by Erin Lee
Chapter Six
“How’s Grandma?”
“Strange.”
“Strange, how? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to worry about her. She keeps saying things that don’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Well, she’s old, Cal.”
“That’s what Julie said.”
“What’s she saying?”
I can hear the concern in Austin’s voice, but also the annoyance. He has to be at formation soon and I’m sure life in Endings isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Still, he needs to know what’s going on with Maggie.
“She just keeps rambling about the summer I wasn’t here and how, sometimes, things just happen. She won’t stop talking about Grandma and Pappy. It’s like she’s trying to go back in time or something. I don’t know. It’s really hard to explain and none of it makes any sense at all.”
“Cal. Stop listening to her. That place makes people crazy. We need to get out of there.”
“I like it here.”
“I don’t have time to argue about it.”
“You sound just like Pappy. Endings is the only place that was ever consistent for me. I get it. The people here are, well, quirky. But what’s so wrong with that? And how are we any different?”
“I’m not saying we’re different. I just think Endings is a place to visit, not a place to live.”
“Well, I disagree on that. But, you’re right. We don’t have to figure that out now.”
“Look, you already got your way. You have the wedding at Endings. It’s not like we can’t visit.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like we can just leave Maggie alone in Endings. She really needs someone with her all the time. I’ve been with her since Grandma died.”
“Cal, we have a life of our own. We can get someone in there or put her in a home or something.”
Over my dead body. “That is not happening.”
“It’s funny how Grandma hates Bess so much. She’s always looking to cause trouble, too.”
“No she isn’t. Like you said, she’s old. She’s trying to go down memory lane or something. Leave her alone. My goodness, Austin. She’s your grandmother. Be nice! She won’t be around forever. And then what? She’s all you have left in the world!”
“Fine. We don’t have to decide this now. I’m just saying I’m not dying at Happy Endings. You and our grandmothers may think that’s cute, but it won’t be my life.”
“Okay, Pappy. Relax.”
Austin laughs. “I miss you, Granny.”
“Oh, shut up. I miss you, too.”
“I just want to come home, wherever that is.”
“I want you home, too. How did testing go?”
“Excellent. I’m officially a 91E allied trade specialist. Certifications in drill press lathe stick and gas welding locked and loaded, Ma’am.”
“Oh, that’s great! I’m so proud.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“You talked to Jason?”
“Yes. He’s got the trellis all set and said he’s ready for you as soon as we get back from the honeymoon.”
“Good. I want to start making money.”
“You’re making money now.”
“Not enough.”
“Babe! Chill. You are so hyper. Stop. We are going to be fine. There’s more to life than a bank account.”
“There’s more to life than Endings.”
“Oh, God. Here we go.”
“No. Let’s drop it. What do you have going on this week?”
I decide not to tell him about the bachelorette party. He’s not in the right mood. Besides, it will just be me and the girls. The last thing I need is a lecture on Kiki and Stixx and how they are bad influences. Sometimes, I feel like Austin is a hundred years old. I can’t put my head around when things changed. As kids, it was the opposite, me looking out for him. Over the last few years, though, he’s gotten so much more serious. John says it’s because—unlike me—Austin has dreams. I think it’s just another guy thing. He reminds me of a younger version of Pappy. I’m starting to understand what Grandma meant about always making time for girlfriends and letting the men do things in their own way, on their own time. I reckon she knew what she was talking about. She usually did.
“Oh, the usual. Wedding stuff. I need to look at the course syllabus, too. Ordering books.” I twist the blue furry handcuffs Stixx left in Maggie’s mailbox in my hands, laughing to myself about what may be in store for the weekend. “What about you?”
“I have stupid fire guard again.”
“Oh, that sucks! I don’t get why they can’t just use the fire alarms. I mean, what’s the point?”
“You know, Cal. That’s a good question. I think the point is they like us being miserable.”
“You need to get home. You sound miserable.”
“I know. I do. I really miss you.”
“Me, too.”
Chapter Seven
I have no idea how Austin is supposed to get an STD test in Richmond. The whole thing is ridiculous. I tried to reason with the clerk at town hall. Picking up paperwork for our marriage license should have been simple. But state law doesn’t care that Austin and I have only been with each other since middle school and that we don’t need any testing.
I’m all set with wedding planning. I wish we could fast forward to our first anniversary or something. I still feel hung over from Stixx’s party; where I spent too many hours opening “toys” I would never consider using and certainly didn’t need a crowd staring at me while I received them. At least she tried, I guess.
I stop to fill Julie’s tank on my way back to the park. I wish I could figure out why the town clerk wouldn’t give me a break and why she looked at me like I had missed some sort of memo. This feeling is nagging at me and I can only write it off to pre-wedding jitters. Of course, it would help if Austin was easier to get ahold of.
The phone rings. I ignore it. It’s not the wedding march ring tone. Austin’s the only person I’ll pick up the phone for when driving. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just want to get home. I need to take a nap and start over. Besides, it’s almost lunchtime. Maggie will want her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I can feel her disapproval now—twenty minutes late. Maggie likes her meals on time.
