You've Been Volunteered

by Laurie Gelman

  “Want to do my birthday?”

  “Sure. When is it?”

  I punch his arm.

  “Ouch! Okay, Friday it is. Anything I should know?”

  “Don’t let anyone get hit by a car.”

  “Check. Oh! I talked to Rolly today.”

  “How is he?”

  “He sounds good. I think he really had a wake-up call.”

  “I think we all did,” I say. Ron has been much less of a workaholic since Vegas and he’s home for dinner almost every night.

  “You know, he stopped drinking. And so did Janine.”

  “And it took you until nine thirty at night to tell me this? That’s front-page news.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Max.”

  “Wow. I wonder how it’s affecting them.”

  Ron shrugs. “It’s not like they had to go into rehab or anything.”

  “Did you guys talk about anything else?” My question is leading but not specific, because I promised Ron I’d stop asking about the business. He said if there was any news he’d tell me and asking was just annoying the crap out of him.

  “We did. They’re coming to town this weekend and want to have dinner Saturday night.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about this. We haven’t seen them since Las Vegas. Ron and I have discussed the alleged proposition many times. He swears he didn’t hear the same thing I did. It’s so frustrating. It reminds me of the time I had jury duty. Three days of testimony and when I sat down with my fellow jurors I couldn’t believe we had been sitting at the same trial. Now I understand why juries have things read back to them. We could have used a stenographer in Vegas.

  “Okay. Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Not yet. He’s going to let me know. And before your head explodes, let me just tell you we didn’t talk business.”

  “Who’s asking?” I slide into bed and thank God he said something. Otherwise I would have been brooding for the next hour.

  There’s a knock at the door and Laura’s voice saying, “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, sweetie.” I sit up and put a pillow behind my back.

  “I just got off the phone with Jeen.”

  Now that’s a name we haven’t heard in a few weeks.

  “How’s he doing?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Good. His band is going back out on the road and—”

  “No,” I say as emphatically as I can.

  “No, what?”

  “No, you’re not going out on the road with them.” I look at Ron for backup, but he’s pretending to read his emails.

  “Who says I want to go back on the road with them?” Laura is genuinely affronted by my suggestion. “And by the way, Mom, I’m twenty-two. I can go anywhere I want.”

  “Then why are you telling us if you’re not planning to go?”

  “I was going to ask you if I could have them over for a good-bye dinner next Friday, but jeez, I don’t know if I want to anymore.”

  “So, are you guys together?”

  “No.” She sighs. “Everything feels different now that we’re home.”

  “So, why do you want to have a dinner for him?”

  “It’s not just for him, it’s for the whole band. I got really close with them on the road. And Jeen and I still want to be friends.”

  I feel bad about jumping to conclusions, so I make it easy on her.

  “Well then, of course you can. If you want, Ron and I will take Max out for the night, so you can have the place to yourselves.”

  Ron finally looks up and raises one eyebrow at me.

  “She’s not fifteen anymore,” I tell him, because I know he’s thinking about the party Laura threw for herself when we went away one weekend and left Vivs in charge. Ron looks at her.

  “I don’t want to see any empty Kahlúa bottles or vanilla milkshake cups. And this time you clean up the vomit.”

  Laura rolls her eyes. “Am I ever going to live that down?”

  “Not a chance. It’s already in the speech I’m giving at your wedding.”

  22

  * * *

  To: Safety Patrol People

  From: JDixon

  Re: Morning Patrol

  Date: 5/15

  Hello, fellow sufferers!

  I have glad tidings on this rainy morning. After a considerable (some would say over-the-top) vetting process we have hired a full-time crossing guard.

  Mitch Jones will be donning the neon orange first thing tomorrow morning. We are so happy to have him.

  The fifth-grade patrollers will finish out the year with Mr. Jones supervising, and starting in September he will be the official patrol patroller.

