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SIOBHAN
“Good morning. May I speak to ‘See-o-ban’ Bendlow?”
Oh, for God’s sake! Standing near my kitchen sink, I pulled the phone from my ear to make a face at the caller, and once again, probably for the thousandth time this month alone, cursed my poor dead parents for giving me a Celtic name no one could pronounce accurately.
I replaced the phone and without correcting her, replied, “Speaking.”
“Hi there!” The too-friendly-for-this-early-on-a-rainy-Wednesday-morning voice rankled my barely awake nerves. Salesperson. Had to be. “This is Tanya Albright at Snug Harbor Realty.”
With a smug smile, I sipped my coffee. I knew it. A salesperson. No one else could sound so cheery at nine a.m. on a gray day like this one—except maybe a political representative. Since the elections were last month, of course, Tanya Albright had to be selling something.
Tanya Albright of Snug Harbor Realty. Suspicion slithered into my brain, and the coffee made a u-turn in my throat. Wait. What? The hairs on my arms flicked upward, more from dread than the cold morning air. “What can I do for you, Ms. Albright?” Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she wanted me to photograph a property for brochures or flyers. Maybe that ad I’d placed in the local Cents Chopper newspaper was already raking in new clients.
“Your...sister? Deirdre Gordon? She contacted my assistant and asked me to give you a call.”
My legs quivered, and I sank into the nearest chair at the kitchen table. There went all my maybe scenarios. “What for?” I knew what for, but couldn’t believe Dee would sink this low.
“To talk about putting your house on the market,” the woman replied. “I admit spring is a much better time to sell in the area, but Mrs. Gordon insisted neither of you wanted to wait that long.”
I had to speak through clenched teeth to keep my rage demons at bay. “Yeah, well, my sister was wrong. We’re not ready to sell.” My stomach lurched, ready to throw up my breakfast, and I struggled to fight that particular demon, as well.
“Oh? I’m sorry. There must have been a miscommunication.” Her disappointment deflated some of the eagerness in her tone and sharpened an edge that suggested she didn’t believe me. I couldn’t blame her. Dee could be uber-persuasive when money was on the line. “My assistant assured me Mrs. Gordon was in a hurry to sell.”
Yeah, she would be. What was the rush this time? The Amex bill came in? Was she overextended for Christmas already?
“Naturally,” Tanya continued with a little less enthusiasm, “I’d still be interested in representing the property when the time was right. Do you know when you might be ready to put the place on the market?”
Never. I bit my tongue. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got your name and your number. I’ll give you a call when the time comes.”
“I could come over sometime today. Give you a free appraisal and show you what similar houses in your area are going for?” the woman pressed.
“Thanks, but I really have to get to work right now.” A total lie. My first appointment wasn’t ‘til early afternoon. In fact, I still wore my pajamas, yellow flannel with cats and teacups trailing across the legs. I’d been looking forward to a leisurely start to today: coffee, a crossword puzzle, and toast with cream cheese and jam. Tanya Albright of Snug Harbor Realty had ruined my plans. No, correction. My sister had ruined my plans by daring to convince this woman my house was for sale. Dee had no right to try to sell the place out from under me.
I rose to my still-unsteady feet, said a quick but polite goodbye and hung up before the realtor could try another tactic in her sales arsenal. This house was probably the only one left in Snug Harbor with a wall-mounted phone equipped with a serpentine cord that stretched halfway across the first floor. Regardless of its idiosyncrasies and outdated appliances, I had no intention of moving out of the place where I’d lived all my life—except for a few months a while back. Where would I go?
A dull throb pounded behind my left eye, steady and maddening. Dee and I had a deal. Our parents’ will was explicit about my living situation. If I still lived at home at the time of their demise—I did, which really isn’t anything to brag about, but it’s the truth—I would be allowed to remain here for up to seven years. At the end of that time, I could either buy the house or I had to move out, put the house on the market, and split the sale proceeds with Dee. Dad passed away last October, Mom this past February. Whether my sister wanted to start the clock at Dad’s passing or Mom’s, I still had a healthy six years left on my residence status.
I rubbed my temples, did some more quick math in my head to figure out if it was too early to call my sister in Colorado. Then I figured, who cared? She had no qualms about ruining my day. Why should I worry about waking her up? I rode my simmering anger into the living room and dug in my purse for more modern technology: my cell.
