She laughed. “‘Cheerios, A Lady’s Song’ — definitely a happier-sounding tune.”
We had made it to the living room by then. I eased myself into a chair and let them have the couch.
“So what are you going to feed me?” she said to Frank.
“Nice to see you, too, Cassie,” he said sarcastically.
Soon they were talking about Cassie’s husband, Mike, and her two sons, Michael and Brian. Turning to me, she asked, ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“A sister. Her name is Barbara. She lives here in Las Piernas.”
“That must be great, being so close.”
“It is,” I said, thinking that Barbara and I might be close in terms of residences, but we couldn’t match these two in affection for one another. I watched as they bantered with each other, teasing good-naturedly. Cassie in turn watched me, drawing me into the conversation whenever she could. Frank quickly picked up her cue and did the same. We talked about my job at the paper, her job as a teacher, and Frank’s nephews.
“So,” she said, “where’s the famous grandfather’s chair?”
I was puzzled for a moment, but Frank jumped in with, “Was your grandfather famous, Irene?”
“You know what I meant, Frank,” she protested. “I thought you told me you were going to move this woman, her cat, and her grandfather’s chair into your place. I can only see two out of three.”
Let’s see you get yourself out of this one, Harriman, I thought with a grin.
He turned red and gave me a pleading look. Cassie laughed.
“Well, Cassie, after two weeks of my constant companionship, he’s probably nailed that chair to the floor of my house. Your brother has had hell to pay since the day he brought me back from the mountains.”
“She never used to lie,” Frank said. “Must have been one of the blows to her head. But to keep you from sticking your nose in any farther — Irene never officially agreed to move in. Just this morning she wanted me to take her home.”
That earned him the hairy eyeball from me, but he didn’t flinch.
Cassie looked between us. “Uh-oh. Sorry, Irene.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, Cassie, Frank is just gloating because he knows I’m not going anywhere, and wouldn’t if I could.”
Frank looked at me in surprise, then turned and said, “Cassie, I love you. Keep talking to her. God knows what she’ll agree to next. I’ll go to the store and pick up some steaks.”
“WELL, IRENE, I have a confession to make,” she said as soon as he was out the door.
I waited, not knowing what to expect.
“I didn’t have any other reason to be in Las Piernas today — although I told Frank I went to a teacher’s supply place down here — well, I did go to it, but only so that I wouldn’t be a complete liar. Anyway, the confession is that I came down here because I just had to meet the woman who was able to get Frank to come back home for Thanksgiving.”
“What?”
“I knew I would be meeting you next week, but Mom will be there and it’s just not the same with the whole family scurrying all over the place. I guess I figured it would take something or someone special to get Frank to come to the house again, and I was right. I mean, I knew that you would be the one, because Frank has been so happy since this summer. There’s been such a change in him since he started seeing you.”
“Cassie, what are you talking about? What about Frank and the house? Which house — your mom’s?”
She looked at me. “Uh-oh, I’ve done it again. He didn’t tell you.”
“Didn’t tell me what?”
She cleared her throat. “Frank hasn’t been inside my mother’s house for three years.”
“Since your dad died,” I said slowly.
“Oh, so he did tell you.”
“Not exactly. I know about your dad, but not about the house.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Oh.” Sighed. “I guess you could say Frank didn’t handle Dad’s death very well. It was hard on everybody, but Dad and Frank were really close. I mean, we all were close, but Frank and my dad especially. Frank blames himself, I think. Maybe that’s over, I don’t know. We never talk about it. Anyway, Dad died at home, and Frank hasn’t been inside the house since that day.”
“But I know he’s been back to Bakersfield since then.”
“Yes, but he comes over to my place, meets my mother there, and drives back home. Once in a great while, he’ll spend the night at our place. He usually refuses to come to Thanksgiving dinner. Sends my mom right over the edge every year. They start arguing about it in October, and don’t stop until after Christmas, which he also spends at our house.”
It was my turn to say, “Oh.”
I guess the look on my face said even more, because she hastily added, “Don’t worry about her. She’s a bit overbearing at times, but she means well. Frank can handle her, and I’ll run defense for you. Oh God, I make her sound like a harridan. I hope I haven’t talked you out of coming!”
“Not at all,” I said, realizing that I might have a way to return some of the kindness Frank Harriman had showered on me since bringing me home.
