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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781611882575 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The Story Plant |
| Publication date: | 08/28/2018 |
| Pages: | 224 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.94(w) x 8.87(h) x 0.84(d) |
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CHAPTER 1
Gloria had taken her nap early so she would be well-rested when they all arrived. Sleeping in the afternoon had once seemed such an indulgence, but she knew herself now and how easily she could be worn down. She was eighty-two years old and was grudgingly accepting the growing limitations that came with that.
She sat by the dock and took another hit from her pipe. She smiled her old smile: she would defy her age and get up and spend what energy she could muster with her great-grandchildren. Being with them allowed her to glimpse what it was like to be young again, especially when she was with Susie. She was more like Gloria than all the others. She loved the boys, too: Joey and Dwayne, and little Brad, who always struggled to keep up, but Susie was her favorite.
Gloria exhaled slowly, breathing out some of the little knots that had formed inside of her. Family was the ultimate Gordian knot, and she needed to be in the correct frame of mind.
She had started smoking weed for her glaucoma and was pleasantly surprised by how good it always made her feel. Her doctor had cautioned her about it being a gateway, but as far as Gloria was concerned, there were far bigger problems in the world. She had another few hits and rose to put her pipe away where prying eyes wouldn't find it. Her grandkids, Johnnie, Buddy, and C.C., were okay with her doing it, but their mother, Mary ... she was another story. And the reason for so many of the knots.
Mary was going to be difficult, and there was very little Gloria would be able to do but try to redirect her for as long as possible. There was a sad predictability about Mary and had been since Jake first brought her home to meet his parents. Gloria had done what she could to make the young woman feel welcome, but Mary had always been rather self-absorbed and very prone to bouts of self-indulgence. And she had never been at ease around Harry on account of his blindness; she often complained to Jake that his father's vacant, empty stare made her feel uncomfortable.
Harry had lost his sight when his bomber was shot up during the war. Thankfully, the pilot had held it together until they made it back across the Channel, saving Harry and what was left of the crew. Still, Harry had to spend almost a year in a hospital in England, and after many months of recuperation back in Canada was deemed fit enough to go out and find his way through the world again.
Like so many of the others who had fought in that war, Harry wanted to seem upbeat and always said that despite losing his sight, and a part of his face, he was one of the luckier ones. He was terribly disfigured, but people didn't concern themselves so much with things like that back then.
Gloria had met him the last time Bert Niosi played the Palais Royale. He had walked right up to her — with the help of her brother — and asked if she could lead. He always enjoyed telling that story, and Gloria had always laughed along with him. She understood: it was one of the ways he reassured himself that he was still able to cope with the world.
After he settled back into civilian life, Harry worked for his father until the old man died, and then Harry took over. He always said that, even blind, he could see far more than his father, and when the time was right, sold the business for a very good price. He sold up their house in North Toronto too and moved Gloria and all her paints and easels into the palatial cottage that had been in his family for years.
Painting was one of the few parts of a much younger Gloria that had survived. Back when she was in her twenties, she had notions of a more bohemian lifestyle: of wearing pants and smoking cigarettes, but convention, and conformity, had shaped her and changed her — at least as far as the world was concerned.
Initially, her parents had mixed feelings about Harry. They were glad that Gloria had found someone, and they were obliged to consider all that he had sacrificed for the common good, but they were concerned that he and Gloria would find it difficult to lead a normal, happy life. Harry and Gloria had scoffed at that and had lived a life full of small eccentricities: small, but enough to reassure them that they would never become like their parents.
The war had changed Harry, and while he always behaved like it hadn't, he was not afraid to share his views with Gloria in private. He said that the war had proven that the people of the world were sheep-like and easily controlled, and that he and Gloria were duty-bound to live to the full extent of the freedoms he, and so many others, had fought for.
That was why he had always supported her painting, and when she had finished a new one, he would touch it as she described all that he could never see. It was a bit odd, but most of life with a blind man was. He was particularly curious as to the colors she had used. That was the one thing he said he missed — colors, particularly at sunset.
When they first got together they had made a vow to never let his sightlessness become an issue, so every fine evening they would sit on the dock and Gloria would describe everything as the light changed. He would smile his odd little smile that was part-wistful and part-defiant. He always said that he savored every moment of it.
For the most part, Gloria had been happy with him, but their last few years were by far the best. They had grown to really know and love each other by then and had learned to ignore the last of each other's shortcomings — the few they hadn't been able to outgrow. The only clouds on their horizon were the ones that blew in from their son's troubled life.
