Chapter Twenty-One

“Dad, why are you whispering?” Charlie asked between cereal bites.

“We need to be quiet and let Mom sleep this morning.” Bob sat down at the table with Charlie and Shannon. “She had a little too much fun with Aunt Caroline last night and needs to rest. Eat your breakfast and I’ll drop you both off at school on my way to work.”

Shannon gulped down orange juice. “I’ll take the bus.”

Of course, Bob thought to himself. God forbid she be seen with me. “Okay, get a move on, bus should be here in five.”

Quickly finishing her breakfast, Shannon grabbed her coat and ran out to the bus stop.

“Charlie, what do you want to bring to school for snack today?” Bob searched the pantry, “We’ve got pretzels, chips, or granola bars. You pick.”

“Pretzels please.” He finished breakfast and put the dishes in the sink. “Can you pack extra for Sam? His mom keeps giving him celery; he hates it.”

“I’ll give you a few extra today, but Sam’s got to eat what his mom packs.” Celery? No wonder Charlie and Sam concocted the snack-stealing plan. “Are we ready? Coats? Check. Backpack? Check.”

He brewed a second, stronger pot of coffee before leaving a note for Libby on the counter.

An hour later, a slow-moving Libby awoke. Her hair, a split mess of sleep-matted grease and Easter grass tangles, clumped in random bunches. Eye-to-ear mascara smudges crisscrossed her face like railroad tracks. Revisited tequila crusted the corners of her mouth, accentuated by specks of what might have been guacamole. She passed the hallway mirror and froze.

“Oh God,” she moaned. “This is what shame looks like.”

The scent of coffee hit her nose the minute she set foot in the kitchen. Bob’s note caught her attention.

“Hello Sunshine:

I put on a fresh pot before I left, thought you could use it. Remember, I’m picking up my mom at the airport at five o’clock—be home around six with Chinese, if you’re on solid food by then.

Love you.”

She set the note aside and filled a mug. “Ah, gut-burning strength, just the way Momma needs it. You are a god, Bob O’Rourke.”

Stump bounded over to greet her. “Hey big guy, no sudden moves this morning.” The dog cocked to one side and whimpered. “Yeah, I know Mommy is not looking her best today; she’s not feeling so steady either. How about we pop onto the computer and start slow?” Stump, sneaker in his mouth, followed her to the laptop.

With the library closed for the long holiday weekend and family all out of the house, Libby had the day to recover from a night of overindulgence. After returning a few email messages, she clicked into her browser to look for more information on Mae’s condition.

Two cups of strong coffee later, she switched off the system and headed to the shower. Spending extra time under the hot spray helped clear out the thirty overweight clog dancers pounding on her brain. Resting her forehead against the cool shower tile, Libby swore off tequila for eternity.

Dry, dressed, and slightly more coherent, she started prepping the house for Thanksgiving. Bob and the kids had done the lion’s share of the cleaning while she was out drowning her sorrows, but there were still several little details that needed attention.

Mae was bringing the McGinn heirloom Irish lace tablecloth over in the morning. Libby needed to insert the extra leaves in the dining room table and wash the wineglasses and Grandma Shannon’s china that was stored in the cottage.

After a quick polish to the table, she was ready to tackle the dish hunt. “Stump,” she looked down at his droopy face. “I’m going out to the cottage. If I don’t come back in an hour, go for help.” His expression remained blank. She grabbed her cell phone off the counter and left.

She pushed open the creaky door and switched on the light. Twenty years of mostly unused, dusty miscellaneous items of family life stared back at her.

The two- room cottage was structurally sound once you looked beyond the refugee-camp decorating style. It had potential charm. Under the piles of junk were wide-peg hardwood floors. In the living room, a small stone hearth sat waiting for use.

In the corner of the room closest to the front door was a onetime kitchen, now smothered under Bob’s collection of baseball memorabilia. The nook contained two leaded glass front cabinets with tarnished brass knobs, a tiny counter with a large porcelain sink, and an arched window overlooking the yard. Bob had shut the main water supply off, but the faucet still mysteriously dripped from time to time.

In the rear of the cottage a quaint bedroom, spacious enough for two, completed the domicile.

As Libby moved into the room, she saw the china box between the two oversized windows. Digging her way in, she tripped over a pair of hiking boots Bob had supposedly donated to charity. “What else is he holding onto out here?” She picked up the boots and started to move them aside when something fell from inside the lining. Evidence of mice spilled out like nasty counterfeit chocolate ice cream sprinkles.

Reaching the china box, Libby lifted and maneuvered her way back to the door. Beside the exit, beneath a plastic bin of Christmas decorations was a glossy pink box Libby had never noticed before. She set the china down and pushed the decorations aside for a better look. Mae’s handwriting scrawled across the top—Mom’s Dance Costumes.

“No way,” Libby whispered. “She said she threw these away.”

Resigned to the fact that she would never fully understand her mother’s thought process, Libby promised herself a walk down Memory Lane later that afternoon. Hefting one box at a time into the house, she set out on Thanksgiving prep work.

By one o’clock, all the dishes and stemware were sparkling and the twenty-two pound turkey was thawing in the outside refrigerator. Two frozen pies Libby planned to bake and pass off as her own rested on the counter.

In true New England fashion, she took advantage of the winter cold and chilled several bottles of white wine, soda, and beer on the back porch. No need to take up fridge space when nature could lend a hand.

Taking a minute to relish in her superior homemaking skills, she poured herself a deserved third cup of coffee before settling into the couch with Stump tucked in beside her. The dress box sat on the coffee table.

“What do you say, Stump? Should we see what kind of shape these are in?” She paused and recalled the boots’ mouse droppings. “I hope the mini-critters didn’t find their way in here, too.”