After what feels like an hour, I finally pull into the Happy Endings entrance. Immediately, I know something is off. Cars that usually line the sides of the road are pulled up on to trails. I press on the gas, take two lefts and see exactly what I feared: An ambulance, smack dab in the middle of Maggie’s driveway. I don’t even put the car in park. I pull to the side of the road, turn it off and race to her front porch.
“Maggie? Maggie? What’s wrong?”
***
It’s two days before Maggie can talk. She’s had another stroke, her worst one yet. I hardly leave her bedside, and she hasn’t once reached for the clicker. Finally transferred from ICU to a regular, private room, I’m alone with her.
“You scared me.”
She nods, mouthing the words “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk.”
Her face droops worse than ever before, and I wonder why Austin hasn’t called me back. Stuck in processing, I know it’s hard. Last time, with boot camp, there was no contact at all. What could he do, even if he knew?
“I’m going to postpone the wedding. We can’t have that wedding without you there. We need to get you better.”
Maggie shakes her head “no.”
“Yes. There’s no arguing. So don’t even try. It’s just a wedding. It’s not the end of the world. We can have it in the fall. They say you’re going to be here awhile.”
Maggie shakes her head again. I hand her the clicker. She lets it drop. She reaches for my hand instead. The strength in her grip takes me by surprise. “Have your wedding,” she says. “…Your Pappy.”
“Pappy? I don’t understand.”
Maggie closes her eyes.
I spend the next
few days with her at the hospital. By the end of the week, she’s got full control of the clicker and tells me I talk too much. She sends me home, telling me I’m interrupting her shows and that the hospital makes better grilled cheese than I do. She tells me to get back to wedding planning and that I’ve got work to do. I agree, reluctantly.
***
“She’s right. It’s not like a wedding is an easy thing to cancel. And you have your brother and Sonya coming to town. Plane tickets are expensive…” Julie looks like she’s about to cry when I tell her I may postpone the wedding. “You’ve spent all this time planning. I’d just hate to see it all go to waste.”
I shake my head. “I’m talking about postponing, not cancelling. I wish I could talk to Austin. The caterer only needs seventy-two hours’ notice. We could get married in the fall. John won’t care about tickets. He’s got the money. And couldn’t they get a refund?”
“I’m serious, Cal. She wants this. And can’t she get out on a day pass or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“I bet that kid Drake would pick her up and bring her. Or you could ask Jason. Either of them would do it.”
“Austin hates Drake.”
“Austin hates everyone in Endings.”
“True story.”
“But seriously. Everyone would help. She’s in a wheelchair, Cal. It’s not like it would be much more of a strain than going to the hospital atrium. She does that, right?”
I give Julie the evil eye. “It’s a lot different. She’s the closest thing to a grandparent I have left. It’s just a wedding. People are more important than a party. You sound like Stixx.”
Julie looks away. “Okay Cal. Whatever you decide.”
“Sorry. I’m just stressed out. You aren’t like Stixx. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do all this. And now they want STD tests.”
“Really? Why?”
I shrug. “I have no clue. I tried to tell the court clerk that wasn’t necessary.”
“She probably hears that a lot.”
“Yeah. True. But I don’t know why that’s anyone’s business anyway.”
“I think they are trying to protect you both.”
“I don’t need protection. What I need is Austin home. This is getting old.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I never seem to remember how hard this must be on Julie, whose husband is in jail. For better or worse, she loves the guy. This much, I’m sure of, though she’s never given any details and I’ve always wondered… “Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Stop apologizing! This is frustrating. I reckon Austin has no idea how much is happening here. Who else are you supposed to vent to?”
“Oh, I’m sure he has problems of his own. All the military is is ‘hurry up and wait.’ Takes ten days just to get through processing. He hates it.”
“I’d hate that, too.”
“Yeah.”
“So, whatever you decide, I think you at least have everything you need. Did you ever find your something blue?”
I smile and tell her about Stixx’s handcuffs.
“Oh, well that’s interesting!” she laughs. “That’s the kind of handcuffs I could get into!”
Chapter Eight
“Hi, I’m looking for Margaret Rivers. Is she home?”
The woman at the door peers over my shoulder, peeking into Maggie’s house like she’s about to walk right in. I creek the screen door open, just enough to get my body through, and join her on the front porch.
“No, she’s not here. How can I help you?”
“Where is she?”
Maggie—who rarely bothers to answer the door—would flip if she could see the pushy woman edging closer toward me, leaning in to get a peek inside the house.
I move my body to shield her view, not that I’m hiding anything—which is probably how it appears—but because I know Maggie would want me to. “How can I help you?” I repeat, bracing myself in the door frame.
The woman, who struggles to carry a clipboard and briefcase at the same time, sighs. She pulls a lanyard with identification from her blouse. She pushes a badge into my line of vision.
“Sally O’Mason, CPSW. I’m here to talk to Maggie.”
With no concept that CPSW stands for child protection social worker or why someone with that title would even be on Maggie’s doorstep, I glare at her.
“I told you, she’s not here.”
“When will she be home?”
