“My sister and her husband have plans of their own,” I said. It might or might not be a lie. Barbara had never even asked me about Thanksgiving.
“What about your parents?”
“My parents are no longer living.” I realized that I had said this same phrase to so many people over the last seven years that the sting had gone out of saying it. I usually said it as easily as “Please pass the peas and carrots.” Somehow, this time, the sting was back. Maybe it was the holiday, maybe it was the strain I was under. Maybe it was because I felt like a goddamned orphan, even though that really wasn’t the case. I took a deep breath.
Mrs. Parker was rather stricken, and even Frank’s mom suddenly looked as if she realized she had overstepped a boundary.
It was at that moment that Frank returned. He walked in with a couple of grocery sacks and took everything — well, almost everything — in within ten seconds. He cursed with fluency and imagination and slammed the sacks of groceries down on the dining room table. I hoped he had bought eggs.
“Franklin!” his mother snapped.
He looked at Mrs. Parker. “Hello, Evelyn. Forgive my language. Would you please excuse us?”
“Hello, Frank,” she said. “I was just leaving. I’ll say hello to Cecilia for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, but now he was glaring at his mother.
“I’ll see you out,” Mrs. Harriman said meekly.
As they left, he hurried over to me and sat down beside me. “Irene, I am so sorry. I didn’t even get everything on her damned list because I had this bad feeling about leaving you here by yourself. But I never thought she’d stoop — I’m just so sorry. I never should have brought you here.”
He scooped me up off the couch, and while I was glad to be out of the hole it put me in, I was startled.
“What are you doing?” It was going to be my question, but his mother asked it first.
“We are leaving,” he said, his voice cold. As angry as I had seen Frank, this was a kind of rage that was scarier than any of the other forms I had seen his temper take.
“Frank, please.” She was starting to cry.
“Crying won’t work, Mom. You’ve gone too far this time. Don’t ever even
As rotten as she had treated me, I felt sorry for her. She had tried something really dumb and it had backfired on her. By the time Frank reached the front porch, I asked him to set me down.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, as if my voice had startled him into realizing that he was carrying me.
“No, and she didn’t either. Not really, Frank.” There was a big old-fashioned swing on the porch. I motioned toward it. “Let’s sit out here on the swing for a minute before we climb back into the car. I need to talk to you.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Just sit here with me for a minute.”
He gave in, some of the fight seeming to leave him now that we were outside. I let him get the swing in motion and we listened to its rhythmic creaking for a few minutes before I said anything more.
“I’m not crazy about your mom’s methods, but I honestly think she just feels like she needs you. I think she’s afraid she’s lost you. She’s lost her husband, and she doesn’t want to lose her son.”
He sighed, but didn’t say anything.
“Your mom and I aren’t off to a great start, but I’m not ready to give up. I don’t want to become known as the reason you won’t see her anymore. Besides, none of this is fair to Cassie. She’s had to be the one your mom turns to all the time. You’re down in Las Piernas.”
“I just can’t stand the idea of what she did today. It’s embarrassing.”
“Tell you what. You can have Kenny and Barbara, I’ll take your mom.”
He laughed. “No deal.”
“See? Besides, you can’t have Barbara. Kenny you can have at wholesale prices. But even though Barbara drives me nuts, she loves me, I love her. Go figure.”
Another sigh.
“Go in and talk to her. I’ll wait out here. If you decide we’re leaving, I’ll go with you and never bring it up again. If you want to stay, I’ll survive. I think I’ve got my deer-foot knife here somewhere.”
“Will you be okay out here?”
Good, he was going to do it. “My grandmother had a swing like this. I’m fine. Besides, Cassie will be here before too long, and those kids are dying to see the lady with all the casts on her.”
He kissed me and went in.
THEY TALKED FOR a long time. Every now and then I would hear them shouting at each other. Frank is seldom a shouter; you have to really push his buttons to get a shout out of him. His mom must have been hitting them like a kid in an elevator. But I just sat in the swing and admired the garden, thinking that it was probably all for the best.
Cassie and Mike pulled up in front of the house before Frank came back out. The two boys got out of the backseat before their parents had a chance to open their own doors. “There she is!” one shouted, pointing at me. Brian, the four-year-old. Michael, at six, was slightly more restrained, but not by much. Both with light brown hair and freckles.
“Wait here, boys. Remember what I said.” Mike O’Brien was a tall blonde with a dark tan. He gave me a wave
