Chips Off The Block:
Short Stories, Novelettes, and a Poem or Three
By Anna Scott Graham
Copyright 2013 by Anna Scott Graham
Cover design by Anna Scott Graham
These pieces are works of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places, are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author’s Note
Dedicated with many thanks to Suzy Stewart Dubot, who invited me to take part within the Top Writers Block cooperative. Also to the other talented authors within Top Writers Block. And lastly, I dedicate these stories and poems to my husband, with special thanks to him for years of love, support, and the occasional cup of freshly popped corn.
Table of Contents
Why Me? – 50 Years Waiting
Fools Rush In – Pork Fried Rice and Recessed Lights
Trash Day! – The American Way
Loneliness – She Walked Along 14th Street
Poverty – His Beer Bottle, Her New Key
Out of the Ashes – He’s Among Angels
Stitches – Various Little Birds
Meringue – The Todd Lambert Special
Pumpkins – Goodbye Miss October
Liner Notes
50 Years Waiting
Andrea was seventy-two years old that morning. She stared in the bathroom mirror, tucking short gray hair behind her ears, wondering if she looked any older, or was the aged glass part of the problem. Dim slivers were reflected like layers of her life. She smiled, unable to do anything else. It was her birthday after all.
Later over coffee, her daughters asked what she wanted for dinner. She requested spaghetti with plenty of parmesan, and Samantha, her eldest, smiled. “You have that every night Mom.”
“Well, make it special. Throw in a meatball.”
Catherine sighed. “For God’s sake, can’t we take you out or something?”
“No, too much trouble. Save it for Mother’s Day.”
Both women, in their late forties, grimaced, as Andrea never went out for that annual holiday either. As the coffee pot was emptied, they agreed that Sam would bring the pasta and sauce, Cat some bread, salad, and dessert. “I am baking you a cake and you are gonna have a slice,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Andrea’s tone was that of Cat’s twenty-four-year-old daughter Laurel. They would all show up with cards, but no presents. Andrea hadn’t wanted any gifts since Carl died.
But flowers didn’t count. As the sisters left, Sam agreed to pick up roses, while Cat would grab gladiolas. Their girls would buy lesser bouquets, and their sons might remember a card. They would plan for an early dinner, so their mother wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of it.
Andrea spent her afternoon speaking to her grandchildren; she had been a relatively young mother, so had Sam and Cat. No great-grandchildren yet, for which Andrea rejoiced. Laurel had threatened, but Andrea wasn’t sure if Cat knew her daughter had been pregnant at seventeen. Carl had been dead for three years then and Andrea had plenty of time to listen to a teenager’s woes. An abortion was certainly dramatic, and Andrea had known similar heartache.
Until then Laurel hadn’t, and that experience had straightened her out. Cat always wondered why her youngest had gone from being a slacker to earning solid B’s, then attending nursing school. Laurel worked at the local hospital, but told her grandmother that she wasn’t sure she could perform CPR on her. Andrea said she would try to die when Laurel wasn’t on shift.
She wasn’t that close to all her grandchildren, but didn’t need to be. Justin, Laurel’s older brother, was so much like his late grandfather, it was sometimes hard for Andrea to look at him. She had loved Carl with as much of her heart as what remained, but it was more than many men received. Carl still dwelled deeply in his widow, but he wasn’t the only one.
As Justin looked like Carl, Laurel took after her grandmother, and why they were such spitting images, no one knew. It just happened sometimes, the way all of Sam’s kids had Carl’s crooked teeth, or how both of Cat’s had Andrea’s formerly red tresses. That was the only way to set Justin apart from Carl; he’d had nearly black hair, while Justin was a deep strawberry blonde. Every time Andrea laid eyes on that grandson, she thought of her late husband. Then she considered another man.
She never told anyone, it would be poor form. Besides, seventy-two-year-olds didn’t go around talking about their past lovers. Andrea spoke about her children and grandchildren, and how glad she was that there weren’t any great-grandchildren yet. She never said that around Laurel, only to Justin, Carissa, Megan, and Anthony. All laughed, in full agreement.
That evening Andrea received kisses and hugs as old vases were retrieved from cupboards, then filled with a variety of blooms. Justin surprised her with a bright spray of carnations, and an enclosed card: Happy Birthday Grandma, Love Juss. Andrea had called him Juss when he was little, and Laurel still referred to him that way. Dressed in scrubs, she teased her brother; he would always be Juss this and Juss that. Everyone smiled, and it wrenched an old woman’s heart, seeing her spouse’s face on this vivid young man.
Andrea was the matriarch, but didn’t always feel her age. Seventy-two was a legal way to count the years, but she recalled feeling much younger, watching descendants who weren’t little anymore. Justin was twenty-six, and Sam’s girls weren’t far behind. Anthony was nineteen, Sam’s baby, but at nineteen Andrea had just met…
“Grandma, Grandma?”
“What?”
Megan smiled, those bent bottom teeth hidden by her lower lip. “You ready for cake yet?”
Andrea looked at the clock, six thirty. Then she gazed to her plate, a few bites left. Eager faces stared at her; they had places to be, things to do. “Yeah sure, let’s cut that sucker.”
All giggled, even the boys, then Justin set a gentle kiss on top of her head. “Who’s the young’un Grandma?”
She smiled as he pulled out his phone. Andrea’s cell didn’t even take pictures. She had a digital camera somewhere, but her offspring and their broods chronicled the evening, telling her to check Facebook when she woke. All the photographic evidence would be waiting in the morning.
She suspected some was there already, as Carissa and Anthony tapped screens, then snapped more pictures. Andrea was caught blowing out candles, cutting the cake, eating part of a slice. She preferred ice cream; Carl had always bought extra, which they would enjoy for another week. Cat had picked up just one container. By the evening’s end, it would be gone.
Cake would remain, but Andrea would insist it go home with someone. As they put away leftovers, she told them to take whatever they liked, watching as the empty ice cream box went into the trash.
By seven, the kitchen was clean, kids were itchy. Andrea wasn’t tired, only because she had napped that afternoon. She had no intentions of being drowsy for her party, even if it was just spaghetti. She loved Italian food, Carl had hated it. Now she ate pizzas and pastas all the time, but not ice cream. That was for special occasions, and she always wanted a little bit more.
Cat sat down with a cup of decaf. “So Mom, what’re you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing special. Why?”
“You wanna go with me to the vet? I gotta take Ginger for her shots.”
Was this what being in her seventies meant, traipsing around with Cat, or some silly errand that Sam might mention. “No, I’m going fishing tomorrow. But thanks all the same.”
Everyone stared at her. “You’re gonna do what?” Justin asked.
“Go fishing. Just ’cause I’m seventy-two doesn’t mean I’m bored stiff.”
She said it politely, but hoped the p
oint was made. Her daughters had started bringing up these ridiculous outings last year, and while most of the grandchildren forgot she was alive except on holidays, Andrea had no intentions of being obliging. She had her own life, even if it meant watching TV or scant gardening on nice days.
“Okay, well, I was just asking.”
“I know and I appreciate it. But I’m gonna dig up some worms and…”
The grandchildren laughed. Andrea could deadpan; Carl had taught her after years of dishing it out with a big spoon. It was one of the things she missed about him, something Anthony might not remember. But Justin and Laurel did, both blinking away tears.
