Club Sandwich

by Lisa Samson

  Fact is, “It is not good for the man to be alone.”

  If God saw that, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t Rusty?

  The dialysis machine cleans Mom’s blood, whirring and twirling its parts, blood-filled tubing jumping around a bit. And she’s sitting up in her bed watching The Lawrence Welk Show on public television.

  “You know, girls, I actually feel hopeful. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”

  Brett leans forward and takes her hand. “The doctor says if you take good care of yourself, you’ll have lots of years ahead of you.”

  “I’d sure like to see the grandchildren all grow up.”

  “Me too, Mom,” I say.

  “Do you remember when you girls used to do duets together in church?”

  “Oh yeah.” Brett clears her throat. “Ready, Ive? How about the HASH Chorus. Got your alto on?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  She begins, her clear soprano ringing truer than ever. “This world is not my home …”

  I join in on the harmony. “I’m just a passin’ through. My treasures are laid up … somewhere beyond the blue.”

  We sing softly, hymn after hymn, chorus after chorus, and Mom drifts off, sleeping soundly as we tiptoe from the room, homeward bound.

  Brett shakes her head. “Good grief. All those songs seemed to be about dying and going home to heaven.”

  “I know! Do you think she realized it?”

  “Let’s hope not!”

  I take her arm, and we chuckle as we set foot to the ugly carpeting.

  26

  Brett turns onto Allegheny Avenue. “That was a good day, wasn’t it, Ive?”

  “Far better than I dared even hope.”

  “She sounded so good, didn’t she? Had that lift to her voice I haven’t heard in months.”

  I’ve got my mom back. I’ve got her back. “I know! I think I should keep her at the house, though. Don’t you? With running to dialysis three times a week.”

  “That’s up to you. You think you’ll be okay?”

  “Oh yeah. Harry’ll drive her. He’s become a regular chauffeur these days. He and Reuben.”

  “So you think he’ll stay?”

  “I want him to.”

  We stop at a red light.

  She looks at me. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we discussed earlier. I think I’m going to try and make a go of it with Dad. I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Me either.”

  “And I figure, when he goes, either I tried or I didn’t. But I’d like to think I have more inside of me than this.”

  “Don’t we all, Brett?”

  “Yeah, well, ‘only one life’ and all that.”

  Mom’s favorite poem. “Only one life, t’will soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

  A few minutes later we pull into the drive. Out by the front walk a cab idles. The back door opens, and someone climbs out from inside. Tall and not so heavy as he used to be.

  “Rusty!” I scream, scrambling out of the car before it comes to a complete stop.

  He quickly slips the driver some cash and runs toward me. I slam into his great warmth.

  He came home.

  Oh, dear Lord, he came home.

  My knees buckle, and he holds me up, saying, “It’s all right, Ive. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m sorry, hon. I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t believe you came back.”

  “Marlin was really angry. But I told him, ‘We go around singing gospel songs, and you want me to forsake my family in this time of crisis?’ ”

  “What did he say?” I place a few teabags in my favorite pot. We’re letting the kids sleep through. Awakening to find their father home will be an exciting surprise.

  “He said, ‘If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.’ ”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I didn’t think that was exactly what Jesus meant.”

  “So do you still have a place with the group once this is over?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. Besides, I got an e-mail from Lyra a while ago that worried me. She’s being made fun of at school a lot, did you know that?”

  “No!” I fill the pot with steaming water. “She hasn’t said a thing!”

  “She said you’ve got enough on your plate.”

  “No wonder she’s been so edgy. I thought it was me.”

  “She’s got a lot to handle.”

  “I can’t wait to see her face when she sees you.”

  He smiles. “I didn’t get any supper on the plane. Is there any lunchmeat?”

  “Sure. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “No mayo anymore.”

  “Got it.”

  Rusty’s looking good, I have to admit. “How much weight have you lost?”

  “Seventy-five pounds.”

  “Really?”

  He pulls a loaf of bread out of the drawer. “Yep. I’ve got another forty to go. I’m thinking about joining Dad’s gym and going with him in the mornings. I’m feeling like I’m at the point where I can start working out again.”

  “I won’t complain about that.”

  He grabs the turkey, mustard, and sandwich pickles from the fridge. “I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to go interview up at that school.”

  “You’ll like it there. It would be a great place for Trixie and Persy.”

  “It’ll be lean for a while until I get a job.”

  “We’ll make it somehow.”

  He fixes his sandwich as I pour the tea.

  “You know you’re going to have to give me a little time, don’t you, Rust?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll have to get to know you all over again.”

  “I’ve got some trust to earn.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  He places the second slice of bread on the meat. “Ive, I’m the one who left. Bottom line. I just thought we could make it work.”

  “But ‘we’ was really ‘I.’ ”

  He doesn’t argue. Rusty never does when he knows he really blew it. He sits down and begins to eat.

  “Rusty, I just want you to know that I really wanted a divorce. In my mind, I was thinking it would really come to that. It’s not fair if you don’t know how serious this all is.”

  He looks me in the eye. “I know.”

