No Return Address

by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

  He dropped the socks in his chair. Then we stood in silence for a minute. Neither of us knew what to say. My brother looked nervous. He was a handsome guy who had my mother’s dark hair and eyes.

  Finally, he asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, I just had tea with Lisa.”

  “Oh, how is she doing?”

  “Good,” I said. “You haven’t seen her recently?”

  “No.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’ve been so busy.”

  “Me too.”

  “I gathered that. It’s been, what, a year since we’ve seen each other?”

  “Yes, at Mom’s funeral,” I said.

  “I remember,” he said. “But then, how could I forget? Look, was there a reason you dropped by?”

  “Yes.” I glanced around briefly for a place to sit, but there was only the one chair. “Maybe we should talk in the kitchen,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  The kitchen counter also served as a table in this small apartment. It was covered in dishes. Doug sat on a stool in front of it, but I couldn’t take the mess. I stacked the dirty dishes and set them neatly in the sink.

  “My housekeeper comes on Fridays,” he said. “Tomorrow,” he added.

  “You don’t have to apologize on my account,” I said as I washed my hands.

  “Really?” He nodded at the stack of dishes I had just put in the sink. “You were always such a neat freak.”

  “I like to be organized, that’s all,” I said.

  “Remember that time I came home from vacation and you had cleaned my apartment? You organized my cupboards and everything. What the hell? You broke in here and cleaned up my place.”

  “I — I just couldn’t stand it anymore,” I said. “I’d thought you’d be pleased. But I did all that work for you, and you got angry at me for it.” I brushed crumbs off the counter with my sleeve. “Anyway, I didn’t break in. You had given me a key.”

  “Only so you could water my plants while I was away.”

  I sighed. I hadn’t been here five minutes and we were already bickering. “I didn’t come here to argue,” I said.

  “What did you come here for?”

  I reached into my purse and pulled the old green yo-yo from the small box Mom had sent. “To give you this.” Doug’s eyes lit up as he took it from me.

  “Where on earth did you find this?” he asked. “I thought I’d lost it for good.”

  “It came in the mail this morning.” I paused. “Mom sent it.”

  “Mom sent it?”

  “Well, not exactly. Before she passed away she arranged to have someone send it to me. And she must have asked that person to make sure it arrived today. You know what today is, right? It’s exactly a year since Mom died.”

  “Seems like yesterday,” he said.

  I sat down on the stool next to him. “I know.”

  He held up the yo-yo. “Who really sent this?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” I said.

  “How would I know?”

  “At first I thought maybe Cody was responsible. I could see Mom talking him into sending a package for her. Then I thought maybe Lisa mailed it to me. She’s more likely, don’t you think? But they both claim they didn’t put it in the mail.”

  “Why would Mom want my yo-yo mailed to you instead of to me?”

  “The yo-yo came with instructions,” I said. “From Mom.” I pulled the letter out of the box. “She said I had to deliver the yo-yo to you in person.”

  Doug laughed. “Good old Mom. Always playing the peacemaker. Can I see the letter?”

  I handed it to him and watched as he read it. “It’s so weird,” he said when he was done. “I could hear Mom’s voice as I read it, clear as a bell.” He grinned at me. “She was right, you know. You always got so mad when I tried to teach you anything.”

  I flicked a kernel of popcorn off the counter. “And you got mad at me when I said you needed to clean up your mess.”

  “Point taken.”

  I tapped the bottom of the letter. “Look how she signed off. She says, That’s it for now. I half expect to hear from her again.”

  “Are you going to listen to Mom and let me teach you a trick or two?” Doug asked. He quickly looped the string over his fingers to do the Rock the Baby trick. The spinning yo-yo rocked back and forth in the triangle of string he held.

  Then, just as quickly, he let go of the string. He dropped the yo-yo and did the Walk the Dog trick. The yo-yo “walked” or rolled across the floor while Doug held the string. It did look a little like he was walking a dog on a leash.

  “I’m not sure teaching me yo-yo tricks was what she had in mind,” I said.

  “What do you suppose she did have in mind then? What else could I possibly teach you?”

  “You’re the oldest,” I said. “You tell me.” I waved at the beer bottles piled in a recycling bin in the corner. “How to party?”

  “Maybe that’s exactly what you need, to get out, have some fun.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Have you dated much since your divorce? It’s been, what? Five years since you and Glen split?”

  I crossed my arms. “Dating is hard when you’re a single mom. Men aren’t all that eager to take on a new family.”

  “I wasn’t asking if you were looking for a husband. I was just wondering if you’d had any fun, gone out on the town. Have you thought of asking a few friends to join you for a girls’ night out?”

  “I’m not much for that kind of thing,” I said. “Besides, who would I ask?”

  “Then you haven’t gotten out of the house,” said Doug.

  “I’m a mom,” I said. “Cody is my focus. I don’t have time for a social life.”

  “But soon he’ll be in university. Then what?”

  “Then — I don’t know,” I said.

  Doug put a hand on my arm. “Glen has moved on. Why haven’t you?”