Justin wiped his eyes, then kissed his grandmother. “All right, just don’t dig all the way to China.” He kissed his mother, waving goodbye to his sister and cousins. “See you all later.”
“Drive safe Juss,” Andrea said.
He stepped out as Laurel flipped on the porch light. Then she peered through the tattered screen door. “Justin?” she called, following him. “Juss?”
Anthony ran outside as voices flew, Justin and Laurel’s against another young man, or maybe not quite as young as them. “Who the hell is it?” Sam stood, walking to the door.
“See anything?” Cat asked as her daughters joined the rest.
Andrea’s hearing wasn’t perfect, but sharp sounds carried; Justin was angry, Laurel confused, Anthony curious. Megan and Carissa were quiet, which allowed an outsider’s words to be discerned, or a stranger to those grandchildren. Blinking, then pinching herself, Andrea headed for the screen door, disbelieving what her ears took as truth. Thom Sugerman stood on her front lawn.
Slowly Andrea approached the group, her daughters beside her. Thom was dressed as she last saw him; she had never forgotten that day, even after fifty years.
Jeans, a white t-shirt, boots; it was his James Dean phase, even if he was thirty-two. What stunned her most wasn’t his apparel or the way he gaped at Laurel. What shocked Andrea was that he looked as though not a day had passed. He should be decrepit, or dead like Carl. Instead he shook with fear, similar to her last moment with him, as if no time had elapsed at all.
But five decades had moved through her world, the proof in young voices trying to project older. Justin shook his fist. “Get the fuck outta here before I call the goddamn cops! She’s my sister, not, not…”
“Juss, step back. You all just step back and leave him alone.”
Five pairs of eyes stared at Andrea, and Laurel’s were the biggest. Justin’s were a close second, and Andrea waved them off like pesky insects. “Go in the house now, give me a moment with this gentleman.”
“Grandma, he thinks Laurel’s…”
She smiled at Thom, who blinked. Then she looked at her oldest grandchild. “Juss, it’s all right honey. Go inside.”
Andrea reached for his face. Then she glanced to a relic from the past as youthful as her grandson. “Go on now Justin. Do what I say.”
“Honey, come on,” Cat called. “All of you, do as Grandma says.”
Trudging steps were taken as Andrea stared at the frightened man trembling on the grass. “Thom, my lord. Is that really you?”
He nodded, then took small strides her way. “Oh Jesus Andy, is that, are you really…”
Her arms opened. “Oh Thom yes, my God. What’n the hell?”
Before he could answer, he was wrapped against her, weeping into her shoulder.
They sat alone, a plate of spaghetti remnants between them. He had eaten two helpings, what Laurel was going to take home. Instead it went into this man; Thom’s gray eyes were ringed with dark circles, brown hair was unkempt, yet everything else was the same, from the mole on his right cheek to the cowlick that never laid flat over his left eyebrow. He had told her that cowlick was hereditary, from his great-grandfather. In all truth, he could be a great-grandfather; he was eighty-two years old. But he looked fifty years younger than that. He also looked weary, as if a week’s sleep wouldn’t be enough. He looked… Andrea sighed, then gently grasped his hands. His were tanned, hers were ancient.
“Where have you been?” she asked. Then she smiled. “Thom, oh Thom.”
He glanced around the kitchen, which wasn’t modern by normal standards, but to what he was accustomed, it looked positively new. Andrea had a dishwasher, but she rarely used it. The coffeemaker and toaster oven were her favorite appliances, but nothing remained of the early 1960s, when she had last seen him.
He found her eyes, then he gazed to the light fixture, wall switches, and toaster oven. Andrea preferred it over the microwave; reheated pizza came out crispy, breadsticks too. She would nuke pasta, but loved that little oven, last year’s Christmas present from her grandchildren.
Her eldest grandson was in theory just six years this man’s junior. Andrea didn’t wonder why Thom was here and so young, how time had stopped for him and not her. Instead she studied his eyes, gray and so fearful. Then she gripped his hands, and he responded with strength.
“How, I mean, I don’t know where I am, I mean…”
“It’s 2012 Thom. It’s been fifty years.”
“Oh no, no, I mean, oh Christ no…”
His head went to their clasped hands. His tears were plentiful, her heart feeling each one. He had disappeared after a silly argument, over what she couldn’t even remember, and no one knew where he had gone. At thirty-two years old, he had fled her life just as he had drifted into it, like some dream. Five decades later here he was again, but now he wept. She had never seen him weep before.
“Thom, can you tell me what happened?”
He nodded, then looked up. “You were so pissed at me, so I got drunk. I can’t remember where I laid down, but I musta passed out, Jesus Christ.” He gazed at her face. “I dreamed about you, like this. I swear to God Andy, I was dreaming of you the whole…”
He stroked her bobbed hair, then caressed her cheek. His hand remained, like touching reality. “Andy, my God, your eyes, they’re just the same.”
She smiled. “Thom, you’re just as big a liar…”
“No, I mean it, I…” Then he shivered, as if authenticity was a slap along his face. “Oh Christ, what the hell’s happened to me?”
She scooted closer, wishing for some answer. She didn’t disbelieve any of it, for she knew this man, he had not changed. She had, and everything else too, but within her heart and mind, the time with Thom Sugerman was as fresh as yesterday. She glanced at the vases, flowers so lively, just like who she sat next to. He leaned into her. “Andy, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know honey, I have no idea.”
He took her face in his hands, searching for what, she wondered, truth, lies, anything that might explain lost years. He had slept off one hell of a drunk, far longer than Rip Van Winkle, Andrea considered, as he moved toward her face.
What did he see? Her voice was croaky, her skin baggy, her teeth… She giggled, those were still her own, but everything else was another woman. “Thom, what’re you doing?”
“What, huh?” He backed away, but still held her face. “Andy, I, I…”
She smiled, as if no time had slipped from their grasp. He was still amorous, she was edgy. But instead of it being due to her youth, now it was because she was older than him.
“Thom, you need some…” Had he actually been unconscious for the last fifty years, and if so, where? “Honey, where again did you wake up?”
“About a mile from here, in some barn, but it was like this place, new. Christ Andy, is this really 2012?”
The numbers were slow coming off his tongue, and she nodded. “Yeah, 2012. Been easier to say it since 2010, don’t have to say two thousand whatever anymore.”
“Two thousand, two thousand…”
She patted his hand. She had turned seventy-two that day, and what kind of present was this? “Thom, are you tired?”
“What, oh yeah. God, I’m beat.”
She nodded. “All right, let me make up the sofa. No beds upstairs, gr
andkids don’t spend the night anymore.”
She stood, but he took her hand. His eyes were huge, and hopeful. “Andy, you really gonna make me sleep on the sofa?”
“My God Thom, are you serious?”
“Do you still, I mean…”
“What?” she said, hands on hips. “Do I still what?”
“Love me?”
She closed her eyes, wanting to fall into the floor. She gripped the chair, took a breath. “Oh for God’s sake Thom, you don’t expect…”
“Don’t make me sleep alone, please. Oh Andy, Christ, sit down!”
Instead he held her close, his warm strong arms like those of her grandchildren, but with a different need. What did he see, who did he think she was? “Thom, my God, oh Thom.”
He had started crying again, this time releasing a flood. She struggled to reach the living room, where they plopped onto the couch, his weeping deep and anguished. Andrea cradled him, shedding a few tears of her own.
