Chapter Twelve

Saturday was soccer day. Without fail, Shannon and Charlie had games at the same time on opposite ends of town. Libby and Bob decided who attended which game over breakfast. Shannon’s match-ups were decidedly more fun to watch, but Charlie’s team provided circus-like entertainment, spontaneous cartwheels, and dandelion-picking contests were common. No one kept score, and no matter how hard Coach Tony tried to strategize, the team was always more interested in the postgame snack than athletics. Libby drew the short straw.

Packing the van with children, folding chairs, and one smelly dog, she headed to the field. Charlie and his partner-in-crime, Sam, huddled together in deep, backseat plotting. “What plan are you two masterminds hatching back there?” Libby asked.

Charlie met his mother’s stare in the rearview mirror. “If we’re really, really good can we go to The Shack after the game?” he pleaded. Home to the finest clog-your-arteries food in the world, The Shack’s cuisine was taboo. Healthy soccer moms shunned those who partook.

When pregnant with Charlie, Libby’s Shack french fry cravings rivaled methadone addiction, going so far as to borrowing Sean’s company truck and scarfing down lunch incognito. Little did the snooty soccer moms know Libby was indulging her inner grease diva.

Drooling at the thought of fries, Libby snapped back to reality. “I don’t know,” she said. “Don’t you get a snack after the game?”

Sam answered. “It’s Mrs. Swanson’s turn to bring a snack; raisins.”

Agnes Swanson was a hardcore healthy mom and Libby welcomed her oranges or other fruits, but she drew the line at raisins. Raisins were grapes someone forgot in the crisper.

At the field, Sam and Charlie jumped out of the minivan and ran to join their teammates. Libby popped open the rear door and freed Stump as he charged off at a gallop to tackle the boys. Grabbing her travel coffee mug and folding chair, she walked over to join the crowd.

At the end of the first quarter, the team took a water break and Coach Tony gave the traditional pep talk. “You guys are doing fantastic!” He beamed. “Good teamwork, and even better, nobody cried yet. A little more work on our offense and I think there’s a decent chance we may even get a goal today.” The team had yet to score this season, but Tony was optimistic.

As the players headed back to the field, Libby’s phone rang; the display read “Hubby.”

“Hi,” Libby answered.

“Hey hon, what’s the report?” Bob asked. “Will anything make the Rhyme Top Play Run-down tonight?”

“Not unless all other organized sporting events take the day off.” Libby watched Charlie block a shot on goal. “Nice one, Charlie!”

“Did he find a dandelion?” Bob teased.

“Nope, he actually touched the ball.” Libby laughed. “Wonders never cease. How’s Shannon doing?”

“Still nothing-nothing. However, I did learn another valuable parenting lesson.”

“Do tell.”

“In addition to the new drop off/pick up procedures at school, I am no longer allowed to cheer at her games. Apparently this is social homicide.”

Libby grinned into the phone. “Did she tell you to be quiet?”

“No, I just got the look-of-mortification.” Bob took his shortcomings in stride, but Shannon was still his baby. “Are we all meeting back at home for lunch?”

“I’ve been solicited to hit The Shack.”

Bob let out an appreciative groan. “How about it?”

Libby needed little convincing. “It’s okay with me. But I swear to God, Robert O’Rourke, if you give Stump even one bloody french fry, I’ll kill you in your sleep!” Human food always exaggerated Stump’s issues.

“Consider me warned.”

“I’ll be there first. Tell me what you want and I’ll order.”

“Such service! I like this.”

“Don’t get used to it. It’s the lure of the fries that makes me accommodating.”

Bob placed his order and rang off.

Postgame, Libby packed the troops in the minivan and headed down Main Street. Each storefront was marked with a yellow Halloween Parade Participant sign and festively decorated for the town council trick-or-treat display contest. Pumpkins, hay bales, and cornstalks ate up small window spaces in an effort to tempt children in for sweet treats. Ironically, as Libby passed the dentist, Dr. Tyler, he too had a trick-or-treat sign.

“Job security,” she mumbled.

At The Shack, Libby spotted Caroline’s car. Glancing around, she located her friend on line with Trevor. Charlie and Sam ran over to meet them as Libby strapped a leash on Stump. The smell of grilling meat and fry oil had his massive jowls dripping with saliva.

