Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 46, March 2021

Revista Literária Adelaide

I have to cross is as wide as a canyon, and I remember that first hook-up in college,
I’m not sure I’m ready to take the leap, but under the stage at a cast party. She’d been
I breathe and brace myself and go, and in the audience and said my performance
once I hit the landing, I know that I have moved her. I’ve watched that performance
shifted our relationship for the better. An over and over again on the demo reel.
unscripted touch can change everything.
I could do it even better now.
The peck makes Delia laugh, and her
cheeks pinken even more. “Ava’s still up if Scrunched in the back of my desk drawer
you want to tuck her in. Jesse and Kyle are is an envelope addressed to a film execu-
spending the night with friends.” She grasps tive. It has been there longer than my oldest
my shoulder lightly. “Meet you in bed.” child has been alive. Soon I will go up to my
wife, but now, in goes my demo reel and,
The darkness of Ava’s room is punc- with it, my excuses.
tured only by the eerie blue of her square
nightlights. She’s already drifting, her eye- Then I set up my camera and record the
lids closed into hints, but she smiles at me, monologue I’d prepared for Mrs. Hannecker,
senses my presence even in the coming of just one more time. When it’s done, I place
dreams, and after I bend to kiss her good- the thumb drive in a small box addressed to
night, I see in her sleeping face the face of “Mr. E. Benjamin Hannecker and sons,” with
my wife. It is the face of someone I love, the label, “For Mandy, whom none of you
someone I should never have stopped deserved.”
loving, someone who is here for me.

About the Author

Sarah Schiff earned her PhD in American literature from
Emory University but is now a fugitive from higher education.
She writes fiction and teaches high school English in Atlanta.
Her stories have appeared in J Journal, Monkeybicycle and
Fiction Southeast, among others, and her nonfiction can be
found in such journals as Arizona Quarterly, Modern Fiction
Studies, and American Literature.

49

SECURITY

by Elissa Field

When her son, Tavo, first came into her matter, but they’d always remember the
room – light on, 3 a.m., cat swiveling its years they stayed up late together. There’d
head away from the noises in the yard be- be time, sometime, wouldn’t there, when
low to the son at the door – he asked, “What they were all each other had.
are you doing?”
“You answered the door? You talked to
Alice was nearly hidden, asleep – well, them?” That seemed impossible: no matter
not now – not on the bed, but pulled be- he was six foot, by now. No way either of
side it onto the wood floor beneath the her boys could answer the door to the dark,
wide windows. no way either could answer the door alone.
“Security. Not the police?” Her mind ran
“I was itchy. I couldn’t sleep.” It was again to TJ. “What time is it?”
strange for her to be on the floor, stranger
for him to wake her. She knew, absently, “Mom. He asked to talk to a parent.” Tavo
that he’d knocked before the door opened. stood waiting, middle of the room between
It was Tavo, the youngest. Not TJ, and her the bed and the door. She wasn’t moving.
mind wandered, placing him in all the But calculating, wasn’t she, in this world
places he could be. “What time is it?” they lived in, whether a bullet could arc
through her wide window from the middle
“High Impact Security is at the door. They of their back garden and reach her son
want to know if we left the gate open.” there, at his tall height, in the middle of her
room, so well lit the way he was.
“What?”
“Sit down,” she hissed. “Sit down,” her
“He said there was a break-in down the eyes pointing the foot of her bed. “Quieter!”
road. They chased someone down between as if no one might know they were here, in
the houses. They want to know if we left our this lantern-lit room in the pitch of night.
gate open. They want to talk to you.” Could imagine the glow of them, some free
entertainment, vicarious thirst of a passerby,
The lights were on. That’s right. She’d a burglar, security, crouched cops, anyone
fallen asleep reading The Milkman. The there in their garden, free to popcorn watch
boys playing on the computers upstairs, their lives play out through the framing palms.
then they would have gone downstairs and
slept on the sofas. Like babies in their teens, Whispers echoed between the cement
falling asleep to the nightlight of the tv. She walls of their house, the neighbors’. Sound
didn’t care. All those rules that would never

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of the fence. Sound of her breathing, of the shit their age was growing up with. Let
Tavos’. him call her out.

She asked. “Where’s TJ?” “I did?”

Some things you don’t ask for the fish of “You didn’t go talk to them. It made me
fear it casts swim beneath your sons’ eyes. look stupid.” Then it wasn’t her who made
You carry it. You let your heart beat, I’m him mad, but the security: “Like I’m a little
sorry, but never say. kid. ‘Do you remember if you left the gate
open?’ I told him sometimes we did, I don’t
Tavos’ chin rose, that same angle when remember, and he’s like, ‘Is one of your
he’d baby-boy beg, but his voice held low, parents here?’ like I wasn’t right there an-
calm. As if they’d trained for this. “Mom, swering his question.”
he’s waiting.”
Her boys, little men. They’d push your
“It’s 3 a.m., I’m not going to the door.” car out of the intersection if it died, rebuild
They couldn’t make her. “They can’t make it if they had to. They’d work a job and loan
us. They’re not police. Stay upstairs. You you money. Haul trees that blocked your
hear me?” Her eyes held his, then. “Too drive after a hurricane. They’d drive you to
many damn guns, god knows who’s got one. the doctor if you were sick. The boy could
You stay upstairs, down low. Away from win- answer a damn question. The boy could roll
dows, out of sight.” his eyes about the loose latch, the petti-
ness, if someone was really running among
* the houses, of knocking them awake over
whether a gate had been open or closed.
Tavo walked away, not all the way down the Wake them for broken glass, an explosion,
stairs. Listening. She listened too, the way a body, for fire, for blood.
you do, so trained to the pops and motors
and squawks and breath of palms in your “I don’t want you answering the door,
own yard, for something out of place. Some- do you understand? I’m not saying you did
thing metallic, plasticky – click it through something wrong. Just. I’m telling you, no
your mental forensics, rapid sort against one has to answer the door after 10 o’clock.
all the sound samples you know. Someone And not alone.”
was down there. Security, armed assas-
sin, car-thieving teen, neighbor, prankster, Beyond the edge of the mango tree, a
ghost. Could be they’d called the police by cloud lit up like a paper lantern. The moon.
then, could be one, could be a dozen. Could The moon was inside it. One of them –
be a raccoon. Run every chance through someone – was rustling down in the yard
your mind, sickening. Phone in your hand, between the houses. They’d set off the
but no one to call. neighbor’s motion sensor lights. No worry
there’d really been a break-in. But over-
Back at her door, Tavo said, “You made hyped Security, over-hyped cops. The win-
me mad.” dows.

They were allowed to say that to her. Tavo was safe, in the shadowed hallway
Were allowed to swear. Could conjugate all at the top of the stairs. She called to him,
forms of the f word by 15. One of them had soft with apology. “They’re not the police.
been allowed a tattoo. She’d even paid. All They can’t make you.”

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She started to say, but didn’t – wouldn’t “Let me tell you about my brother,” he
remind him – that there’d been the one time started. His brother had been in her son’s
she’d been made to answer, two am. That shoes and made the wrong choices. He got
time it was cops. Two of them. The woman in with the wrong crowd, made the wrong
she didn’t know talked first and was a bitch, decisions. His brother did time, and look at
tell the truth. Pissed her off, hand on her Quinton now, look at his brother, see how
nightstick, hand on her gun, no matter Alice one man’s choice changed all the chances
was there in a nightgown and blurry eyes. in his future.
They had no business waking her at two am
and she said so. She was not patient that night, near
cursing, wasn’t she, as if they had any right
But Officer Quinton stepped onto the to keep here there in her doorway at 2 am,
porch in her place. They knew Quinton. He’d gone 2:45.
been in the neighborhood since her boys
were rolling around in their little plastic po- But she’d find Quinton. One of these
lice car they pushed with their feet. days, she would see him idling along the
main cross street, watching as the school
Quinton told the bitch to wait at the car. kids filed home from the buses to see it
But wanted to talk to her. To TJ’s mom. Had was only them, no one here to make them
something to Say, capital S. Forty-five min- trouble. She’d pull up next to his car and
utes at two am. He talked to her about how thank him.
her baby boy was heading the wrong way.
He wasn’t here now, was he. Didn’t know Pissed her off, that night, to be kept for
where he was. Quinton talked to her like her 45 minutes in her pajamas on her doorstep,
boy was a liar. With that impatient disgust told stories. But she felt it then, the love in
saved for people who just choose not to Quinton, the genuine effort he was making
see, not to believe, who think, not my kid, to fend one off the path. She’d thank him.
who believe the excuses, the lies. Quinton
wanted her to believe her son and Amarian Because yes, she’d had issues with her
had been involved in that wrench dropped son and one of the neighborhood boys. Not
in the middle of the street. Wanted to know the one Quinton named but the one who
why her son had picked it up. Wanted to smiled sly and sexy, some perverse Eddie
know why two sixteen-year olds would Haskell, even when she’d seen the mason
have a wrench. jars and smelled the skunk, and knew he’d
sat right there in her garage packing weed
“He works on motorcycles,” she said. to sell.

“I know,” Quinton said. He did. He did know Because, yes, she was scared for her son
that. and his testing nature.

But it was bullshit, didn’t she know, and Because, yes. That night when Quinton
couldn’t she let it through to what he knew, came her son had been gone and she hadn’t
as a professional, as a witness, as one who known where he was and there would be
saw the neighborhood boys when she other times that she’d call on Quinton for
didn’t see, as a cop who knew these things. help.

No, as someone who’d grown up in this But what she wanted was her boys
neighborhood. healthy and safe and alive.

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Stealing and weed weren’t the fears. Their old dog died, no security system. Just
One phase he’d gone through, tested, got her tall baby boys as security. That anxiety.
bored and moved on. There are worse dan- This world. Everywhere, everyone, every-
gers. thing, never safe. It had been TJ’s obses-
sion: how anyone could pop those windows
“Tavo, you there?” She spoke in an even open. How they needed a gun.
voice, knew he was listening to every crackle
in the yard and would hear. There was a “I screwed them on,” Tavo said. Like some
long pause. She could hear his breathing, YouTube, setting it out: how he’d opted for
feel his eyeballs searching the dark, feel his the heavy-duty white metal clamps had two
hands on the wall outside TJ’s room. Feel screws to grip the frame, how he had in-
him wrestle between loyalties. “Is it still stalled them. twice the resistance to keep
here?” anyone from lifting those windows open.

He didn’t answer, but she heard him “Tavo!” she whisper-yelled, crossing the
move, cat quiet. She rolled low across the floor.
floor, and went to the landing. He’d gone
downstairs. From here, she could see out There was a long silence. Once, in this
the uncovered windows: shadows moving overly armed world, they’d watched black
in the narrow side yard, barely a walkway kevlared, helmeted officers creep-walk
between the houses. Tavo was in the family through their back garden, pistols tripoded
room, in the dark, blue night shadows cast out before them like divining rods. No knock,
just beyond her sight. From the bend in the no warning, no later explanation. Just their
stairs she could see him at the back door, eerie drift, the invisibility of sharks on a reef
and tensed, feeling the movement of air to no one saw in the dark of night, no matter
gauge, was that door now open or closed? that was her patio, her bird of paradise, her
lounge where she sat and read and talked
She heard him then, talking, not to her. on the phone and took the sun.

His voice spy quiet. A private language, “Was it you, man?” she heard Tavo
the way her boys talked to each other. In ask. Baby squeak breaking his near-man
half-stories, a code you couldn’t follow from voice. “Was it you Security chased into the
the outside, their voices deep now, that yard?...I’m here, man. I’m at the door. Step
much harder to make out the highs and onto the patio and I’ll let you in… I’m looking
lows, almost men. out. I don’t see you.”

“Bro I got the locks. From Lowes. The “Is it TJ? Is he there at the door?”
back windows.”
“No. Mom.” Tavo bent away from her,
Her eyes swept the wide back window, curved around the latent glow of the cell
directly below her own. These aluminum phone in his hand. “Go back upstairs.” He’d
frames that warped, corroded; the ten- been doing the same as her: calling, getting
sioning springs that urged them open more no answer, only able to leave a message.
readily than closed. Screens bent to make
it obvious which window could be forced, *
from all the times the boys forgot their key,
this fear now how anyone could break in. If you walked close against the staircase
wall, you could get right up to the front door,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

even into the sofa beneath the front win- and his phone, cursing her and escaping out
dow, without anyone seeing you’re there. the passenger door.

Tavo was always the one to get the door. “He’s going to run,” she said.
He knew what came in, he knew who came
in. Even now, there were mail and a package “He’s going to run,” the cop repeated.
piled by the door. She wasn’t blind. TJ tried “We got a runner,” he said into the radio on
everything. Vapes. Ninja throwing stars. his shoulder. And they ran, perverse closing
Muscle milk. A folding knife. A glowing scene of a Benny Hill, four middle aged cops
keyboard. Condoms. Nicotine patches. You scrambling after her boy as he ran a zig zag,
could order the most dangerous things. No legend-trained by Nat Geo for Kids how to
gatekeeper, no embarrassment. outrun a hippopotamus or alligator on land,
and still too fast for them, disappearing
What it must be, inside Tavo’s mind, his across the patches of municipal parking lots,
heart – to know it all. To not say. Because past the fields where he’d played soccer
you don’t tell. But how heavy, to be the one and little league.
who knows.
There’s the weapon, nicked bone, slicing
She pressed her ear to the cold metal cold to her heart: her baby TJ, awkward
lining of the front door, heard the Security penguin run, hobbling away carrying his
boys’ voices then the soft rise of the cars shoes, his phone, cops losing him as he dis-
pulling away, then nothing but the palms. appeared across the highway.
She couldn’t bother about them and their
burglar. But for hours, until she fell asleep *
there waiting, she shook in her ribcage with
the knock she was braced for. The earth She followed noises and found Tavo in the
didn’t breathe these long hours, teasing garage, without having turned on the lights,
with whether that knock would ever come digging by feel through the tools in TJ’s tool
or if, god help her, she’d get her boys safe drawers. The rattle and scrape of metal
past these fragile, crossfire years. echoed in the drawers, echoed in the garage,
likely carried down the street. Beneath it was
It was her fault he was gone. They’d the muffled sound of an animal howl, low
been in the car, on the way home from a and breaking, forcibly smothered inside his
doctor, when TJ said to her, “I’ll kill myself.” chest. She just made out words: “It wasn’t
There was a checklist you run through, she him.” It wasn’t TJ, chased through the yard.
was deep enough to know. Do you mean it?
Do you have a plan? Do you have means? “I know.” Neither saying how much they’d
“You understand what you are saying to me?” wished it had been.
Yes. “You know what I have to do? You know
I can’t ignore that.” She slid hands through dust on the
storage shelves, felt in the box of holiday
Knowing he’d run from a hospital, she lights. The empty boxes and bubble wrap
drove to the police, right to the side of a from unpacked purchases. “Tavo. Did he get
cop’s car and asked for help. a gun?”

