by Brad Graber
Rita took a breath. “The least you could do is lie.”
El took her mother’s hand and pulled her over to the bed where the two sat down side-by-side. “Really, mother. It’s time for me to live my own life. Now that Daddy and you have split,” El continued, “you have to get on with your own life. I wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do. That would be silly. You go and find yourself and maybe,” and El smiled despite Rita’s awful frown, “you too will find a new life.”
But Rita’s expression didn’t change. “I’m over men. I won’t remarry. I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life.”
El resisted Rita’s obvious attempt at manipulation. “Now don’t be silly. Besides, you still have Rick. He won’t be going to college for another two years.”
Rita shook her head in defiance. “He’s a boy. It’s different.”
“I know.” El hugged her mother tightly. “But it’s time for me to leave.”
“I suppose,” Rita acknowledged as she wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “We’ve always been so close. Your brother keeps to himself. He’s distant, quiet. I could never crack that shell.”
“Don’t be so hard on him,” El said. “He’s just off in his own world. A lot of boys are like that. Be glad he’s so darn smart.”
Rita huffed. “Mensa. That’s too smart for me.”
El laughed. “He’s gifted.”
“A real genius,” Rita said sarcastically. “With a personality to match.”
El had heard her mother’s objections before. And though there was truth to the fact that Rick was difficult to communicate with at times, El had always known that she was the favored child. That awareness made her feel sorry for Rick, altering her view of her little brother. Between bouts of obnoxious know-it-all behavior, Rick often sat quietly, seemingly dejected, as if observing the family from afar. Once, on a trip to the Amish country, they’d actually left him behind at a rest stop.
“Where’s your brother?” Rita had asked El with alarm, who was busy reading in Teen Beat about David Cassidy, her favorite pop star, before noticing Rick wasn’t in the car. They had all laughed nervously, even joked that being with Rick was like being alone.
“A lot of great company he’ll be,” Rita mourned as she blew her nose into a tissue. “At least if he had friends . . . he’d seem normal.”
El hated it when Rita picked on Rick. “Mother, he can’t help being different.”
“Different, all right,” Rita agreed.
El covered her ears. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear another word about Rick. He’s unique. Special. And I love him.”
3
It had taken Harry an hour before he stopped wandering about the house and seriously sat down to face the edits recommended by Edward. “Dear Lord,” he grumbled as he scanned the pages.
Beetle, nestled in a dog bed by Harry’s desk, looked up. Harry continued to mutter even as he spotted Beetle’s sudden interest.
“Am I talking to you?” Harry asked in a sing-song voice as Beetle sat up, his body vibrating with enthusiasm. “No, I’m not. I didn’t once say eat.”
Beetle let out a long, whine.
“For an old guy, you still got a lot of spunk.” Harry playfully grabbed Beetle’s snout as the terrier rolled onto his back and gently swiped at Harry’s hand. “You’re such a good boy,” Harry sang, getting down on his hands and knees and crouching next to Beetle, mesmerized by the sparkle in the dog’s brown eyes. As Harry got to his feet, Beetle growled. Someone was approaching the front door. “Oh damn,” he said to Beetle. “We’re not alone.”
The bell rang and Beetle lurched into action. His body violently shook with each high- pitched bark. Harry covered his ears as he hurried to the door. “Coming,” he shouted as Beetle followed by his side, his body erect, on full alert.
It was Lil.
“Yes?” Harry said, peeking out from behind the door.
Lil stood with her hands firmly planted on her hips. Her eyes seemed to glow as she broke into a big smile. “Harry, I just had to tell you,” and then Harry noticed what was tucked under her arm. It was a copy of his first book, Tensions in Paradise. “This book is amazing. I really enjoyed every line, Harry. And now I’m reading Death Leap. I had no idea that you were such a great writer. I just thought you were”—she seemed to search for the right word—“unfriendly. But now I know why. Harry, you’re really a well of deep emotion.”
