Wendy Chapter 13: The Reunion

Time to meet the family

Chapter Thirteen: The Reunion

 

 

My most recent interview with Ms. Harvey set the tone for my week… harassment as usual. It was a long week as well. I had to work six days in a row in order to get the next Sunday off for Eric’s family reunion, which was becoming one more source of stress. I would have to cook on Saturday after I got off work, and Saturdays were always hard days at the hotel. My anxiety about meeting his family was out of all proportion and niggled at me all week. What if his mother didn’t like me? His sister? I told myself they were only people, and people usually liked me. If they were anything like Eric, they would be very easy to get along with.

 

It was quite impressive to me that Dave was able to get his ordinary job duties done, he spent so much time riding me. Brenda did her best to help me, inspecting my rooms whenever she could, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once. I hung onto the look I had seen in June Harvey’s eye when we shook hands. I just had to outlast Dave’s persecution, hang on until the investigation came to a conclusion.

 

Saturday rolled around. I was relieved it was my last day. I had had bad dreams the night before about being trapped, but such dreams were so common, I was used to it and just drank an extra cup of coffee to compensate for my disturbed sleep. Dave was off, thank god. I collected some sweet tips and was cheerful despite the hard labor of having a full house.

 

I used those tips to buy the ingredients I needed on my way home. Once home, I turned on some music and began unloading my groceries in preparation for the cooking whirlwind I planned. I was dancing around, putting away a bag of potatoes when Pam came home, but she knew better than to interrupt me. I filled my largest pot with water, set it on the stove and turned the knob. Gas did not come out and light with a whoosh. No blue flame. I got down a box of matches and tried turning the knob with a lit match at the ready. No flame. In fact, there seemed to be no gas. I couldn’t smell any.

 

After forty five minutes on hold, I was informed that there had been a large leak and that all gas service was cut off in my neighborhood until that situation was resolved. No, she could not tell me how long that would be.

 

Eric was at work when I called but he encouraged me to use the spare key to let myself in and cook at his house. It was a complicated endeavor. I needed my own knives and my own cutting board, I couldn’t count on Eric having all the pots and bowls and gadgets I would need, and then there were all the ingredients. It took another half hour to assemble everything, and double check my recipe so as not to forget a thing. By then it was almost 6:30. I was running far behind schedule.

 

With horror, I took in the state of Eric’s kitchen. Sink full of dishes, full garbage can, counter covered with random items: a bottle of ketchup, part of a model airplane, junk mail, a half empty gallon of distilled water, used batteries, a couple of wine bottles and contact lens cleaner. I never knew he wore contacts. I tackled the counter first and was glad I did for I found an ice cream bowl lurking under the junk mail. Counter cleared and wiped down, I moved on to the dishes. The last of the dish water was draining away when Eric got home.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, Wendy.” He gave me a kiss and started emptying his pockets onto the cleaned counter. How to tell a man his kitchen counter is not his own to command?

 

I gave him a long hug, then said, “I need to use that counter. Could that stuff go somewhere else?”

 

“Sure, I didn’t think… I’m not used to anybody using the kitchen to cook.” What else do you use a kitchen for? He gathered up his items and asked, “Anything else you need?”

 

“Well,” I began. “I’ll need some space in the fridge for this bowl.” I indicated a cauldron sized stainless steel bowl. “I’ll need somewhere to throw garbage, and I’ll need some matches to light the stove. The pilot went out.” At least he still had gas, I smelled it when I tried to turn on the back burner.

 

I started laying out my ingredients and tools. Eric lit the stove for me and I put on the pot of water for the potatoes. When he was back from emptying the garbage, Eric asked if he could help. I put him to work and managed to suppress a groan when I saw him almost slice his thumb off, chopping the green onions with more enthusiasm than skill. I refused to look back again. I knew first aid if he severed any limbs.

 

“Wow, Wendy, this takes a long time,” he said when I presented him with yet more vegetables to chop, celery this time. We were swimming in the smell of garlic and fresh thyme.