“We don’t do that,” the cop said. The answering sound was a choking, high
howl, swallowed forcibly down, and another
“Please,” she said. “Please help me.” And drawer dumping onto the concrete floor.
heard the sound of TJ scooping up his shoes

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* close walls. How many times with these six bil-
lion guns had someone said, “Is that gun shots
It was nearly 5 but still the pitch of night or fireworks?” No question, in your hand. Tavo
when Alice woke again. Screaming was what cried out at the shock of noise and kick.
woke her. Under the last of a late moon, un-
der the row of palms and the dormant man- Then screamed again. Aimed at the moon
go at the back of the yard, she could see in its stupid fucking face, still there hanging
Tavo outlined silver, contorted with rage. in the mango like it didn’t know it was
morning, time to be home. Bam! Raging all
“TJ?... Thomas Javian!... Thomas Javian the joy and love and fury of TJ teaching him
Toymaker, your motherfucker! Where are to balance on his first scooter, TJ bloodying
you?” his lip with a lightsaber, TJ laughing til tears
streamed and he couldn’t speak over some
Echoed off the canal, echoed between stupid fucking TikTok. TJ. TJ. TJ. Bam. Bam
the close walls of the houses left and right, bam bam bam bam bam bam.
rose far out over the industrial plaza beyond
the canal, through the lanes and courts All the while screaming. His brother’s
where Security roved and doze, drowned name. His brother’s name. His brother’s
the low buzz of traffic on the interstate. name. “Get the fuck home!”

The first shot was like a party cracker, And Alice, coming out the open back
elastic sound fired then fired back off the door behind him.

About the Author

I am an ancient world history and ESE teacher at a school
for the arts. I’ve had work in Conjunctions, Scary Mommy,
Sun Sentinel, Writer Unboxed and others. I’m a graduate of
VCU and UF, and have attended juried workshops at Bread
Loaf, Aspen, and others, with writers including Hannah
Tinti, Paule Marshall, Ann Hood, Randall Kenan, and Ben
Percy. I live with my sons in a diverse, multi-national
neighborhood in Florida.

55

THE LAST GOOD
BAD GUY

by Patti Cavaliere

It’s ten o’clock on Sunday morning when here, maybe he’s thinking that it isn’t a good
the thunder of a Harley stops in my drive- idea popping in without calling me. Maybe I
way. Two slices of raisin bread toast and a wasn’t alone? I was. I sure was. And I think I
mug of Columbian are before me on the know why Nick stopped by.
table and I’m wearing makeshift pajamas.
I have on the glasses I only wear at bed- “Nick. Hey Nick,” I yell. He is just out of
time— blue wire-rims, fairly trendy, except sight now, but I know he’s still there. I hav-
they make my almond eyes shrink to slivers en’t heard the dark choke of his Harley start
on my moon face. At one time I cared if any- up.
one saw me that way, but this isn’t anyone.
“Yeah?” he says, walking into view
Nick must have seen me peeking out the wearing blue jeans and a button-down
window, because he struts towards the back shirt with the tails hanging over his hips. He
door, then stops, a tic of regret crossing his hasn’t put on weight like some guys his age.
face. He mumbles to himself, then turns His head is covered with one of those funky
around as if there’s something he forgot to black helmets like the Germans wore in the
do, or something he recalls from years ago. army. He always did have his own style. I’m
surprised he is even wearing a helmet. I’m
I feel the urge to bolt upstairs to the also surprised when he takes it off— one
bathroom, at least brush my teeth, but he’d white strand of bang parting his forehead.
be gone by that time. For whatever reason Although his hair is still a little long, it’s
he stopped by to see me, after all these turned a dull shade of black with squiggles
years, I want to see him, too. of grey. Back when we were together it was
the color of mahogany. Back then, he was
I run to the back door and crack it open gorgeous.
a few inches, stick my head out and tip it
toward the outside of the house, hiding the “I was going to change,” I say, “but—” I
rest of my body behind the door frame. Nick finish the sentence with a show of open
is standing in the middle of the driveway. Is arms, revealing the sports bra clinging to
he having second thoughts? Now that he’s peach-size breasts and baggy blue shorts

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sheered off above my knees. Nick shrugs as *
if it doesn’t matter.
Before Nick, I’d been married to a quiet
“I’ve seen you in your pajamas before,” man— a cerebral architect who designed
he says, walking up the stairs. The comment our country home with skylights and French
hits me, as if we are old friends sharing a patio doors. We decorated it with mauve
private joke. carpeting, eclectic antiques, and a silk flow-
er arrangement on the coffee table. The
Nick sighs as if exhaling a drag of nicotine harder I tried to fit into his social circle, the
that he hasn’t touched in years. At first, nei- more I felt like a moth in a butterfly jar. After
ther one of us speaks—I imagine the same seven years, we parted ways.
thoughts crossing our minds. I backpedal to
let him come inside, knowing I won’t get far A few months later, Nick crossed my
before he squeezes me to him. His shoul- path and opened the lid of the jar.
ders feel taut, but his lips meet mine with
a supple kiss. What he lacks in stature, he It started on Memorial Day weekend at
makes up for in confident moves, impulsive a singles place called the Atlantis Club. I’d
timing, a sensitive soul. stopped there to have a drink with a friend.
I remember how I wore my shoulder-length
How many others have come between hair that night and how conservatively I’d
us since we were together? Two marriages dressed— a cream-colored silk blouse,
for him— his last one fell apart one year beige dress pants, a gold necklace with a
ago. His wife filed for divorce when his heart-shaped pendant watch. Not one sexy
innuendo, except for open-toed wedge Can-
carpentry business failed, so he decided dies that I had owned for years. But I could
to make a new start in Florida. Not quite old dance, and so could Nick. He said he lived
enough to fit into a geriatric scene, and not in a cottage on the beach of Rhode Island.
rich enough to fit into one of those gated For some reason, I was not feeling drawn
communities, he rented a home in an ob- to Nick when the music stopped that night.
scure city. As for me, I never remarried after I gave him my number anyway.
my first time, though back then, I’d come
close to marrying Nick. *

“Do you want something to eat?” I ask, I set black coffee in front of Nick, hand him
before we sit down at the kitchen table. As a spoon for the sugar as he pours milk into
I pick at my toast, I notice him glance at his cup. He smiles at me as he stirs the cof-
my flimsy top and exposed cleavage, and fee and his eyes don’t leave mine when he
my eyes fall away from his face. It’s a face takes his first sip.
branded by his thick ledge of brows, fleshy
lips that spread easily into a smile. “When are you leaving?” I ask. His avo-
cado green eyes change. They are so tender
“I just ate. I went to an A.A. meeting this now that I want to forget why I’d walled off
morning and a bunch of the guys took me old memories of us. I finish my toast and
to breakfast. Coffee smells good, though.” brush crumbs from my thigh, looking away
He’s going. He’s really moving. And unlike before the walls crumble.
a Florida snowbird, he probably won’t be
back. “The closing on my house was supposed
to take place last Thursday, but the lawyer

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

postponed until next week.” He tilts his amnesia over the terror that preceded
head back, down-shifting his mood. “So them. He glances up and down the walls
I ended up with some time on my hands I’ve repainted after he left and his silence
since I’d already finished up at work.” makes my breath stop as my mind peeks
behind the layers.
I can tell there is more on his mind. Nick
wasn’t a low-gear kind of guy. I loved him But Nick’s been clean of drugs and al-
for that the minute he showed up for our cohol for fifteen years. We’ve become dif-
first date on his bike. ferent people now.

That night he’d taken me to dinner at “Hold on,” I say, pushing back from the
friendly, family-style diner, and after that kitchen table. The moment I do so, I feel a
for a barefoot beach walk alongside the furnace of shame on my face— my shabby
breaking waves. Our feet sank into the cold morning outfit. I didn’t want Nick’s last vi-
sand while he held my hand as if it were a sual memory of me to be this.
pretty seashell that he wanted to keep. He
told me about his childhood— a brutal al- I walk into the living room to the art deco
coholic father, an affectionate mother. Nick vanity and open the oak drawer. I pull out
turned out to be a lot of both. a fake-leather photo album and return to
the kitchen. Setting it down on the table be-
Before I’d met Nick, I’d never dated men tween us, I refill our coffee cups and angle
with a history that included being a runaway the pages so we can both see them.
teen and rehab. I’d grown up boringly safe
thanks to years of parochial school and strict “Remember this?” I say, pointing to
parents. Listening to Nick’s dangerous sto- Fourth of July pig roast at the amusement
ries made me feel alive, as if I’d been there park in Middlebury. My smile was as wide
with him on that cold-sweat speed chase as a five-year-old child standing knee-deep
in the California desert, or had camped out in birthday presents. Nick’s laugh resonates
all week at a three-day rock concert. I had with a voluptuous longing that make my
never done anything remotely risky, until I eyes fill. I’d forgotten how good-looking we
fell in love with Nick. were then.

“I found an old photo album in the attic Throughout the years that we hardly
when I was packing,” he says in a voice that saw each other, I knew he was only a twen-
lets me know there’s something between us ty-minute drive up the highway. I’d stopped
that he can’t bear to leave behind. “There by his place several years ago. My edge for
I was balling my eyes out looking at photos adventure had disappeared like points of
of us on the bike trip to Vermont, lying on glass ground smooth from years of tum-
the beach in Rhode Island playing my har- bling in tides. I was alone again, between
monica, and here.” His eyes scan the room. relationships, and between-times lasted
longer than they once had. I had no idea
When he says this, I feel weak, like Nick was married at the time.
we’re sharing a bloodline between us. Yet
I sit frozen to my chair as if his words sailed Nick’s wife wasn’t home, so I didn’t stay
past me too quickly. My eyes drift towards long. When he walked me to my car, we
pink lily petals in the foyer that I re-wallpa- kissed good-bye, but I let the spongy touch
pered, as if their tranquil tone could induce of his lips linger on the ride home. I almost
called him back that night— nothing more

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comforting than two people who know to escape, even though the trauma never
each other inside and out. Those vibes were quite did.
playing with me again today, just once be-
fore he leaves. Inside my head, I’m standing on the
street corner, waiting until it’s safe to cross.
Our hands turn the pages of the photo The weekend at a beach-side hotel in New-
album and Nick sighs a lot like he used to do. port that started out with me dressed in a
Can you ever go back to being lovers again satin mini-skirt, but ended with torn fishnet
for one night? Would it feel cheap, or worse, stockings, limping away from Nick in three
would we fool ourselves into thinking this inch heels. He didn’t want me out of his
time it could be better? sight, not even when the cops showed up.

I’m standing at the kitchen sink rinsing After two years with him, I knew I had
the coffee pot when Nick’s cell phone rings. to escape the madness. In desperation, I
It draws my attention to his hands. Which resorted to sneaky independence, because
memory do I choose? The one of his fin- freedom is a one-way street. It drove Nick
gers entwined in my long hair as time dis- mad. It drove us apart.
appeared into the night, or moments that
passed like hours the night he clenched his *
hands into fists and snapped the neck of
his guitar. I adjust the faucet so the water The kitchen where we now sit has been re-
doesn’t make too much noise. modeled, but the cabinets, the windows,
the door I ran to, are the same. Only know-
As he talks on the phone, Nick thumps ing that he’s moving a thousand miles away
his leather boot on the floor, like a musician makes that less significant.
who’s lost his place in a song and is trying to
pick up the rhythm again. He ends the call I study Nick’s face, rugged as tree bark, a
after a few tense sentences. “Yeah. Later, weathered dignified texture. He always had
man.” a good heart, I think cautiously. He wears the
symbol of a red heart with dove’s wings on the
When he looks up at me, Nick’s face wrist of his left arm. He rolls back his sleeve
dissolves into an apologetic grin. Maybe and extends his fist to show me. The tattoo
he thinks I’ve forgotten how hard it was for along his other forearm is a bird. I remember
him to be easy-going. I used to think Nick’s the night at the tattoo parlor when his skin
fidgeting was from nerves. By the time I bled into red, green, yellow, blue-black ink.
realized rage was not an emotion he could I know where there are other marks on his
control, it was too late. I was crazy about body, too— the pock on his thigh, the surgery
him. scar on his ankle from a teenage brawl.

We didn’t have cell phones back when Before we get to that part of the photo
we were together, and it had driven Nick album where there are no more photos of
into a furious high that he didn’t know Nick, I close the cover. My mind fast-for-
where I was the night I’d left him standing wards through the years since then. I’d left
in this kitchen. I’d stood at the door for al- my low-paying job and secured a position
most an hour, one hand on the knob while at a university, dated a man twelve years
we screamed insults and accusations at younger and spent the week with him in the
each other. I’d waited for the right moment Bahamas, traveled to France with a stock

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broker for Valentine’s dinner, dated a clas- Nick collects his motorcycle helmet from
sical jazz musician who broke my heart. the counter, and then pauses at the door.

We are different people now. “Come visit me in Florida sometime,” he
says, fortifying his voice. His gaze is on the
When Nick and I had first split, even door handle. I know he can’t bear to look at
those glossy photos weren’t enough to me and still leave.
make me go back to him. They were merely
swooping images that returned me every My vision blurs as if I’m looking through
once and again, like a summer bird to the a glass jar. Then I manage a weak smile and
same warm place. Only as Nick sits close my voice quivers back at Nick. “Okay, maybe
and it feels as if he’s connected to a part of I will.” I say. There would be one reason I’d
me do I consider doing something I’ve never fly on a plane for three hours, except a man
done before. like Nick likes to have a cozy woman around
the house, and I wasn’t like that anymore.
“I’d better get going, Baby. I love you.”
But when he opens the door and never
My mouth goes dry. Love no longer came looks back as he walks toward the bike, I
in the face of those strangers. Love was know he is not that bad guy anymore.
staring me in the face.

About the Author

Patti Cavaliere: “The Last Good Bad Guy” is mostly true. I have been fortunate to have several
short stories and essays published. These have appeared in the Tall Grass Writer’s Black and
White Anthology, Yankee Magazine, Listen Magazine, and online contests since 2003. In 2012,
I attended Joyce Maynard’s workshop, Write By The Sea, on Star Island, which changed my

writing. Joyce had edited this piece for me back then when
it seemed to resonate with her. However, I never pursued
finding a home for this story. After reconnecting again this
summer with the man who inspired it, I hoped this was
now the time. Although I self-published a novel in 2017,
to me, my biggest accomplishment was winning a Writer’s
Digest contest in 2012. “Anonymous” was published in the
March 2012 issue, and was noticed by a filmmaker who
recently produced this story for a short film. One of my
stories was also chosen as a finalist in the Iowa Review.

