Be Sweet (17 page)

She grabs a handful of metal thingamajigs and scatters them onto the countertop. “I'm not sure. Some long, skinny thingy that we can stick into that little hole in the knob.”

My fingers sort and riffle through the mess while I repeat “some long, skinny thingy,” over and over.

Janni doesn't see it in her pile, then starts clawing her way through mine. “I don't see it.”

“Must be nice to know what you're looking for.”

She moves to another drawer. “You know, that long, skinny thingy that opens doors.”

“Yep, that pretty much nails it down for me.”

We continue our search around the kitchen and on into the garage where Janni finally finds the tool she needs in a cardboard box tucked behind a big, unopened package of sunflower seeds. “Here it is.” She waves the tool victoriously and it flies out of her hand and under the car.

Our gazes collide. “Let's lay some newspaper down so we don't get all dirty.” We grab a stack from the pile of saved papers and lay them on the floor. My body sinks onto the cool cement floor, taking my temperature down twenty degrees. The heat in their house has my internal thermometer all messed up. I think I'll stay here.

“I see it,” Janni says again. Her arm stretches so hard to reach it, I'm thinking she'll pop it out of her shoulder socket, but still she's about a half inch short of her goal.

“Rats. I can't reach it. 'Member how I used to call you Olive Oyl because of your long arms? Why don't you try it?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” With a heave, I scoot myself in until I'm under the car. Stretching toward the object, my fingers grope for it, making it roll toward Janni.

“Got it.” She says that as though she's just won the gold cup. The realization of my predicament washes over me. Now Mom's not the only one who's stuck. “Hey, could you bring my coffee to the garage? I'll need the caffeine to haul myself out.”

“Oh come on, you can do it. I have faith in you. Besides, you can't hide from Mom forever.”

Shoot. I hate it that she knows me so well. I wiggle out from under-neath the car and reluctantly leave the cool cement.

“Sounds like she's settled down some. At least she's not pounding anymore,” Janni whispers as we climb the stairs.

“We've got it, Mom. We'll have you out in no time,” I say as Janni works the tool into the door.

Mom doesn't respond. She's plenty mad by now, I'm sure. I'm thinking once that door is open, I'm standing way back. She'll come at us like a killer bee.

“There we go,” Janni says, swinging open the door while I step behind her. She gasps.

I peek over her shoulder and look with disbelief inside the bath-room. The wind is blowing cold air through the open window, the cot-ton curtain lifting in the breeze. Cookie crumbs dust the floor.

I've always thought Mom had a superhero mentality, but I never thought she'd actually try that flying thing.

We both scramble toward the window and look out. Mom must have stuck her feet in the ridges of the brick. Her footprints dot the snow toward the back door. We suck in air at the same time.

“What did you expect?” Mom's voice makes us jump, and we whip around.

She's standing behind us, arms folded under her chest. “Well? I told you the clock is ticking. When you're my age, you don't have time to wait in a bathroom. I've got a book to read.” She waves her book and stomps down the hall and into her room, slamming the door behind her.

“ When's Mom supposed to get back from clean
-ing Russ's condo?” I turn the fried chicken in the skillet while Janni finishes whipping the mashed potatoes. Dad is in the living room talking to Daniel and the kids about how society pushes old people into retirement whether they feel like it or not.

Janni glances at the clock on the wall. “Should be any minute.” She licks the potatoes from one of the beaters. “Want one?” She stretches out the other one to me.

“No thanks. I'd rather have cookies.” Of the bakery kind, mind you.

“Thanks for the reminder.” Bending over, she pulls the maple cookies from the oven, then straightens herself, the look on her face telling me that her back protested. “Well, just remember to save your cookies for after dinner.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Since when does she tell me what to do? When I wash up for dinner, one of those chocolate chip cookies in my bag upstairs is history.

My cell phone rings. Janni rolls her eyes and leaves the room. Once I answer it the Realtor on the other end lets me know there is no more property available east of town in that area of new construction that Janni had showed me. It's too bad, because it would have been a good place for the Scottenses' store, and it's already zoned for commercial use. I thank him then click my phone closed. I'm back to square one.

