Goodnight, Brian

by Steven Manchester

  He tried to share her smile, but couldn’t – nor could he agree with her and she knew it. She grabbed his hand and held it tight. They sat quietly together for longer than either of them could remember. Quite simply, it was their way of trying to retain a shred of dignity in what used to be a great and passionate love. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “I know, Frank. Me, too.”

  “Most days, I just can’t take it.”

  “And I know that, too. But we can’t keep fighting. It’s worse than staying together just for the sake of staying together.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, crying.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she promised.

  Tears streamed down his face, as Frank came to terms with their parting. Joan rubbed his back and tried to console him, but there were no tears left for her to give. She’d used them all up long ago. All she could feel now was an amazing sense of relief.

  When she thought about it, their separation was inevitable. They’d hung in there for more than five years after Brian’s birth. All of Joan’s attention had been shifted to their son. Frank loved him, but Brian’s needs were all-consuming, and he had finally admitted that it was too much for him to take.

  It was a cool fall morning when Joan and Frank formalized their separation. While the rest of the world went about their usual routines and commuted to work, Frank and Joan ascended the court stairs together to put an official end to their partnership as man and wife.

  Ross, Brian and Angie sat at Mama’s kitchen table, unaware of just how much their world was about to change.

  “What does divorce mean, anyway?” Ross asked, trying to better understand what his parents were in the process of.

  With Angie sitting on one leg and Brian perched on the other, Mama explained, “It means that there’ll be no more fighting and that your dad will be living somewhere else from now on. Other than that, nothing else will change.”

  Ross searched her eyes to see if she was candy coating the truth.

  “Both your mom and dad will love you just as much as they always have. You’ll be taken care of – like you always have. You’re a family…we’re a family…and there’s nothing on God’s green Earth that’s ever going to change that.”

  Ross peered into her eyes.

  Mama raised her pinky. “I swear on it,” she vowed.

  Ross locked pinkies with her and then smiled. Brian followed suit. Angie just nodded, as if she understood.

  When Joan returned to the cottage, Ross met her at the door. “Hi sweetheart,” she said.

  “Where’s Dad?” he asked, nervously.

  Joan stepped through the door and took off her coat. Mama was standing at the stove, cooking – Angie clinging to her leg. Brian ran over to hug his mother. Through it all, Joan never broke eye contact with Ross. “Please take a seat,” she told him, while Angie jumped into her mother’s arms to listen.

  Ross sat.

  She sat alongside him and took his hand. “Dad went to work, Ross. He’ll pick you guys up on Saturday.”

  Concern swam in the boy’s eyes.

  “Now you listen to me,” she told him, “even though Dad won’t be living with us anymore, we’re still a family. And without all the arguing, we can become a close family again. Won’t that be great?”

  Ross looked at his grandmother, who shot him a wink. Her words had been confirmed. “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “Now take your brother and sister into the living room. I want to have a few words alone with Mama,” she said.

  “Why can’t I stay?” Ross complained.

  “Because you were just asked to leave,” Mama barked.

  Ross stood still. It only lasted a moment, but he didn’t budge.

  Mama took one step toward him. “This is an adult conversation and you’re not welcome to join it until you’ve grown up and become an adult, understand?” He nodded. She pointed toward the living room. “Now do as you’re told and don’t let me ever see you question your mother again.”

  As he began to backpedal, he said, “I won’t, Mama,” and meant it.

  Tenderness immediately replaced her scowl. “That’s my boy,” she said.

  Brian and Angie followed, also getting the message.

  Before she ever opened her mouth, Joan began to cry. “Even though Angie’s only four, it’s a relief, Ma. I can finally give all of my attention back to the kids. And we can live in a house of peace again.”

  Mama nodded.

  “Frank’s agreed to take them on alternate weekends.”

  Again, Mama nodded, but held her tongue.

