Be Sweet

by Diann Hunt

  “Good morning, Mom. Good to see you too,” I say, closing the door behind her.

  A blur of white whips past me. Say what you will about my mother, there is no denying she has a great head of hair.

  She drops her purse by the sofa. Pulling herself up to her full four-foot-eleven-inch frame she turns and faces me, all twigs and skin. “You didn’t answer my question. And why weren’t you in church this morn-ing?” Bony fists settle on her hips like a gun belt. I believe Mom was the secret to my father’s pastoral success for forty-two years. I’ve seen her on more than one occasion yank a sinner by the ear and drag him to the altar. Once her pale blue eyes lock on you, there’s no use fighting it. She will win.

  “Well? When did you get here?” Her toe is tapping now.

  I sigh. “Yesterday.”

  Her mouth drops. “And why didn’t you call or come over?”

  “I was tired, Mom. I knew I could see you today.”

  “You didn’t even come to church, Charlene Haverford. We needed help in the kids department.” She makes that last statement as though it’s my fault. Her eyebrows take a sharp dip south, and her lips pucker like a bad seam. “We’ve taught you better than that.”

  “I’ll tell Saint Peter at the pearly gates that it’s totally my fault.”

  “Oh, that’s right, make light of the Gospel.”

  “I’m not trying to do that, Mom—”

  “Everything is a joke to you, Charlene. A party.”

  “Not true. I’m not exactly having fun at this moment.”

  She stabs a pointed stare straight through me. We both know joking isn’t the only thing she has against me.

  “Sorry.” Why is it that at the age of forty-seven I’m reduced to a five-year-old when my mother’s around?

  “You know what I always say—”

  It takes everything in me to keep my eyeballs from rolling back in my head. I recite the words with her in my mind, but dare not move my lips.

  “There’s a time to joke and a time to listen.”

  I could be wrong, but I think I learned to quote that before my first Bible verse. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I try to say with an appropriate amount of contrition. “Did Janni tell you I was here?” The little snitch. No won-der Mom favors her.

  “No. I ran into Gail Campbell.”

  “She goes to church?”

  “Now, don’t you get ugly, Charlene Marybelle.”

  Okay, the fact that she gave me the middle name of Marybelle should tell you something about my mother. Number one, that she’s terrible with names. Number two, she flunked all the “which one does not belong here” questions in school.

  “You have to admit her tongue drips more than maple trees at sap time,” I say, laughing at my clever self as I edge over to the sofa.

  Mom sucks in air. “I will admit no such thing, young lady. You know my motto, if you don’t have something nice to say—”

  “Come sit by me?”

  Mom blinks. I’m trying to make her laugh, but it’s not happening. “You know, if you don’t have something nice to say, come sit by me.” I’m laughing, hoping to set the example. Mom’s expression is totally snatching my joy. “It’s a joke, Mom.”

  “Well, you can make fun all you want. But it’s still true. If you don’t have something nice to say about someone, you shouldn’t say anything at all. You need to learn to control that tongue of yours.”

  Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black. I’m not sure where I got my sense of humor, but I can tell you right here and right now it was not from my mother. I sink down into the sofa. And I do mean sink—as in, if I slip under the cushion, they may never find me again. Which, at this moment, might be a good thing.

  “Hey, everybody, we’re home,” Janni says, entering through the back door and into the living room. “Hi, Mom.” She grins and tosses me a wink.

  The least she could do is help me off of this sofa. With a grunt, I try to heave upward, but it’s like climbing the Alps. Maybe I should yodel. That would get their attention.

  “Why didn’t you tell me your sister was in town?” Mom snaps.

  “She hasn’t been in town long.” The sound of hanger wire scraping against a metal pole muffles Janni’s words as she hangs their coats in the hall closet. “You and Dad want to join us for lunch, Mom?”

  Oh, yoo-hoo. Anybody notice I’m struggling to get off this sofa? Can we say Venus flytrap? Wait. Did someone say “Feed Me”? I’m almost sure I heard that coming from somewhere beneath the cushions. This is Stephen King material, literally, and I want out of here.

