by S. A. Wolfe
“Come sit down,” my mother says.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping around the coffee table to sit next to her on the couch. “Did you and Gavin have a disagreement or something?”
“No, we’re fine. I want you to listen to this. It’s something I should have told you girls years ago.”
Aleska’s stony expression cracks, and a tear slides down her face.
“Is someone dying?” I ask.
“No.” My mother puts her hand on my arm. “I was telling Aleska that you were not our first baby.”
I look at Aleska. She’s staring at the floor, holding herself together.
Another surprise baby? A child? Has my mother been inspired by Harmony’s story?
“Are you going to tell me you gave a child up for adoption, and we have a big sister out there in the world? No, wait, let me guess. She was adopted by a farmer and that’s really why you and Dad moved us to Hera, and our sister is the bitchin’ blonde yoga instructor at Beyond the Pants.”
“I wish,” Aleska mutters.
“No,” my mother says. “His name was Justek. He only lived for forty-four days. He died of heart failure.”
“Justek,” I say, sounding out his name and trying to picture him. Was he blond like me or dark like Aleska? “Why have you never spoken of him?”
“Your father and I were so young. We got married because I was pregnant.”
Aleska sniffles.
I’m cautiously taking a deep breath to prepare for the tears I sense building. “Oh, Mom.”
“We loved Justek so much. We were devastated. We didn’t think to ask questions. Who were we to question the doctors? They were smarter than us. We only had Justek for forty-four days, but I think about him every single day. Your father was never the same. You wouldn’t know that because you only know the man who buried his infant son. I saw him change. He was happy when you were born. Both of you girls made him happy, but bit by bit, I noticed him pulling away, becoming less involved, less responsible. He was becoming detached. From us. That’s how he protected his heart from more grief. Then he stopped giving love.”
My cheeks are wet. My sister hands me a fistful of tissues, and I bury my face in them. My mother rubs my back, and we all sit there for a few minutes to wring the grief from ourselves.
“Is that why you took care of me—after my surgery—like a baby? Sometimes I felt like an infant. You monitored everything I did, watched every move I made, and kept that chart on me. You wrote down all my medication doses, the steps and time I spent on the treadmill, my bodily functions, and everything I ate.”
“I had to. I’m your mother. You and Aleska will always be my babies.”
“Is it the guilt that made you so afraid?” I ask. “Did you feel guilty about Justek? Is that why you’re so afraid to leave this house?”
“No. There were several things that triggered this—my problem. It started when things between your father and I got worse. We weren’t talking to each other. He didn’t want to be near me. I was thinking a lot about Justek then—even though he’s been dead for more than twenty years, he is always on my mind. I became very depressed about our family situation. I tried not to let you girls see all this. We weren’t doing well as a family, and I started to have panic attacks when we moved to Hera. Because my relationship with my husband was so strained over money and employment, my fears were heightened. Under those conditions, when my thoughts turned to Justek, it started to build to a certain level of paranoia. It went from regular concerns about money, marriage, and work to where I was constantly scared about how I could keep my daughters alive. Everything became terrifying. The day I finally gave up and didn’t leave this house, I thought it was a minor little breakdown that would be resolved with a long, hard sleep. I really thought it would only last a couple of days, at most.”
“Days turned into years,” I say.
“Grief and fear are very powerful. I should have seen a psychiatrist, but I was too afraid to talk to a professional, to revisit all the things I was carrying around in my head.”
“You’re taking care of yourself now; that’s what matters,” I say. “Justek …”
“I’ll never get over Justek’s death. And the guilt of not paying more attention to how he died, how it could affect his sisters.
“When you were born, the doctors never detected a heart murmur, and we never thought to tell the new doctor who delivered you about your brother’s death. It never occurred to us that there could be a family connection. When you came home from the cardiologist last December and announced you needed surgery, then I knew that you and Justek probably had the same heart defect. I felt responsible. I should have told you about your brother.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything, Mom. I still would have needed the surgery.”