She answered after the first ring, chipper and alert. “Hey, Bon. I can’t talk long. Gotta get Steffie on her bus soon. What’s up?”
My simmer intensified to a boil. What’s up? She knew what was up. Why did she want to play games of innocence now? “I...uh...just got off the phone with Tanya Albright.”
“Who?”
For crying out loud! I stomped from the living room back to the kitchen. I was going to need a full pot of coffee for this conversation. “Tan-ya. Al-bright.” I enunciated each syllable. When she didn’t take the bait, I dangled the rest of the hook. “From Snug Harbor Realty?”
“Oh! The realtor.”
Well, well. Look who woke up. “Yes.” I refilled my cup from the glass Mr. Coffee carafe and leaned my hip against the Formica counter near the dishwasher.
“Why didn’t you say so?” A clatter rose in the background, dishes clinking, pans banging together. “What’d she say?”
“That she’s interested in selling my house,” I managed to eke through tight teeth.
“It’s not your house, Bon. It was our parents’ house. And, I won’t lie. I could really use the cash the sale could bring in right about now.”
I knew it. I poured a healthy dose of almond milk in my cup, then took a hearty sip before my jaw loosened enough for me to reply, “Yeah, well, I could really use a roof over my head right about now, so rather than tossing my carcass out onto the streets in the dead of winter, I guess you’re gonna have to forego the diamond bracelet or new car you were planning to buy.”
The cluck of her tongue sounded as enraging hundreds of miles away as it did when we shared the same address. “Don’t be so dramatic. God, why do you always have to make it sound like you live in some Charles Dickens novel? I’ve got my own troubles, you know. You’re not the only one with worries looming over her head.”
Why did she have to minimize my problems while exaggerating her own? Why did she always try to make me feel guilty? She had a husband who adored her, a beautiful little girl, and the perfect life in Colorado Springs. Her only trouble was her inability to curb her spending—a problem that had haunted her since she earned her first allowance. I shook my head. Not today. I would not let her derail me from the issue at hand this time. Whatever worries loomed over her head, she wouldn’t solve by kicking me out of my home. Still, I had to make sure I’d have nothing to regret later. “Is anyone sick? Dying? In need of a kidney?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Then I’m not selling the house,” I insisted. “Definitely not for the next six-and-a-half years, and maybe never.”
Dee sighed. “Mom and Dad babied you too much.”
I fired up my sarcasm engine to respond with some scathing remark about her spending habits but before I could get the words out of my mouth, my Call Waiting beeped. Saved by the bell—literally. “Oops! Hang on a sec. I’ve got another call.”
I didn’t care who was on the other end of the line. I’d even talk to Tanya Albright if it got me off the line with my sister. While gratitude at the intrusion eased my temper, I checked the screen and cringed. Nana Thea. Dang. Did I want to continue battling wits with money-hungry Deirdre or opt for my kooky grandmother? Maybe I could skate away from both of them?
I clicked over to the buzzing line. “Hello?”
“Bon-Bon! How’s my favorite granddaughter?”
Uh-oh. She wanted something. At least I knew it wasn’t my house. She had her own place in Florida, thank God.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the lady. But I swear she must have dropped the brown acid at Woodstock. She had no filter, no sense of decorum. I couldn’t imagine how my mom managed to grow up with Nana as her parental influence. Even Grandpa could never stifle her rowdy spirit.
Once, when I was about fourteen, I had a crush on this guy who lived across the street from us. Jimmy Vais was everything a teenage girl lusted after in those days. He was an older man, almost eighteen, and had long dark hair—even longer than mine!—and he played bass guitar in a band. He was tall and lanky and didn’t know I existed, much to my poor heart’s distress. That summer, I’d finally convinced my puritanical parents to buy me my first bikini, tame by today’s standards, by the way. One hot July day, I decided to wear my new bathing suit while washing Dad’s car. I know. Not a very original idea, but I was an MTV child, and all the sexiest videos had girls in bikinis or school girl uniforms, climbing on the hoods of sleek sports cars. So I’ve got the music blaring on some top forty radio station, and I’m soaking myself with the hose, practically kissing this enormous sponge, and here comes Nana Thea strolling up the walk.
“Well, look at you!” she exclaimed loud enough to drown out Britney Spears singing about getting hit one more time. “You’re gonna be a stunner when you’re finally able to fill out that bra cup.”