  “No. We have plans after lunch. The Hillarys are celebrating their fiftieth anniversary. Their daughters are throwing a big party for them.” She stares pointedly at Janni and then at me.

  My arms and legs flail about as I fight for my life from the bowels of the sofa.

  “What are you doing, Charlene Marybelle?” Mom asks, staring at me for only a fraction of a second before she turns back to Janni.

  “How nice for the Hillarys,” Janni says to Mom before discreetly tossing a wink my way. “They’re your neighbors, right?”

  Janni’s comment catches Mom off guard. “Well, of course they are.”

  At last, with one final exertive push, I roll myself out of the sofa and dump onto the floor with a loud thud.

  Janni and Mom look at me.

  “For goodness’ sakes, Charlene Marybelle, what are you doing down there?” Mom asks.

  Thanks for caring. “Looking for coins?”

  Janni walks over and puts her arm around Mom. “Well, if you want to come over for coffee and dessert later, we’ll save you some. It’s your favorite, chocolate éclair.”

  Mom’s shoulders relax. She bites her lower lip. “Oh, dear. That is my favorite. Well, we’ll see what your dad wants to do.” She perks a bit. “I’ve made maple chicken for lunch, but save me a bite of dessert.”

  Janni can calm Mom down as fast as I get her stirred up. Mom and I are as different as maple and sludge. ’Course, my opinion of which one of us is sludge would no doubt differ from her point of view. But then we’ve never agreed on anything.

  “Okay, will do.” Janni walks Mom toward the door while I heave my stiff self up from the floor and brush myself off. I twist my head from side to side to kick up a little blood flow and oxygen to my starving brain cells.

  Mom turns and walks over to Wiggles’s cage. “Hi, little fella, how are you?” she coos, poking her fingers through the slits in the cage to scratch Wiggles’s belly that is now shamelessly exposed. My jaw practically drops off its hinges, and I’m almost sure Wiggles sneers at me. The little rat.

  “Don’t forget the dessert, Janni.” Mom calls out before turning an expression of reprimand my way. “Char, you behave yourself.” She steps through the door and yanks it shut.

  I look at Janni. “I told you that you’re her favorite.”

  “I ’m stuffed,” I say as Janni and I waddle into the living room. “What was that again?”

  “Enchilada casserole. I picked up the recipe from a cooking magazine.”

  Not quite the cuisine I’m used to, but hers is, after all, homemade. I nod. “You know, I still can’t believe the way you handled Mom, and she totally listened to you. You’ve always had a way with her.” I step over to the oak rocker and sit down. If I try that couch again, they might not dig me out ’til Thanksgiving. “Mom always did like you best.”

  She looks at me point-blank. “Thank you, Tommy Smothers.”

  “Well, it’s true.” Kicking off my shoes, I settle onto the rocking chair and start, well, rocking.

  “Yeah, right. You’re simply the”—she gestures quotes with her fingers —“ambitious daughter who’s made a lucrative living out East,” Janni says with a touch of sarcasm. “Besides, you know as well as I do that sometimes she listens. Sometimes not.”

  The dark circles beneath Janni’s eyes make me wonder if she’s rest-ing well at night.

  “That’s true.”


  “Mom has been acting a little strange lately,” Janni says, settling onto the sofa. She yawns and pulls an afghan over her as though she plans to take a nap. I make a mental note to time her when she tries to escape the cushions.

  “How so?”

  “Well, I’m not quite sure what it is. Kind of secretive. She never travels the same way twice, almost like she’s hiding from someone.”

  “I knew it. Mom’s past is finally catching up with her. She’s an AWOL Marine sergeant. I’ve always known that.”

  Janni giggles. “You’re awful.”

  “I know. It’s what I do best.”

  “I think she’s a little disoriented from the move and everything.” Daniel plops down beside Janni and stretches out his arm behind her. His thighs are slowly disappearing into the cushions. I’ll have to remember to sit there if Russ comes back for a visit.