60

EDENVILLE DAM

by Richard Ault

Hazel Thomas got the first alert on her pager darkness that his wife was not in bed by his
just after midnight on a rainy Tuesday night side. “Oh, shit, the dam.” Paralyzed from the
in mid-May. It was followed by a text on her waist down by Guillain-Barre syndrome, he
phone as she hurried to pull on her jeans in was unable to get out of bed by himself and
the dark. Right away she knew it had some- began to panic.
thing to do with the Edenville dam. Just the
day before they were told that there was He got a further jolt when Hazel and
some slow spillage around the edge of the two other volunteer firemen burst into
smaller Secord dam upstream. the house. “We gotta get you the hell out
of here,” she said. The two men lifted him
The monsoonal wind and rain had been from the bed while Hazel pushed his wheel-
raging non-stop throughout the middle of chair through eight inches of water to the
Michigan’s mitten for four straight days, with bedside. Ordinarily, she took care of all of
damaging floods as far east as Tawas on Lake this by herself with EJ’s cooperation, but
Huron. The reservoir that formed their Wixom this was far from anything like “ordinarily.”
Lake was level with the top of their dock.
At that moment, EJ, having striven to be
EJ didn’t stir. In the pitch dark of the as independent as possible for years, was
room, Hazel could barely make out his too frightened and confused to be of much
large form under the covers as he lay in bed, help. Without protest, he let them do with
sound asleep. Thank god for his meds, she him what they would.
thought, but she fretted and vowed to re-
turn for him as soon as she could. Hazel struggled to push his wheelchair
through the flooding house, but it didn’t help
On the way to the fire station, despite that her husband was shouting at her: “What
the risks, she continued to check her texts the hell is going on? It’s the dam, isn’t it.”
for information on the dam break and who
else, among the volunteer firefighters, were He was frustrated when she didn’t an-
responding. swer until they got him into the ambulance.
“Both dams,” she said. “Edenville for right
A little over an hour later, sirens, spot- now, but Sanford next and real soon. I got
lights, and a loudspeaker evacuation warning the call an hour and a half ago but wasn’t
made sure EJ would be blasted awake this sure what was going on and didn’t want to
time. The strobe lights on his bedroom wake you and scare you. The dam broke and
walls made it possible to see through the the lake is flooding everything downstream.

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Flooding now, but by morning it will prob- their mocha-brown miniature poodle,
ably be gone.” would have a yank on that rope, jumping
on her legs, demanding to be stroked
“What’ll be gone?” and cuddled. “Where’s Muffin now?” she
thought with momentary alarm as the knot
“Our lake. Wixom Lake will be gone, grew tighter. Then she remembered. One of
empty. Sanford Lake too.” the men had picked the dog up when they
were at the house. Probably at the county
She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead pet shelter by now. Not a total relief but it
and started to exit the ambulance. “Where would have to do for the now.
do you think you’re going?” he demanded.
Everything made it difficult to breathe,
“Sorry, can’t go with you. These guys will but she had to put it out of her mind for the
take you to the high school, which is being moment. Right now what was pulling on her
set up as a shelter. Right now my job is to was the need to jar friends and neighbors
go door to door, waking people up, telling and strangers awake in the early morning
them to get the hell out.” darkness. Not many were strangers. She
had grown up in the tight-knit area and
“Damn, Hazel, I need you now.” knew almost everybody. Now she had to
try to get them all to a safe place.
“Can’t help it. Sorry. See you at Meridian
High when I get a break. Love you.” She But, coming, as this crisis did, on top of
broke away and got in her car to meet up a pandemic crisis, an economic crisis, an
with the other volunteer, but opened her unemployment crisis, a racial justice crisis,
window to hear what he was yelling. could there be such a thing as a safe place?
All she could think of was Job in the Bible,
“How about your family and my grandfa- but she realized that this series of trials was
ther in the hospital?” not aimed at her alone.

“Not my job right now. They’ll be taken She knew she had to tend to people in
care of, I’m sure. You’ll probably see most of her assigned areas, but first, she made a
them at the school. I don’t know how things short detour to check on her own Sandrick
are at the hospital. That’s twenty miles family at Sandrick Shores.
downstream in Midland. Maybe Grandpa
Phylo’s okay.” The homes of her father, grandmother,
and aunt clustered in a small compound
“Christ, Hazel.” on the lake about four miles away. She had
been raised in her father’s house on these
As she often did since her husband fell very shores.
ill, Hazel felt pulled in too many directions
at once, an unrelenting knotted rope in her As she might have guessed, other vol-
guts, with EJ pulling the hardest and tightest unteer first responders were already there.
on the knot. But there was also her day job Her aunt was in tears as they led the two
at Dow Chemical, her volunteer fire de- women to a car to take them to the school
partment duties, her parents (including her shelter. On the other hand, Grandma San-
mother, who had been in Florida since she drick, pushing her walker, smiled when she
and her father split), and her own son and spotted Hazel. “A lot of fuss over a little
daughter in college.

On just a normal day, when she was
barely one step inside the door, even Muffin,

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water in the house,” her grandma said. But had now turned into nothing but hard-to-
Aunt Inez reached for Hazel, sobbing in her let-go-of scrap.
niece’s arms. Inez was known to panic over
less. “It’ll be OK,” Hazel said. “You’ll be at She wanted to check on their own house,
the shelter for a few days is all. Then back but their road was blocked by A-Frame saw-
home. No worries.” horses. Frustrated, she circled back to the
firehouse. Chief Bartz was barking into an in-
“But your grandma.” tercom. “Goddammit, Leonard, that’s none
of our business. Just get those people the hell
Hazel let go of her aunt and went to her out of there.” He didn’t stop looking annoyed
grandmother. “She’ll be fine, too,” Hazel when he saw Hazel. “And you too,” he said.
said. “Won’t you, Gram.”
“What?” she asked.
“Of course. I’ve been through a lot worse
than this.” “We all got families, you know,” he growled.
“But we all got important jobs to do, god-
Hazel knew she was referring to the fire. dammit.”
To the younger Hazel, the tragic fire was one
of those vague and fuzzy stories of family “Meaning?”
lore, but for her grandmother, the fire in her
childhood home and the loss of her parents “Meaning while you’re off checking on
still blazed in her memory. A little flood was your kin, you’re not helping us get our job
nothing at all. done.”

Hazel got in her car, leaving her father, “Arnold, you know EJ can’t…”
aunt, and grandmother in the care of others.
No way did that mean she would instantly “EJ I get. But did it take three of you? You
stop worrying about them and EJ; it meant not only went off-book yourself, but you
only that she would now move on to pound took two more of my men and a goddam
on doors. “They’re all my family, now,” she ambulance off with you. We lost precious
told herself. time and resources needed to help other
good families evacuate.”
Hazel hoped that daybreak might bring
some relief, but, as she drove around, all Hazel sublimated her growing anger
she could see was devastation, a word she with silent resentment and frustration over
had once disparaged as a disaster cliche, but one more source of guilt.
now thought it was the only apt word to de-
scribe what she found everywhere. The lake But Bartz wasn’t finished. “So then you
had vanished, with only the Tittabawassee head off to Sandrick Shores, where I already
River streaming through the middle of the had two other guys actually doing their as-
lake bed, a lake bed that, among the ex- signed jobs.”
posed stumps and weeds, was now the re-
pository of many docks and shore stations “Dammit, Arnold, I got my own area done,
and sundry pieces of who knows what— didn’t?” She paused to collect herself. “You
even people’s underwear, maybe even hers; know damn well that on your job a little pa-
many of the homes and some of the few tience once in a while might help. Maybe
small businesses were piles of rubble, piles even help you.”
to which owners were already adding what
“Yeah, and you know damn well I ain’t
got it.”

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She gave up and started to walk away be- “I wasn’t allowed to drive down our road,
fore turning back to speak between clenched EJ. Chief Bartz told me our neighborhood
teeth: “If this is the way you’re going to treat was hit bad.”
your volunteers in a crisis, you’re not going
to have any left to scream at.” “We heard the same thing,” EJ said. “Did
the chief say anything about when we can
The chief leaned his elbows on his desk, see our house?”
his head in his hands, and said in a resigned
voice, “It’s awful, Hazel.” “Says it might be a couple of days. But we
better be prepared for the worst.”
“No shit, Arnold. Tell me something I
didn’t know. You got anything in particular Just then their neighbor, Harold Hatherly,
in mind?” stopped by. “I heard what you’re saying.
Bad, eh? What else have you heard?”
“Everything. Everything’s gone to shit.
But your place too, I mean. Every house “That’s about it,” Hazel said. “I’ve been
in your neighborhood. They all got it bad. out and around knocking on doors all
Sorry to be the one to tell you.” morning, getting people out. It looks pretty
bad everywhere. Even in the village. The
She nodded. “Saw my road was blocked.” shops and all.
She walked out, tears welling.
“I tried to just hunker down and stay
She desperately needed sleep, but first, home,” Hatherly said.
she had to find EJ and her family at the high
school. Besides, where was she going to “One of those guys, eh?” Hazel said.
sleep now anyway?
“Yeah, I guess. But at 2 a.m. all hell ex-
It was still early and the gym had not ploded. I had the vac waiting. I saw it coming
filled up yet as it would later. Cots were and it just – literally, like Old Faithful –
arranged for social distancing, but that straight poop water in my face. And it filled
didn’t prevent people from milling around my basement entirely in three hours. I fi-
and congregating in close clusters, some nally got out.”
wearing masks, many not. EJ was sitting
on the edge of a cot visiting with Hazel’s “I hope they fry Mueller’s ass,” EJ said. Lee
Aunt Inez and a few other neighbors. Inez Mueller’s company, Boyce Hydro, owned
seemed to have calmed down from earlier the dam, and federal and state agencies had
in the morning but was still wearing a wor- been after him for almost twenty years to
ried frown. They all had masks on. bring the dam up to regulatory standards.
He had managed to slow-walk through it
“Well, look who’s here,” EJ said. Hazel all, making minimum improvements while
guessed his greeting came with a smile be- paying only minimum fines.
hind the mask. Hard to tell these days, she
thought. “Ah, you watch, nothing’s going to happen
this time either,” Hatherly said. “And, with
“Where’s Grandma?” Hazel asked. our governor and our president in a pissing
match, we might not get any financial help
“She’s fine,” Aunt Inez told her. “You from the feds.. I keep telling people we’re
know her. She’s been pushing her walker caught between two rocks—climate change,
around all morning, gabbing to anybody which results in things like all the freakish
who’ll listen.”

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amount of rain we’ve had in the last week, and EJ left the shelter so she could drive
and a government that won’t take action on them into Midland to buy just enough
known environmental violators like Boyce. clothes to get through the rest of the week,
That’s two things our president doesn’t give including something she could wear for
a damn about, pun intended.” work when she returned. They took a short
drive around the city. Many areas looked
“You’re a barrel of yuks this morning, high and dry, including the hospital, where
Harold,” Hazel said. Harold was known to Grandpa Phylo Thomas was recovering from
have strong feelings when it came to the the Covid. Because they were not allowed to
president, especially when it involved the visit in person, they pulled into the parking
environment. lot so EJ could phone from the car. He was
told his grandfather’s condition was stable.
“And, while we’re all looking another way,’
he said, “he’s breaking through dams of his Some areas of the city were not so well
own. Look how he’s been rushing through off. There were blockades around Dow’s main
a flood of executive orders, stripping away building, which sat right on the Tittabawassee
environmental regulations, and opening up River; the lower floors of the county court-
public areas for development.” house were submerged, as were the pop-
ular Dow Gardens and Currie Municipal golf
Although he agreed with a lot of what Ha- course. In one residential area, they were
therly had to say, EJ wanted to change sub- able to get close enough to see a woman
jects before they got too deep into politics. kayaking on a city street, her neighbors, out
He turned his attention to his wife. “The kids piling debris, smiled and waved to her.
called. Wanted to know how we’re doing.”
The third morning after evacuating they
“I saw on my phone that they called,” drove out to survey the damage to their
Hazel said. “But I was too busy to pick up. area. Sandrick Shores was in pretty good
Thought I would call them back when things shape, the houses intact.
settled down a little bit.”
On their own street, the blockade was
“Brenden can stay in his dorm a while gone but cars full of curious gawkers made
longer, he says, but doesn’t know how long. it almost as difficult to get to their house.
Michigan State could be closing down and
going virtual any time now.” “Jeez, look at what happened to Ron and
Pat’s place,” EJ said. “There’s Ron in their
“Great. Allison?” yard.”

“Coming home soon. Her Dow summer “Can’t look right now,” Hazel said. “Too
internship starts in a couple of weeks.” damn many cars.”

“Home? Did you tell her there is no home The man had his head down, ignoring
to come to right now?” the traffic, carrying what looked to be a
mangled bicycle, throwing it on a pile of
“Right. I didn’t know yet how bad things rubble at the side of the road. It was only
were going to get with our house, but I the first of several such piles along the way—
warned her of the possibility.” piles that would continue to grow over the
next days and weeks.
“Shit. One more worry.”

Hazel phoned and was informed that
Dow was granting her two days’ leave. She

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

When they finally made it through to The side door to the house was one step
their own place, their hearts sank before up, so the remaining water was not quite so
they even got out of their car. EJ’s pride deep, but that was the only plus. The tell-
and joy, their beautiful lawn, was covered tale flood line on the walls was at least four
in lake bottom mud and weeds; their dock feet high, and because, rather than simply
was destroyed, only a few broken planks rising, the water had rushed in with a surge,
and pieces of metal piled up near the shore. they could see where it had splashed even
The lake itself had vanished, leaving only higher in spots. In some places, it took the
stumps, weeds, old trash, and other shore- texture off the ceiling dry-wall. Above the
line rubble and detritus. waterline, the nice dishes—a wedding gift
from Hazel’s grandmother—that had been
Hazel’s head was on a swivel as they on display in an open wall-cupboard, were
walked toward the house. “Oh, my god,” still intact, while other ceramic pieces
she said, managing a sheepish laugh as she below that line lay in shards on the mucky
pointed to the yard next door, where a pair floor.
of her red tights with black polka dots was
strung from a branch on their next-door There were more muddy splashes on the
neighbor’s tree. “Just what I was afraid of.” furniture, cupboards, and appliances. The
refrigerator was lying prone in the water
EJ’s laugh was more raucous. “Look on the kitchen floor. The bedroom tele-
around, you may find more of your under- vision was found in the bathroom, having
wear out here somewhere.” She scowled floated there by some circuitous route. Any
at him but couldn’t resist scanning the lake clothing hanging below the waist level in
bed just in case. their closets was either damaged beyond
salvage or was missing entirely.
She opened the hatchback of their SUV
to remove his wheelchair. He had opened his Something that they hadn’t noticed
door and got himself turned sideways so she when they first approached the house via
could help him into the chair, then tip-toe the garage was that the surge had appar-
around and through muddy, grassy debris ently forced open the double front doors,
as she wheeled him up the driveway. She the one on the right hanging from its hinges.
took the remote clicker from her pocket and
opened the big door to their spacious garage. They spoke very little beyond grunts
and groans and curses. Finally Hazel asked,
There were still a few inches of acrid “What do you think? Bad as you expected?”
water on the garage floor, but they could see
a water line at shoulder height on the still “Worse. I expected bad, but this is way
damp walls. The lawn tractor had tipped over worse.”
from the rising water and EJ’s golf clubs were
spilled out of the bag and floating. They had “Same here. It’s going to be a long time
not come out of the garage in the two years before we can live here again.”
since his paralysis set in. “Damn, I was going
to hit a few on the range today,” he said. “If ever. I mean, what the hell, you know
me. I’m usually more than ready to take on
“Right. So much for that.” a big project even with the shape I’m in, but
I wouldn’t even know where to start with
They had both tacitly surrendered to this glop.”
whistling in the dark.