“Not pretty, Stump.” She wiped him down with one of the many sports towels in her backseat. “Behave yourself. No food snatching, got it?” The dog looked at her, his large brown eyes begging for a treat.

Joining the group, Libby was stunned at Trevor’s latest growth spurt. The spitting image of his father, Trevor had more charisma than he knew what to do with, evident by the swarm of giddy teen girls competing for his attention.

The groupies broke away as Libby spoke up. “I see you suckered your mom into grease today, too?”

“Hi, Aunt Libby.” Trevor’s voice had not fully changed and tended to rotate octaves. “It was Mom’s idea. She said she needed ‘comfort food,’ whatever that means.”

The moms exchanged a look. Libby said, “Trev, can you take Stump to a, um, private area for me so he can make a deposit?” Trevor loved dogs, but with Caroline’s schedule and his afterschool activities he knew they did not have the time a pet needed.

“Sure.” He took the leash from Libby. “Come on buddy, let’s go drop a bomb somewhere and blame it on that snotty poodle over there.”

As Trev headed away, Libby turned to Caroline. “Okay, spill it”

“What?” Caroline feigned urgent interest in the menu board overhead.

“Don’t give me that. I’ve known you too long.” Libby stuck her face in front of Caroline’s view. “You don’t need ‘comfort food’ aka ‘crap’ unless it’s man trouble; dish it.” The jig was up, and Caroline knew it. Libby could spot avoidance a mile away.

“It’s no big deal,” Caroline said. “My date with Richard was...hmm, I guess the best way to put it is...flat. No wow factor.”

“So,” Libby giggled. “Dick was a dud?”

Caroline burst out laughing. “How long have you been working on that literary gem?”

“It just came to me now. I should write greeting cards.” Caroline’s order came to the window. Libby grabbed a french fry off her tray. With the first bite, she moaned. “Did you let Richard down easy or stomp his bean-counting heart?”

“It was mutual.” Caroline slid down the counter and grabbed napkins and condiments. “There’s a rule when you date over forty; if at first there is not spark, run, and run away.”

“Got it,” Libby placed her order then joined Caroline at the ketchup. “Any other man-prospects on the horizon?”

“I’m taking a hiatus; thus fat and salt for lunch.” Caroline popped a fry into her mouth. “I’m instituting Big Pants November. I’ll let myself gain a few pounds of self-pity then jump back on the horse in December.”

“Sounds like a workable plan.” Libby’s order arrived, and the friends snagged a spot at the largest picnic table available.

“There is a plus side to dating in winter,” Libby said. “Big sweaters hide all.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Caroline scanned for Trevor. He was surrounded by short-skirted girls feigning interest in Stump. “Your pooch is a chick magnet for my hormone-driven son.”

Libby turned in Caroline’s direction. “That won’t last. I saw Stump scarf a hot dog off the ground. Any minute now the smell will send them running for higher ground.”

“Poor Stump, he still has tummy problems?”

“Yeah, but we love him anyway.”

Libby called the kids over for lunch. Charlie and Sam inhaled without a break for breath while Trevor, a close second, managed to work in a few text messages between bites. Caroline assumed the mildly disruptive texts were coming from the pint-sized super model batting her eyes from the adjacent table.

Catching on quick, Libby met her friend’s eyes in silent amusement. “Tell me, Trev,” she asked, “got a girlfriend yet?”

His cheeks reddened. “Nah, I’m cool right now. “ He flipped his blond bangs back in his best pop star impression. “I’m playing soccer and hanging out, nothing serious, ya know?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Libby did her best not to chuckle. “How was your game today?”

Mouthful of burger, he replied. “I got a sick goal in the second quarter.”

“Good for you, Trev, great job!”

“Yeah, thanks.” He swallowed. “Coach said I got a good chance at varsity next year.”

Caroline frowned. Trevor had been hitting the brag button a little hard lately. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned. “JV is just as competitive as varsity.”

“Mom.” Trevor’s you-just-don’t-get-it expression said it all. “Varsity is a completely different gig.” He patted his mother tolerantly on the shoulder and walked away to join a group of friends that had just arrived. Caroline’s jaw hung open.

