by Lori L. Lake
“Is he in the hospital?” Her heart raced in her chest, and she was glad to be leaning against something.
“Nope. Home resting already. He wrapped the Buick around a tree. Lucky that old boat is so huge. He was on the way over to the market and must have had a dizzy spell. He ran up on the sidewalk and into a maple in someone’s yard. Bumped his head a little, but he’s fine.”
Relief spread through her at the same time that she was struck by the circumstances. “So she called you in California to report this?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. She said the docs gave Dad some meds for pain that will make him sleepy. She wanted me to call you and Izzy to tell you what happened and ask you both to let them be. He can’t see anyone right now, but he should be fine by tomorrow.”
What a chickenshit thing to do. For a moment she thought she’d said it out loud. “Nate, thanks for calling. Sorry you had to do the dirty work.”
“That’s what big brothers are for, right?” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “I promised I’d call Izzy, too, so I’m going to let you go. The kids and Sheila say hi.”
“Give them our love, too.” They said goodbye and hung up.
Calli stood by the kitchen table, watching Mel with a quizzical look on her face. “What now?”
“Dad cracked up the car, and instead of Mom calling us to report this little fact, she called Nate to have him do it.”
Calli shook her head. “Families. Can’t live with ’em—can’t kill ’em.”
She strode over and put her arms around Mel, who tightened her hands into fists, then hugged back. “I am just so damn mad, Cal.”
“I know,” she said. “I know.” Leaning away, she said, “Skip the movie?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll put the salads in the fridge and we can have them when we come back.”
EVEN THOUGH NATE had phoned Mel before he called her twin, Izzy lived closer and arrived at their parents’ home first. As Calli steered into the driveway, Mel saw Izzy disappear into the house.
“You staying here?” Mel asked.
Calli nodded and patted Mel’s thigh. “You don’t need another body in there for the inevitable showdown. I’ll keep the car cool for you.” She squeezed Mel’s knee and made her jump. “Don’t break a leg, sweetheart.”
“If I do, it won’t be mine that gets broken.” Mel got out and shut the car door, thinking how she talked a good game, but knowing her mother could snap her in two with little more than a few choice words. She marched to the front of the house and let herself in, pausing a few steps into the living room. She heard whispered hisses in the kitchen, and after a moment, she could make sense of the words.
“He’s fine,” her mother said in a hoarse stage whisper.
“I’d like to see for myself, Mother.”
“Isadora, I asked you not to run over here. He needs quiet and rest until tomorrow.”
“Right. And thanks for the personal touch. Having Nate call long distance was swell of you.”
Agnes responded, but Mel tuned it out. No way was she entering the kitchen now, not when Izzy was fighting the good fight. All through their youth, she had marveled at her sister’s ability to meet their mother head on. Mel couldn’t remember a single time she herself hadn’t folded.
Moving across the room like a man walking the plank, she stopped in front of the fireplace.
On the mantel were four elaborate German steins, two to the left and two to the right of the nautical clock in the middle. For all the years of Mel’s life, her mother had hated those steins, which Mel’s father had brought into the marriage. Nathan Bauer missed active duty during World War II, but was stationed in Germany the year after the war ended. He always said the steins were the only souvenirs he’d bought, and he intended to keep them. “I may even take ’em with me to the grave,” he once said in the midst of an argument over them.
The steins featured delicate hand-painted reliefs of German scenes: castles of Bavaria on one, dancers flanking a colorful crest on the second, and a beer wagon, Bavarian hat, and pretzel on the third. Mel reached for the fourth, which was her favorite. Inset, a three-dimensional swan was delicately carved. The plumed tail feathers made up the handle on the left. A baby swan nestled under the breast of the bird, and on the right, the swan’s head was bent gracefully, making it easy to grasp the overlarge stein and drink from it. Not that anyone ever drank from the foot-tall pieces of art—except for Henry Altamont, who, unbeknownst to Izzy and Mel, had filled the swan stein with cheap Annie Greensprings wine. This was 1991, while Agnes and Nathan were away from Minnesota visiting a dying elderly relative, and Mel and Izzy had used the opportunity to throw a summer party.