He fell asleep on the sofa, an old tattered afghan over him. His boots were on the floor, and once he was out, Andrea inspected them, her heart skipping; she had bought these shoes for his thirty-first birthday. She had been twenty-one, and he had needed new boots. The ten years between them seemed erroneous; she was responsible, he was reckless.
Yet, he had taught her how to love a man, lessons not difficult. Her mother hadn’t approved, and until Andrea was twenty, they met on the sly, slipping away from church, which he only attended to get on her mother’s good side. He always left before communion, and once Andrea had taken the bread and wine, she exited the building instead of rejoining her family. Her father never spoke of it, but her mom…
They had been so relieved when he never returned, and when Carl began knocking on the door, they couldn’t get Andrea married off fast enough. That had been two years later, and nine months after that Samantha arrived. In the mid-1960s children right after marriage wasn’t an issue. And by then Andrea was almost twenty-five years old.
She knew why Thom mistook Laurel for her, and no one had called her Andy since he left, since that argument, the point of which she still couldn’t remember. Thom hadn’t mentioned the topic either. He had assumed Laurel was his lover, an honest mistake, if this night was to be believed. Andrea half-expected to come down in the morning to an empty sofa. If nothing else, seventy-two had started with a bang.
But he was real, her daughters and grandchildren had seen him. Justin looked ready to slug him, but Juss might have been in for a surprise; Thom had a mean left hook, although he was wobbly, probably would have gone right down. But he wouldn’t have forgotten it, and at their next encounter, Juss would have seen stars. Their next encounter; Andrea clucked softly, then stepped away from the couch. Just how long was Thom going to be around?
She stood still, trying to reason his presence. Was it magic, some act of God? Had time really stopped for this man, would the authorities haul him away and she would never see him again? Her heart stopped; then as she took a large breath, he flopped over onto his back. She eyed him from head to those bare feet, his socks stuck in the boots. He wasn’t overly smelly, like he had slept off a binge. She walked around the coffee table, and picked up one shoe, sniffing inside; she had bought real leather boots for him. She still knew the scent of his feet, of all of him. She shook her head, placing the shoe back on the worn carpet. Then she turned for the stairs, heading for bed.
She woke first, finding him facing the back of the couch, snoring loudly. She smiled, then nearly shouted; Laurel sat at the kitchen table, looking pensive.
“Good lord honey, you scared me to death!”
Laurel stood, leading Andrea to a chair. Then she peered around the corner. “Grandma, who the hell is that guy?”
“You make any coffee yet?”
“Grandma…”
“Start some coffee honey. I need some joe.”
In jerky movements Laurel did as she was told, but Andrea was just as shaky from feelings not conjured since right after Carl died. A widow at sixty-two wasn’t that old, but she wasn’t a filly either, some odd stretch of years that to anyone younger looked like a vast field of emptiness. Sexual barrenness, Andrea sniffed. That sound caused Laurel to turn her way.
“What?” Andrea asked.
“Grandma…”
“Coffee first.”
Laurel clucked, which made her grandmother smile. Then Thom choked, and Andrea nearly got up. They had slept together all night only a few times, and he had made that sound when he was close to waking. But she needed a few minutes with just Laurel, not that Andrea had any idea of what she was going to tell her.
As the coffee brewed, Andrea closed the door to the living room. Mostly to keep the scent of coffee away from him, also to give the women some privacy. Laurel didn’t even let the pot fill, liquid dripping right into the cups. Both women took it black, and Laurel brought the mugs straight to the table, then reached for her grandmother’s hands. “All right, coffee’s cooling. Now who is he?”
Andrea stroked young fingers, then placed a soft kiss on Laurel’s knuckles. Laurel sighed. “Grandma, you can tell me anything.”
“Can I?”
Laurel glanced at the closed door. “You know all my secrets.”
For the first time, Andrea wasn’t staring at a child. “I suppose I do. But you won’t believe me if I tell you, so…”
“Grandma,” Laurel smiled.
“Honey, anyone else know about your baby?”
Laurel looked away, shaking her head.
“That’s what I thought. And that’s fine, it’s your private business. That man in there, he’s my private business. Now I’ll tell you, if you really wanna know. But like I said, you won’t believe me and…”
“Of course I’ll believe you.”
Andrea rolled her eyes.
“Grandma, what? Is he a criminal or something, or…” She giggled, then cut it off. “Did Grandpa, you know…”
“Did he what?”
Laurel sniffed her coffee, then tried the edge. “Did Grandpa, oh God, I can’t even say it.”
“Did he have an affair? You think Thom is Carl’s illegitimate child?”
Laurel’s nod was slight, her eyes on her coffee.
“No, he’s not Carl’s illegitimate son.” Andrea snorted, then smiled. “Although that’s a great excuse, maybe what I’ll tell people.”
“Grandma…”
“Laurel, you won’t believe the truth. Let’s just go with that. Carl had an affair and…”
“Grandma!”
“Well, it sounds plausible.” It was probably the only rationale any of them would accept. Thom was some lost soul, and Andrea sighed. This wasn’t what she had wanted to do that day. She hadn’t planned to go fishing either, had thought she might watch an old movie, or maybe one not so old, so many channels, but nothing good was ever on. Instead she was going to try explaining how a man from 1962 had turned up at her house…
Laurel stood, then pointed to the door. Andrea turned to Thom in his bare feet, otherwise dressed as he was last night, gaping at Andrea’s granddaughter.
Laurel helped the unstable man to a chair, his eyes all over her. He looked to Andrea, then asked for coffee. Laurel brought him a cup, black like theirs. He sipped it slowly, which made Andrea smile. “You always drank it so hot.”
He nodded, then gazed at the young woman. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to frighten you, any of you.”
Andrea grasped his hand, then looked at Laurel. “It was just unexpected, for everyone.”
He nodded, then gripped her hand. “I’m gonna get my boots.”
“We’ll be here.”
He stood, giving Laurel another look. Then he left the room. Andrea heard him mumbling to himself. Then he headed up the stairs. “Probably forgot to pee,” she said.
Laurel nodded, then stared at her grandmother. “He looked at me like he knew me. How can he know me?”
“He thought you were me.??
? Andrea drank her coffee. “Honey, he’s not from here.”
“No shit.” Laurel took a drink of hers. “Where the hell’s he from?”
The toilet was loud, had been for years. Carl used to fix it, but that task had been lost, like so many other things. As Thom clomped down the steps, Andrea smiled, seeing more than fleeting interest in Laurel’s face. That was just how Andrea had viewed Thom the first time she saw him.
He cleared his throat, then entered the room. “I might like a bath today. Or you might want me to take one.”
“Both,” Andrea said. “Thom, this’s Laurel, my oldest granddaughter. I have three, and two grandsons. All of them were out with you last night. Laurel wants to know who you are. What should I tell her?”
In mid-drink, he struggled not to spit it out.
“I want the truth Grandma. If he’s not Grandpa’s…”
Andrea smiled. “I told you he’s not Carl’s son.”
“Who’s Carl?” Thom asked.
“Who do you think?” Andrea rolled her eyes again. “Carl was my husband and…”
Thom had grasped her hand, but he stared at Laurel. “Christ, you look so much like her.”