  For the lucky parents still on the schedule to supervise, you are off the hook. Go buy a lottery ticket, ’cause this is your lucky day.

  If you have any questions, by all means direct them to PTA president Sylvie Pike. My work here is done.

  Jen

  * * *

  I’m so happy to be writing this email and to have the safety patrol monkey off my back. I actually have Ron to thank for the whole thing, although he hates to be reminded.

  The night before my birthday, we ate leftovers at home. Max and I had the remains of skillet tacos from the night before and Ron had the rest of the chicken souvlaki he’d had for lunch at the Greek place near his store earlier in the week.

  The next morning, while I slept in, he got Max to school and supervised the morning shift of patrollers. Or should I say, he tried. Apparently just after Ron got to his post, he had what he described as a bathroom emergency. “Urgent diarrhea,” he called it. Is there any other kind? He didn’t want to leave the one safety patrol kid who showed up (Chloe’s mom later informed me that she’d let her sleep in after a grueling evening of rehearsing for her dance recital) so he asked Mitch, who was painting the posts on the school entrance, to keep an eye on things until he got back.

  He never got back.

  A fourth-grader found him passed out in the boys’ bathroom with his pants around his ankles and a huge mess in front of and behind him. Poor kid. He can never un-see that. The school called an ambulance and then called me. Long story short, Ron had food poisoning (most likely the chicken) and we spent the day in the ER.

  I didn’t find out about Homeless Mitch’s involvement until I got an urgent text from Sylvie Pike.

  Where are you? And why did Mitch do safety patrol with Chloe? Please text me back!!

  So I did.

  I’m in the hospital with Ron.

  Could I have been more specific? Probably. Did I give a royal rip in that moment? Nope. Ron couldn’t move his head without throwing up. And when there was nothing left to throw up, he violently dry-heaved. He was on one IV for hydration and another for antibiotics.

  Of course, this little detour canceled my birthday plans and the dinner we had on the books with Rolly and Janine. It took Ron a good three days at home to get fully back on his feet.

  So tonight, almost a month later, is do-over night. Ron is taking us to my favorite BBQ place, Q39, and my mouth is already watering for their short ribs.

  Vivs, Laura, and Max are with us as we settle around a table. Vivs is in the best months of pregnancy—she’s past the exhausted stage and is now in the cute-pregnant-girl stage. She looks so healthy.

  “Do they have garlic bread?” Max asks as he looks at the menu.

  “I don’t think so, buddy,” Laura answers, ruffling his hair. Max has loved having his sister home. His obnoxious behavior has all but disappeared and he is so much more pleasant to be around. I never realized what a stabilizing force Laura is in our household.

  “We have some news,” Vivs announces after we order.

  “Oh? What’s that?” I ask.

  “Laura and I are moving in together!”

  “What?” There goes my stabilizing force. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “We’re not kidding,” Vivs assures me.

  “But you
two fight like cats in a bag. How are you going to live together without a referee?”

  “That was when we were younger,” Laura protests. “It’s going to be great. I’m going to help Vivs raise the baby.”

  “Can I live with you too?” Max asks.

  “Okay, stop the bus.” I have too many thoughts running through my head and I need a minute to reboot.

  Ron starts with the basics. “Have you found a place?”

  “We found an apartment at the Arcadia and it’s perfect, but we’re going to need one of you to cosign the lease. If you do, we can move in at the end of the month.”

  “The Arcadia is nice. Can you afford it?” Ron continues the questions calmly while I try to find my voice.

  “The rent is a thousand dollars a month, so five hundred each,” Vivs answers.

  “Mom, can I live there too?” Max asks again.

  “No,” I answer harshly.

  “You can come see us anytime you want,” Laura assures him.

  “You don’t even have a job,” I sputter out to her, then turn to Vivs. “And you! You’ll be going on maternity leave. How do you expect to pay the rent?”

  Our BBQ feast arrives at this moment and the table is silent while our waiter puts our food down.

