Just In Time

by Joan Lindstedt Jackson

  After they said good night, Steve watched Paul walk down the driveway into the darkness. He’s so skinny his uniform looks too big. He’ll never make it as a cop. He heard Paul talking on his radio. Probably asking for a ride to his car.

  Steve was dying for a smoke and went to sit where he always sat, in the garage, at his favorite small, white, round iron table, now rusting, that used to be on the patio when his mom and dad were alive. He grabbed the chair’s arms to ease down into the seat. He reached for a can of Brisk iced tea from the twelve pack sitting on the garage floor and gulped it down. Through the open garage door, Steve watched a cruiser arrive to pick up Paul. He smoked four cigarettes in a row, had another can of tea, then looked down and saw the urine stain on his pants that wasn’t quite dry. They still smelled. He eased out of the chair, hit the garage door button, and went inside. All was quiet and dark, save the light over the stove that served as a night light. He went to his room, stripped off his pants and underwear, left them in a heap and fell into bed.

  25

  LATE AUGUST 2002

  The bright morning sunshine beamed through her lace curtains and stirred Nancy into making a mental list: call Lisa, get ready for work and resign soon (her heart thrilled at the thought), start packing, and talk to Sylvia. Not looking forward to that. She scooted out of bed in her turquoise floral nightgown, stuck her feet into her rabbit slippers and went to the kitchen to grab a Coke. “C’mon, Sammy, time to do your duty.” He ran outside ahead of her. The backyard was bathed in green, the sunlight filtering through the branches of the giant pin oak trees, and the locusts were buzzing, a sure sign of summer’s ending. Not a breath of a breeze, humid as hell.

  “Sammy, I have to find you a new place to live because I’m moving to England! I know, I can’t believe it either. I bet Marjorie will take you.” Add to the list: call Marjorie. “You like Marjorie. And she adores you.” Sammy tilted his head, as if listening to her every word. “Yeah, I know. You’ll miss it here.” For a minute, she thought she might miss the place, too. But only for a minute. New and exciting horizons awaited. Good riddance to this old life. She skipped cleaning up his doo-doo and went back inside, humming a tune. While she got ready for work she began singing one of her favorites, Karen Carpenter’s, “I Won’t Last a Day Without You”:

  I can take all the madness the world has to give But I won’t last a day without you.

  Nancy called Lisa and explained what Sylvia had told them, leaving out Martin’s reaction. She tried to come across upbeat and chipper, yet her resolve weakened in the telling, and Lisa picked up on it right away.

  “How could Sylvia do this to you?” Now Lisa sounded angry. “Does Adam know yet?”

  Nancy gathered herself. “Not yet, and I’m not going to call him. Sylvia can tell him.”

  “I think you should talk to him,” Lisa suggested. “Maybe he can change her mind.”

  “What’s done is done. I need to know if Martin and I can live with you guys after the wedding, ‘til we leave for England.”

  Lisa offered her mother the basement bedroom, for as long as they needed.

  “Have you thought about postponing the wedding?” Lisa asked. “To give yourself more time?”

  “No way,” Nancy said. “I’m moving on with my life. This is only a momentary setback.”

  “What about Danny? Do you know where he is?” Lisa asked.

  “No. Have you heard from him?”

  “I think he’s living in his car. I let him stay here a few days, but I had to kick him out. I can’t have him around my kids.”

  “Did he do something to them?” Nancy asked.

  “No, Mom. He’s a drug addict, alcoholic, whatever.” Lisa sounded fed up.

  Nancy couldn’t talk about this now. It was too much. Her heart had been heavy for some time, knowing she’d be leaving him behind, living so far away. She’d been his advocate during his hospital stays after he lost his leg, then she’d arranged government health insurance, disability benefits, and physical therapy appointments. Then she’d supported him during his bad marriage. She’d been by his side through it all. Nancy had sought Sylvia’s advice about Danny once it became clearer that he was probably an addict. So Nancy had suggested a homeless shelter or rehab to Danny, but he would have none of it. What more could she do? Not being there for him might be the best solution. She only hoped he’d find his way without her.