 

“Yeah, it’s a labor intensive recipe. It goes faster with help.” It would be nine o’clock before I’d finish, even with his help.

 

I chopped, boiled, whisked, drained, stirred, steamed and finally we were done. It was 9:07. I slid the huge bowl into the fridge with a sigh and removed my apron.

 

“Let me give you a foot massage, Wendy. You look like you need it.”

 

He didn’t have to offer twice.

 

***

 

 

I showed up right on time the next morning, at ten o’clock. Eric had his Cadillac again. I brought the huge bowl of potato salad down while Eric ferried two-liters and gallon jugs from his Honda to the Caddy. Dale would be bringing ice, the juice boxes and all the cups needed.

 

When we arrived, things were already set up, the picnic tables covered in tablecloths, a variety of dishes lined up and a couple of men supervising the lighting of the grill. The smell of charcoal swept over on the breeze. We arrayed the drinks while Eric’s Aunt Martha whisked away my potato salad. Dale and his girlfriend showed up just as the first little kid wandered over wanting something to drink. Dale and I shook hands while Eric helped the boy find an apple juice box. Dale was almost as tall as Eric and had the same dark good looks, but was a bit stockier. His girlfriend, Eva, a willowy blonde with striking blue eyes, greeted me warmly.

 

“This is some big party,” Eva observed. “Have you known the family long?”

 

“This is my first time meeting anyone,” I confessed.

 

She brightened and said, “Oh good, me too. I met Dale at Loyola in the fall.”

 

“So you guys go to school in Chicago?”

 

We talked on in such an agreeable way, I didn’t notice Eric had gone until he came back with his sister, Susan. She shared the family coloring, black hair and warm complexion, but was not as tall and slender. She was as friendly as Dale and Eva, but a much keener observer. I felt like I was being sized up.

 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Wendy. It’s great to meet you.”

 

“I’ve heard about you too. It’s a real pleasure. Are you glad to escape the Arizona heat?” I felt stupid for bringing up the weather, of all things, but it opened up chat about the different climates and cultures.

 

Our talk drifted to food and I was starting to interrogate her about chili peppers when Eric took me by the elbow to meet his mother. She had the family hair and skin as well, but with lovely green eyes. She must have been in her early forties and had a round, full figure. I had the feeling that her face could take on a fierce look, but she was smiling now.

 

“I’ve been telling Wendy about Grandmother Mohe.”

 

“She was your mother? She sounds like an amazing lady,” I said.

 

“That’s right, these are all the Mohes here today, all of her children.”

 

Mrs. Young put a guiding hand on my back and steered me towards the rows of dishes.

 

“Eric tells me you like to cook. Let’s see what you brought.”

 

***

 

At one o’clock a line formed to receive hamburgers and hotdogs from a couple of the Mohe uncles tending the grill. Eric and I joined Dale and Eva at a table. Eric and Dale told tales of their childhood in the suburbs, making snow forts and tree houses.

 

Eric said, “Susan was always the best shot with a snowball. She’s like Grandmother Mohe, can hit the spades off a playing card with a 9mm. Darts, snowballs, arrows, she can do it all. Best not to piss her off.”

 

“Eric tells me you’re a good shot with pepper spray, stopped that guy in his tracks. I wouldn’t want to mess with you,” Dale said, laughing. He squeezed Eva closer. “Eva’s a pretty good shot too, wicked dart player. I’m trying to get her to learn to use a handgun, she’d be great.”

 

So it was a family trait to love strong women.

 

When the sun was waning, it was time to go home. I was pleased to see my potato salad was all eaten. We made our rounds, saying good bye to all the Mohes and their families, then packed up and went back to Eric’s.

 

I’d gotten a bit of a sunburn on my shoulders and back and Eric insisted I try a cactus based skin gel he got from Arizona. He kept it in the fridge and it felt wonderful. It had a cool herbal scent that was pleasant. Being touched so gently by Eric was thrilling.

 

“I can’t do your shoulders and upper back, but I could massage your lower back and legs, if you’d like me to.”

