I Like You Just Fine When You're Not Around (21 page)

“He wanted you to travel and you felt like staying home?”

“I felt I needed to stay home.”

The evening sun gleamed through the front windshield as Tig turned down her street. Alec dropped the visor. “When I was a kid, I had no idea how hard relationships were.”

Tig braked and opened her car door, but Alec stayed still. “I have to say, I kind of understand the lure of the old folks' home,” he said. “It's always a perfect seventy degrees, you never run out of toilet paper, and no grocery shopping ever has to be done for food to appear on the table.”

Tig sighed. “Never having to grocery shop again would almost be worth being flashed daily by wrinkled Mr. Schrofnagle every time I go into the TV room.”

Alec laughed and made a face. “Poor you, ugh. I sure wanted a place to go right after Jennifer died. But, as you know, you can't check out when you have a child.”

“Not everyone ascribes to that theory.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he said with a wince.

“Hey, no, I feel the same way.”

“Erin hates hospitals and medical facilities in general. I don't blame her. She likes to visit you, though, and Clementine. And Thatcher, of course.”

“Thatcher makes everyone feel welcome.”

“Erin has been putting the full court press on me for a dog.”

“You won't get any nay-saying from me. Thatcher is my rock.”

“I'm not sure I can take on anymore responsibility. When my wife was alive, I . . .
we
had a plan. We knew what we were doing. Now the wind could blow and we'd be gone.”

Tig nodded. “I feel the same these days. Clementine and Thatcher seem like the cement holding me to this earth. A baby and a dog. How do you like that?” They walked up the front steps, and Tig inserted her key into the lock and shoved the front door open. Unopened mail, cloth baby diapers, and unfolded laundry littered the room. The slightly sour smell of a neglected house wafted over them. The end-of-the-day sun poured into the bay window, highlighting the neglect.
Look here
, it seemed to say,
unemptied garbage, and over here, unwashed dishes. Have you ever seen so much dust?

Tig said, “Wow. I didn't remember it looking this bad.”

Alec pushed gently past her. “You should see my place. I imagine you keep the milk in the freezer. Do you have a cooler somewhere?”

“Under the sink.”

Tig noticed the remnants of tape and an index card stuck to the face of the mantle clock, a fossil left over from when her mother roamed the floorboards.

The sound of the freezer opening and shutting moved her to retrieve a plastic grocery bag from the floor and start cleaning. In the bathroom, she looked in the mirror and shook her head. The bottle of antidepressants Tig had bought for her sister sat quietly, waiting for someone to notice the symptoms helpfully listed on the insert:
Lack of interest in pleasurable activities, persistent feelings of guilt, inability to cope
. Tig muttered to herself, “Between the sun and the pills, it sure is noisy in here.” She looked at the bottle for a long moment and unscrewed the top. Considered the peach pills, jiggled the container, and put it back on the sink.

Tig joined Alec in the bedroom with the bassinet. “Wendy's room?”

“And my mother's before that.”

“I love that little painting.” Alec gestured to a small watercolor of a red barn surrounded by a raggedy tree and air so fresh you could almost smell the newly mowed hay.

“Yeah, the artist got the colors just right. It hung next to our front door for as long as I can remember.”

Alec stepped closer. “I love how you can't tell what season it is.”

Tig unhooked it from the wall and said, “I think I'll take it to my mom. See if it jogs her memory.” She blew dust from the frame. With her T-shirt, she cleaned the front glass and some of the paper backing came free with her effort.

“Shoot. Look what I did.”

“I can glue that down.” Alec examined the edging and tugged at a small piece of paper. It fluttered to the floor.

Tig stooped to pick it up. With one hand she unfolded the paper and read its contents. “It's a poem, listen.”

The hum of the refrigerator continued. A dog barked and a semi truck drove down the street, rattling the windows on its way to the grocery on the corner.

“That's seriously beautiful,” Alec said with reverence.

“I wonder why it was hidden in the back of this painting. Don't you think that's weird?”

“Maybe your father liked thinking she might find it one day and be reminded of the message.”

“I don't actually think it's my father's handwriting. Even so, why hide a message like this, that time is the ultimate equalizer . . . that no matter what else there is in the world, time will always be there, tapping its foot.”

“And love,” Alec added. “I think it's saying love is timeless and ‘I told you so' is the ultimate promise.”

Tig blinked. “Why, sir, you are a romantic.”

“More like a coward. In high school I was madly in love with this girl. Diane Riskitall.”

“You're kidding me. Risk-it-all?”

“You're one to talk, Dr. Tiger Lily. Anyway, suffice to say, she never felt the same way. We were more like best friends, but I always wanted more.”

Tig smiled at him and said, “Unrequited ardor, the ultimate teenage angst, since time isn't even acknowledged at that age.”

Alec nodded. “When we graduated, I gave her a gold locket. Inside it, I taped a note that said,
Soon
. It was the way we said goodbye on the phone. We really were best friends and I never wanted to say goodbye.”

“God, high school. That is so sweet.”

“On the back of the note I wrote,
I love you
but I taped that side down, hoping someday she would loosen it and know, figuring by then we would both have a life and it would be a warm memory stretching across the miles.”

“What happened to her? Did she ever throw caution to the wind like her name suggested and find you?”

“Nah, that's where the story ends. I heard she got married and teaches third grade somewhere. I don't know if she ever discovered the back side of the note.”

“You know,” said Tig, suddenly realizing, “the handwriting may not be familiar, but the title is.” She pushed up her sleeve and showed Alec the engraved bracelet she wore on her wrist. “This was in my mother's things when we packed to move her to the nursing home.” A thrill shot through her as Alec tilted her wrist to read the bracelet.

“‘If I could tell you.'” Moving his thumb a gentle inch and without releasing her arm, Alec looked at Tig. “I wonder if whoever it was ever told her so.”

