The Red Strokes - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 of my latest release, 'The Red Strokes', available on Amazon

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

From the kitchen, I look through the dining room to where Doriah sits on the couch, one foot tucked underneath her. The TV is on, but she’s not watching it. She’s in tune with every sound coming from the road outside while biting her fingernails. Each time a car slows for the stop sign in front of the house, I hear her spit another nail as she cranes her neck to see out the front window without having to get up.

Trying to help, I say, “Honey, it is what it is. Don’t get yourself worked up over it.”

“That’s a lot easier to say when you’re not the pregnant one,” she says.

“But I was.”

For the first time in an hour, Doriah focuses on me.

“About eighteen years ago it was me telling my father. If anything, I think it may have been harder back then. Teenage pregnancy wasn’t as common or as accepted as it is now.”

“What did grandpa say?” She tucks her other foot underneath her to sit Indian-style.

“He wasn’t happy, but it was a little different. I was able to finish college on time and your father and I had already decided to get married. I think he would have preferred I put my education to good use before I rushed into a life wrapped in a picket fence, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at the point.”

“Did he get over it?”

“Eventually. Looking back, I don’t think he was as upset over the pregnancy as he was over the divorce. He really liked your father.”

Another car comes to a stop and that’s where I lose my daughter’s attention. I know she doesn’t think I understand how nervous she is about telling her father, but I understand so well that I have secretly taken measures to help soothe Bryan’s subconscious the same way I did when it was time to tell him that I was pregnant with Doriah.

For this meeting with Bryan, rather than the comfort of sweatpants, I chose a knee-length skirt with a thin white blouse even going as far as to tuck it in, something I haven’t done since losing my fight with dieting. I also chose to make chicken paprika, a Hungarian dish passed down by my grandmother and one of Bryan’s favorite meals. To finish setting the stage there’s a freezer-cold six-pack of Becks and movie tickets for Val and Michelle. I don’t know how much my efforts will help, but I remember the day I had to face Bryan and tell him the same thing Doriah will tell him tonight. I was more nervous than I could ever recall being in the past, but at the same time overjoyed by the thought of becoming a mother. And when it was over, I felt a surge of relief. I’m only trying to bridge the gap between nervous and relief for my daughter as my mother was unable to do for me.

“He’s not due for another half hour,” I call from the kitchen. “Did you get a hold of Teddy yet?”

“No. He dropped his phone in the lake the other day. I know he’s at baseball practice. It’s the last one before championships and he can’t miss or the coach won’t let him start.”

I mumble the first thought to pop into my head. “And we wouldn’t want him to miss that.”

I lift the lid from the pot on the stove sending the smell of tomato and paprika wafting through the house for an added measure of warmth. Every little bit helps.

Another car stops in front of the house. Even before Doriah stretches to look out the window, I hear the sound of tires crunching on the ash driveway.

“M-o-om.” Doriah’s voice pitches. “It’s George. You said he wasn’t coming here tonight. I can’t do this in front of him.” I watch my daughter nearly trip up the stairs trying to take two at a time.

Of all nights for him to be on time for dinner. I force a smile when he comes through the front door and wonder if I’m as unconvincing as I feel. “Did I mix up the days? I thought you were headed into York tonight for some kind of business dinner.”

“Plans changed. Something smells good,” George says, as he tosses his briefcase on the recliner closest to the door. “What’s for dinner?”

Butter-up-Bryan in a pot. “Chicken paprika.”

“Never heard of it but it sure smells good. I’m gonna catch the news before dinner.” George sprawls on the couch and begins flipping through channels. “Where’s your sister and her…whatever she calls herself? They gonna be here tonight?”

“Michelle, George. She calls herself Michelle. They went to the movies and yes, they’ll be here later.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch the snarl that crosses his face. I have enough on my mind and promise myself that I’m not going to let him get to me. Almost since Val arrived, I’ve had to keep reminding myself that George doesn’t live here and therefore has no say. Sure, the bedroom closet is loaded with his clothes and he sleeps here every night we aren’t fighting, but that doesn’t mean he lives here. I invited him to spend the night once, three months ago, and he’s been here almost every night since. The invitation seemed harmless at the time.

George’s unexpected arrival, the simmering pot, Doriah’s stomp up the stairs, and the sound of a second car in the driveway; I see each of them as snippets of the moment before the accident happens.

“What’s he doing here?” George yells over the news.

“Doriah invited him for dinner. My father was her grandfather you know.”

“All that’s missing is Miss High and Mighty. Christ Li, is this the only place they could all meet?”

I hear Bryan’s footsteps on the porch and make my way to the front door to greet him. With my hand on the knob, I turn toward George. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable staying at your house until my family leaves.” Without giving him time to reply I open the door and offer the first of the many smiles I’ll force over the next few hours.

* * *

On a scale of one-to-ten, dinner came in at a five. Small talk, flatware clinking against stoneware, and trying to decipher discreet looks passed around the dinner table helped the time pass more quickly. The minute the room fell into silence Doriah excused herself to her room, probably afraid that I would end up serving her baby news for dessert.

“So, do I hear wedding bells for you two?”

I can’t tell if Bryan is truly interested or if this is his rare attempt at sarcasm.

“There’s plenty of time for that.” George flashes me his going-in-for-the-kill smile and turns back to Bryan. “You don’t want to rush these things. You know first-hand what happens when you rush into something as big as a marriage, isn’t that right Bryan?”

“You’re right.” Bryan’s face shows no emotion. He looks directly at me. “I also know that rushed or not, some bonds can’t be broken.” He then looks to George, and adds, “And all the time in the world can’t save others.”