“Maybe the surgery could have happened when you were younger, and then you wouldn’t have been hurt by Marko, and you wouldn’t be struggling with these fears today.”
“Marko is an asshole,” Aleska says.
“Aside from Marko’s assholishness, we weren’t in a position to have this type of surgery back in Poland. Our doctors didn’t diagnose my murmur. I don’t know if there was a doctor in Lublin twenty years ago who would have been able to perform the type of surgery I had. And if this had happened while we were living in Queens, Dad probably would have left sooner.”
“Definitely,” Aleska adds. “He runs away. He’s weak, Mom. You’re afraid to leave the house, but you’re actually a strong person.”
“You are strong.” I grasp my mother’s hand. “Justek’s death wasn’t your fault, and you could not have predicted it would have happened to another one of your children. I don’t blame you for this.”
My mother pulls out the little, double-sided heart locket she keeps tucked inside her blouses and T-shirts and opens it. I recognize the newborn baby, eyes wide open, wearing a green knit cap and swaddled in a hospital blanket. The other photo shows a sleeping infant, in an identical hospital blanket, with a yellow knit cap.
“You told us those were our baby photos. I remember asking you when I was little.”
“I did tell you that. It was easier than the truth.”
“That’s Justek. You’ve been carrying him next to your heart all these years,” I say.
“We only had the two photos of him while he was alive. I saw this locket at a little street fair, and it immediately made me think of these Justek photos I kept hidden in a drawer. I bought it. I finally had a proper place for my Justek’s memories. When I showed the locket to your father, he cried and left the room. Two days later, I found out I was pregnant with you. Justek would have been twenty-seven today, and I still wonder what he’d look like as a boy, as a man, and what kind of person he would be today.”
I wonder, too. I could have used a big brother to help me navigate through life.
“When the outside world became too much for me, when I was afraid of every unseen thing, I tried to put more effort into being your mother. I had to watch over both of you. I’m not very good at it. My daughters support me.”
“You’re still young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. With your therapy, it will get easier, and you’ll eventually get a job, too. You’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay, right?”
“Right,” Aleska says.
“And you have Gavin,” I say. “He’s better than Dad.”
“I wish you had known your father as the man I fell in love with. Then you wouldn’t hate him so much.”
“I don’t know if it matters who he was. What matters is who he became and how he treated you and us after a terrible tragedy. Is this why you’ve always been so forgiving toward Dad? You accept his phone calls as if we’re lucky to have him grace our days with long-distance calls from wherever he’s currently hiding.”
“He’s the only other person who knew and loved Justek. I suppose, in some way, I thought if I lost that connection, I’d also lose the memories of Justek altogether.”
“You went through a traumatic event, losing your baby,” I say. “I can’t imagine.”
“Then you lost your husband and you lost yourself,” Aleska adds.
I lean into her. “I’m never leaving you.”
“I hope you do,” my mother says brightly, now recovered from her crying. “I want you to get married and have your own family.”
“Let’s not go there.”
Aleska raises an eyebrow. “Trouble in Peyton Paradise again?”
“I’m going on vacation with him and Finn. Plus, with a dozen of our closest friends and his family.”
“Oooo,” they say together.
“That’s what I thought.” Until I found out I really am not marriage material for any man looking to have biological children.
I thought this was difficult with Marko. It’s much worse with Peyton because I’m in love with him. I convinced myself that my heart defect wasn’t going to be an issue. Aleska doesn’t have it, so I decided I was a one-off in our family.
Maybe after he spends a few days with me on vacation, our appeal as a couple will lose its luster and he’ll want to go back to the freedom of being single.
At least I’ll have Pickwick and Harmony!
Talia
“JESUS, WHAT FRESH HELL is this?” Peyton looks at the black coach bus taking up half of Swill’s parking lot. The purple lettering painted across the side of the bus says PARTY!
