“The plumber will be here at oh nine hundred hours!” he announces in a reverberating bass that could do serious damage if the listener had a hangover. “I fished the number out of your mum's logbook. Meantime, the mates have suggested breakfast grub at the mall food court, and I have agreed to be their captain, if that's okay with the Home Office and you can lend me a vessel.”
I'll bet they suggested the food court, with all its chain restaurants. Mom never lets anyone eat out unless it's a friend's birthday party. Just looking at those prices makes her dizzy.
The door leading from the garage into the kitchen swings open and Bernard enters in musical mode, performing one of his favorite numbers from Singin in the Rain. “Good morning, good morning, we talked the whole night through, good morning to you!” He then points to us individually while adding, “And to you and you and you.”
When Bernard sees Uncle Lenny's marine garb he salutes and shouts, “My Gallant Crew, Good Morning!”
Uncle Lenny looks up from his map and bellows, “Refrain, Audacious Tar!”
Suddenly I'm afraid they're going to have a fight. And I appear to be correct.
Bernard approaches Uncle Lenny and yells, “Can I Survive This Overbearing?”
“Never Mind the Why and Wherefore,” Uncle Lenny volleys back while rising from the table, his bushy eyebrows floating above his eyes like fluffy white clouds.
Practically toe to toe with Uncle Lenny, Bernard hollers, “We Sail the Ocean Blue!”
To my great amazement they both break into lively song, “We sail the ocean blue, and our saucy ship's a beauty; we're sober men and true, and attentive to our duty.” Never shy about performing, Bernard makes up in enthusiasm what he lacks in pitch. However, Uncle Lenny of the low register growl erupts into an opera-ready high tenor. Not only can he carry a tune, but potentially seed a few clouds with his robust projection!
After their chorus is complete Bernard notices my startled expression and casually explains, “H.M.S. Pinafore.”
Bernard nods approvingly at Uncle Lenny. “Those are some pipes.”
“Twelve years in the Coast Guard Glee Club,” Uncle Lenny proudly states, and then salutes Bernard.
I see this as my opportunity for a conference about Uncle Lenny's plan to disembark with the kids and say, “Bernard, um, could you come and help me with the twins for a moment?”
“Of course.” It's apparent that he gets my drift. “I'll leave these thank-you notes here on the counter.”
Bernard follows me out of the kitchen and upstairs to my old bedroom.
“A pipe burst in the middle of the night and Uncle Lenny has offered to take the kids to the food court at the mall over in Timpany.” I whisper so that Uncle Lenny doesn't overhear. Though I can't imagine he would since you practically have to shout right in his face for him to know he's being addressed. Back when Uncle Lenny was in the coast guard, they must have still been using cannons.
“I thought the kids were terrified of him,” says Bernard. “And though he appears to be a jolly fellow underneath all those whiskers, I can see why they might be a bit tentative.”
“With the power to access fast food he's become exponentially more appealing,” I explain. “They'd follow a serial killer to the food court. All Palmer children suffer from acute Happy Meal deprivation.”
When we reach the spot where the twins cribs are, I can't believe my eyes. Teddy has just finished changing both boys. I wasn't even aware that he knew how to change a diaper.
“I saw you were busy in the kitchen.” Teddy says this as if he changes the boys all the time, which I happen to know full well he doesn't.
“Gee, thanks,” I say. This is very strange indeed.
“Uh, Hallie,” Teddy says casually, “Uncle Lenny can drop me off at the hospital on his way to the mall.”
“Teddy, he doesn't even know where it is. Eric drove him there exactly once.”
“Uncle Lenny says he can find any place with a map and the sun or the North Star.” Teddy disappears around the corner before I can give him an answer.
“Do you think it's safe to let him take a car with the kids?” I ask Bernard.
“Anybody who knows the words to a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta is okay in my book. It's probably just more difficult for a … well, a bachelor man such as himself to find ways to be useful with all these children. Give him a chance.”
“Not to sound like my mother, but his address is a bar.”