“Did he just say gig?” She moaned.

“I believe he did,” Libby answered.

Caroline watched her baby boy swagger to a group of teenagers gathered at the opposite end of the picnic tables. Ten years had passed since she dropped him off for his first day of kindergarten; the frightened blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy had turned into a sullen teenager overnight.

Physically he resembled his father, but that is where the similarity ended. Caroline’s ex-husband, Steve, was a wad of balding arrogance, and his behavior alienated friends and family at a rapid rate. A massive ego left him poor in relationships as well as love, and Caroline prayed Trevor took a better path in life.

The sound of tires on the gravel parking lot made Libby turn around. “Damn, Bob’s here,” she said. “I was just about to eat his fries.”

Caroline motioned to the order window. “There’s no line, get more. You can borrow my fat pants.”

“No. I’ll look like a pig getting seconds.”

“But plowing through Bob’s fries before he gets here is better?”

“That’s sharing. Gluttony rules don’t apply.”

Shannon sat down at the table. “We lost.”

Libby put her arm around her shoulder; losing was a common occurrence. “Too bad,” she consoled. “Was it close?”

“Final score was two to one.”

“They had a great game!” Bob interjected between gulps of chocolate shake. “Shannon was a rock star, really brought her A-game!”

“Geez, Dad, A-game?” Shannon winced. “You’re weird. Can I go sit with my friends, Mom?”

“Go ahead.” Libby answered. “Take Stump with you, I don’t want your weirdo father sneaking him any food.”

Shannon grabbed her meal and walked off with Stump to join the group of chatting teenagers. Bob took the ketchup bottle from the center of the table and added a healthy squeeze to his fries.

“Now I’m weird.” He shoveled in a mouthful of fries. “I wonder when she’ll like me again. Was Bernie ever weird, Lib?”

“Always,” Libby said. “But I loved him to bits.” Sneaking one of Bob’s fries, she turned to Caroline. “How about your dad, was he a constant embarrassment?”

“Total geek,” Caroline said. “I believe I was a freshman in college when I started to like him again. High school was rough, and my hormones were insane. Dad didn’t have a clue how to talk to me.”

“Great,” Bob said. “I’ve got a minimum of four more years of disdain to look forward to.”

In the time it took the group to finish lunch, several cars packed with hungry grease hunters came and went. Shannon and Trevor wandered back to their parents, and Sam and Charlie returned blessedly empty-handed from their search for dead stuff on the beach.

Slurping up the last bits of chocolate shake, Bob remembered a phone message. “I almost forgot to tell you, Lib. I called home; there was a message from Uncle Will. Call him back when you get a minute.”

Libby adored her mother’s brother. Family trips to his home in the Keys were some of the O’Rourke’s most treasured memories. Will took Shannon and Charlie out on his boat in search of dolphins and other adventures while she and Bob relaxed on the beach, frosty drinks in hand. Will’s home was a classic beach cottage, walls covered in beautiful watercolors and tapestries designed by area artists, the same talented people featured in his gallery. The entire atmosphere was open, inviting, and conducive to relaxation. Recalling their last visit, Libby could almost smell the coconut-scented sunblock.

“I miss Uncle Will,” she said. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Nope.” Bob wiped the shake dribble from around his mouth. “He just asked you to give him a ring when you can.”

Wrappers and cups gathered and trashed, the group broke and headed home. Libby had to return Sam to his mom, so she sent Stump home in Bob’s car. It was about time her husband enjoyed the after-effects of canine irritable bowel.

At home, Sean’s truck was in the driveway and a ladder leaned against the side of the house. Deathly afraid of heights, Bob had asked Sean to tack down a few roof shingles for him after the last rainstorm. The group followed the sound of hammering to the backyard.

Charlie spotted him first. “Hey Uncle Sean! Can I come help you?”

Bob grabbed the back of Charlie’s sweatshirt. “No way, bud. Uncle Sean can handle this all by himself.” He sniffed his son’s head. “You smell like old socks—go shower.”

“Fine.” Charlie hung his head and went into the house. Shannon trailed behind him, eager to check her email.

Turning his face toward the roof, Bob spoke. “You didn’t have to come out here right away, this could have waited.”