  Lisa and Nancy planned the move for the upcoming weekend. Lisa’s husband and Nancy’s younger son, Kyle, would help her move out. When Nancy heard Sylvia coming down the stairs, she told Lisa, “I have to get to work,” and hung up.

  Nancy took a deep breath, put a smile on her face, and decided not to rehash the night before or apologize for Martin. She didn’t want any awkward conversation or argument between them, but to simply stick to the business at hand. She met Sylvia in the dining room. “Good morning,” Nancy said brightly. “Get a good night’s sleep?”

  Sylvia stood there in her blue pin-stripe nightshirt, looking hesitant. “Um, yes, I sure did. I’m still waking up.” She wasn’t about to tell Nancy about her phone call with Adam the night before. She mustered a smile. “I thought you’d be at work by now.”

  “I have another fifteen minutes,” Nancy said.

  “I hope you slept okay, you know, after last night.” Sylvia found herself compelled to say the opposite of what Adam suggested. “Really. I am sorry for such abrupt notice but . .”

  Nancy shook her head, “Nothing to be sorry about. You just did what you were told for Steve’s best interest.” Nancy had no problem being pleasant and understanding. She didn’t want the current circumstances—her doing, she had to admit—to change the relationship they’d had. Sylvia was family. They’d shared many personal details of their upheavals in life. Though Nancy had thought Sylvia had led a charmed life, she had learned that they experienced some of the same problems: divorce, financial struggles, and her son’s drug addiction.

  “Oh, Nancy,” Sylvia said. “You’re sure making this easier for me.”

  “No need to make things more difficult. In fact, I spoke to Lisa this morning, so it’s all set—we can stay with her family. I’ll be moved out by this weekend.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for getting right to it.”

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” Nancy said firmly. “It’ll all work out.”

  Sylvia went toward the kitchen to make coffee. “If you need any help packing or moving or anything else, please ask me.”

  “I will, but for now, I think I have all the help I’ll need.” Sammy ran in. “I bet you want your morning treat, you little bugger!” Nancy gave him a biscuit. “I’ve got to get to work. We can talk later.”

  “Sure. By the way, did you see Steve come in last night?” Sylvia asked.

  “No. I wondered where he was. Martin left around midnight, but Steve wasn’t home yet.”

  “That’s odd.” Sylvia took her coffee and turned to check Steve’s room.

  She heard Nancy call from the garage, “His car’s here.”

  Sylvia glanced at Steve’s pill tray on her way to Steve’s room. Flaps down for yesterday. He didn’t take his meds. She stuck her head into his room and saw him sprawled on his back, mouth open, snoring, the sheet barely covering his nakedness. Not attractive. But Steve never slept in the nude. Then she detected a pungent urine smell coming from his pants on the floor. Did he pee his pants? Or wet the bed? He wasn’t old enough to have this problem, was he? She thought about grabbing the pants to wash them. Later. She closed the door and went outside to have a cigarette, sip her coffee, and breathe.

  What a relief Nancy was taking it so well, and without an attitude. Not that Martin was, but who cared what he thought? The last thing Sylvia needed to deal with was a pissed sister-in-law, especially while living under the same roof. Her energy tank was on empty at the moment after last night’s round with Martin. Thank god Nancy just rolled with it. Adam was right about her. Still, tricky stuff. F
amilies— always something. Right now, interviewing had to be her first priority. Assessing if the person was a match for the situation would be a challenge. Maybe she should get Dr. Nora involved? And Steve’s case manager?

  Sylvia decided she needed to swim the lake, something she’d enjoyed since she was first able to cross the three-eighths mile width, when she was eight. All three of them swam the lake when they were young, and it felt like a great accomplishment, a rite of passage. Now it was a meditation. To return to Silver Lake as a woman in her fifties and enjoy the same childhood pursuit, residing in the home where she grew up—she had her parents to thank for that. They never left, like so many others had, to Florida or god forbid, Arizona, or wherever retired, elderly people went. On second thought, Steve was most likely the reason they’d never left here, so maybe she had him to thank. Even though the circumstances were demanding of her time and energy, returning to her childhood home brought her much solace and comfort. On that note, she got up to put her swimsuit on and walk to the lake.

