We pulled through a drive-through for coffee and bagels on the way home. Bob talked cheerily about how built-up this area of the Cape had become, how winter was going to be here before we knew it, how he was watching the Patriots game that afternoon with a couple of buddies. When we got to my house, he walked me to the door and kissed me. “That was fun,” he said. “I’ll call you.”
*
I brushed my teeth and took a long, hot shower, my tears salting the water. I put on old, baggy clothes and checked my messages. Not a one. Wouldn’t you know that when I could really use the distraction of my family, they were nowhere to be found. I called Michael. “You wanna go for a walk or anything?”
“Good timing. I was just heading out with Mother Teresa. We’ll pick you up.”
Mother Teresa had to move to the backseat to make room for me, but I don’t think she minded. She leaned forward between the bucket seats in Michael’s 4Runner, and rested her head on my shoulder, nuzzling up against my neck. The tenderness of the gesture almost made me start to cry again.
“You okay, Sarah? You don’t look so hot.” We’d pulled into the parking lot of the golf course. Michael had one hand on the door handle. He turned and looked at me with such concern that I opened my door quickly and got out.
“I’m fine. Just a bad date. By the way, you were right, Michael.” I smiled, lurched a few steps across the parking lot. “You can’t shine a fucking sneaker,” I slurred in a pretty fair imitation of Michael. Even drunk, Michael had seen Bob more clearly than I had.
“Cute, sis. So, Bob What’s-his-name, huh?” Michael bent down to pick up two golf balls partially covered by leaves. He handed me one. “Sorry I was right about him. You want to talk about it?”
“With my
brother
? I don’t think so.” I threw my ball for Mother Teresa. She barreled after it.
“Well, let me know if you want me to beat him up or anything.”
“Nah, he’s not worth it. Come on, let’s change the subject. How’re you and Phoebe doing these days?”
“We’re going to counseling.”
“Cut it out. You talking about your feelings to a stranger?”
Or anyone, for that matter
, I didn’t say.
“Yeah, well, I’m trying. Right now it’s about one step forward and three-quarters of a step back. I gotta do it, though. It’s not fair to Annie and Lainie for us always to be fighting. It was different for you and Kevin. You could just walk.”
“I really wanted to have kids with Kevin.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually said that out loud. Mother Teresa had rolled onto her back in some long grass, where she was wiggling around delightedly. “What’s she doing?”
“Trying to absorb some disgusting scent, probably a dead animal or something. Guess it’s bathtime tonight.” He bent down and clapped his hands against his thighs. “Come here, girl. Now.” Mother Teresa ignored him. “You can still have kids. I mean, can’t you?”
I laughed. “Yeah, at least for the next ten minutes. But, I mean, what are the chances? And I’m with kids all day long anyway.” We’d caught up with Mother Teresa and Michael put the leash on her and yanked. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be dragged away.
Michael walked Mother Teresa a safe distance away, then let her off the leash again. “Well, sometimes I think the only part I’ve got is the kids part. Phoebe and I are just so different. Who we are, what we want. I never knew how important that would be. I thought you just had to find someone to love, and then the rest would fall into place.”
*
“You know,” I said when John Anderson answered the phone. “I can’t promise you that I’m not going to keep messing things up, and my family is never going to change — in fact, they can be even worse than you’ve seen — and the only thing I’ve ever been really good at is teaching, and I’m really sorry we didn’t play spin the bottle. In fact, if we did, it might have saved me from a couple of stupid mistakes — ”
“Who is this?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
John laughed. Suddenly, I was glad I’d called. “Of course, I know who this is,” he said. “Sarah.”
“Sarah who?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Sarah Hurlihy,” he answered. I liked the way he pronounced my name with such confidence, as if he could even spell it if he had to.
The bus was big. It was tall and long and sleek and shiny and it took up nearly half of our circular driveway. A satellite dish sprouted from its top like an upside- down mushroom. An electronic sign spanned the front and flashed HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM THE HURLIHYS in red and green letters.
My father was greeting guests in our front hallway. He wore a Santa hat, of course, and red suspenders hooked on to black slacks over a crisp white shirt. When I kissed him, he smelled a shade too much of Old Spice. “You look great, Dad.”