Harry blushed. “Lil, I’d love to let you in, but I’m writing right now. I never have visitors when I’m writing,” Harry said, though he hadn’t exactly been interrupted. Still, it was the principle of the thing.
“Oh, Harry,” Lil admonished him as she pushed open the door. Spotting Beetle, she kneeled in the entryway as the pitch of her voice escalated. “Oh baby, there you are. How can you live with this mean old man? He’s such a stick in the mud.”
“I assure you, Lil, he thinks I’m fabulous.”
She looked up and laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he does, Harry. And you know, when a dog loves you, well, you just can’t be all bad.”
“Lil,” Harry said briskly, “is there something you need? This is my time to write. And you’re interrupting. I wish you’d call before you just stop by.”
Lil cocked her head as she stood up. “But Harry, I wanted to ask you to go to Happy Hour so we can discuss your book. I want to know all about those marvelous characters.”
“It’s fiction, Lil. There’s nothing to tell.”
“Harry, I won’t take no for an answer,” she firmly said. “You simply must. I spent twenty-five dollars on this book, including tax and shipping, and I want to talk with you.”
Harry realized there was no other option. “All right,” he said, surrendering. “I’ll meet you in front at four o’clock.”
“Be there or be square,” she called as she headed down the pathway, waving Harry’s book.
◆
So you’ve got a date? Richard’s voice intoned.
Harry had just stepped out the shower and started to dry himself off. “I wouldn’t call it a date . . .” Just company.
She’s a very attractive woman. Does she know?
Harry caught his reflection in the mirror. What’s there to know?
Oh, Harry, sometimes you’re such a child.
Harry ignored the comment as he applied his shaving cream.
Too bad. You really should be honest with her. She has the hots for you.
Harry examined his face in the mirror. “And why not?” he said as he ran a finger across his thick brow. I’m still an attractive man.
But she’s not for you.
“Of course not,” he said as the razor glided over his cheek. Of course not.
◆
Living in Aguilar Gardens is like being in prison, Rikki thought as she looked out the sixth-floor bedroom window to the cement playground below. Children ran about, enclosed by a tall chain-link fence, playing hide and seek among large concrete barrels placed on their sides, the openings large enough for a tricycle to pass through. Some climbed atop the barrels, kicking at the others while precariously balancing themselves. The abutting courtyard, a large, rectangular area bordered by green benches, hosted a group of boys playing stickball. A group of girls were hopping among boxes etched in white chalk on the nearby walkway.
The noise carried through the courtyard, beyond the playground, and up to Rikki’s ears.
The vibrant colors of Michigan trees popped into her head. Come late September, early October, the trees transitioned from a verdant green to a lush orange-brown, and as the leaves dropped, they created a wonderful crunch on the sidewalks and pathways. She closed her eyes and could see the majestic beauty. Feel the chill in the air. Smell the wonderful scent of grass, mixed with the decaying leaves, a feast for the senses.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Rita said as she entered the room with a plate of Oreos and a glass of milk.
“What’s that?” Rikki asked, despite being very sure what
her grandmother was holding.
“A snack. I thought you and I might talk.”
Rikki offered a jaundiced look. “You know I’m not eating those cookies.”
“Honey, a little cookie couldn’t hurt.”
“I don’t think so,” Rikki said as Rita put the plate and glass down on the card table desk.
Rita acquiesced. “Okay. We’ll leave it for later. So,” she said sitting down and leaning forward, eyes searching her granddaughter. “What’s up?”
Rikki hated these intrusions. Rita periodically seemed intent on having a heart-to-heart talk. It had gotten so bad that Rikki found herself making up things just to get Rita off her back.
“You seem blue. Tell me about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Rikki said, popping up and grabbing a cookie. Anything to stop herself from talking.
“Is it your mom?” Rita asked sympathetically.
Rikki didn’t want to have another El scene with Rita. What was the point? Rita would only clam up, as she’d done so many times before, crying, leaving Rikki frustrated.