There’s my cue. “Listen, the last couple days have been hectic and I didn’t have time to make dessert,” I lie, “so why don’t we call it an early night. George is going to head home and Bryan, I thought you and Doriah could spend some time together. Why don’t you take her with you tonight and then she can ride home with me after the funeral tomorrow?”

Tonight is the first time I’ve ever told George he couldn’t stay although there had been many times I’ve wanted to. I wait for him to challenge me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he follows my lead and stands from the table.

“Yeah, I have a big day ahead of me so tonight should be a sleep-only night.” George winks and then picks up his briefcase. He shakes Bryan’s hand with the same vigor he used when Bryan arrived, gives me a peck on the cheek, and lets himself out.

“That was for your benefit,” I say.

“I know.” Bryan takes his place at the table again. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” As soon as the words pass my lips, I realize that my stall tactic bought me all of three seconds.

“You and Doriah looked like you were both sitting on thumbtacks and Georgey was more obnoxious than usual. And why of all nights did he go home if he lives here?”

“He doesn’t live here, d****t.” George is the last thing I want to talk about and I decide the best way to avoid talking about him is to talk about Doriah. I wind the dishtowel I’ve been holding into a tight roll and lay it on the table in front of Bryan.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s to bite down on.” I take a seat directly across from him. “Because this is going to sting.”

* * *

I wrap my arms around me against the night air. Bryan’s headlights cause the raindrops to dance like twinkle lights as he backs out of the driveway. I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. George is gone for the night, Bryan took the baby news much better than I had anticipated, and with her secret out Doriah is back to being her carefree self. For a moment, life is good.

 

 

Almost an hour into Frasier re-runs I hear Val’s car pull in. I feel around between the cushions for the remote and use it to turn off the TV.

“Hi.” Val seems more relaxed than she had earlier. “How did it go?”

“Pretty good actually. Bryan is going to pull through and as a bonus we’re George-free for the night,” I reply, trying to imitate my sister’s light-hearted tone. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Val glances at Michelle, who says, “I’ll just go upstairs�"”

I interrupt. “No. Please don’t think I want you to go. Unless you feel as though you can’t hold your eyes open another minute, stay here with us.”

Michelle smiles as Val places a hand on the small of her back and leads her to a chair at the table, taking the seat next to her. I offer them iced tea and the dessert I kept hidden from my earlier guests, which they accept.

“Was the movie any good,” I ask.

Val takes two folded tickets from her back pocket and lays them on the table. “I gave Michelle the nickel-tour of my childhood instead. I took her past my old jaunts.”

“Things have changed a lot since we were kids. Were you disappointed?” I ask.

“A little. The bowling alley where I had all of my grade school birthday parties is gone and that stupid little grocery store where Heddie Mae used to make me search for the cans without dents is something else now. But I got that old familiar feeling while driving around even though I haven’t considered this home for ages.”

“The Hanover outlet store. Yeah, it’s been gone for years.” I lay my fork down and wrap my hands around my glass. “Why don’t you come home more often? If it’s Mia, I can take care of that.”

“She’s part of it, sure, but not all of it.”

“Then what? Call me sentimental, but with losing dad and you avoiding coming home, well, we’re starting not to feel like family. I miss you.”

Val looks to Michelle and then leans forward in her chair. “Lilah, it isn’t you. And it isn’t even Mia. It’s me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t want to see us?”

Michelle stands and pushes her chair in. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower. Lilah, the cake was delicious, thank you.”

I say, “You’re welcome to stay,” but Michelle declines and leaves Val and me alone in the quiet dining room.

Val is the first to speak. “Lilah, when I wake up each morning I know who I am. I’m not embarrassed by who I am, I don’t feel the need to defend who I am, and I never find myself wishing I was somebody else.” She looks away. “I never had any of that here.”

“Everyone is judged by someone, but I never judged you.”

“That’s true you didn’t. But I think in part it’s because you didn’t know.”

“I knew.”

Val raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, I may not have known-known, but there were signs. It just took me a while to put them together.”

Looking a bit more relaxed, Val asks, “Signs? What signs?”

“Army pants,” I blurt. “That and the way you cross your legs… and hold your fork… and pick your teeth with a toothpick.”

Val smiles and shakes her head. “Army pants?”

“That’s right. When I was in college, every time I came home on a break, you were wearing army pants and a tee shirt. Green, camouflage, you even had a gray pair. I never saw you in anything else.”

“And that’s how you knew? Hell, I didn’t even know then.”

“I didn’t either, not then anyway. I thought it was a phase, maybe a new style that had caught on. But as time passed there were other signs; no make-up, super short hair, the pick-up truck as your first vehicle, your love of sports both watching and playing, never any talk of a guy in your life.”

Val collapses into the back of her chair. “Wow. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Confrontation is more Mia’s style. I thought that when you were ready, you’d tell me.”

“In Provincetown everyone is out and proud, you’d never catch anyone pointing or staring the way they do here. So, I don’t come back much.” Val lowers her voice and her head. “I put on a good front, but I’m not as thick-skinned as I’d like everyone to think I am.”

“You don’t have to be with me. As for Mia, to tell you the truth I don’t see much of her either.”

“Lucky you.”

I stand and begin picking plates and glasses off the table. “Granted, she’s an acquired taste, but I’m not going to let up on you two. We’re sisters bound by the heart string.”

Val looks up from the hole she’s been picking in the knee of her jeans. “That’s right, the heart string. I remember Heddie Mae telling us that every time Mia and I would get into it.” She pauses. “I wonder how she’s doing. Do you ever hear from her?”

“No,” I reply, suddenly sorry she brought up her name. “She left without ever looking back.”

Val stands and comes around to my side of the table. “How are you holding up, really?”

“I’m fine. Dad had gotten to the point where death was more humane than life. He’s not suffering now.” I lean in to give Val a hug. “I love you, sis. Goodnight.”

“Me too.”