Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Mari, you gave him that dang bell, you respond to it,” Mom says from behind her sewing machine. She is making costumes for the annual progressive harvest party our sponsoring churches and neighbors throw for the area kids. Piles of orange, black, and green fabric enshroud the small woman with black reading glasses sliding down her thin nose.
I walk over to the intercom rather than head upstairs to the small reading room where Dad has taken up residence. “You’d think the doctors amputated his legs or something,” I shout into it.
The crackle of static is followed by Dad’s voice. “Ha-ha. Now bring me my green tea, s’il vous plait.”
“Oui, oui. Un moment,” I respond.
“You see what your pampering has done to him? You were better off when he was pushing his physical limitations. Now the king of the castle is getting a big head.”
“I was worried about him.”
“You bought him a massage chair and a GameCube. Let’s hope your father does not have an addictive personality or this house will be in shambles.”
I start the kettle and rummage for tea packets. The knob on a cupboard door falls into my hand. I quickly screw it back into place. “Don’t be silly.”
“I saw that.”
“I can only find orange spice. Think he’ll notice?”
“Tell him it’s healthier.”
The outside intercom buzzes. I look to Mom and she looks at me and nods toward the door.
“I have to do it all, do I?”
“It’s Kayla. Just let her in.”
“I thought you were done with the campaign.”
“We have some campaign contributions to redistribute. Kayla has kindly offered to call the contributors to see if we can turn their donations over to the literacy program.”
“And who will you hire to call all of them to be sure she isn’t pocketing the money?”
“Mari!”
“Okay, okay.” I trod toward the door with heavy feet to be sure my reluctance is known.
Kayla comes in wearing a new tailored suit and has a matching bag tucked beneath her arm. She immediately goes over to Mom and hugs her.
“That’s some expensive outfit, Kayla.” I wink at Mom and she frowns.
“Why thank you, Marla. You’re a dear.”
The teakettle whistles and censors my response.
I traipse up the stairs with a teapot, two cups of tea, and some gingersnaps. My plan is to wait out Kayla’s visit. So much for an afternoon on the computer downstairs. I had promised Beau that I would write up a few reports on the Golden Horizons recreation program. When I tell most people that I double-majored in anatomy and leisure studies, they get a very wrong impression, but Beau was thrilled to have my educational background put to work for his project.
Their project.
Funny. I hadn’t thought of Paige in days. Weeks. Not since my last visit to Tucson. Their tight working relationship is only annoying when it affects my time with Beau. From a distance, I don’t feel a thing.
Dad has the game volume up on high. Old newspaper crossword puzzles are scattered around the room. Plates from the past few weeks are littering the coffee table. I clear a place with my foot for the tea tray.
“Geez, Dad.” Mom was right. Dad’s addiction could indeed be the downfall of the Urban Center and this family. I must take away the bad and bring in the good.
“I’m almost through level ten,” he says with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a kid concentrating on tying his tennis shoes for the first time.
“Out of how many?” I inquire.
He stops to think and crashes and burns whatever he is maneuvering from afar. “Darn it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad.” I am evil—but I am evil merely to reclaim goodness and productivity in the Hamilton household.
He adjusts his robe. It is a chenille eyesore and seems to be his only uniform lately. His physical health is improving, but I am questioning his mental health.
“This smells different.”
“It’s a citrus green tea. Extra antioxidants and all that.”
He sniffs it. “Ah, yes. Smells wonderful and healing.”
“Can we turn that off? The graphics give me brain spasms.”
Dad hesitates. Then spying a pen under a newspaper, he scrawls down his score.
“I’m pretty sure it keeps track of your games.”
“Fantastic! I don’t know why I refused to get one of these before.”
“Because you thought the kids would avoid homework, housework, and social interaction.” I recall his argument and extend it back to him in hope of personal awareness on his part.
He nods thoughtfully and then laughs. “What a tyrant.”
So much for insight. “Kayla is downstairs talking with Mom. I think I will just hang out here for a while, if that is okay.”
“I’d love nothing better.” His mouth uses the appropriate, fatherly phrase, but I see his eyes glance longingly at the GameCube.
“The flower garden is covered with weeds. Who usually takes care of that?” I ask this knowing full well it has been him.
“The great thing about a good garden is that it can live through a rough season and be resplendent the next. I think Fabio brought a friend by to help out with that, anyway. Seems there is a quick replacement on standby for anything I used to think was urgent.” I see sadness in his eyes. Or maybe they are just glazed over from his level ten adventure.
“Marcus noticed that the paint on the front steps is chipping. Which I think makes for a great, old look, but I know he was thinking it might be lead based and dangerous for the kids to be around.”
“I replaced the lead paint years ago with a very nice, nontoxic basement paint.”
“Oh.”
We crunch on gingersnaps.
“I guess we’ll have to cancel hosting the harvest party this year. There would be all the cooking and the cleaning and the decorating. It is just too much…with the way things are right now.”
“I spoke with the pastor at City Christian, and he and his staff are volunteering this year to set up our house. I don’t know why I didn’t think of asking them in past years. They nearly cheered at the chance to take part.” He smiles, and I see his right hand move toward the remote.
I tried all the tactics that would usually send my dad into a frenzy of worry. Not that I want him feeling negligent, but I do want to pull him from the suction known as the funnel of digital fun.
Desperate measures—I need to show him how much we need him back in the routine.
“Dad, you know that in two weeks I will need to be gone a while for the wedding. Maybe we should talk about a plan of action to cover my responsibilities during that time. Marcus moves back to Chicago in December. It is going to be quite an adjustment for all of us.”
The glaze goes away and clarity returns to his blue eyes. He looks at me puzzled.
“You knew that Marcus was taking the job in Chicago, right? Remember, we talked about it when…”
“Mari, I am well aware of Marcus’ plans. What I am confused about is your reference to us.”
Now I am puzzled.
Dad places his teacup on the tray. “Mari, you are not really planning to return after the wedding, are you?”
“Well, I hadn’t completely thought through it, but it seems for the best. Look, you are still recovering. Marcus will be leaving. The kids have such busy schedules during school. And things at Golden Horizons are going fine without me.”
“And your relationship with Beau? Is that going fine without you too?”
I look over at the television screen for a few seconds, hoping it will spur him back to addiction. I blew it. He is fully in the present moment with me.
“Mari?”
I shrug, and my throat feels tight and achy.
“Your mom and I appreciate all that you have done for us. We couldn’t have asked for better help or a better daughter, but you have your own life to lead.”
I speak strongly to convince Dad of my importance, my necessity here, but my emotions beneath overcome me and my voice is shaky and uncertain. “There is so much to do. Dad, you don’t know what it is going to be like without me. What will the kids think? I will just be one more person who comes and goes in their fragile lives. My relationship is just fine. Beau understands how important this is to me. Besides, he has everything under control and I’m not really needed there. At Golden Horizons or in…”
“The relationship?”
“Stop it, Dad. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“This cannot become a hideaway for you, kiddo.”
I wave about the tiny room which has become Dad’s cave. “Uh, yeah. Look who’s talking.”
“This has become a den of self-pity. I’ll leave if you do?”
I come up here to convince Dad that he needs to return to his life, and now he is trying to convince me that I need to return to mine.
I’m not ready.
“Show me how to play this thing,” I say, full of youthful enthusiasm and manipulation.
If Dad knows what I am up to, he doesn’t point it out. He excitedly pulls up the player screen and gives us both cool nicknames.