by Kelly Harms
“Pork chops,” he says again.
Janey tips her head back in frustration. “You can have pork chops any time. What would be the fancy meal? You know, something truly special.”
J.J. thinks for a moment, and then replies, “Fancy pork chops? Pork chops in fancy sauce?”
Janey growls. “I can’t just invite a person over for pork chops. It’s too simple.”
Aunt Midge sets down her fork with a clatter. “Maybe you are making this too complicated, Janey. If the men want pork chops, give them pork chops. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, and applesauce. That’s what Albert liked to eat.” She smiles as she invokes the memory, and I imagine what life must have been like around Aunt Midge’s table back then. There would have been lots of music, I’m sure, and laughing and raunchy jokes. She and Albert would probably gobble down their pork chops by candlelight and then push back the dining room table so there was enough room to dance.
“I miss Albert,” I say, and then immediately feel idiotic. I’ve never met the man, never will.
But Aunt Midge just smiles and nods. “Me too. He was a great guy. He would have gotten quite the kick out of you, Nean. He loved a good story.”
My stomach lurches for a moment, and I look from Aunt Midge to Janey, hoping she doesn’t catch Aunt Midge’s insinuation. Her face remains blank, but J.J. looks at me quizzically over the table and frowns. He has been urging me to be more honest with Janey, but he has no idea about the whole bullshit story that got me into this house in the first place, and I have absolutely no intention of telling him. What would be the point? He’d dump me in a heartbeat, but it wouldn’t undo the lies I’ve told to Janey. Nothing can fix that at this point.
“Janey,” I say slowly, trying to think of what to say while I’m talking. “Did you ever meet Albert?”
She smiles. “When I was very little, yes, but I hardly remember him now. All of my memories of him are re-created from photos Aunt Midge used to keep around the house. But my mom talked about him all the time. He was kind of a father figure to her. He taught her how to drive, and he did quite a job. She was notorious for her penchant for speed.”
“He taught me how to drive too,” pipes in Aunt Midge, her voice dreamy. “But most of our lessons ended up cut short by a detour to the nearest lovers’ lane. Oh, that Oldsmobile he drove. Such a spacious backseat.”
J.J. has just gotten a mouthful of red wine when she says this, and he snorts and starts coughing. “That explains so much,” he says, when his airway is clear. “Obviously you never made it to the part of the lessons that covered turn signals.”
Janey sets down her wineglass with a thud. “How does J.J. know you don’t use turn signals?” she asks imperiously. “You haven’t had a driver’s license as far as I know the entire time you’ve been in Maine.”
Uh-oh. Cornered, Aunt Midge sticks out her chin and says, “I am trying to stay in practice, not that it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do.”
“Nean, are you giving her the car keys?” Janey demands. I color, knowing I’m in deep doo-doo.
“Well…” Surely Janey has tried to resist the persuasive wiles of Aunt Midge before. She must understand what I’m up against.
Janey smacks the table with both hands, sending the silverware clattering. “What are you thinking? She’s an old woman with failing eyesight who lost her license nearly a year ago. She’s going to be eighty-nine years old in a month, for God’s sake.”
“I’m sitting right here,” says Aunt Midge, voice shrill. “I know you think I’ve got one foot in the grave, but you don’t have to talk about me like I’m already gone.”
Janey turns to her, softening, and puts a hand over one of hers, the smooth and the wrinkled in a little pile together. “I’m sorry, Aunt Midge. I don’t think you have one foot in the grave. But you just should not be driving. It’s too dangerous. And Nean is an idiot for letting you have the keys.”
“I was always right there with her,” I protest. “I didn’t just send her into town for a gallon of milk or something.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” says Janey. She makes a face like she just drank a glass of vinegar. “Your irresponsibility never ceases to amaze me.”
“My irresponsibility?” I gesture at Aunt Midge. “She’s a grown woman who knows her own mind. She is responsible for her own actions. Besides, you try saying no to her.”
“That’s right,” chirps Aunt Midge. “I’m not a child and you can’t try to control my every move.”
