Nick of Time

by Julianne Q Johnson

  Me, I wish the family would stop helping me-- if you can call it helping. I had been hoping I could pretend my life was normal a little bit longer with Daphne. A weak hope, certainly. With the incidents coming at least on a daily basis, and Daphne staying with me, there was never much chance she would think I was normal for long.

  "The old guy's wife had choked on a piece of chicken. We got it out. She's going to be fine."

  "Well, it's lucky you were there right when they needed help." Daphne is looking at me like I hung the moon.

  "Yeah, it was." I get the boat going again and we head back to my sister's house.

  "Not so lucky," Cathy says. "Nick is always around to help people."

  Daphne's expression is confused again. I gun the motor and the wind from our passage drowns out whatever she was going to say next. My family is too helpful, and I just want to pretend a little while longer I'm a normal guy.

  Seven

  Back at my sister's house, Daphne heads inside to use the restroom and I go over to a circular stone bench under an oak tree and sit by myself. I don't mean to be negative, but the truth is I'm moping. I need a moment to sit on this bench and stare at my feet. My heart rate remains a little high from the previous rescue, and I need to be quiet. Unfortunately, quiet moments make thinking all too easy.

  Daphne is too smart not to realize something is odd. I simply cannot hide the weirdness of my life for long. I might have played it off as a coincidence for a few days, but the blasé attitude of my family regarding my saving people's lives is bound to invite comment.

  Let me be very clear. It's not like my family isn't glad for the people I help, and it's not like they're not proud of me for being willing to step in and help, they are simply too used to the idea to get especially excited about it on a daily basis. I expect it's rather like Superman coming home to the wife and kids at the end of the day. The wife asks if he had a good day, Superman tells about saving a bus full of nuns and orphans, and the wife says "That's nice, dear." Then they all sit down to dinner and talk about the youngster's science fair project. No big deal.

  It's understandable. Folks can't hold onto a high level of excitement long term, no matter what the situation. If it's Christmas every day, then the holiday loses all meaning. My family is proud of me, but they aren't going to go on and on about it.

  I'm moping and now I'm depressed.

  Someone sits down on the bench next to me, and I look up to find Daphne offering me a beer.

  "Thanks." I take a big swig of the cold brew and look back at my feet.

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Maybe you should. It seems pretty amazing to me you were there, right when I needed your help, yesterday and then you were right there to help the woman today. Seems pretty amazing, but no one around here seems very amazed. Not even you."

  "And how do I seem?"

  "Resigned. You have to admit it, Nick. It's an odd reaction for someone who just saved a lady from choking to death. And your relatives, they acted like it was no big deal...like this sort of thing happens all the time."

  "Well, yeah." I try, but I can't seem to drag my gaze away from my shoes. "I guess it's because this sort of thing happens every day."

  "I don't understand."

  There's no helping it. She'll either believe me or think I'm nuts--or believe me and think I'm nuts. Either way, I'm screwed, but there's no sense trying to avoid this conversation. She's staying with me. A few days of constant amazing coincidences and she'll figure it out anyway.

  I explain it to her, the entire tale, starting with my eighteenth birthday. Oh, I don't detail every rescue, it would take forever. But I tell her the highlights. I describe what I refer to as my "curse." I tell about needing an extra year to finish college due to my extracurricular activities. How I couldn't keep a job in my chosen field because of missed days, and how I drive for Riderz. I tell her about the rescues and the adrenaline hangovers and the broken relationships. I tell her the entire damn thing.

  And she listens. She listens and she doesn't look at me like I have the black plague or have grown a second head. She listens and makes all the appropriate listening and sympathy noises. About halfway through, she goes to get me another beer, and then she listens some more.

  I tell her about how my curse is now daily and sometimes twice a day. List the events of the past few days. The roller coaster, the heart attack, the house fire, her ex-coworker, and the lady choking. I mention the corn dog and how my sudden hunger allowed us to miss a major car accident. This is the only time I bother with specific incidents, and I do not go into great detail about them.

