Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  I jump up to open the door for Ryan and as we walk out, I catch Paul eyeing his reflection in the glass door. He waves at us and turns back to check on the dinner. He doesn’t miss a trick in the appearance department. On himself or anyone else.

  It dawns on me that not only is Paul’s birthday coming up soon, but if I remember the date on the memorial bench correctly, so is Noreen’s. She would have been forty, too. However, I don’t have to worry about that coming up in conversation. Paul certainly doesn’t want to call attention to his imminent doom, and my brother would like to keep all his body parts so he won’t say a word. Paul isn’t thinking about how turning forty is a privilege denied to some people.

  Biting my lip and deep in thought, I approach my parents at the patio table, while Ryan gets the grill going.

  “Rebecca, Steve tells us that you water down your coffee with milk. Why the hell would you do that? You have this backwards. You put the coffee syrup in your milk, not the other way around. That must be repulsive tasting. What kind of a Rhode Islander are you? Next you’ll start eating hot dogs instead of lobster, and go camping instead of boating.” I glance over at Steve apologetically, and my mother drones on. “You know you can order the real milk coffee syrup from Rhode Island, and put it in your milk? I’m an old lady and even I know that.” My mother pulls her straw hat down further to cover her eyes as she peers at me in the sun. At eighty-two, she is still strong, attractive, and opinionated. A scary old lady. If there are ghosts, she will be first in line for haunting training in heaven.

  Steve shrugs at me and mouths “I’m sorry,” as Logan nails him with the super soaker water gun. Maddie shrieks, and my father covers his ears. Paul scolds Maddie and the water gun fighting begins anew. Ryan concentrates on the hamburgers and hotdogs, as if he’s praying over them. I inch over to him and ask, “Do you guys have a coffee syrup stash somewhere?” I giggle because I know the answer.

  Ryan smirks and whispers, “I wouldn’t drink that shit if you paid me. I had some in my apartment when Paul and I first started dating, and he tossed it out and replaced it with some kind of vegetable juice. Come to think of it I never get to have—”

  “Abigail, I told you I am not driving to Rhode Island. That traffic will give me a heart attack.” My father takes a swig of his dark beer. “Your brother and that tramp he’s shacked up with can bring that coffee nonsense with them when they come visit next month.” Dad’s a charmer. My younger uncle’s new girlfriend is actually a lovely woman.

  “Oh my God, Robert.” She turns back to me and partially covers her mouth with her hand. She thinks this somehow lowers her volume. “He is so hard of hearing, I swear.” She leans towards my father and loudly says, “Robert, you can order everything online now. They deliver it. You don’t have to…never mind, why I am having this conversation?” she says to no one in particular. She sighs and looks at me. “And what’s so funny?”

  I wait until my father gets up to join Ryan at the barbecue, and hear Ryan engage him in light conversation. “So, Dad, how’s your garden coming along?”

  As they start to talk tomatoes, I say to my mother, “I don’t know how you can take how grumpy he is. I know he can’t hear, but really! I would have thrown him down the stairs by now.” I cover my own mouth as I realize I said that out loud about my elderly father.

  “That’s why people buy ranches when they get older.” She smiles and continues. “You young girls just don’t understand our generation.” She plucks a strawberry from the beautifully arranged bowl on the table, and starts nibbling on the juicy fruit. She cups her hand around her mouth again and looks to see if Paul is in ear shot. “This looked so perfect, I almost thought it was wax.” The juice dribbled on her chin proves otherwise.

  “I don’t think the generations are that different. Men are still men, and women are still women.” My father is eight years older than my mother, and the age difference is becoming more prominent as they get older. My father was forty-four when I was born, and forty-eight when Ryan was born. My mother was an older mom for her generation, at thirty-six and forty. She’s old fashioned when it comes to her tactics with men, but she is quite modern when it comes to sex and other things I don’t want to talk about with her.

  My mother pulls the fruit bowl closer and hits the blueberries hard. “Yes, but you girls don’t know how to get what you want by making the man think he’s the boss. Didn’t I tell you how to keep a man happy? Don’t bother a man when he’s—”

  “…watching football, and don’t bother a man—”

  “…when he’s working.” We finish that piece of it unison. I will never forget those pearls of wisdom. Steve doesn’t even watch sports.