Janni returns to the kitchen. “You are such a workaholic.”

The front door shoves open, feet stomp on the rug and Janni looks at me.

“Mom,” we say simultaneously.

“What are
you
doing here?” Her sharp voice reaches to the kitchen, and we scramble out to the living room to calm her down.

Before Dad can respond, Blake cuts in. “Now, Grandma, if you don't behave yourself, I'll have to put you in a smelly nursing home.” He tosses a cheesy grin. For a moment, no one in the room breathes. A chill runs down my spine and perspiration pops over my brow.

If there's anything I've learned over the years, it's that Blake can get by saying things to Mom that no one else would ever dare say. If they did, they wouldn't live to tell about it. Still, I'm wondering at this moment if his life hangs in the balance.

She blinks. Twice. Hard. I think I hear a gulp in there too.

A chuckle sounds in the corner of the room—actually it's located around the vicinity of Wiggles's cage, but that can't be it. Pretty soon, another chuckle, until everyone is laughing and the tension is easing.

Except for Mom. Her nose tips north, and she marches herself right into the kitchen. “Janni, Char, in here. I need to talk with you.” She snaps her fingers and points toward the kitchen like Barney Fife on a mission.

We reluctantly follow.

Once in the kitchen, she whips around to us. “What's the meaning of this, you two? You know that man is trying to kill me,” she says, waving her finger under Janni's nose. I'm smarter than that. I stand two feet away.

Janni doesn't appear ruffled in the least. “First of all, he is not
that
man
. He is my father.” With deliberate, calm steps, Janni walks over to the cabinet, pulls out glasses for dinner and immediately fills them with ice. “Second, he is your husband. I will not allow this to go on another minute. We are going to talk things out. Tonight.”

The frightening thing here is that Janni sounds suspiciously like our mother. If what they say is true, that we become our mothers, heaven help us all.

Mom crumples a little. For a moment I see a flicker of regret flash across her eyes. Whether the regret is over her behavior or the fact that she has to stay and talk things out, I'm not sure.

“Just don't leave me alone with him.” She turns and walks out.

fourteen

Halfway through the meal, Dad speaks up. “How
ya been, Viney?” He passes the potatoes the second time around the table.

Mom glances at him a moment. “I've been okay.” Her shaky hands reach for her glass of water, and she takes a drink.

“You cook just like your mother, Janni,” Dad says. “Your mom used to make family meals as though she was cooking for an army.” Dad laughs and scratches his neck. “Used to invite over half the church so we wouldn't be eatin' leftovers for the next month.”

We all laugh, and Mom visibly softens.

Dad's right. Janni is a good cook, but I just want to point out that she's still making the same meals that she's made for the past twenty years. Wonder if she ever tries any new recipes? I'm thinking no.

“You been taking your medicine?” Mom asks Dad.

“Yeah.”

She nods and stares at her plate. My heart breaks for them both. Whatever has prompted Mom's fears of Dad, her head believes it, but it appears her heart is refusing to go along.

Amid the clanging silverware and the jostle of ice cubes against glass, Dad puts down his fork and stares straight at Mom. “I miss you, Viney, and wish you were back home.”

The surrounding noises come to a halt. We hold a collective breath and wait on Mom's response. To our surprise she looks up with tear-filled eyes and says, “I miss you, too, Milton.”

Janni glances at me, her eyes flickering with hope.

“Well, it's about time you two saw the light,” Blake teases.

Everyone smiles. Dad reaches across the table and pats Mom's hand, and suddenly her wrinkled cheeks flame red.

No need to question Dad about his meeting with Gertie. Things will blow over, and I'm sure it was nothing. My heart melts at the sight, and I try to imagine them years ago in their courting days. Their love has always been the strength of our family. That's part of my problem. I've never found anything in a relationship that comes close to what I've seen in my parents. Dad loves Mom with every inch of his heart. That's why this whole thing with Mom has been disturbing to us all. For her to doubt him shakes the foundation of our family. Maybe we're through the worst of the storm now, though.