  “Can I get you guys anything else?” he asks.

  “More water, please,” Vivs tells him and he turns away.

  “Mom, we’ve got it worked out. Jenny Craig pays for maternity leave. When I go back I’ll work days, and Laura got a job at J. Gilbert’s in the evenings, so we’ll have it covered. And we’re hoping you’ll look after the baby a few days a week, too.”

  A few days a week?

  “What’s the job?” I direct to Laura.

  “In the kitchen. I’ll be training to sous chef. You know how much I love cooking.”

  I remain silent, so Laura adds, “I need this, Mommy. I can’t live at home. I want my own place.”

  “With your sister and a baby,” I point out. “You guys don’t have any idea how hard life is with an infant.”

  “Yes, we do! We were there for Max, remember?”

  And they were. The girls were teenagers when Max came on the scene and they used to fight over who got to do everything for him … except change poopy diapers. It was like having two full-time mother’s helpers. How could I have forgotten that? I had imagined that Vivs would move back home and we would all be one big happy family. I should have realized that my independent spirit would have her own ideas.

  “So, I guess it’s a done deal,” I say, defeated.

  “As long as you cosign our lease.” It comes out as a plea from Vivs.

  “Of course we will,” Ron answers.

  After an awkward silence I sigh loudly. “Well, you’re going to need some furniture.”

  * * *

  “Having fun?” I ask No Longer Homeless Mitch as he puts on his safety patrol vest and grabs the walkie-talkie.

  “Why yes, I am.” He smiles, giving me the first ever straight answer to that question.

  “I’m so glad this worked out.”

  “Me too,” he says. “Didn’t think it was going to, for a while there.”

  He ain’t kidding. The background check he went through was something akin to a colonoscopy. I totally understand why the school wanted to be thorough, but really, was the lie-detector test necessary?

  After Mitch came to Ron’s rescue that day, I got royally chewed out by Sylvie and Principal Jackowski for circumstances that were beyond my control. I countered their ire with a suggestion that they consider making Mitch the full-time patrol patroller. At first, they rejected the suggestion outright and I was going to give up, but then I thought, Jennifer Rose, what would your mother do? At that, I pushed harder and countered every argument they had. He was already doing odd jobs at the school, and yes, he was homeless, but if we paid him he could rent the room above Cathy’s Nail Salon across the street. I really sounded like Kay in that room and it felt so good. They finally agreed to do a strong background check.

  What they found was the not uncommon tale of a forty-five-year-old veteran who had done two tours in Afghanistan and received a Purple Heart for taking shrapnel in his left knee—hence the limp. He came home on leave to take care of his father, Carl, who had been diagnosed with liver cancer, but never went back so he was considered AWOL and given a dishonorable discharge.

  With no health insurance, Mitch took care of his father the best he could, but they were evicted from their apartment when they were four months behind on the rent. Carl died in the emergency room of Osawatomie State Hospital three days later. Mitch fell into a huge depression and spent four months in a psychiatric hospital. All his identification was stolen while he was there, and he has spent the last couple of years trying to get it back. He sleeps at the shelter run by the church my parents go to and is known as a problem solver within that community. He doesn’t panhandle and he started hanging out on the park bench across from William Taft because he sometimes does odd jobs for the lady who runs the nail salon (our friend Cathy!). He loves kids, and kids seem to gravitate toward him. These days that isn’t necessarily a plus, what with increased awareness of sexual abuse, but they decided to give him a shot on a trial basis and today is day one.

  I’m supposed to hang out with him for the first two days and show him the ropes. I can’t imagine what I could possibly tell him that he doesn’t already know, but it’s a nice day, so what the heck.

  The Chloes, who are on morning duty as well, cheerfully put on their vests and grab their new stop signs. My team is looking good.

  “How are the new digs?” I ask Mitch as we all head out to the corner of 12th and Hayward.

  “Big improvement from my last place.”