  I glance over at the pool and see Steve and Paul quietly talking. The monsters, I mean kids, are taking a pre-dinner snack break.

  My mother watches my eyes and pats my hand. “Now, that Paul is smart. He has your brother wrapped and he has no idea. He told me if he doesn’t come to the dinner table within ten minutes of being called, he puts his food in the refrigerator so it will be extra cold when he finally gets around to eating.” She regards my shocked expression. “He’s a girl after my own heart. That brother of yours goes into such a trance when he’s working on his art. And Paul doesn’t bother him, he just makes his point.” Naturally. He went to the Abigail Scarborough School of Marital Bliss after a successful career in cardiac nursing. Paul is now content to play homemaker to Ryan’s breadwinning.

  “So how’s your sex life? This fella of yours is pretty cute. And by the way, your hair is gorgeous. I’m so glad you ditched that garish red color.” She makes the “something smells bad” face.

  Only my mother can offend on so many levels in one sentence. “So, Ryan is doing some art? That’s great. I’m surprised he has time.” When Ryan graduated from RISD, he went to New York despite our parents’ pleas that he would end up homeless and begging on a street corner, trying to sell his “doodles.”

  It’s ironic that my later-in-life parents were more upset about him majoring in art than being gay. My father used to say, “Aren’t there any gay lawyers?” Ryan is currently the Art Director for a large advertising firm, and has worked in animation and film as well. After stints in California and Florida, he moved to Richmond to be near the rest of the family.

  Ryan places the platter of greasy burgers and hotdogs on the table and calls the kids to eat. Paul scurries off into the house to bring out the rest of the food.

  “I should help him.” I start to stand up and my mother clamps her strong, but bony hand over mine.

  “I’ll do it. I need to get out of this sun for a minute, and stretch my old bones.” She seems to accept that I am ignoring her nosy question and back-handed compliment.

  “Abby, another beer?” My father is now grinning at my mother, and she stops to give him a kiss on the head. I guess I have no right to question fifty years of marriage. Hmm…my dad and Steve both didn’t get married until they were forty.

  My mother and Paul go off to get the food, followed by the kids who have been recruited to help.

  Ryan arranges the buns on another platter and starts fixing plates for his kids. “I heard you talking to Mom about—”

  “Oh, I shut her up.” He looks confused. “Oh, you don’t mean my sex life. You’re talking about the art question.”

  Steve gets out of the pool, takes off his glasses and rubs his face with a towel. “You talk to your mother about our sex life?”

  Ryan and I start laughing in that familiar way of siblings. “No, but she asks me. I just divert her attention. It’s easy to do now that she’s old.”

  “To answer your question, yes. I have been sketching and painting. I have a few 3-D pieces in the studio, too.” Ryan grabs one of the hot dogs and takes a big bite. “If I can eat this before Paul gets back out here, I won’t have to hear anything about my unhealthy diet. Yet he lets the kids eat it. I guess I don’t whine as much as they do.” He crams the rest of the meat in his mouth and s
ays to Steve, “You should really encourage her to paint again.”

  My stomach flips. Steve stares at me, and looks beyond me, as if the painter is some unknown guest at the barbecue, who he didn’t see earlier. “Who paints?”

  “Rebecca paints. She is very talented. Better than me. She could have a real career as an artist. I settled for the corporate creative world. It’s a lot of fun, and I’ve been able to use my skills. But this girl is brilliant. Her work was in galleries—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. I’m going to help Paul and Mom.”

  I escape to the glass doors before they can stop me. Ryan has said enough. He knows I’m angry, and Steve’s eyes look ready to pop. Before I open the door, I sneak behind the bushes. Unlike my father, my hearing is almost bionic.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. Where is all her work?”

  “I don’t know, but she’s going to be pissed at me. I am shocked that she didn’t share that part of her life with you. She didn’t want to go to New York. She chose the beach and good seafood over chasing her dreams. Plus I’m sure there was a guy involved. There always is, right?” Ryan’s attempt to lighten the mood is lost on Steve.