“Hey, let's play some checkers,” Ethan says, shoving his chair away from the table. He walks to Janni and stoops over her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Great meal, Mom.”

The kids all agree to play. The guys head for the living room while Janni, Mom, and I start cleanup duty.

“Mom, you go in there with Dad. We can take care of things here,” Janni says. I want to bop her. Three pairs of hands are better than two, after all.

“I've always done my part, Janni, you know that,” Mom says, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse and checking the water temperature at the faucet.

Janni and I walk over to the table while Mom gets the dishes going.

“Maybe she'll go home tonight,” Janni whispers with unabashed glee.

“Don't hold your breath,” I say.

Janni frowns at me. “If there's a bubble of joy in the room, you have a way of popping it,” she whispers.

“I'm a realist, Janni. History tells me things are never this easy where Mom is concerned.”

A dull shadow replaces the shimmer in her eyes. Just call me the joy snatcher. Why can't I let her live in her own reality, a place where everything is rose-colored and happy? She needs that. Especially now, when the walls of her world are turning gray. I catch up to her before she's too close to Mom.

“You're probably right. Maybe we should pack her clothes for her before she changes her mind.”

Janni's smile lifts back in place, eyes mischievous and conspiring. Eyebrows arched. “Yeah.”

By the time the kitchen sparkles and we've discussed the basics of house decorating, the kids have finished two games of checkers and the guys are almost finished with their movie.

“Where's Mom?” I ask when we enter the family room, chocolate chip cookie in hand.

“She went to her room for a minute,” Daniel says.

“You got any apples, Janni?” Dad asks with a grin. If that old adage about an apple a day keeps the doctor away is true, my dad should live to be a hundred and fifty-two. He loves apples.

“Yeah, there's a bowl of apples on the counter,” she says. “I'll get you one.”

“No, you sit yourself down. You've been working all evening. I'll get it myself.” Dad pushes himself off out the chair and heads for the kitchen.

“Boy, things are going great,” Daniel says, rubbing his hands together. “I wouldn't be surprised if your mom was upstairs packing to go home now.”

Janni practically salivates. “Really?”

Daniel gives a vigorous nod.

Janni turns to me. “What do you think now, Miss Realist?”

I smile, wanting desperately to say, “Don't hold your breath,” but I keep still. Time will tell. Mom's walking down the stairs right now. With the third bite of my cookie, a twinge of discomfort calls from a back molar.

“Where's your dad?” she asks.

“He's in the kitchen, getting an apple.”

Mom flashes a smile and heads for the kitchen.

“Did you see that grin? I'll bet she's going to tell him she'll go home with him tonight,” Janni says.

“Let's go see,” I whisper.

Daniel shakes his head, grins, and picks up the coupon section of the newspaper.

Janni muffles a giggle behind her hand and follows close behind me as we skulk toward the kitchen.

“Milton, I wanted to talk to you a minute,” Mom says.

We hear him turn around. Mom screams, and her brittle bones clat-ter into a heap on the floor.

Janni rushes to Mom, kneels beside her to make sure she's still breathing. She is.

I dart forward to see if Dad's all right. One glimpse at him, my jaw goes slack and my vision blurs. Time seems to stand still while Dad stands before us, rigid posture, eyes glazed. He doesn't move an inch, but it's what I see in his hand that causes my breath to catch in my chest.

It's a machete. And it's pointed straight at us.

Okay, so I 'm exaggerating a little. It 's not
exactly a machete, but Dad is holding a kitchen knife. A big one. He blinks, then throws the knife into the sink and runs to Mom. “You okay, Viney?”

“Don't you touch me,” she hisses, jerking her arm away. Mom scrambles to her feet and points the bony finger that makes grown men tremble. “We caught you red-handed.” She pokes him in the chest with a thump that makes
my
chest hurt.

“Caught me what?” he asks, completely clueless. He's backing away while she continues to stab him with her index finger. Finally, the lights come on. His eyes grow wide. “Why, Viney, you don't think—”