Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 02 - Spring Moon

by Mary Ellen Courtney

  FIFTEEN

  The flight to San Diego was easy. Meggie said “Aloha” and tossed waves, up and down the aisle, then fell asleep across Jon and Nancy. Chance took his usual approach and slept the whole way on top of me.

  Ed was waiting for us at the exit gate and whisked Nancy off for nine holes of golf, or a dose of patience between the sheets. We settled in at Eric and Anna’s, had dinner and put the kids to bed, and then sat in the kitchen with some new tea concoction Chana had sent.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Eric.

  “Everyone is coming tomorrow for a big send off,” I said. “They act like I’m having open heart surgery. I’m scheduled for Monday afternoon. I check in early.”

  “No one has surgery on Monday,” said Eric. “The equipment’s been growing bacteria all weekend. Reschedule for Wednesday.”

  “It’s too late for that. I was lucky to get on his schedule as it was.”

  “Is that true?” asked Jon.

  “Yeah,” said Eric. “Our pharmacist said every case of staph he’s seen started on a Monday. Probably why you got a slot on such short notice.”

  “You should reschedule, H,” said Jon.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s a big hospital. They probably do procedures all weekend. Don’t get Jon worrying, Eric.”

  ∞

  Jon and I slept in the same bed at their house. Neither of us was willing to sleep on the sofa bed in the den, aka The Rack. Even their uppity cat wouldn’t sleep on it.

  I’d flung my arm around him like I usually did. He was looking at me in the morning light.

  “Why are you watching me sleep?”

  “I’m worried about the Monday thing,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine. Where’s Meggie?”

  “With Eric and Anna. Must have overshot our door.”

  “I wonder how he feels about kids after being choked all night.”

  “You want to make out?” he asked.

  He was smiling and sliding my nightgown up with one hand, while the other was doing something that had nothing to do with making out. He’d always been a man with more than two hands.

  “No way,” I said. “This is my big brother’s house.”

  “He doesn’t scare me.”

  I could hear his voice in my belly.

  “Is this in case I die?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Going off to war.”

  I warmed up to him and slid my hand down his belly. He growled in my ear.

  “Jesus, Hannah. It’s been a while.”

  “Papa!” said Meggie.

  She was jiggling the door handle. A diehard optimist, Jon had locked the door.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  She was warming up and jiggling with sincere determination. He got up, put on pants, and watched as I made a big show of sliding my nightgown down to the background music of handle rattling and heavy breathing through the crack in the door. I threw in some lip licking. Not quite burlesque, but I could see it did the trick.

  “We can just ignore her,” I said. “Let her claw around.”

  He was considering it, when she started tapping her foot and rasping “Papa” like the exorcist, through the crack. Eric was coming down the hall telling her we were asleep. She said we were not, she could hear us talking. She was probably sitting with her ear glued to the door. Xtreme trike riding had made her saucy.

  “Remind me why we had kids,” said Jon.

  “You wanted her. He came standard with the Dodge. Like a cupholder and floor mats.”

  He took one last look and opened the door.

  “Hey, Megs,” he said. “What’s up?”

  His less than subservient voice nicked her little psyche and flicked in her eyes.

  Eric saw me yank the covers up, smiled at Jon, and said, “Sorry, man.”

  So much for the big brother as protector idea.

  ∞

  Everyone gathered around the pool at the country club. The older kids started a game of Marco Polo, what we called Roger Wilco in honor of my father. Richard, model earthling that he was, carried Meggie through the whole game. Eric carried Chance. Mom and Arthur showed up with Aunt Asp and Uncle Number Three-Tailbone-Jim. Jon and I were lounging under an umbrella. He was sliding his hand under my pareu, and I was batting it away, but he was gaining ground.

  “Did you tell Chana that Celeste showed up for dinner?” I asked.

  “Yep. She threw her hands up,” he said. “She thought the redeye would work better.”

  “I’m going to spend some time tonight writing the kids letters, just in case something goes wrong tomorrow.”

