Family Blessings (19 page)

Across the table Judd and Joey were comparing notes on the music they liked--rap versus country.

From a table nearby, Janice called, "Mom, these baked beans are terrific."

"So is the potato salad," Christopher added. "Bachelors don't get a treat like this very often."

"Even ones who know how to cook?" she inquired.

"I cook pretty simple things, mostly."

"My mother taught me how to make potato salad. She's got a secret."

"What?"

"A little sweet pickle juice in the dressing." Lee raised her voice.

"Isn't that right, Mom?"

"What's that?" At another table, Peg turned in her chair and looked back over her shoulder.

"Pickle juice in the potato salad."

"That's right. But yours is every bit as good as mine, honey."

Lloyd came around refilling iced tea glasses. He patted Lee's shoulder. "Nice picnic, dear."

From another table one of the cousins called, "Hey, Aunt Lee?"

"What, Josh?"

"Is it really true that when you were eleven years old you drove Grandpa's car through the window of the dime store?"

Lee dropped her empty corn cob and covered her head with both arms.

"Oh my God."

"Did you, Aunt Lee?"

She came up blushing. "Daddy, did you tell him that?" she scolded.

"Did she really, Grandpa?"

"Well now, Josh, I told you it wasn't exactly through the window, just a few feet into it."

Christopher smiled down at Lee's right ear, which was as red as the zinnias in her garden.

"What's this?" he teased quietly.

"Daddy, I could crown you!" she blustered.

Christopher teased, "It's no wonder you didn't get upset about Joey driving. At least he waited till he was fourteen. And he didn't do it on the main street of town."

Somebody said, "Hey, what about the time when my dad peed through the screen. Tell em, Dad."

It was Orrin Hillier's turn to be put on the hot seat. He laughed and pretended embarrassment, but everyone convinced him to tell the oftrepeated story. "Well, it was when we were kids, and we lived on the farm and I slept with my brother, Jim. Our room was on the second floor, of course, and one summer we got the idea that when we had to get up and go in the middle of the night we could save ourselves the trouble of walking all that way outside to the outhouse by just whizzing through the screen. We got by with it for quite a while, but don't you know, the next year in the spring when my dad was changing the storm windows, he noticed that one of the screens was all rusting out in a perfect circle, about, oh"--he measured off a distance from the ground with one hand--"about wiener high to a couple of snot-nosed boys. And we sure caught it then."

"What happened?"

"We had to shell corn. He put us out in a corncrib with one of those old hand-crank shellers and said, Go to work, boys, and don't stop till the crib is empty." Well, he took pity on us around suppertime, when I suspect my mom stuck up for us, but let me tell you, I've never had blisters like that before or since."

Christopher had been watching Judd's eyes while the story was being told. He had hiked one foot up beneath him on the picnic bench and stretched his neck to see over the heads around him.

Like any child of twelve, he had watched the storyteller and listened with his empty fork forgotten against his teeth. He had laughed when the others laughed. He had experienced firsthand the flow of familial lore from one generation to the next, and the fascination showed on his face.

When the story ended he said to Joey, "I thought grampas were like, you know, soybean people, but yours is definitely primo."

Joey smiled and said, "Yeah, I think so too."

They had watermelon for dessert, followed by a watermelon seed spitting contest, which Sylvia won. She received a box of sparklers as her prize.

They played more volleyball, bocce and croquet, and when evening set in ate leftovers, then began cleaning up the yard and the kitchen. By the time they headed for Sand Creek Park, Lee hadn't one item left to fold up, wash or pack away.

Joey said, "Hey, Chris, can I ride with you and Judd?"

"Sure."

"You got room for me, too?" Lloyd asked.

"You bet. Jump right in."

Lee rode with her parents, Janice with all the girls. The cavalcade left the house when the sun was sitting on the rim of the world and the neighborhood resounded with an occasional volley of firecrackers.