When it was time for Harry to die, he insisted that he would do it on the dock, listening to the soft lap of the lake, the whisperings among the trees, and the lonesome call of the loons. For a few days Gloria had wrapped him in blankets and sat with him as the sun settled just beyond the other shore. They rarely spoke — they didn't have to — and when he drew his last breath, she kissed him and closed his eyes.
Gloria still remembered every detail like it was one of her paintings. She didn't move for a while and just sat holding his hand as it grew colder and colder. Then, when all that he had been was gone, she rose and phoned Jake.
He had reacted poorly and, in the anger of his grief, berated Gloria for not telling him sooner. He would have liked to have known and would have made the trip, if only to say goodbye. Harry hadn't wanted that. Over the previous few years he and Jake had become totally estranged, and Harry wanted to die without any more acrimony — alone with his wife and dancing partner who had led him through the best years of his life. But after he was gone, Gloria grew to understand Jake's rancour and resentment.
She had the chance to make up for that now. She was bringing them all together to try to resolve some old issues while she still could — and it might be just the thing to help Mary find some peace with all that had happened to her along the way.
Gloria smiled to herself as she wrapped her pipe and put it in the old tin box she had kept for years. She placed it beneath the loose board at the shore end of the dock and walked slowly back towards her home.
* * *
"Who's dying?"
Johnnie glanced at the rear-view mirror and had to smile. Susie had looked up from her phone and had removed one of her earphones. They'd been crawling along in highway traffic for over an hour and the kids had been off in their electronic bubbles, ignoring everything that was actually said to them but quick to hear what wasn't. He didn't mind; he had decided that they were all going to have a good time, no matter what.
"No one is dying," his wife said over her shoulder. "Are they?" She looked back at Johnnie and waited for him to answer.
He didn't look at her, pretending instead to check his mirrors as if he was going to try to change lanes. There was no point; all three lanes were stop-and-go. It was the last weekend of the summer and everyone was making the most of it, even turning Thursday into Friday. They should have left on Wednesday evening.
"Damn it. I told you that we should have left earlier." He checked the passenger side mirror again and stole a quick glance at Carol. She was smiling. It was how she always looked whenever he thought about her. She was almost forty, but her smile hadn't changed. It was just like when he had finally gotten up the courage to ask her out.
"Well?"
Twenty years later, he still considered it the smartest thing he had ever done — and he'd done a lot of smart things in his life. And Carol had been by his side for most of them.
"Well what? I didn't say anything about anybody dying."
"No, but you did say that it was going to be one last hurrah."
"Yeah," his son joined in, taking a moment to look up from his game.
Johnnie often got frustrated with the amount of time Joey spent playing, but he was doing really well in high school and was, for the most part, a good kid. Carol always reminded Johnnie of that, and that Johnnie was really proud of him — "even if their twisted father/son dynamic didn't allow him to express it verbally." She wasn't serious about the last part; he had a very good and open relationship with his kids. Carol just loved teasing him.
"You only say something like that when someone's about to die."
"I do?"
"Universally, Dad, not everything's about you."
"Well, it should be. I work like a slave, night and day, to put bread on the table for this family. The least I deserve is a bit of recognition once in a while." He tried to keep a straight face but had to turn his head away.
"Really, Johnnie, you're beginning to sound like your mother. I suppose she's riding with Buddy."
"Yeah, and they're probably there by now."
"Good. Maybe she'll have finished complaining by the time we get there."
"Mom, that's not nice," Susie chided absentmindedly as she went back to her phone.
"True, but it's still true. I know she's your grandmother, but she can be such a ..."
"And that, kids, is what I mean. I get absolutely no respect." Johnnie checked their faces in the rear-view mirror, but they had their heads down again, tweeting and tagging and toggling. He missed when they were younger and talked about everything they passed along the way. He even missed the choruses of: "Are we there yet?"
They had been coming to the cottage since they were babies. Johnnie was a contractor and helped Gloria keep the place in shape. It was more like a hotel than a cottage, and over the years, Johnnie had restored all the original woodwork and replaced the roofs and the wrap-around veranda. Earlier in the summer he had fitted out the attic of the boathouse and put in bedrooms for the kids. The place was really something.
"So, is she or isn't she?"
"She probably is, but not just yet."
"So, what did you mean by 'one last hurrah'?"
"I just meant it's the end of summer."
Carol nodded and turned back to the windshield. Johnnie did too, towards the long lines of cars that were inching along as far as he could see, each one shimmering in the haze. "Yup! We should have left earlier." "But you were the one who kept us waiting," Carol teased.
"I had to take that call."
"An emergency renovation?"
"You know we can't let even one get away. It's a dogeat-dog world out there."
