by Fran Rizer
When they’d gone, John said, “Little Sister, I’d just as soon you not go online looking for dates. There are plenty of fish in the ocean who aren’t hunched up behind their computers.”
“Fish in the ocean?” I laughed. “Since when do you talk in clichés?”
“Since I got old.”
“Old? You’re not old!”
“I’ll be forty-six next month, and Dad will be sixty-three his next birthday.”
“He was only seventeen when you were born?”
“Only sixteen—both him and Mom. They got married at fifteen.”
“How’d they do that? Could you get married that young back then?”
“Not supposed to, but nobody checked it. Didn’t have to have a birth certificate in South Carolina. People just lied when they got the license.”
“I don’t think I ever knew that Daddy and our mother married so young. I just never added it up or subtracted it or whatever.”
“That’s one reason I wanted to talk to you tonight.” He refilled our wineglasses.
“About our parents having you when they were sixteen?” I smiled. “I think any worry you may have had about me being an unwed teenaged mother is about fourteen years too late.”
“No, about me. I want to talk about me, but first, let’s celebrate your birthday.” John glanced over my shoulder and nodded. More of that silent male communication.
I hadn’t noticed, but the waiter was standing behind me. He leaned around and placed on the table a small birthday cake, decorated with pink roses and one flaming candle. I’ve always loved birthday cakes with pink roses.
At the same time, John pulled a wrapped jewelry box from his pocket and set it by the cake.
“Happy Birthday, Little Sister,” he said.
I blew out the candle, wasting my birthday wish on good weather so we could get Jane moved. I knew what the box held. Since I got my ears pierced, John’s gifts to me for birthdays and every Christmas have always been earrings. These were pink pearl studs—real pearls. John’s presents are always nice. I wanted to tell him that I’d lost one of the diamond earrings he’d given me for my twenty-first birthday, but I’d wait and drop that hint closer to Christmas.
Our private birthday celebration turned out fine . . . until we finished our cake and John began telling me what he’d come to say.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not happy, Callie. I’ll be forty-six next month. I don’t think I want to live out my life working for my father-in-law.” He drank the remains from his wine goblet and then drained his water glass. The server hurried over and refilled it. John waited until the young man had moved away before speaking again. “I’m thinking about leaving Miriam. I still love her, but I’m not in love with her anymore.”
This was John. My perfect brother. The only one of us kids who hadn’t already divorced at least one spouse. The successful brother. The stable one.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This sounds like a bunch of caca to me. What did you do? Find some little secretary to make you feel young again? Is she out of her twenties?”
“Callie, it’s not that at all. I’m not having an affair. I’d never do that to Miriam.”
“But you’re going to leave her? What about Johnny and Megan? Don’t you know what this will do to them?”
“To be honest, I don’t know that they’ll care. They’re both tied up in so many activities that I hardly ever see them. And Megan is dating now. Did you know that? My little girl is dating. I think fourteen’s too young, but Miriam insists that all girls date at that age. I know what we’d have done if you wanted to date at fourteen, but my opinion doesn’t seem to amount to anything in Atlanta.”
“I wish I’d been allowed to date at fourteen. Just think, Daddy and our mother were married and having you at fifteen.”
“Yeah, they were having me, so they got married. That’s not what I want for my children.”
“So you’re going to leave them? That doesn’t make sense.” I hoped my expression didn’t show the exasperation I felt toward my favorite brother.
“All I know is that I don’t think I can stand living in that big house where I feel invisible.” He picked at the icing on the part of the cake we hadn’t cut. Licked it off his finger, just like he did when I was a child. “I thought maybe you’d understand. After all, you walked away from a nice house and the prize catch. Donnie’s a doctor now. You could have had it all.”
“John, you know that there was no choice about staying with Donnie after he did what he did. It’s a totally different situation. Are you sure you’re not just having the middle-aged blues?”
“I think I’ve passed middle age.”
“You haven’t even reached middle age. They say that fifty is the new forty.” I smiled and patted his hand.
“I don’t know for sure what I’m going to do, but I wanted you to know what I’m thinking and feeling. I don’t want you shocked or upset if Miriam and I separate.”
“If you leave your family, will you move back to St. Mary?” As much as I hated the thought of John’s marriage breaking up, there was just a hint of pleasure in the thought of my favorite brother being back full-time, though I couldn’t imagine in a hundred years that he’d move in with Daddy like the others do when they divorce or break up.
“No, I’ll go somewhere new. Start over.” We sat in silence for several minutes.
Finally, I managed to say, “Thank you for telling me. You know that whatever you do, I love you.” That was hard for me to say. I grew up knowing Daddy and The Boys loved me, but we didn’t ever say it.
I didn’t hear those words until after John married into Miriam’s family. Her folks were much more demonstrative than our family. John was the first person to ever actually tell me he loved me, and I still found it hard to say those words to anyone. Where had all the love in my brother’s life gone? He said he was invisible in his own home. Was that the truth or just how he perceived things?
My heart hurt for John as he drove me home through the torrential rain and powerful gusts of wind. When he walked me to the door, I asked, “Do you want to spend the night on my couch?”