Mel turned the stein around. The crack in the baby swan’s wing was still there, though she and Izzy, in desperation, had glued it back on. She tried to remember how long they spent hoping and praying no one would notice the crack—or the spot in the carpet near the couch where they’d had to cut away some of the shag rug because Tyler Schmidt gave Henry Altamont a bloody nose in response to Henry’s carelessness with what he called “that damn antique mug.” Tyler’s protectiveness had earned him Izzy’s heart. Thirteen years, one extravagant wedding, and two kids later, they were still together. Mel hadn’t heard from Henry since he’d graduated from high school and was lost to the romance of the California cocaine trade.
She set the stein back in its place, turned it so the crack wasn’t noticeable, and wondered why her parents had never asked about the swan’s injury. Certainly neither of them ever mentioned it if they had noticed. She wondered if she could confess now. What would they say? What would her father think? And how long would it be before her father forgot he had ever possessed the mugs?
Just then Izzy rounded the corner into the living room and stopped abruptly. “I didn’t hear you come in, Mel.” Her face was bright red. Mel looked beyond to see their mother standing in the doorway, with an equally angry face and her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Uh, hi, Mom.”
“I see you can’t follow simple directions any better than your sister.”
“Nope. Guess it’s genetic.”
“Your father is just fine. Come back tomorrow if you like.”
Mel nodded. With a huff, Izzy grabbed her forearm and pulled her across the room. Without even a goodbye, they slammed out, letting the screen door slap shut behind them.
Mel looked back. Agnes stood behind the dull gray screen. In a hoarse voice she called out, “Don’t think I don’t know about your guilty fascination with your father’s steins, Imelda.”
Izzy pushed her forward. “The hell with her! Get in your car. You and Calli meet me over at the Caribou Coffee on Grand.” She flounced off to her car, leaving Mel to wondering how many years her mother had known about the swan cover-up.
THE NEXT TIME Mel approached her parents’ house, she arrived with prearranged reinforcements. Izzy sat in the Honda’s passenger seat, toying with her long, straight hair, and gabbing about Mikey and Ashlee. Calli had graciously agreed to watch Izzy’s two kids while the twin sisters spent the morning visiting their parents to talk about plans for the future. It had been two days since their father’s accident, and after considerable discussion, the two sisters formulated a plan to suggest that their folks sell the house and move into an assisted-living center.
“Okay,” Izzy said as they turned on their parents’ street, “we have to do this good cop/bad cop style.”
“Right. I suppose you’re the good cop, as usual.”
Izzy laughed. “I’m older, so shouldn’t I get to pick?”
“Ten minutes shouldn’t make that much difference. Besides, I’m a crappy bad cop.”
“All right. You be the good cop, and I’ll try to be the hellion. If that doesn’t work, one of us gives a signal, and we can switch roles.”
As Mel pulled up to the curb in front of the weathered house, she saw a green blob on wheels down the street. Like an over-sized alien, it weaved toward them.
The green figure drew closer. Mel exited the car, shaded her eyes, and squinted into the sun. She met her sister’s gaze over the top of the car and shouted, “What in the hell is Mom thinking?”
They slammed their car doors and stood waiting as their father wheeled up. A black, curly-headed Pete nestled between Nathan’s bright white t-shirt and a heavy, forest green work shirt which was buttoned only halfway up.
“Dad,” Izzy said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He applied the pedal brakes on the one-speed Schwinn and gingerly stepped off to straddle the bike. With his right hand, he reached up to his chest and patted Pete. The poodle gazed upward with a look of rapture on his face as his pink tongue darted out and licked Nathan’s chin.
“Hi, girls. You must have gotten my transmission.”
Mel glanced at Izzy. “Transmission?”
“Yes, sirree,” he said. “I asked one of the men to make contact. Little did I know that he would send it out in JN-25 code, but I always knew my girls were smart. The Imperial Navy has nothing on our forces.” He looked down at Pete. “Glad you figured it out. That’s how we’ll win the war—smart civilians and officers like me getting it done.”