  That remark felt like a punch to my stomach. I snatched Mom’s letter from his hand and stuffed it into my purse. “How’s this for moving on?” I said. I stomped past the recliner and weight set and slammed the apartment door behind me as I left. Why did my brother always make me so mad? As I marched to the parking lot I figured out why. Because he was so often right.

  Doug had left the apartment and was coming after me. He was still barefoot. “Come on, Sis,” he called from the stairs as I reached my car. “Don’t be like that. I was only saying you need to think about yourself for once.”

  “Like you?” I said. “All you do is think about yourself.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it? Where were you when Mom was sick? I ran my business, looked after my kid and took care of Mom too.” I waved at his apartment window and the gigantic TV I could see there. “While you hung out with my ex and ate pizza in front of your big-screen TV. Where were you when I needed help?”

  My brother didn’t have an answer to that. I opened my car door and got inside, turning my back on my brother.

  “Say hi to Cody for me, will you?” he called out. “I miss the kid.” He paused. “I’d like to see him.”

  That deflated my anger. For the second time that day I felt bad about the distance between my brother and me. I knew our broken relationship was hurting not only me, but also my son. There had to be a way to get past the hard feelings between us. I turned, trying to think of something to say. But my brother had already gone back inside and closed the door.

  SIX

  THE NEXT MORNING, I tried to sneak into the post office early as the postal clerk sorted mail. I knew if Susan saw me, she would have questions about the package from my mother. After my argument with Doug, I wasn’t in the mood to answer them. Unless there was another delivery-notice card, I was out of there.

  I was in luck. Susan was still sorting mail in the back. I could hear her sliding bills and flyers into mailboxes on the other side of the wall as I opened my own.r />
  But as I bent down to grab my mail, her face suddenly appeared on the other side of my mailbox. “Peek-a-boo!” she said and laughed.

  I startled. “Susan!” I cried. “You scared me!”

  “I’m not that funny-looking, am I?” She grinned. She wasn’t, of course. Susan had a warm, welcoming face. Though she did look a little strange now. She had to bend over to look at me through the mailbox. Her face was almost upside down.

  “Here,” she said, sliding a wrapped chocolate into my mailbox. “You looked like you could use a little cheering up after I gave you that box from your mom.”

  I took her offering. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry about my tears yesterday. It was an emotional day.”

  “I can imagine.” She crouched down to talk to me through the small opening. “Are you going to tell me what was in that box? You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you opened it. Then you rushed out of here.”

  “Oh, it was nothing.”

  “You’re not fooling me. You get a package from your mother on the anniversary of her death. Then you open it and freak out. Whatever was in that box must have been pretty interesting.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of this one. “She sent a letter and —” I paused —“a yo-yo.”

  Susan blinked. “I hear that right? A yo-yo?”

  “It was my brother’s yo-yo from when he was a kid.”

  “Why would Meg send you your brother’s yo-yo?”

  I unwrapped the chocolate and popped it in my mouth. I needed a moment to come up with something that would satisfy Susan and end the conversation. I didn’t want to tell her about my family troubles.

  When I didn’t answer right away Susan waved at me through the narrow hole. “Come around to the counter. Talking to you through your mailbox is giving me a neck ache.” She grinned and disappeared from view.

  I closed and locked my mailbox. So much for avoiding Susan’s questions. I quickly sorted through my mail, looking for another delivery notice. I both hoped and feared my mother had sent another package. But there wasn’t one. I tossed the flyers in the recycling bin and went to the counter.

  Susan was waiting for me. She was dressed in her post-office uniform, as always. Her unruly hair was bunched into a messy bun.

  “Why did she send a yo-yo?” she asked again. “Did she explain?”

  “She wanted me to deliver the yo-yo to my brother in person.”

  Susan lifted her chin, understanding. “Meg said she hoped you two would find a way to patch things up.”

  “Mom told you about that?”

  “She said you and Doug had grown apart. She figured it had something to do with your ex-husband. What’s his name? Glen? I understand your brother and your ex are old friends.”

  “Sounds like my mom told you a lot about my life. Maybe too much.”

  Susan shrugged. “She was worried for you, especially since she knew she didn’t have long to live. She didn’t want you to be alone after she passed on.”

  “I am not alone. I have my son.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “We all need family.” She leaned over the counter. “Did you take Doug the yo-yo?”

  I stepped back. “Yes, I did, as a matter of fact.”

  “And?” She waved to get me to spill the beans, to tell her what happened. “Did you and your brother hash things out?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  I figured that rude response would stop Susan from asking more questions. Instead she laughed. I hated that. My mom had laughed when I got mad at her. It made me feel like my anger was silly. Maybe it was. Mom always told me I was too sensitive. I was easily hurt.

  “I take it your visit with your brother didn’t go well,” Susan said.

  I looked at my feet. “No,” I mumbled. “Doug and I just ended up arguing again.” I threw up both hands, annoyed with myself as much as him. “Every time I’m with my brother, I act like a stupid kid again. He does too. It’s like we’re still a couple of teens, fighting over things that don’t really matter.”

  “Huh.” Susan put a hand to her chin. “I’ve had similar problems with my sister. Can I tell you something Meg once told me?”

  “I guess.”