 

Like him to? I couldn’t imagine anything better. My heart fluttered when he led me to his bedroom, so I could lie on my stomach on his bed. I nestled my face into his pillow, which smelled wonderfully like Eric. He started with my feet. He flexed and massaged even my toes, rotated my foot, worked his way up my ankle to my calf, did wonderful things with my knees, then turned so he could work on my lower back.

 

“When I get a massage table, I’ll give you a full body massage.”

 

I loved that idea.

 

As I was beginning to doze off, Eric asked, “Feel good?”

 

I could only manage a murmur of assent. 

 

“Here, turn over, onto your back.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

 

I had to sit up a bit on my elbows to sip the water he gave me. When he kissed me, I relaxed back onto the pillows, and he followed me. We slowly spiraled up, from languid kisses to taut desire. I pressed the length of my body against his, pulling him closer. With his warm gentle hand, he stroked my side and up under my shirt, skin against skin and I flashed on Bruce, being pushed, a rough hand under my shirt.   

 

“Shhh, it’s me, it’s Eric.” The flash passed and I was back into the scent of Eric, his warm touch, his essence all around me.

 

I was pulled from our rising heat by my phone going off, which had somehow ended up on the floor. It was just past midnight. The ID read St. Joseph’s Hospital. Panic jolted through me.

 

“Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you.”

 

I dressed faster than I thought possible. I was gathering my purse and looking for my shoes when Eric followed me into the living room.

 

“Wendy, what--”

 

“It’s Uncle Philip. He’s in ICU. Where are my goddamned shoes?”

 

I didn’t notice Eric leaving the room, but when he emerged from the bedroom he was dressed and stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. I had located my sandals and had my keys out.

 

Eric said, “Let’s go, I’m driving. You’re too worked up to drive.”

 

I didn’t care who drove as long as we went as fast as possible. Eric satisfied my need for haste, gliding through a couple of red lights and flooring it through deserted stretches of Wrigley Road.

 

I breathlessly announced my identity at the hospital help desk and was directed to the ICU waiting room. I paced until the doctor came in.

 

“A thyroid storm is a serious complication of your uncle’s condition, Graves disease,” the young doctor explained.

 

“But I thought he was taking medication.”

 

“We don’t know why he went into a thyroid storm. It’s very rare and not well understood why some people experience it and others don’t.”

 

“What are you doing? What’s the treatment?”

 

The doctor, Dr. Robinson, detailed the course of treatment, which was too complicated for me to understand when so distraught. I looked at Eric, and he was nodding. I let him listen for both of us, wringing my hands uselessly.

 

“We should know soon if the procedure is working. I’ll have the nurse inform you when he is out of danger.”

 

I caught a glimpse of tubing and machines around a bed as a nurse entered the intensive care unit. I was glad I couldn’t see what they were doing. Eric brought me a paper cup of coffee that I absently accepted. Some time later, I looked down and saw what I was holding. It was cold, so I put it on the side table. They had tried to make the room comfortable, but there could be no comfort for me.

 

I was jerked out of my worried trance when there was a great bustle and a new patient was wheeled in. A frantic couple followed and was met by another doctor. They joined us in the waiting room but were so wrapped in their own distress they ignored us. I noticed Eric had his arm around me and leaned into his warmth.

 

“He’ll be ok, they know what they’re doing.”

 

I clung to that idea. He had to be ok. Uncle Philip couldn’t leave me.

 

At five thirty, a nurse came out.

 

“He’s responding well and has stabilized, Ms. Gaff. If he continues to do well, we’ll step him down from ICU and you’ll be able to visit him. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.”

 

As a wave of relief washed over me, I found I was thirsty and tired. I looked around for a drink machine and found the hospitality station in the waiting room. I got some water from the cooler.

 

“Wendy, do you want to go home, rest a little?”

 

“No, I’ll stay here, but I need to call Pam and my mother.” I’d forgotten about them. I felt rather guilty about that.            