“Is it living in Queens?”
Rikki shook her head, no. They’d been through that discussion before, too.
“You must tell me,” Rita insisted. “I want to know.”
Rikki mustered her courage. The small voice in her head said, here we go again.
“I hate it here,” she finally admitted, cookie crumbs sticking to the corner of her mouth. “It’s dirty and crowded. There’s no nature. None. Michigan had beautiful trees and lovely parks. Not a playground that looks like a parking lot. I know this is your home . . . but it will never be mine.” She closed her eyes, pressing back tears. “I miss my life. Why couldn’t you have moved to Michigan? I’d have been in the same school with friends, not in some awful place where I don’t fit in.”
Rita shook her head in agreement as she listened. “I’m sorry,” she said, “that you’re so unhappy. But this is the way it had to be. I’m an adult, so I don’t have to explain my reasons. Let’s just say that we were not going to be able to stay in Michigan. And that is that.”
“Then what’s the point of even talking to you?” Rikki snapped, her irritation growing.
Rita folded her hands in her lap. “Look,” she said, the tone in her voice changing from sympathetic to defensive. “This isn’t my idea of heaven on earth, either. Do you think I wanted to live in Queens my whole life? But it’s what we can afford.”
“But why not Michigan? We had a perfectly nice house.”
“I told you,” Rita repeated. “We couldn’t afford it.”
Rikki clasped her hands to her face. “I’ve lost everything. And you refuse to help me.”
“How can you say that?” Rita answered, a shocked expression on her face.
“Because you’ve made this whole thing about you. You’re the hurt party. You’re the one who has suffered a loss. I have to comfort you. Well, I’m tired of it,” Rikki said, rising to her feet. “Stop asking me what’s wrong if you don’t intend to help.”
“It’s been four years, Rikki. Four years of my feeling bad about you being sad. I think four years is long enough. You need to get over this.”
Rikki seized the moment. “Maybe I should talk with Adam.”
“Adam?”
“Yes. Adam Burtock.”
“Burtock?” Rita remembered. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Rikki had spent six months as a patient of Adam Burtock after moving to Queens. Twice a week, she’d visited the social worker in apartment 8B. The second bedroom was set up as an office with a desk and sofa. A television sat on a built-in countertop by the window. Tall and lanky, barely any weight on his lean frame, Adam resembled a skeleton. His bony hands reached out to make a point as Rikki sat and listened to him lecture her on being kind to her grandmother. Rikki imagined Burtock watching Family Feud in between counseling sessions.
“At least he listened to me,” Rikki said.
“Sure, he listened,” Rita said indignantly. “I paid him. Good money, too. Do you think anyone wants to voluntarily listen to you go on and on about how unhappy you are? I wish someone would pay me.”
Rikki had no answer.
“I’m tired, Rikki. You’re wearing me out. I’m not a young woman. I don’t have the tolerance for all your teenage angst.”
The two sat and stared at each other.
“I didn’t ask for this,” Rikki finally said, her defiance unmistakable. “This isn’t my choice to live with you.”
Rita’s face went pale, and without another word she stood up and left.
◆
Lil left a phone message while Harry was in the shower, asking him to meet her at Seasons 52 at Biltmore Fashion at five o’clock instead of meeting out front at four, which they had earlier agreed to. Two more messages followed in rapid order, changing the time once again.
“I can pick you up,” Harry suggested when he called her back.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’m going to be late, but I’m not sure how late.”
“How about we do it another time?” Harry suggested, leaning back in his chair, eyes fixated on his computer screen. There was nothing worse than growing bored with the editing process, believing there was a golden kernel buried in every sentence, and being unable to unearth it. He was definitely done for the day. “No big deal,” he assured her, wondering why he always returned to his office, no matter the time of day, no matter what his plans, to sit in front of his computer.
“I’m just conflicted,” she said, apologetically.
“Okay, then let’s not,” Harry offered, losing interest in the back-and-forth over such a simple matter. “This whole thing was your idea anyway.”
