by Regina Doman
“Okay, so how did you survive in this house with three boys?” she said, hoping that didn’t sound sarcastic.
“Thank God for the outdoors,” Mrs. O’Donnell grinned at her.
“And there’s upstairs,” Alex said. “I’ll show her, Mom. C’mon.”
He pulled her past his dad, and Kateri was forced to sidle around him (Mr. O’Donnell was not a small person) to get through the kitchen and into the miniature hallway. Alex opened a door, revealing steps going upstairs.
“C’mon up.” He gave her a hand and pulled her up the steps, which were steep and led up to a large open attic room.
Here, at least there was no congestion. An Oriental paper screen muted the light from one of the far windows (“Blocks the view of the telephone wires,” Alex said). And there was no furniture. Instead, thick beige mats of springy hard foam, taped together with black duct tape, covered nearly every surface. The walls were pale yellow, and neatly ordered rows of hooks held staffs, rings, wooden swords, and other Oriental weapons.
“It’s our own dojo,” Alex waved his arms around. “Dad and I made it together. This is where we practice.”
“It’s neat,” Kateri breathed, giving the word its double meaning as she stepped out into the middle of the room, where the ceiling was the highest. Even with the slope of the roof, it still felt spacious. “But how can you do martial arts here? Don’t you hit your head on the ceiling all the time?”
Alex unconsciously rubbed his head. “You learn to be very, very careful. It’s actually been a wonderful discipline. I just repainted the ceiling, by the way. You won’t believe how torn up the plaster gets when you have three guys attacking each other with wooden swords in here.”
“I believe it,” Kateri said, looking up. “I’m surprised the light fixtures are intact.”
“Only sporadically,” Alex said. “But during your stay, this will be a place for rest, not war. Since we don’t have a guest bedroom, I thought you might find it easier to sleep up here.” He folded back the screen to reveal a cot bed, neatly covered with a red silk comforter embroidered with flowers. “It’s small, but it’ll get you out of the tumult.”
“Thank you,” Kateri said gratefully. She’d already pictured herself trying vainly to get to sleep in the jumbled downstairs living room. She couldn’t relax in disorder. “It’s wonderful.”
He winked at her. “Let me go and get your stuff.”
Kateri only survived for three hours in the O’Donnell’s house before she began to clean. It was a nearly obsessive itch that oppressed her. The younger boys were still out, so she and Alex and his parents enjoyed a leisurely dinner out on the screen porch (with flowers and votive candles floating in a glass bowl on the table, and Japanese tea served in an iron teapot at the end of the meal) during which Kateri managed to restrain herself from helping. But when the meal was over and Mr. O’Donnell rose, saying he’d better clean up, Kateri blurted out, “I’ll do the dishes!”
She attacked the kitchen with a fury, scrubbing and stacking and drying and putting away. It was all she could do to stop herself from cleaning out the refrigerator and re-organizing the cabinets. Alex, of course, was helping (after the table was cleared, Mr. O’Donnell had excused himself since there wasn’t room for three people to work in the kitchen). Observing her energetic activity, her boyfriend remarked, “Making space, are you?”
“I can’t imagine how you all live here.”
“Like Mom said, we have the outside.”
“Still!”
Shouts outdoors announced that the younger boys were home. They tore inside and pounded into the kitchen, then pulled to a halt to gape at her.
Alex intervened. “Ah. Here, Kateri, are the inhabitants of this house known collectively as the barbarian horde. As the Chinese treated the Mongolians, so we share the same territory, and attempt to control, educate, and eventually civilize, them.”
Kateri surveyed the two younger boys, who were stocky, with wild blond hair spiking in every direction, and whose sports shirts and khaki shorts and sneakers bore the marks of mud, sweat, and slight ice cream stains. “Better give up and build the Great Wall.”
The older one sputtered in laughter, and the younger one with big blue round eyes said, “Are you really from the Far East?”
“No,” she said with annoyance. “I’m from New Jersey.”