She held the catch in her breath and noticed the heat in her arm spreading. “I assume it was my father, and I hope he told her.” Almost challenging Alec, she added, “But that kind of thing does take courage.”

Alec held her gaze. “After high school, I promised myself I wouldn't let opportunities to connect with people pass me by. I would read the signs better, have more guts.”

Tig cleared her throat. “How's that going?”

“In high school, I didn't take into account daughters and mortgages. The fear of collateral damage.”

Tig smiled in understanding. “Risk assessment.”

Alec said, “I wonder if Diane aged and changed her name to Consideritall.”

“If people did that, no one would ever do anything,” Tig said, hoping Alec would know exactly what she meant.

After a surprisingly comfortable return trip back to the nursing home, Alec and Tig walked into Hallie's room. Tig's immediate reaction was panic. Then she suffered a hot sweeping fury.

Wendy stood in front of Hallie's bed, looking at grandmother and child. Their mother held Clementine, who watched her own chubby fingers with a cross-eyed look of concentration. A worried veil passed across Hallie's face.

“Well,” said Tig, biting off each word, “look who's decided to come home.”

Wendy, with equal parts joy, bewilderment, and sorrow, said, “She's not crying.”

Her mother said, “Look who's here!”

Tig smiled quickly at her mother. “I see, Mom.” Then turned her steel jaw to her sister. “Wendy.”

“I started to call, Tig. About a hundred times.”

“I wouldn't have answered. If you wanted to know about Clementine, you could just come home.”

“Well, here I am, and I can see how happy that makes you.”

Alec said, “I think I'll go find my mom and Erin. I'll see you soon.” Tig mistakenly said, “Bye, Pete.” Mortified, she closed her eyes. “Alec!” Walking to the door, she called after him. “Please don't hold that against me. I used to be a very normal person.”

Calling back over his shoulder, he said, “I never liked normal.”

Tig smiled and returned to the room. Wendy was trying to take Clementine into her arms. Tig could tell by the look on Hallie's face that her inner alarm was getting ready to sound. Tig eased her sister's arms back, whispering gently through a humorless smile, “Wendy, just wait a minute. You have to wait until she's asleep to take Clementine.”

Wendy balked, desperation showing through the skin beneath her eyes. “What are you talking about? I haven't seen my daughter in weeks.” She gulped a sob. “I've got to tell her how much I love her.”

“Forgive me for not seeing the urgency here.”

Wendy's eggshell façade began to crumble. Her voice, a thinning band close to snapping, vibrated. “I had to leave. Don't you understand?”

“No. Here is what I do understand. Your mother and daughter have some kind of amazing bond. Mom was the only one who could calm Clementine down when she started wailing with colic. And Clementine calms Mom. It's the perfect symbiotic relationship, except for it to work, we all had to come and practically live here at the nursing home.”

Wendy stood back, astonished. “You live here?”

“No, but we might as well.”

“You did this for me?”

Tig said, “No. I did it for Mom, Clementine, and me. When you decided to take off, I didn't know what to do.”

As if finally finding some common ground, Wendy said, “I didn't know what to do, either.”

“Yes, but you're a mother, you little irresponsible shit. You can't leave.”

Wendy sat heavily on the edge of Tig's bed. She inched her hand over to the bundle that was her daughter nestled in her mother's arms.

Hallie shoved her hand away and pulled the baby closer to her chest.

Tig put her arm on her mother's leg. “It's okay, Mom. It's just Wendy. She wants to touch the baby.”

Hallie snapped at Tig, “I know it's Wendy. Tell her to keep her hands off Tiglet. She's always aggravating the girl.”

Tig and Wendy looked at each other. In spite of the bitterness boiling between them, Tig laughed.

Wendy squeezed her eyes shut and a tear scooted down her face. “I would have hurt her, Tig.”

Tig moved away. “No, you wouldn't have.”

Wendy said, “Yes. I would have.”

Hallie shushed them, placing a finger to her lips.

“You were right,” Wendy went on. “I needed the antidepressant. I started them as soon as I got to Phil's. I got in to see my old ob/gyn and he said what I was feeling was normal, given the circumstances. I know it was wrong to leave her without talking to you first, but I had to get out of there before I did something terrible. I knew you would take care of her.”

“That is not enough, Wendy. And too much like what you've done for years. Leave everything to Tig, because her life doesn't really matter.”

“I know it. But I'll make it up to you. I promise. Once Phil gets here and we get a place of our own.”

Tig put both hands up into the air. “Hold on a minute. Phil's coming? You're getting your own place?”

“That's the good news. Phil wants to try. Says he was miserable. Wants to give the family a go.” Wendy brightened, wiping her face. Tig yanked her sister by the arm and into the hallway.

“So that's it for good old Tig, then, huh? You're taking Clementine and you and Phil are going to . . . How did he put it?
Give it a go?
What is this? A carnival ride for him? No freaking way. I love that little girl. She's my family. You can't just treat me like I'm some unneeded foster family.”

With an accusing finger, Wendy poked her in the chest. “You're treating me like I'm a crack addict. I'm her mother.”

“If I'd called social services, this would have been a much bigger deal. You wouldn't be able to waltz back in and take her back so easily then.”

Wendy's hands flew to her head. “I thought you'd be happy for me. God, I'm an idiot. You're only happy when you're taking care of everyone else's life so you don't have to focus on your own.”

Tig's head snapped back as if she had been slapped. She opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn't.

Wendy began again. “Don't get me wrong, little sister. I'm grateful. More than grateful. Indebted to you forever. I know that. But I'm back now.”

Tig said, “But that's not fair!”

“Guess what?” Wendy said, sniffing. “This ain't your radio show, and who said life was fair?”