 

My mother didn’t answer so I left a terse message. Pam was stupid with sleep, but when I made myself understood, she asked for a ride to the hospital. Eric agreed to fetch her. It was eight thirty when they got Uncle Philip settled in a private room. In a rare show of sisterly affection, Pam hugged me tight when she arrived. She looked very young without her heavy makeup and elaborate hairstyling.

 

Eric wanted to wait outside when we were allowed to see Uncle Philip, but I pulled him in with me. The three of us stood around his bed and I took Uncle Philip’s hand in mine. He looked shrunken and fragile. There were IVs, oxygen tubing and wires snaking around him.

 

When he opened his eyes and focused on me, he squeezed my hand. He closed his eyes again, but kept my hand in a firm grip. I sat by his side until his grip loosened and he seemed to fall asleep.

 

***

 

Eric had called the hotel for me, to explain my absence.

 

“Brenda was on, and she said you’ll need to call June Harvey.”

 

“What?” I was close to shouting. “What can they want now? What has Dave done?”

 

“No, nothing to do with that. You’ll need to call her to see if you can get FMLA or if you have to use paid time off.”

 

“Thank god. I was going to strangle someone if something to do with the investigation came up today.”  I thought for a while and said, “What do I do if they decide Dave is innocent?”

 

“Dave would probably find some way to fire you.”

 

I cursed.

 

“Wendy…” I turned towards Uncle Philip.

 

“Yes, Uncle Philip?”

 

“Ladies don’t use language like that.” I could barely hear his husky voice but he was smiling.

 

“I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard being ladylike.”

 

“Who will fire you?” Uncle Philip asked.

 

“Don’t worry about that, it won’t happen.”

 

Uncle Philip closed his eyes again.

 

***

 

I returned to work Tuesday. They were going to keep Uncle Philip for one more night, then he would have to have a nurse at home for a day or two. He was in good hands and Dr. Robinson was satisfied with his recovery.

 

After work on Tuesday, I went back to the hospital. Uncle Philip was sitting up, reading a Fortune magazine.

 

“That young man Eric is devoted to you.”

 

I agreed that he was.

 

“I wouldn’t be happy about you spending the night with him if he weren’t.”

 

How did Uncle Philip know?

 

“Your blouse was mis-buttoned and his t-shirt was inside out. Neither of you had brushed your hair.”

 

“You noticed all that when you were so sick?”

 

“Not much escapes me. What’s this about being fired?”

 

Damn, why had Eric said that?

 

“Don’t worry about that, it won’t happen.”

 

“I will worry until you give me an explanation.” He was using his most stern voice.

 

“Well, my boss, Dave has it in for me,” I said. I went on to detail everything that had happened, skimming over the physical intimidation.

 

Uncle Philip was having none of that. “Tell me everything, Wendy. Is he threatening you?”

 

When I finished my account, Uncle Philip was silent so long I thought he had fallen asleep.

 

“You’ll need concrete, objective evidence to win,” he said.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You need to bust him doing something. Slime like him, they rarely stick to one thing and there’s always evidence. You need a private investigator. I’ll hire one.”

 

“Thank you, Uncle Philip--”

 

He cut off my thanks with a serious tongue lashing about keeping things from him.

 

“But you were so sick, I didn’t want to worry you.”

 

“I am older and wiser than you, Wendy. You also forgot I was a lawyer for thirty years.”

 

“But tax law…”

 

“Yes, I did tax law, but Tom didn’t. He was a defense attorney. You tell this Ms. Harvey your lawyer is looking into the matter.”

 

I was lighter than I had been in weeks.

 

Author's Note

All feedback welcome. Thank you for reading!

Reviews

[Shep]

Dave in for it now Ross about to get a roommate. damn I almost out of chapters again I hate that when that happens

[SweetNutmeg]

Thank you for your perseverance.

[AUU]

Ready? Of course you are!

1. The opening sentence is a tad confusing. Did Wendy have another interview with Ms. Harvey?

2. I believe you detailed why Saturday's are hard, but it couldn't hurt to remind readers why again Saturday's are hard. Some may be clueless to such details because not everyone only work Monday through Friday.