“Cool!” He had clearly been waiting to say the word, regardless of her answer. “Can you do martial arts?”
“No,” she said. “I just use clubs.”
“Cool!”
Alex said, “Kateri, meet Sam and David. David is the older one and Sam is the smaller one. You’ll quickly be able to distinguish them because David is funnier.”
“He is not!” Sam said.
“Funnier looking, he means,” David said.
“Ha ha.”
Alex added, “I should also mention that David is completely unprincipled, particularly when it comes to video games.”
“When it comes to video games,” David grinned, “what fourteen-year-old has principles?”
“Democracy does not produce morality,” Alex said. “Kateri, forewarned is forearmed.”
They forced her to leave off cleaning and come and play video games with them, and Kateri, remembering her manners, managed to play two hours of Super Mangan Brothers IX: Breakout of Jail with reasonable politeness. Mrs. O’Donnell sat on the couch, crocheting something long and multi-colored, and Mr. O’Donnell had vanished.
“Dad’s on his computer, as usual,” Alex said, noticing Kateri glancing around.
“What does he do?”
“In the evenings, software programming,” Alex said.
“Code name for hacking,” David put in.
“He’s not trying to do anything illegal,” Alex said, a little sharply.
“Just because the laws haven’t caught up with him yet,” David said. “Pow!
You’re dead, Kateri! Again. See what happens if you get distracted by talking?”
Distracted by talking, or even just thinking, Kateri said internally. Neither of which seems to be compatible with this game. With suppressed annoyance, she waited for her character, a bouncing pink fish, to attain enough Life-Force Energy to revive.
“If we had the new Super Mangan X game, you could blast right through that wall with the SuperM add-on blaster!” Sam said, apologetically. “We haven’t gotten that one yet. Yet! Right, Mom? We’ll get it soon.”
But Mrs. O’Donnell only looked worried, and Kateri gazed again at the door to the bedroom where Mr. O’Donnell had disappeared. What was he doing in there?
It occurred to Kateri that she hadn’t been shown the bedroom. That was normal. Many married couples didn’t put their bedrooms on display. But now his behavior during the house tour struck her as odd. Was Mr. O’Donnell trying to distract her from something very obvious, and very important? Why? Why was he afraid—?
Afraid. Kateri closed her eyes. That was what she had caught in Mr. O’Donnell’s eyes. Fear.
But of what?
So what’s going on?”
It was extremely late at night, but Kateri and Alex were still up and talking in the dojo. The O’Donnells were night owls, another contrast to Kateri’s early-rising family. The younger boys were still playing a video game, Mrs. O’Donnell had taken her crocheting to the bedroom to watch TV, and Mr. O’Donnell was apparently still on the computer. Kateri herself was tired, but she was also worried, and worry had a way of not letting her sleep.
“I wish I knew,” Alex said, sitting on the steps. “He won’t tell us anything.”
Alex had accompanied Kateri upstairs, but out of propriety, he was sitting on the steps. Since the dojo was now Kateri’s bedroom, both he and Kateri had agreed that it wouldn’t be a good example to the younger boys for them to hang out alone there together at night. The door to the downstairs was open, but the video game music obscured their conversation.
“So what did he say when the check s
howed up?”
Alex shrugged. “I didn’t tell him until it cleared. I actually almost forgot about it. Mom does the books. She saw the amount.”
Kateri, who was sitting on the bed, hugged her legs to herself and tried to imagine suddenly having a million dollars. What would that feel like?
“Yeah.” As usual, Alex seemed to read her thoughts. “It’s really a strange situation — having money, even if we’re not able to use it. There’re so many things we could do with it — well, you can see how we live.”
“What would you do with the money?” Kateri asked, trying to avoid the mystery neither could solve.
Alex inclined his head. “Ladies first. Tell me what you would do.”
Kateri shrugged. “Help my parents pay off the house, settle my student loan debts, donate large sums of money to the Church and the pro-life cause.”