At Sand Creek, a huge multifield baseball complex, the surrounding unpaved parkland had been pressed into use as parking lots. The cars, entering bumper to bumper, raised a fine haze of dust that settled like a lanugo on the vehicles as they pulled in. The sky had lost color, faded like an iris left in water too long. The warmth of the day lifted from the sandy earth, met by a press of coolness beginning above. Crayon-colored lights, subdued by dust, blinked and gyrated in the distance where a carnival beckoned.

Its enticing clamor drifted across the field, interspersed with the occasional report of firecrackers. Children ran among the cars.

Adults walked. The oldest of them carried webbed lawn chairs.

Joey and Judd jogged ahead, raising puffs of dust, talking animatedly as they headed for the carnival and its promise of excitement.

Ambling after them, Lloyd remarked to Chris, "Those two seem to be hitting it off quite well."

"Better than I expected."

Lee called from behind them, "Hey, you two, wait for us."

And that's how Lee ended up beside Christopher, where she seemed to stay the remainder of the night, while Lloyd faded back and fell in beside Lee's folks.

"Want to walk over to the carnival?" Lee asked the older ones.

Her mother replied, "No, I think I've had enough excitement for one day. I'll just settle down on a blanket and wait for the fireworks."

Orrin and Lloyd agreed.

"Mind if we go for a while?" Lee asked.

"Of course not. Have fun," her mother replied.

"We'll find you later."

They ambled through the dusty grass toward the red, blue and yellow bars of moving neon, toward the smell of popcorn and Pronto Pups and the sounds of carnival engines and calliope music. All day long they'd been with others, their footsteps slowed as they shared this first time alone.

"Thanks for today," he said, "and especially for letting Judd come."

"You're welcome. I was glad to have you both."

"I don't think he's ever experienced anything like it before. He doesn't have any grandparents that I know of. I was watching his eyes when your dad was telling his story, and the kid was transfixed."

"The rest of us have heard that old story so often we know it by heart."

"That's exactly the point. I wanted him to see how a real family works, and you all certainly gave him a firsthand look."

"Well, you can bring him anytime."

"He and Joey seemed to warm up to each other eventually. They were talking and laughing together quite a bit by the end of the day."

He glanced down at her as they reached the periphery of the carnival.

She had put on fresh lipstick before leaving the house, and walked with a sweater folded over her arm. The lights of the carnival stained her face and danced across her eyes, which suddenly grew sad as the sights and sounds amplified. Instinct told him she was remembering Greg, a childhood Greg, perhaps, a little boy begging for one more ride, for money for another treat. In all his life, how many times had Greg Reston been brought here on the Fourth of July by his parents? Year after year until it became tradition. Now the tradition continued without him.

She stopped walking as they reached the midway, stood staring at it while his heart hurt for her.

"Do you want anything?" he offered--a paltry offering, but what else had he?

She shook her head and walked a few steps away, presumably to hide her tears.

He moved up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "You brought him here every Fourth when he was a kid, didn't you?"

She nodded stiffly and spoke only after a long silence. "You can go through a day like today and do pretty well. Then you face something like this and it's as if you . . . you expect to see him running toward you through the crowd."

"Eight years old, I bet."

"Eight, nine, ten . . . asking for more money for the rides. I think it's the smells that do it. It happens more often when there's a familiar smell around than at any other time. Have you noticed that?"

"It's still that way in the bathroom at our apartment. It seems worse in that room than anyplace else. Like his after-shave is imbedded in the walls."

They stood motionless, his hand on her shoulder, while people milled past and a man in a white apron and a white paper hat twisted a white paper cone full of pink cotton candy.

"Let's take a ride," he suggested.

"I don't feel much like it."

"Neither do I, but let's do it anyway."

She turned, looked back over her shoulder and his hand fell away.

"I don't feel like it, Christopher."

"How about on the Ferris wheel?"

She looked at it and realized he was suggesting the right thing to get them over this emotional stone upon which they'd stumbled.

"Oh, all right, but I'm afraid I won't be very good company."

