The Legend of the Ditto Twins (25 page)

"Mom,
how come you're never in any of these?" I asked.

"Doofus!"
said Clay. "She's the one holding the camera."

"Really?"
Clark bowed to her. "Mom, I'm impressed."

"Oh,
stop it. That was a long time ago."

That may
have been the first time I ever saw my mother blush, but the reaction was
fleeting.

"It's
nothing to get excited about," she muttered.

"Mom,
learn to take a compliment," I said.

"Sorry.
I'm not used to compliments." She stood. "What are we going to do
about dinner? Shall I cook?"

"No
way," Clay said. "We're going out amongst em."

Within
the hour, we were seated around one of the white-clothed tables at the
restaurant where Clark had been introduced to fine dining a year ago.

Mom touched
the silver gingerly. "I... haven't been to a place like this since Daddy
died." Quickly, though, she suppressed her nostalgia. "Can we afford
this?"

"For
God's sake, order anything you want. They don't take money here. Only
plastic." Clay's melodious laugh filled the room, almost in counterpoint
to the Cole Porter medley that the nearby pianist was playing.

"Oh,
you." She swatted her napkin at him.

"Why
don't we let Clay order for us all?" I suggested and leaned in close to
her. "The menu's all in French."

"I
can read French," she said indignantly.

"I
didn't know that."

"There
are lots of things you don't know about me."

"Oh,
there certainly are!" crowed Clay. "Has she ever told you about the
time Jay and I got her stoned on Algerian hashish? Tell em, Sissy, I dare
you."

Mom
reared back, making herself as tall and formidable as she could. "I will
not."

"Then
I will!"

And he
would have, too, if the waiter had not interrupted to serve the wine.
Reflexively, she turned her goblet upside down, but Clay
uprighted
it at once.

"Sissy.
You're on vacation, for God's sake."

After
dinner, even Mom was beginning to mellow out. Actually, she
did
look askance as
Clark and I each accepted a second glass of wine.

But she
said nothing. Nor did she make an issue of it when we stepped outside for an
after-dinner cigarette. And when Clay began to hum softly along with the
cocktail pianist, she grew misty eyed.

"'
Blowin
' in the Wind'... I haven't thought of that song in
years." She turned to Clark and me. "We used to sing that a
lot."

"The
three of us," added Clay.

"Yes,
the three of us." The misty eyes became instantly dry. "But that was
another time. And speaking of time, it's late. We should be getting home."

"Can't.
Look! Carl's calling me over."

Clay
stood and made his way to the pianist, and they had a brief consultation before
a hand mike was placed in my uncle's hand. He raised it to his audience.

"Folks,
I must confess I'm a little drunk tonight, and I feel like singing. Will you
indulge me?"

There was
a solid round of applause, and I heard Clay's name bouncing across the room
from one table to another. Obviously he had done this before—more than once.

"There's
only one catch this evening. Tonight I've brought along my own accompanist.
Carl, do you mind?"

"Not
at all." The pianist stood and offered his bench.

"Sissy,
get up here!"

I nearly
dropped my wine glass as Clay swooped back to the table, lifted Mom out of her
seat, and steered her, protesting all the way, up to the piano. I closed my
eyes.

"Mom
plays the piano? I can't watch."

"Oh,
shit, Mark, look. She's actually gonna do it."

I opened
my eyes. With no other choice, Mom poised her hands professionally above the
keyboard as Clay joined her on the bench. Her fingers found the keys with a
surety and a joy I had never imagined possible as she eased into the song. Clay
tilted his head next to hers, cheek to cheek, and they began to sing in perfect
close harmony.

"how
many roads must a man walk down

Before
they call him a man?"

My
brother and I were transfixed. As they sang, the years melted away, and within
a mere few bars, our mother and uncle were almost unrecognizably young again,
as young as we were, and as dog happy. It was a revelation: the first time we'd
ever seen this woman as anything but our mother. But the song was over almost
before it began.

"The
answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind,

The
answer is blowing in the wind."

I
blinked, and they were standing and bowing to well-deserved applause.

Mom waved
away the scattered shouts of "Encore!" and came back to our table,
dismissing out of hand Clay's entreaties to do another number. The vivacious
young pianist had vanished as quickly as she had materialized, and Mom was
back.

She aimed
a finger at Clay. "Don't you ever do that to me again."

"But
you were wonderful, Mom," I assured her.