“Nana!” I screeched, but it was too late. The damage was done. I didn’t have to glance across the street to know Jimmy had heard her. His hoots of laughter rappelled down my spine and set my skin ablaze with embarrassment. It was the one and only time Jimmy paid the slightest attention to me. Of course, I did my own share of embarrassing things after that, which sent me on a tangent I’d rather never revisit. I’m sure Jimmy knew all about my stint at the clinic for eating disorders—the whole town did. To this day, whenever I hear people whisper around me, I wonder if they’re talking about me. Look. That’s her. They used to call her Barf Bag Bendlow...
I shoved the embarrassing memories aside. Over the years, Jimmy and I had gone our separate ways. Last I’d heard, he’d moved to Manhattan and owned a big fancy engineering firm. Nana, on the other hand, continued to be the bane of my existence far into my late twenties. And apparently, based on this morning’s phone call, beyond. So, now who did I prefer to talk to?
Decisions, decisions.
At least, with Nana Thea, our conversation wouldn’t descend into name-calling and accusations of “Mom always did like you best.” So what if she said something kooky? I could handle my grandmother a lot easier than I could my sister.
“Can you hold on a sec, Nana? I’ve got someone on the other line.” I clicked back to my sister. “Sorry, Dee. It’s Nana. Gotta go. Just remember. I’m not selling the house. So no more realtors. Bye!” Without giving her a chance to reply, I returned to my grandmother’s call. “Sorry about that. How are you? How’s Florida?” I forced so much cheer into my voice I deserved an Oscar for Best Actress.
“I wouldn’t know,” Nana said. “I’m not there.”
“You’re not? Where are you?”
“MacArthur Airport. I need a ride to the house. Are you available, or should I take a cab?”
MacArthur Airport, an hour’s drive from here? I snorted. Oh, Nana. What a cutup. With her, I’d play along. Nana had a wicked sense of humor, but she, unlike Dee, was harmless. “A cab’s gonna cost you at least a hundred dollars.”
“Then you better come get me. And bring the van. I’ve got all my stuff with me.”
“All what stuff?”
“My stuff. Well, all the stuff I felt necessary to bring: clothes, jewelry, my yoga mat...”
Shivers skittered down my spine, and for the second time this morning, I sank into the kitchen chair. She wasn’t kidding. She was at the airport. “What are you doing in New York?”
“I came to be with you,” she replied. “This is your first Christmas without your parents. You can’t spend it alone.”
Terrific. Christmas with my grandmother. How much more pathetic could my life get?
♥♥♥♥
ALTHEA
I could tell my granddaughter wasn’t thrilled with my announcement, but I had a tough time stifling my glee. After a decade in the purgatory known as Florida, I was free! While I waited at baggage claim for Siobhan to arrive, I shimmied back and forth across the length of the floor and eyed the passengers arriving from other flights. Even the people, strangers all, seemed to welcome me home. God, it felt good to be back on Long Island. I could hang around this small area of the airport for hours and still be thrilled to be here.
Outside the glass walls that faced the parking lot, a soft rain fell. I didn’t mind the dreary weather. Over the next few months, I’d welcome the cold, the gray days, the snow when it came. I was back where I belonged at last, in the land of four seasons, and I’d embrace every minute, every raindrop, every snowflake.
When Siobhan finally arrived, her expression reflected the atmosphere outside, dismal and turbulent. She took in the three suitcases lined up near where I stood and stopped short. She waved an arm toward the luggage. “What’s all this?”
I skedaddled closer and pulled her into a tight hug. “Bon-Bon! I’m so happy to see you. ‘This’ is my stuff.”
She peered around me to the pet carrier atop the biggest suitcase. “You brought your cats?”
“Well, of course. I couldn’t leave my babies behind.” I glanced from the carrier to my granddaughter, and a rivulet of panic ran through me. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No.”
My relief came out in one long sigh. “Phew. Okay, then. Let’s go.”
I took her hand to drag her forward, but she hung back. “You couldn’t have someone keep the cats in Florida for a while?”
I had really hoped we would have made it to the car before we got to this part of the conversation, but my luck didn’t hold. “I’ve sold the place in Port St. Lucie, Bon-Bon. I’m moving in with you.”