Andrea blinked away tears, the scene as if Thom had woke in his own time, or maybe just a few years later, when Andrea was a little older. But she had married Carl, was already pregnant at Laurel’s age. All of life’s different paths swirled in the kitchen. Andrea took a small sip, washing them back down. “Laurel, if I tell you the truth, you have to promise to believe me. I won’t lie to you, but it’s pretty darn…”
Laurel nodded, still staring at Thom, his hands clasped around Andrea’s.
“I knew your grandmother…” He gazed at Andrea. “Years ago.” She nodded, and he continued. “We were…” He paused, then took a long drink.
He didn’t speak again, and Andrea finished. “We were lovers honey. Thom was my first, but he disappeared. And now, well, he’s here, fifty years too late, but there you go.”
On the sofa, the story wound from Thom into Laurel with Andrea between them. Andrea received sensual squeezes from Thom, crushing grips from Laurel. Sometimes Andrea closed her eyes as he spoke, especially when he called her Andy. She could be sitting on her mother’s couch, Thom trying to explain himself, once her parents let him in the house.
That yes, he was older, a whole decade, but Andy was so good for him. He had tapped his foot, clad in the boots she had purchased, then waved his arms, gesturing toward the ceiling as if showing how much he loved her. That spilled through his voice now just like it had then. He was still in love with her.
He began caressing her wrists, and she looked at him; his eyes were needy, his mouth twitched, he was so young. Then she peeked at her grandchild, who was crying silent tears. Andrea pulled from Thom’s grasp, embracing Laurel. “Oh honey, it’s all right, really.”
“Grandma, this’s, this’s…”
“Crazy, impossible, I know. But honey, I told you I wasn’t gonna lie. Thom hasn’t either.”
Laurel looked at him, then to Andrea. “Are you really trying to tell me he’s from 1962? That’s bullshit!”
Thom laughed, then slapped his leg. “Yeah, sure sounds nuts to me.”
She glared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
Andrea bit her tongue as Thom spoke. “That’s some mouth on you honey.”
“Don’t honey me, asshole!” Laurel stood, but trembled. “Maybe you’ve got her conned, but let me tell you…”
Andrea stood, then grabbed her granddaughter. “Stop that right now. If you don’t believe me, then just go. I won’t have that sort of talk here.”
“But Grandma…”
“Laurel, I’ve told you once. I won’t say it again.”
The younger woman crossed her arms, then shook her head. She stomped off, slamming the kitchen screen door.
Thom raced after her. Andrea followed, finding him with the screen ajar, standing half in and out of the house. Then he turned to her, his face equally split.
“What Thom?”
“I, I…”
She approached with care. “Are you gonna stand inside or out? Make a choice.”
“What choice do I have? I didn’t do anything. Why’d this happen to me?”
She shook her head, then shrugged. Taking his hand, Andrea brought him back into the kitchen.
She didn’t answer the phone until after lunch, by which time Thom was asleep. She spoke quietly in the kitchen, then stepped to the front porch, calling Sam back from her cell. The yard hadn’t changed much since Carl died, but it was altered from when Andrea had lived here as a young woman, when she met Thom. She had been raised in this house, then reared her daughters here. Samantha only wanted to know if that guy was still around.
Andrea couldn’t tell if Laurel had spilled the beans. “Yeah, he’s still here. Napping on the sofa. What else you wanna know?”
“Mom…”
“Sam, he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere. Now this phone’s beeping, probably needs to be charged. I’ll talk to you later. Bye-bye.” Andrea hit the red button, then closed the phone. She looked to the ragged grass, broken fence, the outbuilding which wasn’t large enough to call a barn. When she was younger, she had necked with Thom in that structure. Then with Carl, maybe they even made one of their girls in there. She had been more careful with Thom, but they hadn’t been married.
He had never asked, not that she would have said yes. Her mother would have thrown a fit, then her father would have run him out of town. Her daddy didn’t get upset easily, but if Thom had actually proposed… Just like the fit that Juss threw, Andrea sighed.
She stepped back into the house, hearing Thom’s snores. Setting the phone on the counter, she opened the fridge; enough milk for another day, and she could get out a jar of spaghetti sauce, add some chopped onions to it, making pasta for dinner. Thom had wolfed two peanut butter and jellies at lunch, a large glass of milk washing them down. Was he hungry from years of slumber, or just his usual hearty appetite?
She would see what he ate at dinner, wished she had some hamburger for the sauce. He had been a meat and potatoes man years before, but times weren’t that way anymore. She looked at the clock, nearly three. If he slept much longer, he might not easily fall asleep later, and Andrea didn’t want him roaming the house after she went to bed.
“Thom, honey.” Her voice was soft, then increased as she approached the sofa. “Wake up sleepyhead.”
He snorted, rolled to his side, then blinked. His eyes went wide, his mouth open. Andrea eased next to him, taking his hand. “Honey, it’s all right, you just had a nap.”
He burrowed into her, and she gasped, then let him continue. When he looked up, he wore a small smile. “God, for a minute, I didn’t know where the hell I was again.”
“You might wake like that for a while.”
“Mmmhmm.” He nestled into her side, then kissed her through her clothes. She giggled.
He continued those gentle motions. Andrea closed her eyes. She might be in her early seventies, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t desire a little affection. That was all he offered, then he sat up. “What time is it?”
“Nearly three. You mind pasta for dinner?”
“Pasta?”
“You know, spaghetti. With sauce.”
“Like last night?”
She smiled. “Actually, not as nice as last night. No meat, but I’ll put some onions in it.”
“What, you don’t eat meat anymore?”
“I just like Italian food.”
“Was he a wop?”
She smiled. “No. Just hated pasta. I eat it all the time now.”
He nodded, then looked grim. “How long’s he been gone?”
“Ten years. Died of a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
He stroked her hands. “You been with anyone since?”
She laughed. “Oh, I got several boyfriends. They all take turns,
I never get any sleep.”
One eyebrow rose, then he smiled. “You still got a sense of humor.”
“I still do, just a little dryer now.”
He gazed at her face, sometimes catching her eyes, but he took his time. Then he gripped her fingers. “Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Was he good to you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever…” He paused, then brought her hands to his lips, kissing them.
“Did I ever what Thom?”
“Think of me?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, then gently squeezed her hands. “Funny seeing your granddaughter. Hell, it’s funny saying that. You got a granddaughter Andy.”
“I have a few of them.”
“And two grandsons. Both would like to beat the shit right outta me,” he smiled.
“Yes they would, Juss especially. Anthony’s not quite twenty yet, but Juss is…” She cleared her throat. “He’s just a few years younger than you.”
Thom had been ready to chuckle, but he stopped, then traced her fingers. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why me?”
“Why you what?”
He stared at her. “Andy…”
“Thom, I have no idea.” She stood, then looked around the room. “Is Jesus coming next?”
He stood, then approached her. “Hope not. I just woke up.”
“Yup. You better take a leak. Then a bath.”
“You don’t like the way I smell?”
She giggled, heading to the kitchen. “You said it first, when Laurel was still here.”
She reached the doorway, but he met her, blocking her way. “I see her, and she’s you, but then I see you, and you’re all I want. I want you Andy, I still love you.”
Andrea closed her eyes, those words like knives. “Go wash up. Pasta’ll be ready when you’re done.”