“No, I’m going to Dad’s. The lights are probably back on by now, and if not, we’ll play poker by kerosene lamps. It won’t be the first time.” He gave me a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After he left, I sat on the floor, hugged Big Boy, and did what I’d felt like all day without knowing why. Now I knew.
I wept.
Chapter Seventeen
“Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Callieeee,
Happy birthday to you.”
I had to laugh. Jane’s singing screeched, and as terrible as the wind and rain sounded from outside, I could still hear her over the telephone.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I was hoping we’d be next-door neighbors today,” Jane said, “but according to the weatherman, this rain isn’t going to let up.”
“I thought it would blow over. Are you packed? Want me to come help you get everything ready?”
“Not necessary. Your brother Frank was here last night and finished boxing everything for me.”
I laughed. “You have figured out he has a crush on you, haven’t you?”
“On me?” Jane asked in a little false voice. “Don’t tell me Frank’s not a good samaritan to everyone like he is with me.”
“No, he isn’t. When I want him to do something, he always has some excuse. Take advantage of it while you can because Frank is probably the laziest of The Boys.”
“You mean his crush might not last very long? Have you no faith in me?” Jane teased.
“I mean you know as well as I do that my brothers don’t win any trophies for fidelity.”
“Except John,” Jane said. I didn’t bother to tell her I suspected that he was about to mess up big time and join the sa
me league as my other brothers. Jane had pined for John from our teenaged years until he married Miriam.
When I didn’t respond, she changed the subject. “What are you doing today?”
“I’m on standby if Otis or Odell picks up Dr. Melvin,” I said. “Otherwise, I don’t have to work, and even if MUSC releases Dr. Melvin today, I doubt the Middletons will go for him in all this rain.”
“Did you know the electricity’s off in parts of town?” she asked.
“It was off at Daddy’s last night,” I answered. “Probably back on by now.”
“I heard on the radio that there are thousands of people without service this morning.”
“Did you work last night?”
“Now, what do you think? Do you believe I’d let Roxanne loose while Frank was over here?”
My turn to giggle. “He might like it.”
“Call me if you decide to go anywhere, and if you don’t get a better offer, I’ll cook you a birthday dinner.”
“I’ve already had a birthday dinner. We ate at Blue Crab last night. I even have half of one of those tiny birthday cakes left—one with pink roses just like I always wanted when I was a little girl.”
“Who took you? That guy who stood you up at the sub place?”
“No, John’s in town. He had them bring the cake to the table.”
“Bring it over about six tonight, and we’ll have it for dessert. I’ll cook something you like.” That wouldn’t be hard for Jane to do. I love her cooking.
“Sure,” I answered before we said our good-byes.
The rest of the day was semimiserable. Lots of phone calls from relatives and friends, most of whom sang “Happy Birthday” a lot better than Jane, but a few from folks who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket any better than Jane.
Puh-leeze. What a miserable day for a birthday. Wind, rain, and a dog whose bladder might pop before he’d be coerced into going out the door in such weather.
The Boys called and wished me happy birthday, but they said Daddy had gone to Beaufort, swearing he was going to buy a generator. I knew they’d waited until he left to call me because Daddy is always mean as a bear on the twenty-second of June. He’d never try to stop them from remembering my birthday, but we learned long ago to steer clear of Daddy on that day. I was a little surprised that none of them mentioned coming over. Guess they thought John taking me out the night before was enough.
Otis telephoned. “Isn’t today your birthday?”
“Yes,” I answered, expecting him to sing, too.
Instead, he said, “We’ve got no business and we won’t drive to Charleston for Melvin Dawkins until this lets up. Don’t try to come out in this awful weather. We’ll call you if someone comes in and we need you.” That was exactly what Odell had told me the day before.
I agreed and hung up the phone, already chastising myself for the pity party I felt coming on. Pearl earrings, birthday cake with pink roses, and a day off were more than some people receive for their birthdays. But I wasn’t some people, I was Callie. I wanted to be special on my birthday. It wasn’t a matter of gifts. I didn’t really need anything, and I knew Jane would have something for me. I wanted to be special to someone besides Jane.
What was wrong with me? I’ve been pretty well happy with myself the past few years, with or without a man in my life. Was the big thirty-three subconsciously bothering me like forty-six seemed to be working on John?
The only recent dates I’d had were an occasional dinner with Dr. Don Walters. I’d been interested in him until I found out he was a bigger womanizer than my brothers. Having divorced a medical student named Donnie, I’d felt anything with a doctor named Don was ill-fated anyway.
The first time Don had taken me out was to Andre’s, the most exclusive restaurant in the area. After I refused to take sharing appetizers off the same fork up to a more physical level (or down to a level below the mouth), we’d remained friends, but our occasional nights out were a lot less elegant. Instead of silver forks, we sometimes ate with plastic sporks.
A few months ago, I began to fall pretty hard for a bluegrass performer, Andy Campbell, the Great Pretender, who impersonated Randall Hylton. I hadn’t heard from him in over a month. Maybe too busy traveling the bluegrass circuit or probably involved with someone else by now.