“I had time.” Sean answered. “How were the games? Any goals for the kids? Or scantily clad single moms for their uncle?” Libby came around the corner of the house just in time to hear her sexist brother.

“I heard that,” she scolded. “And even if there were any loose soccer moms, you wouldn’t let me set you up anyway.”

“I didn’t ask for you to set me up.” He fired a nail. “They’re just fun to look at.”

“You are a pig.”

“It’s a gift.” He gathered up his tools and climbed down the ladder. Stump waited at the bottom rung.

“Hey there, Stump.” He wiped the dog’s affectionate kiss from the back of his hand. “How do you keep yourself from tripping over that yard of tongue?”

“He couldn’t be better.” Libby answered. “We hit The Shack for post-soccer lunch, and he feasted on fallen hot dogs.”

Sean’s brow rose. “That will be fun later.”

“Yeah, lucky us.” Libby tossed her purse down on the porch and took a seat on the bottom step. “So, did José end up coming back after the Mrs. Lerner debacle?”

He set his toolbox down and took a seat next to his sister. “Oh yeah, he came back.” Wiping the sweat from his face, he continued. “I had to swear a blood oath never to ask him to go back there. Poor guy was traumatized.”

“Can you blame him?” Bob asked, “He’s shy to begin with. He’ll probably need therapy, better check your workers comp policy.” Heading up the porch steps, he asked, “I’m getting a beer, anybody want one?”

Lib raised her hand.

“I’ll take one, too,” Sean answered. “Hold on—it’s not that girly beer Kev gave me yesterday, right? Some Pumpkin Harvest crap. Beer and pumpkins should never be in the same bottle—defies the rules of manhood.”

“We’ve got plain old draft,” Bob said. “Will that keep your manhood intact?”

“God bless you.”

Beers in hand, Libby, Sean, and Bob sat on the back porch enjoying the late fall afternoon. Two days before Halloween, the yard looked like an orange and yellow patchwork quilt. Tall oaks shed their leaves at a rapid pace. Four misshapen pumpkins waited for carving on the back step.

“Uncle Will called today.” Libby said to Sean.

Sean’s face brightened. “How is crazy Will?”

“Don’t know, he left a message. I need to call him back.”

“I should go down and visit him.” Sean finished his beer and threw the bottle into the nearby recycle bin. “A little sun and R&R sound good right about now. Just thinking about that grouper place down the street from his place makes me drool.”

Charlie crashed onto the porch. “Mom,” he panted, “can we carve the pumpkins now? You said ‘later,’ and it’s later.”

Pumpkin carving was Libby’s least favorite holiday tradition. Each year it was the same story; Charlie and Shannon, bursting with excitement, drew intricate faces to carve on their individual pumpkins, but when Libby would cut the tops off to scoop out the guts, poof, the kids vanished. She got the guts and none of the glory.

Taking her final sip, Libby tossed the bottle into the bin along with Sean’s empty.

“Go get the big knife and newspapers to put underneath,” she told Charlie. Bob stood. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t even think of leaving me to do this alone, you’re helping.”

“Your wish is my command,” Bob answered. “But I’m getting another beer first.” Libby released him and set her sights on Sean. “How about you, want in on the pumpkin carnage?”

Sean inched toward the driveway. “As fun as it sounds, I’m going to pass this time.” Charlie came out, supplies in hand. Sean said, “Do me a favor pal, save me the dark chocolate from your massive Halloween haul.”

“Will do,” Charlie answered, “You want the chocolate raisins? I hate those.”

“No way, I hate those too, they look like rabbit turds.” Raisins were a mutual McGinn hatred. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, Sean headed toward his truck, “I’ll talk to you guys later, and Libby, when you touch base with Uncle Will, tell him I said hello.”

****

True to form, Charlie, Shannon, and even Bob disappeared for the gut-scooping portion of the carving process. Staring down four decapitated pumpkins, Libby decided the dirty chore would pass faster with a distraction and rang Uncle Will. Setting her cell phone down on the step beside her, she pressed the speaker button. Will answered.