  “We should rethink it,” said Jon.

  “I’ll be fine, but if something does happen to me, I want you to find someone right away. Be sure she’ll be good to my children. No McDonald’s. Don’t marry her until you’re sure about McDonald’s.”

  “I’ll raise them alone.”

  “Men always remarry. You have to or everyone will think we weren’t happy. Maybe someone who loves the kids but hates sex.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he said. “I think I’ll just hire a hot daddy’s helper.”

  “Oh brother. I’ll be watching you.”

  “And if I remarry?”

  “I’ll look away. Jealous and grief-stricken. Just don’t do that Great Gig thing you do.”

  “I’ll tell her I would, but you’re watching.”

  “Okay. We can stop talking now.”

  Everyone went to bed early. What a scene. Jon tried every moon swim trick in the book, but Meggie would not sleep on the other side of a locked door.

  ∞

  The surgery went smoothly. They left my index finger and thumb free to be a pincher. The surgeon stopped by in the morning to look at the situation. What is it with men and sports lingo? He called the surgery a home run. It wouldn’t be perfect, but no second surgery. I gave him the victory sign with my left thumb and forefinger. I could still ask for a table for two in Paris. Morphine rides again.

  ∞

  I was released two days later. We monkeyed around in La Jolla until we were sure I was okay, and then made plans to see Marty and Amy in L.A. then on to Santa Barbara. We stopped in Solana Beach to say good-bye to Mom and Arthur, and hit the road north. I was riding a magic carpet of Percocet and relief. When we hit Oceanside, Jon took the exit east.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Back way. Chana said the freeway is detoured through New Jersey. We might never get there from here.”

  “We can stop at the farm stand and get some goodies to take to Bob and Sherry.”

  “How about lunch at the truck stop?” he asked. “Take the Hannah Spring historical tour.”

  “Very funny. I’m not telling you where it is.”

  “Eric googled it. They have a website. The logo looks like a shower head raining on a burger.”

  “Oh brother. Forget it.”

  Meggie and Chance fell asleep and I relaxed into the drive through rolling gold hills. The smell of irrigation water hitting dry earth and ash from a recent burn was infused with the scent of sage.

  “We should drive up the 101 when the kids are older,” I said. “Show them the rolling hills and oaks we saw on car trips. It’s so different from home.”

  “Eric wants to go in on a condo in Mammoth,” he said. “A vacation rental. It’ll be a good investment.”

  The acrid smell of wet cow shit and fertilizer insinuated its way into the clean chaparral perfume. We were getting near the dairy farms.

  “Eric’s trying to reproduce the family the way it was,” I said.

  “Is that bad?”

  “God. No. You’re right. I sound like Asp. How big? There could be a lot of us.”

  “Three bedrooms. We’ll bunk the kids. You’re in charge of design.”

  “Fun. We should go up and look around after we see your folks. We have time now.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I stuck my good hand out the window and
flew it on the dry wind current until oasis G&S came up on the right. Jon slowed down.

  “I just want to look,” he said.

  He pulled into the parking lot and parked between a double trailer Mack and a still flickering motel sign. Vacancy. I snorted.

  “I bet no one has set foot in that room since I cleaned it.”

  There were several John Deere trucks, but no blue Volvo station wagon, not that Stroud was still driving the Volvo or truck.

  “Okay, Jon the Deer, you’ve seen it. Let’s go.” I said. “We could still hit traffic.”

  Meggie woke up and gazed out the window with one smashed pink cheek, while she pinched her stuffed whale and reentered the world. She got a big smile on her face.

  “Bits, Mama,” she said.

  “Don’t say that, Meggie,” I said.

  Her face fell and she started to cry. “I need to go potty.”

  Chance woke up and started in. Jon smiled at me.

  “She needs to go potty,” he said.

  “You take her,” I said.

  “Customers only. Come on, we need to eat lunch somewhere. You said the food is good.”

  I glared but he ignored me while he hauled out Meggie, Chance and gear. He put Chance in a stroller. I sat in the car and glared on. My phone rang. Karin.