  I peer over to the kitchen. I can see everyone running around, gathering food and trays. They’ll come barging through that door any moment and wonder what the hell I’m doing hiding in the bushes. I can’t say I lost an earring. Shit, I distracted myself now. I crane my neck and concentrate to hear their suddenly more hushed tones.

  “…she’s always been afraid of death. I didn’t mean to scare her. Jeez, I’m her little brother. But I’m sure that’s her problem with the house. It’s none of my business, but really it is. She’s my sister…”

  Since when does Ryan fucking whisper?

  “That explains a lot. It’s been hard. I don’t always know what to do. I guess we need to talk and…”

  “Rebecca Elizabeth, what are you doing behind the bushes? Have you lost your marbles? Help me carry this tray. My decrepit wrists are about to snap off. I offer to help and I end up doing everything while the kids…”

  I take the tray out of my mother’s arms and walk back to the table. I rest it gingerly on the glass, and Steve moves the fruit bowl to the side table to make room. I catch his eyes and see…what? Sadness? Confusion? Love? I lean down to kiss him in front of everyone. He whispers, “We need to talk later.” I shake my head in agreement.

  Logan is on his second hotdog as Maddie jumps up and down. “After you guys eat that gross lobster, who wants to play badminton?” Her eyes are gleaming as she scans the patio. “Aunt Becca, I know you want to play!”

  I smile and fill my plate with tender lobster chunks and flavorful corn and potatoes. This is my favorite meal. I can almost smell the ocean…

  “Maddie, Aunt Becca gets a little…spirited when she plays. I don’t know if she wants Steve to see that.” Ryan ducks as he anticipates a smack in the head. Since I am now a grown-up, I restrain myself.

  I address Maddie. “Aunt Becca will definitely play, and on the opposite team of your dad.” I give Ryan my best game face, but can’t help but crack a smile.

  “Steve, these two were ruthless as children.” My mother shakes her head and sips her lemonade. “But one was far worse tempered.”

  “Well, boys will be boys,” Steve says and lightly punches Logan in his skinny little arm. He looks around at everyone. There is silence. “What?”

  Ryan says, “Let’s just say my sister has mellowed with age. She can get quite feisty if she’s not winning. Or getting what she wants.” Ryan is clearly enjoying himself. Paul looks as though he is worried that his barbecue is going downhill fast.

  I panic and assume Steve is imagining me stomping on his pictures or burning down his house. “You guys exaggerate so much.” My mother and Paul avert their eyes and busy themselves with eating.

  “Let’s just say that she may not do anything rash, but she’s balling up her fists under the table and taking deep breaths when she’s pissed. And if she were playing a professional sport, she would get called for unsportsmanlike conduct.”

  “I’ll give you unsportsmanlike conduct!” I unclench my balled up fists and playfully, yet forcefully, shove my weasel of a brother. Ryan loses his balance, throws his dinner plate against the house and into the bushes, its contents sailing directly at our family members, as he lands with a huge splash in the pool. While doubled over in laughter at the sight of my father cursing and cleaning projectile corn pellets off his head, I feel my legs pull out from under me and receive a vigorous dunking into the deep end.

  I am fully dressed over my bathing suit, but as I surface I am laughing uncontrollably at the commotion that has continued to ensue at the patio table. My mother is wiping my father’s head, and the kids are attempting to push each other into the pool. Steve looks befuddled as he tries to stifle a giggle. And while Ryan is hopping on one leg and smacking at his ear, Paul is squealing, “That was my good outdoor china!” Has this man heard of paper plates? It isn’t like he’s entertaining foreign dignitaries…

  Shit. I reach into my pocket and feel my cell phone. By some miracle it isn’t at the bottom of the pool, but again it has gone swimming! I might as well throw it against the house with Ryan’s dinner. “Hey, Paul do you have any rice? Stat! It’s a Code Blue!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  “You’re doing WHAT?” Violet’s big blue eyes are bursting out of her little porcelain face while packing her gear for today’s kayaking trip.