“Is this my exceptionally smart, and equally beautiful niece, Elizabeth?” Will gushed. A native New Yorker, his voice had never absorbed the Brooklyn inflection and, somewhere down the road adopted a refined, southern distinction

“None other,” Libby answered. “How are you Uncle Will? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“Now whose fault is that, Mrs. O’Rourke?” he scolded. “I invite you to my little piece of heaven constantly, yet you rarely grace my doorstep.”

“One of these days my jailors will let me run away and join you for a nice long visit.” She scraped pumpkin guts and smiled at the possibility. “But until then you’ll have to tolerate my witty emails and far-too-infrequent phone calls.”

“I suppose I’ll forgive you, but come soon, dear. I’m older than dirt, and you never know when my expiration date will be due.”

Libby smiled, mentally picturing Uncle Will and his little beach house.

His small frame settled into one of the tattered wicker chairs on the back porch overlooking the surf. Adjusting his wire rim glasses, he prepared for a nice chat. “Onto the reason for my earlier call,” he said. “Who is Dr. Rashan, and why does she want the sordid details of our family medical history?”

Libby paused mid-scoop. “I take it she called you?”

“Yes, lovely woman,” Will answered. “However, I informed her I needed to speak to you first before answering any questions.”

“She’s great, very well respected, and crazy enough to sign on as Mom’s neurologist.”

Will released a small laugh. “I am sure Mae is thrilled with an ethnic woman doctor.”

“You know Mae so well.” Libby chuckled. “Believe it or not, Mom likes her. She even tried to set her up with Sean.”

“That poor boy,” Will admonished. “My sister has no shame when it comes to potential grandchildren.” He cleared his throat and changed to a more serious tone. “Tell me, what’s happening with Mae? My sister has yet to return my call, rude woman, so I have no idea why she needs a neurologist.”

Libby brought Will up to speed. “I don’t think Dr. Rashan is overly concerned, but the more family history she has to work from, the more she can rule out. Mom told her Grandpa died in the service, and Grandma had a stroke, but very little else. To tell the truth, Mom was somewhat odd about the whole thing, and kept rushing to get out of the office. I’ve never seen her in such a hurry to leave somewhere.”

Will was quiet and Libby assumed the connection dropped. “Hello? Uncle Will? Did I lose you?”

“No, no dear,” he answered. “I’m here, just pondering a bit.”

“Care to let me in on your pondering?”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m curious sweetheart, has Mae ever spoken to you about your Grandma Shannon’s last few months, before the stroke?”

Libby thought a minute. When was the last time her mother had spoken about Shannon? “No, now that you mention it, Mom hasn’t talked about Grandma in years. All I know is what I remember from when I was little. God, Gram was a character, funny, great dancer. I still remember those visits to Brooklyn. We had a ball back then, but all of a sudden, I don’t know what happened, the visits stopped.”

“Mother loved having you kids for those visits,” William reminisced. “We went to the market before you arrived so she could stock up on chocolate, cake, and all the other sugar-laden treats Mae forbade.”

“Mae loved having a break from us,” Libby said, “even if we did come back in candy withdrawal.”

Will laughed. “I remember the first time she left you three with Mother. Mae had all these lists with what you liked to eat, when bedtime was, and the like. As soon as she left Mother tossed the lists and set out to spoil all of you rotten.”

“Hey.” Libby feigned insult, “I’m not rotten. I turned out fairly well-balanced.”

“Yes dear, you certainly did.”

“It’s funny, I remember Mom giving Grandma those lists. She was so retentive, even then.” Libby paused for a second. “She never stayed overnight with us. She and Dad headed back home right away. I guess they needed the break.”

“Once your mother left Brooklyn, she rarely came back.” He paused. “It was easier that way.”

“You make it sound like coming back was a punishment?” Libby said.

“Not a punishment, per se, Libby. But coming into the city brought sad memories for your mom.”

“From the accident?”

“Among other things.” He quickly shifted topics before Libby could probe further. “So you say Mae rushed through the appointment with the doctor?”

“Yes.” Libby said.

“But she answered the questions?”

“Minimally; Mom got defensive when Dr. Rashan asked if she could speak with you. At first I thought it was because she was thought the doctor didn’t trust her answers, but then she mentioned her research study and Mom seemed to settle down and be receptive to the idea.”