The only man I’d even seen recently who attracted me was Dr. Melvin’s brother-in-law Levi Pinckney. He’d asked me to meet him and then not shown up, hadn’t called to apologize either. What if the flowers weren’t from him? They’d come close to my birthday. They could have been from someone else.
I knew I’d have to face Levi at Dr. Melvin’s funeral, and I didn’t know what to do. If the bouquet had come from him, I should thank him. If he hadn’t sent them, I’d make a fool of myself if I tried to express my appreciation. He isn’t even my type. I like tall men. Levi is short. I like blue eyes and fair hair. Levi has brown hair and dark eyes.
I did some light housework and put a load of black dresses in the washer before I lay down across the bed to read. I’d finished Deadly Advice and begun reading Candles Burning by Tabitha King and the late Michael McDowell. It wasn’t exactly a mystery. The story was a southern gothic thriller, but I’d bought it because someone told me the main character had my name.
Foolish me! I’d thought the girl in the book was named Calamine Lotion and called Callie, like me. Turned out that she was named Calliope and called Calley, spelled e-y instead of i-e. There was mystery involved. Calley’s father in the book was brutally, gruesomely murdered when she was seven years old, and I hadn’t learned who did it yet.
When I got up to go to the bathroom, Big Boy followed me.
Though the weather was a lot more rain, the winds had lessened, and there was hardly any thunder, but Big Boy kept rubbing up against my legs. Buh-leeve me, that’s okay with a cat, but not with a 130-pound dog.
What does a lonely lady do at home on her birthday? If I’m that lady, my mind cries out for change. The hair color was still in my medicine cabinet. I couldn’t decide between the Honey Brown and the Sherry Sparkle, so I used both of them.
Two hours later, I stared at myself in the mirror and smiled. My hair was back to brown, but not its true mousy color. The new shade was a warm, golden brown with Sherry Sparkle auburn accents. I pulled on khaki slacks and a copper-colored tee that complimented the new shade of hair.
The weather was too bad to drive, but it was my birthday, so I wrapped myself in a raincoat with a slicker over it and held an umbrella over that, then dashed through the standing water in the yard. I never lock the car, but for some reason I had the night before. Now I was forced to stand in the pouring rain while I fumbled with the key. Maybe someday I’d buy a new car with those automatic locks that can be opened from a distance. Perhaps I could even have the door locks changed in the Mustang so I could lock and unlock it from my front porch.
It seemed to take forever to reach Jane’s because every time the rain became so heavy I couldn’t see, I pulled over. When I encountered deep holes filled with water, I slowed down to almost a crawl. Finally I arrived at Jane’s yard and even more standing water and mud puddles.
I thought about flash floods I’d seen on television as I searched my pockets for my cell phone to call Jane to open the door. As usual—well, maybe not “as usual,” maybe “as frequently”—I’d forgotten to bring the phone. I ran up her steep stairs and pounded on the door.
“Go away!” Jane shouted. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m drowning out here,” I yelled. “Open up!”
Jane yanked the door back and grabbed me. She was wearing a purple tie-dyed T-shirt with railroad engineer- striped overall cutoffs.
“Come in, Callie,” she said. “That woman was here. With all this rain, she demanded I let her in to see the apartment.”
“Well, I’m not her. You didn’t let her in, did you?”
“No.” She handed me some towels and I wiped away the water that seemed to have blown thr
ough my rain gear. I was surprised she could even find towels. There were boxes stacked all over, against the walls, on the tables, in the middle of the room—everywhere.
“I don’t smell anything,” I said. “What are you cooking?”
Jane ignored my words. “Where’s that cake you promised to bring? I don’t smell any cake and certainly not any pink icing roses.”
“Dalmation! I forgot the cake and my cell phone.”
“Are you sure you didn’t eat all the cake?” Jane frowned.
“No. I colored my hair this afternoon.”
“What color?” She reached out and touched my damp hair as though she could identify the color by feeling it.
“Lavender.”
“I know better than that.”
“How do you know?”
“I might want mine purple one day, but neither of us will ever have light blue or lavender hair like those old ladies at the church.”
Just at that moment, a crash of thunder rumbled across the roof. Lightning flashed so bright that it lit up the inside of the apartment even though Jane had the blinds closed.
“I don’t think the good Lord liked that comment about the church ladies,” I said.
“I won’t tempt Him anymore,” Jane said. “Dry off. Sit down. I’ve got coffee to take off the wet chill.” I settled into the corner of the love seat with my legs pulled up under me while she poured coffee from a stainless steel thermos into two cups and added cream and three sugars from packets to mine before handing it to me. She plopped down into her recliner, which is her favorite seat. She’s as bad as my daddy about not wanting anyone else to sit in her personal chair.
We sat and sipped coffee a few minutes. “Hey,” I said, “this is regular coffee, not flavored. Since when did you stop buying the good stuff?”
“Since your brother packed up all my kitchen goods.”
“Then how’re you going to cook dinner?”
“I’m not. Frank is taking us out. He’ll be here soon.”
“But where’d you get this coffee?”