Cat called while Andrea stirred the sauce; Justin would have come over, but he had to work, and Laurel had spent her afternoon going through old pictures. Andrea wasn’t surprised by either piece of news. She had given Cat all the old snapshots; the kids were supposed to scan them, then put them on Facebook. Andrea had never seen any up there, imagined those photos would never see the light of day. But something had piqued Laurel’s curiosity, Cat said.
Someone, a grandmother knew. “Well, did she find what she was looking for?”
“Not that I know of. Mom, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“He’s just a friend.”
“Mom…”
“Gotta drain the pasta. I’ll chat later honey.” Andrea hung up the phone, then stirred the sauce, onions sticking to the spoon. The pasta still had two minutes, but Andrea didn’t have any more to tell her daughter. What Laurel might want to share made Andrea smile.
Thom’s whistling made her knees knock. “You any cleaner?” she asked, her back to him.
“Come kiss me and see.”
She grinned, then turned the sauce to low. “Gotta drain the pasta. Be right with you.”
He laughed, stepping to her side. He smelled clean, also very familiar. He had liked looking sharp, had been a little vain. He still was, that hadn’t changed overnight.
“That’s a nice shower you got. Toilet makes a lotta racket though.”
“Well, fix it. You got two hands.”
“Yes I do.”
He had set them on her hips, which almost tickled. She turned off the pasta, then rattled the lid against the pan. He chuckled, then moved away. “Shall I drain those noodles?”
“You can.”
He poured off some of the water, then dumped the contents in a nearby colander. She dished up two plates; it was nearly four o’clock, she liked to eat early. She would watch some TV afterwards, find her bed by eight. That had been her routine, once she got used to living alone. As they sat to eat, he took the seat next to her, which pleased her, but also rankled. What did he actually want?
To sleep with her popped in her mind. “So Thom, here’s the deal. I eat supper, clean the kitchen, take a walk round the yard, come back in. Sit on the couch, turn on the television, watch some of it, then turn it off, lock the doors, go to bed. Now you’re welcome to join me for all those tasks except…”
He set down his fork. “Andy, oh God.” He closed his eyes, then put his head on the table.
“Honey, I’m not my granddaughter, I’m an old woman and…”
When he looked up, tears on his face, she wanted to trade places with Laurel, just for one night. She wanted to be who he seemed to take her as, some figure from his memories, which weren’t that ancient. They were from just days ago, so immediate that how he sat there, only weeping, amazed her. He should be drunk or in a straightjacket or…
“Andy, baby, I don’t understand any of this. The only thing that’s keeping me from getting loaded is your voice. Your voice, your eyes, your hands. These are the same hands Andrea, the same fingers, the same, the same…”
He took her left hand, then turned it palm-up. Tracing the lines, he hummed the same tune he had whistled. It was Buddy Holly or The Everly Brothers, something recent to his mind, something trapped within hers. If she closed her eyes, she could go back with him, as if together they could wriggle through time.
“I’m not that girl anymore.”
“Yes you are.”
She snorted. “Like hell I am.”
He smiled, releasing her hand. Then he grew serious. “Did I fall asleep, lose track of time, shit!” He stood, stomping around the table. Then he took the chair across from her. “Everything’s changed, nothing’s what I know. All this technology, I can’t begin to tell you what’s different. But you say one little word, and I’m all right, I can breathe. I look into your eyes Andrea Watson; you’re still Andrea Watson to me. But then you’re not. You’re Carl’s wife, Carl…”
“Falstaff. I’m Andrea Falstaff.”
He nodded, then looked away. “You were gonna be Mrs. Thom Sugerman, believe it or not.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He glanced at her smile. “You would’ve been.”
“Over my father’s dead body. Or yours.”
“Did they really hate me that much?”
“They thought you were too old for me.”
“Am I too young now?”
His earnest voice pierced her. “Oh Thom, whatdya want with a shriveled-up old…”
“Don’t say that. I love you, I know you. You’re still the same woman.”
“I am not.”
“You are to me.”
She stared at him, trying to decide what was more important, her pride or his sanity. He seemed to believe what he was saying, but maybe it was the only way to fathom what was quite improbable. All day she had overlooked that point, but when Juss came over, or when Laurel returned, maybe with pictures to back up Andrea’s story, what then? For less than a day, Andrea’s life was like some crappy made-for TV movie. Melodrama, Sam liked to sneer, as Andrea watched another lousy show.
But this wasn’t fiction. The man across from her had drunk too much, then lost decades of his life, her life, what might have been their life; would she have actually married him, or more to the point, would he have really asked her?
“Thom, when you left, what had we been arguing about?”
“You don’t remember?”
She winced; he sounded hurt. “No honey, it’s been a long time.”
He looked at the table, then picked up her hand again, caressing her left ring finger. “I told you I was gonna buy you a ring, but you didn’t believe me.”
All her life flashed, from that very night, to turning seventy-two. “Oh my lord.”
“Andy, I, I…”
She took deep breaths to push back sobs. He moved to her side, pulling her close. She smelled his chest, felt him inhale, then he let it out, along with words; he was sorry for getting drunk, for leaving her, for taking so long to get back to her. That if she wante
d him to go, he would. “I don’t wanna hurt you again honey. Andy, oh baby, don’t cry.”
Where could he go, what sort of life waited for such a man? She bit her bottom lip, then met his eyes. “I shut that out, just completely forgot it.”
“Or maybe you didn’t take me seriously. And when I didn’t come back…”
“I ached for so long after you were gone, even after I married Carl. He was a good man, but he wasn’t you. And now I’m not who you loved, I’m not, not…”
“You are everything Andrea. You haven’t aged a day.”
His smile was truthful, so she nodded. If a man could slip through time, perhaps a woman could too.
She told him she was afraid of being hurt. He said that was the last thing he wanted to do.
She remembered her last time with Carl, four nights before he died. They hadn’t made love often, maybe once every two or three weeks. She had no idea if that was normal for couples in their early sixties, but she wasn’t bothered. Lovemaking had dwindled slowly, and by the time she realized how infrequent it was, it was like accepting rain in winter, just what happened.
She had no clue what would occur that night, one reason for her fear. The other was simple; what if in the morning, he wasn’t there?
“Where else would I be?” he said, taking off his shirt.
“How should I know?” She watched him, felt giddy. “My goodness, you are just the same.”
He smiled, scooting her way. She wore her nightgown, but had taken off her underwear. Her mouth trembled as he approached her face, his breath so warm and…
His kiss was tender, as if she was nineteen again, stirring within her all the dreams of an inexperienced young woman. Now she was an uncertain old lady, maybe there was little difference. He pulled away and she inhaled, then stroked his cheek. She had deliberately avoided these sorts of touches, but once breached, Andrea’s heart raced, her mind a blur. “Thom, be gentle with me.”
He kissed her again. “That’s what you said the first time.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I was then, I will be now.”
And he was, which made her weep from joy and pleasure. His pleasure was satisfied over and over, but he never looked away from her, never seemed to be far from her skin. It was saggy and cool, yet under his fingers, she accepted new feelings, or restored sensations. In the last ten years, she had never dreamed of again knowing a man inside her, then falling asleep along her naked body. As Thom began to snore, his arm over her, Andrea shivered, wondering why this had occurred.
Warm sun flooded the room, what woke her. To Andrea’s great shock, Thom was sitting beside her, eyes open, smiling down at her. “Good morning honey.”