Mel pointed at a dark purple lump on his forehead above his left eye. Bisected by an inch-long slice, the wound was held together by two butterfly bandages. “How’s your head?”
“No problem. You don’t think the Japs and Krauts could get to me, do you?”
“What?” Mel wanted to step over and feel his forehead to make sure he wasn’t delirious.
He smiled. “Don’t worry a bit. We’ve stepped up our security on base.”
Izzy frowned. “Oh. I see. Well, Dad…hmmm.” She glanced toward Mel again. “So, have you had any lunch—I mean, been to the mess hall lately?”
He leaned forward and whispered, “No. Afraid the sergeant will stick me with KP.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Izzy said. “You know I outrank the sergeant.”
He let out a guffaw. “Nice try. Not this sergeant!” He leaned the bicycle to the side and dragged his right leg over to dismount. The Schwinn nearly toppled, but Mel leapt forward and grabbed it while Izzy steadied their father.
Mel said, “I’ve got it, Dad. I’ll put it away for you—return it to the Motor Pool, that is. You go on into the house.”
He shuffled over to the curb, stepped up, and took slow, even steps toward the front door. Mel waited until he was out of ear-shot, then turned to her sister. “Wasn’t dad a soldier after World War Two?”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. And where did he get all that stuff about codes and the Imperial Navy? He didn’t have anything to do with that in the 40s. He was never even an officer. I’ll bet he’s been watching the History Channel.”
Shaking her head, Mel rolled the bicycle up over the curb and to the driveway. The garage door was locked. Without a word, Izzy went to the front door and disappeared inside. A moment later the automatic door rumbled up. Mel put the bike away, went into the house, and paused at the front door to press the garage remote.
Izzy stood in the doorway to the kitchen listening to their mother’s sharp voice.
“…supposed to do? Handcuff him to the bed? I didn’t even hear him leave.”
Mel squeezed next to Izzy in the doorway and said, “Mom, that’s the point. You can’t just let him roam the neighborhood. Two days ago he’s in a car accident. Today he’s on that old bike. He could have fallen or been hit by a car.”
“And hello to you, too, Imelda,” Agnes said in a tight voice. She stood holding a wooden mixing spoon in her fist. A spotless white apron covered her tan housedress. An array of spices, flour, and sugar sat on the counter next to her Kitchen Aide mixer.
With a sigh, Izzy said, “Mel’s right, Ma. You’ve either got to watch him closer or he needs to be placed somewhere where they’ll supervise him 24 hours per day. We had an idea. We think you should consider an assisted-living complex.”
Mel thought her mother was going to attack. For one brief moment, her eyes resembled the piercing black gaze possessed by the swooping red falcon out in the living room curio cabinet. Agnes smacked the wood spoon on the counter, then confronted her daughters red-faced and angry. “You want to send him to a home then? Just farm him out? He’s fine and I can take care of him.”
Izzy stepped forward allowing Mel to relax against the frame of the door. “He’s not fine, Ma. The strokes have done something to him. He thinks he’s back in the war.”
Agnes waved a hand and picked up the wooden spoon. “Pshaw! Foolish nonsense. So he gets a little confused. He’s 79, for God’s sake. That’s no reason to send him to an old folks’ home when I can take perfectly good care of him. We’re doing fine.”
Mel shook her head. “But Mom—”
Agnes released her full fury. “You don’t come around here for months at a time, Imelda, and then when you do show up, you think you can just walk right in and tell me how to take care of your father? Don’t you try to tell me what you think is best! You, who don’t even have a husband.” She took two steps forward, shaking the spoon. “You have no right. None!”
Mel stood up straight, her face flaming, but she forged on, forcing the words to come out. “You always have to make things like this into something about me, about my lifestyle. You just can’t do that anymore, Mom. Calli has nothing to do with this problem, so leave her out of it.”
