Whiskey on the Rocks

by Nina Wright

  “Is she all right?” I said, rushing toward him.

  “She’s having two babies!” he announced. That’s when I knew we were talking about Avery.

  “Already?” I felt my strength ebb away.

  “I came in by the usual way to see if Abra was back. Avery freaked when she saw me.” He looked ashamed. “How could I know she’d be in the kitchen? Nobody uses that room!”

  I wondered if she’d found any food, but Chester’s stricken face stopped me from asking.

  “She started screaming,” he said. “I tried to calm her. Then she grabbed her big belly and yelled that she was having two babies. So I called 9-1-1. I think her water broke. There’s kind of a mess on your floor.”

  That was an understatement. Gathering my cleaning supplies, I gave silent thanks that I’d missed the event. Chester assured me that Avery had “settled” once the EMTs arrived.

  “They told her, ‘You’re doing great.’ It helped her relax. I offered to ride along in the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let me because I’m not related.” He sighed. “I’m hardly related to anybody.”

  “You’re related to people! You have a family. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins or grandparents.”

  “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Cassina was raised in foster homes, so she never had a family.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Rupert? Who knows.”

  “I thought you were going to visit him and get acquainted—”

  “Look!” Chester’s tone changed suddenly. “I’ve seen them!”

  He was pointing at the wall-mounted kitchen television, whose drone I had ignored since entering. Two faces stared down at us: Darrin Keogh’s and Kimba Reitbauer’s.

  “—the missing brother and sister,” said a newscaster. “Mrs. Reitbauer is the wife of Chicago cement baron, Robert Reitbauer. Authorities believe that Darrin Keogh witnessed Wednesday’s freak bicycle accident near the shore of Lake James, which claimed the life of international fugitive Gordon Santy. His wife Ellianna was later arrested in a condo leased by Mrs. Reitbauer. But the search continues for Keogh and his sister. Both are wanted for questioning by the FBI and local law enforcement agencies in three states. An unnamed source told Channel Six that the two may have information concerning the sudden death of world-famous artist Warren Matheney, also known as Cloud Man.”

  “I’ve seen them!” Chester said again. “They were at Bake-The-Steak when I was there with Abra! The night she stole the purse with the finger in it. They were behind us in line. Everybody turned around and looked at them.”

  “Why?”

  “They were fighting. When she saw me watching her, the lady stopped talking and smiled, real fake-like.”

  “What about the man?”

  “He just looked sad. I don’t think he wanted a steak. Don’t worry, Whiskey. They couldn’t have heard what I told Abra.”

  “I know,” I said, putting my good arm around him.

  Then my mother called. She had been watching the same newscast.

  “That missing person is the man I met in your hospital room!”

  “What man?”

  “He was the nervous one. The only one!”

  I feigned a lapse of memory.

  “Don’t play games with me, Whitney Houston! I know all your moves.”

  I sincerely hoped not. “Hey, Mom, I need some advice about babies.”

  Silence filled the phone line. “Hello?” I said.

  “Oh, Whitney.” She sounded tearful. “I’m happy for you! But why didn’t the Judge use a condom?”

  Of course, I would set her straight. Eventually. First I wanted to envision one of those credit-card commercials where they tally the value of personal experiences.

  “Messing with your mother’s mind: Priceless.”

  What would Leo do? What would he want me to do?

  I asked myself those questions often over the next few weeks. On my drive to Coastal Medical Center the night Avery gave birth, I could think of nothing else.

  I had loved Leo more than life itself. I still loved Leo, but life was going on without him. Although I had no idea what my own life might yet hold, it seemed promising. I kept meeting memorable people, and they weren’t all criminals.

  I wanted to live my life fully right through to the end; I knew Leo would want me to. But that meant living as though Leo were gone. Not as if he’d never been here; not as if he hadn’t left a mark. But as if he were truly, irrevocably gone. There was no point waiting for him. Abra and I could both watch the kitchen door forever; Leo Mattimoe would not walk back into our lives.

  I was deeply conflicted about his only child. From the start, Avery and I had disliked each other. I knew enough about motherhood to predict that she wouldn’t be nicer after she’d had her babies. She’d be exhausted, protective, and suspicious of my every move. On the other hand, her children were innocents and Leo’s only biological heirs.

  “So you’ll join us for Thanksgiving?” Over the phone Odette sounds more impatient than usual. I hear water running and wonder if she could be cooking. “Whiskey? Are you listening?”

  I should confess that I’m not. Instead I say into my headset, “Of course. Looking forward to it. What day is that again?”

  Odette huffs. “Thanksgiving! Next Thursday? You’re not listening, as usual.”

  I shift the baby from my right shoulder to my left and burp her successfully. I’ve only just learned how to do this, and it’s surprisingly satisfying. For me.

  “There’s something else, Whiskey. I was going to ask you at the office, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear. How would you feel if I invited Jeb?”

  “As in Jeb Halloran, my ex-husband?”

  “That would be the one.”

  I’ve skipped ahead a little, to the middle of November. Amazing, isn’t it, how life accelerates? Before Leo, my days and nights passed at a mostly predictable pace. Then we met, fell in love, and got married, and life started zooming. We were a rocket ship. When Leo died, I clicked off the ignition. The rocket crashed, I survived, but nothing moved for months. Then along came Leaf-Peeping Season, like it does every year. This year it triggered events that reshaped my life. Now the trees are bare, Winter Sports Season is a few weeks away, and I’m still gaining momentum. I’m also healing.