  The tale finally ends, and my voice dwindles away. I've got a soda in my hand, from Daphne's third trip to the giant coolers full of ice and drinks sitting on the back deck. Maybe she thought three beers in such a short time was too much, but it would have been fine. With the adrenaline pumping through my system, it would take more than a few beers to get me anywhere close to drunk.

  We sit in silence for what feels like an awkward eternity. I take a long pull on my soda and wish it was another beer. She's too quiet. I try to gear myself for something awful, an offer from her to get me some psychiatric help, or a suggestion we should talk to the police. It seems far-fetched, even for my pessimistic way of thinking. I couldn't have set up the lady choking without Daphne's knowledge. She's been with me the entire time. Besides, I'm too tired to aspire to such a level of cynicism.

  Instead of breaking the painful silence, Daphne throws both arms around my torso and gives me a tight, sideways hug. I'm distracted at first by the scent of her shampoo. It smells fresh and citrusy, just as a pixie's hair should. Realizing I should be doing something other than sitting like a bump on a log, I manage to get an arm around Daphne and hug her back.

  "I'm so sorry your life is so hard," she mumbles into my shoulder before releasing me. Taking my hand in hers, she gives it a squeeze.

  "It's not so bad."

  "It's bad enough. You are always helping people, it must be exhausting."

  "Well, it doesn't seem so bad at the moment."

  She squeezes my hand again and smiles at me. The dimples appear, and at that moment my life doesn't seem bad at all. Nope, not at all.

  "You are an amazing man, Nick Callaghan. I am so grateful you were there to help me yesterday."

  "It's nothing that anyone else wouldn't have done if they'd been there."

  "Bullshit. You know there are tons of folks who wouldn't have wanted to get involved. Show me a screaming, swearing, violent man, and I'll show you a lot of people who suddenly remembered an important engagement somewhere else."

  "And I thought I was cynical."

  "It's not cynical, it's human nature. It's safer to assume someone else will do something than to risk oneself for the good of a stranger. People do it all the time, it doesn't make them bad people, it makes them afraid."

  "But not you. I saw you today. The instant the old fellow asked for help you were pulling the boat in and doing it. You didn't hesitate for a second."

  "Well, with my curse being the way it is, I'm used to it." I ran a hand through my hair, unsure where this conversation was heading.

  "I don't think it's a curse. I think you're a guardian angel. You were certainly my guardian angel yesterday."

  "Yeah, we'll see how you feel about it after a few more weeks of chaos."

  Daphne opened her mouth as if to say something else, but we were interrupted by the approach of my grandma and one of her five daughters.

  "Good to see you, Nicky." Aunt Shona leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  "Good to see you too."

  "And who is this lovely lady?"

  "My neighbor, Daphne. Daphne, this is my mom's sister, Shona."

  My aunt seemed disappointed when I said Daphne was my neighbor. All the aunts are constantly telling me what a shame it is that I don't have a girlfriend at my age. She greets Daphne pleasantly enough, but she i
s certainly disappointed.

  "I hear the Singers had a little trouble earlier. Glad you were able to help them. They're nice people."

  Daphne stiffens at my aunt's words, and for the life of me, I don't know why.

  "I was happy to help."

  "We 're about to eat lunch," my grandmother says. "Better come soon or you won't get any colcannon."

  "You know I'm not going to miss your colcannon. We'll be over in a minute."

  Gran and Shona headed back inside, most likely to put finishing touches on the food before the ravenous hordes descended on it. I begin to stand up, but Daphne tugs me back down by the hand she's still holding.

  "Is it always like this?" she asks.

  "Is what always like what?"

  "Is everyone always so matter of fact about you saving people's lives? The girls in the boat barely batted an eye, and your aunt acted as if it was par for the course."

  "Well, yeah. I guess so. They're used to it."

  "It's no excuse. You are an amazing man, Nick. You help people all the time...you helped me. The people in your life should be telling you you're awesome because you are."

  "Not really. I'm nothing special."