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“Honey, I’m not sure you could do any- up again at their road. A man and a woman
thing with this glop anyway. Either one of in contract security uniforms were standing
us. Guess we need to call Lewis.” guard.

“Yeah, like everybody else around here.” Hazel rolled down the driver’s window.
“We live here,” she told the woman.
Lewis Jones, who lived just a road fur-
ther back from the lake, was their builder. “ID, ma’am.”
Lewis had become something of a friend
but was hard to pin down, even to himself. Hazel handed over her driver’s license.
Full of ambivalence and self-doubt, proudly “What’s going on?”
proclaiming his home-building prowess, yet
worrying about where his next customers “Thank you, ma’am. Just trying to keep
were coming from. And not even sure he out the gawkers and looters. You can go
was in the right vocation. He had recently ahead.”
returned from a Mormon retreat in Utah
and told Hazel and EJ that he went to a ses- “Looters?”
sion with a speaker addressing the matter of
career choices. It hit home with Lewis when “You never know, ma’am. Your home-
the guy talked about “choosing which wall owner’s association hired us.”
you put your ladder on.” Par for the course,
Lewis told them he was concerned that his Hazel thanked her. As she drove on, EJ said,
ladder was on the wrong wall. “May have “Looters. Never thought of that. Did you?”
to find something better to do with my life,”
he said. “No, as a matter of fact, but, like she said,
‘You never know.’
The Thomas’s had to laugh to themselves
at the time; now, however, when they des- “People,” said EJ with disgust.
perately needed his ladder on the walls of
their house, they were not laughing. “Better Even with the blockade, Hazel and EJ
call him right away, get in line,” Hazel said. were amazed at the number of cars and
people crowding the road, even more so
EJ tried but only got voicemail. “Lewis, when they reached their house.
this is EJ. Our house is in terrible shape and
we need your help. Don’t know where to People were actually going in and out of
start.” their house!

“Good luck with that,” Hazel told him “Jesus, what’s going on?” EJ said as he
when he hung up. saw strangers walking out with trash and
throwing it on a growing stack at the side
They left to find a storage place for what- of their road.
ever it was possible to salvage, then drove
back to the high school to check in on the Hazel couldn’t believe what was hap-
family once again and have some of the lunch pening. “Who the hell are these people, and
provided by the combined area churches. what do they think they’re doing? I can’t
even get in our driveway.”
When they headed back to their house,
they saw that the temporary barriers were “Just leave the car here,” EJ said. She
double-parked and started for the hatch
and the wheelchair when one of the men
who had been carrying the trash came over
to the car.

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He smiled. “You the Thomas’s by any please thank them. Like I said in my mes-
chance.” sage, I had no idea how to even start.”

“We are,” Hazel said. “And who the…” Lewis turned more serious. “Speaking of
starting, I’m not sure when I can start the
The man laughed. “Don’t blame you for rebuild. Some guys have told me it will be
wondering. Lewis Jones asked us to pitch in. harder to rebuild than to do it the first time.
You can talk to him. He’s in your house right Maybe more expensive too.”
now.”
That sobered Thomas’s up a bit. After
Lewis laughed too when he saw them a short pause for processing, Hazel said,
inside. “Whaddaya think?” “Come on, Lewis. The foundation and the
frame are still good. Those things took a
“What is going on, Lewis?” EJ said, his long time and a lot of money the first time
eyes wide at seeing tens of people at work. around. You don’t have to bother with them
this time.”
“All Mormons. Most anyway. Came from
all over the state. Even Ohio and Indiana.” Lewis looked sheepish. “Okay, we’ll
just have to see. I got other houses on this
“Mormons?” EJ asked. street, too.”

“It’s what we do. Just relax and enjoy it.” Hazel and EJ gave each other a knowing
look. Just Lewis hedging again. He looked at
Some were mucking out the floors, them for a response but after an extended
others had strung a rope across the living pause, said “I’ll get on it as soon as I can. As
room where they hung clothes and towels soon as all these people finish what they’re
for drying, while others collected trash of doing.”
all kinds for the piles outside including their
flat-screen TV as well as the one that floated Hazel looked around again at the en-
into the bathtub from the bedroom. ergy and focus of friends and strangers. A
woman who was hanging things on the line
Hazel pointed out that they weren’t all happened to look her way and gave Hazel
Mormon strangers. Lewis’s wife was there a smile. She smiled back and then turned
along with other neighbors from Lewis’s her smile to their builder. “We know you
street a block back. These were among the will, Lewis. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Thanks
same neighbors who had sniped at each for all this too.” She left EJ and Lewis to
other at the recent homeowners associ- themselves while she joined in to help sort
ation meeting, some of whom had even through a pile of wet, dirty clothes, even
complained about the fact that the Thom- though there was little hope of resurrection.
as’s had won the “Yard of the Month” award
way too often for it to have been an impar- She had phoned her Dow office again
tial decision. to give them an update on the house situa-
tion. A short time later, she got a return call
Hazel and EJ didn’t know what to think. telling her that the company said, starting
the next day, they could stay in the same
“You okay?” Lewis said with a smile, his intern’s apartment as their daughter. “Nine
eyes darting from Hazel to EJ and back again. hundred square feet is all—two bedrooms,
“Hope it’s alright. I got your phone message. one with bunk beds,” she told EJ.

“Okay?” laughed EJ. “You have to be kid-
ding. It’s amazing. Thank you so much. And

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As he reached for her hand, he said she said, taking a deep breath, her first in
“People,” quoting himself from earlier a while. “I’m sure Brendan will be happy to
take you up on your offer.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that’s what you said
about the looters, right.” Hazel became aware of her jaw and
shoulders loosening a tad as a result of all
“Right. But just look around. Thank God the family banter.
for the ‘Swarmin’ Mormons,” he said.
When they finally made it to their cots
A few hours later, they drove back to the for the night, she told EJ she was feeling at
high school for another church-lady meal. least some small amount of relief.
They sat with Inez and Grandma Sandrick
and some neighbors. This time Hazel’s fa- “Good,” he said. “But it ain’t over yet. Like
ther was there as well. “He was just hanging your dad said, it’s going to be tight in that
out at his good-old-boy’s store in Midland apartment, and we’re probably going to
last night, just like nothing was going on,” have to be there a long time yet. A long road
Inez said. ahead, with a lot of potholes, I’m afraid.”

“And nothing was,” he said. She poked him in the ribs. “Gee, thanks
a lot. I was just starting to feel a little better.”
“Just you and the boys eh?” Hazel teased.
“Me too, but…”
“Poker night. Almost as many guys as al-
ways, but they didn’t want to drive home in “Never mind.”
the storm, so we all just camped out.”
“Right now, for tonight, I just need you to
“Had a big-time, I’ll bet,” EJ said. promise me one thing,” he said.

“Well, we do sell beer in the store, you “What’s that?”
know. And, like always, we had a lot of the
same old lies to tell. Kept us going until “Just promise me no sirens or loud-
some guys just put their heads down on speakers, and promise you won’t leave me
the table asleep and the rest crashed right in the middle of the night.”
there on the floor. Of course, I had my bed
in the back room.” She poked his ribs again.“Dammit, that’s
two things at least.” she said.
“Of course,” Hazel laughed.
Tired as she was when she turned out
“You wouldn’t believe what happened at the light, Hazel still couldn’t sleep. Her mind
our house,” EJ said and told them about the churned over the past few days, over her
Swarmin Mormons. daughter living with them, over who was
going to sleep where, over what she would
Hazel explained the plans with Allison do with EJ if there really were another emer-
and Brendan. Hazel’s father said, “That gency in the night? And his warning about
apartment sounds tight, but Brendan can potholes ahead—for them, for their families,
stay with me when he’s ready. I’m not there for their neighbors. He was right, of course.
a lot, so he would have the place to himself..” He was right about all of them, all the
people she had scared awake that night...all
Hazel wanted to hug him but the San- without a home...what will they do?
drick men were not huggers. “We’ll see,”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Richard Ault: I’ve written fiction since my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Ferguson, praised my
story.. Writing, however, was not my career until I retired from many years as a private
consultant on organizational change. Before that, I was in public education as a teacher,
principal, and college professor. I was the principal author of a non-fiction book on change,
and have written and published two novels, an essay, a poem, and numerous articles, papers,
and book chapters. Until recently I lived in northern Michigan with Pennie, my loving wife
of 50 + years. When she died last year, I moved to be near my son’s family in Pennsylvania,
not far from another son in Manhattan. That third-grade story was about the hardships of a
pioneer family in a wagon train headed west. I still have the original copy of that story in my
file cabinet, and I am still writing stories about people taking life chances.

70

TO BALANCE
THE TALLY

by Vipul Lunia

Summer Winds from the west were teas- ‘Morituri te Salutant’ and ran after him.
ing the tamarinds in the Grove. Farm Lands Both had put on their clothes while on the
were nude like a new born. The hot air run, picked their bikes from the dirt and
made it unbearable for any soul to be out on the count of one, the race began. Their
at that hour where the only respite could bodies mechanically pedalling with all the
be found in the canal water and river, a might left after swimming.
very shallow level this year promised a fine
summer bath for the town urchins and cat- On the bike all that passed were land-
tle. But Eshaan and Aarush were explorers marks and everything else just phased out.
and had to themselves a spot on the river, Empty streets of that hour made their race
which no one bothered about and was per- more fast paced, piercing the hot air past
fect for hot afternoon bath games. the playground, cold storage, theatre, the
café, the pond, ending at Eshaan’s place.
“Remind me to show you the poem I Eshaan would break in front of his house
wrote,” said Eshaan while Aarush carried on with gained kinetic
energy. He held a “V” made of index and
“Wow, another one already. I am serving middle finger above his head.
you right with the topics.”
“What does that mean?” his elder sister
“Are you suggesting that you are my muse?” asked.

“What? Are you insane?” “Whosoever would continue forward
would signal to the other one, the outcome
“True, what I was thinking? How can your of the race. A ‘V’ raise above the head was
jejune thoughts and incoherent words can a sign of the holder winning it while if the
be of a muse but only of a menial, insignif- ‘V’ is carried on the side like a flag than the
icant slave.” observer had won.”

Aarush ran to catch hold of Eshaan to “You guys are so lame.”
pin him down. Aarush stood and saluted
the running figure of Eshaan and shouted, “Leave me alone, I just lost a race.”

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“Who judged it? Aarush?” authorities panicked but Eshaan and Aarush
with the help of other classmates, saved the
“Yes and we don’t lie about it. It’s a matter day by cooking a scrumptious meal for the
of honour.” group.

“You are a couple of seventeen year-olds. They were inseparable and yet each
And guys at your age lie more than they other’s fiercest competitors. Almost all the
speak. Honour my, you know what.” individual sport events at school would be
between Eshaan and Aarush, the only ques-
“I know, and that is why I told you to tion would be whose tally will be higher this
leave me alone.” year. On sports day they would be at each
other’s throats. Would torture each other
“Then go to your room, who’s stopping psychologically and physically and yet at the
you? But come down later because I need end of the day, they would sit together on
to practise chess with you.” the canal side, eating melons, thinking of
the day and laugh about it.
“Oh no not again, why can’t there be a
pill for chess so I don’t have drag myself After the paper checking marathon four
through this again and again.” years back, each year they were awarded
same grades in all subjects, mostly to avoid
“Well you are lame and drama queen. All all the requests for paper checking from
these adjectives don’t go with your athletic both of them. But as usual they didn’t top,
body. It kind of ruins the image,” his sister and a girl- Mansi, outscored them in almost
teased. all papers.

Both boys had a well-trimmed, hard “Our Eta place, topped again” Aarush
trained athletic body due to their constant said.
participation in sprints, swimming, cycling
and other sport events. They were each oth- “ What do you mean ‘Our’? The way she
er’s inspiration and critic. Except a few hours looks at you, I think she is all yours,” Eshaan
, their days passed in each other’s company replied.
and hence all their activities were designed
and planned keeping the other one in mind. “Oh, so you want to be Butch Cassidy and
Most of which they did it together except live longer than me.”
their hobbies. A few hours away or an occa-
sional night at respective homes would give “Hey kid, at least you will have a girl while
them time to pursue their hobbies. Both you live. Aren’t you happy with that? And
liked to read literature and would compete there is no sure way to deduce if Butch ac-
even in that. Both loved to eat and to cook tually lived that long and not killed in that
and could cook a meal for a group, if the shootout that day.”
need arises, as was recorded at the scout
camp. Camp was set up at a remote place in “Well I believe Mr. Chatwin, and others
forest and was reached after several hours also had many theories on the same lines,”
of drive and a simple hike. Plan was to stay replied Aarush.
for the night and reach town limits by next
evening. But on reaching the campsite, it Both of them promised to beat her
was realised that they had left the cook next year, like they did last year. But this
on one of the stopovers enroute. School year they had something else to look for-
ward to, the rose fetching competition.

