Club Sandwich

by Lisa Samson

  “Another DUI?”

  “ ’Fraid so. Problem is, my mom’s home alone, and I haven’t been able to give her her shot. She’s also getting scared to be home alone.”

  “I understand.”

  “Rosa is with me, and she’s exhausted. I just don’t know who else to call.”

  “Dani, I’m his sister. Of course you could call me. What precinct are you at?”

  “Towson.”

  Right around the corner. “Okay. I’ll be right there. Go ahead and get you and that baby home.”

  “Thanks. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  “Oh yes, I do. You shouldn’t have to deal with his issues. You’re not even related to him.”

  I hop in the car and begin dialing my cell phone.

  Mitch meets me on the precinct steps.

  “Thanks, Mitch. I didn’t know who else to call. Lou’s out of town visiting her mother.”

  “Glad to help.”

  “I just don’t think I can handle Brian like this on my own.”

  We pay the bail. Well, Mitch pays the bail, and I’m humiliated. Here I was feeling all professional, and now I’m beholden once again. To somebody else, once again. How did I get so entangled in everyone else’s webbing?

  Brian’s curses echo all the way down the hall. “I’m so embarrassed,” my mouth mutters on its own.

  “Don’t be, Ive. He’s still drunk. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Thanks for saying that.”

  “It’s true. You can’t pick your family.”

  Brian pales when he sees us. “This was not my fault. I swear, Ivy. I only had one beer, and this guy stopped short.”

  Can you smell that smell? P.U., Brian.

  “You rear-ended him, Brian. He was at a red light. Dani told me everything.”

  “Well, she’s wrong! The wench.”

  “Just shut up, Brian. She doesn’t deserve that, and you don’t deserve a girl like her. Let’s just go.”

  Mitch steps forward. “I’ll drive him home, Ive. You get back to the kids.”

  I point in my brother’s face. “If you’re not at the restaurant for opening in the morning, I’m going to tell Mom all about this.”

  Another string of expletives. Yeah, yeah, whatever.

  Mitch jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go, Bri. I’ll see you home.”

  I run to the car, thanking God for Mitch, his kindness, and my new job. Yep, it’ll be great to say good-bye to that bistro. Too bad I can’t leave Brian behind with it.

  “Look Brian, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Nobody has two DUIs in less than three months and it isn’t their fault. Were you drinking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you driving?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then cut the crap.”

  “The officer, she had it out for me before she even stepped out of the car.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Thanks for bringing Mitch by.”

  “Well, listen, you owe him one. Not me. I’m done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m done with you. Remember that day Mom told us she was done with Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m done with you. And guess what? I got a job offer for over twice what I make here, and I can work at home. I took it.”

  “You’re leaving the bistro?”

  “Yep. You’re on your own.”

  “What about your stake in the business?”

  “You can buy me out whenever you want.”

  I turn and head toward the door.

  His eyes grow. “You’re leaving right now?”

  “You got it. The toilet paper’s in the bathroom, Bri. You can wipe up your own mess from here on out.”

  Oh, brother. What a horrible parting line!

  I step onto the sidewalk, his string of profanities following me out the door. They call stuff like this tough love. I call it heartache.

  Dear God, am I doing the right thing?

  I call Mitch’s cell phone.

  “Hi Ive.”

  “Listen, I just wanted to thank you for being there for me last night. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You’d have been fine, but hey, I’m glad to help.”

  “Lord knows I need it.”

  “So what’s the deal with Rusty?”

  Huh? “I wish I knew.”

  “Doesn’t he realize what a lucky man he is?”

  “Guess not.” Okay, this is scary.

  “I’m thirty-nine, no kids, no wife, and here he has a woman like you, and he turns his back. I just don’t get it.”

  That makes two of us, although I can’t believe Mitch is actually saying all this. “Normally I can handle it.”