“You’re what?!” She jerked away from me, eyes round with surprise.
Okay, let’s get into it. I sat her down in the first of the nearest row of chairs and looked down on her, a power move on my part. “I’m home to stay.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. “We’ve both lost everyone dear to us. We need each other right now, you and I.”
She stiffened. “I’m fine, Nana.”
I placed a hand on her tense shoulder and crooned, “I know you are, sweetheart, but I’m not. You and your sister are all the family I have left. And somehow, I doubt Dee-Dee would welcome me with open arms. Besides, Long Island will always be home for me.”
Her muscles loosened beneath my palm. I stifled the urge to preen about my pretty speech. I’d chosen my words carefully. Siobhan was a good girl, always too eager to please. That particular quirk was one of her downfalls, but for me, it was the perfect weakness to get her on my side.
Siobhan’s gaze shot back to the carrier while, no doubt, her brain absorbed my plea. “What are their names? The cats, I mean.”
“Shaggy, Velma, and Daphne.”
She snorted, biting back a laugh, I was sure. “So, where’s Scooby-Doo?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Bon-Bon. Everyone knows Scooby-Doo is a dog.”
Have I mentioned Siobhan is my favorite grandchild? I know I’m not supposed to admit to having favorites, but I’m old and I do what I want these days. Siobhan understands me; she always has.
I sensed her waffling in her disagreement with me, and I went in for the kill. I lowered my tone, playing up the urgency and emotion of this moment. “Please. You’re alone. I’m alone. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t pool our strengths. I can even help keep your sister off your back and take some of the pressure off you. She’s not above forcing you to sell that house before your time is up, but she won’t dare play those games with me.”
She looked star-struck. “Did she tell you she called a realtor already?”
I took the seat next to her and patted her hand. “No. But I’m not surprised. Dee always looks out for Dee first and foremost.”
She offered me a tremulous smile. “Okay. I guess we can try to make this work.”
I fidgeted in my chair, fighting the urge to jump up and kiss her. “We can, I promise.”
“You’ll have to sleep in Dee’s room. I haven’t cleaned out Mom’s stuff...” Her voice trailed off, and she turned her gaze toward the empty baggage carousels.
“Of course,” I replied, tamping down my excitement. I still couldn’t believe my son and daughter-in-law were both gone—and within the same year. When I spoke again, my voice was roughened by sorrow and loss. “I won’t be a bother. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. You’ll hardly know I’m around.”
Minutes later, we exited through the automatic doors, suitcases and cat carrier in hand, ducked the icy rain, and raced through the parking lot. I was ready for the next adventure in my lifetime. With Siobhan’s van loaded up, I climbed into the passenger side and relaxed into the leather seat.
“Buckle up, Nana.”
Funny. I had a feeling I should have been telling Siobhan that same thing. Still, I did as she instructed. The atmosphere inside the vehicle made breathing difficult, thanks to the weight of my granddaughter’s uncertainty. “I’m sorry if my arrival surprised you, Bon-Bon.”
She jerked on her directional so hard I thought the lever might snap off the steering column. “No, you’re not.”
I reached over and patted her coat sleeve. “Yes, I am. But you have no idea how lonely I was down there.”
“You said you loved Port St. Lucie! I heard you telling Mom how you got to spend all your days on the tennis court and the beach. You didn’t have to worry about driving in the snow or shoveling the driveway. Grandpa said he’d never come back to New York, not even if you paid him.”
“He said that. I never agreed with him!” I retorted, then immediately clamped my lips shut. I wouldn’t pit my granddaughter against my poor Archie to get my way.
“Wait, what?” Siobhan glanced at me, then returned her focus to the traffic on the highway.
I stared out the window at the other drivers around us, some alone, some with passengers, and wondered what was going on in their lives. Were they happy? Were they in a rush? Worried? Did they love each other? When I spoke again, my voice was hoarse with sorrow. “I thought I could do it.”
The truth was I only agreed to go because it meant so much to Archie, and I didn’t want either of us to become a burden to my son and his wife. Then, Archie got sick, and I was glad the kids, grown as they were, didn’t have to deal with the day-to-day turmoil of his deterioration. Every time I called home, I had to pretend life was glorious in Florida. Archie didn’t want his son and daughter-in-law to know the truth—until it was too late.