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They were training hard for it. It was on hold it in him any longer. He decided to
the same lines as Iron man competition come clean with him.
but with different type of difficulties and
hurdles to pass through. The toughest “Listen, I fell down during the 5km run
would be the end climb on the wall to and was in no position to finish it but Cy-
fetch the rose. This competition would anna picked me up on her bike and dropped
encompass a distance of few kilometres me to the next activity. And I wanted to win
and so it was not possible to monitor so bad that I continued anyway.”
the event throughout the route but vol-
unteers, all girls, would be standing near “That’s a good story, you just wrote it or
all the activity zones. It was Eshaan’s were you working on it the whole day?”
birthday and both the boys couldn’t sleep
at all the night before and ran a lot in the “I am serious, and I am sorry,” Eshaan re-
morning resulting in drained energies and plied in a muffled voice.
sleepy bodies at the time of competition.
Aarush couldn’t stand the sun and bailed “What the you know what? You cheated?
out during the third activity, but Eshaan Just to win a race?” Aarush continued, “Why
forced himself forward to equate the total would you….?”
tally of wins with Aarush. But during the
5 km run, he slumped at the side of the Both of them experienced an uncomfort-
road. A classmate-Cyanna offered to drop able silence for the first time between them,
him up to the next activity on her bike. Es- punctuated only by Eshaan’s low sobs.
haan accepted without blinking, and was
dropped just right before the activity zone. “What happened to your words, ‘we are
Eshaan didn’t even thank her or gave her not like them, we don’t cheat to win, we
a second look and ran towards the activity play to win.’ I thought we were the good
area. Later he gifted her the rose which he ones, I thought we…” Aarush continued.
won, so as she doesn’t tell anyone.
“I am sorry, I am sorry. I got carried away.
Eshaan invited a few of his friends to his We are the good ones,” Eshaan pleaded
party in the evening and told Aarush that
he was going to cook himself for everybody. “Yeah we were good, I guess you wanted
Around seven that evening, when the door- to be better,” Aarush replied. “ I will be in
bell rang, Eshaan was busy getting things the hall.”
ready for the evening’s party. Wondering
who had turned up so early, he went to get The evening went by very smoothly
the door. It was Aarush. “I’m here to help where both of them played their parts per-
you,” he announced and continued, “How fectly. Most of who were present couldn’t
much can you possibly do all by yourself?” understand the undertones or symbolism
Holding forward a single rose he bowed dra- of what they were talking about when they
matically. “Congratulations. For now, you talked about the failure of the gunpowder
could stop being jealous,” he smirked. The plot or the ‘hand of god’ of Maradona.
emphatic ‘all by yourself’ bothered Eshaan. When Aarush left, he hung the ‘V’ on the
He had never lied or hid anything from side like a flag. Eshaan mumbled a sorry
Aarush or cheated in a sport. He couldn’t under his breathe.

Next day when they met, Eshaan was
worried but Aarush seemed normal. They
carried on with their day as usual with only
one anomaly from their routine. Aarush

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won’t play any sport with Eshaan anymore. him. Although covertly he wished every-
They went to river for bath but Aarush thing would break down and Aarush would
didn’t race on the way back. And in a not be able to leave. His father would lose
couple of days they realised that the lustre the job or something like that, he even
from their friendship was gone. Aarush wished for Aarush to fail in his final results.
didn’t participate in any sporting event in
school throughout the year. Eshaan kept The day Aarush was to leave, Eshaan was
pleading with him, telling him how sorry restless since morning. Hoping something
he felt and how he would not let compe- would stop all this non-sense. He for once
tition get to his head. But Aarush didn’t also believed the hypothesis, that all this is
budge. Whole school was missing their just a staged act by Aarush and everything
competition, even Eshaan’s sister asked would be normal once this is over. By after-
what happened to the ‘V’, it was up or like noon his sister informed him that Aarush is
flag. And with time even the occasional about to leave. Eshaan picked his motorbike,
river bath or an evening by the canal also went straight to Aarush’s house.
stopped. And eventually Eshaan too let go
of the only end which kept their friendship When he reached, Aarush’s car was al-
from flying away. By the end of the year, ready leaving. Eshaan accelerated to catch
they were just classmates. up with him and saw Aarush driving. Aarush
looked at him and just said, “Cold storage”.
Even the teachers wanted them back, Aarush accelerated and his car zoomed
hence they gave Aarush second place and ahead and Eshaan, in a mood to let Aarush
Eshaan third, just to spice up the things. But win, maintained a steady pace.
it remained as bland and vapid as it could
be. They missed each other, they longed for But suddenly Eshaan went full throttle
that camaraderie which they were not get- and went ahead of Aarush, and maintained
ting from Mansi or Cyanna. But it was not the lead till termination point. He decel-
to happen. erated gradually and so did Aarush, but
Eshaan came to a stop while Aarush went
Without sports and without Eshaan, ahead with a ‘V’ to the side like a flag. Es-
Aarush felt lost. At that time Aarush’s fa- haan was crying unconsolably. The speeding
ther got a transfer to a different city, a car became blurry and within seconds it
bigger city and he was thinking to turn it was gone.
down. But Aarush pressured him to take the
transfer. And he applied for post-graduation He went to their spot by the canal. He
there and got through. The day he got his sat there till evening thinking of the times
provisional acceptance letter, he cried like they had together. He realised how it is un-
a baby, saying ‘he didn’t want to go’, over fair and more difficult for the ones that are
and over again. Eshaan came to know about left behind than those who leave. But Es-
this from his sister, who was surprised that haan had earned hope, after winning that
he didn’t knew. He pretended that it didn’t last race. Someday, Aarush would have to
matter to him and that he was happy for come back to win one more race, to balance
the tally.

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About the Author

Vipul writes based out of India, listening to the stories of the land and telling it forward. His
work so far has been published in Visual Verse, Women’s Web, Story Mirror and has recently
been shortlisted for an Anthology.

75

TUPPERWARE

by Alan Massey

Tupperware, and the Little Red Sliver for a She taught math to the kids at an ele-
Second Hand mentary school, and my father cleaned up
after them. In the mornings before work, in
After my mother’s DUI, I took to driving the car, they would have themselves a little
her to her depressing little breakfast diner moment.
gig. If I had to guess, she started drinking
after her second marriage. She hid it well, “Lee?” she said. “Now listen. You’re lis-
but I do not know much about these kinds tening right?”
of things.
I was.
On a winter morning before she went in
that diner, before she left the car that is, she “I am,” I said.
told me a story about my father. Outside
the clear windows of the car, I could see the “Your father… it was the oddest thing. He
crimson sun rising, flicking between dark had taken down the clock from my class-
clouds. The early morning killed my eyes. room and tinkered with it in the car. You
know those clocks at school: white and
My mother sat in the passenger seat. round, near a foot in diameter, black rect-
After our goodbyes, she stayed. She rested angles. Little red sliver for a second hand.
her hands on the dashboard above the They’re all the same, these clocks.
glove department.
“The thing is, is he couldn’t unfreeze
“Mom,” I said, “I need a cigarette.” the time. He first took the clock to fix the
jumping second hand, but when he took it
She motioned for me to go ahead. But from the wall, the thing just stopped right
I didn’t. there at 8:07 AM – the time when he pulled
it down. He brought the clock with him and
My mother made fruitcake the night be- toyed with it during our morning coffees
fore and gave it to me in Tupperware. in the car. After some time, he stopped
drinking coffee. He would just work on that
“Keep the Tupperware,” she said. “You clock. I told him. I said, ‘stop messing with
and Anna need it.” that thing.’ But he never did. He melted into
that clock. He went right in and never came
“Your father and I, we’d have our morning out.”
coffee in the parking lot at the school,” she
said. “In this car. We kept the coffee in a I nodded.
thermos. We shared.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“Are you listening? Do you catch my The smoke from the muffler rose in the
meaning?” still air outside and covered the back wind-
shield. We rested between the asphalt and
“I get it,” I said. “But what happened to two white lines. We looked forward. The
that clock?” sun faded into orange as it rose and rotated.
The Tupperware rested in the compartment.
“It broke,” she said. “It shattered. It crum-
bled on the floor. It reinvented itself. What
does it matter? The clock’s not important.
You’ll understand.”

About the Author

I am an unpublished writer and current English major at
the University of North Florida.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Again,
thank you for taking your time to read my story, and I look
forward to your response.

77

EDNA

by Katie Sweeting

I didn’t know what to wear. Of all the things into a large, comfortable room—if I didn’t
to think about on that first morning, I con- know better I’d think it was a large, cozy
centrated on clothing. Not too dressy—it living room. A room for living. Paintings
wasn’t a party. I wouldn’t wear a clingy of farms and seascapes adorned the mint-
shirt or short skirt. I wasn’t out to impress green walls. Large, growing, healthy plants
anyone and I didn’t want anyone to think reached upward from large vases placed
I was trying too hard. Not too casual—it strategically around the room. It occurred
wasn’t a picnic. Sweatpants or jeans would to me that the ivy, pothos, ferns, and dief-
send the wrong message. fenbachia were the healthiest living beings
in the room, but I suppressed that thought
Settling on a yellow pantsuit and a and allowed myself to be led to my chair.
brown blouse, I thought about what Henry
always used to tell me whenever I wore After a quick check-in process, con-
yellow. “Baby, yellow looks like melted firming my insurance and identity, a large,
butter on your hot cocoa skin.” I smiled as I dark-skinned Jamaican woman came over
remembered Henry’s way with words, then and introduced herself as Pauline. Her very
focused on my clothes to stop the painful large breasts pushed her white uniform out
surge of emotion threatening to engulf me. in front of her, and she waddled when she
The brown blouse was short sleeved. I fig- walked. She said she would be my nurse,
ured that would make things easier. This and encouraged me to sit in the dark green,
was my first time, and I was nervous. soft recliner. I removed my jacket and she
proceeded to take my blood pressure and
It was a short drive and I arrived early. temperature. My pressure was up, no sur-
Parking in the free lot, I meandered around prise there, but not up so high that they
the garden before entering the building wouldn’t continue. Darn! My temperature
at precisely ten minutes to nine, still early. was normal. No help there, either.
My girlfriend Sheryl had offered to drive
me, but this was something I wanted to do Pauline explained the drugs I would be
alone. At least the first time. As it turned getting the first time, how long the infusion
out, I was okay. would take, and how I might react. I listened
quietly, fighting a mountainous urge to get
After the requisite forms were filled out, up and walk out. I could take a chance and
questions answered, survey finished, and forego the chemo. It might not help anyway.
bathroom needs satisfied, I was ushered

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As I looked around the room I saw about is set up, there is a recliner for the patient
eight other women—all significantly older to sit in, and an armchair for a guest in each
than me. At 43, I seemed to be the youngest small, curtained-in area. A TV and a small
woman in the room by about 15 years. Most table for drinks or food gives it a homey
of them were old enough to be my mother. atmosphere—that’s the goal. They even
All the patients were White women, except provide a newspaper and some magazines.
one other Black woman on the other side of They think of everything except how to pre-
the room. She looked like one of the ushers vent cancer from attacking in the first place.
in my church. I could easily picture her with They even have a wig shop right there.
a purple dress and a large, feather-topped How convenient. It’s either depressing or
hat, sitting respectably in the back pew. I thoughtful—or both.
wanted to sit next to her. No, actually, I
wanted to sit on her lap. So I was squirreled away in my little cubicle,
and Edna came over and introduced herself
Interrupting my reverie, my oncologist my first time there. My first impression of
Dr. Chen came over and asked me how I was Edna? She knew who she was. She walked
feeling. “Ready to get this over with,” I said. with purpose, offering an encouraging smile
to all the women getting chemo. A dynamo
“I understand,” Dr. Chen said, but I in a small package, Edna couldn’t have been
thought to myself, how could you? Have more than 5 feet 2 inches, with soft, white,
you ever had breast cancer? Dr. Chen was curly hair, and a face that had seen a lot of
a young professional with a reputation for sun and now sported many deep wrinkles.
saving lives. So I put my life in her hands But the deepest wrinkles were around her
and excused her somewhat lacking bedside eyes and mouth—laugh lines earned through
manner. years of smiling and laughing. She seemed
preternaturally serene.
Dr. Chen explained the medicine would
take 45 minutes to be administered intra- “Hi, my name is Edna. I’m a volunteer and
venously. I should feel fine for the first few I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
hours. Then I would begin to feel tired, weak,
and nauseous. Those sensations could last “Hi, I’m Victoria.”
for a few hours, or a few days, and they
could be quite mild, or very severe. It all de- “You’re here by yourself?” Edna asked.
pended on how well I tolerated the chemo.
“Yes. I have a friend on standby if I need
Pauline came back and inserted the IV. a ride home. But I wanted to come alone
She was a real pro, thank God. Most of the the first time.”
time when I have blood drawn it takes three
or four tries, but Pauline was good. I was “That’s brave of you. Very admirable. If
glad to see her every time I came to chemo. you do need a ride home my Jacob would
A bright spot. The other bright spot was be more than happy to help you out. He’s
Edna. my husband, but he’s also my chauffeur. He
drives me here, he drives me to my lunch
My first time at chemo I was so nervous dates, to meetings at the YMHA, to our
I didn’t look around much. I didn’t have daughter’s house. I told him I was going to
the energy, desire, or spirit to interact with change his name from Jacob to James. But
anyone I didn’t have to. The way the room he said he was born Jacob and he will die

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

Jacob. So if you need a ride home, you can they set this room up nicely, Victoria? It’s
count on my Jacob.” so comfortable, with recliners, all the plants,
and the windows so you can see outside.
“Thank you.” You almost forget why you’re here.”

“Not at all. Not at all. Here he is now. “Almost... It reminds me of when I had
Jacob, dear, this is Victoria. This is her first my son Matthew. I didn’t want a traditional
time and I told her if she needed a ride hospital setting, so I chose to use a midwife
home you could help her out. Right?” “Cer- and have him at a maternity center. It’s just
tainly. I’d be happy to help. Edna, would you a Victorian-style house! I went through
like a cup of coffee, dearest? I’m just going labor in the living room and gave birth in
down to the café to get a cup.” the bedroom. Then I had a nice shower.”

“No, Sweet. No thanks. I’m fine. Go ahead; “Yes, I’ve heard of that. We’re going
take your time. Victoria and I were just back to how we used to do it before all this
having a little chat.” newfangled medicine made giving birth so
sterile and uncomfortable.”
That’s how it started. We were “having
a little chat.” And we continued our chats “You mean it wasn’t uncomfortable when
every time I went to chemo. After the third you gave birth?” Victoria tilted her head as
treatment we decided to meet for lunch four her eyebrows came together.
days later. I don’t remember whose idea it
was. It seemed to emanate from both of us. Edna laughed. “Of course it was. But it
We made an odd couple—young Black pro- was natural—no need for all these inter-
fessional woman and old Jewish volunteer. ventions. When our daughter gave birth
But we connected on so many levels. She to our first granddaughter, she went to the
understood me when I told her how I felt. hospital. But she had their second child at
I could complain about my symptoms over home—a boy. She invited us to come over
and over and she never tired of hearing my and watch, and take pictures! I came over
tirades. after he was cleaned up. Then we helped
plan the bris. That was a celebration. The
It occurred to me much later that our first boy born into the family in over a de-
relationship was rather one-sided. The first cade. And she had him in the living room!
time I met her, I spoke little and she filled That’s living alright—bringing a new baby
the void with chatter, but after that I did boy into the world!”
most of the talking. Edna didn’t talk much
about her own life. I knew she and Jacob Edna continued. “They do the same
had been married for 44 years and had two thing here, you know. The paintings and
children—a daughter in Queens and a son plants make you think you’re in a living
in Manhattan. But I didn’t know much else. room. You are. You’re in a room with other
Belatedly, I realized she had a subtle way of living people and you’ll all fighting for your
diverting the conversation back to me every lives. That’s living. I once heard a very
time I asked about her life. I don’t think that wise rabbi say, ‘I don’t want to die before
was part of the volunteer training—just part I’m dead.’ He had a brain tumor, but lived
of Edna. life to the fullest as long as possible. His
theory was to live each moment fully, and
That first time, she almost talked me not dwell on death. Live while you’re alive.
into forgetting where I was, and why. “Don’t

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Don’t die before you’re dead. I never forgot “You okay, Mom?” His voice was soft and
that. And do you know, when he did die, he wavering, higher than normal, though it
had a smile on his face.” was changing every day.