  “There was no fighting over property or child support,” Joan explained, her eyes leaking tears. “I’ll stay in the house with the kids and Frank will find an apartment.” She shrugged. “Who knows…by breaking up, we might have a real shot at being a happy, close knit family again.” She rustled through her purse for a tissue.

  Mama grabbed a crumpled ball of them from her housecoat pocket and handed it to her daughter. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just so sad, Ma…to have gone through so much with another person; a partner that had been promised for life. And now I feel so detached, like we just put an end to a bad business deal.” She blew her nose. “The whole thing lasted half the time that the wedding took and cost us three times as much.”

  Mama shook her head. “Well, it took longer than I thought.”

  Joan readjusted Angie in her lap and shrugged. “Actually, we went for lunch at a Cracker Barrel afterwards and discussed our own terms. Frank offered to take the kids for dinner every Tuesday and Thursday. Once he gets set up, they can sleep over his place every other weekend. He’s just not sure he’ll be able to…” She stopped, leery of her mother’s harsh judgment.

  “I’m sure Brian will love to see his dad on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but you need to keep your job so I’d be happy to have him stay with me every other weekend.”

  “That’s exactly what I told him.”

  “And he’s okay with that?”

  “He was relieved.” Joan stared off into space and shook her head. “He told me that he loves Brian with all his heart; it’s just that he worries himself sick about being able to fulfill his needs. He really…”

  “I know, Joan,” Mama kindly interrupted, devoid of any judgment. She knew that Brian’s best interest was what everyone had in mind and the boy spending time at the cottage was clearly best for everyone – especially Brian. “And you’re absolutely right in what you told the kids, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Now you guys can move forward as a family. And you’d better,” she said, grinning, “because I pinky swore on it that you would.”

  For a moment, Joan gazed at her mother with the same skepticism that Ross had.

  “What is it?” Mama asked.

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought you would have been dead-set against this divorce.”

  “Joan, flowers don’t bloom in the shade, where it’s dark and cold. Brian can’t grow and make progress in a house of turmoil. None of the kids can. You made the right decision.”

  Chapter 14

  Summer 1984

  Protected by her wide-brimmed hat, Mama wore a one-piece bathing suit with a colorful sarong wrapped around her thick waist. Her late husband had made a cart that she piled beach chairs – hers and a smaller one for Brian – a cooler and Brian’s sand toys atop, and pulled it down to the shore for the day.

  As she and Brian walked through the neighborhood, she pointed out every detail. She lived two streets in from the shore, but it was a totally different community from those located right on the water. They were still considered beach properties, so one house sat right on top of the next; a strip of cottages with the wealthiest family at the end. They had a gazebo that they lit each night with little white lights. They also owned a private way that led down to the beach, posted: NO TREPASSERS. She and Brian always used it and no one ever said a word about it.
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  There were several bird houses in each yard. Hydrangeas, honeysuckle and plum rose bushes grew everywhere; anything that could live in a mix of sand and soil. Some houses were decorated with maritime accents: life preservers, rope and oars. Mama never went for the colored buoys, lobster traps, or anchors, though.

  Some neighbors had matching striped awnings, but she couldn’t afford those. They also had planters hanging from their porch, but not Mama; she refused to allow anything to obstruct her view of the bay. Hammocks and rocking chairs sat on most porches or front yards. She went with the mismatched chairs on the porch, painted in different pastel colors.

  She and Brian finally reached the marina filled with expensive toys. The docked boats had more money invested in fishing tackle than most folks did in their yards. Boats with such names as Shark Bite, Happy Hobos, Sea Hag, Solitude and Unreel sat idle, waiting to be played with.

  At the pier, Mama spotted two old-timers, Herbie and Arthur, fishing together. Arthur wore a thread-bare sweater and boat shoes. Herbie had on a worn T-shirt with suspenders, faded khakis and Velcro sneakers. They were always on the pier, fishing and arguing about issues that had long passed as important. “You two should be married,” she teased them. “You’re never apart.”