Izzy raised a hand, but before she could speak, Agnes shouted, “I’m 68 years old and have every right to make judgments for my life and your father’s, too.” She shook the spoon in the air. “When you have a husband, only then can you tell me you know what’s best. You’re just damn lucky we didn’t disown you over your—your—oooh!” She spun away, facing the kitchen window over the sink.
Mel closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. With a flash of insight, she realized that no matter what she did, or said, or how she acted—or even if she begged—her mother was never going to accept her relationship with a woman. Certainly Agnes would ordinarily be polite, though distant, but when her back was against the wall, Calli would never be accepted like Izzy’s Tyler was. In her heart, Mel had always known this, but staying away from her mother had allowed her to avoid confronting the fact. In the past, she would have left in a rage long before this point in the argument, but now she merely felt deflated. Tears squeezed out as she heard Izzy’s next statement.
“You’re being unnecessarily cruel, Ma. Mel’s right. This isn’t about her. It’s about Dad and what’s best for him.”
It was clear Agnes wouldn’t back down. She let out a gasp of exasperation and jammed the spoon into the silver bowl on the counter.
Izzy said, “Ma! I’ve got a husband. Are you going to listen to me or is that just an excuse you’re using to hurt Mel?”
“Get out.”
Izzy turned and met Mel’s eyes. She said, “Ma, you can’t—”
“I said get out!” Agnes didn’t turn around, but it was clear to Mel that the conversation was over. She backed up into the living room, facing Izzy as her sister came through the doorway shaking her head in anger and frustration. Izzy gestured to the left, and Mel wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she followed her down the hall to their parents’ room.
Nathan lay on his side, his green work shirt untucked, with Pete curled up next to his slumbering body. Mel stood there long enough to see their dad’s chest rise and fall, then whispered, “At least he’s got Pete.” When Izzy nodded, Mel saw the tears in her eyes. “Let’s just go, sis.”
Mutely, Izzy nodded, and they left the house, back into the humid morning. The heat took what little energy Mel had left, and she couldn’t help the tears that welled up. They got in the car and sat quietly for a moment before Mel started the car and turned on the A/C. “What a big mess.” She cr
ossed her arms over the top of the steering wheel and let her head drop against her forearms. The touch to her right shoulder was firm.
“Don’t let her get to you. She doesn’t mean it.” Izzy sniffed and let out a sigh.
“Yes, she does.” Mel’s voice was muffled, but she went on. “What’s wrong with her? How can she be like that?”
Izzy shrugged. “Maybe it was her childhood, something with her parents—hell, I don’t know!”
“Me neither. She knows just how to get to me, and she never wastes an opportunity.”
“Mel, listen to me. You aren’t going to get what you need from her. You never have and you never will. Daddy always loved you best, and she always loved Nate the most. Look at the bright side. At least you were somebody’s favorite.”
Mel sat back against the hot upholstery and stared at Izzy. She gasped out, “That’s not true.”
Izzy smiled. “Sure it is. And that’s why it’s extra hard on you—because sooner or later we’re going to lose Dad, and he’s the one that has always gotten you through. Maybe he won’t die for a while, but we’re losing him still. And then we’ll be stuck with our cranky, mean-spirited mother, and there’ll be no buffer at all.”
The tears came, and Mel couldn’t stop them. “How can you be so matter-of-fact about this?” she choked out.
“That’s my job as the older sister—to look at the bright side.”
“There’s no bright side in this mess. It’s a disaster all around. And what about you? Dad loved me, and Mom loved Nate best? You got screwed!”
Izzy shifted to the side in the awkward bucket seat and took Mel’s face into her soft hands. “No I didn’t, little sister. I always knew you loved me best. That’s the bright side.”
***
ABOUT LEE LYNCH
Lee Lynch has been writing as an out lesbian since her work appeared in “The Ladder” in the 1960s. She wrote the classic novels The Swashbuckler and Toothpick House. The most recent of her 14 books, Sweet Creek and Beggar of Love, were published by Bold Strokes Books. Her short stories can be found in “Romantic Interludes” and at Readtheselips.com. Her reviews and feature articles have been featured in “The Lambda Book Report,” “The Advocate,” and many other publications.