“I’ll have to remember that. Don’t die be- “Matt. I’m not feeling too great right now,
fore you’re dead. That’s good.” baby. Auntie Sheryl will take care of you. I’m
sure I’ll be better tomorrow.” I promised
“That rabbi hated it when people said him what I did not believe. I wasn’t better
they were dying. He would say, ‘You’re ei- the next day, nor the next. I was one of
ther living or you’re dead. You’re not dying. the unlucky few who didn’t tolerate even
Dying doesn’t take years—it takes but a mo- the mildest chemo well. My whole body
ment in time. If you’re alive, you’re living ached—picture an elephant sitting on you
and you should act like it.’ “ while a monkey pulls your limbs in all direc-
tions. Everything hurt – from my stomach
Edna could talk on and on. Sometimes I and chest, to the backs of my knees and
listened intently, and at other times I nodded my ears. Everything. Once I had thrown up
in agreement, but felt like I was being lulled everything in my stomach, I had the dry
into submission. Her soft, Brooklyn-tinged heaves for a few more hours. That was the
Jewish cadence was strangely soothing. worst. I hated those dry heaves. That was
what I dreaded the most after every chemo
I didn’t end up needing a ride from Jacob treatment. My stomach felt like it was being
that first time. I felt fine when the chemo thoroughly scraped out with one of those
finished—ready to run a 5K, even. But that wide, flat putty knives by a big construction
euphoria was short-lived. About an hour guy named George.
after I got home I felt like I had just con-
tracted the worst case of the flu. I called my The second chemo treatment was worse
friend Sheryl, and she came within minutes. than the first. The second time I knew what
to expect afterward, and even though I tried
My son Matthew wasn’t home from to live in the moment and not think ahead,
school yet. The way I felt, I didn’t want it was impossible. Edna did make it easier.
Matthew to see me and freak out. Sheryl
was great. She stayed downstairs, coming “How are you feeling, Victoria?” Edna asked.
up to my room every hour or so to check on
me, emptying my barf bowl, wiping my face “Right now? I’m fine. I’m not looking for-
with a warm washcloth, fluffing my pillows, ward to tonight, or tomorrow, or the next
murmuring “you’ll be okay, girl.” Matthew day.”
got home after 4pm. My door was open so
I could hear their conversation. “I know what you mean, dear. This is the
easy part, relatively speaking. Getting that
“How’s Mom?” needle in your arm might seem hard, but
I know this is the easy part. Like making
“She’s not feeling great right now, Matt. matzo balls. I could do it in my sleep. I don’t
She’ll probably stay in her room for the need a recipe; I don’t need instructions. It
rest of the night. I’m going to make us just comes naturally! Mmm, this is the easy
some dinner, okay? Spaghetti sound okay?” part, no doubt. Oh, here’s Jacob. Would you
“Sounds great. Thanks, Auntie Sheryl.” be a dear and get me a cup of coffee? Thank
you,” she smiled sweetly.
Matthew came upstairs and peeked his
head around my door.

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Jacob leaned over and kissed Edna “You’re right. That’s true. It’s never wise
gently but firmly right on the mouth. He to second-guess God. He has our days num-
was not ashamed to kiss his wife in public, bered, and only He knows the number.”
but I felt like I was intruding on a private
moment. He held her chin with his right We had similar views of God—a Black
hand, leaned in slowly, and branded her Baptist and a Conservative Jew. We both
with a kiss. His kiss communicated, ‘this is held God in high regard and thought of Him
my woman, I love her, and I’m going to keep as a source of life, love, and strength. I’ll
her.’ I was startled by the gentle fire in his never forget Edna’s next question.
demeanor. I loved watching Edna and Jacob
together. After being married as long as “Are you married?”
they had been, they could finish each oth-
er’s sentences, and often did. Edna talked No matter how many times people asked
constantly, and Jacob, like me, nodded con- me that question in the three years since
stantly. “Would you like anything else, dar- Henry died, it never ceased to hurt. I felt
ling?” Jacob asked. broadsided. A sudden, hard, unwarranted
hit. I had to consciously hold myself erect to
“No, dear. Just a cup of coffee. Victoria, keep from looking stricken—smacked with
do you want anything? It might help to have the reminder of my widowhood.
a little something in your stomach. Maybe a
little ginger ale, or some tea? How about a I paused and breathed—using the deep
buttered roll? That can’t hurt.” breathing techniques I learned in grief
counseling. “No … uhm, my husband died
“A buttered roll does sound good. Thanks.” three years ago.” There. It was out. I could
breathe now.
“One buttered roll for Victoria, and one
hot, black coffee for my Edna. Would you Edna reached out and held my free hand.
like some tea, Victoria?”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, dear. How
“Sure! I’d love some herbal tea. What- thoughtless of me. I felt so sorry to see you
ever they have is fine, except peppermint.” alone, and wondered why your husband
“Coming right up, ladies.” Jacob disappeared, couldn’t be here. What a lot you’ve been
moving quickly for an older man, and disap- through. My God. And you’re so young.”
peared from the room on his errand.
“I have a few sayings that keep me going.
“Victoria, God gave me a wonderful man. Like ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you
I thank Him every day for that man. He’s stronger,’ and ‘this, too, shall pass,’ or ‘one
not perfect. No man is. But he’s a good day at a time.’ I almost sound like I’m in AA!”
man. So many of my friends have lost their I laughed to myself. “But I try to focus on the
husbands. My Jacob, he’ll outlive me. I positive. This is Tuesday. I’m thinking about
know it.” taking my son Matthew to his baseball game
Friday. I should be feeling well enough. I had
“You never know. Some people are diag- 15 wonderful years with my husband. Most
nosed with a fatal illness and end up living people can’t say that. Oh, maybe they’ve
20 more years. And the next-door-neighbor been married a lot longer, but they weren’t
ends up dying of a heart attack. You just good years. I miss Henry every day—but I’m
never know,” Victoria said. thankful for the time we had.

“Take today. I didn’t want to come. But
I knew I’d see you, and I know if I don’t

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continue with the chemo, the cancer will when it would fall out. Instead of getting a
spread. So here I am. Edna and Friday. perm last time I went to the beauty parlor, I
That’s what I’m looking forward to. That’s had it cut short. I wanted there to be less to
what will see me through!” fall out. I loved my hair—I’d braid it, or twist
it, or put it back in a ponytail, or up in a bun.
“You are so refreshing. So many of my Now I had a short afro.
friends are lonely and bitter. They’re not
thankful for the good life they had, only be- The pink chemo was the worst. Jacob
moaning what they don’t have now. One of drove me home that day. I didn’t open the
my friends was married to a wonderful man. curtains in my room for three days. I was too
All she could do was complain about him tired to even go to the bathroom, so I laid
when they were married, but since he died my blanket right on the bathroom floor and
she only has good things to say,” Edna said. slept, when sleep would come. I didn’t know
it was possible to feel that miserable. The
“I remember what you said last time,” I pain was never-ending–an insatiable beast
told Edna. “I think about it all the time. I that demanded more than I could give.
want to live while I’m alive. I don’t want to
die before I’m dead. When I had the mam- On Day Four, I opened the curtains a
mogram that showed a spot… I almost lost little. On Day Five, I went downstairs to lie
it. I felt sorry for myself – a nice, long pity on the couch in the living room. On Day Ten,
party. I screamed at God, ‘Why me? Haven’t I went out to breakfast with Edna. I arrived
I been through enough?’ I cried for days. I’ve before her and waited on a bench by the
lost a lot of people close to me, my parents, front door. Jacob opened the door with his
grandparents, and my husband. But they customary flourish and waved Edna in be-
shaped me. They made me who I am. So, fore him.
in the midst of it all, I’m thankful. I have a
lot of good friends, my son, my church, and “Victoria! Oh my, you do look worn out.
you, Edna,” I said, reaching to hold her hand. That last drug really knocked you out. Jacob,
look at our poor Victoria. My dear, are you
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, sure you’re up to having breakfast today?
it’s this. It’s how we respond to suffering We could meet tomorrow, or even the next
that shapes us. Everyone suffers. No one day. My schedule is open. I don’t volunteer
can say whose pain is worse. But 90% of life again ‘till Friday.”
is how we react to the pain. I’m not saying
we should lie down and accept fate, be stoic “I feel a little better than I look, I think.
and not complain. But we don’t fight it be- I’ve been looking forward to our breakfast
cause we think we don’t deserve it. We ac- today. I’ll be fine.”
cept it, AND fight it.”
“Well, in that case, I will leave you two
The third time I had chemo they used a ladies to your girl talk. I’ll be back in an hour,
new drug. It was bright pink. Great. I had sweet Edna.” Jacob leaned over and kissed
just gotten used to the first drug–no that’s Edna briefly and waved goodbye to me as
not true; I had learned what to expect with he left.
the first drug. Now they were trying a new,
stronger drug. I felt dizzy just thinking about After we sat down I spilled out my litany
it. I still had my hair, and I was wondering of woes and the misery I’d been through
since the pink chemo. Edna asked questions,
commiserated with me, and gave me the

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sympathetic ear I needed most. Edna knew I saw an unfamiliar figure enter the
what I needed–to be heard. She didn’t offer room—a man in his 40s who looked like
answers. She didn’t say it would all be better Jacob, hidden behind two very large bou-
soon. She just listened. quets of flowers. Where was Jacob? Where
was Edna? I looked around the pink Gerbera
“Edna, this morning I was so scared. I was daisies and bright orange daylilies expecting
using the bathroom and when I turned to to see Edna’s petite figure. But the man was
flush the toilet the water was bright red! I alone.
almost passed out. I didn’t have my period
– what in the world was happening to me. He handed Pauline the smaller bouquet.
It took me a minute before I remembered They exchanged a few words, and Pauline
Pauline said I might have red urine after squeezed his hand. Right then I knew. Edna
the chemo. Then, when I got in the shower was not coming—would never come again.
some of my hair started to come out. I just Edna was gone.
stood there and cried in the shower. I knew
it would happen, but I wasn’t ready. And it’s Grief knocked the air out of my lungs. I
not just the hair on my head. I won’t need a feared the worst. As he walked over to me,
bikini wax for a while!” I mentally willed him away. Don’t come over,
my mind screamed, I don’t want to know.
Edna laughed softly. He ignored my unspoken request to leave
me with my physical pain and keep my heart
“That’s it, Victoria. See a little humor in intact. As he approached I saw unremitting
the pain. See the hidden fringe benefit. That sorrow in his eyes. Jacob’s son wordlessly
will help you get through it. There is an end placed the bouquet of orange daylilies on
to the treatments. You’re halfway through!” my tray table. I barely suppressed a sob, or
maybe I didn’t. Tears spilled out.
We finished our breakfast and Jacob
picked up Edna. I hugged her goodbye, “I’m Edna and Jacob’s son, Daniel. Dad
holding on a little longer than usual. asked me to come by. Mom didn’t wake up
this morning.”
For my next treatment they used yet an-
other new drug. Pauline hooked me up and I After pausing to compose himself, he
sat upright in the easy chair—misnamed oxy- added, “she left us last night.” I was speech-
moron for a holding cell for cancer patients. I less. I didn’t know what to say, and even if I
tried to focus on the talking heads debating could find the words, I couldn’t utter them.
politics on TV, but couldn’t keep my eyes from He sat next to me and we held each other’s
wandering back to the IV bag, wondering what hands. Finally, I whispered, “I miss her al-
horrific reactions my body would have to the ready.” Daniel’s shoulders convulsed but no
drugs dripping into my veins. I knew it would sound came out. I imagine he was afraid if
make me sick. But would it save my life? he let it out, he wouldn’t be able to stop the
grief from consuming him.
The drug kept dripping. It was hypno-
tizing. Drip….drip….drip. I counted the We sat like that for minutes, or hours.
drops of hope and pain as they left the clear
bag and entered the long tube ending in the After a long stretch of silence, I said, “I
needle in my arm. I glanced up at the clock, didn’t even know Edna was sick. She never
wondering where Edna was today. She was mentioned anything.”
always so punctual.

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“Mom had breast cancer,” Daniel said. don’t talk loudly or begin a conversation, do
respond to conversation and talk about the
“What?” deceased. They were not strictly kosher, so
I could bring food I knew how to cook.
“She was a breast cancer survivor. She
was first diagnosed 15 years ago, and went I drove myself to the house, and sat in
through all the chemo and radiation. It was the car composing myself. Grabbing the tray
hell. That’s why she volunteers. She under- of fried chicken and collard greens, I walked
stands.” up to the front door. Without knocking or
ringing the doorbell, I softly opened the
“She never said anything.” door and let myself in. The lights were low,
there were four or five people sitting in
“She didn’t think it would help. But when the living room, on the couch and adjacent
the cancer came back a few months ago, she chairs. Jacob was sitting on a small stool,
decided not to go through the chemo again. lower than everyone else. A large mirror in
She took a turn for the worse last week.” the living room was covered with a sheet.

I was shocked. Jacob didn’t rise, but he nodded to me,
and his son Daniel came and shook my
“We would be honored if you would sit hand and took the offered food. I joined
shiva with us tomorrow evening, or one the group assembled in the living room and
evening in the next six days.” listened, and waited. The pain was resur-
facing, as the drugs wore off. I couldn’t stay
“Thank you for the invitation. I will long. They began to share about Edna’s wise
be there if I’m up to it. I pray I am.” As it sayings and I added my favorite. “If you’re
turned out, the third drug wasn’t as bad as alive, you’re living and you should act like it.”
the first two. Though I wasn’t feeling well,
I went to Jacob and Edna’s house the fol- Edna followed her own advice.
lowing day. I checked in with a Jewish friend
and learned what to do, and not do: don’t
knock or ring the doorbell, do bring food,

About the Author

Katie Sweeting is an Associate Professor of English at
Hudson County Community College in Jersey City, NJ, and
coordinates the English major. She teaches diverse classes,
such as Composition 1 and 2, World Literature, British
Literature, Speech, and Religions of the West. She has led
several workshops for faculty on backward design and
online teaching strategies. Katie Sweeting is a 2020-2021
Fulbright scholar to India.
She co-wrote The Power of a City at Prayer, published by InterVarsity Press, and has written
a historical novel, Remnant, about the sister and daughter of Olaudah Equiano.