  "It's little wonder you feel that way, what with your entire family acting like it's no big deal when you save people's lives on a daily basis. Which is something you choose to do when most folks would walk away. Well, I'm not going to stand for it. I'm going to tell you how awesome you are every day until you start believing it."

  "Okay. If you must, you must," I say, and then grin at her. Far be it from me to tell a lovely woman not to call me awesome at every opportunity.

  It does make a nice change. My family is rather lackadaisical about my curse. I don't blame them. They've been around it for ages...it's old news. It is nice to have someone tell me I'm a guardian angel instead of a criminal or a nut case.

  "What's colcannon?"

  The non sequitur throws me for a second and then I catch up. "It's potatoes mashed with cabbage, green onion, and cream."

  "Sounds delicious."

  "It is, and no one makes it as well as my Gran."

  "We'd better go then."

  Daphne springs up and tugs me by the hand across the lawn and into the house. We queue up and pile plates high with food which makes my mouth water just looking at it.

  And the smells, oh my goodness, the smells. All of the aunts, uncles, and the older cousins have been cooking for this gathering, and it smells like my childhood. There are American favorites, brisket smoked on the grill, barbecued chicken, and creamy coleslaw, to name a few. And there are the flavors of the old country. Hearty stews, soda bread, boxty, and smoked salmon. For a guy like me, who is nearly always hungry and doubly so after a rescue like the incident earlier, it's like heaven.

  We find room at a table outside and dig in. There's a buzz of conversation around us and several of the cousins mention me saving the old lady. It's like Daphne said. They just mention it as if it was good for me to have been there. They never say I am awesome. It was a little like when you run out of gas right next to a station, and you are grateful the station is right there. It's almost like I am this thing...this lucky thing…not a man who leaps into the fray to help people.

  I guess I'm used to this attitude. I never truly noticed it before. I know my family doesn't mean any harm by it, but every time Daphne stiffens beside me, I know she's noticed what was said. Twice she leans over to whisper in my ear I'm awesome, and it's kind of pathetic how much it means to me. I've always been the knight; I've never had anyone to be my champion before.

  I could get used to this.

  I better not get used to this. Daphne thinks I'm awesome now but wait until I miss the fifth date in a row. That is, if she'll even date me. I know she likes me, but I do not know if she thinks of me as dating material. At least she thinks I’m awesome. I got that going for me.

  The food is every bit as delicious as it smells. I have as large a helping of grandma’s colcannon as I judged I could get away with without being labeled a selfish pig. The boxty my aunt Shona made is also the stuff of dreams, and I put three of the little fried patties away to join the colcannon already in my stomach.

  One thing the Irish have down pat, no pun intended, is how to cook a potato so it transcends its humble beginnings and becomes the stuff of history and legend. Take the boxty. It has been described as both a potato pancake, and potato bread, but neither of these does it justice. It’s a fried bit of heaven, crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d eat these every day.

  Daphne has just whispered in my ear I’m awesome again, and I have moved on to my cousin Gertie’s Irish stew. It’s the real deal, full of chunks of tender lamb. If it doesn’t have lamb, it’s not Irish stew. The stuff you get down at the national chain restaurant with the Irish name has beef in it. That makes it cottage stew, not Irish. Nothing wrong with a nice bowl of cottage stew, but I don’t care for the false advertising. Same way with shepherd's pie, by the way. If it's got ground beef in it, it's cottage pie. Shepherds herd sheep, not cows.

  After dinner, the cake is brought out. It has two tiers and enough candles I can get away with a joke about starting a fire.

  “Hey, Sonya. Better blow those out before the fire department comes. You don’t want Dan to find out how much you love a man in uniform.”

  “Oh, Nicky, shut it!” my sister snaps and then laughs like a duck on acid.

  I’m not kidding. My sister has a seriously weird laugh. Duck on acid is the only way I know to describe it.

  “Bring on the firemen!” Dan shouts. “I’ll give them a run for their money.”