She blinked, then slowly grinned, getting her bearings. “How long you been up?”
“An hour. Sun woke me.”
“I forgot to close the curtains last night.”
He kissed her forehead. “Other things on your mind.”
She nodded, then started to sit up. Then she recalled she was nude. She giggled, looking at his hairy chest. Carl had been hairless, but when Andrea had made love with Thom, curls stuck to her breasts, which at the time had been on the small side. Nursing and gravity had altered them; now she probably had his chest hairs caught everywhere.
“You want some coffee?” he asked, looking to the windows.
She smiled, pulling up the sheet. “Did you make some?”
He shook his head, then traced her cheek. “But I gotta start somewhere.”
She wanted to say the biggest adjustment had already occurred. She blinked away a few tears, finally with a small comprehension of what he had faced when waking in a new century. She gripped his hand, still along her cheek. “You were gentle with me. I’ll be the same teaching you whatever you need to know.”
He had been very tender, nothing ached at all. But now fear sat in his eyes, not just of the coffeemaker. Waking with her had been some marker, proving that yes, she was still his lover, but so much time had passed him by.
“Let me use the bathroom and throw on some clothes. We’ll go down together, I’ll show you…”
Again he shook his head, then curled into her. “I wanted to make it, God, I need some joe. But I had no idea what to do. Then I wondered if Laurel might come over, or your grandson, so I just stayed here. Well, I took a leak. I think I fixed the toilet. It’s a little quieter now.”
She leaned over him as he spoke, stroking his back, then kissing his skin. All she had bottled inside had been let loose last night, was still being uncorked that morning. How many years, not just the ten that Carl had been dead, but ages of missing this man, longing for just this sort of moment, where they were free to love each other without the specter of her parents or maybe getting pregnant. Then she laughed out loud, but it was cut short by his sudden lurch forward. And thinking about Laurel, who hadn’t been so lucky.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, wiping his face.
She told him the first part, said nothing about her granddaughter. He smiled, then chuckled. “No one to tell us no anymore.”
“Not even Justin.” She hoped to see him today, just to get it over with. “Thom, I want you here, in this house.” She smiled. “In this bed, for however long I can have you. You stay here, live with me. I’ll teach you to make coffee, use my cell phone, the TV, whatever you need.”
He nodded, then looked to the windows. “What will you tell people?”
“What should I tell them?”
He breathed deeply, then got out of bed, pulling the drapes. Andy’s vision was good, and she took in his sturdy frame. He was hard, but she didn’t think anything would happen. Only that he was thirty-two, a youngster in her mind. She smiled as he faced her. He had been older than her for so long, and now he was just a kid.
But all man, as he sat on the bed, not losing any stiffness. “Tell them I’m the son of someone you used to know. No one would believe the truth, and I don’t care what people think of me.”
“What about what they think of me?”
Her grin was small, and he offered one. “They’ll think I’m crazy, and that you are too. I can live with that.”
She nodded, then kissed him.
They spent that day going over various appliances; she wrote down steps for the TV and microwave. He found those the most fascinating, was overwhelmed by her computer and the cell phone. He had fixed her toilet, the quiet catching her off guard, but her daughters had called, so had her grandchildren, except for Justin. Laurel was at work, but wanted to come by to speak to both of them. The pictures, Andrea knew. Laurel had photographic evidence, but her job intruded.
Maybe that was best, Andrea told Thom over lunch. Give Laurel a few days to let it sink in. Maybe Justin would show up, perhaps with some friends along. Andrea considered texting him, then left it. No need to drag him round unnecessarily.
Thom needed clothes and she needed milk and something more substantial than pasta for dinner, so after lunch they went to town. She drove, but he asked to drive them home, only because he missed being behind the wheel. He stood close to her at the store, was stunned by the amount of goods and how people, especially young women, were dressed. She didn’t see anyone she knew well, but a few eyes darted their way. Eventually the talk would begin, but she didn’t care. Thom had been right. They would think he had lost his mind and that she was a sex-crazed old woman. Neither was true, but parts weren’t false.
Back in the car, he was skittish at first, then drove like she remembered, a little too fast. When they arrived home, Justin’s car waited, but he wasn’t in it. Andrea always locked her house, but all the kids had a key. She hoped he had gone hunting for Thom, but wouldn’t be surprised if he sat at the kitchen table.
Thom grabbed the bags while Andrea unlocked the door. The house was quiet, and she called Justin’s name, but no one answered. She went upstairs to pee. When she came back into the kitchen, Thom was putting ice cream in the freezer. And Justin was standing just beyond th
e screen door.
“Well, you coming inside?” she asked him.
Thom turned, but Justin didn’t move.
“Or are you just gonna stand there?” Andrea stepped toward Thom. “Justin, this’s Thom Sugerman. Thom, that’s my oldest grandchild, Justin.”
“Hello,” Thom said quietly.
Justin grimaced, then cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“We gonna talk through the screen all day?” Andrea left Thom, heading to the door. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Can I speak with you alone Grandma?”
Thom nodded, heading into the living room as Justin gazed at the stranger.
“For God’s sake, Juss.” Andrea went to the table, where groceries waited. All the cold stuff was put away, and she unloaded a bag; more pasta, which Thom had admitted wasn’t half bad, microwave popcorn, which he couldn’t wait to try. Boxes of Wheaties, his usual breakfast, and some saltines, what he used to eat by the handful when visiting her. Andrea’s father would swear a blue streak when he found all the crackers were gone.
Those items sat amid extra coffee and Bisquick, grated parmesan cheese and jars of spaghetti sauce. They bought different varieties; he wanted to try them all. Several packages of ground beef waited in the fridge, along with mozzarella cheese, pepperoni, and mushrooms. Thom had decided to sample her favorites, but a five-pound bag of potatoes sat on the counter near onions and garlic, a chuck roast with the hamburger. They would alternate the menu.
Justin eyed all the dry goods, another package of toilet paper as well, something Andrea bought infrequently, but with another under the roof… “Justin, what?”
“Huh?”
He stared at her, then back to the toilet paper. Then he sighed. “Grandma, you don’t know this guy from Adam.”
She chuckled, then sat down. “Juss, I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you.”
He rolled his eyes, but she didn’t mind, he got it from her. Carl had never done it, but all the kids did, something she picked up from the man sitting in the other room. It had driven her mother up the wall, added to the list of Thom’s irritating habits. Andrea wanted to tell Justin all that. Instead she smiled. “Juss, Thom’s gonna be living with me, and if that’s a problem…”
He blushed, then looked to the floor. “Jesus Christ Grandma!”
“Well, if he shows up, we’ll make room.”
Justin stood, heading to the doorway, then stopped. Thom tapped his boot, as if a warning. Justin turned around, kneeling by Andrea. “Grandma, who the fuck is he?”
His voice was soft but biting. “Like I said. I’ve known him a long time and…”
“That doesn’t answer my question!” He stood, then glared at the wall separating the rooms. Then he gestured to the groceries. “And I suppose you paid for everything and…”
Andrea pushed herself from the table. Last night lingered in a sweet but tiring manner. “Justin, I am seventy-two and don’t need to answer to you, your mom, your aunt, or anyone else. Thom’s my friend, is gonna live here. If you don’t like it…”
“Grandma, this’s nuts! We don’t even know who he is and…”
Thom cleared his throat, stepping into the doorway. “Can I say something?”