He bought a string of tickets, used four and they boarded the Ferris wheel. Her eyes were dry but she looked as if only determination kept them that way. They sat without touching, their bare legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles while the machine took them backward in lurches and starts as others boarded below.

"I've been reading about grief," Christopher told her. "It says that facing places the first time will be hardest and that you shouldn't try facing them all at once. You're supposed to give yourself time. Don't try to be a hero about it."

"I'm not trying to be a hero," she said.

"Aren't you? You made the flowers for his coffin. You went right into his bedroom and cleaned it out. You went right ahead and planned the Fourth of july, the same as always. Maybe you need to cool it for a while and not be quite so strong. Hell, Lee, I've watched you and you blow my mind. All the while I'm admiring your strength, I'm wondering how you do it. I think tonight it's finally catching up with you."

Her anger flared out of nowhere. Her rust-colored eyes flashed his way.

"How dare you criticize me! You haven't been through it! You don't know what it's like!"

"No, I haven't. Not like you. But nobody's asking you to be Superwoman."

The Ferris wheel moved and green lights picked out the tracks of tears on her cheeks. Regret shot through Christopher and made his ribs feel too tight.

"Aw, Lee, come here . . . I didn't mean to make you cry." He took her in his arms and cradled her head against his shoulder. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I was trying to get you to see that you can take on too much too soon, and nobody expects it of you. Just give it time, huh?"

Abruptly she huddled against him, her hand folded over his shoulder, gripping it as she wept. They stayed that way while the wheel carried them up into the darkening sky where they seemed to hang like the only two beings on earth. They lurched to a stop and their seat swung.

Below, the light and sound seemed far away.

Above, the first stars had made their appearance.

He rested his mouth against her hair. It smelled of her and dust and barbecue smoke.

"Lee, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You're right," she admitted brokenly. "I have been acting like Superwoman. I should have waited till the kids could help me with his room. And I should have let well enough alone when we finished the picnic at the house today. Maybe if I hadn't come here I would have made it without doing this again." She sniffed and pulled back, drying her face with her hands. He kept one hand around her nape, his elbow resting on the back of the seat.

"You feel better now?"

She nodded fiercely, as if to convince herself.

"And you're not mad at me?"

She wagged her head twice. "No."

With a slight pressure on her neck he forced her to turn her face, then bent down and kissed her between the eyes. The Ferris wheel moved to its apex and jerked to a stop again. His hold remained loose upon her neck as their eyes met, and lingered, and they wondered about this curious relationship blossoming between them.

"Okay, then, let's enjoy the ride."

She gave him a feeble smile as the Ferris wheel began its steady circling, returning them to the light and sight of activity below.

He released her neck but found her hand and, linking their fingers tightly, turned the back of his hand to his bare knee.

They rode that way, staring at their joined hands until they realized faces were looking up at them from below, and anyone they knew could be among the crowd. Prudently, he released her hand and they finished their ride in silence, touching no more, but sharing a physical awareness of each other that could be explained only one way.

After their ride, Joey found them and asked his mom for money.

Christopher gave him the string of extra tickets and said, "Give half to Judd."

"Gosh, thanks!"

Judd said, "Yeah, thanks, man."

"And meet us back at the car right after the fireworks!" Lee called at their departing backs.

Full dark had fallen as they headed for the baseball fields where everyone was waiting for the display to begin. The park was huge.

They had no idea where the others were, and after ten minutes of looking they gave up.

"Want to sit here?" he asked when they found a reasonably goodsized patch of grass surrounded by strangers.

"Why not?"

She spread her sweater and said, "I'll share it."

They dropped onto the small island of white knit, their hips touching, giving themselves that much forbidden contact. When the fireworks started they stretched out their legs, crossed their ankles and braced on their palms behind them.

Spangles of peridots seemed to burst up above, followed by diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Their arms aligned, like earlier at the picnic table. Tonight, however, under cover of darkness, when they touched, they stayed, skin to skin with their faces turned skyward like the hundreds of others surrounding them.