  I told Steve I had to come all the way home this morning to check on the cats because I miss them, but that was just an excuse to talk to Violet alone. I can’t talk to Claire today. She is going to be a complete mental case over her water fear.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but somewhere in between the pool incident and sex, he asked me to move in with him.” I bite a loose cuticle on my fingernail and then sit on my hands, as I was taught in third grade to break this nervous habit.

  “You had sex in your brother’s pool?” She is evidently not paying attention to my story as she tries to decide which gross flavor of hummus to pack to spread on her multi-grain cardboard crackers.

  I sigh in exasperation. “Of course not! I am trying to say that everything was great at my brother’s house, even getting thrown in the pool was funny, except for my phone. Anyway, I overheard Steve and Ryan talking about our relationship, and Steve whispered to me that we needed to talk when we got home.”

  “Aaaannnnd?”

  I sit back down on the couch and hold an expensive beaded throw pillow to my chest. “I only assumed he was going to bring up my issues with the house and Noreen’s memory. But no. Somehow talking to my genius brother made him think he should ask me to move in with him.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s his way of thinking you want more proof of his commitment.” Violet zips up her backpack and grabs her spare bag with the change of clothes. She’s head to toe in a white cover-up over her teeny pink bikini. “The bigger question is why you said yes.”

  I drop my face down between my legs to hide, and then spring back up. “He wore me down with his reasoning, and I don’t want to lose him. I do really love him, and it’s time to face my fears. And besides, if I’m living there I have more of a right to make changes, right?”

  Violet frowns and wrinkles her brow. “I guess, but I don’t think it’s that automatic. I just hope you aren’t digging yourself a bigger hole.”

  “Are you ready to go?” I reply and she eyes me suspiciously. “What? I am not avoiding the issue. Really, I’m not.” She doesn’t look convinced. “Besides, I am not getting rid of my place right away, and I am definitely not selling. I’ll rent it out. In the meantime I can afford to pay for it. I’m going to look into getting a bigger storage unit.”

  “A bigger storage unit? You have one now? What are you storing?” Violet slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her overstuffed duffle bag.

  “Uh…nothing. Did I say bigger? I meant I
need a big one.” I look at my wrist as if it’s nineteen-ninety and there’s a watch there. “Look at the time! We need to get going. You’ll get to see Luke today. That should brighten your spirits. Just help me keep him away from Steve.”

  I practically push Violet out the door and start loading up the car. We arrive at the river on time, with a few minutes to spare. I survey the large parking area, looking for Steve amidst the crowd of middle-aged kayakers, and those who don’t know what they’re getting themselves into, but don’t want to sit at home on a holiday.

  I spot Steve in animated conversation with Tony, and pull into a nearby parking space.

  “Hi, Love. Kitties okay? I bet they did miss their momma.” Steve grabs me gently and kisses me.

  “Yeah, they love me, the little weirdos.” I smile as Tony comes over to greet me.

  “Hey, Sweetie. I see you brought a new friend.” Tony eyes Violet appreciatively as she emerges from the car.

  I lean in and whisper, “Can’t you pursue one at a time? Where’s Gina?” My tone is playful, but he knows I mean it.

  “Kid is sick. She couldn’t come. Apparently he’s barfing everywhere.” Tony makes a disgusted face and shakes his whole body, as if to ward off the potential germs that may have traveled into his body via Gina, the host mother.

  “Oh, that sucks. I’ll have to call her and see how he’s doing.” Tony and kids don’t mix well. I was hoping it would be different this time, but I am not feeling as confident now. However, I am not going to let him move in on Violet, because I have her earmarked for Luke today. Setting up my ex-boyfriends with my friends in order to keep them out of my hair is becoming a disturbing new hobby for me, but everyone can benefit. As my mother always says, “one woman’s nightmare is another woman’s dreamboat.”

  Steve comes to my aid and starts helping me unload the car, and Tony introduces himself to Violet, offering his manly assistance. Little does he know that Violet is a black belt in karate, and could kick his ass.