3. "My anxiety about meeting his family was out of all proportion." I'm not sure about this sentence. Is it supposed to be "...was all out of proportion?"

4. "It was quite impressive to me..." I don't believe you need the "to me." A bit redundant.

5. "Brenda did her best to help me..." I don't think you need the "me."

6. "I was relieved it was my last day." I know it's not the case, but this sentence makes it sound like she's quitting.

7. "I had had bad dreams..."

8. I like that Wendy's troubles are invading her dreams again, but what was specifically trapping her? Was it Dave's girth, a Charger?

9. "Dave was off, thank god." Is "god" suppose to be capitalized? I always wondered this. Some people I've talked to this about say only to capitalize "god" if a character believes in God; not when it's a figure of speech.

10. I see you later have Wendy comment why Saturday's are difficult, "it's a full house."

11. "Sweet tips." Are they sugary? lol I'm just joking. I like Wendy's use of "sweet," reminds me that she's still young.

12. I like that Wendy is excited to cook. You did well with this by "dancing around." It was the best part (was going to be anyway) of her day.

13. Although I bet such a scene would be even nicer if you described exactly "the whirlwind" she planned, which of course would make the stove not working all the more tragic. I'm not a chef, but if I needed food descriptions I would use the Food Network as a tool. They always have a chef or two per program go on and on about food descriptions.

14. "I got down the box of matches and tried turning the knob with a lit match at the ready." I think this line reads a bit awkwardly. I think it's because of the action. In this case it sounds as though the important part of the sentence is that Wendy is resourceful and was using a match to light the stove, so maybe plainly say as much? "I struck a match over the pilot." Something like that. Just the action of her using the match.

15. I really like Eric opening up his kitchen for Wendy, and Wendy's reaction of hesitance is a nice touch.

16. The next description is gold. Yep. That's a guy's kitchen. Most of us are messy cooks. On point about emptying his pockets too.

17. Hey. A little Eric in Wendy's recipe might be a happy accident!

18. Okay. I'm being honest here: I rolled my eyes when Eric offered to give Wendy a foot massage. It's in line with his character, and I hate Eric for being Mr. Perfect. That's not a bad thing. It can be a testament to your skillful writing of him.

19. I like that Wendy is comparing all the family to Eric. That's a smart way to reinforce descriptions of characters.

20. Is Dale older or younger? I'm guessing younger because he's still in college, then again, I remember Eric saying he was only taking a year off from school.

21. Is Susan older or younger? I'm guessing younger because Wendy's observation that Susan is a bit protective over Eric. Nice touch by the way with that.

22. "...interrogate her about chili." I'm at the point where I can with out a doubt say, "that's so Wendy."

23. I like the description of Eric's mother. You don't outright say it, but it's clear that Wendy is slightly intimidated by her.

24. It's very clear that Eric came from a wholesome American family after reading through the reunion.

25. "Wicked dart player." That's New England slang. Just curious, but have you heard it being used elsewhere?

26."I'd gotten a bit of a sunburn..." the tense is confusing me here. Would it be wrong to say, "My shoulders and back were sunburnt?"

27. "...a murmur of assent." That's a sensual line considering the scene. Good work.

28. "I breathlessly announced my identity at the hospital desk..." Great imagery.

29. I like how you went into more details here about Graves disease. Pertinent to my comment on a previous chapter, I don't feel as though this totally changes my opinion about Wendy's reaction being to clean when she hears about Uncle Philips have Graves, but these events in the ICU certainly sends the message that the issue is not resolved. Good work.

30. Mom's been MIA for a lot of your story now. I don't think you need to bring her in, but I can't help but wonder more about their relationship.

31. That's a bit touching scene with Uncle Philip remarking about Wendy's language. I don't know why, but having him talk in lighter spirits made me more concerned for his health.

32. Uncle Philip is very observant. Nice rounded detail their. Plays with our imagination a bit more in realizing how hot and heavy Eric and Wendy were getting.

33. And the pay off! Kick his a*s Uncle Philip...well Uncle Philip's Tom.