“And you, my dear, are a vision.” My brothers and sisters were clumped around Dad. I made the rounds with hugs.
A pretty redhead in a tuxedo approached us with a silver tray and a stack of cocktail-sized napkins. “Salmon mousse?” she offered.
“Pretty fancy, Dad,” I said, munching a mousse-laden cracker. “Mmm, this is fabulous.”
“As I’ve said my entire life, when Billy Hurlihy does something, he does it up right.” My brothers and sisters and I looked at each other, smiled at how many times we’d heard that one during the course of our lives. “And it all came with the bus. Catchy gimmick: they unload the whole shebang, serve at your house, load it back up, and then you eat and drink your way to wherever it is you’re going.”
My father took a sip of his champagne. “Make sure you find the young fellow with the risotto balls, Sarah. You wouldn’t want to miss them.”
I waited. It didn’t take long. “Where did the guy with the risotto balls go?” my brother Johnny began, handing me a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “We really must find him for Sarah.”
“Cute,” I said.
“Yeah, Sarah,” Christine added. “You simply haven’t lived until you’ve found a guy with risotto balls.”
“Personally, I’ve made them an absolute requirement,” Carol said. “Risotto balls, that is.”
“Come on, you guys, grow up,” I said. “What does that even mean?”
“Oh, my God, it’s worse than we thought,” Michael said to Billy. They raised their eyebrows in identical looks of horror. “She doesn’t even know. About risotto balls.”
Dad was shaking his head. “All right, all right. That’s enough. We’ll have no trash talking under my roof. And never forget, for a single moment, that as long as your father is still alive and kicking, not one of you is too old to have your mouth washed out with soap.”
*
Dozens of family photographs hung in the hallway, gallery-like, flanking the staircase. A sepia wedding photo of my parents, Dad’s arm draped across Mom’s shoulders like a mantle, optimistic smiles on their faces. A color portrait of all six children taken on this very staircase: the three girls seated together on one step in identical pleated skirts and round-collared white blouses, the three boys a couple of steps higher in matching jackets and ties, their knees digging into our backs.
I ran my fingers along the curved mahogany banister, the wood burnished by decades of hands guiding our everyday ascents and descents, as well as our occasional wild slides when our parents weren’t looking. I studied the photographs. Six high school senior pictures in a long, staggered row. Snapshots of Christmas. Easter. Birthday parties. Summer vacations. I spent time with each photo, each face, searching the eyes for clues.
The kitchen door swung open, startling me. The pretty redhead and the guy with risotto balls emerged, managing to kiss and carry their trays at the same time. I felt like an intruder in my former house.
“Oh, hi,” said the redhead, smiling, confident. Elegant flutes of champagne balanced easily on her tray.
“Mistletoe,” said the other, blushing. He extended his tray to me.
“No, thanks.” I joined him in his blush.
The three of us gazed at the photographs for a minute. “So, which one are you?” asked the redhead.
“Right here,” I said, pointing. It was nice to know where I was for a change.
*
I sat in a seat near the back of the empty bus. Eight small television sets, framed in teal and gray to match the upholstery, hung from the ceiling in two rows.
It’s a Wonderful Life
played soundlessly on all of them, while Frank Sinatra crooned “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire” from multiple suspended speakers.
I watched Siobhan climb up the stairs of the bus. She walked halfway down the aisle, then stopped to flash her navel at me from underneath a cropped purple sweater.
“Looks great,” I said.
“You bring a date?” she asked.
“A couple dozen. You?”
“About the same,” Siobhan said with a big smile that didn’t have even a trace of an adolescent pout in it. She slid into the seat across from mine.
Ian and Trevor ran down the aisle of the bus. They ignored us and stood outside the door of the bathroom. “Liar,” said Trevor.
“It does, too. Where else would it go?”
“Does not.”
“Does too. Okay, you go in and pee and I’ll stand outside the bus and tell you when it comes out on the driveway.”
“Oh, yeah, right, Ian. If you’re so stupid, why don’t you try it,” Trevor challenged him. Siobhan rolled her eyes at me.
Lorna came down the aisle, followed by a squat, dark-haired man with a decidedly surly expression on his face. “Lorna,” I said, “I’m so glad you came. Lorna, this is my niece Siobhan. Siobhan, this is my friend Lorna, you’ve probably seen her at Bayberry, and this is her husband Mat — ”
“Jim,” Lorna said, reaching back to put her arm around him.
