“C’mon in, Colette.” Sally opened the door.
Two of Sally’s brothers chased each other through the living room while making popping sounds. Four-year-old Eric waved to me as he raced by. I waved to him. His seven-year-old brother Joe pointed his finger at Eric pretending to shoot him. Eric stopped, clasped his chest, and fell over.
“Ignore them. They’re annoying,” Sally said. “Let’s go to my room.”
“I’ve got to call home first.”
“You know where the phone is.”
Underneath the stairway was a cool loveseat with a small, rectangular table next to it. The phone sat on the table. I liked sitting on the loveseat while I called home.
Sally shared her room with Anna and Margaret, her little sisters. Two double beds positioned themselves on opposite ends of the room parallel to each other. Since Sally was older than Anna by almost two years, she got one of the double beds to herself. It bugged Anna no end so she made comments every time I saw her like, “Do you think it’s fair?” I always pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about so I’d say things like, “What’s fair?” Then Anna would say, “You know.” I’d say, “No. I don’t know.” It was kind of fun at this point because while Sally rolled her eyes, Anna shifted back and forth on her feet because she didn’t want to appear jealous. “Well,” she’d say, “When am I going to have a bed to myself?” Sally always interrupted with, “Leave us. Get out.”
We looked around the room, even in the closet, to make sure no one hid behind the hanging clothes. We both plopped on Sally’s bed and lay there facing each other.
“Okay, give, what’d your mom say?” Sally rearranged her pillow and propped her head up with her hand.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, are you going to school Monday night with your mom?”
“My mom said I have to,” Sally said. “Yuck.”
“Did she tell you the name of the movie?”
“Becoming a Woman.”
“At least the boys won’t be with us because they’ll be in their own room watching a movie with the dads.”
“I wonder if their movie is called “Becoming a Maaan.” Sally giggled.
It sounded so funny the way she stretched out man that I laughed until I had tears coming down my cheeks. I said, “Just wait until I become a womaaan.”
Now Sally had tears coming down her cheeks. She grabbed some tissues and handed me a couple. She blew her nose hard. “We’ll talk about it more after the big event.” She blew her nose again.
“Agreed.” I blew my nose. “Let’s make sure that we sit together.”
“Agreed. Now tell me what your mom said about your aunt.”
“Mom said she knew for a fact that Aunt Florence had been in love.” I wiped the tears off both my cheeks.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Who was she in love with?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But the point is, can you picture Aunt Florence being in love?”
“It’s hard to picture, that’s for sure.”
“You think she ever kissed him?”
“Of course she did,” Sally said. “You said she was in love.”
“I suppose you’re right. How do you picture him?”
“I think he was probably really, really cute and he swept your aunt right off her feet.” With her free hand, Sally made a large sweeping motion.
“You think she smiled when she was with him?”
“All the time. She kissed him, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she sure did.” I was now convinced that Aunt Florence had been in love and that kissing was a big part of it. “You know what else, Sal? They were talking about Daniel again last night. I heard his name, some other words, and then there was silence. Complete silence.”
“Did you ask your mom about it?”
“I tried but she didn’t react when I mentioned his name.” I told Sally about the entire conversation with my mom in the morning.
“That is so weird.”
“I know. I even asked my mom if Daniel was Aunt Florence’s boyfriend.”
“Maybe. Maybe he was.”
“She said he wasn’t.”
“Maybe she’s lying.”
“No, she wouldn’t lie to me. Sometimes, she doesn’t answer or she changes the subject but what she tells me is the truth.”
“Who is he, then?”
We heard a timid knock on the door. Since I knew who it was, and since I loved her best of all Sally’s family except for Sally, I went to open the door. Five-year-old Margaret stood twirling her thick, blond hair around her chubby fingers. I opened my arms wide. Margaret leapt into my arms and I held her up in the air. I brought her into the room and dropped her onto Sally’s bed.
“Can I talk too?” Margaret asked.
“What do you want to talk about?” Sally asked.
“What you guys are talking about.”
“That’s for big girls. Let’s talk about kindergarten.” Sally tickled her sister’s feet for just a second.
“I’m big too.” Margaret sat up straighter on the bed and puffed out her chest.
“I’ve got to go. It’s ten to five.” I started moving towards the door.
“Oh, d’you have to?” Margaret sounded so disappointed that I stopped walking and came back to the bed.
“How would you like it if next time I come over, you’re in the room with us and we can talk the whole time?” I hugged her again.
“Okay. Promise?”
“I promise. But right now I have to go.”
Chapter Four
An Invitation
At dinner that night I couldn’t take my eyes off Aunt Florence. I kept trying not to stare but I couldn’t help it. I tried and tried to picture her madly in love; smiling away. Suddenly Aunt Florence was more than interesting; she was fascinating. I looked up from my plate. As soon as she looked at me, I looked back down but somehow my plate was nowhere near as interesting as Aunt Florence.
