Stand Tall (15 page)

The only thing the continuous rain was good for was Eli’s little sister, Rachel, whose feather allergies got better, and the doctor said Fred could come home.

Grandpa had complicated feelings about this.

He hadn’t once gotten the parrot to say he was a genius.

“Back off, Buster” was all he got. That bird was stuck like an old record.

He’d hoped to bring Fred to a new level of communication, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“I would like us to begin a new level of communication.”

Tree’s mother said this on the speakerphone in her kitchen to Tree’s father, who was at work.

Tree was in his mother’s living room, listening.

Mom scrolled down her computer screen. She’d typed out exactly what she wanted to say.

“I think we’re strong enough to do this now, Mark. I know it will be important for the children.”

Silence. She geared up for the next line:

“I know that we are forever linked to each other because of the kids. We need to be able to talk together and make decisions together without all the old stuff getting in the way.”

Tree’s father didn’t say anything because his stockperson had just dropped a box of golf balls and the balls were rolling everywhere.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes.” Dad stopped a golf ball with his foot.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

“It would be nice if you at least acknowledged you heard me.”

“I heard you.” Dad stopped three balls with a hockey stick. He didn’t like talking about important things on the phone.

Mom lived on the phone.
“Well?”

This, thought Tree, is the old stuff.

Mom and Dad decided to talk about it next week at dinner. At Dad’s house, so she could say hello to Grandpa.

They said good-bye in that edgy way.

Tree wondered if they would ever talk to each other easily again.

He walked into the kitchen.

Tree wasn’t sure he should confess. But he did.

“I kind of overheard, Mom.”

“Your dad and I don’t want to let our problems stand in the way of doing the best for you and your brothers.”

Tree nodded. That was nice.

“I’m not going to let years of misunderstanding stand in the way of being a forgiving adult.”

She wasn’t done.

“Your dad and I shared important moments. I’m not going to let them get buried.” She said that pretty fast.

“It’s good you can talk,” Tree offered.

She turned off her computer, sighed. “It’s going to be hard for me to go to the old house.”

“I know, Mom.”

“I haven’t seen Grandpa and Bradley for . . .”

“They miss you. We all do.”

Her eyes teared up. “I’m crying so much these days. I’m sorry. I see a baby and I cry. I see a kitten and I can hardly stand it. I see a commercial with a happy family eating vegetables and I fall apart.”

“Maybe we should stop eating vegetables,” Tree offered hopefully, handing her a box of tissues.

She blew her nose. “Should I bake something for next week? Anything you’d like?”

Tree laughed. “You should probably bring the whole dinner, Mom.”

Twisting the tissue. “Your dad said he’d take care of dinner. I don’t want to insult him.”

“Your mother’s coming for dinner.”

Tree’s father said this at six o’clock.

Tree was shocked. “I thought she was coming on Thursday.”

“We changed it.” Dad checked his watch. “She’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

Tree looked around—no food on the stove, in the oven. “What are we eating?”

“I don’t know.” Tree’s father wrung his hands.

“Sophie’s coming over, Dad. Remember? We’re going to watch that TV show on lizards since her TV’s broken. You said it was okay.”

“It’s okay.” Already Dad regretted this whole evening.

“But
Mom’s
coming.”

“That’s okay, too.”

He picked up the phone to order pizza.

For men, there’s always a simple solution to dinner.

“Well . . .”

Mom sat at the dining room table, looked at the empty walls, the shadows of where the hutch had been.

Remembered how they’d fought about who got the hutch.

Studied the clothesline and pulley system on the ceiling. Felt a tightness in her chest.

“It was an experiment, Mom.”

“I’m sure it was.”

She smiled at Tree, looked kindly to Grandpa, patted Bradley’s old, loyal head. Bradley hadn’t left her side since she’d walked through the door.

“We haven’t sat at this table together for a long time,” Mom said quietly.

Dad moved a can of motor oil off the table to make room for the pizza.

“Sausage or veggie?” he asked too loudly.

Mom’s smile grew thin. “I don’t eat sausage. I never have.”

“Right.” Dad cut into the veggie pizza, slapped a huge piece on a paper plate, looked at his ex-wife. “We’ve got salad.”