"More
than wonderful. We should call Dad..."

“...and
tell him what a hit you were. I wish..."

"...he
could have been here. Let's call him."

"Don't
you dare! This time of night? Your father's sound asleep by now. Now can we
please get out of here?"

We didn't
call Dad till early the next morning, first thing after we'd fucked each other.

"What's
wrong?" he asked at once.

"Nothing,
Dad. We just missed you. Clay..."

“...took
us out to dinner last night, and Mom..."

“...played
the piano. Did you know..."

“...she
played the piano?"

"Well,
yes." A pause. "She actually played the piano? But she hasn't played
in years." Another pause. "So..." It was as if he didn't know
what to say next. "Are you guys excited?"

"About
what?"

"Your
driver’s licenses."

"They
came?" This in unison.

"Yesterday's
mail. She's got em. I know. I put em in her purse." Another long, awkward
pause. "Uh... How are things with the car?"

"Great.
It's totally restored. Even took Mom..."

“...for a
ride in it."

"Oh?"
Dad tried to hide his shock. "And she went?"

"Sure."
In unison.

"Uh...
What did your mother have to say about the car?"

"Why,
nothing special."

"Nothing
at all. Why?"

"Just
wondered." Subterfuge was not his strong suit; he tried again. "So,
I'll bet you were surprised to see your mother, huh? Is she behaving herself?"

We
laughed as if he's made a joke, but we both heard the warning in his voice. The
three of us talked for less than five minutes before he said, "Well,
better cut things short. This is costing you money. Tell your mother I miss
her."

When we walked
into the kitchen, Mom was all business. "I made French toast," she
said.

We sat
beside each other at the big kitchen table and waited for the bomb to drop. We
didn't have long to wait. Once Clay and Lily joined us, she began serving
breakfast.

"You
know, I've been thinking..." She sprinkled cinnamon over each golden slab
of bread, then passed the butter and syrup, but remained silent.

"Thinking
about what? You didn't..."

“...finish
the sentence, Mom."

"Well,
about the car."

"What
about the car?" In unison. Definitely in unison.

"Well,
you boys have done such a professional job of restoring it. Very impressive.
Why, I'll bet you could get a pretty price for it if you were to try and sell
it."

"Why
would we want to sell it?" In unison. Lily jerked back. Clay said nothing,
just watched.

"Now,
hear me out." I could see the tendons in her throat tightening. "You
know this has been a hard year for your father. Money's tight these days, and a
car is a big expense."

"Oh,
you don't need to worry about..."

“...that.
We've been putting most of our pay..."

“...into
our savings account..."

“...every
week. We won't have to..."

“...hit
you up for any help."

"Well,
you never know. You may need that money for something else."

"Like
what?" In unison.

"Well...
a rainy day." It sounded as dumb to her as it did to us, but she
continued. "It's not just the money."

"Then
what is it, Sissy?" asked Clay pointedly. Ignoring him, she turned to us.
"Your father and I have spent many long, hard hours discussing this whole
issue of the car. All summer long. It's not a good idea. You're much too young
to have a car. It'll get in the way of your studies. And your chores. It's an
invitation to trouble."

"Mom,
it's our baby. Do you..."

“...have
any idea how many hours..."

"...we've
put in? Two summers' worth."

"Boys,
of course I do. And I'm so proud of what you've accomplished. And you should
reap your reward for all your hard work. But your father and I feel very
strongly about this. We've decided... you can't have the car. I think it's best
for all concerned if you just sell it."

"It's
not theirs to sell," said Clay in a voice so still that it scared the hell
out of me. "And, Sissy, it sure as fuckin hell isn't yours."

"Clay,
you stay out of this. It's non-negotiable."

Lily raised
her hand, like a child in class. "Uh, maybe I shouldn't say this,
but..."

"You
should not, young lady," snapped Mom. "The matter is closed."

Lily
continued as if she hadn't heard. "But it seems awfully unfair to change
the rules in the middle of the game."

"Parents
can change the rules anytime they need to."

"And
so can I" announced Clay. "Legally, the fuckin' car is still
mine."

Mom
stood. "Then the boys will see nothing for all their hard work. There's
nothing more to say." She moved to the counter and picked up her purse.
"Do you have a Greyhound schedule around here someplace or may I use the
phone?"

"Top
drawer next to the sink. Take the first bus you can get. I'll drive you to the
station my-fuckin-self."