  “I didn’t want to give you an ultimatum. I shouldn’t have had to. And that’s still ticking me off. You really didn’t miss us enough to come home on your own.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You didn’t value us higher than yourself.” His eyes drop to his mug. “So am I basically on probation?”

  “Yes. I have to see for myself that you love us. Now, let me get you up to speed on Dorothy.” Man, I need a subject change.

  I rinse my cup out in the sink as Rusty sets up the coffeepot for the morning. “Brett’s staying here, Rust. She’s up in our room.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. Marcus up to his tricks?”

  “The campaign, his new mistress.”

  Rusty shakes his head. “Guess I can’t judge him there, can I?”

  “So we can pull out the sofa bed down here, I guess. Brett can take it tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go get it ready. It’s 5:00 a.m. by my body clock. You coming to bed?”

  I’ve got a lot to do, naturally, but I’m so worn out concentration isn’t a possibility. “Yeah, I’m ready to turn in.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Rusty’s snoring away, and I’m numb, but this is going to work. It has to. I have no other option that’s good for the kids or even me. If I fell in love with him once, I can fall in love with him again.

  Falling in love? That seems a bit juvenile. I’d even settle for that lovely, worn-in shoe feeling. Yes, tha
t’s what I want to have with Rusty. I want to walk in rhythm down the aisle of the grocery store. Call his cell phone to tell him to pick up dinner at KFC on the way home. Watch a sitcom. Eat popcorn. Buy him his favorite soap. I want to repeat the same old stories, eat the same holiday dinners, and spread mulch. I want to grow old together, our relationship as warm and taken for granted as morning sunlight through a kitchen window.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

  Whoa! My eyes burst open.

  Persy’s jumping all over the bed, his voice raised to full volume.

  I slept through the night without waking up once. I feel great.

  I hear a bump from upstairs, and Lyra rumbles down the steps, sleep already far from her eyes. “Dad!”

  Trixie slides down next, her behind thumping on each stair. “Daddy! Daddy!”

  And soon they’re all snuggled together around us, the king and queen of the sofa bed. Giggles and shouts explode, tickles and pokes draw out more laughter. I can choose to make it now. I can choose to get through today, and perhaps tomorrow as well.

  Fifteen minutes later. “Okay, gang, get dressed for school!”

  “How ’bout a day off, Ive? Just this once?” Rusty.

  The kids cheer. I look at them. “Why not? In fact they’re moving Mom down to a regular ward today. Maybe you can bring everyone down? It’ll cheer her up.”

  “Sounds like a plan! Come on Trixie-girl, Daddy will get you dressed this morning.”

  “I’ll help Grandpa with breakfast.” Lyra.

  “Can I play GameCube?” Persy.

  I sit up straight. “Let’s go.”

  Brett makes her appearance. “Rusty!”

  “Brett!” He climbs out of the bed. “Hey girl!”

  They embrace.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes! And look at you. I think I picked up the weight you dropped.” She reddens.

  “Are you kidding me? You look great. Just how a woman should look. Did you know Marilyn Monroe was a size 12?”

  That’s Rusty for you.

  My ear actually sweats up the receiver, the lineup of calls has been so extensive. Krystal. Debbie. Lou. Brenda. Not Mitch. Not yet. Dani, then Brian, who is crying and crying, now Dani again, who whispers into the phone, “He’s stoned, Ivy. I have no idea where he got it.”

  “Oh no. What’s he on?”

  “He got Darvon somewhere. I think he raided my mother’s medicine cabinet.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I wish I was. So anyway, he’s in no shape to go to the bistro today.”

  “I’ll call the guys.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hey, it’s not your problem, Dani. You want to bring him over here?”

  “No. I have off today.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I’ve chosen this path with Brian, Ivy.”

  “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

  “It’s like Mick Jagger says, ‘You can’t always get what you want, but you get what you need.’ ”

  “You’re too nice for this.”

  “Fact is, Ivy, I’m not very nice without it.”

  I still don’t understand. “I’m going to keep this from the others.”

  “Good move.”

  “Dani, do you love him?”

  “Funny as it may seem, I do.”

  We part. And I wipe my sweaty ear with a napkin.

  Brett slides into the driver’s seat, and we’re off to the hospital.

  “I’ll get out of your hair tonight, Ive.”

  “You don’t have to leave. In fact, why don’t you stay in Mom’s room? Brian and Dani have it all cleaned.”

  “No, thanks. I can’t run away from the man forever. But I needed a break, and this was good.”

  “You’re always welcome.”

  “Well, I may take you up on it, but let’s hope I don’t have to.”

  “Have you been going to church at all?”

  “No. And I know I should.”

  “Why don’t you meet us on Sunday? Then we can go down to the hospital from there. If Mom’s still in.”

  “I may just do that.”

  I have no idea how Brett’s situation is going to play out. Maybe she’ll decide to make it work no matter what. Maybe she’s more afraid of being alone than living with Marcus.

  What a day! Mom was sitting up in bed, eating her liquid diet, enjoying a cup of tea when we walked in.