  “He’d be damn lucky to have me,” Arthur replied.

  “We’re going deer hunting,” Herbie teased.

  “I’ll shoot you both first,” she replied and laughed. “What trouble are you two up to today?”

  Herbie shook his head. “Wasting time with Arthur.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes and cast his bait again.

  “You guys?” Herbie asked.

  “Brian’s taking me to McRay’s for some clam cakes. We’re on a date.”

  Like some comical bobble head, Brian began nodding and giggling. “Yets,” he confirmed. “Dot. Yets.”

  “You two wouldn’t know what to do without each other,” Mama concluded.

  Herbie chuckled. “Some good company and a fair breeze is all you ever need in this life,” he said, and then shrugged. “Well, at least there’s a breeze today.”

  Mama laughed.

  “Some type of company and a fair breeze,” Arthur countered. “That’s right.”

  Hand-in-hand, Mama and Brian passed the pier, waving back toward Herbie and Arthur.

  McRay’s Clam Shack sat at the end of the pier. A row of telephone poles stuck out of the cement three feet, their tops painted red, white or blue. The sign out front read: Closed for Hurricanes. Established in 1895, Joy, and her sister, Louise, had owned it for twenty-two years.

  There was a deck with round tables and umbrellas. The board signs above the windows read, Frappes (coffee frappes being the most popular), French Fries, Hot Dogs, Cold Drinks, Burgers, Clam Chowder, Clam Cakes, Fried Clams. When they took an order, they gave the customer a sea stone with a number painted on it. When they called over the PA system, customers checked their rocks and picked up their order from the window – no rock, no food.

  The signs also advertised Cotton Candy, Salt Water Taffy, Ice Cream, Fried Dough, Flavored Slush, Fried Seafood and Overstuffed Lobster Rolls. There were also onion rings and chili-cheese fries available, served in candy cane striped cardboard containers. They made homemade fudge every day. Chocolate walnut and peanut butter were their two biggest sellers.

  It was their hot dogs that were unique, though. They had a western dog with BBQ sauce & onion rings, a sweet & sour dog, and a PB (peanut butter) dog – which Mama never braved. They also had a slaw dog, a tarter sauce dog, a chili-cheese dog, a kraut dog and a bean dog.

  They served hard packed ice cream – no soft serve – and their root beer floats were enormous. On the deck, a sign read, Sit, Relax & Enjoy the View.

  On the beach – just at the base of the deck stairs – were two benches formed out of granite slabs. Both had sayings carved into their seats. The first read, If you look to the horizon, the possibilities are endless. When Mama took Brian to McRay’s to share a dozen clam cakes, they usually sat on this bench. It was their favorite resting spot. The second granite slab read, Sunsets are like looking through the gates of heaven.

  McRay’s was most famous for their clam cakes. While other clam shacks peddled greasy golf balls, these folks actually packed chunks of clams into their fluffy, oversized cakes.

  That afternoon, as a special treat, Joy and Louise offered Mama and Brian a tour and taught them how they made their salt-water taffy. “Altogether, we make thirty-six batches a day at one hundred and five pounds per batch or flavor. And it sometimes takes us sixteen hours a day. For years, folks have tried to get our recipe, but it’s been well guarded,” Louise boasted.

  Brian threw his arm around her waist and walked with her on the tour.

  “We start at five o’clock every morning when we have to disassemble the equipment and boil each part – due to peanut allergies,” she continued. “We then reassemble all of it before the day gets started. The process is simple: We boil the equipment, reassemble the parts, throw in our secret ingredients and then cook each batch, stirring it with a giant wooden spoon. We then put it on a water-cooled table and add food coloring. Once it’s cooled, we lift it off the table using wide putty scrapers. We then carry the taffy to the stretch machine, which is situated where our customers can watch. From there, we place it on a marble table and ball it up like a loaf of bread, forming it in the shape of a snake and then feed it through the cutting machine, which also wraps the pieces in colored wax paper.”