Each morning before going to the hospital, Aunt Florence pulled her thick, reddish-brown hair away from her face and pinned it up in the back. I had the same wavy, reddish-brown hair as Aunt Florence. I did wear a ponytaiI sometimes but I knew I would never want to pull my hair into a tight, pin-filled bun. It drew her skin tight against her cheekbones and made them kind of stick out. The other thing the daily ritual of hair pulling up accomplished for Aunt Florence was it gave her the perfect place to put her starched nursing hat. She spent a lot of time getting that hat on just right in the morning. When she got home, she carefully put it on her dresser in a little space off to the side.
Now that I looked, really looked at Aunt Florence, I noticed her golden-colored skin was flawless. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a mole or a pimple or even a freckle. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before this moment how perfect Aunt Florence’s skin was.
Something else I hadn’t noticed before was that Aunt Florence’s eyes were a very unusual color; almost the color of my favorite blue jeans. I could barely see her denim blue eyes through those drab, overly large brown glasses. If she had different glasses...
“Colette,” my dad said. “Hello.”
“Hi, Dad.” I smiled. My dad was one of the coolest people in the world. He could do anything and I mean anything.
“You’re usually talking our ears off. You haven’t said one word since we sat down. You okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay. I’m just letting others talk.” I don’t know if it was because I was the one and only but my dad asked me if I was okay at least once a week. He said that he hoped I would tell him if something was bothering me. I always told him that of course I would tell him but it was hard when what was bothering me was nothing at school or in the neighborhood. It was the secret somebody in the house named Daniel.
“How was basketball?” my dad asked. His index finger tapped against his lips.
“Fine.”
“Are you ready for the big game next week?
”
“I think so.”
“Good. Want to see what Gramps and I got at the lumberyard today?”
“Sure, Dad, I’d love to.”
“After dinner, okay?”
“Okay.” Nothing interested me more than being part of my dad’s projects. He had lots of special tools, all different kinds of saws, and every size of screwdriver. Sometimes he let me use the screwdrivers or a hammer and nails but he would never let me try any of his saws. He said they were too dangerous.
He had finished the basement several years ago so Aunt Florence could have a bedroom, bathroom, and sitting room all to herself. Sometimes I went down in the basement to the laundry room and, if Aunt Florence’s door was open, I snuck a look and there I saw her nursing hat resting in its spot on the dresser.
Last winter, my dad made new kitchen cabinets with the help of Gramps and me. Gramps supplied the muscle, my dad said, while I supplied the entertainment. We talked as I handed my dad and Gramps their special tools. Sometimes Gramps talked about growing up on a farm in Italy. He had lived there with his parents and his sister, Sofia. Other times Gramps talked about taking a ship from Naples, Italy to New York City. That led to stories about seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time and going through Ellis Island.
I loved it when Gramps talked about how he ended up in Red Wing, Minnesota. He had bought a pharmacy with a soda fountain during the early thirties. The store’s been part of our family ever since. My dad worked there on Saturdays when he was in high school. Since my mom worked there in high school too, pretty soon one thing led to another and they started going out. And the rest is history, as my mom would say.
At some point Gramps convinced my dad to go to pharmacy school so he could buy into the business and become Gramp’s partner. They worked together as partners until last summer when Gramps retired. Now my dad’s the only owner.
Anyway, I hoped Gramps would be in a talking mood while we built the new garage.
I had to do dishes before I could go out to the garage. That was my daily job except for Sundays. Four other people lived in the house but it was my job to do the dishes. I heard their reasons loud and clear. Mom cooked the meal. Dad worked all day. Aunt Florence worked all day. Gramps, well, he was Gramps. So that’s the way it was in our house. About once a week, I argued about the unfairness of it. My dad wouldn’t say anything but my mom would set her feet flat on the floor, put her hands on her hips, jut out her chin, and go into her I’m not going to budge mode. If I kept arguing, the only thing that happened was that I had to scrub the pans too.
I started the dishes immediately, before the table was even cleared. I had to fill the dishpan with dish soap, put the plates in the pan, rub them front and back with the sponge, rinse them with warm, never cold water, and then line them up in the rack to dry. Of course, there wasn’t enough room for all the dishes in the rack so I’d have to dry some of the plates to have room for cups and glasses. My mom put the dishes back in the cupboard.
I thought sometime soon we should get a dishwasher. Some of my friends had dishwashers in their kitchens. Take Sally’s family, for instance. They had this large dishwasher in the kitchen that had to be hooked up to the hot and cold water every time it washed. It took up the whole middle of the kitchen and it shook and shuddered while it washed. Sometimes the water sprayed all over the kitchen. Then the younger kids ran around and screamed and Mrs. Reynolds yelled at Mr. Reynolds that he hadn’t tightened the connections tight enough. It was really funny. When the dishes were done, the whole thing was disconnected and stored next to the sink. Mrs. Reynolds said she couldn’t live without it.
I knew if I had one I’d feel exactly the same way as Mrs. Reynolds. Every time I told my mom what Mrs. Reynolds said, she answered, “The Reynoldses have eight people living in their house. They should have a dishwasher.” We had five people, more than half of what Sally’s family had so I didn’t know why we couldn’t have a small dishwasher. I decided right then and there that when I grew up I was going to have a large dishwasher so none of my children had to wash dishes by hand.