“While your grandfather was sick,” I continued, “I guess I was too busy taking care of him to notice how dull my life had become. You know me, Bon. I am soooo not ready for four o’clock dinner theater, sidewalks rolled up by eight, and bed before nine-thirty. Every conversation revolved around who died this week and who might be next. It was like this macabre Death Lottery every day.”
Her eyes rounded. “Get out! It wasn’t really that bad, was it?”
Worse. “Florida took all the fun out of my life. The food had no flavor, the music had no soul, and once I lost your grandfather, there was nothing worthwhile to keep me in that land of mosquitos and old people.” I sniffed back the bitter memories. “I tried. Honest to God, I did. I’m just not ready to wait around for death to come for me like most of the other residents down there. I may not be a teenager anymore, but I’m not an invalid, either.”
“No, you’re not.”
We continued our trip home in relative silence, each of us lost in our thoughts and plans. As she drove past the Welcome to Snug Harbor sign, I allowed my gaze to stare at the landmarks we passed. The shoreline, worn down by the pounding waves over the years, looked closer to the road these days. The field where I once tricked the local little league into letting me play baseball on a boys’ team by having my dad register me as “Al” now had lights, an electronic scoreboard, and girls on the team who didn’t have to hide their gender to participate. I smiled to myself at the memory. I played almost a dozen games before one of the other parents spilled the beans that our family only had one son: Tim, who was, at the time, playing on another field about five miles away. I was such a rebel in those days. To many, including Siobhan I suppose, I still am.
The familiar sped by in a blur of colors and flavors along the road. I tended to avoid thinking too long about the changes that had occurred here since my childhood. It only depressed me to see the deli where I used to buy a fudge bar for a nickel had become a frozen yogurt shop that charged by the ounce, the beach where I’d experienced my first kiss was now closed to the public, owned by some hedge fund hotshot who “summered” here.
When did summer become a verb?
Maybe I was an old rebel. I know I wasn’t old enough for Sunny Hills, the senior complex in Port St. Lucie with its Bingo Tuesdays and bus rides to doctors’ appointments and grocery stores. I missed walking to the local bakery for a hot coffee and a chocolate croissant on Sunday mornings. I loved digging in a garden, or strolling the beach in winter when the tourists had disappeared. I hated routine and boredom and most of all, I hated Florida.
I wasn’t a senile old fool or a dried out husk of human with nothing left to live for. My juices ran full and forceful. At my venerable age, seventy, I craved fun, laughter, and love. Not necessarily in that order.
Take it from me, friends. Life is too damn short. I’d lost too many loved ones—especially in the last few years—so I knew firsthand a person had to seize every opportunity to experience all life had to offer. Eat tacos, make love in the ocean, travel, read, explore. When Death comes calling, be ready to say, “It’s been a good ride. Let’s see what’s on the other side.”
Siobhan turned onto Mermaid Lane, and our house came into view. My bones relaxed, and my breathing evened. Home. I had returned to the place where my husband carried me over the threshold so many years ago, where I’d raised two kids (and outlived both), where I’d lived and loved, laughed and cried with my husband for decades. I had missed my split-level ranch with its creaky floors, swollen doors, and too-small closets.
“This will always be home for me,” I said aloud.
“I know what you mean,” Siobhan replied. “I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Activity across the street caught my eye. “Hmm...big goings on at the Vais place?” A very good-looking man stepped out of a sleek, black sports car. I squinted my eyes to get a better look. “Is that little Jimmy Vais? My, how he’s grown!”
“Huh?” Siobhan veered her attention to where I pointed, and the van drifted with her gaze.
When she didn’t instantly correct her steering, I grabbed the wheel. “Easy, Bon,” I admonished. “Watch it.”
“Oops. Sorry.” She pulled into our driveway, turned off the engine, and faced me. “All set, Nana?”
Her flushed cheeks and the breathy tone intrigued me. I dared another glance at the Vais house where Jimmy lifted a suitcase from his open trunk. Well, well. Bon-Bon still had the hots for the boy across the street. I thought she’d given up on him when she was in high school.
As a daughter of the moon, I always believed any action I undertook had a purpose that the universe would reveal in its own time. While taking in my granddaughter’s suddenly flustered appearance, I knew why I’d had to come home right now, today.
I was going to make sure Siobhan finally snared the man of her dreams, no matter who that happened to be.