5 From the Grounds Up

by Sandra Balzo

  Frank glanced over his shoulder at me. A look that clearly conveyed 'slut'.

  'I'm sorry I didn't come home last night.' I was still looking for the bug--or bugs--in my hair, 'but it's not like I was sleeping around.'

  Frank grunted and dropped his leg. Then he scratched at the ground with his back paws like a cat trying to bury its handiwork in a litter box.

  'For the last time, you're a dog. And besides, you didn't poop, you peed.'

  If looks could kill.

  Frank turned his back to me, assumed the position and let his turds fly.

  I put my hand to my nose. 'Geez, Frank. What did Anthony next door feed you last night?'

  Frank sniffed, a clear indication that our neighbor, at least, loved him enough to meet his needs.

  What could I say? My pet was right. If Anthony gave him hot dogs and beans, I should be grateful.

  Only, God: I hoped it wasn't hot dogs and beans. Frank would light up the night for days.

  He finally finished and promptly sat down to clean himself.

  'Shouldn't you let it dry or . . . something?'

  Getting no response, I went into the house, picked up the cellphone and settled on to the front stoop for the long haul. One hundred pounds of hairy sheepdog and one tongue. You do the math.

  I punched in Sarah's number. She answered on the first ring. 'What?'

  'How's it going?'

  'Just peachy. You?'

  'Frank's mad at me, but other than that,' my dog shifted and started work on the other side, 'everything is fine. Here and at the depot. Ronny and I made some decisions so he can get started. I hope that's all right.'

  'Put the cups and saucers wherever you want. You're the expert.'

  A hint of sarcasm, but I ignored it. 'Are the kids there?'

  'You mean have they taken off yet?' Sarah said it in a tone that told me Courtney and Sam were still with her, probably in the same room.

  'Listen,' I said, 'I know you're worried, but take it from someone who has had more experience raising kids than you have. Sniping at them isn't going to make things better.'

  'Kid.'

  'What?'

  'You raised one kid. Singular. And you worked your way into it. A baby, a toddler, an adolescent. I got them practically full grown.'

  'They're not puppies,' I said. 'And even if they were, it's like smacking them on the nose with a newspaper. Not the path to improvement.'

  'I'd never hit them.' Sarah sounded subdued.

  'Of course you wouldn't. Are they still there?'

  'No, when they realized I wasn't talking to their aunt, they went back upstairs to finish packing. I'm driving them to the airport at three.'

  'You talked to the aunt . . . is it Patrice or Patsy?'

  'Patrice. She apologized for not clearing it with me.'

  'She should.' It really was inexcusable to plan a trip like this and not get the permission of Sam and Courtney's guardian. Then, again, Patrice might feel her niece and nephew were old enough to be the ones making the decision.

  'Patrice said she thought the kids had talked to me. And they had.' Sarah sighed. 'I just didn't think it would happen so soon.'

  'Want me to come with you to the airport?'

  'You kidding? With both kids and their luggage, I'd have to strap you on the roof.'

  'Then why don't you come over here for dinner afterwards?'

  'Afterward? At three?'

  'You're going to stay with them until they go through security, right?'

  'I suppose.' Sarah sounded like she'd contemplated dropping them off at the curb. Without stopping.

  'You know you are. And then blubber. By the time you leave the airport and drive all the way out here, it'll be nearly five. Cocktail hour.'

  'I don't blubber.'

  'Good,' I said. I'd never seen Sarah cry and I didn't want to. It would be like watching hell freeze over in high-def.

  On the other hand, I wasn't exactly the poster-girl for easy goodbyes. I had, according to Eric, 'totally embarrassed' him, when Ted and I had left our son at the university. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, Ted up and left me.

  'We'll order pizza,' I offered. Hey, it always cheered me up.

  'Would it kill you to cook?' Sarah asked, sounding more like herself.

  'You're a fine one to talk,' I said. 'No, it wouldn't kill me, but it might kill you.'

  I rang off just as Frank was getting back on to his four feet.

  'Have a nice bath?' I asked as he walked past me to get to the door.

  As I opened it, the phone rang. Pavlik.

  'I swear,' I said. 'I don't know what happened to the clock.'

  'That's not why I was calling, but it's good to know. Did you happen to notice if anything else was missing?'