She let it go at that, but he knew that she knew that there was more going on. There was: the call was from his father.
* * *
"Text Johnnie and Carol and see where they're at."
Buddy nodded without looking up and began to type with her thumbs, but she kept one eye on Norm. He was getting frustrated, and they'd only just gotten on the highway. She wanted to say that they should have left earlier, but he had a meeting and couldn't get out of it.
Her mother was still miffed at that. She had wanted to get there before Johnnie and Carol, before they had the chance to insinuate themselves with Gloria, who, Mary often complained, made no secret of the fact that they were her favourites. "And," she leaned forward, "you could mention to your brother that I'm not very happy with them right now."
"What did they do now?" Buddy asked dutifully. She wished her mother wouldn't talk like that in front of Norm. It just gave him more things to throw back at her when they argued.
"They never even bothered to ask if I had a ride. For all they care, I could have been left to hitchhike."
"Mom, they knew you were coming with us."
"It wouldn't have killed them to check." Mary sniffed and twitched a little.
"I'll mention it," Buddy nodded again and turned back to her phone.
"And tell him I got a whole box," Norm added after Buddy had been typing for a while.
"A whole box of what?"
"Man things."
"Man things?"
"Cigars. Cubans."
"I hope you're not planning to spend the whole weekend out in the boat."
"Not the whole weekend."
"Norm!"
"Just a few early mornings ... and a few late nights; I'll be around the rest of the time."
"Napping or just having a few beers?"
"Buddy, come on. Lighten up a bit. After all, the kids are back at school next week."
"All the more reason you should spend as much time with them as you can. I think you should take them with you when you go fishing."
"They're always welcome."
Buddy tried to swallow all the things she really wanted to say. There was no point; when they argued in front of others, she always came away feeling like the bad guy. Everybody — Johnnie, Carol, Gloria — loved Norm. It was easy; he was like a big kid, and she always came off like she was a nag. She turned around to see how the kids were doing, but they didn't look back at her. They were squeezed up against the doors as they tried to avoid making any contact with their grandmother, who always insisted on sitting in the middle and spread out on either side.
"Leave him alone," Mary leaned forward again, squishing them a little more and chiding Buddy like she was still a child. "Let him have a bit of a holiday. He works hard enough — not like your father."
Buddy turned back and stared straight ahead. She knew what her mother was doing. Mary was finding it harder and harder to manage on her own and had talked with Buddy about moving in with her and Norm. She wasn't crazy about the idea, but how could she say no?
Norm had said that he'd need time to think about it and would decide over the weekend. "Let's just have a great weekend, and then we can sit down and talk about it when we get home," he had said, and Buddy knew exactly what he really meant: he was going to hold it over her for as long as he could.
He also said that he had mentioned it to Johnnie and he didn't think it was a good idea. He said that Johnnie felt his mother would be better off in a retirement home. Buddy had gotten a little riled at that, especially when she heard that Carol thought it was time. "It's really not for her to have an opinion on this. This is for Johnnie, C.C., and me to decide."
Even as she had said it, she regretted it, but Norm had just smiled and nodded. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He never argued with her when she went on like that. Later, when it was time to talk about things, he'd often say that he knew she really didn't mean it. And those times when even she had to admit that she had been in the wrong, he'd subtly remind her that just being around her mother always brought out her bitchy side. He'd also suggest that if she had a problem with Carol, she should talk with her about it and not complain through him.
"What did they say?" he asked after Buddy's phone had chirped.
She had it set to some really annoying bird sound that made Mary twitch again. She had explained to them all that she needed it like that to get her attention because she was so always busy most of the time. She had a point. Norm had to work late a lot recently, and she had to take the kids to all their stuff. She just needed some time to chill and, with her mother around, that wasn't going to happen so much. For Buddy, being at the cottage wasn't a time for relaxing. She had to deal with the kids — and her mother — without all the conveniences and distractions of home. Norm just didn't seem to get that.
"They're just coming up to Orillia."
"Hey, we can catch them." Norm changed lanes for the umpteenth time. He got a few cars ahead before the whole highway ground to a halt again. "We should have left earlier. Damn it."
* * *
"Do you want to stop somewhere and let them catch up?" Johnnie asked. He had his elbow out the open window. It was his James Dean pose, and it still made Carol feel good inside. They had really gotten into all that fifties stuff after they had seen Grease one night at a drive-in, and Johnnie still rented a convertible for their anniversaries and stuff, but it looked just as cool when he did it in the truck.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Last Weekend of the Summer"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Peter Damien Murphy.
Excerpted by permission of Studio Digital CT, LLC.
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