“Please.”

Salad plopped on the plate. Too much dressing.

Lightning cracked in the sky; the hanging light over the table flickered just like in a horror movie.

Mom turned sympathetically to Grandpa. “How are you, Leo?”

“Sausage or veggie?” Dad asked Grandpa.

“Whatever’s easy.”

Dad froze. He needed facts.

“Give him one of each, Dad.” Tree said this miserably. “I want sausage. No salad.”

“You should have salad,” Mom said.

“I’m not hungry, Mom.”

“Give him some salad.”

A teaspoon of salad dropped onto Tree’s plate.

Dad made a pizza sandwich—slapped two pieces of sausage pizza together facedown; took a huge bite.

Mom looked away. She hated it when he did that.

Grandpa asked, “How’s it been going for you, Jan?”

She picked at her salad. “I’m traveling a lot. Teaching more seminars. We’ve been streamlining the curriculum. I have to do a three-day workshop in a day and a half now. I’m not sure everyone is learning what they need. It’s frustrating. Not as frustrating as what you’re dealing with, Leo.”

“I handle it. I’m walking in the mall. You know how much I love shopping.”

She laughed. “I didn’t think anything could get you in the mall.”

“Only raw courage, rehab, and rain, Jan.”

She laughed. “Leo, I haven’t been by to see you because . . . well—”

He held up his hand. “It’s been a tough time. I’m just glad to see you now.”

She took his hand.

The doorbell rang.

“I think that’s my friend.”

Tree went to the door, opened it to Sophie, who stood there, drenched, holding something big and square covered in a plastic bag.

A car horn. Shouting voice: “Two hours, Sophia. That’s it.”

“Okay, Ma.”

Tree waved at the car. Rain poured down.

“I brought Lassie. I wanted her to see this.”

“Boy, that’s real nice you guys can have dinner together without killing each other.”

Sophie stood by the table, holding Lassie’s cage. “We’ve had a lot of divorces at my house. My aunt Peach got a restraining order against her second husband. If he comes closer than thirty feet from her, she’ll have him arrested. She carries one of those snap-up rulers to keep things legal. We don’t mess around in my family.”

Mom stared at the cage, not a lizard lover.

“This is Lassie, my iguana. I named her that ’Cause I’m
working up to a dog. I wanted Aunt Peach to get used to the idea. She’s pretty upset these days.”

“Your aunt Peach is upset?” Mom asked.

“Lassie’s upset.” Sophie shoved the cage in Mom’s face. “See how she’s not moving much? She used to have a good personality. Her head would go up and down when I talked to her. I think the weather’s got her depressed.”

Booming thunder in the distance.

“The weather’s doing that to all of us.” Mom pushed her chair back, wondering where this young woman came from.

“Your show’s probably on,” Dad said weakly.

Sophie checked her watch, sat at the table, put Lassie in front of her. “We’ve got a couple minutes. I just wanted to say that you guys do this divorce thing right. When my parents split up my mother said, ‘Your father’s a moron. I’m kicking him out.’”

Tree stood fast, grabbed Lassie’s cage, and headed for the television.

The doorbell rang.

Tree got the door, holding the cage.

It was Mrs. Clitter holding a basket.

“Now, how is that man—”

She stopped dead, stared at Lassie.

“It’s an iguana,” Tree said.

“But she’s under a lot of stress,” Sophie explained from behind. “She’s missing other lizards, so I brought her over here.”

Mrs. Clitter looked confused. “There are other lizards over here?”

“There’s a nature show on lizards starting. I’m going to let her watch it. The vet says iguanas are exotic animals and won’t examine her for less than seventy-five dollars. My aunt Peach says hell’s gotta freeze solid before she gives a vet that much money to take an iguana’s pulse.”

“
I baked bread
,” Mrs. Clitter half shouted. “Have I come at a bad time?”

Grandpa kept his mouth shut on that one.

Mrs. Clitter sat at the table and joined the party.

The lizard on the screen was creeping up a tree limb, bobbing its head.

“See, Lassie, that could be your sister,” Sophie said.