  'I don't think so, but then I'd never been in the place until that day. Sarah or her cousin might know.' I had a thought. 'Or maybe Art Jenada.'

  'Jenada? The guy who looks like a frog?'

  Great minds think nearly alike.

  'A toad. Granted, a real hairy one. But, yeah. Jenada was the last tenant in the depot, so he might know what belongs there.'

  'I'll have somebody check with him. I have to tell you, though, pretty much everyone is signing off on this as an accident. DOT, NTSB, FRA.'

  'The whole alphabet, huh?'

  A pause, just to let me know Pavlik didn't approve of my making light of the law enforcement acronyms.

  Then, 'So what are you doing tonight? I thought we could get some dinner and go listen to a little music.'

  Damn, damn, damn. The one night I have plans, Pavlik wants to go out. On a real date.

  Good thing I'm not the kind of woman who ditches her girlfriends for the guy of her dreams.

  Not that I wasn't tempted. It even occurred to me to suggest a late dinner, like ten. If Sarah was here by five, she'd probably be sick of me by nine. At least that was the old Sarah. The new Sarah seemed, surprisingly, a little needier.

  And a friend in need, is a friend . . . oh, hell, in need.

  'I'd love to do dinner and music,' I said to Pavlik, 'but I can't. Sam and Courtney--you remember Patricia's kids, who live with Sarah now? They're going to visit relatives. Sarah's pretty upset about it and I suggested she come over here to eat after dropping them off at the airport.'

  'I'm surprised Sarah is upset about the kids leaving for a few days.'

  'Not just a few days, Pavlik. All summer. Besides, what she's really afraid of is that Sam and Courtney will decide to stay on with their cousins.'

  'You realize that if they do want that, and their cousins agree, it'll happen. Sarah's their guardian, but older kids plus family will trump that court-created tie any day.'

  'I know. And I'm sure Sarah does, too. She's also just plain worried about them.'

  'My recollection is that Sam and Courtney's family wasn't exactly stable.'

  That was putting it mildly. 'I think Patricia's side was OK, though.' If you ignored her mother's multiple marriages and the fact she didn't want anything to do with her orphaned grandchildren.

  Pavlik said, 'From what I've been told, Patricia had a co-dependent personality. There's usually a reason for that.'

  All of a sudden, the sheriff's become a psychologist. 'Are you saying Sarah should try to stop them from going?'

  I checked the kitchen clock. Just after one p.m. -- still time to get hold of Sarah before they started for the airport. I bet she'd love a legitimate excuse to keep Sam and Courtney home.

  Unfortunately, Pavlik dashed my hopes. 'No, I'm not saying that. To be honest, I'm not sure she would have a legal leg to stand on if she tried. I can just understand why she's a little anxious.'

  A little. If I told her what Pavlik said, I'd have to peel her off the ceiling. 'What should she do?'

  I heard Pavlik speak to someone on the other end. Then he came back. 'Sorry, what was that again?'

  'I was asking if you had any advice for Sarah.'

  'Only to suggest she stay in to
uch with them. Do they have cellphones?'

  Earth to Pavlik. 'Is there a child in our solar system who doesn't?' Hell, Eric had a better cellphone than I did.

  'Good. Listen, I've got to go. You two have a good time together.'

  'We will. I'm just sorry that the one night you are available, I'm not.'

  'Don't be sorry. Something came up here anyway. Besides,' his voice lowered, 'We'll have lots of nights.'

  'I . . .' My hand clamped over my mouth.

  'I, what?' Pavlik asked.

  Between trembling fingers, I managed, 'Call you tomorrow.'

  'Great, talk to you then.'

  We hung up and I turned to my dog. 'Holy shit, Frank. I almost told Pavlik I loved him.'

  The sheepdog farted, then joyously sniffed his butt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I got pretty much the same reaction from Sarah, sans fart, thanks be to God.

  'Why would I do that?' I asked her as we settled in the living room with glasses of wine. She'd arrived just shy of five p.m. 'There's no way that I can love him. I don't know him well enough to love him.' Lust after him, maybe. No, understatement: definitely a green light on the lust front.

  'Societal expectations,' Sarah posited.