  “Well, I’m here whenever you need me.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “I mean it. You shouldn’t have to be doing all this on your own. That’s not what marriage is about.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t know what to do to bring him back home. I’ve thrown more hints than should be necessary.”

  “Have you ever just told him he’d have to choose between his family and his dreams?”

  “I’ve never wanted to put it in those terms.”

  “Not ready to follow through if he chooses his singing?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I can understand that. How long’s he been on the road?”

  “Three years.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you, Ive.” My heart races.

  I love my new job. I love my new job.

  I need something like that to encourage me right now. Mom’s slipping more and more. I hear about the past more frequently, finding myself in the world of the fifties and sixties. She really shouldn’t be alone so much, but she refuses to entertain any other option. She’s also canceled her doctor appointments. I can’t drag her there by the hair.

  The autumn light illuminating the leaves of the sugar maples outside falls across my kitchen table. September is my favorite month, just enough summer clinging to the air, just enough nip promising relief. Persy’s turning ten today.

  Mom saunters in, already here for the celebration meal. “I feel sorry for Trixie at that place all day.”

  “It’s only three hours, Mom.”

  “I never did that to you.”

  “I was twelve when you and Dad split up. And I spent plenty of afternoons coloring at the table in the restaurant kitchen.”

  “Don’t throw that in my face. I did the best I could.”

  “Precisely. And I’m doing the best I can.”

  I am, aren’t I?

  “Mom? Are you mad at me?”

  “I just don’t want to see you throwing your life away.”

  “What else can I do? I’m drowning, and there’s nobody to help.”

  “So it’s my fault then, is it?”

  “Of course not. Here, I’ll make us some coffee.”

  I used to be able to talk to my mother about anything.

  15

  Harry sits on my new couch sipping a mug of tea. “Your mother’s still looking good. I forgot how pretty she is.”

  “Harry! Cut that out.” I reach for the remote.

  “Hey, a fellow can’t be blamed for looking.”

  “Yes he can, if it’s you … and her. And when did you see her anyway?”

  “I saw her when she came over for Persy’s birthday dinner.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “Wouldn’t you have found out if she did?”

  The doorbell rings. “Hang on.”

  A Yu-Gi-Oh! character, Darth Maul, and Sleeping Beauty stand on my doorstep. They say nothing.

  I reach into the bowl of candy bars. “You’ve got to say ‘trick or treat’ for these babies.”

  They mumble it.

  “Oh, come on, you guys! You can do better than that!”

  “Trick or treat!”

&nb
sp; “Yes!”

  I drop a full-size Nestlé Crunch bar in each pillowcase.

  “Yeah! Full size! Thanks!” Darth Maul.

  Love it. Love being the lady who gives out full-size treats even more. I am the Halloween Queen of Allegheny Avenue. Four jack-o’-lanterns and a string of orange and purple lights set the tone on our porch. Lyra strung up gobs of cobwebbing, and Persy set out a speaker to the stereo that emits screams, moans, howls, and freakish laughter.

  Two Power Rangers, Harry Potter, Jasmine, and a hippie girl hurry up the walk. I do the honors and wait while a father and a tiny angel climb my steps.

  “Oh hey Bernie! Hi Lynnie!”

  “Hi Ivy. How’s it going?”

  “Full house! Rusty’s dad just moved into the basement.”

  “No kidding!”

  “Never dull around here. Tell Debbie thanks for the soup last week. It was the perfect day. Those matzo balls were amazing.”

  “Mrs. Waxman makes it by the gallon. Every Saturday brings over a bucketful. We’re glad to find homes for it.”

  I laugh. “We appreciate it anyway.”

  “She’ll be glad to hear it. Hey, you’ll have company in the whole parent thing. My mother-in-law’s moving in in a couple weeks.”

  “Oh man.”

  Mrs. Waxman has already achieved more than her fair share of renown in the neighborhood, and she doesn’t even live here. She’ll yell at the kids if they’re screaming too loud or playing in the street when she’s ready to leave. And when she backs out that Lincoln, just watch it.