“I see.” Will had a decent idea why Mae was defensive, and suspected Dr.Rashan knew her patient was withholding information. All the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. His sister deliberately withheld their mother’s mental decline from Libby and her doctor out of fear she was suffering the same fate. Mae obviously did not want him to convey the full truth to the physician, but Will knew that early intervention was critical.

“Uncle Will,” Libby questioned, “What am I missing? Obviously you want to tell me something, but you’re holding back.”

“Not holding back dear,” he answered. “Deciding where my place is. I’m not your parent; I’m the adoring eccentric Uncle. I must tread carefully.” Will took a sip of his iced tea and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to share a few elements your mother omitted, for whatever reason, regarding Grandma Shannon.”

“Elements?” Libby asked.

“Yes sweetheart,” William explained. “Before I continue, I want you to promise not to jump all over your mother for being evasive. I’m a feeble old man; Mae scares me, always has. I don’t want her showing up on my doorstep in brass knuckles. Moreover, she’s your mother. The choices she makes are her own and she owes no explanations. Agreed?”

“Okay, now I’m a little scared.”

“Absolutely no reason to be,” Will said. “But since this doctor is going to speak with me too, and—channeling my inner George Washington, ‘I cannot tell a lie’—the cat will be out of the bag soon enough. You need the entire picture.”

William patiently explained Shannon’s end of life challenges. Traveling down that particular stretch of memory lane brought pained feelings to the surface but provided Libby with an accurate accounting of the family history.

Seeing his mother’s rapid decline had devastated Will, and knowing there was a chance he and his sister were genetically predisposed to the same condition left him feeling unsettled.

Irritated, Libby questioned him. “Jesus Christ, why on earth would Mom not tell me this?” Libby exploded. “If she witnessed her mother go through what sounds like significant dementia, wouldn’t she want to be proactive in her own care and give the doctor all the information? Hell, even if she doesn’t want to face it, what if I’m at risk—or my kids?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Libby,” Will stated. “I don’t think Mae is misleading you intentionally. Her thought process, if you can call it that, I assume was to shield you from anything bad.”

Will cut Libby off before she could interject. “She’s your mother, she doesn’t want you to worry about her. It’s her job to worry. And before you blow a clot, I’m sure the other factor here is fear. You were not there, Libby, my mother’s decline was rapid and frightening. Mae is probably terrified she’s destined for the same fate.”

“For the sake of argument,” Libby said, “let’s say Mom thought she was protecting me. That still does not explain lying to Dr.Rashan; how can she help with preventative care if Mom gives her half-truths?”

“She’s not thinking clearly, Libby. And that’s not to imply her mind is failing. She is afraid. Mae is intensely private when it comes to her personal matters, and whether or not you agree with her methods, you must respect her wishes.”

Libby’s feelings were a jumble. She was angry with Mae for keeping secrets, and yet helpless to do anything to convince her mother to share her anxiety. Mae maintained control in her life, even in the most chaotic of circumstances. The possibility of losing that hold must be unbearable. “All right, Uncle Will, I’ll take it slow. For your safety I’ll speak to Mom calmly and without a hint of Irish temper.”

“Good girl,” Will answered.

“Is there anything else I should know before I talk to her? Was I adopted, born a boy, anything?”

Will laughed at her knack for lightening the darkest mood. “As far as I know you were born with the same equipment you have today. And as far as adoption, not a chance. You have your father’s awful frizzy hair.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Honestly Elizabeth, cream rinse, that’s all I ask.”

“You blatantly feed the gay stereotype monster so many people try to destroy.”

“I came out of the closet in my late fifties. There’s a lot of pent up homosexual humor to release.”

“I love you, Uncle Will. You keep me sane in this family asylum.”

“Glad to help. Now I’ve got to ring off, but I’ll call the doctor back on Monday, and of course prepare for my sister’s verbal beating on Tuesday. Approach with caution, Libby, Mae is small, but explosive when cornered.”

“Good advice and we’ll chat after I speak with Mom. Take care of yourself Uncle Beach Bum.”

“You too, honey. I’ll be in touch, give my love to your brood and those delinquent brothers of yours.”

Disconnecting, Libby realized she needed a few days to figure out the best way to approach Mae. One thing was for sure, the conversation would require extreme sensitivity and a large, pink box from Annie’s Bake Shop.