  Geez, was there a free Psych 101 class going on at the Community Center? First Pavlik and now Sarah.

  'Humans grow fond of each other,' she continued philosophically, 'and we call the next step "love". Whatever that is.'

  'Where do you get this crap?'

  'I make it up. Now, let's talk about me.'

  Great. 'How did it go at the airport?'

  'Fine.' Sarah searched absently through her pockets for even one long-departed cigarette. 'Damn, I wish I still indulged.'

  'Fine,' I repeated. 'So, you drove them there on time, they got their boarding passes and off they went?'

  'Yup.' A sip of wine.

  I felt frustrated. 'You wanted to talk about this, right? So, give.'

  'I said I wanted to talk about me. My plans, my hopes, my fears.'

  My ass. 'So what about Courtney and Sam? You are going to keep in touch with them?' I was thinking about Pavlik's advice.

  'Of course. They're my responsibility.'

  'But . . .'

  'But,' Sarah put her fingers to her mouth like she was taking a last hit on a coffin-nail and blew her legendary, if phantom, smoke ring into the air. 'I need to get on with my life, Maggy. Me. Sarah Kingston. Real estate agent, partner in a coffeehouse.'

  She leaned forward. 'I'm not just somebody's parent, or to be precise, two kids' guardian.'

  I understood Sarah's declaration of independence. I'd done the same. It was a defense mechanism and not necessarily a bad one, assuming she didn't take it too far.

  Example of 'too far'?: I quit my salaried PR job and opened a coffeehouse.

  Even so, 'That's the attitude,' I told her. 'But I do think you should call Sam and Courtney every day. Either that or ask them to check in with you.'

  'Why?' Sarah was looking at me suspiciously. 'Do you know something?'

  I squirmed. I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily. She'd be a basket-case all summer with the information she did have, and we needed to open a coffeehouse by September first.

  'I don't know anything,' phrasing it carefully, 'except that children need to know you are still there and care about them. That you're interested in their daily lives, even when you can't be with them in person.'

  That look of the unpersuaded. 'You call or text Eric every day?'

  'Yes,' I said solemnly. Starting tomorrow.

  'OK.' Sarah shrugged. 'Sometimes I just don't intuit this stuff. I thought constant contact would make them crazy.'

  'They'll say it does,' I said, 'but in their hearts? They'll be secretly, evenly heartwarmingly, grateful.'

  Right. As would my son Eric. I could imagine his text message reply: 'Y do u keep calling'

  Though now I could reply: 'Solidarity with Sarah.' Including proper punctuation and spelling.

  'So do you want to know what Ronny and I talked about after you left?'

  'Not necessary. I called him on the way back from the airport. He filled me in.'

  'You shouldn't talk on the cellphone while you drive,' I said automatically.

  'Yes, Mom,' Sarah said, equally as automatic. We'd tanked to this tune before, especially when she had both smoked and talked on the cell while driving. 'Ronny said you were figuring out where all the equipment should go. The coffee-makers and such.'

  'Brewers,' I supplied. 'Do you want to see the plans? I have them right here.'

  I got up to get the papers, but she waved me off. 'I don't know anything about where the stuff should go. Just show me when you've figured it out.'

  Worked for me. 'So you said you're getting on with your life. How are things going with the agency?'

  As I spoke, Frank wandered in. He passed me, still not deigning to recognize my existence. Then he saw Sarah and his stump of a tail started to wag.

  Sarah wasn't much of a dog person, which was why Frank showered affection on her. Not to mention drool. I think it contributed to his amusement.

  Tonight, though, Sarah came alive when she saw Frank. 'That's my good boy,' she crooned, as he shamelessly hula-danced in front of her. 'You love your Sarah, don't you. Don't you? What a sweetheart you are. Yes, you are.'

  Wow. I present, for your edification, a woman with abandonment issues.

  Frank wound himself around and leaned against Sarah's leg. Then he slid down to the floor, landing with a 'huff' and laying his head on her foot. He gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

  Traitor.

  Sarah leaned down to scratch him. My sheepdog flipped over on his back, legs waving like four hairy flagpoles.

  'And I'm a slut?' I asked him.

  'You're obviously not giving this creature enough affection.' Sarah bent like a pretzel to put her head down next to Frank's. 'Isn't that right, Frankie? She just left you last night.'