  “Is Cathy cool?”

  “Cool?” He laughs. “More like ice cold. But it’s okay. I’ve known her for a while—I painted that salon two times. She knows I’m no trouble. But now that I live there, she thinks she has a free handyman.” His big smile tells me he doesn’t mind.

  As I’m watching Mitch and the Chloes, I see Ron and Max in Bruce Willis pulling into the parking lot, so I walk over. Max jumps out the second the car stops and dodges my attempt to give him a hug.

  “Bye, Mom!” he yells as he sprints toward his friends. I turn to Ron on the driver’s side.

  “What’s up, good-lookin’?”

  “He’s full of beans this morning. I couldn’t get him to eat breakfast.”

  “Spring fever,” I say knowingly. “The kids are all nuts this time of year.” I can’t believe that we are but a month away from summer vacation. This year Max is going to a sleep-away camp with Draper and Zach T. I still don’t know how Alison Lody talked me into it, but it seems my son can’t wait to get away from me. He’s so excited. Ron thinks he’s going to have the best two weeks of his life. I think we’ll be lucky if he changes his underwear even once.

  “Don’t forget we have early dinner plans,” I remind my husband.

  “Yup. I’m looking forward to seeing them.”

  “Me too.” I kiss Ron and he drives off. But am I? We haven’t seen Rolly and Janine since Las Vegas. I’m still not convinced I’m wrong about what happened there. I guess I’ll know in a few hours. I’m meeting Janine for a spin class at four, and we are meeting the boys for pizza at six. And here’s the big news … even Max is invited! Something has definitely shifted in the Schraders’ world.

  * * *

  Carmen has brought her A game today as usual. We are doing a medium jog off the saddle to “American Pie” by Don McLean, adding in tap-backs and push-ups during the chorus. I was a bit late for the class, so I sneaked in the back and haven’t seen Janine yet.

  As we cool down and stretch to Bruno Mars’s “It Will Rain,” Carmen randomly gives me a shout-out.

  “Where’s my girl Jen Dixon?”

  I raise my hand from the back row.

  “Well, happy belated birthday, woman!” At this she plays Stevie Wonder’s “H
appy Birthday” and a very sweaty Janine walks over with a cupcake and a candle. The whole class applauds me as I make a wish, blow it out, and hug my friend. I generally don’t like surprises, but this one is so unexpectedly great that all I can do is smile ear to ear.

  “Oh my God. I really didn’t see that coming,” I tell Janine as we walk out of the spin room, still toweling off.

  “I knew you’d never tell anyone it was your birthday and I think it’s nice to have people celebrate you.”

  “I wouldn’t want it every day, but it was kind of cool to get a shout-out!”

  We walk to the juice bar at the front of the gym and grab our usual green juice.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I tell Janine once we’re sitting down. “You look great.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, thank God there are some benefits to clean living. Most of it sucks.”

  “Ron told me you guys stopped drinking. I finally found sober Janine!”

  “She’s no fun, trust me.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. It’s nice of you to quit in solidarity with Rolly.”

  She shakes her head while she’s guzzling her juice. “I didn’t do it for him. I did it for me! After his heart attack, our doctor insisted I get a checkup. My blood test came back with some kind of early indicator that my liver was having problems. I had to fess up about how much we enjoy a glass of wine, and he strongly suggested I cut way back. Since Rolly can’t drink, I figured misery loves company, so I stopped.”

  I’m fascinated. “Just like that?”

  “It wasn’t easy, believe me.”

  I feel like there’s a lot she isn’t saying.

  “Thank you again for my cupcake.”

  “Well, I figured I owed you after Vegas.”

  Here it comes! I play it cool. “What do you mean?”

  “My God, you guys were great when Rolly collapsed. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

  “Oh, that.” I’m trying hard to hide my disappointment.

  “Yes, that. What else would it be?”

  Screw it. I have suffered long enough.