t ever, ever buy into that bunk about Oscar. Or Clarence, the pampered dwarf lop bunny with an entire wardrobe, much of which he’s eaten. Not to mention that they call their car Cammy because it’s a Camry. One of these days they’ll both go ’round the bend and give a name to their furnace.”
Joe didn’t respond immediately. “It’s not coal, so they couldn’t use Stokely. If it’s gas, then they—”
“Shut up,” Judith said between clenched teeth. “Renie’s talking.”
“…so probably around four-twenty, okay?”
“Yes, great,” Judith replied. “See you then.” She clicked the phone off. “That’s a relief. But I still have to tell the kids I’m leaving.”
“Tell them now,” Joe said, waiting at the four-way stop on the crest of the hill. “Here they come, right behind Wonder Woman and Batman and Robin.”
Sure enough, the red and silver boxes were bobbing and bouncing along in the crosswalk. “What am I supposed to do? Yell at them?”
“Why not? Traffic’s so backed up on the avenue that we can’t go more than five miles an hour. Get it over with.”
Judith shook her head. “No. There are so many people and so much noise that I probably couldn’t get their attention. I’ll wait until they get to Moonbeam’s.”
Joe sighed. “Have it your way, but you’re going to get one o
f your god-awful stress-induced headaches before they get that far.” The MG inched forward. “Too late. They went into the hardware store.”
“All the businesses offer some kind of treat,” Judith said. “Did you bring the camera?”
“Damn!” Joe glanced at Judith. “I thought you did.”
“No. I saw it…” She shook her head. “I don’t remember. Maybe I’m thinking of the older one. I don’t know how to use the digital camera I gave you for Christmas.”
“Never mind,” Joe said as they passed the bookstore. “I can take some pictures after the boys get home.”
“Okay.” Judith tried to enjoy the merchants’ outdoor decorations that included artificial cobwebs, witches with steaming cauldrons, giant spiders, and life-size skeletons. It was a struggle to keep the tension headache at bay and ignore her stomach’s version of the danse macabre.
At three-fifteen Joe dropped her off by Moonbeam’s before he tried to find a parking place. After buying a hot cocoa and a latte, Judith went outside to find a vacant table. There weren’t any, but an older couple Judith recognized from Our Lady Star of the Sea motioned to her.
“Do sit with us. We SOTS have to stick together,” the sprightly older woman said, using the shortened acronym for parishioners. She nodded in the direction of a lanky teenager in a red suit with horns, tail, and a pitchfork. “Here comes the devil now.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Shaughnessy,” Judith said, recalling the couple’s name. “My husband’s parking the car. It’s more crowded every year.”
Mr. Shaughnessy set his unlit pipe on the metal table. “When this started ten years ago, our grandchildren were teenagers. Now the eldest is married and has a baby girl. Ah!” He stood up. “I see Hannah. She’s a pea pod in the checkered stroller with her mother and our grandson, Neal. Excuse us.”
Arm in arm, the Shaughnessys left to greet their offspring. Judith sipped her hot chocolate and watched the many-splendored costume wearers walk, weave, wobble, and whoop their way along the avenue. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was after three-thirty. There was still no sign of Joe or the rest of the family. She sipped more cocoa and waved good-bye to the Shaughnessys as they walked across the street with the pea pod and her parents. The only distraction was the occasional neighbor, shopkeeper, or acquaintance. For once, she didn’t try to make casual chitchat. There was less than an hour to go before the Empire Builder was due to leave the station.