When I returned from my walk, I saw an envelope stuck in the screen door. Great, I thought. Another missive from our neighbor? Maybe he’d like us to remove our porch as well as our widow’s walk. But as I got closer, coming up the porch stairs, I saw the shaky handwriting and old-fashioned cursive spelling out Tripp & Alice that signaled it was from a senior citizen.
“Hopefully a happier piece of mail,” I said, dropping it in my mother’s lap.
I drank a glass of water and put the kettle on for tea. She opened the letter, sighed, then got up and threw it in the trash.
“What was that?”
“An invitation to cocktails tonight.”
“From someone you don’t like?”
“No, from Beryl.”
I frowned. Beryl was one of my mother’s closest friends. “Are you mad at her or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why—”
“Caroline,” she said and sighed. “I don’t want our friends to see your father like this.”
“Mom, Dad loves parties. And his friends would understand.”
“No, it’s…undignified. God knows he can’t go back to Sankaty after his stink about the soup.”
“What are we going to do, keep him locked inside? He’ll want to go places. We’ll run into people he knows.”
“I know,” she said.
“Maybe they could help him? His friends might have…suggestions.”
“Dear God, Caroline,” she said. “I don’t want to put him on display if I don’t have to. He already RSVP’d to something on the fifth, so I don’t quite know what we’ll do about that.”
“Well, maybe he’ll be better by then,” I said.
My mother smiled and nodded at me, but there was pity in her eyes. The same look she’d given my dad when he’d insisted on stopping and smelling the roses.
I went and sat on the porch as my mother banged around in the kitchen, waiting for Dad to wake up, swapping ideas for what the hell we could do with him.
“He seems to gravitate toward adventure,” John said, and I shot him a look. “Just trying to lighten things up,” he said, sighing.
“Maybe we could take him out on the boat?” Tom said.
“Jesus, Tom. What if he decided to swim to the Vineyard?” I said.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Yesterday, he wouldn’t hijack a van either.”
“If we take him to Children’s Beach, I guess he’d be suspicious.”
“No, we could stay near the pier. Say we’re going to see the boats—lure him by saying we’re getting a drink afterward at the White Elephant.”
“A drink somewhere other than the club?” Tom said in mock horror. “That you’d have to pay cash for? What was it Dad always used to say about carrying money?”
“Only poor men own wallets,” I said.
“Ouch,” John said.
“He also said Only Jews carry change.”
“Double ouch.”
“I hope the next time I fall asleep, no one stands over me remembering my worst attributes,” Tom said and sighed.
“You started it,” I replied.
John clapped his hands. “So, boats? Children’s Beach? Drink at the White Elephant?”
“Only if it’s one drink,” I said. “One.”
I went upstairs, brushed my hair, and brushed my teeth. Something about brushing my teeth midday made me feel better, more in control. John walked in and asked what my plans were for the afternoon.
“I might take Sydney into town.”
“With your mom?”
“Probably not.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” John whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Shhh!”
The bathroom grew smaller, damp, claustrophobic. I heard footsteps outside, near the stairway. I wasn’t sure whose they were, but I knew the most frightening sound in this house was a whisper.
“Why can’t Sydney go into town with me?”
“That’s not the part that’s a bad idea,” he said quietly.
“Send me a text,” I said.
He reached into his pocket. I picked up my phone and watched as it came through.
I NEED TO WATCH UR DAD.
BUT YOU NEED TO WATCH UR MOM.
I texted back:
WHAT?
Then two photos came through.
A poster on the Brownsteins’ property.
And scraps of newspaper on our kitchen table.