Andrea nodded as Justin shook his head. “Now Juss…”
Thom stared at Justin. “You’ve got a valid point, I could be anyone. I’ll tell you exactly who I am, if you really wanna know.”
“Yeah, okay.” Justin crossed his arms, a small smile slipping over his face. “You tell me just who the hell you really are.”
Thom took slow steps, then stood beside Andrea. “I’m…”
Laurel burst through the screen door. “Don’t you say another word!”
Siblings stood far from the house; Laurel’s arms went between gripping her brother to back around herself. Toes were dug into the ground, gazes went up and down, then back to the house, where from the kitchen table, Andrea couldn’t do more than peek at them. Voices were too far away, not even Thom could hear their conversation.
“Whatdya think she’s telling him?” he asked, a half-empty plate of saltines in front of him on the table.
“God only knows.” Andrea sighed. “I hope she didn’t tell him you were Carl’s…”
“Oh Jesus no.” Thom smiled, then took a cracker. “Maybe the truth?”
Andrea snorted. “Oh, he’d never believe that.”
What could Laurel be offering, something plausible, as Justin hadn’t come back immediately. Something not so shocking, or tires would have been spinning. Andrea wanted to stretch her legs, but that would have looked like eavesdropping. Then she found Thom’s smile. “What?”
“Whatever it is has to explain more than just some stranger knocking on your door.”
“Yeah?”
Thom ate the cracker, then stood, getting some water. He drank it near the sink, setting the cup on the windowsill. “If she’s accepted what you told her, then she’s gotta assume I’m here for, well, awhile. So whatever she’s concocted’s gotta be enough that they, you know.”
“What?”
He returned, sitting beside her. Thom took her hand, then kissed it. “That I’m not just gonna be sleeping on the sofa.”
They exchanged warm grins. She looked to the counters, food everywhere, that extra toilet paper almost indecent, like they had bought some rubbers. She stroked his face, then leaned his way, kissing him. Suddenly she wasn’t looking at him with old eyes, or assuming he saw her that way. She was any age she wanted to be.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too.”
Their heads came together at their brows, a gentle nuzzle. They only pulled apart as footsteps were heard, two pairs. Laurel came in first. She was tired, also looked successful. Justin stared at the floor, hands shoved into his pockets.
Andrea stood, kissing her granddaughter. “Well, you two hash it out?”
Justin looked up, clearing his throat. Then he pulled out his hands, cracking his knuckles. “I uh, shit.” He stared right at Thom. “I’m sorry, very sorry. I had no right to come in and…”
“I told Justin that Mr. Sugerman was from church.” Laurel glanced at Andrea. “And that you just hadn’t gotten around to telling us about him.”
“From church,” Andrea said slowly. “And…”
“And again, I’m uh, I’m sorry.” Justin’s gaze darted between Andrea and Thom, then to the floor.
Thom stood, putting out his hand. “No trouble. I hope we get a chance to start over.”
Justin met his eyes, then shook. “I’d like that sir.”
Andrea nearly choked. “Well, yeah, that’d be good.” She stared at Laurel, who didn’t give anything away.
“Well, I should be going. Grandma, I’ll uh, give you a call in a day or two. Laurel, I’ll uh, see you later.” Justin turned for the door and Thom walked him out, asking about his car. The chatter was stilted at first, what Andrea could hear. Then it grew warm as Thom’s laughter rang all the way back to the house.
Andrea smiled, then pointed to a chair. Laurel shook her head. “I need to get something first.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“That he was a recovering alcoholic and had been helping you out, and now he needed a place to stay.”
“Oh good lord!” Andrea sat, shaking her head.
Laurel looked at the screen, then back to Andrea. “I have the pictures Grandma.”
“I wondered. Did you…”
“I didn’t say a word to anyone.”
Andrea nodded as Thom returned. “Well, he’s got a nice car.”
“Thought you might like that pony.” Justin owned an old Mustang, which was still a few years after Thom’s era, but definitely something Thom would have wanted to drive. Andrea looked at Laurel. “You wanna get them now?”
“Get what, and what’d you tell him?” Thom asked.
“I’ll let Grandma tell you.” Laurel headed outside.
Thom took a se
at next to Andrea. “So?”
“You’re a recovering drunk, just like their father.”
“Jesus Christ!” Thom looked to the door. “Well, that explains a lot. He even patted my shoulder.”
Andrea nodded. “Cat divorced Mark before Carl died. Mark got sober about five, six years ago, has a good relationship with the kids now. But you showed up looking pretty rough, probably reminded Justin of his dad, you know, from the old days.”
“What’d she go get?”
“Proof,” Andrea said, squeezing his hand. “It might hurt.”
“Yeah?”
She didn’t say anything as Laurel returned, a cigar box in hand.
The box had been Carl’s from after they had the girls. He smoked cigars for a time, and Andrea liked the containers. The scent wasn’t ordinary tobacco, but she hadn’t put these photos into it right away. She liked to air the boxes out. Then she had placed pictures into one, sliding it under old pantsuits in her second to bottom drawer.
After Carl died, she had inspected them. Before that, she couldn’t remember when she had last seen these snapshots, all from 1960 through 1962, the years Thom was her boyfriend. She explained all that, then looked at Thom. “You wanna see these?”
He nodded, then cleared his throat. “You think I shouldn’t?”
What was more painful, the ancient past, or days recently lived? “I just wanted to ask.”
“Open it up.”
Andrea nodded to Laurel, who lifted the lid. They were organized by date, the newest picture on top. Thom was standing next to Andrea, taken by Andrea’s older sister Donnie just a few days before Andrea turned twenty-two.
Thom stared at it, then held it by the edges, as it was fifty years old. Yet he wore the same boots, probably the same jeans, standing beside not Laurel, although she could pass for her grandmother. He glanced at Laurel first, then to Andrea. Then he returned to the photograph. “Donnie took this just a few days back. Film’s probably still in her camera.”
“Probably,” Andrea said.
His recent history was in these dog-eared snapshots with curling edges. He set that one down, then took the next, examining it as thoroughly as the first. Andrea saw how badly he wished to weep, but wouldn’t do so with Laurel there.
He only looked at one more picture; he was standing with another man, both grinning. A lump went to Andrea’s throat, but she didn’t say anything. When Thom gazed her way, the question was obvious; what had happened to his youngest brother?
“He died in a war in Asia, the Vietnam War. 1968 I think.” When she went through these after Carl died, she felt like mourning three men. That one sat near her almost wasn’t real.
Thom set the picture on the table, wiped his eyes, then stood. “I’m going for a walk.”
“We’ll be here honey.”
He kissed the top of her head, didn’t look at Laurel. Thom exited through the screen door, careful not to slam it.
Andrea collected the snapshot, then gazed at Laurel. “That’s Jack, his youngest brother. Musta been nineteen in this picture, maybe twenty. He wasn’t young when he was sent over there, got killed anyway. Thom hasn’t asked about any of his family yet, probably assumed they were all dead. I think they are.” She picked up a small stack of pictures. A few were of the three of them together, taken by Donnie, who had liked Thom. She had consoled Andrea after he…
He hadn’t run away. He had fallen asleep, waiting for her now. “Shit. What the hell sense does this really make?”