85

KINGFISH OF
LOUISIANA

by William R. Stoddart

The express jet banked low over huge stor- “I remember snakes in the cane. That
age vats of crude oil that lined the choco- old man used to pay a quarter for a snake. I
late brown river. Damian was headed home imagine he ate them.”
after twenty-five years. He called his sis-
ter, Toni from his cell phone as he walked “I reckon so,” Toni sighed. She was tired
through the jetway. She was to meet him of making all the funeral arrangements and
at baggage claim. He hoped she wouldn’t decisions and felt that Damian should have
cry. Damian knew that she meant well and helped. She scheduled their father’s me-
loved him and had loved their father. morial service for the next day. The father
requested his ashes be scattered in False
Damian’s sister greeted him with an River Lake. Damian and his father used to
awkward hug. Just six months earlier she fish there when Damian was a boy. “Were
attended his wedding in Chicago. It was his they poisonous?” Toni asked.
third marriage.
“Red bellies, browns and kings mostly.
“You feel skinny. Have you lost weight?” No poisonous ones I remember.” Damian
Toni wiped a tear from her cheek. adjusted the seatbelt over his shoulder and
turned his head to the backseat. “I put my
“You always ask that.” Damian kissed his suitcase in the trunk, didn’t I?”
sister.
“I watched you throw it in the trunk; you
It was getting dark and Damian tried to slammed the lid.” Toni smiled for the rear-
get his bearings while his sister drove. They view mirror.
crossed the Huey P. Long Bridge and he
looked out over dark water. Toni pulled her car into the long red dirt
driveway of her home in a rural stretch of
“Huey Long, Kingfish of Louisiana,” he an-
nounced with his affected drawl. land bordering sugarcane fields just
north of Baton Rouge. She lived alone after
“You remember the sugarcane?” Toni her divorce. Toni and Damian sat at the
asked. kitchen table and looked through old photo

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albums. “There’s not one picture of the old “Don’t do this. Let me feed you.”
man without a cap. I used to think it was
sewn onto his head,” Damian “I want to drink. You can eat if you like.
I’ll watch you.”
said as he sipped bourbon and water.
Toni reached across the table and held
“Dad was a good ‘ole boy if ever there Damian’s hand. She was nervous for the
was one.” Toni took a shot of bourbon. “Not night and wanted it to be perfect as she
many pictures of Mom,” she added. remembered it was when they were teen-
agers. The urge crawled from its dark corner
“She’d get mad if you pointed a camera and stared at them with red eyes. When
her way. She had a mean streak,” Damian they had finished making love, the hunger
said. retreated into the shadows and rested and
they told each other things as if it would
“Why did she hate you?” Toni asked. never return.

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” *

“Matters to me.” It was a humid night in the summer
just after Damian’s high school gradua-
“Why?” Damian waited for an answer as tion. Toni and Damian were on the porch
his sister poured him another bourbon and asleep, holding each other. It reminded
water. He hated the old guilt — it broke-up their mother of when they were children,
his first and second marriages. “Dad hated sleeping together during the storms when
me too.” the rain rattled the windows of their farm-
house and sounded like evil was trying
“Mom made him hate you. I tried to talk to break in. Their mother sat all night at
to her about it once and she threw me out the kitchen table. The veneer of cooking
the house and wouldn’t speak to me for a smells covered the cherry wood counters
year,” Toni said. that surrounded her. She passed the time
until daylight recalling Bible verses she
“Don’t bring it up. Let it die with Dad.” had memorized. There is therefore now no
condemnation for those who are in Christ
“We getting drunk?” Toni asked. Jesus. She repeated that verse until the
anxious thoughts left her. In the fresh light
“Yes.” of the new day, she watched her daugh-
ter open the kitchen screen door from the
“Is that the way you want it?” back porch. Her mother could see that she
was beautiful — a tomboy with muscular
“That’s the way it has to be for us.” arms and shoulders. Her short, jet-black
hair was all over her head. Toni, flushed
“All right. Do you want food? I made red with embarrassment, stopped suddenly in
beans and rice.” front of her mother. Damian followed be-
hind her. Their mother never said a word.
“The way I remember?” Damian asked. That’s when the hate started.

“Sausage and hamhock. Ain’t no other
way to make it.”

“Health food?” Damian asked sarcastically.

“Good food.”

“Why couldn’t she forget it?” Damian
asked.

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* father, my grandfather, killed himself when
my mother was just nine years old. I blame
The memorial service was held at the Veter- it on that. I blame
ans of Foreign Wars Hall. There was a faint
odor of stale beer and the wooden folding the old hate on that, Father,” Toni said,
chair Damian sat on smelled as if it were avoiding the priest’s eyes.
coated with a fried fish varnish. He looked
and felt out of place. “I understand. Forgiveness is most dif-
ficult, especially to forgive oneself. Most
“That’s my one and only brother Damian difficult.” The priest was pleased with his
sitting over there looking uncomfortable,” observation and proceeded to get every-
Toni said to the Catholic priest who arrived one’s attention. He said some fast prayers
late to the service. and gave a heartfelt homily. He talked about
how St. Peter became a fisher of men and
“I never had the pleasure of meeting your how Damian and Toni’s father had gathered
father. Can you tell me a little about him?” his friends around him in life as a fisherman.

The priest was earnest and young with After the service, Toni drove Damian to
dark eyes. the airport. Damian noticed that she was
running her hand through her short black
“Well Father, my Dad wasn’t religious. He hair and looking in the rear-view mirror. Her
loved my mother and worked hard all his blue eyes darted from road to mirror, and
life. I guess that’s what a father does – a they appeared insecure with the looking
not religious father, I mean. He loved to fish. back.
That’s something you can say about him. He
fished and had skin cancer on his head. You “So, what did you and your priest friend
don’t have to mention the cancer part. His talk about?” Damian asked. “He wanted to
friends here, not too many left, his friends know about dad — for the homily,” Toni re-
knew him as a guy who loved to fish.” Toni sponded.
smiled at the priest and looked away. Da-
mian was in the middle of a conversation “Did you tell him that you’re just another
with an old friend of their father’s. lapsed Catholic?” Damian asked. “You used
to be such a good little Catholic girl. Loved
“And your mother?” The young priest that uniform you wore to school — that
was sincere with the asking. skirt!”

“She passed on ten years ago, Father.” “Right! I’m sure you still go to church,”
Toni looked to the ceiling trying to think Toni said defensively, her legs felt as if they
of something else to say. She recalled her were being slowly buried in cement and a
mother’s face in the pristine light of that sour burn rose in her throat.
new day so many years ago. The heavy
feeling in Toni’s legs returned. “She had “Mea maxima culpa,” Damian struck his
problems.” breast with his right hand.

“I’m sorry,” the young priest said, adding “Was it hard for you to walk away?” Toni
an uncomfortable pause. asked.

“She and my brother didn’t get along. I “It was a relief to get rid of it,” Damian
think she had mental health issues. Her responded.

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“The Church?” Toni asked. “It’s sweet you being jealous.”

“The guilt. I wish we had more time — “You were jealous of my girlfriends. Re-
don’t know when I’ll see you again. You can member your friend, Carol?”
always come to Chicago,” Damian spoke softly.
“She was a slut, and still is to this day.”
“I got too much to do here. How’s the
new wife?” Toni asked. “She was my first.”

“Fine. Doesn’t like Louisiana.” “She was alot of boy’s first.”

“Doesn’t like us together,” Toni said. “Now who’s jealous?”

“I told her about Mom and Dad hating “Stick with snakes in the cane. That’s a
me. She’s bored with the stories.” good story.”

“Does she know about the snakes?” Toni “What’s she ever done to you?”
asked.
“Who?”
“I never told her.”
“My wife.”
“You should tell her so she won’t be
bored. Tell her about snakes in the cane “She’s perfect for you – neutral as vanilla,
and that old stale as candy cigarettes.”

man who used to buy’em.” She rolled “You don’t know her. Come to Chicago.”
her window halfway down and then quickly
rolled it back closed against the syrupy Lou- “I have too much to do here,” Toni in-
isiana air. sisted. She stopped her car at the depar-
tures curb.
“Maybe I’ll tell her that one. She doesn’t
know anything except Mom hating me and “You can come to Chicago when it’s
making Dad hate me. She’ll think it’s a lovely burning season.” Damian reached over and
story,” Damian said. touched Toni’s cheek lightly with the back
of his hand.
“Not if you let on it was my idea,” Toni
said, forcing a smile. “I’m busy during harvest. You can come
here for the fishing,” Toni said softly.
“I won’t.”
“I don’t fish anymore.”
“There are other stories you can tell her,”
Toni said. “Too bad.”

“Like what?” The burning seasons passed by one
after the other, and Damian never returned
“How about my high school boyfriend, to Louisiana. The burning always came be-
and how you beat him up.” fore the harvest and drove snakes out of
the cane. Smoke from the sugarcane fields
“He was disrespectful, dry-humping you made the hot air smell like a sweet incense
like a dog.” of burned molasses. It was a good practice,
done for centuries, and certainly a favor-
“He was a typical seventeen-year-old boy.” able beginning to an end.

“I didn’t like him pawing you.”

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About the Author

William R. Stoddart is a poet and story writer who lives in the suburbs of Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania. His fiction and poems have appeared in journals such as The Pedestal Magazine,
Adirondack Review, Ruminate Magazine, and The Molotov Cocktail. Recent and forthcoming
work is in Third Wednesday, Maryland Literary Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal and
Crack the Spine Literary Magazine.

90

DOG DAYS

by Julia Gross

First her dog died, then her mother. Truth sky at peak blue, she called the vet and sat
be told, it was the dog Beth missed. He had by Mac’s bed on the cabin deck, stroking
been so easy. She adopted Mac, a yellow him as she watched Dr. Dave leave his small
Lab, between her first marriage and the clinic-home by the lake, stroll down Main
second. They’d hiked hundreds of trails Street and turn onto the road that led up
together, maybe thousands. His tail was the hill to her house. She hoped when it
always moving; not back and forth, but was her time, death came for her that way:
around and around, propeller-like. She calm, ambling.
thought of it as akin to a man humming un-
der his breath as he puttered, content with Mac greeted Dr. Dave with one soft
everything. When she picked up his leash thump of his tail and as the vet injected
he combed the yard for a tennis ball, the the syringe, she whispered, softly sobbing,
way she hunted her keys, and only then what a good good [sic] dog he was as he
was ready to go. Run, retrieve, repeat. The drifted into perpetual sleep. A week later
woods were littered with yellow balls, if he she received a simple box filled with his
lost one he could always find another. ashes, with all the details of his birth and
death in an ornamental script on the cover.
She had worried about his air jumps,
how he soared from the ground like a pole Her mother fell on the Fourth of July.
vaulter, deftly snared the ball and landed One moment she was standing in the dining
like a gymnast. He was an athlete, an artist. room and the next she was prone on the
But after fourteen years, the leaps took polished wood floor while Beth packed in
a toll on his hips that led to a downward the bedroom and her sister Joan filled the
trajectory — first limping, then dragging dishwasher. In the ambulance, when the
one leg and, finally, needing help to get paramedics asked how the fall happened
to the grass outside. The second husband and Beth admitted she didn’t know, she felt
had come and gone by then and Beth had like a mother who’d lost track of her tod-
trouble lifting Mac alone; she scooted more dler; she cancelled her afternoon flight.
than lifted him down the porch steps. When
he started whimpering steadily through the In the Emergency Room they wheeled
effort she knew that it was time. When he her mother to and from Imaging, then again
hadn’t eaten for three days, when the May for another round of pictures. A surgeon
sun was blazing over the mountains and the surfaced to explain the fracture, its location
and prognosis. “Your mother is disoriented

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from the painkillers,” he said, “can either of Joan rested a palm on her cocked hip
you sign for the surgery?” and tilted her head at Beth. “Or maybe not,”
Beth conceded. “I thought coming home for
“I have power of attorney,” Joan said. the holidays would help.”

“I live out of town,” Beth apologized. “Nothing helps,” Joan said.

“It should be done soon,” he added. “I “You had plans tonight?” Beth asked.
can schedule time tomorrow.” The tie and “Fireworks?” They whispered across their
white coat, the salt and pepper hair, the mother’s legs though she was absent in her
way he towered over them made it impos- drugged slumber.
sible to say no. They looked at each other
and shrugged, said yes, sure, I guess so, “Just a small party.”
while he glanced from one to the other,
gave a clipped okay and left them with “Go. I’ll stay.”
their mother. She slept as if already anes-
thetized, anchored to the gurney by a seat “You sure?”
belt across her midriff for the rides through
the halls, her hue like a gray sky, her white “Yes! Take a break while I’m here,” Beth
hair a bright cloud. said, and added, “I’ll give Anna a call.”

“We couldn’t say no,” Beth said. Joan stopped in the doorway. “Really?
Good luck with that.”
“You know she doesn’t want to live,” Joan
answered. Beth hadn’t been in a hospital in the
two decades since her daughter was born.
“You don’t die from a broken hip,” Beth The ER seemed futuristic, single rooms with
argued. “She’d just be in constant pain.” sliding doors and foreign apparatus. No
more three-quarter-length privacy curtains
Joan shrugged. and Nurse Ratched uniforms. The staff wore
identical blue scrubs so she couldn’t tell a
“I pray every day to be taken to Daddy,” nurse or technician from an orderly — if
their mother had told them. “I pray to St. they were even still called orderlies. Who-
Jude, the patron saint of lost causes.” ever they were, they were huddled behind a
circular central command and the majority
“It’s not a lost cause, Mom,” Beth said. appeared to be twenty.
“You will die someday. Probably just not this
year, your health is good —.” Beth stepped outside to call her sister.
She practiced her voicemail through the
“I want to go this year.” persistent rings but on the last one Anna
picked up, answering with a curt, “Yes?”
“You can’t always get what you want,”
Joan said, “per Mick Jagger.” She cleared “Anna, hi, it’s Beth.”
dishes from the table; slices of Christmas
ham lay untouched on her mother’s plate. “Beth?” she asked, not meaning Beth
Beth ferried glasses and silverware to the who but why?
kitchen. “This is festive,” she said.
“Yes, look, I’m here at Mom’s and I have
“It’s been like this every day.” some bad news and some good news.”

“It’s only been a month, maybe she’ll get “Give it to me in the same sentence.”
better.”