Jess hired a bus company to take all the families down to Cape May, New Jersey, for our beach vacation. She thought the idea of having all the babies and children enclosed in one space would make it easier for the adults. It’s obvious she’s a new mother and has had no experience with children.
I plunk down my suitcase next to his. “It will be fun. It’s a party bus.”
Everyone is pulling luggage and pool toys out of their vehicles. The large bus looms over them with a deceptively sinister aura, like it’s waiting to swallow little kids whole. Something is off.
Peyton cocks an eyebrow with his smirk. “Seriously? Do you have any idea who rents these things?”
“I did!” Jess exclaims as she drags a suitcase by us. “Isn’t it great! The kids are going to have a blast on the way down to the shore.”
Carson follows close behind her with Scotty on his hip and another suitcase in hand. He shakes his head at Peyton. “Don’t say anything. This stuff is all new to her. God, I just hope the inside has been bleached,” he says grimly, catching up to his wife.
“What’s the big deal?” I ask Peyton.
“Guys tend to rent these buses and … you know.”
“I don’t know. It’s a kiddie bus. For birthday parties.”
“No, I don’t think this is that kind of bus.”
Harmony’s Mercedes pulls into the lot and parks next to us. When she steps out of the car, she studies the enormous bus with a frown.
Finn, with wide eyes and a big grin, jumps out of the car and runs to us.
“Hey, buddy.” Peyton slaps him into a big hug.
“Do you think we’ll get to swim in the ocean today?” Finn asks.
“We’ll see. It depends on traffic and how long it takes to get there. We can still take a walk on the beach, even if it’s night.”
Harmony retrieves Finn’s suitcase from the trunk and, still eyeing the bus warily, walks over to us with dismay. “That thing is huge.”
“Hi, Harmony!” I say brightly. We’re business partners now, so I feel I can say hello without cowering.
“Hello.” Harmony gives me the slightest smile, a tidbit really, but I’m grateful to have anything from her. She’s a tough woman, but I’m determined to have her like me as more than a business partner. “Will you make sure Finn puts on sunscreen and reapplies it several times a day?” She addresses this to me rather than Peyton, and it gives me a lift. She trusts me. She wouldn’t go into business with me if she didn’t. But trusting me with Finn is a whole other level.
“Yes, I will.”
“I’ll stay on top of the sunscreen.” Peyton says.
“I think Talia will do a better job of it,” Harmony says. Then she gives Finn a hug goodbye. “No offense, Peyton, but I don’t see you as the type to keep track of the time and when to reapply.”
“It’s sunscreen. We have to track the time?” Peyton asks.
“I’ll do it,” I reassure her.
“That’s certainly some bus. You have fun,” Harmony says to Finn. “Listen to your father and Talia. No swimming alone, got it?”
“I know, I know. Can I go check out the bus now?”
“Yes,” she says, and Finn takes off running. “Have fun!” Harmony shouts after him.
Dylan catches Finn and wrestles with him, pretending to stash him with the luggage below the bus, and then they disappear into the bus and we hear Dylan’s outrageous laughter.
“Do I want to know what’s inside there?” Harmony asks.
“Probably not,” Peyton replies.
“We’ll take good care of Finn,” I say, eager to please her.
I’m thrilled I’m going on this trip with Peyton. Last night, I woke up on his bed when he came in late from the restaurant. I was fully clothed, waiting up for him while I dozed off. I turned on the bedside lamp, and when he came through the bedroom door, his smile upon seeing me waiting for him made me melt.
He sat on the side of the bed, took me in his arms, and kissed me like he hadn’t seen me in years, when in fact we had only been separated for a few hours. The moment overwhelmed me. I am deeply in love with this man, and his look of gratitude and relief at seeing me made everything right. This may not end up the way I want, but at least I’m no longer afraid to try.
I woke up this morning wrapped in Peyton’s arms. He was dead tired after only three hours of sleep, and we were still dressed in our clothes from the night before. The last thing I remember was being snuggled in his embrace as he murmured, “Let it be like this forever. It’s perfect.”