“Grandma…”
“No, I mean it. Okay, so you told Juss some BS story, and it’ll probably be enough. You know what, I don’t care if it is or not. He’s here.” She waved a photo. “This’s him, the man who just went out that door, and fifty years have gone by, but damnit Laurel, he came back. I never, ever thought he was gonna come back to me.”
“Grandma, I’m sorry, I’m…”
The women sobbed, holding each other close. Andrea pulled away first, then set the pictures back in the box. “Keep these at your place. I don’t wanna see them again and he probably won’t either.”
Laurel nodded. “I’ll go put them in my car.”
“Thank you honey.”
After Laurel left the kitchen, Andrea sighed, then ate a cracker. Then she went to the sink for some water. She drank it, staring out the window. Thom and Laurel spoke in the side yard, then Laurel grapsed his hands. He looked to the ground, then at Laurel, and Andrea wondered who he saw.
She sat back down, felt tired. If he wanted to make love that night, it would be have to be early, she needed to sleep. The door opened, but it wasn’t Thom. Laurel gently rubbed Andrea’s shoulders, then took her seat.
“Well?” Andrea asked.
“Just wanted to thank me for showing up and running interference. Said he’d be in the outbuilding for a while.”
“He’ll have a good cry, get it out, or some of it.” The worst wasn’t the complicated cell phone or computer. The worst was facing so many losses.
“Grandma, what’re you gonna do?”
“Live with him.”
Laurel rolled her eyes, then smiled. “You’re not gonna outlive him.”
“I might.” Then Andrea chuckled. “Honey, all I’m gonna do is think about today. He’s gonna need some space, has a lot to ponder. In the meantime, there’s groceries to put away, maybe a good old movie to watch, or a lousy new one. He’ll find things to keep himself busy. Maybe I’ll even get him on the computer one of these days.”
“Grandma, he doesn’t have an ID or papers or…”
“I’m not gonna make him get a job honey. He’s gonna look after me.”
Laurel giggled. Then she sighed. “Grandma, it’s one thing for Justin to accept him, but…”
“The rest will too. Or they can find their own spaghetti and meatballs.” While Laurel was right about the paperwork, they didn’t live in a big city, could skirt around those issues. And if an issue did arise, Andrea probably wouldn’t be here to fret over it.
Laurel took a deep breath, then ate a cracker. “Grandma, I’m sorry I was so awful.”
“Honey, no one’s to blame. I have no idea what’s going on, can’t even begin to fathom it. I felt the same when your grandpa died, also when Thom left the first time. I couldn’t believe he would actually leave me, either of them. I know Carl’s dead, I lay next to him for half a night. As for Thom…”
She stood, looking out the front door. She hadn’t chased after him fifty years ago, wasn’t about to start now. Once Laurel left, he would probably come inside. Maybe they would lie down together, or just sit at the table, talking or saying nothing at all.
Then Andrea looked at her granddaughter. “Laurel, I’m gonna ask you something, and if you can’t say yes, that’s fine. But if you think maybe someday you could, well, that’s like saying yes. And if you can say yes right off the bat…”
“What?”
Andrea sat down. “He’ll need someone to look after him when I’m gone. Honey, do you think that’s something you could consider?”
Phrasing it that way had come to her watching them just moments ago. If Laurel could just consider it, that was all Andrea needed.
Still that drew a long sigh. “Oh Grandma…”
“Just think about it. I don’t need an answer today or next week. Get to know him, see if that’s something you might be able to do. You’re right, he doesn’t have anything proving who he is. Maybe tonight I’ll look up fake IDs on the internet.”
Laurel stifled a laugh.
“In the meantime, I gotta make dinner. He likes pasta, which is good. But I think I’ll fry up some burgers, make some gravy. God, I haven’t made flour gravy in years.”
Andrea stood, then opened the bag of potatoes. “I’ll see if he’s happy with boiled spuds, not gonna matter with gravy all over them. But tomorrow night’s pizza. I don’t want those mushrooms going bad.”
Laurel said nothing, but reached for a napkin in the middle of the table, the
n blew her nose.
“Honey, you run along now. I gotta start cooking, and you’re probably tired, working so early today.”
Laurel nodded, then stood slowly. She stepped to her grandmother, a hug offered.
It was reciprocated with older limbs just as needy.
Thom hadn’t been hungry at first, but finished all the potatoes and gravy. A burger remained; he said he would have it tomorrow for lunch. Andrea put it in the fridge, then washed the dishes as he wandered around the house.
Sam called. Andrea told her that yes, that man was staying with her, and yes, he was recovering. Sam said she would tell her sister, letting Andrea off the hook with Cat. Yet three other grandchildren waited, neighbors and acquaintances, but no one would probably intrude on an AA meeting and ask about Thom. Laurel had been smart about that.
At seven that evening, Andrea and Thom took a walk around the yard. Thom mentioned his brother, then asked about the rest. Andrea knew about some of them, but not all. He was quiet, Jack’s death the biggest blow. Thom didn’t ask about the other photographs, and when they went back inside, he locked the doors.
She waited on the sofa. Thom sat next to her, taking her hand. “Dinner was good.”
“Gravy was lumpy, but tasty. I’ll have to practice.”
“But pizza tomorrow, right?”
“Uh-huh. I froze that chuck and the rest of the hamburger. Whatever you like Thom.”
He nodded, then looked into the room.
She did too, trying to imagine it through his eyes; her grandparents’ piano had sat where the TV now rested. Bookshelves were gone, that ugly wallpaper stripped years ago. He stared that way and Andrea smiled. “You still thinking why me?”
“What?”
She kissed his cheek, rousing a grin. “I told Laurel I had no idea why this’d happened. But here you are, you really are here.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll walk into a room and it’ll look like what I know, what I remember.” His voice went low. “Those are just memories now.”
“You were just a memory too, you think about that?”
He smiled. “But I’ve always had you.”
“Not the same me, but…”
His kiss was soft, but Andrea responded as if she was younger than Laurel, a woman who this man now considered a memory.
They parted, then he leaned back, taking her against him. “I’ll never be there again, never see those people, those places, it’s all gone.”
“Yes it is. You’ll need to let it go, like grieving.”
“And someday I’ll mourn you.”
“If I’m lucky, yes.”
A few quiet seconds passed. Then he sighed. “And if you’re not lucky?”
“Oh, I think I’ll be getting lucky.”
“Yeah?” he said grimly.
She set her hand on his thigh. Stroking softly, she inched toward his groin. He uttered a small moan. “I think so Thom Sugerman. Lucky might be my new middle name.”
He smiled. “If I could marry you, I would.”
“We’ll just live in sin. Everybody else does.”
He laughed, then placed his hand over hers. “Is it bedtime yet?”
She peered at the wall clock. “Looks like eight to me.”
He stood, then helped her up. As he checked the doors, she closed her eyes, conjuring that dreadful wallpaper, her annoyed parents, Donnie’s slightly jealous smile. Then she thought about Laurel’s curious eyes, and how tenderly she had held Thom’s hands in the side yard.
“You ready Andy?”
She nodded, grasping his arm. “Take me to bed Mr. Sugerman.”
“My pleasure, Miss Watson.”
She let him lead, their steps slightly out of time, but close enough. Andrea headed into the bathroom as Thom turned on the bedroom light.
Pork Fried Rice and Recessed Lights