“You are acting like a child,” Janey says. “With your bratty behavior.”
“Oh, why don’t you lay off and mind your own beeswax,” Aunt Midge cries. “I’m not some decrepit old bag waiting for death to come and take me home. I’m fit as a fiddle and I have eyes like a hawk. If I want to drive a perfectly safe automobile along some old country roads with not another human in sight for miles, I will, and you can’t stop me.” Now she truly does sound like a child. A child with a nineteen-twenties vocabulary, but still.
“I can stop you, and I will. Nean, your car privileges have been revoked.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say. “Are you going to dock my allowance too?” I throw my napkin onto the table and stand up. “Aunt Midge, don’t let her talk to you like this. You are a capable person and she’s not the boss of you.” I don’t know why I’m saying this—I know in my heart that Janey’s right—it isn’t safe for Aunt Midge to drive anymore and it was stupid of me ever to let her. But I can’t bear to agree with Janey now that she’s being such a pain in my ass.
Aunt Midge rises too. “You sit down,” she says to me, pointing a shaky distraught finger at my chest. “I am storming off right now, and you’ll just have to wait until I’m done.” She pushes back her chair and does her best to dramatically sweep out of the room even at her usual snail’s pace. “Harrumph!” she says. “Phooey to all of you.” Then she disappears from the kitchen.
I sit there, dead silent, while I wait for Aunt Midge to get her head start. When I hear the poolside door open and shut with a hard slam, I get back up and say, “J.J., are you coming with me?”
He has a mouthful of fried oyster and looks a little sad at the thought of leaving the grub behind, but he shrugs and stands up slowly. “Janey?” he asks, after he swallows.
“It’s fine,” she says, quietly shaking her head at the table still groaning with food.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” he says, a little hesitant. “I liked the third wine best, if it’s any help.”
“It is,” she says sadly. He grabs one more oyster and pops it into his mouth.
“Remember what I said about pork chops.” He comes around to me and takes my hand and we walk up the stairs to my bedroom together.
“See why I can’t tell her anything?” I say the moment we’re in the room with the door closed, jumping on the opportunity to justify myself to J.J.
“I guess,” he says with a shrug. “Hey, where’s Janey going?” He moves to the window but can’t seem to get a look at what he’s after.
“What do you mean?”
“I just heard a car starting. Is Janey going into town? It’s almost nine on a Tuesday, everything will be closed.”
“That’s weird,” I say, until I realize it’s not weird at all. “Shit, it’s Aunt Midge!” I throw open the door and start galloping down the stairs. “There’s no way she can drive at night. What is she thinking?”
Sure enough, Janey is standing at the front window peering out at the pair of headlights we now both see backing out of the driveway. “God dammit!” I hear her cry, and she throws open the door nearly hitting me square in the face. “What is it with this family and stealing cars!?” I file that away to analyze in a more leisurely moment and go running after her onto the driveway. I am barefoot, and the driveway rocks cut my feet, just as they did that very first night when I tried to make a break for it in the U-Haul. I think of how dark and unfamiliar the roads were that night, how there wasn’t a singl
e streetlight or road sign, and how quickly I became lost. Aunt Midge should know the roads better from all the times she’s driven with me to the shelter, but the way she steers.… I shake my head, images of our wild rides into town flashing before me. Janey, running flat out, nearly catches up to the Subaru when it gets to the road, but then has to back away when Aunt Midge throws the thing around the corner wildly and then guns the engine down the street, leaving in a squeal of tires like she’s Vin Diesel. I catch up to Janey just in time to watch the taillights disappear into the darkness. The expression on her face is heartbreaking. I know mine is the same.
“Is this what you felt like when you saw me make off with the U-Haul?” I ask her quietly, putting my hand softly on her back as she leans over to get a breath.
“Pretty much,” she says.