“Is that the bathroom?” Mattress Man said by way of greeting. He walked by us with what might have been a grunt.
We watched him disappear behind the teal and gray upholstered door. “When he comes back out,” Lorna said, “you’ll see that he’s actually a brilliant conversationalist.”
June got on the bus, followed closely by Ray Santia. I scrunched down low in my seat. The downside of living in a small town like Marshbury was that your past never went far enough away to let you forget about your mistakes. June and Ray stopped halfway down the aisle and huddled like conspirators, comparing pictures of Creases and Wrinkles. The aisle filled up behind them, and June moved into a seat. Ray followed quickly, without even glancing around for me.
Austin wiggled past the incoming traffic. “Ms. Hurlihy!” he yelled. “My father and I speeded all the way here! Is that a felony or a misdemeanor?” Austin stopped abruptly when he came to June’s seat. June and Ray turned around, finally noticed me. I smiled and waved, tried to look like I hadn’t been hiding.
I looked past them. The bus was almost full. My father was seated in the front seat, Santa hat still on, ready to play copilot. He was talking animatedly with Bob Connor. Apparently, my entire past was going to get on the bus. Bob Connor looked at his watch. My father said something to the waitress, who nodded. The last chrome cooler was carried aboard by the caterers. The bus driver started the engine.
*
Carol stood at the front of the bus, waving my good wool coat back and forth. “Where would you be without me?” she yelled down the aisle. “Oh, and here’s your date.”
Carol handed John Anderson my coat as he moved past her. Their movements were smooth, almost choreographed. It was probably my imagination, but it seemed as if the whole bus watched John weave his way down the aisle. He was wearing a gorgeous camel-hair coat over a black suit. White shirt, red tie. “Hi,” he said when he reached me. “Is this seat saved?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact it is.” I slid over, smiling. We were both smiling.
“Sorry I’m late. There was more traffic than I expected. I probably should have left earlier but I got caught up in a
Get Smart
festival on Nickelodeon.”
“You watch Nickelodeon?”
“Well, not just anything. I’m very fussy. But
Get Smart
has it all. Max is maybe a bumbler, but he gets the job done, and he and Agent Ninety-nine are such a great team. And the gadgets on the show still hold up. I’ve actually been wondering if Max’s shoe phone design could work as a cell phone. You know how there’s never a great place to carry your cell phone? Well….I guess I’m getting carried away. Sorry, Sarah.” He reached over and held my hands with both of his. His eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I brought the bottle.”
I smiled. “I brought one, too. Just in case you forgot.”
Bob Connor leaned over us. “Go ahead, Austin, I’ll wait right here,” he said. He smiled and extended his hand to John. “Kids and bathrooms, what can I say. He wants to see what happens when he flushes.”
“Nice to see you again,” John said.
“Don’t kid a kidder,” Bob said.
I glanced at Bob, his tousled curls, his green green eyes and twisted front tooth. He was wearing a dark gray jacket, a light pink shirt. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable around me. In fact, it was as if once he’d slept with me, I no longer existed. There was simply one fewer name on the list of women he hadn’t been with yet. I was surprised I wasn’t more upset about it.
I looked him straight in the eyes. “One question, Bob. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Austin and I ran into Dolly outside her trailer. She had just called your father, somebody from the caterers answered the phone and, long story short, she was on her way over here to kill that good-for-nothin’ Billy Hurlihy.”
“How did you stop her?”
“I didn’t. I talked her into changing her outfit to something that did justice to her fine figure and milky complexion. Austin and I did a little bit of spiffing up ourselves” — Bob stopped, brushed some imaginary lint from his shoulder — “and we jumped back in the car, hightailed it over here first to warn your dad, and even managed to finagle an invitation to this shindig.”
“Ms. Hurlihy!” Austin yelled as he came out of the bathroom. “Did you know we’re going to ride all the way to the symphony on this bus, Ms. Hurlihy? I bet Max Meehan and Molly Greene have never even been on a fancy bus like this. But, don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody I got to come and they didn’t. You can absolutely, positively, no crossies allowed, trust me that mummies the word.”