“Yeah, pretty much the same for me.” He paused, and his green eyes looked distant. “Plus get a bigger house for the family. Get Mom some more physical therapy, maybe some of the treatments we can’t afford. Help Dad start another business. We’d probably lose all the money that way, but I know he hates the government contracting job he has now.”
Kateri nodded. She and Alex had that in common. They were religious, idealistic, and poor. She changed the subject. “Your mom is a real trooper with her illness.”
“Yeah, isn’t she great?” Alex spoke affectionately. “You know, she doesn’t care about not being able to afford therapy. I think she just offers everything up.
I know the disease is hard for her, but she keeps on trucking. And laughing. She can’t keep up with the house and with all of us, but she’s always finding something to smile about. Even before this happened.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Wow.” Kateri burrowed her chin into her hands and thought. Even though the disorder in the O’Donnell house was driving Kateri crazy, she really liked Mrs. O’Donnell. “I can see she has a tough time with the house. I can’t imagine. Do you think she would mind if I helped her out a bit? I don’t want to insult her…”
“Oh, even before she got sick, the house was never clean,” Alex said. “I guess none of us are very organized. But to answer your question, I bet she’d love it if you helped.” He looked at her shrewdly. “I can see the nervous twitch in your eyebrow, Kat.”
She rubbed her eyes. “What nervous twitch?”
“That itch you get when you want to declutter things. I saw it every time you looked into my dorm room. Well, you’d better suppress it. I bet you can’t wait to get your hands on this house and de-junk it. But you’d better not throw anything out. Both my parents are pretty sentimental about their stuff. And so am I. So lay off the downsizing mission.”
She gritted her teeth. How could Alex know her so well? “Forewarned is forearmed,” she said. “Fortunately for you, I grew up with nine messy brothers and sisters. Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t force people to be as neat as you want them to be.”
Alex chuckled. “Having seen the chaos inside the Kovach family farmhouse, I’m amazed that you’re still sane,” he remarked, getting to his feet. “Well, I’m glad we have at least one clean room in the house for you to sleep in.”
“You didn’t clean it up especially for me?” she looked around distrustfully.
“Oh, no. Well, I did send a couple dozen crates to the Lock N’Store down the street for your visit. I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in the same room as the rowing machine and the hanging loom.” He leaned over and kissed her, laughing at her expression. “See you in the morning.”
The problem was, she decided as she slid under the quilted, silk sleeping bag, she couldn’t tell if Alex was teasing her or not. And he knew it.
Even though Kateri was an early riser, Mr. O’Donnell was gone when she went downstairs in the morning. Alex had mentioned that his dad, like most commuters of Northern Virginia, rose earlier than farmers in order to beat the traffic into DC. The rest of the O’Donnells slept in, so Kateri went downstairs, made coffee, and, unable to control herself, started straightening up the silverware drawer.
She was trying to stack all the forks and spoons neatly in the dividers without making noise when she heard the squeak of crutches on wood. Looking up guiltily, she saw Mrs. O’Donnell wearing a pink floral housecoat and leaning on her crutches with a pleased expression on her face.
“Good morning! Kateri, I can’t tell you how nice it is to have another woman in the house. One who understands that forks and knives are utensils, not weapons.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Kateri murmured.
“I had to surrender control of my kitchen a long time ago, back when the MS first started.” Mrs. O’Donnell waved her hands. “Please. I would be delighted with anything you wanted to do. Poor Alan and Alex. They try so hard to keep things in order, but they just don’t have a woman’s eye for detail.”
Gratefully, Kateri removed three chopsticks from the pile of silverware on the counter and tucked them into the side of the drawer. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, my dear, allow me. Oh, this is fresh! Did you make it? Alan must have been preoccupied this morning. He usually starts it.” One bound with her crutches had landed Mrs. O’Donnell beside the counter where she started pulling mugs out of the tiny dishwasher. “Do you take milk? Sugar?”
“Both, thanks.”
They chatted comfortably until Alex got up, already dressed with his long black hair in his usual ponytail. He kissed each of them. “Eggs, anyone? Mom, did you want a muffin?”