“It's difficult to get mail in the middle of the ocean,” says Bernard. “And having a little drink now and then is by no means a sign of derangement. Why, Edith Rockefeller was a teetotaler and yet believed herself to be the child bride of King Tutankhamen.”
“I suppose,” I say. “It sure would be nice to get a few things done without the carnival going full tilt.”
“We can pick up your car at school,” adds Bernard. “Weren't you worried about parking tickets?”
“Okay, but the plumber is coming at nine. At least I think that's what Uncle Lenny said. I can't understand what he's talking about half the time. Did you know that Oscar, Tango, Bravo, Echo is marine code for overtaken by events?”
“No I didn't, but it certainly goes a long way in describing your current situation. We can work on the thank-you notes until the plumber finishes.”
I lean my head back and groan. “Do I have to write them today?”
“May as well get it over with,” says Bernard. “But I suppose if you think your mother won't mind …”
“Fine!” I raise my hand in front of his face—the international signal to stop nagging someone before she slaps you. Bernard knows exactly what buttons to push with me. My mother would of course be horrified if thank-you notes didn't go out in a timely manner. And not just any old notes but ones properly written with no shortcuts, such as a form letter that begins “Dear Mourner.” After all, Mom is the one who wrote a note to thank the man who smashed her rear axle for giving her a ride home after the tow truck finally arrived.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WHEN THE PLUMBER SPENDS TEN MINUTES CHANGING A FITTING on a pipe and charges me $185, it's obvious that I've been going to school for the wrong occupation. As I forge Mom's name on a check, I see from the neatly kept ledger that there's only $111.43 left in the account.
Bernard and I pack the twins into the back of his Volvo and head over to his house. “Slight change in plan,” he says. “It's getting late and I'm bringing the cinnamon sugar palmiers to Hattie McKenzie's retirement tea at the historical society this afternoon. Gil will drive you to Cleveland to pick up your car.”
“Palmiers?” I ask.
“Puff pastry,” replies Bernard. “Believe me, you don't want to know the rest—I was up until five o'clock this morning with collapsing dough. Heaven forbid the recipe says not to use whipped butter—these French dessert books assume that one was born knowing these things!”
Now that I take a good look, Bernard does indeed appear tired, with circles under his eyes and a slightly gray pallor.
“At two A.M. I was at the convenience store buying every stick of butter in stock.” Bernard raises the back of his hand to his forehead and dramatically states, “I think I'm suffering from pastry shell shock.”
Sure enough, Gil is waiting inside the front door and they switch places. Gil is the more athletic of the two, and he swings into the driver's seat with one hand on the roof of the car without even disturbing his hat. The Cleveland Indians baseball cap that he wears almost constantly is not to designate him a fan so much as to hide his receding hairline.
“Cleveland or bust!” says Gil with a cheerful smile as he checks for traffic and then pulls out of the driveway.
“The car isn't far from where you guys parked that night you picked me up,” I say. And then I can't help but think, that night, the one when the world came off its axis.
“Bernard said we're also clearing out your apartment,” says Gil.
“There really isn't time for the apartm
ent.” The truth is that I just can't bring myself to pack up. Besides, there's no chance of finding someone to take over my portion of the lease at this late date. “How's work?” I change the subject. Though it's common knowledge that Gil hates his job as a corporate trainer.
“I'm caught in a trap,” says Gil, using a line from A Streetcar Named Desire. “The work isn't too hard, the pay is pretty good, and I absolutely hate it. But Gigi and Rose will need money for college and so I do it.”
“Not for another fifteen years,” I say. “And Bernard's business is doing well.”
“He's told me to quit a million times,” says Gil. “But I wouldn't feel right about not pulling my weight with the bills.”
When we locate the dirt-covered green cabriolet, it's stuck in an ice-encrusted snowbank and there are four tickets stuck under the wipers along with an explanation of how long you have to dig out after a major storm. Oh well, it could be a lot worse. I escaped the tow truck.