  Steve practically bumped into her on his way to the kitchen. He looked at her like he didn’t know what she was doing there then he rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to get some milk. Do you mind?” He kept going, turning his shoulder to avoid touching her.

  “What happened to you?”

  He was surly and gruff. “Whaddya mean?”

  “Your forehead! It’s all scraped.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Well, you forgot to take your meds yesterday.”

  “That’s what I was going to do now!” he snapped. He got his pills and, grabbing the milk carton, tossed them down his throat and took a few swigs. Then he went back to his room.

  Sylvia stood there with her mouth hanging open. What the hell? So much for solace and comfort on the home front. She changed into her swimsuit and headed to the lake.

  26

  On the way back to his bedroom, Steve glanced at himself in the hallway mirror. He winced at his scraped forehead. The trauma of the night before replayed all over again—the cops, flashing lights, wailing sirens, his body thrown to the ground. Steve didn’t want to remember. He had hoped it was a nightmare, just a bad dream from watching old horror movies. But his forehead wouldn’t let him forget. If I don’t look in the mirror . . . but then how can I shave? When he walked into his room, the strong urine smell was overwhelming. Oh yeah, I peed my pants! He grabbed his pants from the floor and threw them down the laundry chute in the kitchen then headed to the front patio for a cigarette.

  Steve heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway and stood to look over the brick wall. Nancy and Martin! And Lisa and her husband in their pickup truck. What are they doing here? Steve sat back down, wondering how he could avoid them. Too late.

  “Hi, Steve. My gang is here to help me move out,” Nancy said. “Wow, what happened to you?”

  “What?” Steve asked.

  “Your forehead! Did you get in another fight?” Nancy joked.

  “I don’t get in fights.” Disgusted, Steve got up and went back to his room mumbling to himself. “A fight? Why would she say that? How can I even go to Pizza Hut? They’ll ask me, too.” He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, talking to himself. “I fell. That’s what I’ll say. I tripped on the curb last night in the dark.” He got up again.

  Martin was standing in the doorway of Nancy’s bedroom, or what used to be her bedroom. He greeted Steve, but he didn’t say anything about his forehead. Apparently, he’d been warned.

  Steve needed to get away from all the hubbub. He grabbed his car keys and went to the garage. The driveway was blocked by the pickup. Lisa and her husband were coming up the driveway. “Did you want to leave, Steve?” Lisa asked. “I can move the truck. Jesus, what happened to you?”

  “I fell,” Steve replied, shaking his head and pursing his lips like he was embarrassed at his clumsiness, almost believing his own story. “Yeah, thanks. I am leaving.”

  Returning from her swim, Sylvia sauntered across the neighbor’s front lawn toward the house. She saw Nancy’s car, a pickup truck, and then she stopped, stunned. Martin was carrying a bunch of trash bags of Nancy’s belongings that had sat in the basement for three plus years. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to see him again until the wedding.

  Martin looked up at her and flushed as if embarrassed. “I had to help out because Kyle couldn’t come. Might be here awhile.”

  “I see. Well, carry on.” Sylvia walked past him toward the house. She’d definitely be hiding out upstairs.

  “Steve just left,” Martin called out.

  Lisa emerged from the house, carrying more trash bags. Sylvia mustered a cordial greeting, but Lisa, stone-faced, barely nodded. “Does Adam know that you kicked my mother out?”

  “Adam knows everything,” Sylvia answered coldly.

  “It just isn’t right.”

  “How would you know what’s right for Steve?” Sylvia asked. “It’s really none of your business.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m here aren’t I? It sure is my business!” Lisa was getting worked up.

  Martin hung back, watching from behind the pickup.

  Sylvia wanted to run away.

  Then Nancy rushed over. “Lisa, please! Let’s just get this over with.”

  Burdened with trash bags, Lisa turned around in a huff. “Whatever you say, Mom.”

  Sylvia went into the house, Nancy following.

