Barbara grimaced inwardly at the idea of hanging out at a sports stadium.
"When were you thinking, for dinner?"
"Saturday?"
"The day after tomorrow then."
Barbara nodded and picked up her glass of water.
"A refill?" Her grandma asked.
"Sure."
When Grandma Maggie got up to go into the kitchen, Barbara let her eyes roam the room. It hadn't changed much, if at all, from when she'd been small. All of the same pictures were still up in their same spots. Only Barbara's and her siblings’ photos changed, updated with the school year. Aunt Carrie and their dad's high school and prom pictures sat over the fireplace mantel, fossilized in time. Their dad had taken some other girl to the prom, a blond. After Taylor's murder, Barbara's mom and dad had stopped hanging out. They didn't reconnect until they were in their early twenties. Grandma and Grandpa's wedding photo was on the opposite wall alongside her dad and mom's wedding picture. Aunt Carrie hadn't married yet. She'd been engaged once. On an end table sat a bronzed baseball glove, a picture of her dad as a kid in Little League back when they lived in Indiana. Her grandparents’ house was starting to take on the look and feel of a home that was no longer alive, a mummified version of its once vibrant self. Barbara saw other older couples like her grandparents around the neighborhoods of Culver City, some much older than Maggie and Ron. She'd often watch them from a distance, taking out their garbage bins, poking at their lawns, grey hair fluttering in the breeze like goose down. They were part of another time, and one day they'd be gone, taking the fantasy they'd created of the 1950s and 60s with them.
Carefree smiles.
Patent leather shoes.
MGM Studios.
Ice cream parlors.
Diners.
Big, shiny cars.
Suits and ties.
Crew cuts.
Red lipstick and bouffant hair.
Blemish free white lives.
It was never a thought Barbara shared with anyone, but she hated to lose that era, passing like a ghost through her life. Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Ron encapsulated all of it in Barbara's eyes. Perhaps that was what her mother meant by normal.
51
Steve - March 2020
"Steve, Dora's here," Tera called from downstairs. The buzzer from the gate had pulled him out of his concentration over Emily Lovett's contract. The young actor was recently cast in a new show, Changeling, a three-season deal with Netflix with possible future negotiations if the show was to extend beyond three seasons. Emily was only ten years old. She'd done some commercials and bit parts in film, but this was her big break. He'd been on the phone almost every day with her dad, answering his questions. Steve rubbed his eyes and pushed himself away from his desk. He made his way downstairs where Tera waited for him, arms folded.
"She just stops by now, whenever. For god's sake, the kids aren't even here."
Steve held up both his hands, palms out. "Hey, I didn't know Dora was coming by. We talked last night and she seemed like she needed a friend. I told her she could come by and visit some time, but I thought she'd call first."
"And you didn't think I should be part of that discussion? You didn't think to ask how I felt?"
"Jesus, Tera, she's the mother of my children. The woman lost her memory, decades of her life. She's a bit mixed up right now. Give her a break."
"You act like I'm some cold-hearted person. It's not a lot to ask to be kept in the loop. I live here in this house, too. I'm part of this relationship. But lately you act like you live by yourself. You work all hours of the day and night."
"I'm an attorney. That's what we do!"
She kept talking, not pausing for breath. "I have to beg you for scraps of time. That's bad enough, but now we have to deal with your ex-wife popping in whenever. Isn't she married? Doesn't she have her own spouse to help her work through her psychological problems? I told you how I felt about all this the other night. Have you forgotten? Or do you just not care?" Tera's face reddened as she talked and Steve sighed, walking around her. When had his girlfriend grown tiresome? Something had started to wither between them months ago. After Tera and Laird moved in last year, he'd assumed Tera would be happy to live in this house, have anything she could ever want. She didn't have to work. He provided all this luxury living, he thought bitterly to himself.
"Are you listening to me, Steve?" Tera spoke to his back.
He took a breath, reigning in his temper, and turned around to face her, forcing a smile to his lips. "Dora's still out there. Why don't you let me answer the door and see what she needs? Later, we can talk if you like, but I need to answer the door right now."
Tera marched away and he exhaled, pressing the button to let Dora through the gate.
She stood with her hands in her pockets and carried a cloth purse slung over her shoulder, gazing about her with wonder like she'd done the other day when she came by. Her natural hair burst out like a lion's mane of new growth above her perm. She had pulled it all back in a ponytail.
"Hey,” he said in a hushed voice. The sort of voice he used to greet each of his children into the world.
Dora's eyes, dark and luminous, met his. She rubbed her cheek absently and sighed.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore.” She smiled shyly, apologetically.
"Oh yeah? Something happen today?"
Sheena, Tera's dog, padded over to them and sniffed Dora's shoes and pants.
"I was at Ramani's."
He gave her a wry grin. "Say no more. Uh, hey, why don't you come on in?" Steve glanced at the wall clock in the foyer. It was almost seven in the evening. The smell of curry wafted through the house.
She didn't