“I’m sorry I gave you the bird.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice is utterly defeated. I could shoot myself for not taking her side with Aunt Midge. “Is it okay if I call the police? I mean, you better lay low if they come over…”
“God yes! You call them; J.J. and I will go out in his truck and look for her. Don’t worry.” Don’t worry? What a freaking ridiculous thing to say. But what else is there? Oh, yeah. “I’m really sorry.”
Before she can tell me to go to hell, I turn and run back to the house and tell J.J. to go for the truck. I’ve never in my life been so glad to see a man run as fast as he can away from me.
* * *
In J.J.’s truck we are silent. We have driven the obvious roads twice now, and there is no sign of Aunt Midge. We should have found her by now—it’s been nearly an hour. I am crying a little bit, since I know this is all my fault. J.J. is on edge, surely thinking this is all my fault too. We start to bicker, first over where we should be looking, then over the manner in which we look.
“We should head toward town,” J.J. says. “She could have gotten a long way before we got on the road. If she’s in a ditch we’re not necessarily going to find her just driving around the cape. We probably won’t even find her ’til morning.”
“She’s not in a ditch,” I say, frantic. “She’s probably just parked in some dead end looking at the stars or something.” I’m not sure I actually think that, or just want to. It is what I would have done if I’d been in her shoes. The moon is a little sliver tonight and the stars are bursting with light in every direction. “In which case she probably cut the lights and the only way we’re going to find her is if we slow down and check every private drive.”
J.J. grumbles as he turns into a little side road, one I know we’ve walked down hand in hand not very long ago. “What is that batty old lady thinking? Doesn’t she know what she’s putting us through?”
I bristle in defense of Aunt Midge. “But can you blame her? Wouldn’t you get sick of Janey being on your case all the time too?”
“Not sick enough to worry everyone like this,” he mutters. “Besides, Janey is right. She uses a magnifying glass to read Us Weekly. Why on earth would she think she can still drive?”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t see far away just fine,” I say.
“Oh please. The woman thought I was a serial killer from ten feet away. Me!” It’s true. There’s no missing his bright, friendly good looks—even miserable and stressed, he looks like a choir boy. “She’s as blind as a bat.”
Of course he’s right, but I feel guilty enough as it is. I try to lighten the mood. “Bats are terrific navigators.”
“Stop it.” His voice is cold and for the first time since meeting him I feel scared. “Just stop talking.” He stomps on the brake in the middle of the road, making me rocket back in my seat, then throws the truck into a three point turn. “We’re going into town,” he says. “If she’s still out here, hopefully she’ll stay in the car until someone comes along.”
I think of her stuck out alone in the dark, dark night, and my fear grows higher. “What if she was hurt?” I ask, my voice shrill. “What if she got into an accident and needs our help? What if she got lost, or drove off the road, or hit a deer?” I feel my armpits dampen as I start contemplating all the things that could go wrong. In my hands the fabric of my dress is wadded tightly and I feel helpless to let go. I can’t think of the last time I’ve felt so guilty and afraid.
J.J. doesn’t say anything at all—no comfort, no soothing, no promises. But his hands clench tighter around the steering wheel; I see his knuckles bulging like the blood inside is having trouble working through the veins. After nearly a mile of silence, he speaks quietly. “You should have thought of that before you let her drive all the time.”
His words don’t hurt. They are what I’m thinking anyway. I am just surprised he’s mad enough to say them.
We drive in miserable silence for ten minutes, while we make our way up the familiar road to Damariscotta. I have no idea where we’re going, but I’ve also lost any understanding of where we should look. Please let her be fine, I find myself praying. Please.
After a while J.J. lets go of the steering wheel with his right hand and moves it to my knee, where he gives me a little squeeze. “Hey, I’m sorry I said that, before. This isn’t your fault. She is a grown woman, just like you said at dinner. And I know you love her and would never want her to get hurt.”
I don’t speak, afraid I might go from quiet weeping to a full-on snot-fest. I don’t bawl very often, but when I do it’s like something out of The Exorcist. But then I look over and see J.J.’s eyes are shiny too, and he’s making a face like he’s about to sneeze. I know that face. It’s the “I’m trying to shut down my tear ducts” face, and it never works.