  Rusty and I relax on the couch now, talking with VH1’s Behind the Music in the background. I love the Metallica episode for some reason. But this one is about Nirvana, which just doesn’t do it for me. I mean, I feel sorry for Kurt Cobain, sorry that he was so lonely and depressed. Something about the boy always made me want to mother him. But his music never reached my soul.

  “How you doing, hon?”

  “It was so nice to kiss her cheek and watch the smile come to her lips, Rust. It’s like she’s on her way back to us.”

  “I sure hope so. Dorothy needs to have more time with her grandchildren.”

  “You know, difficult as she could be with me, she’s never taken it out on the kids. Not like Mrs. Waxman.”

  “Lyr was telling me about that. I don’t know how Bernie and Debbie can stand it.”

  “Me either.” I tell him about Debbie’s late-night forays into our kitchen.

  “Hey, whatever works.”

  “I hope you didn’t have delusions of coming back to Beaver Cleaver Land.”

  “Face it, hon, it never was really fifties around here.”

  I hug a pillow to my chest. “Mom looked better than she has in months, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I guess I wouldn’t know. But it was good to hear her laughing. I think the kids were a boost.”

  We’re riding a high wave. And a little voice whispers, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Oh, shut up.

  I let myself in through the back door, completely ready for a cup of tea, bless Reuben and the new coffee maker. Instant gratification has become more important than ever now that my days run hither and yon. Whatever hither and yon means. I need to start making supper, but first, a moment of decompression.

  Lyra bounds into the kitchen. “Stop!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll make that. You’ve got to get ready.”

  “Ready? For what?”

  “You’ll see. Go on up. There’s a surprise on the bed. We’ve been busy all day. It’s been so much fun. Hurry!” She pushes me gently. “You don’t have all day, Mom!”

  I slip out of my coat, hang it on the back of a kitchen chair and run up the steps. On the bed an outfit is all pressed and ready. A new outfit.

  “You all go shopping today?” I yell.

  Lyra appears at the doorway. “Yep. Look, a new pantsuit. Isn’t it great?”

  A double-breasted gray affair, a cream camisole for underneath, and my new boots at the ready. “Wow.”

  “Come on into the bathroom!” Brenda?

  “Brenda?”

  “Yep. We’re going to do your hair.”

  I walk in. “What are you doing here?”

  “Used to be a beautician.” She smiles and holds up a pair of professional-looking shears.

  This woman never ceases to surprise me.

  “Let’s get started. We don’t have time for a proper color job, but I brought an all-over rinse that will just take a few minutes. Put this cape on.”

  “Great.”

  Forty minutes later she’s snipping away, and I examine myself in the mirror, all pink-skinned, eyes glistening. Lyra leans against the doorframe, smiling, arms folded across her chest.

  “Where’s Daddy, Lyr?”

  “That’s a secret!”

  Brenda digs her fingers into my hair and fluffs. “Isn’t this fun? I love surprises and makeovers, and when you put the two together it’s the best.”

  “I won’t fight against it. This is great, you guys. Thanks.”

  “Don�
��t mention it, Ivy. I was glad to do it. I’ve cut back on so many of my activities, I was thrilled when Lou called.”

  “Lou’s in on this?”

  “Most definitely.” Lyra.

  The blow-dryer begins, and I watch in fascination as a bona fide hairdo develops before my eyes. Chin-length, lots of fluffy layers, and that rinse colored all my white hairs to platinum.

  “I can’t believe it’s me in that mirror.”

  Brenda wields a round brush as thick as Trixie’s thigh. “Wait until we do the makeup.”

  “Oh, Mom. This is going to be great.”

  After Brenda puffs and spritzes my hair, she grabs a makeup case—not a bag, a case—opens it, and lifts out several trays. Now this is a woman who knows how to take care of herself. Which reminds me. I have yet to glory in my day at the spa.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I use my own makeup. Trust me, it isn’t old, and I’m very careful. I always use fresh sponges and applicators.”

  “See, Mom?” Lyra turns to Brenda. “I swear, Miss Brenda, Mom’s using stuff that’s at least ten years old.”

  “It’s not quite that bad, Lyr.”

  She crosses her arms in the other direction and gives me the stare.

  “Okay, maybe it is.”

  Brenda just laughs. “Now turn away from the mirror so you can get the full effect when we’re done.”

  I can’t tell you how nice it feels to be pampered like this. I don’t ever remember anyone doing something like this for me.

  “This sure is the life.”

  I close my eyes and savor.

  Youth skips with me down the front steps, and oh, I feel sassy in this fresh outfit, dreamy haircut, and high-heeled boots. And sexy too. Now I haven’t felt sexy in years and years. I think sometimes, when we start having kids, we forget to feel sexy, or we feel guilty feeling sexy, or most likely we’re too darn tired to feel sexy. It’s just too much work, and all those actresses and models have so raised the bar on sexy, it almost takes the faith of a thousand mustard seeds for the rest of us to even begin to compete. Don’t even get me started on those extreme-makeover shows.

  But tonight I’m cute, I’m sexy.

  And it only took three of us to get me there.