Gil shovels the plow-packed snow out from around the tires while I clean the windows and make sure that it starts. As we work, kids walk past us on their way to the library and the art rooms, talking and laughing or listening to music through earphones while enjoying the privacy of their own thoughts. It's hard to believe that I was one of them just two weeks ago.
After the car is free from the hardened snow and warmed up, we transfer the sleeping twins to the backseat.
“Drive safely,” says Gil. “I'm going to stop by my office and pick up some files.”
It's a long ride home under a pollution-gray sky, one that I wouldn't be making until spring break if Dad hadn't died. Will I ever be able to finish school? The twins wake up in the backseat and make noises that indicate they're anticipating lunch at my earliest convenience.
On the outskirts of town I pass the Starview Drive-in, an outdoor movie theater that has been there since the 1950s. In fact, it's where my parents went on their first date. The marquee that usually reads SEE YOU IN THE SPRING in big black letters has been changed to FOR SALE, followed by a phone number. The combination of rising real estate prices and people wanting to see the stars from the comfort of their own living rooms has apparently put an end to our only drive-in. The twins might never know what it's like to attach a clunky speaker to the window and make out in row H.
When I arrive back at the house, Uncle Lenny has Teddy occupied with a bunch of wires and a big yellow balloon in the front yard. Uncle Lenny explains that Teddy is supposed to be shipwrecked and about to be rescued by using a balloon with a radar shield. Or something like that. Uncle Lenny informs us that his real calling is as an inventor. Yeah, Uncle Lenny is actually an inventor and I'm really an heiress to the sippy cup fortune.
“I called the house a couple times from the mall, but no one was here.” Uncle Lenny concentrates on adjusting the radar box as he speaks.
“I had to go and pick up my car in Cleveland,” I explain.
“They said you'd given permission for everything.”
Number one, permission for what? And number two, you never believe children about anything when they're in a mall. Based on the shouts coming from inside the house, I decide it's probably better to go and see for myself rather than make further inquiries.
Inside, it all hits me at once, in a Mad Hatter Tea Party sort of way. Francie's hair was halfway down her back this morning and now it's competing with Eric's crew cut. Darlene has gone from having long red tresses to a bob that ends slightly below her ears, while Davy has a spiky gelled-up style possibly modeled after something in the cockatoo family. Lillian's hair is about three inches shorter and she now sports bangs, which I decide are rather cute. They must have stopped in that place where the high school kids get the bulldogs shaved into their heads.
No one notices my entrance, given that they're all preoccupied with a little gray and white ball of fluff. “Whose cat is that?” I ask angrily, afraid of the answer.
“You thaid we could get a kitten on Thaturday!” whines Darlene, tears already forming in the corners of her eyes. Her lisp always worsens the minute she becomes upset.
“I did not say on Saturday.”
Francie runs over and hands me a bowl with an exotic-looking bright red fish in it.
“It's a Japanese fighting fish,” explains Davy. “You can't have two in the same bowl because they'll fight to the death.”
“Aren't cats and fish awfully close in the food chain?” I'm distracted from my fury for a second by the simple facts of nature.
“We're not going to keep them together,” explains Francie, as if she's addressing a complete idiot.
Now I'm ready to blow my top. What is Mom going to say about these haircuts? Yes, I'd been muttering that they needed trims … however, the pets have to go back right now. This is absolutely the wrong moment for animals. But then I watch how joyous they all are, pulling a piece of string around for the kitten to chase, exclaiming over the fish, and no longer encumbered by tangled hair. What the heck? As Mom said the time that Francie chopped off Lillian's curly mop on one side, “It will grow back.”
With less than three inches of hair covering Francie's head, I notice a glint coming from her earlobes. My voice rises as I move closer. “Did you get your ears pierced?”
There was definitely no permission slip issued for this infraction. When Louise and I were younger we had to beg Dad to let us get our ears pierced, and even then he was angry for a week, acting as if streetwalkers had taken up residence in his house.