  'Watch yourself,' I warned, 'or I may let him follow you home.'

  'A hundred pounds of love, aren't you, boy? Aren't you?'

  Frank licked her face.

  Sarah looked at me, startled, a string of drool trailing off her chin. 'He's really . . . hydrated.' She sniffed. 'And his breath . . .'

  Just the tip of the iceberg. 'Wait until he farts.'

  The power of suggestion. Frank stood up and poisoned the atmosphere. Then he gave me a little grin and padded out.

  'Jesus,' Sarah said, fanning the air, 'what did he eat?'

  'My guess? Beans and wieners.' I got up. 'Ready to order pizza?'

  Sarah followed me into the kitchen. 'Can we get anchovies?'

  'Sure, on your half.' I picked up the phone. 'But you'll have to share. Frank just loves the little fishies.'

  'Wait. Forget the anchovies. On top of the beans and wieners you'd have to get the house fumigated, then the dog laminated. I don't want to be here when that happens.'

  'Good call.' I didn't want anchovies in the vicinity of my pizza, anyway. They manage to migrate from their half of the pie to mine, and they stink worse than Frank.

  I punched in the phone number for Pizza Palace, which had recently been taken over by a chain.

  'Pizza Palace,' the canned voice on the other end said.

  I opened my mouth, but was put on hold without getting a chance to speak.

  'No answer?' Sarah asked.

  'I'm on hold. A Pavarotti sound-alike is waxing eloquent about pizza toppings.'

  'Classy. Well, while you're waiting, let's talk about our building schedule. I don't think the accident will delay anything, though it's a damn good thing nobody was hurt.'

  I disengaged the receiver from my ear. 'Accident? What accident?'

  'Ronny didn't tell you?'

  'No. I haven't spoken to him since I left the depot this morning, and everything was fine then.'

  There was a click on my phone, so I put the thing back to my ear. Pavarotti-Lite was stil
l filling my ear, now singing 'O Sausage Pizza' to the tune of 'O Sole Mio'.

  What had happened to my country? And my pizza place? 'Was Ronny in a car accident, too?'

  'No, a fall. He leaned on some deck railing and the wood broke away.'

  I held up my hand as there was another click on the line. I was concerned about Ronny, but I didn't want to lose my place in the phone queue.

  'Pizza Palace. Can you hold please?'

  'I've been holding,' I screamed into the receiver. No use, the music started up again. I held it out so Sarah could hear.

  'Funiculi, Funicula?' she asked.

  'A Calzoni, A Calzona,' I said. 'So, is Ronny all right?'

  'Fine. Except that he landed in the bushes so he's a little scratched up.'

  'Are you talking about our railing at the depot?' I asked.

  'Yup. Just to the right of the stairs.'

  That didn't compute. 'But I tested that railing and it was solid as a rock. There's no way someone as slight as Ronny could have gone through it.'

  ‘The overture to A Chorus Line struck up into my ear. Then, click. ‘Pizza Palace, can’

  I didn't let him finish. 'No, I can't hold,' I snapped. 'I've been holding for ten minutes. Your canned music is now moving on to Broadway show tunes, and in my current emotional state, I can't take that.'

  'I was just—'

  'I don't care what else you were doing. You need to answer your phone. And all your songs are stupid,' I added for good measure. 'Now, will you take my order? Please?'

  'Certainly, ma'am,' the young voice said. 'Umm, I was just going to say "Can I take your order?".'

  'oh.' Lower case.

  'Can I interest you in . . .'

  Sarah looked at the writing on the third of three flat cardboard boxes. 'Dessert pizza? What the hell's that?' She opened a bag. 'And wings? Garlic sticks? Did you order everything on the menu?'

  'I felt terrible about yelling at the kid,' I admitted. 'I couldn't say no to him.'

  'To the tune of a hundred-dollar pizza order? They should be paying you for listening to their tacky advertising jingles. Just be glad they took our order before they reached Rodgers and Hammerstein or Lerner and Loewe.'

  I picked up a garlic stick. 'If ever I would leave you,' I sang to it, 'it would be a bummer. Leaving you's a bummer I . . . never . . . could do. Your—'