  “We’re already painting her room. I said we should paint it black, and Debbie hit me on the arm.” He pushes up his small glasses. Bernie’s a gem.

  “At least she makes a good matzo-ball soup.”

  “Oh, believe me, we’ll be eating well, that’s for sure. Hopefully it’ll make up for her personality.”

  “Tell Deb to call me. We’ll have a cup of commiseration together.”

  “Will do.”

  They turn to continue the candy spree. He tenderly takes Lynnie’s tiny hand and helps her down the steps. “Come on, angel baby.”

  I love the Meyers. They’re such a sweet, decent family.

  Deb’s Jewish, but maybe she’s not bigoted like some Christians I know. Maybe she’ll join Club Sandwich anyway. I have a sneaking suspicion we’re really going to need each other in the days to come.

  The clock on our mantel chimes the hour. Eight o’clock. And the cutest gaggle of trick-or-treaters yet climbs the steps. A little pumpkin, a knight, and Lyra, dressed like a medieval princess, a costume she slaved hours over.

  “Trick or treat!” The gusto almost blows my hair back from my face.

  Now these kids know how to trick-or-treat. “Good job!” I distribute the goods.

  Rusty’s dad, chaperone extraordinaire, smiles. “Haven’t done trick-or-treating in years!”

  I love Reuben. Plainly, Rusty inherited his charisma from his dad.

  I step clear of the doorway. “Enjoy yourself, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Want a cup of tea?”

  “No thanks. Set up my coffee maker downstairs before I left.”

  Reuben’s a coffee hound. I don’t know how the man sleeps. Judging by the huge box of books he brought with him, I have a feeling he doesn’t much. Oh, but the conversations we’ve always enjoyed, he and I, on such a variety of issues!

  Reuben actually reads my column.

  Lyra plops down on the sofa five minutes later, arms full of books, legs swimming in pajamas befitting Henry VIII. “Man, this new school is tough.”

  “It’s a good school, Lyr.”

  “Yeah. But all these papers!”

  “You can handle it, kiddo.” Harry. I have to hand it to him; he’s a lot more encouraging than he used to be. “Thanks, Gramps.”

  She opens a volume of Shakespeare and sets to work. I admire her so much.

  “Harry, how about a fire? You up to starting one?”

  “Sure, Ive.”

  “I’ll make us some tea.”

  The kitchen sits dark and clean. Only the hood light over the stove illumines the countertops. I turn on the burner and begin filling the kettle. Contentment warms this moment. The first newsletter will be mailed out tomorrow, and women will find jobs. My sweet daughter is getting a good education, and Harry stopped his prowling. For now.

  “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content,” Paul wrote millennia ago, and I think, right now, I finally understand the meaning of the passage.

  Mitch calls at ten. “Hey friend.”

  “Hi Mitch.”

  “Everything ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yep. Went to the printer and picked them up yesterday. We’ll head down to the post office tomorrow, and out they’ll go.”

  “Got the copy you couriered over. Looks great. You really know what you’re doing. Oh, and I found a good Web designer. We’ll be online by the new year.”

  “Great.”

  “So how you doing?”

  “Actually, not too bad. Harry’s got a fire going, we’re watching the news, and all is right with the world.”

  “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

  “How about you?”

  “Same as always.”

  “So how about you?”

  He chuckles. “You’re not going to let me get away with that, are you?”

  “Darn straight.”

  He sighs. “I’m a little lonely, I admit. I came back to Baltimore hoping to renew old ties, and of course, everyone’s busy with their lives.”

  “You know you can always come over here and hang out. Heaven knows we’ve got enough people to keep you company.”

  “Do you know how blessed you are?”

  “I sure do.”

  We end the conversation, and I know that I lied. I stopped counting my blessings months ago, and isn’t that a shame? But I can’t appear needy to Mitch. Because if he picks up on it and offers more than a hand, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Trixie crawls into bed with me, her feet like winter. “Cold, Mama.”

