Games We Play

by Ruthie Robinson

  According to her aunt’s directions, she was to make a right to Locus Street. Yes, there it was now. Then it was three blocks up, a left onto Painted Pony. Another two minutes, and it was right on her left. She glanced down at the clock on her dashboard. It was five till 2:00 p.m., and she was great on time. Two minutes later and she was parked alongside the curb, in front of her aunt’s home.

  That was easy, she thought, finally letting go of the idea of LC. She should have stopped at the Brewpub. She’d wanted to, and he’d clearly expected her to. Nope. “Later gator,” she’d said out loud as she passed him. Kendall was nothing if not punctual, and she hadn’t wanted to arrive late.

  She took a moment to look at her aunt’s home. Has it always been this small? she thought, taking in the homes surrounding it. Probably, but at age ten, her one and only visit here, it had seemed huge. She tried to conjure up those memories, memories of being outside on sunny days, eating popsicles, playing with friends she’d made, and eating dinner with her aunt and uncle. She’d spent so many evenings that summer playing outside with her dolls or the neighbors’ children while her uncle tinkered on something in the garage. He’d kept the door opened to keep an eye out for her.

  The house was built with bricks, painted a light yellow, and she couldn’t remember if it had been that color as a child. These houses had been built in the early 1930s or 1940s. The front porch, with its white-painted railing that came to about her waist. She remembered playing on it, feeling safe and special, hidden within its depths.

  She took the two steps that led to the front door. To the left of the door there were two single windows, both open, both covered with screens. The porch had been painted that grey color she’d seen in a few fancy garages. A few potted plants sat in between two dark green chairs, the old-school metal kind that rocked.

  She knocked. She could see inside through the screen door protecting the wooden front door, which stood open. She turned and glanced behind her. The yard was neat. A nice old tree sat in the front near the curb, surrounded by a brick wall, five or six bricks high, painted yellow to match the house. No flowers in the flower beds, just mulch covering the dirt. She heard noises and turned to see her aunt’s figure come into view.

  Aunt Myra looked so much like her mother. It was uncanny. They could have passed for twins, and her aunt was the younger daughter by a few years. She was close to Kendall’s five-seven height, neither of them as tall as Vivian, the model. Her aunt was slim like her mother, and she was dressed in slacks and a blouse. She wore her hair in a short Afro, and glasses hung on a beaded string around her neck.

  Kendall stepped aside as her aunt pushed open the screen door. “You must be Kendall. I hardly recognize you,” Aunt Myra said, motioning for her to enter. “Let me take a look at you,” she said, a smile on her face as her eyes roamed over Kendall. “Beautiful, just like your mother. You have any trouble getting here?”

  “No, none at all.”

  “Good then. Are you hungry?” Myra asked.

  “I could eat,” she said.

  “Great. I fixed us lunch. It’s set up on the back patio, where I watch my evening TV shows. Follow me, and I’ll give you a small tour of the house on the way.” The house was small and clean, with a country-favored décor, Kendall decided as she trailed behind her aunt. It was nicely furnished, with expensive, sturdy-looking furniture. Hardwood floors ran throughout the rooms.

  “The living room is to the left, the dining room to the right,” Myra said, as they walked past them.

  “My bedroom is to the left, and you can take the guest bedroom, which is across the hall from me,” she said, opening the door. Kendall stepped in briefly and took a quick glance around the room—champagne pink and spotless.

  “It’s pretty,” Kendall said.

  “This is the one bathroom that we’ll share,” Myra said, pointing to the room next door to her aunt’s room and across the hall from Kendall’s temporary one.

  The hallway that led from the front door ended in the kitchen, which was big and roomy. An old wooden table with four chairs around it sat to the left of the doorway. Green seat cushions covered the chairs, matching the place mats that were on the table. Green curtains of some lightweight fabric hung from the window, and an oval-shaped green rug sat underneath the kitchen table.

  There were three single windows—two in a row on the side wall and one on the back wall, offering a view to the backyard. An electric fan stood spinning quietly in one of the windows, bringing in the cool spring air.

  Across the room from the table was the cooking portion of the kitchen. Two rows of cabinets, upper and lower, flanked the walls, with counter space below the upper cabinets, interrupted first by the refrigerator, then by the sink and the stove.

  “You have a lovely home,” Kendall said, and it was true. The word cozy came to mind. It was very different from her mother’s upscale, expensive, expansive style.

  “It’s home. It’s not very large compared to what you’re used to, I’ll bet, but George and I were very happy here,” she said, moving through the kitchen to the door leading outside.

  Kendall followed her, stepping out into a screened-in back porch, half the size of the kitchen in width. There was another door, opening out onto a set of steps that led to the backyard.

  “This is where I spend most of my time when I’m home. I sit out here and have my morning coffee, read the paper, and watch TV. It was a part of your uncle George’s daily routine. He liked to have his breakfast out here in the spring and fall, when the weather was changing and the breeze was cool. Have a seat, and I’ll go and get our lunch,” she said.

  “I can help,” Kendall said.

  “You’ll do no such thing. You’re my guest,” Aunt Myra said, and went back inside the kitchen.