  “How’s it going?” she asked. “Jon said you’re stopping at the cemetery. You have cash?”

  I told her where we were and that Jon may be staying in the cemetery.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Seriously?” I said. “Wouldn’t you kill Oscar if he dragged you back to the scene of various crimes for the fun of it?”

  “I meant why is he doing it?”

  “He wants to eat. I have no idea why he’s really doing it.”

  “Maybe he’s going in for the money.”

  “I hope not. This is trucker territory and there isn’t a hospital for miles. I suspect he planned this with help from Eric. I may kill him too.”

  “Don’t kill anybody until you find out why.”

  Jon opened my door and helped me out, then walked off holding Meggie’s hand, and left me standing there with Chance in a stroller with one hand and one pincher. He held the door while I pushed the stroller through. Joyce smiled at the rare couple with children before she recognized me. The confusion on her face probably mirrored my own.

  “Don’t confront her about the money, Jon.”

  He looked at me with an amused smile as Joyce marched up with menus.

  “Four with a booster seat please, Joyce,” said Jon.

  Joyce looked wary as she led us to a table. Meggie sneaked a look at me, and then smiled at Jon.

  “Bits, Papa,” she said.

  “Yes, Megs,” said Jon.

  He smiled placidly at Joyce, never a good thing with him. She led us to a window table and dragged over a booster seat. It was clean. Bits is right. We ordered.

  “How’d you know it was her?” I asked.

  “She’s the only squinty-eyed bits in uniform.”

  “She’ll probably spit in our food.”

  “She’ll have to get off the phone first,” said Jon.

  He was right. Joyce was on the phone talking with furtive body language, like the mafia had walked in with machine guns. Her husband, the cook, looked over the high order counter with the clippy carousel thingy, his eyeballs were cat-at-night eerie with orange light from the heat lamps. He tipped his finger to the greasy brim of his jaunty cap. I told Jon his relationship to Stroud.

  “Stroud?” he asked. “I thought his name was Watts.”

  “Stroud. Watts. Whatever,” I said.

  “Which is it?”

  “Both.”

  “That’s a new one,” he said.

  “Not really.”

  I looked out the window and longed for a divorce. Joyce brought our food with great efficiency. Meggie’s milk had a straw and lid. Double bits. Jon took a bite of split pea soup and raised his eyebrows.

  “This is good,” he said. “I wonder if he’ll give me the recipe.”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “It’s his mother’s recipe.”

  He looked at me but didn’t say anything. It hit me that he really didn’t think of me as having a former private life, not in any concrete way like a daughter who looked like an ex-wife, and a refrigerator door covered with photos. Until the good soup hit his taste buds, my so-called adventures had been abstract.

  The spinach omelet was delicious, even Meggie had bites.

  “Hey, Spring. I thought that was you,” said Stroud.

  He stood by our table with a drooling infant, sprouting black sea urchin hair, slung over his arm. Chance smiled like mad. The drooler smiled and kicked his feet back. Stroud watched as a saliva string hit the floor, then he smooshed it around with his foot like we all do, and gave us a droll smile. A young boy ran up asking for money for the gum machine. Meggie gave him the eye, always picking up tips from the older kids.

  “No gum, Tito,” said Stroud. “It’ll rot your teeth.”

  Tito grinned his not-rotten teeth, then winked at Meggie just like his father used to do, and took off to hit up his Aunt Joyce. His wiry brushed up hair looked Hispanic like his mother, but he had Stroud’s blue eyes. I mentally doodled a soul patch on his handsome little mug and put have rhubarb versus butterscotch talk with Meggie on my to-do list. There would be a Tito down her back road.

  Stroud looked good. He was never handsome but all of him still looked interesting. He was younger than Jon but his wavy black hair was going gray around the temples and his tan face was getting some lines. His eyes were the same, inquisitive and vivid. I hoped I still looked half as good to him as he did to me.

  “Is Tito your oldest?” I asked.