She opened the box and set the lid aside. Reverently, she removed the top layer of tissue paper and revealed the first gown, emerald green chiffon with thousands of crystal sequins. Layers of loose, flowing panels made up the tea-length skirt. Libby’s mind traveled back to the way her grandmother carried the dress, as if floating, from room to room. There was no choreography in her movements, simply an effortless grace.

“I loved this one.” Libby stroked the sheer fabric. “Gram looked like a princess.”

She pulled a champagne satin dress from the box. Although the design was simple, a scoop neck with cap sleeves and sea pearls trim, she knew the sentimentality of this garment outweighed all the others.

“I know this means nothing to you, Stump,” she said to the dog, “but this dress is irreplaceable. When Gram and Gramp eloped, she wore this.”

She rubbed his warm fur and continued. “Gramp was shipping out for his first tour of duty, there wasn’t time for a big ceremony. The night before his scheduled departure, after Gram’s final performance, they ran off and got hitched. Very romantic don’t you think?”

Stump yawned and rolled over.

Libby ran a hand down the gown’s silky sleeve. “Gramp ran back into the dance hall when they were about to leave and grabbed one of the centerpieces from a table so she would have a bouquet.” She smiled. “Wish I’d met him, he sounds like my kind of guy.”

Glancing at the clock, Libby put away the dresses for the time being and stored them on the top shelf of her closet.

On her way downstairs, the back door opened. “Mom,” Charlie called. “Are you home?”

“Right here buddy,” Libby stepped into the kitchen. “How was school?”

“Good.” He put his backpack down next to the door and tossed his coat on top of it. “We made cornbread and mushed-up cranberries. I didn’t eat any ’cause Nathan kept sneezing all over our table.”

“Wise choice,” she said.

Shannon came into the house, mail in hand.

“Hey there, how was school for you?”

“Fine.” Shannon put the bills and magazines down on the counter. “Ms. Gibbons gave us a book report to do over the break; she is such a witch.”

In addition to being a witch, Ms. Gibbons was a member of the Historical Society, and thus one of Libby’s least favorite people, but she had to set the right example. “Shannon, she’s your teacher, show a little respect.”

“I guess.” Grabbing the pretzels from the pantry, Shannon headed to the computer. “What time is Dad picking up Nana?”

Shelia. Libby had blocked her mother-in-law’s impending arrival from her memory. Her headache started to creep back. “Five; they will probably be here around six o’clock.”

The kids adored their grandmother, and with good reason. In addition to buckets of love, Shelia came bearing pricey gifts, and also catered to their every whim.

During her last visit, Shelia got Shannon’s ears pierced, conveniently forgetting to ask Libby’s permission. In truth, the piercing was not the problem. It was the fact that Libby had planned to take Shannon for her birthday and turn it into a mother-daughter bonding experience, but Super Nana robbed her of the opportunity. Not that she was bitter.

“I’m going to go up to my room and start reading the stupid book for English.” Shannon trudged upstairs.

As her daughter went off to do homework, Libby had a momentary flashback to another of Shelia’s visits. “Charlie,” she said, “Sam cannot, under any circumstances, come over while Nana is here.”

“But Mom...” Charlie tried to plead his friend’s case one final time. “He promised not to do anything bad this time. We’ll stay outside. Please!”

“Absolutely not! Nana was extremely upset when the two of you hid in the bathroom and scared her like that. She specifically asked Daddy to keep Sam away when she visits, and we want her to feel comfortable. We’re used to Sam’s crazy stunts, but he makes Nana nervous.”

Libby was not sure who was more traumatized; Shelia, after the boys jumped out from behind the shower curtain, or Charlie and Sam, unwillingly exposed to a naked seventy-year-old. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Okay, no Sam.” Defeated, Charlie snatched his coat. “Can I go over to Dom’s? He’s making sauce and he said I could help smash the tomatoes.”

“Sure, but come back in an hour so you can clean up before Nana gets here.”

At five, Libby was dragging. Shelia and Bob would not be home for an hour, and everything was as ready as it could be for Thanksgiving. Kids accounted for, she decided the best way to shake off the remnant hangover was a quick nap. She climbed the stairs to the bedroom, Stump fast on her heels.

The duo curled up under the cool, cotton sheets and puffy down comforter. Stump spooned into the small of her back. The faint smell of last night’s nachos hit as her face melted into the pillow. Something crunched beneath her head, and her nose crinkled. “Stump, remind me to change the sheets when we get up. There are bits of hangover lingering in here.” Within minutes, the dual snores began.

Sounds of laughter and squeals of “Nana” emanating from downstairs jarred Libby from deep sleep.

“Shit!” She sprang out of bed and frantically rubbed the sleep lines away on her rush downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase, she plastered on a happy-to-see-you smile. Shelia’s back was to her.

Bob took one look at Libby and silently mouthed something she could not decipher.

After hugging the kids, Shelia turned to Libby. Her well-maintained platinum blonde hair and electric pink lipstick complimented the faux white fur coat.

“Hello Libby, darling!” Shelia beamed. “How are you? It’s been far too long.” They hugged.

“We’re so glad you are here,” Libby said. “How was your flight? You look fantastic, as usual.”

“Thank you, dear, that’s sweet of you to say.” Shelia frowned and cocked a manicured brow. “Libby, by any chance, have you had Mexican food lately?”

Libby eyed Bob. She was going to smother him with his pillow if he breathed a single word of her tequila binge.

“As a matter of fact I had Mexican food last night. How did you know?”

Very delicately, Shelia withdrew a broken tortilla chip from Libby’s hair. “Lucky guess.”