  Kendall glanced around the room while she waited. It was cozy out here too, her first thought. There were two chairs pushed under a small table, the top of which was round and topped with two place mats. Brown, tightly-napped carpeting covered the patio floor. An armchair and a small sofa covered in some type of paisley print sat next to the door, and a small table topped with a small lamp rested next to the chair. A bookcase stood against the back wall that separated this room from the outside. There were three shelves, and a small television sat on the top shelf. Some old western was playing, the volume turned down low.

  Kendall sat in one of the chairs at the table and waited. A few minutes later, Aunt Myra was back, carrying a tray of sandwiches in one hand and a pitcher of tea in the other, a bowl of strawberries balanced in between them.

  “Set those on the table, baby,” she said, handing the tray to Kendall before she went back to the kitchen.

  Her aunt made several more trips to the kitchen, until the table was set to her satisfaction. She took the seat across from Kendall.

  “Alright, Aunt Myra, I’m just going to come right out and say this. I believe Vivian has sent me here to check up on you…more specifically, to check out your finances,” she said, laughing at the surprise that fell over her aunt’s face. “I’ve been thinking about her motivations since she first asked me to visit you.”

  “Okay,” Myra said, more than a little surprised by Kendall’s words and her frank tone. She sat back in her chair to listen.

  “She was waiting at my home for me one day, almost two months ago, her monthly nosing-into-what’s-going-on-in-daughter-number-one’s-life visit. She must have gone through my things and found those statements for the trust that you and Uncle George established. It’s the only explanation I can come up with. It has to be about money—your will and Uncle George’s, and what she thinks is potentially her daughters’ future money.”

  “I thought that too. You and your sisters are the beneficiaries, after all. You’re the only family I have left. Does Vivian always go through your things?” Myra asked.

  “For as long as I can remember. Yes. ‘You live in my house, what’s yours is mine,’ was one of her famous sayings growing up. I’m u
sed to it, and so is Lark, although she had a harder time dealing with Vivian than I did.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Myra said.

  Kendall smiled and shrugged. “I honestly didn’t pay attention to those statements for the trust. I just filed them away…I never read them, and I can assure you that Lark hasn’t either. I think we should get something hugely important straight from the start,” she said, waiting until her aunt met her eyes again.

  “I don’t want your money,” Kendall said, and chuckled at the surprise that landed on her aunt’s face again…and was that disbelief that she saw there? Both were expressions Aunt Myra hadn’t been quick enough to hide.

  “It’s okay. You would be surprised by how many people think I’ve followed in my mother’s footsteps,” Kendall said, and laughed. “I don’t have to tell you that, I bet. I’m sure you know your sister, and I’m too old to pretend that my mother is anything other than who she is. I still love her, though, or at least I’m trying my best.”

  “You are very direct,” Myra said.

  “I’ve found that it’s best to be up-front with all things relating to money, especially if Vivian is involved,” she said, smiling at her aunt. “Your money is safe from me. Neither Lark nor I are interested in it. You can spend it all or not. We don’t care. I don’t expect you to believe me. You don’t know me. However, I do hope to show you this summer that I’m really just interested in getting to know you, and if you want me to draw up papers attesting to that, I’ll happily sign them.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Of all the things I thought you might tell me…” Myra said.

  “You didn’t think honesty or forthrightness would be my way. I understand, which is why it’s all the more important that I be honest,” Kendall added, chuckling. “However, I am concerned that someone might be stealing from you, which is another reason I’ve taken up your invitation. You did invite me, didn’t you? Vivian didn’t force that on you, did she?” Kendall asked.

  “Nobody forces me to do anything, so yes, I did,” her aunt said, laughing now. “Vivian told me she thought you needed to give some time to your beau. Is that not true?”

  “That you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-got-till-it’s-gone play,” Kendall interjected.

  “Right,” Myra said, and smiled. “He needed to realize your value to him, and you needed a place to live, preferably out of his sight.”

  “I only agreed with Vivian because I wanted to make sure no one was taking advantage of you. I’m not interested in the how-to-catch-a-man plan, but yes, your invitation did come at an excellent time. It was a convenient excuse for me to leave the city, leave that Houston nonsense behind, figure out what happened to your missing money, and—most importantly—get reacquainted with you. I would like to know my aunt,” Kendall said.

  “I’m happy to have the chance to get to know you too. Let’s say grace,” Myra said, taking Kendall’s hands into hers. “Lord, thank you for the food we are about to receive for the nourishment of our bodies, and thank you for sending my niece to visit me and for the opportunity to make a friend. Amen,” she said and smiled.

  “I’m starved,” Kendall said, reaching for two halves of a sandwich and placing them on her plate. “This house used to look huge to me,” she said, taking a bite. “This is so good,” she said after she’d chewed for a bit.

  “My famous chicken salad. You might be able to talk me into giving you the recipe,” Aunt Myra said. “I only give it to people I like, and it wasn’t your fault what happened. Your mother and I aren’t as close as most sisters.”

  “Has there always been this distance between you?” Kendall asked.

  “No, not always, but your mother and her beauty took its toll on those who loved her the most. Are you okay with my frank speak? Just like you, I prefer honesty,” she said, her eyes on Kendall, assessing.