  She snuggles into me, and I breathe in her scent. Oh, my sweet baby. And we fall back asleep. Just like that.

  Brian’s voice quivers with panic. “Get down to the restaurant, Ivy! The kitchen is flooded. Mom left her bathtub faucet running upstairs all night.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the dining room. Crying.”

  I run in ten minutes later and fold her into my arms.

  “I had no idea, Ivy. How could I have done something so stupid?”

  “It’s not your fault, Mom.”

  We’ve all got to face facts now.

  Man, I hate these family meetings. It’s wrong sitting with Brian and Brett, Mom absent, while here in the bistro dining room we discuss her future. Workmen tear out the ruined carpet near the kitchen.

  “If we put her into assisted living, we’ll have to sell the bistro.” Brian. “Her name is still on the deed with ours.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not an option.”

  Brett. “I certainly have the space, but we’re never home. Having a nurse come out means the same thing. There’s no way she can afford that.”

  Even though Brett’s sold her shop, she’s still out and about all day long. Charity work now. Brett just can’t slow down. She wouldn’t be Brett if she could, I guess.

  “We’re chock-full here,” I say.

  My brother and sister both look at me.

  “Maybe your new job is a godsend, Ivy. Did you think of that?” Brett. “You’re home all day. And Reuben’s there quite a bit now too, right?”

  I stare, undecided whether fear or anger is the appropriate response to that observation.

  They stare back.

  “Where do I have the space, guys? Trixie and Lyra share a room as it is.”

  Brian twiddles a napkin. Brett pretends to pick at a fingernail.

  Man.

&nb
sp; Still, I’m going to make them work for it. I can keep my mouth shut too.

  Finally, Brett. “Didn’t you put her in the dining room when she was recuperating from hip surgery?”

  “You know I did.”

  “Well?”

  I decide. Anger. “So what you’re saying, Brett, is that you have a freaking six-thousand-square-foot home with three empty bedrooms, and I have to lose my dining room? My fifteen-hundred-square-foot ramshackle house filled with six people—seven when Rusty’s home—is the answer? Come on!”

  Her lips tighten. “I can’t commit to this, Ivy.”

  “You won’t,” I turn to my brother. “And you won’t either, right?”

  “I just have a little apartment, Ive.”

  “How about when the work is done on the restaurant and Mom’s apartment? Why don’t you move in then?”

  “Ivy! I can’t do that. I do have a life, you know. I’m not what’s best for Mom anyway. You know that.”

  “Can’t you rise to the occasion, Bri? At least try? It’s all I can do to hold things together as it is.”

  “No, I just can’t. It’s beyond me.”

  “What if I say it’s beyond me, guys?”

  Brett slams a fist on the table. “Oh, all right. Let’s just put her in a home, and I’ll pay for it! But is that what’s best for Mom?”

  Of course it isn’t. She’s not that far gone yet, and those homes are so sad. I can’t picture her sitting next to babbling, demented people. It would break her heart.

  But still. Brett’s really being horrible.

  I breathe deeply. It’s up to me. It’s got to be up to me.

  Maybe Brenda’s Club Sandwich idea was a good one after all. My thoughts flit for a split second to Debbie and Dani. I’m going to call them tomorrow and see if they’ll join.

  “Okay, I’ll do the dining room over. But listen, you guys have got to take her off my hands sometimes. I can’t bear all the responsibility. You both have cars. You’ll have to help take her out for her shopping and prescriptions and doctor appointments and all.”

  Brett reddens. “Of course we’ll help! You don’t think we won’t pull our weight, do you?”

  No, I don’t. But I say, “I sure hope it won’t be the case.”

  Brian grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’re the best, Ive. You really are. And, Brett, isn’t it true? Ivy definitely has the best personality to handle this sort of thing. She’s more caring and compassionate.”