  I was asking if Tito was the child he left me over, and he knew it.

  “Yes, that’s him. Alan junior. We call him Tito,” he said. “Then Luisa and Luz a year later, and Pancho here.”

  “This is my husband, Jon Moon. Margaret and Chance. Meet Stroud.”

  “Good to meet you, Jon. You too Margaret,” he said. “I remember Chance, a favorable thing,”

  Meggie tossed him a distracted wave. She was eating my hash browns smothered in ketchup and watching Tito work on his aunt.

  Jon stood up to shake hands. “Pull up a chair,” he said. “We just started.”

  “Thanks, but my wife is waiting. I’m just dropping off the girls.”

  “How is Leeann?” I asked.

  “Going a little crazy,” said Stroud. “I’ve been on the road since he was born.”

  “Thanks for offering Hannah money last time she was through here,” said Jon.

  “No problem,” said Stroud. “How’d that work out? I tried calling you back, but it didn’t go through.”

  I told him my battery had died with all the roaming and then, don’t ask me why, I gave him a brief version of the cemetery and Bob and Sherry. All of a sudden I was a combo of nervous wreck and pillow talk. There might have been a little loss stirred into the drugs. Stroud was smiling and shaking his head. Jon watched.

  “That cemetery has a magnetic attraction for you,” said Stroud. “What happened to your hand?”

  “I was in a car accident a few months ago. This is just a fix.”

  “More than an accident,” said Jon. “She survived hanging over a cliff for four nights.”

  “That was you?” asked Stroud. “Guys on the road followed it.”

  “They have a survival pool going?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “They’re truckers. You in Sparky?”

  “Audi.”

  “Too bad.”

  I told him about my house exploding in an earthquake and taking the Prius down in the blaze. Everything burned to the ground.

  His eyes looked inward at the memory of my hideaway in the hills, and then came back to the diner.

  “Too bad,” he said. “That was a cool place.”

  A petite woman in tight white jeans and cowboy boots
came in with a matched pair of dark-haired girls. She looked our way. She was some kind of tense.

  “Time for the hand off,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Jon. It was good to see you again, Hannah. Joyce thinks you’re going to run out on the bill.”

  Jon smiled. I thought it was a great idea. He hooked up with his family as we pretended to eat. Leeann took baby Pancho outside while Stroud talked to his girls. She came back a minute later and talked to Joyce. Joyce scowled, opened the register, counted out money and handed it to her.

  Leeann carried Pancho to our table. He lit up when Chance reappeared in his world. Chance smiled. She frowned. She was wearing one of Stroud’s blue chambray work shirts with the sleeves rolled up and dark milk leaks from her breasts under a name patch with block letters: A. Watts. It was tucked into a heavy belt, the silver buckle was embossed with the John Deere logo. A small gold cross on a delicate chain hung in the valley between her breasts.

  She put down eighty dollars in twenties, turned Pancho away from my smiling baby, and looked me in the eye.

  “She shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “It’s not how we are.”

  She walked out the door. Stroud kissed his girls, called Tito and left without looking back. We watched through the window as he met up with Leeann in front and headed for the car. He hung an arm over her board straight shoulders as they disappeared in the parking lot. A few minutes later, a blue Volvo flashed between the trucks and was gone. I felt like I had frequently felt over the years, like Leeann in the boondocks knew more about finding and keeping the man she loved than I ever would.

  Chance fussed about the loss of his new friend. Meggie ate ketchup with her finger and looked back and forth at her parents. Jon stared at his soup. I drank coffee.

  “I need to go potty, Mama.”

  “Okay, Angel.”

  Jon looked up at me.

  “What’s Sparky?” he asked.

  “My Prius,” I said. “I hated that car.”

  ∞

  I took Meggie to the restroom and picked the stall without the hairy balls. It had a hairy coochie with a license plate number. Still no idea what it meant. By the time we were done Jon had settled the bill. Standing in that place felt sad and awkward. Joyce ignored us as she walked by with a pot of coffee.