  “Your mom said when we’re with family, it’s like we’re in a play onstage. We’re actors stuck in whatever role we grew up playing. Even when we’re adults and have changed, we still act like the kids we once were. And we don’t really see our family members for who they are now. We see them as who they once were, when we were growing up.”

  I thought about that. It made sense. “So, with Doug, I still feel like the youngest. I’m always trying to prove myself to him. I resent him when he offers me advice. And I hate it when he embarrasses me.”

  “I wonder how he sees you?”

  “As bossy,” I said. “Always messing with his stuff.”

  “Do you see yourself that way?”

  “No, not really. He got mad at me once when I cleaned up his apartment. But I was just trying to help him out.”

  “Did he really need your help? I doubt Doug sees himself the way you do. Maybe it’s time you got to know each other as you are now, as adults.”

  I shook my head. “That isn’t going to happen. If I see him again, we’ll argue. My visit with him yesterday was a disaster.”

  “One of you is going to have to be the first to apologize. Sounds like your mom was asking you to be that person.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not saying sorry to Doug,” I said. “I have nothing to apologize for. He abandoned me after my divorce. He embarrassed me at Mom’s funeral. And he should have helped me out when Mom was sick.”

  Susan raised her eyebrows. “Well, I expect it will take time to patch things up with your brother.”

  “Have you finished sorting the parcels?” I asked to change the subject.

  “Hoping for another package from Meg?” Susan smiled, but kindly.

  “I guess,” I said. “In the letter Mom seemed to suggest there would be another. As she signed off she said, That’s it for now.”

  “Let me check.”

  I drummed my fingers on the counter as I waited for Susan. I heard her rummaging in the back. Finally, she came out, empty-handed. “Nope, sorry. Nothing today.”

  My shoulders drooped. I was disappointed. I had hoped to hear from my mother again.

  Susan put a hand on my arm. “Rhonda, I’m sorry if I pushed too hard. You’re right. All this is a private matter. Meg was a dear friend. And I know you meant the world to her. I just want to see you happy.”

  Her hand felt warm and comforting. I again understood why my mother had liked Susan. She had a relaxed way about her. She was nosy, and she did know too much about my life. But I also felt strangely comfortable around her. I rarely opened up to strangers, yet I had told her all about my brother.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I just wish Mom would have kept all this to herself. It’s embarrassing to have a stranger know so much about me.”

  Susan seemed hurt by that remark. She pulled back. “I understand,” she said. Her tone of voice became more formal. “If another package arrives, I’ll get a delivery-notice card into your box right away.”

  “I doubt there will be anything else from Mom,” I said. “I should feel lucky that she thought to send me one last letter.”

  Then my cell phone rang. I glanced at the incoming number. Lisa. I stepped away from the counter to answer the call. “Hello?”

  “Rhonda, can you come over after work?” My aunt sounded excited.

  I hesitated. It was a half-hour drive into town. “I was over there yesterday.”

  “It’s important.” She paused. “I’m at the post office right now. I just received a letter in the mail. It’s from Meg.”

  “From Mom?”

  “She asked me to invite you over. And you must bring Cody with you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll be there about five-thirty.
But why is it so important to bring Cody?”

  “You’ll see.”

  SEVEN

  WHEN CODY AND I arrived at Lisa’s door, she immediately hugged my son. “I wonder if you can do me a favor,” she asked him. “There’s a guitar case in the attic. Can you grab it for me?” Cody nodded and ran up the stairs. “It’s just inside the attic door,” Lisa called after him. “The light switch is on the right.” Then she turned back to me, her eyes sparkling.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Come in!” She closed the door behind me and led me to the kitchen. We both sat at the table. “A month before Meg died she called me over and insisted I take her guitar. I had never learned how to play. I wasn’t interested. So, I put the guitar in the attic, and it’s been collecting dust ever since.”

  My son bounded back down the stairs, carrying the guitar case. He slid it onto the kitchen counter to open it. There was a beautiful guitar inside.

  Lisa pulled a letter from her pocket and waved it at me. “Then I got this letter from your mother this morning.” She turned to Cody. “Meg wanted you to have this guitar,” she said. “She asked me to give it to you.”

  Cody’s face lit up. “Are you serious?” he asked. “It’s a high-end Gibson. You know how expensive these guitars are?” He lifted the guitar from the case. “I can really keep this?”

  “It’s yours! Just take it outside to play right now, okay? I’d like to have a quick chat with your mother.”

  We both watched Cody carry the guitar through the sliding glass doors to the deck. He spent several minutes tuning the guitar and then started to play.

  “Your mother had another, bigger favor to ask of me,” Lisa told me. “But I want to see what you think before I agree to it.” She hesitated before handing me the letter from my mother. I read it.

  Dear Lisa:

  I’m writing this letter just after your visit. Remember the guitar I gave you? That was only moments ago for me, but a year ago for you. You looked confused when I gave it to you, as we both know you don’t play. But the guitar isn’t really for you. Please give it to Cody. Now, as I write, I don’t think he’s quite ready for an instrument of this quality. But by the time you receive this letter, he will have matured enough to take good care of it.