  Dan is a good guy. Smart, good-natured, and treats my sister like a princess. I couldn’t ask for a better brother-in-law. He holds up a giant digital camera and takes several pictures of Sonya blowing out the candles and cutting the cake.

  After small plates of cake are handed out and well wishes are shouted by all and sundry, everyone settles down to enjoy the dessert. This is no store-bought, bland, confectionery disappointment. My cousin Rachel married a guy from Tennessee who is a baker by trade. He brought this giant cake all the way up from Pigeon Forge. The bottom tier is red velvet, a southern specialty, and the top is cherry. A dark chocolate icing gives the entire thing a chocolate-covered cherry taste. I don’t know why my cousin doesn’t weigh five hundred pounds living with that dude.

  After dessert comes the presents and then it’s time to ski. I don’t often ski myself, but I am an old hand at driving the boat for others to enjoy the sport. Daphne goes into the house to change into a swimsuit, and when she comes back out I try not to drool. She’s a pretty lady.

  We take four of the girls out to ski, and after they’ve all gone once apiece, I turn to Daphne. “You want to give it a go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It looks like fun, but I’ve never skied before. I’d probably break a leg.”

  “It’s water skiing, not shushing down a snow-covered slope. You aren’t likely to break anything. Besides, we have a beginner’s board. It’s way easier if you want to try it.”

  “A beginner's board? Show me.”

  Leaving the boat in neutral, I climb out of the driver’s seat and crouch down to open the storage hatch near the bow of the boat. I drag the old beginner’s board out of the compartment. Sonya and Dan lucked out when they bought the house. The previous owners sold them a bunch of skiing equipment as well. The beginner’s board was especially cool. I don’t think they even make them anymore.

  The board is wooden and curved up at the front sort of like a snow toboggan. The rope from the boat attaches to the front of the board instead of to a handle the skier holds. I carry the heavy board to the back of the boat where I detach the handle and clip on the board.

  “Now Daphne, look at this,” I start to explain. You can see this looks like two skis which have been connected in the front. There’s the same places to put your feet in and everything, but it’s been built
so you don’t have to worry about keeping your skis pointing forward. It makes it much easier to get up. You start the same way, crouched in the water, knees toward your chin, just like you saw the girls do. The only real difference is the rope you hold is attached to the board itself, so you can’t let go of it and gradually slow down.”

  “Either the boat slows down or I fall off.”

  “Right. Want to try it?

  “Why not? I’ve been envying the girls out on the water, I should try it myself.”

  “That’s the spirit! Now, while you’re out there, I’ll signal you when I’m going to turn, just as you’ve seen me do with the girls. If you want me to stop, let go with one hand and make a slashing motion. The girls will be on the lookout. They’ll tell me if you fall off, too, so just wait where you are for us to circle back around.”

  “You sound like you think I’ll make it up the first try.”

  Of course you will, but if you don’t, we’ll reset and try again. Get a life jacket on, and let me push the board out before you get in so I won’t hit you with it.”

  I get the board in the water and push it a little behind the back of the boat. The girls are ready to play the line out as we head out, but there’s no sense risking getting the rope in the propellers by having the board too close to the stern. Daphne ignores the ladder at the back of the boat and dives in gracefully. It isn’t long before she’s in the correct position in the water, ready to start. I go back to the helm as the girls cheer encouragement to Daphne.

  Daphne gives a thumbs up, the girls give me the signal, and we’re off. I’m driving the boat, so I can only look back now and then. She does indeed get up on the first try. I assumed she would. The beginner’s board makes this part of it easy. Looking good. It’s as if she’s done this a hundred times. She keeps her knees bent, absorbing the shock of the waves and keeping herself steady like a pro. The wind is whipping her hair behind her, and she looks like she’s laughing. I signal a turn and then begin one, and Daphne rides the curve like it is nothing. She’s having such a good time I decide to make it a little more interesting. I signal another turn to the left and head for our own wake. I think she’ll have fun jumping the wake, and she’s staying up like a trouper. Well, she’ll either have fun or fall off.