“Are you crying?” I ask him, my voice a little squeaky.
“Obviously not,” he says, but speaking makes him relax his face and two teardrops come rushing down his right cheek.
“Why are you crying?” I demand. “You didn’t say anything I wasn’t already thinking.”
He clears his throat. “It’s not that. It’s…” his voice trails off and he squints into the dark like he can see into the future. “I’m just frustrated, okay? I know I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. You’re upset too. I should be there for you right now.”
I sigh in frustration. “Relax, okay?” I say. It’s not that I don’t appreciate his sentiment. It’s just that it’s me who should be feeling bad right now. Me who should be feeling guilty.
J.J. sniffs and nods, and then yanks his hand off my leg and jerks the steering wheel to make a hard left into Little Pond. “I know where we should look,” he says. He pulls up to the tiny little downtown area, a four-way stop, and points around at every corner.
“Bar,” he says, pointing to the left. Then he moves his hand clockwise. “Bar, bar, bar. Don’t tell me this isn’t where you would go if you were feeling downtrodden.”
“I would go to you,” I say, with a hint of a smile, meaning it. “But Aunt Midge would go to a bar.”
“Right? Let’s hope she made it this far,” he says, and then pulls into one of the bar parking lots. No sign of Janey’s Subaru there. He cuts across the street to the next lot. Nothing.
But in the third lot we hit pay dirt. The little blue car, not parked so much as stopped suddenly in the middle of three spaces, hazard lights on. I look at J.J. and he looks back at me with a huge grin on his face. “Thank God.”
I exhale in a whoosh. “We were worried over nothing.”
“Not nothing,” he says, gesturing to the front bumper of the car. Sure enough, it’s got an inexplicable dent in it, right in the middle, about the size of a basketball. “That’s new.”
I shake my head, relief and exasperation fogging me up. “Sure is.” I unbuckle my seat belt and start to get out of J.J.’s truck when he grabs my shoulder and says, “Wait.”
“Wait what?” I ask, eager to get Aunt Midge home where the three of us can yell at her together.
“She’s fine. She’s in there having a beer with Nancy and bitching about how we treat her like a child. And pr
obably trying to get the number of an all-night body shop. Leave her be for a second.”
“But Janey will be in a white-hot panic.”
“I’ll text her,” he says, his thumbs already working the keys. When he’s done, he puts his phone away and parks properly in the back of the lot, where we can see the door of the bar and the Subaru at the same time. I sit tight as he hops out of the truck, opens the door of Janey’s car, turns off the hazard lights, and slams the door. Then, quite stealthily, he goes to a side window of the bar and peers in for a moment. I see him turn back toward me and give me a big thumbs-up in the gray light of the parking lot, then he jogs back to the truck. When he’s back inside, he tugs me toward him. “C’mere.”
I scoot across the truck cab so I’m snuggled into his arms and the two of us stare out the windshield for a second, as if Aunt Midge could make her getaway at any moment. Then J.J. says, “I have to talk to you.”
My stomach plummets. The wash of relief at finding Aunt Midge is instantly replaced by the terror that phrase strikes. “Oh?” I say, wondering how long I can keep him from saying what it is he needs to say. “Would you rather talk, or…” I run my hand up his legs, feeling the rough denim against my sweaty palm and hoping the sensation feels more enticing to him than it does me.
He stills my hand. “Talk,” he says, and rearranges us so I face him, my knees up on the bench, our shoulders squared to each other. “I want to talk about what’s going to happen this fall.”
I am expecting bad news, but this particular lead-in has me stumped. Am I about to discover that our relationship, like Noah’s tomato selection, is seasonal? “Um, you mean like, how the trees are going to shed their leaves and the days get shorter?”
“No.” He holds both my hands in both of his and I reel. “I mean like, when I go back to school for my senior year. I’m in college, Nean.”
I start. “What?”
“I go to Dartmouth, in Hanover.”
“Dartmouth?” I gasp. My eyes narrow. “You go to Dartmouth?”