  “Well, no doubt living in a condo is a little different than being on this farm where they’ve lived most of their lives,” I say, eyes still on the sofa, hand within grabbing distance of the phone in case I need to call 911.

  “At least they know they can come here anytime they want.”

  I nod. “That would help ease the loss.” After taking a drink of iced tea, I put my glass on the coaster next to the phone on the stand. “So how did dinner go with Russ?”

  “He was real disappointed you didn’t stay,” Daniel says.

  “Danny, behave yourself.” My sister turns to me. “We had a nice dinner. He caught us up on how his parents are getting along, shared a little about his travels in the military, that kind of thing.”

  “Did you guys round up any more help for the syrup?”

  “Nothing definite yet. But I think we’ll be okay. We have Daniel—”

  “In the evenings, after work,” I interject.

  “Well, we have the boys—”

  “Who won’t be here until spring break and then only for a week.”

  Janni frowns, hesitates, and then brightens. “There’s always you and me—”

  “And we’ll be working in the kitchen to take food out to the workers.”

  “What are you, the voice of doom and gloom?”

  “I try.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Oh, and we have a kid from Tappery’s General Store who wants to earn some extra money. Said he might be able to help us—”

  “Also over spring break.”

  “And don’t forget Mom and Dad,” Daniel says. “When they’re up to it.”

  “Okay, let me see if I have this straight. We’ve got a part-time man, two part-time teenagers, one possibility, two retirees, and two kitchen helpers with no full-time crew to feed?”

  Janni rubs her jaw and makes a face. “I see your point.”

  “Well, the good news is most of the workers you have lined up know the business, so we’ll get the job done.” My voice is upbeat and encouraging, but I have to wonder how we’re going to pull this off. It’s a skeleton crew for sure. Speaking of skeletons, I wonder if there are any lurking between those sofa cushions.

  “We can handle it. Fifteen acres, about three hundred fifty taps, we’ll get by.” Daniel smiles, he and Janni completely lapless as they sink further into the sofa. It could be one of those Narnia things. Instead of a wardrobe, they have the sofa where you sit down and slip into another world. If he disappears, I’m so not doing double duty on the maple trees.

  “Okay, let’s think this through. We need someone to drive the truck while others empty the bags of syrup into the pan on the back of the truck bed.”

  “Yeah, then the real work begins down at the Sugar Shack.” Janni shakes her head. “Now I’m beginning to wonder how we’ll get it done.”

  “We really need to work in shifts when things start buzzing. Once that syrup is ready, it’s ready,” Daniel says, heaving himself partially up, thereby bringing his thighs back into the light of day. He brushes some dirt from his boots and leaves debris on the floor. No wonder they have carpet issues.

  “We’ll figure out something.” No need to tell her I have major doubts. “You know what Mom always says, ‘Things could be worse.’”

  “Mom could write her own book of quotes.”

  Just then a rap sounds on the door, and Janni gets up. We enjoy a chuckle until Janni opens the door and Mom’s standing there as big as you please, suitcase in hand.

  Mom takes one look at Janni and says, “Well? You gonna let me in?”

  Janni slowly steps out of Mom’s way. “You didn’t need to bring your suitcase over just to have dessert, Mom.” We’re both practically holding our breath here.

  “I need a room,” she says, matter-of-factly, closing the door behind her. She turns back to Janni. “I’m not living with that man another minute.”

  five

  “ Which room do you want me in?” Mom asks, already moving toward the stairway. Janni and I lock eyes. Mom doesn’t notice.

  “Whoa, come and sit down. What’s this all about?” Janni helps Mom move over to a nearby chair and get situated before she can unpack her clothes and fill out change-of-address cards.

  She looks up at us with eyes as wide and round as pancakes. “I’ve tried to keep it from you girls, but the truth is, your Dad is—”

  We scoot forward to the edge of our seats.