  They sold it by the pound and you could mix and match. Taffy flavors included strawberry, peppermint stick, coffee, bubble gum and peanut butter – amongst others. After the generous tour, Mama bought a pound – half black licorice and the other half watermelon for Brian. She also purchased lunch – a dozen clam cakes, a small French fry and two soft drinks – and headed for the sand with her hungry date.

  After finishing most of their lunch, Mama and Brian sat in their beach chairs and gazed up at the beautiful, sapphire sky. A seagull sauntered over. With its sharp beak, it grabbed the paper bag half-filled with French fries and ran off twenty yards to safety. Mama spotted the thief and nudged Brian. “Watch this,” she told him. The seagull flipped the bag into the air a few times until the fries fell out onto the sand where he quickly devoured the greasy lunch. “No good bandit,” she murmured and laughed at the spectacle. Brian applauded the show. More seagulls swooped in to fight for their share. Brian squealed in delight, making Mama laugh from her belly.

  Once the show was over, Mama and Brian sat quietly for a while, watching tiny white birds called terns hover above the water and reveal where the schools of fish were located. A dozen men took notice, casting their bait from atop the long jetty. As the terns dove into the ocean for fish, Brian cheered each time one of them reappeared with its lunch.

  Eventually, Mama and Brian made their way to the water. Mama pulled up her waist scarf, grabbed Brian’s hand and walked in knee-high, where they stood in a thick black cloud of krill. The microscopic shrimp tickled Brian’s legs and he laughed aloud. She laughed right along with him.

  When they had their fill, they headed back to their chairs. On the way, they stumbled upon a shiny white rock. Mama gasped and pointed it out, showing Brian. “Look at this, Brian. It’s a lucky rock. Yup, that’s a lucky rock, all right. And whoever has this rock has all the luck in the world.”

  Excited, he grabbed it and placed it into his swim trunks pocket. From that moment on, he wasn’t about to go anywhere without his lucky rock.

  All summer, while the young folks tied floats together, creating a massive raft to lounge on, Mama watched Brian explore the sand all the way to the first foot of water. Beach time was their quiet time. It was like going to church. When they were at the shore, sitting side-by-side in their beach chairs, it wasn’t only acceptable to be silent and still, it was preferred – taking in God’s great work before them. Mama had always been humbled by the water and taught Brian to respect the same.
Other than the lap of the tide on the shore, the squawk of seagulls and the salty breezes that whistled off the rocks, there was usually nothing but sweet silence.

  Mama took in all the peace she needed before heading back toward the water for Brian’s swimming lesson. As he lay on his back with her gnarled hands beneath him, all she could hear was the wind and her grandson’s heavy breathing.

  “Skee, Mama,” he said, panting.

  “Scared?” she asked. “Oh no, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be afraid of! Both me and the good Lord are right here with you. Nothing bad can happen. You have to believe that, Brian.”

  He reached up and touched her face. She bent down, so that he could kiss her on the cheek. “Aaah, I feel the flutter of angel’s wings,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. Their eyes locked and she could see all that he felt for her. “I love you, too,” she whimpered. “Now no more stalling, lazy man,” she teased him, a tear streaming down her face. She then turned him onto his belly to get the swimming lesson started.

  As usual, Brian began splashing around for a few minutes. And then something different happened. His awkward moves were now keeping him afloat. It was half dead man’s float, half-dog paddle, but he now knew when to turn his head to breathe. Mama slowly slid her hands out from under him and surrendered the best part of her soul to the bay. As he paddled around in a circle, she stood waist deep, crying like a baby and doing her best to give thanks in prayer. “Another one of your miracles, dear Lord,” she whimpered. “How blessed we are.” She clasped her hands together and raised them toward the sky. “Thank you again.”

  Brian was eight and a half – and he could swim now, too.

  Chapter 15

  Early Fall 1985