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“Okay, well, Mom fell and broke her hip from yesterday and why was Beth wearing
but they’ve already scheduled surgery and her clothes? Only after Joan vouched for
she should be alright.” her was their mother convinced that Beth
was Beth. She knew there’d been other ep-
“So there’s no problem,” Anna said. isodes — her mother attempting to change
TV channels using the portable phone or
“Well, I’m at the hospital with her now, enduring an entire conversation with no
she’ll be here awhile then she’ll need rehab idea who was on the line. “Who were you
for some time.” talking to?” Joan would ask and her mother
would admit, “I don’t know.” It had been
“So there’s no problem.” years now since their father died and they
thought their mother’s surfeit of solitude
“I’d say all of it’s a problem, Anna. I was beginning to affect her mind. Just the
thought you’d want to know.” day before she had asked Beth, as they sat
at the dining-room table, “Did you see him?”
“Not really,” Anna said. Beth retreated
and a few monosyllables later Anna ended “Who?” Beth said.
the call. Beth felt like Charlie Brown after
Lucy had pulled the football; it always “Daddy. He just walked across the living
ended the same. Why do I set myself up? room.” Beth had simply said no and left it
she thought. “Because I’m an idiot,” she at that.
said aloud. Anna’s bitterness towards their
mother overflowed onto Beth and Joan, and A nurse came in to check her mother’s
though they’d all endured the same neglect vital signs, said they hadn’t located a bed,
and brutality as children, the same manip- she didn’t know how much longer it would
ulation and hostility as adults, Anna con- be but the fireworks were starting. It was
sidered them enablers. “I’m neutral,” Beth something to do, the young woman offered,
insisted — just the middle child seeking and she could watch from the Sky Bridge!
middle ground, she had always thought. Beth thanked her and then — because the
“No you’re not,” Anna had argued, “you let nurse had been so thoughtful and Beth
her be her.” didn’t want her to think she wasn’t grateful
— she took elevator five, found the bridge
Back in the ER she waited as the sky and stood alone at the railing. Through steel
turned black. She couldn’t leave yet, they and glass, over steel and glass, she watched
were searching for a bed for her mother. as sun-size balls of red, white and blue ex-
She didn’t want her mother to awaken and ploded against a dark sky and vanished into
not have a clue where she was; more and vapor.
more often she didn’t have a clue.
At home every Fourth, with her
Beth had arrived this visit in the late daughter and friends, she watched in her
afternoon and they’d relaxed on the patio yard overlooking the lake as the police
with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, talking past chief and deputy launched a rainbow of
dusk. Inside her evening routine — wine rockets across the night sky, illuminating
and nightly news — her mother appeared the water below. In the morning they
unchanged. But the following day, when lounged on the deck, tanned feet propped
Beth emerged mid-morning from the guest on the railing, and loudly cheered on the
room, her mother demanded in a small,
confused voice, where was that woman

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parade — two fire engines, one police “Because there’re painkillers in this drip,”
car, an ambulance and the Sheriff’s SUV. Beth said, fingering the IV tube. “It will hurt
No marching bands, no giant balloons, plenty if you don’t have the surgery. There’s
but sometimes a trio of motorcyclists, a no way around it — you can’t just not fix a
handful of cowboys on horseback and, fracture.”
if he remembered, Doc Parker in his
Model T. They circled Main Street more Her mother strained against the lap belt,
than once, stretching it out for the locals ready to march home, then cried out in pain.
lining the plank sidewalks, then ended Beth jumped as the nurse grasped the IV,
at the Pioneer Tavern for the Beer and upped the flow and said, “She should get re-
Brats Fest. Beth whooped and whistled lief pretty quickly.” Her mother’s breathing
wildly, backed by echoes from the moun- was labored, as if she’d jogged to the fourth
tains; this was her pack now, this raucous, floor, and Beth spoke soothingly to her —
cheering crowd. Her mother called the repeating everything was just fine — until
town Whoville and refused to stay there she was gone again.
when visiting, though it was only minutes
from the university where Beth taught, in “We’ll keep it going to where she doesn’t
the city at the base of the canyon, which have any more pain,” the nurse said.
the locals called downtown.
“Thank you. I’m sorry,” Beth said.
Beth watched the grand finale, a tor-
nado of thunder and color, then retraced “No problem,” the young woman smiled.
her steps to the ER. Her mother was gone,
a gape in the room where her bed had been. The surgery was a success, the recu-
Beth froze, telling herself they’d found a peration strained. Her mother balked at
room though her thoughts went straight to the physical therapy, the bland meals, the
the morgue. confining IV, the diversity of the ward. The
more she complained the more Beth hu-
She found her on the fourth floor, at- mored the staff. When her mother hissed at
tended by a cheerful young woman in peach a black nurse changing the sheets beneath
scrubs who held an accordion straw to her her, Joan closed the door and confronted
lips. “You’re awake!” Beth smiled. She’d her. “You can’t do that! You won’t get away
worried in the elevator that her mother with it here. These people are helping you.
might not recognize her but saw by her They’re the reason you survived.”
frown that she did. “How are you feeling?”
“I know!” her mother raged.
“What’s going on?” her mother demanded.
By week’s end — Beth marveled at the
“You fell, and we’re here at the hospital —.” speed — the nurses had located a rehab
they were sure her mother would like. She
“— I know that. Why am I still here?” was transferred to a suburban complex
more resort than rehab Beth thought. A
Beth cut to the chase. “You broke your cherrywood bed and nightstand, and an
hip, Mom. You need surgery. They’re doing armoire with a flat-screen TV, belied the
it tomorrow.” medical setting. When Beth fell asleep in
an armchair one stultifying afternoon her
“I don’t need surgery, it doesn’t even first thought when she startled awake was
hurt.” a four-star hotel. She hoped if her mother

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woke in the night she’d imagine a vacation Lord knows there was plenty to tally, from
with their father. childhood until now. When Beth scanned
her mental archives for a comforting image
“She might lose some cognitive ground,” of her mother she never could locate one
the doctor warned. “When the elderly are — never an arm around their shoulders or
removed from their routine it can happen a hug on her lap, very rarely even a smile.
faster than it might at home.” Rant, rage, repeat. It was their father who’d
lift them away to another room or outside,
Beth and Joan attempted to recreate her and promise a soda, a toy, a puppy, any-
routine — Happy Hour, her favorite part — thing to make it right. But he was only a
by smuggling in a cooler of Pinot Grigio and bandaid, never admitting their mother was
brie cheese with butterfly crackers. They too harsh or wrong, never brokering a truce,
drank, watching NBC Nightly News, until so it always happened again — and again
they were more than a little tipsy and their and again. Several times, after her father
mother indeed seemed happy. When Beth had actually delivered a puppy that jump-
said so one night, her mother cheerfully started Beth’s love, her mother snatched it
raised her glass. “I am!” she toasted them. away, sending the dog to the pound with no
The sisters exchanged shocked smiles. explanation. “She’s like that wire mother in
those deplorable experiments with rhesus
But when Beth found her in the dining monkeys,” Anna had said more than once.
room in the mornings, dozing in a wheel-
chair alone at a table, she again had trouble Anna was right about the wedding: it
placing Beth and couldn’t remember if was her mother’s major mistake, though
she’d eaten or not. “That happens,” the she would tell you she was never wrong.
doctor said. “They can forget to eat just like Never. When Anna announced she was
they forget other things.” Thereafter Beth marrying James — whom her parents met
spoon-fed her mother, an arduous task that once before — their mother leapt into oppo
took longer than with an infant. research. James wasn’t good enough, tall
enough, bright or successful; his parents
“We should probably update Anna,” she were nouveau riche. She was a leaky faucet
mused one endless afternoon watching of complaints, an IV drip of insults. In the
their mother sleep. end, when Anna didn’t give in, of course, her
mother just said No. No, they wouldn’t travel
“Really?” Joan asked. “You want to go to the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado, what
through that again?” an ostentatious place to have a wedding.

“I was hoping you’d take a turn.” They all knew her thinking: James wasn’t
a Catholic, in fact he was Jewish, an unab-
“Okay,” Joan shrugged. “I won’t let her solvable sin. Their mother was more Cath-
get away with her bullshit.” But when Beth olic than the Pope, Anna always said, never
walked into the hall at the end of the call meaning it as praise. She’d forced religion
Joan was shouting, “Really? Really? You down their throats like a pill down a re-
wouldn’t come to her funeral?” luctant dog and just like that it came up
again, rolling away on the floor. Not one
“Why should I?” Anna shot back. “She of her daughters cared a whit. But on the
refused to come to my wedding.”

Beth wasn’t surprised; Anna kept score
like a bookie, tallying every insult and slight.

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scorecard for marriage (as sacrosanct as re- never care,” she said. “They know it doesn’t
ligion), while Beth was minus two and Joan matter.” She smiled benignly as Beth waited
at zero, Anna was the runaway winner, still for more but nothing more was said. Finally,
married to James after all these years, a fact Beth helped her mother into bed and as she
her mother ignored. tucked the sheets her mother whispered, “I
know I wasn’t a very good mother.” Beth’s
Beth secretly sided with Anna; she’d heart leapt as if electrocuted but she calmly
been there herself. When her first marriage asked, “Why do you say that?” as her moth-
ended, to a man her mother nominally ac- er’s eyelids drooped and she slid into sleep.
cepted, she’d told Beth she knew all along it Beth wanted to shake her, wanted to shout
wouldn’t last. She dismissed Beth’s second say more over her measured breathing.
husband, never once saying his name in What did she mean Mothers never care?
eight years, and when that marriage failed What doesn’t matter? It was all suddenly
too she called Beth a two-time loser. As enraging to Beth and she vaulted straight
Beth sobbed in the dark every night, bru- to the anger stage.
tally lonely, Mac crept onto the bed and
settled with his back against hers. Finally vacation was over; time to get
home to the planning meetings for the up-
When Beth thought of her parents’ own coming semester. Penitentially, Beth bought
marriage — its improbable fifty-two years her mother new clothes — underwear, slip-
— it was as if they were happy neighbors pers and nightgowns — and wrapped them
she’d watched through a luminous picture as brightly as birthday presents; her mother
window, who’d never invited her in. This is was as thrilled as a child.
not for you, her mother told her, in a thou-
sand million ways. “Do you need anything else, Mom?” Beth
said. “Do you want anything from the condo?”
Beth swapped her summer reading for “I have a condo?” her mother asked, her
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, hardly a beach novel eyes opening wide.
but undeniably a mystery. She realized her
mother had dismissed the five stages of grief, “That’s good, right, that she doesn’t re-
skipping beyond to a step of her own inven- member?” Joan said later that evening. “It
tion — desire. Her mother didn’t just accept will be easier on her, going from rehab to
death, she welcomed it. When Beth finished a home.”
reading On Death and Dying, she decided
her mother needed an opening to talk. After “You’re putting her in a nursing home?”
lunch one afternoon, when she seemed un-
usually alert, Beth wheeled her back to her “She needs round-the-clock care, Beth. I
room, closed the door and sat on the bed can’t do that.”
facing her. “Mom. I want to tell you some-
thing,” she started. Her mother stared expec- “I know, I know,” Beth said, anxiety
tantly, a flickering smile on her lips. “I want flooding her veins like a toxin. “Where were
to tell you I’m sorry for all the fights we’ve you thinking?
had. I never wanted to fight with you.”
“Beauchamps.”
Her mother anemically waved a hand
as if shooing away the past. “Oh, mothers “Where Uncle Dan went?”

“He did okay there.”

“He died in a week.”

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“But things were okay that week. He had it would. And she refuses everything. She
Alzheimer’s, he wasn’t going to last.” fights them about baths and meals, about
getting out of bed and getting into bed.”
After midterms, Beth flew home. When
she arrived at Beauchamps a petite elderly “Fights them? She weighs as much as a
woman, barely the height of a doll and ap- cat, Joan.”
parently stronger than she looked, wheeled
her chair up to Beth, blocking her path “You know how she is.”
down the hall.
The next day, Beth requested that a
“I’ve forgotten your name, dear,” she cooed. doctor examine her mother’s foot and
waited at the front desk until one reluc-
“Beth.” tantly appeared. He admitted the wound
was infected and signed for a transfer for
“Thank you for visiting me Beth!” treatment.

Cornered, Beth sat through the wom- “What happened?” Beth quizzed Joan.
an’s chatter and when she finally found her
mother’s room it was empty. She searched “Apparently the wheelchair footrest fell
the living room, dining room and game on it, cutting her thin skin. They said she
room, and the nooks with chairs where fam- didn’t make a sound and nobody realized
ilies could talk. Retracing her steps several it happened.”
times, past the row of wheelchairs with old
folks strapped in, she finally realized with Beth slept on a recliner at the hospital,
horror that one of them was her mother. assuring her mother wasn’t released until
The metamorphose was alarming; she had the sore turned a healing pink. At the
aged years in only months and had shriveled nursing home she copied the name of the
to the size of Beth’s new petite friend. Her doctor and asked that he call her weekly.
halo of white hair was unkempt and a line of When she kissed her mother goodbye, she
spittle was etched on her gown. When Beth stared blankly at Beth and didn’t appear
approached and said Mom? her mother moved or upset.
slowly raised her head and a glint of recog-
nition grew in the recesses of her deadened The doctor never called and each time
eyes. Beth wheeled her outside to a colorful Beth left a message she was told he had
garden and kept up a cheerful patter though just talked to Joan. “Is that true?” Beth de-
her heart pounded loudly as her mother sat manded. “Does he keep in touch with you?”
silent. When she sank back into sleep Beth
helped her to her room, changed the soiled “Yes! It’s true. I’m there a lot, Beth, I know
hospital gown (and found a drawerful of un- what’s going on.”
opened nightgowns), brushed her hair and
put her to bed. She discovered a neon-red “What’s going on!” she shouted.
sore the size of a half-dollar on the instep of
her mother’s right foot. “She’s refusing to eat,” Joan sighed.
“She’s starving herself to death.”
Shaken, she called Joan. “Have you seen
her lately? She looks awful.” “But she doesn’t know it!” Beth said.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“Of course I have. Her dementia gets
worse every day, just like the doctor said “Oh I think she knows, don’t you?”

“No!”

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“Really? Hasn’t she always done exactly On the next crisp morning with a huge
what she wanted?” yellow sun overhead, she hiked a trail
through the Aspen forest that had always
The call came at seven in the morning on a been their favorite and imagined Mac run-
gray October day as Beth watched the fog fade ning ahead. The wind waved at them
over the mountains. Joan, her voice weighted through the trees. She stopped in the wide
with relief, said their mother died at five. open meadow where they’d played and
took his ashes from her pack. She consid-
“So no one was with her,” Beth said. ered offering a prayer but he’d known every
day how she felt. Instead, she just set him
An aide had just come in, Joan said. He free, opening the box so the undulating
took her vital signs, she blinked at him once, breeze could lift and carry him away, out
exhaled slowly — and died. Beth was nei- over the blanket of fallen leaves that cov-
ther relieved nor sad, only deeply unsettled. ered the forgotten balls.
“I hope she saw Daddy coming across the
room,” she said.

When Joan called two days later, offering
to send the urn, Beth simply said No.

About the Author

I am a graduate of the University of Missouri School of
Journalism and have worked for newspapers in Colorado
in various capacities, including writer, copy editor and
production manager. I am now concentrating on writing
fiction.

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