“No. Meet me at 5:30,” she said before once again adjusting the time. “Better make it 6:30. The reservation will be in your name.”
Harry shook his head as he hung up, oblivious to the fact that the casual Happy Hour had morphed into dinner. He was just grateful she’d finally made up her mind.
What’s wrong with that woman? Everything is such a big deal!
◆
“Aldon,” Harry said, as he approached the Season 52 hostess. “For two.”
The tanned young woman checked her list and flashed a smile. Harry had never seen such white teeth. “This way,” she motioned as Harry followed her slim figure in a tight white mini skirt and spiked black heels into a dimly lit room of stone and warm wood tones. How handsome, he thought as he slid into the secluded booth. Lit votive candles and a tiny pussy willow in a miniature vase decorated the table. It had been a long time since he’d last seen a pussy willow. He touched the gray velvety tip and thought lovely.
He ordered a glass of merlot as he patiently waited. Lil was late. It was nice to be out of the house, he thought, noticing the many couples gathered about in the cozy, romantic setting. Picking up the votive, he scanned the menu. Lil’s voice broke his concentration just as he was deciding between the caramelized grilled sea scallops and the seafood paella.
“Harry,” she cooed, her voice warm and inviting.
He looked up. She was wearing a figure-hugging black dress and black pumps. A gold belt, cinched at the waist, matched her bracelet and pendant earrings. Her skin looked iridescent by candlelight. Her blonde hair had been pulled back and tucked behind her ears, and she was beautifully made up to highlight her eyes and full lips.
Harry drew a breath. “You look amazing.”
“Of course,” she said with a girlish laugh as she spun about, offering Harry a full view before sliding into the booth.
“You did all that just for Happy Hour?” he asked innocently.
She gave him a coy look. “You’re pretty reclusive, aren’t you?”
“I try to be,” Harry answered seriously. “It’s not easy working from home. There are interruptions all day long.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “You shouldn’t be such a loner.”
He nod
ded, not so much agreeing, but uncomfortable talking about it. He was out now. He’d prefer to just enjoy his wine and the company. He had no other expectations.
“You know, Harry,” she started as she glanced at the menu, “You’re a very attractive man. Why are you still single?”
The question immediately put Harry off. It was too personal, coming from someone he hardly knew. Harry needed more time to get to know the other person before discussing intimate topics. Harry doubted Lil would ever be a person he’d confide in. “I like to live alone,” he lied, sidestepping her question. “It’s my world—my life.”
She smiled. “That’s not why,” she said as if she had access to Harry’s secret world. “You’re shy, aren’t you?” She reached over and grabbed his hand.
Harry didn’t want to appear rude. But he wanted his hand back.
“You’ve been living alone too long, Harry Aldon. Men aren’t meant to be alone. No one is. You’re just awkward. Sweet—but awkward. I could tell immediately. I bet you think that you don’t even like people. Am I right?”
Harry couldn’t disagree. He was terribly uncomfortable with most people. Always had been. It was a weakness that few people discerned. Instead, they interpreted Harry’s quiet nature as being rude. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
As Lil searched his face for confirmation, Harry became anxious. Aware that Lil was flirting in a very direct and uninhibited manner, he slowly withdrew his hand.
“You don’t need to be shy with me,” Lil assured him, reaching for his wine glass and taking a sip.
“Would you like a glass?” Harry asked, his heart wildly racing, wondering how to make a graceful exit. “I’ll get the waitress,” he said as he waved at a young lady who passed by and failed to notice him.
Lil laughed. “Oh, Harry,” she said, in a tone not much different from the one he’d heard from his mother when he was a boy and had done something silly. “You’re not much for adult relationships, are you?”
Harry, speechless, stared at her.
“Well, it’s time that changed, Harry. There’s a whole world out there. And I’m here to show it to you,” she said with such insistence that Harry worried his life was about to change—whether he liked it or not.