  “He’s—” She grabs a maple cookie from the plate on the coffee table.

  “Yes?” I say, impatient for her to spit it out.

  “Well, he’s tryin’ to kill me.” She falls back into her seat with a thump and bites into her cookie.

  The silence that follows is deafening. I’m feeling quite proud of myself that I haven’t rolled onto the floor in a fit of laughter. “You’re kid-ding, right?”

  “One kidder in the family is enough,” Mom snaps, then goes after her treat with a vengeance.

  “Mom, you know Dad would never hurt you. What happened?” Janni asks.

  “Lots of things, but the last straw was after our nap today. He said he was going to make us some coffee. I came into the kitchen, surprising him, and found rat poison on the counter not far from where he was making the coffee.” Her eyes are wide. “If that’s not proof enough, I don’t know what is.”

  “Well, maybe he was trying to catch a rat.”

  “Janni, you shouldn’t call Mom a rat.”

  Janni gasps, and Mom looks as though she has murder on her mind.

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Char, this is serious.” Janni turns to Mom. “Well?”

  “The only rat in that house is your father. Now, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she quips, nose upturned, lips pursed. “I’m going to bed.” She springs to her feet. “Where is it?”

  “Well, since the boys are coming home for spring break, I’d better put you in the study. We have a daybed in there.”

  Mom finishes her cookie and grabs another one. I get my cookie fetish honestly. “I’ll go there now. I’m tired.”

  “I’ll come help you get the bed ready.” Janni turns to me and rolls her eyes before climbing the stairs with Mom.

  Now, back in Maine they call me a workaholic because I’m at the office every day but Sunday, working long hours. But I have to say here that I’m more worn-out from watching my family for the last twenty-four hours than I have been working in the office for the past six years.

  Janni comes down the stairs, shaking her head.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask.

  “Who knows?” She chews nervously on her upper lip. “How am I going to work on that scrapbook with her hovering over me?”

  “You might have to work in the barn,” I joke. Then I can eat my cookies in peace.

  Janni brightens. “That’s a great idea. We’ve got an old portable table we can stick out there,” she says excitedly. “Then if Mom walks in on us, we can throw hay over it. You’re a genius.”

  “Wait. Remember, you’re on your own with this scrapbook thing. I’ll have my hands ful
l gathering table decorations and planning the food.”

  “I still don’t understand why you have to make this such an expensive production. We have nothing to prove.”

  “I told you, I want it to be very special for Mom and Dad. It has nothing to do with proving anything.” What does it hurt to lavish some of my wealth on my family and the town?

  “Janni, I’m going to call it a night,” Daniel says, when he enters from the back door.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Checking on that broken hinge in the chicken coop. I’ll get the hard-ware at the store tomorrow and fix that for you.” He climbs two stairs.

  “Danny, um, there’s something you should know,” Janni says.

  He turns and looks at her.

  “Mom’s moved in.”

  “I ’ve missed you, Char,” Dad says, giving me a big hug, then a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Dad. Thanks for meeting us for breakfast.” Janni and I scoot into our seats in the booth, causing the vinyl to squeak in protest—and this before breakfast.

  Dad’s slight frame—though he’s taller, his build is not much bigger than Mom’s, really—slips into place across from us. His lips curve in a smile, but his face looks gaunt and wrinkly, reminding me of a dried apple.

  I stretch out my hand and touch his arm. “You okay, Dad?”

  “I’m fine, Zip,” he says, his gold tooth flashing front and center, compliments of a kick from our long-ago pet mule, Francis. Like the roots of a tree, Dad is the foundation for our family. The patriarch. This whole thing with him and Mom is a bit disconcerting, to say the least.

  Just then the waitress steps up to our table, and we order our drinks. Janni and Dad get coffee. It amazes me that people can drink that cheap stuff. I opt for orange juice.

  Dad looks at Janni and then me. “It’s hard to believe you girls are all grown up.” He shakes his head. “Seems only yesterday I hauled you down to the general store for penny candy.”