I step back, trying to escape her onion breath and an odor coming off her body like she’s been travelling for weeks. I shrug. “I’m not sure. Do you have a card? I can tell her you stopped by.”
“No, I need to see her now. Where is she?”
“Listen, I’m technically Margaret—Maggie’s—legal guardian. Her health is, well, compromised. I am happy to leave her a message and have her get back to you. Or, maybe I can help you. I just don’t have much time. I need to bring some things…”
The woman, built like an apple, wipes sweat from her forehead in a motion so wide it causes me to forget my train of thought. She scrunches up her nose, as if she’s thinking—or maybe smelling herself—and finally says, “That might work. Do you have paperwork on the legal guardian stuff in there?”
I grip the doorway with hands on each side. Standing as tall as I can, I say, “Yes. Of course. What is this in regards to?”
“I need to see it. And, I need to get a consent release out of my car. I’ll be right back, can you go get the paperwork?”
I nod, perplexed at the situation but sure the woman, whose running car is blocking the driveway, has no intention of leaving until I emerge with the guardianship paperwork. “Yep.” I close the door, tight, behind me, turning back to lock it before proceeding to Maggie’s filing cabinet.
Ten minutes later, the woman, apparently, content with what I’ve shown her and the forms I’ve signed for permission to talk about Maggie’s affairs, asks me my exact relationship to Maggie.
“Well, she’s about to be my grandmother-in-law,” I say, “That’s two weeks away, if we don’t push the wedding up so she can be…”
The woman’s fat lips form the shape of an O. “Wait, you’re engaged to Austin Rivers?”
I lift my left hand, exposing the princess cut diamond I picked out myself a month before Austin proposed. “Yes.”
“Even better! When is he back?”
I frown, wondering if Sally is related to Bess. Why do you need to know? It’s clear to me she has no interest in either my wedding or Maggie’s health. Still, I need her off Maggie’s porch so I can bring her socks and a bathrobe. “Eight days. I really need to know what I can help you with. Otherwise, I need to go.”
“Eight days. This will be fine then. Court’s in ten. Make sure he’s there.”
My heart drops. “Make sure Austin’s in court? Why?”
Sally motions to the car. I follow the straight line from her finger to the backseat, catching a glimpse of blond hair and a chubby hand on the window. “Tristan, of course.”
“Tristan? I’m so confused. Who is Tristan?”
“Austin’s son,” she frowns, shaking her head at me like she’s disgusted that I’ve even asked. That, or that she thinks I’m totally just dumb. “Hannah was put in custody last night and I don’t see her out before court. The bond’s pretty high. Maggie’s the only kin listed. With the paperwork…”
I can’t keep track of Sally’s words. I crane my neck to get a better view of the kid in the back of her Sentra. “Austin doesn’t have a son. There’s been a mistake. We’ve been together forever. We’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s never even slept with anyone else! …I’m sorry. You’re going to have to leave now. I need to go see Maggie.”
Sally bends down, adjusting her pants, and holding her lower back as she rifles through her briefcase. She shoves more paperwork at me. “No. No mistake. Sounds like you ought to have a talk with your man, doll. Can’t make milk out of a sow
’s ear. Best think about that now.”
***
Twenty minutes later
I sit on Maggie’s couch, staring at a little boy dressed in dungarees and a blue tee-shirt. I squint, trying to determine if he has Austin’s wide-set eyes. Certainly not the color, I decide, convinced there has to be a mistake. And then, it happens: He smiles. Every hope I had of some kind of mix-up vanishes somewhere in the runny-nosed kid’s dimples.
I call Austin.
No answer.
I don’t leave a message.
I don’t know what I would have said if he had answered.
Right now, more than anything, answers are what I need. I grab the folder Sally left with me, hoping Tristan will give me time to skim through it. What the hell am I going to do with a kid? Why is this my problem? And how does he even exist? How could Austin cheat on me? I’m going to kill him.
According to the paperwork, Tristan is almost three years old. He likes playing with trucks, is fully potty-trained, takes a nap at 11 a.m. every day, and is a “good eater.” He was born at a healthy eight pounds, seven ounces. Big first baby! Yikes. He was born “developmentally normal with no physical signs of substance abuse” and has met all age milestones. He’s 82nd percentile in height and 79th in weight.
A fat document labeled “social study” says his momma, Hannah, has been incarcerated for some sort of drug distribution. How is that even possible? Austin would never hang out with a girl like that. That’s proof that there’s been a mistake!
A mistake. Idiot social workers. God, I need Grandma. Grandma would know what to do. She always said the system was flawed and that’s why she was always worried about Momma coming back to take us. I search every crevice of my brain to recognize her name—Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. Hannah. No. I come up blank. I try to think of the terminology Sally O’Mason, the grouchy woman from the state, used. The word is one that allows Tristan to be here. Finally, it comes: Relative placement.
Still, nothing clicks. Nothing makes sense. For a moment, I’m tempted to track Sally down. I know she planned to stop at the Donavan’s—two streets down. She’d even asked me for directions, calling Happy Endings a “busy place” to live. Judgmental witch.