After Harmony drives away and we help stow the rest of the luggage for Greer and the twins and help Leo and Lauren squeeze in folded playpens and strollers, Peyton and I board the bus.
First, I’m assaulted by a freezing cold breeze, giving me goosebumps. The air conditioning must be set at Antarctic levels. And it’s fairly dark inside. A glitter disco ball is mounted on the ceiling, spinning, creating swirls of white orbs flashing across everyone’s face. But it’s the two shiny, chrome poles in the center of the bus that startle me. The poles are the stage.
“Are those …?”
“Yes,” Peyton answers me without missing a beat.
Imogene is laughing and wrangling kids onto the leather seats that flank the sides of the bus.
“Isn’t this great?” Jess says gleefully. “They have fireman poles so the kids can slide down them!”
Finn takes that moment to show off to his younger cousins. He climbs one of the poles with ease, then slides down, landing on his rear and laughing.
Peyton watches his son, speechless.
“Jess.” I begin laughing. “Those are stripper poles.”
“What?” Her brow furrows, and she looks at me as if I’m speaking another language. Then she turns and looks back at the poles. The disco ball is spinning wildly, emitting splashes of neon light. Her smile fades. “Oh my God! I hired a stripper bus. No wonder it was cheaper and available on such short notice!”
“It’s okay, honey,” Imogene says. “A bus is a bus. It will get us where we’re going.”
“I can’t believe my son has gone up and down that stripper pole at least ten times now, and I’m just standing here, watching him do it,” Peyton says.
“We don’t want to ruin the kids’ fun,” Lauren adds.
“Who knows what’s on those poles and the seats?” Peyton mumbles.
I can’t contain my laughter.
“Oh, gross!” Jess squeals. “Carson! Carson, quick, throw me the box of wipes by my purse!”
Carson, with his baby
strapped to his chest, locates the deluxe box of wipes and launches it at Jess. She catches it. Then, like a crazed, overprotective mother, she begins wiping down every surface, starting with the stripper poles. Then she scrubs down all the kids who touched said poles.
“Hello, everyone!” The bus driver steps out from the flimsy door that leads to his driver’s seat cockpit. He has a big smile plastered on his face, most likely hoping Jess doesn’t scream at him.
“Hi!” all the kids shout back.
“My name is Alejandro, and I will be your driver today! Welcome!” He begins passing out business cards. “Please, everyone, take one. Not only am I a driver, I’m also an ordained minister. I do a little of everything. I’m looking forward to this drive, too. After I drop you off in Cape May, I’m meeting my wife in Wildwood for some beach time, so let’s get this party started!”
The kids cheer, and Jess gives up on trying to sanitize everything and everyone.
“Hey, Alejandro, why is it so cold in here?” Carson asks. “Can you turn the A/C down a bit?”
“Okay, that’s a very good question,” Alejandro says, then holds up two fingers. “Here are the two problems with the bus. One, the air conditioner is broken and permanently running at high. This means we’ll be chilly and stopping for gas, maybe more than once. Two, the toilet is broken. With the kids, we may need to stop a few more times for bathrooms.”
“What?” Jess’s face begins to burn with the red flush of pissed-off-mother-on-a-stripper-bus. She’s holding up the box of wipes as if it’s a weapon she’s ready to use.
“It’s fine, babe,” Carson says, grabbing the box of wipes from her. “We’ll pull out some sweatshirts for the kids and crack some windows to let the heat in. And we’ll stop as much as we have to. There’s no rush. The kids love the bus. You did great. We’ll get to the hotel on time and safely, so just let this go.”
• • •
Two and a half hours later, we’re traveling down the Garden State Parkway in New Jersey. The novelty of the stripper poles has worn off, and now they stand empty, covered in grimy kiddie prints. The sound system craps out, and then Alejandro announces over the loudspeaker that the stereo is no longer functioning.