  When I walked into Avery’s room at Coastal Medical Center and found her holding Leo and Leah, something inside me gave way. Driving over, I’d rehearsed a speech about finding her a place to stay and paying for a part-time nurse. But as soon as I saw those babies, I knew I wanted them at Vestige. For a while.

  So we struck a deal. I hired the nurse and invited Avery & Babies to stay through the holidays. Then they have to go. That’s not as harsh as it sounds. I’ll keep paying for the nurse. And I’m helping them find a house in Magnet Springs; I’ll even make the down payment. Moreover, I’ve offered to train Avery in real estate. If she inherited her father’s sales potential, she could make a million instead of suing me for it. I’m still waiting for the first sign of Leo’s charisma to shine through. Maybe she has a knack for some other real estate-related career. Like demolition.

  Wells Verbelow insists I should hire an attorney. Not a paper-pusher but a protector. New house and new job aside, Wells predicts Avery will refuse to leave Vestige. My mother, on the other hand, thinks I’ll be too attached to the babies to let them leave.

  I’m neither as naïve as Wells fears nor as maternal as my mother wishes. If things don’t go the way I want them to, I’ll find a way that works. I’ve learned that I can do that, and losing Leo was not my only lesson. There was also the matter of Abra in heat. She’s pregnant. Like Avery, she won’t tell us who the father is. We know it’s neither Mooney the Rott Hound nor Officer Roscoe. Wells fears it might be a Border Collie who gets loose in town a lot. If so, no one will ever contain those pups. We’ll know more soon enough; she’s due in early December. If Ave
ry was a bitch during pregnancy, Abra is in a class of her own. She insists on eating in bed. My bed. The up side is that her extra weight has temporarily grounded her. For now, anyway, she’s not streamlined enough to slip through windows, sail over fences, or steal handbags.

  After delivering the twins, Avery was still too angry at her mother to call. So I looked up Georgia’s number in Belize and told her about her grandchildren. I didn’t want her to think I was usurping her role. Silly me. Georgia’s having much too much fun with her boy-toys to envy me changing diapers.

  Avery hasn’t mentioned Darrin Keogh. About once a week, though, when I answer our home phone, the caller disconnects. Sometimes I find Avery in a whispered conversation with someone she won’t name. In either case, it could be Keogh. Or the babies’ father. Or someone else entirely. She hasn’t explained what happened to her CRX, either. I find myself wondering if she lent it to a former antiques dealer and art forger who’s now a fugitive.

  I gave Avery the photo of Leo that she wanted, and I made copies to put in the scrapbooks that I’ve started for his grandchildren. While Avery was still in the hospital, I cleaned out Leo’s closet. In the tote bag he’d never unpacked from Brazil, one pocket bulged with travel brochures. Presumably for us.

  I cancelled Leo’s voicemail accounts. That means I can no longer dial up his essence although I can still hear him, when I want to, on the soundtrack of several home videos. There have been no more crank calls since the night Avery broke in. Although I lack hard evidence—and telephone telepathy—I suspect Rico Anuncio of playing that wicked phone trick on me. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, provided it never happens again.

  Kimba Reitbauer is still at large. Her husband, age fifty-six, died in a Chicago convalescent home on Halloween. I suppose that means Kimba inherited a fortune although she’ll have to come forward to claim it. He died of heart failure. Or so the papers said.

  I’ve heard nothing more about Warren Matheney. Brady assures me that the general public does not know what we know about a lost finger, a found ring, a questionable heart attack, and some unfortunate dogs.

  The Angola Police recovered six healthy, well-trained Afghan hounds from Darrin Keogh’s house. The dogs were promptly sent to the local animal shelter, where, after a few days, all but one was adopted. When the wire services picked up the story of an abandoned one-eyed Affie, Pashtoon also found a good home.

  That brings me to Jeb Halloran, who’s home for the holidays. I hadn’t seen my first husband since the year I married Leo, when Jeb went off to save the world with his bluegrass tunes. In the right light, he could pass for James Taylor with hair. Yesterday Jeb showed up at my office. I suspect one or more of my friends have been emailing him, although none will admit it. Jeb knows a lot about Leo, Abra, Avery, and Chester. He asked about them—and about me. Then he showed me the web site for his new Celtic band, Skye Song. They have a CD.

  Jeb has less hair now than he did six years ago, but still more than James Taylor. He looks good. Too good for an ex-husband. Let me put it this way: I’m no longer worried that my “equipment” has failed.

  Odette says she might invite Jeb Halloran to Thanksgiving dinner. I tell her she can if she wants to. It’s her party.

  Chester’s high-pitched voice floats down the stairwell into the family room, where I’m holding Leo and Leah. Avery is out. She’s at her twice-weekly non-telephonic counseling session with Noonan. Avery says it helps her forgive the Universe for cosmically screwing her. That’s the Fifth Sun of Solace, out of Seven. I wonder where it will end.

  “Whiskey! It’s starting!” Chester cries.

  For an instant, I think he means that Abra is going into labor. Then I realize that it’s time for Cassina’s VH-1 special. She’s broadcasting live from Sri Lanka. I relocate myself and the babies to the recliner in Chester’s room upstairs, where a very swollen Abra occupies his bed. This is another part of my ongoing education: watching over Chester while Cassina and Rupert do the world. I’m relieved that his father is finally in his life. Or, in his mother’s life, at any rate. Rupert is managing Cassina’s tour and accompanying her on the piano. If all goes well—and since we’re dealing with two divas, that’s a big if—Rupert will return with Cassina to Magnet Springs and get acquainted with his son.

  Meanwhile, Chester has agreed to be keeper of Abra and her brood. Free of charge. We signed the contract this morning. It’s the best deal I’ve done yet.