  “Kids,” Nancy said. “Can’t keep their mouths shut.”

  “And it’s usually the parents who can’t.”

  Nancy laughed.

  “At least your daughter is there for you,” Sylvia said.

  “That she is.” Nancy changed the subject to the matters at hand. “I was thinking I’d leave the washer and dryer.” She gestured to the bookcase that held the family room TV. “And the bookcase. And the Crock Pot. I can’t take any of it with me anyway.”

  “That’s great, Nancy. I’ll pay you for them.”

  “You don’t have to . . . “

  Sylvia didn’t skip a beat, offering her five-hundred dollars. Nancy didn’t refuse.

  They went in different directions—Nancy to her bedroom and Sylvia to the kitchen to find something to eat. She grabbed an apple and went upstairs to her high school bedroom. It hadn’t changed much, same robin’s egg blue walls, her maple vanity and bench, bookshelves still lined with her old paperbacks and textbooks, family photos. She paused to look at the photo of her and Steve at her college sorority dance—firing squad pose, both of them standing, smiling, looking straight head, ready for the shot. Steve sure was handsome. Many of his track trophies were scattered throughout the house. Sure never thought he’d end up like this. She sighed and laid down on one of the twin beds. She could overhear the cheerful chatter of the “movers” downstairs. She picked up the nonfiction book she was reading, Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand. Sylvia usually read fiction, but the horse story appealed to her since her daughter, Alice, was an accomplished equestrian, although anti-horse racing due to mistreatment of the horses. Still, the book was engaging. She became engrossed but soon dozed off.

  The creak of footsteps across the wood floor woke her up. Then Steve’s voice.

  “Sylvia? You up here?”

  “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He stood at the foot of the bed. “Mind if I stay up here?”

  “Not at all. Too much commotion downstairs for me, too.”

  “I can’t stand it,” he said. “They never stop talking!” He laid down on the other bed.

  Silence. Sylvia wanted to ask him again about his forehead and his smelly pants, but she decided to wait it out.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “I am. How about burgers at Swenson’s?” Swenson’s was an Akron landmark, a famous, local drive-in chain that had been around since the forties. Even their parents had gone there when they were dating. The carhops, known for their friendly manners, were college-age guys dress
ed in white shirts and black pants, who literally ran back and forth to the cars. Service was tops, and the hamburgers scrumptious, a secret recipe held in confidence for decades. Going to Swenson’s was first on the agenda of anyone returning home for a visit.

  Steve lit up. “Yeah! Can we go now?”

  “Right now,” Sylvia said.

  Together, they snuck out of the house. They turned it into a game, quietly descending the stairs, listening. Sylvia heard voices coming from the basement and the pickup start up. Out the window she saw the truck back out the driveway.

  “Coast is clear,” she whispered. They rushed to Steve’s car parked on their side of the street and took off.

  On their way to Swenson’s, Sylvia asked Steve if he wanted to take their food to the lake and eat. “It’s more pleasant than sitting in the parking lot.”

  “Maybe, but I’m so hungry I don’t know if I can wait,” Steve chuckled.

  The moment they pulled into the drive-in, a souped-up Camaro drove in beside them, windows down, music blaring.

  “Okay, let’s go to the lake,” Steve said.

  On cue, the carhop ran to the driver’s window. Sylvia looked up. A girl? “Nice to see young women at this job,” she said.

  “It’s about time, right? We’ve always been waitresses, so, hellooo? What can I get you?”

  Sylvia laughed. “We’ll have two burgers, ketchup only, one fries, a double cheeseburger, ketchup and mustard, and two Cokes to go,” Sylvia said.

  “Coming right up.” The carhop took off in a flash.

  Waiting for their food, Steve said he was ready to talk about what happened to him the night before. Did the prospect of food put him in a calmer, more agreeable mood to talk about it? No matter. He told her the whole story: his fogged windows, how he couldn’t find the defrost, and being pulled over by a Silver Lake cop for weaving on the road in the village, the Falls police surrounding him and throwing him on the ground. “That’s why my forehead is scraped. And my knees, too.”