Francie quickly covers her ears with her hands as her face turns bright red. She's well aware that there's no arguing her way out of this one. On the other hand, all I have to do is tell her to take them out, the holes will close up in a few days, and no one will be the wiser. Only with her short hair they at least make her look like a girl. Actually the little pink studs are sort of pretty. Normally she's such a tomboy.
Francie catches me the moment my guard is down and hugs my knees. “Darlene was too afeard,” she says proudly.
Darlene looks up upon hearing her name and, hugging the kitten close, informs me, “His name is Kitty!”
Oh well, so many things have changed recently, what's a few more? I'm suddenly cheered. Worst case, I'll simply blame everything on Uncle Lenny and say that, when all this happened, I wasn't part of “the command structure,” a direct quote from him.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE PLAN FOR SUNDAY HAD BEEN TO TAKE THE KIDS TO CHURCH and then go sledding in the park after lunch. However, there's an ice storm in progress and it sounds as if the windows are being pummeled by a thousand marbles. Opening the front door is like going in front of a BB-gun firing squad, and if you step onto the front porch without metal cleats you'll go flying all the way to Main Street.
As I'm making breakfast Eric calls from school to report that they won their game.
“That would make Dad happy,” I say.
“How are things going?” he asks.
“Okay, I guess. I don't remember having this much energy as a kid. Even if you stick them in front of the television they manage to jab at each other and start fights.”
“You were always off in some corner with a deck of cards,” Eric reminds me.
“Actually, that's not a bad idea,” I say. “Today is never going to end. Maybe I can get them to play a really long card game like War, only with five decks.”
I hear a crash upstairs followed by a shriek and tell Eric that I'd better go. Francie has knocked the fishbowl over and the poor creature flops around on the floor while she screams at full volume. I grab the fish in my hands and race toward the bathroom, only she thinks I'm going to kill it and becomes hysterical. Finally I'm able to explain that it's only in the toilet until we get a bowl from downstairs. She guards the flusher to make sure.
Teddy appears in the bathroom doorway and asks if Uncle Lenny or I can drive him to see Mom. “Sorry, Teddy, but it's an ice storm. Look out the window—no one is on the road.”
Davy comes flying pas
t us carrying the kitten, heading toward the stairs, with Darlene in hot pursuit, screaming, “Give it back!”
“Teddy—huge favor—please put Francie's fish in a new bowl,” I say.
“If I do that, then will you drive me to the hospital?” Teddy bargains with me. “They'll salt the roads soon.”
“Teddy, I think we have to give it a rest for today,” I say.
“That's not fair!” he raises his voice. “How is Mom going to get better if we don't help her!”
A howl goes up from Francie's room and, recalling Darlene running past wearing only her nightgown and socks, it's easy to guess what happened.
Charging into the bedroom I shout, “What are you doing in there with broken glass!”
But it's too late and Darlene shows me the cut on her foot. Fortunately it's not terrible and there don't seem to be any glass fragments stuck inside.
Uncle Lenny appears at the bottom of the stairs carrying Lillian under his arm like a big football. She's managed to get into the blueberry jam and it's all over her face and in her formerly strawberry-blond hair. We're approaching Cat in the Hat–level chaos and it's not even breakfast time. Honestly, I'm ready to burst into tears.
Uncle Lenny puts the forefinger and pinky of his right hand into his mouth and lets fly an ear-piercing whistle. This certainly gets everyone's attention. Davy, still in his Spider-Man pajamas, stops tearing around with the kitten and comes to the top of the stairs to see what's going on, Teddy stops arguing, Francie stops crying, Lillian stops wriggling, and even the kitten looks wide-eyed with expectation.
“Parade halt!” booms Uncle Lenny.
Parade? It's more like a six-ring circus. All we need are some dancing bears and a poodle act.
“All children will be washed, dressed, booted, and spurred with hair combed in exactly one-five minutes and report to the galley for breakfast vittles!”
The Big Shuffle Page 10