  “You remind me of Vivian when you do that. It’s as if you can read through to my mental subtext,” Kendall said, and chuckled.

  “Your mother and I are the only ones left. Your grandparents are gone, at least your maternal ones. You’d think it would have made us closer, that knowledge, but it hasn’t,” Myra added.

  Kendall nodded. “I do love my mother,” she said, and placed her sandwich on her plate. “But you have to be really strong to stand up to her, or she’ll run you over and try to make you into her image. I could deal with her without letting it bother me too much, but not Lark. She’s younger and more sensitive. And now she doesn’t speak to Vivian at all.”

  “What happened?” Aunt Myra asked.

  “She found Butch, our father, and discovered the role Vivian played in keeping him apart from us. She hasn’t been able to forgive her for that,” Kendall said, reaching for her tea.

  “I don’t know what happened between the two of them,” she continued, “or why they divorced, and of course Vivian wouldn’t dream of telling me. My dad won’t discuss it much either, except to say it wasn’t his idea not to be in our lives. He wanted to help raise us. He is very a nice man, and we’re happy to be in contact with him now.”

  Aunt Myra watched for a minute. “Vivian was very bitter after the divorce. She thought I was involved in Butch’s decision to leave her.”

  “He left her? Wow—didn’t know that. Did you know him well?” Kendall asked.

  “Yes, very well. I introduced the two of them,” she said. “You didn’t know that either,” she said, obviously noticing the surprise in Kendall’s eyes.

  “No,” she mumbled around her food. “These are really good,” she said, pointing to the other half of her sandwich.

  Aunt Myra nodded, smiled. “He left, but he really didn’t have any other choice…she was something, your mother. She was always so determined to have things her way.” Myra looked away, as if she was remembering that time in her life. “It’s the first time we couldn’t forgive each other after a falling-out.”

  “My sister, Lark, lives with him. I thought it was a bit harsh, but I do understand her hurt and anger. And honestly, having spent time with him has affected my relationship with Vivian too. I don’t go by to see her as much as I used to, not like I should, not after I’ve learned what she did to him.”

  “Yes, I expect it has changed your relationship,” Myra said, staring outside now. “How is Butch doing?”

  “Fine, trying to make up for lost time. He’s happy to have Lark living with him.”

  “I’m glad you were able to reunite with him. He was a nice man. I hated what happened to him, and he loved your mother so,” Myra said, taking a sip of her tea.

  “Aren’t you a wealth of information? I’ll have to tell Lark. She considers herself a mystery solver, and we have no knowledge of my mother and Butch. We’re finally getting to know our family, Butch and his sisters. I have five aunts on his side of the family. Did you know that? It’s one of the reasons I wanted to take this chance to get to know you. Divine intervention, you could call it. It’s not about Vivian or Houston or even your missing money, although I’m going to check into that for sure. Yes, ma’am, I’m just going to march my little nose right into the middle of it, so you’ve been warned,” Kendall said. Her aunt laughed. “And of course I’d like for you to meet Lark too.”

  “I would love that. It’s never too late to get to know one’s family. Although you might find living here dull.”

  “I doubt it. I have my laptop to fill in the dull times. Coopersville also has that famous golf course, and I’m itching to play it.”

  “A golfer like your father.”

  “You knew?”

  “I did,” Aunt Myra said, smiling. “And you’re outspoken, just like your grandmother,” she said, laughing this time. “You had the makings of a smart mouth. I noticed it when you spent your first and only summer with us, and it’s nice to know you’ve grown into it,” she said, to Kendall’s laughter.

  “That sounds fine, all your reasons for spending the summer with me, and if I haven’t said so before now, I want you to know tha
t I’m glad you’re here, and I look forward to getting to know you and, eventually, your sister,” Myra said.

  #

  Kendall’s cell phone was ringing. She reached over a stack of clothes she was in the midst of unpacking and picked it up. She checked the caller ID. It was Houston, her ex, calling, and wasn’t that surprising. It had been two weeks without a peep.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “How is Coopersville?” he asked.

  “I think I’m going to like it here. My aunt is a nice woman.”

  “That’s cool,” he said.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Sure about what?”

  “Us.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked. He’d asked it before, two weeks ago, the first time she’d told him she was done.

  “I’m not the one for you, and you’re not the one for me, but I’ve said all this before.”

  “This is a game you’re running,” he said.

  “Nope, no game.”

  “It is too a game. You think I’ll come running after you,” he said.

  “I don’t expect you to come running after me.”

  “I don’t chase and I don’t play games.”

  “So you’ve told me. Do you love me?” she asked, hoping to put a stop to this before he got going. She hadn’t asked him that before.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you love me, and I’ll have the truth please.”

  He remained silent.

  “I don’t love you either, so what are we doing?” she said softly into the continued silence.

  “I thought we were dating, getting to know each other, seeing if we might could love each other, but I guess I have no idea now what we were doing,” he said, his voice softer now too. The first hint that he was affected by her decision to end it, the first hint that there were feelings behind his bluster. It was gone a few seconds later, the quick flash of vulnerability that men like him hated to show.