“Colette, go with your dad. I’ll finish,” my mom said. She tied her apron around her waist and started putting on the yellow rubber gloves she used for doing the dishes.
I couldn’t believe my ears but I didn’t wait around for her to change her mind. I wiped my wet hands on the towel hanging under the sink and yelled for my dad. “Dad, I’m ready.”
The garage hadn’t been used for my dad’s car for a while since the one side hadn’t been straight for as long as I could remember. My dad said he didn’t want it to fall down with his car in it. Aunt Florence said she felt the same way so she always parked her car in front of our house, rain or shine.
My dad opened the door to the garage. I walked in first. “Wow,” I said.
Different sizes and lengths of boards filled one whole side of the garage. They were stacked one on top of another.
“When are you going to start?” I asked.
“Sometime in May. It’ll depend on the weather. We have to knock down the old garage first. That will probably take two or three days. Then we can start framing the new garage.”
My dad said he counted pills all day so when he got a chance to work with his hands he took advantage of it. Those were his exact words.
“I’ll get my hammer and nails ready.” The garage would be my dad’s biggest project yet and I planned on being there all the way. I could have asked my dad more about his plans for the garage but I had Aunt Florence on my mind, big time. “Do you like Aunt Florence?”
“I like Florence. Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering if you liked her, with her never smiling and all.”
“Yes, I do like her. Let’s go back to the house.”
I knew this was my chance since there was always someone else around listening. I decided to just blurt it out. “Mom said she was in love when she was young and that she had a boyfriend.”
“Oh, that’s what this is all about.”
“Well.”
“Well what?”
“Was she in love?”
“Yes, Florence was in love. Isn’t that what Mom told you?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to see if you thought so too.”
“C’mon, let’s go.” My dad opened the garage door and guided me out in front of him.
“You know what, Dad?” I had planned on bringing up the hush-hush Daniel when I was alone with my dad, but this didn’t seem like the right time since we were talking about Aunt Florence. “I think I’m going to ask Aunt Florence if she wants to come to my basketball game.”
“I bet she’d like that. Your mom said that Florence was a very good basketball player.” He closed the garage door.
I stopped right where I was walking. I couldn’t believe it. “She used to play?”
“Yes, she played basketball.”
This was too much. Aunt Florence had never shown any interest in my games. How many other things didn’t I know about my one and only aunt on my mom’s side?
“Do you think she’ll come to the game?”
“I don’t know. Ask her.”
“Will she think it’s weird since we never talk?”
“I don’t know, honey. You won’t know unless you ask her.”
Aunt Florence sat in the living room reading a book. Gramps and my mom were there too. I decided to just blurt out my question in front of everyone because there was less chance of her turning me down if everyone was staring at her.
“Aunt Florence?”
“What?” She looked up from her book.
“Would you like to come to my city championship game a week from Tuesday?” I stood first on one foot and then the other and the room seemed smaller than it had before. I felt my heart beat out its rhythm. I was sure my dad could hear it pounding too. He stood a little behind me.
“I may be working,” Aunt Florence said.
“Oh, that’s okay.” I looked down at the f
loor.
“I’ll check my schedule.”
“If you can’t go, it’s okay.”
“I’ll try. I really will. Colette?”
“What?” I turned.
“Thanks. I used to love basketball.”
The weirdest thing happened right then, right in the middle of our living room. Aunt Florence smiled at me and I smiled back. It seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do.
Chapter Five
Sundays
The next day was Sunday and we all went to church like we did every week. My mom woke me about 8:15 am to get ready for 9:00 o’clock Mass. Supposedly, Sunday was a day of rest but I sure wasn’t allowed to. I reminded my mom of that about twice a month but she always shrugged her shoulders and said, “You can rest when we get home.”
We had to get dressed up for church. My dad wore a suit with a tie. Gramps added a vest to his suit and tie and topped the whole thing off with one of his many hats. And his shoes were so shiny that I could see my face in them. My mom said he looked very dapper. My mom wore a dress no matter what the weather was. It could be 20 below zero and she still wore a dress. I had begged and begged for years not to have to wear a dress to church. My mom finally said I could wear pants as long as they weren’t jeans. I didn’t argue, believe me.
Personally, I thought Mass was overrated. Everyone filed in, blessed themselves with the holy water, knelt on one knee, and then slid into a pew. Talking wasn’t allowed. We sat there not talking and waited for the priest, Father Walsh. Once he arrived, everyone stood up. Then we spent the next hour standing, kneeling, sitting, standing, kneeling, sitting while we listened to readings and terrible high-pitched singing voices from the choir.
Mrs. O’Neill was the absolute worst of all the ladies. She took a song to new heights, as my dad would say. Although people tried, it was impossible to sing along with Mrs. O’Neill and the rest of the ladies. Sometimes it all blended together, but other times I actually covered my ears, it was so awful. When I did that either my mom or dad looked at me until I took my hands away from my ears.
They're Always With You Page 2