“That would be wonderful,” his mother handed Kateri her coffee, and then sank into the one chair in the kitchen that had nothing stacked on it. Alex toasted his mother’s muffin, and set it on the windowsill beside her, then turned to the stove to make eggs.
I like that he takes care of her, Kateri thought before she could catch herself.
That’s a good sign. She growled inwardly. Why was she still scrutinizing Alex as a potential marriage partner, even as she was steeling herself to break up with him? Nevertheless, it was interesting to see this side of him.
He shook his head at Kateri, who was pulling matchbox cars out of the utensil drawer. “I warned you expressly and in great detail about cleaning,” he murmured.
“I’m just curious to see what else you have in here,” she said, pulling out directions for Yahtzee, a plastic mouse, and six screws.
“CKTC,” he sighed.
Alex was happy. Despite his rebuke to Kateri, despite his worry about his father, and despite the Mystery Money, the fact was that Kateri was here. And so far she hadn’t exploded, and the house hadn’t blown up. In fact, Kateri almost seemed to like it here. Perhaps he was being optimistic. But when he had been awakened by the sound of her voice conversing with his mother’s in the kitchen, it had sounded so completely natural, as though the two women had been fated to be friends from time immemorial. And he had felt as though the two halves of his world were converging as smoothly as yin and yang.
It had propelled him out of bed a full half hour earlier than usual. Regardless of what happened with Dad and with the money, if Kateri could get along with his mother, life was bliss.
Breakfast was a cheerful affair. His mother and Kateri had seemed to have agreed that the topic between them was going to be the kitchen. Kateri was admiring the furniture, cups, and plates his mom had painted. (During the course of her illness, Alex’s mom had covered just about every wooden and pottery surface with flowers and designs, bringing brisk business to both the ceramics and unfinished wooden furniture stores in town). His mom was saying that she really wanted to sort through the crowded shelves of cups and get rid of the sports mugs and joke mugs among them. “The problem is, there are mugs all over the house.”
“You’re not getting rid of my Ninja Monkey mug,” Alex warned her, finishing his eggs. “Paul Fester gave that to me. And the Mercy College beer steins have got to stay.”
Both women glanced at each oth
er, and Alex knew that behind-the-scene negotiations had already commenced. “All right, I’ll get the mail,” he said, ducking out.
The younger boys derailed the kitchen summit when they woke up and actually wanted to use the kitchen for eating. Kateri furnished them with bowls of cereal and Mom sent them out to the porch to eat. Alex turned on the television and caught up with the latest inside-the-Beltway news. The younger boys ate fast, and perhaps sensing that they were going to be pressed into service, dashed outside as soon as they finished.
At last his mom came into the living room and settled herself in her usual spot on the couch with a sigh, looking tired but happy.
“I’ll just go through the lower cabinets and bring out anything that doesn’t match for you to make a decision on,” Kateri said from the doorway. She was wearing his mother’s blue apron with the pink roses and looked all mission-oriented. He was used to seeing that expression on her face when she was organizing a massive pro-life protest.
“Wonderful, Kateri. That sounds wonderful,” his mom replied.
Alex decided that if his mother was going to back up Kateri in her campaign, he was going to surrender to the inevitable, like any wise general.
Link, the orange-tortoiseshell cat, who had been hiding under his parents’ bed since Kateri arrived, came out purring, and leapt up into Alex’s lap to have her long black-and-orange fur stroked.
“All’s right with the world,” Alex said, and the cat seemed to agree.
“Did you get the mail?” his mom asked, picking up her crochet needle.
“Right here,” Alex said, picking up the sheaf from the end table. “Do you want it?”
“Just the newspaper. Can you sort through the mail for me? Thanks!”
Whistling, Alex sifted through the mail, and slathered a large portion of it into the trashcan. “All that’s left is the phone bill, cable bill, garbage collection bill, and one actual letter.” He held up the last for his mother to see.
