A Life of Bright Ideas Read online

  “I brought your dad some supper,” she said, handing me the plate once we got in her Buick. “Chicken from yesterday, which is what we’re having tonight. And some German potato salad.”

  “Ew, I don’t like that stuff,” Boohoo said, wrinkling his nose as he hung over the seat. “It’s snotty.”

  Aunt Verdella told him that she had mashed potatoes for him, and I told him to sit down. When he wouldn’t, she said, “You don’t sit down, and Button and me are gonna give you a love sandwich!” Since Boohoo turned six, he claimed he didn’t like kisses anymore. Still, he hovered over the seat until Aunt Verdella and I smothered his cheeks with smooches, one pair of lips for each side. Boohoo shrieked and threw himself back against the seat.

  Dad was sitting on the couch when we got there, looking groggy from working the graveyard shift at the paper mill—his preference since Ma’s death. He tried to show enthusiasm when Aunt Verdella peeled back the aluminum foil. “You want me to heat it up for you, Reece?”

  “Nah, I just had a sandwich. I’ll have it after a bit.”

  I took the food from Aunt Verdella, offering to put it in the fridge so she wouldn’t see the other plates she’d left him in the past week or two, or realize that Dad didn’t have anything with which to make a sandwich.

  Boohoo ran toward his bedroom to search for the Tonka truck that he’d forgotten when Aunt Verdella and I were packing my things. “No running in the house, Boohoo,” I called. Dad didn’t glance up as Boohoo raced by.

  As upset with Dad’s neglect of Boohoo as I was, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as he sat there staring at the television set, smudges of blame the color of bruises under his eyes, his body sunken with regrets. But I felt sadder still for Boohoo. Dad had gotten more approachable after the summer the Malones were here—when Ma was happier, warmer—and for a time, Dad and I had conversations like a real dad and daughter, even if they were short and not about much of anything. But not anymore. Now Dad hardly ever talked to anyone in the family, but for Aunt Verdella when she barged in, and Uncle Rudy when he ran into him. That made me sad for all of us, but especially for Boohoo. I remembered what it felt like to be little and have him look through you as if you were made of fog. Dad should have remembered how it felt, too.

  Aunt Verdella plopped down on the couch and chattered to him—about Tommy Smithy asking to pasture some of his cows at the farm for the summer, about the tomato plants she’d started—while I went to my room to dig for my good pair of sewing shears.

  I hated being in that house. The ambush of memories, and the thought of Ma cringing as she looked down from Heaven over her ruined house overwhelmed me. Ma’s floors were gritty, her end tables littered with old newspapers and coffee cups. The kitchen linoleum was scraped in the shape of a fan because the back door no longer hung level, and there was a stained, bubbled patch in front of the sink, two feet in diameter, where water had leaked from loose pipes. Dirty shirts were bunched over the backs of chairs, and socks pried loose with the opposing big toe lay in crusty balls where they’d fallen. That is, until Aunt Verdella came along once a week to scoop them up and take them home for washing.

  I would have continued to show up every day to clean the house for Ma’s sake, had Dad not stopped me. Aunt Verdella explained it and I think she might be right. Maybe when Dad came home to kitchen sounds or the whir of the vacuum, he forgot for a moment that Ma was gone, and the truth, when it came, was just too jolting. In spite of how Dad felt, though, I vowed to sneak into the house once a week after he left for work to take down Ma’s bells and dust them. Ma loved her bell collection.

  I found my scissors and stalled in the hall until Aunt Verdella called for me, then gave me a reminder nod toward Dad. The insides of my left arm itched, and I scraped it with the cold edge of the scissors as I told him that my car was broken again.

  “It overheated,” Aunt Verdella said.

  Dad glanced up, but only for a second. He sighed as I knew he would, and I wondered if he showed the same annoyance when other people asked for his help. I had my doubts. “Have your uncle Rudy fill the radiator, then bring it over Saturday. It’s probably just the thermostat,” he said.

  “Okay, I’m ready!” Boohoo announced as he roared through the living room carrying his Tonka dump truck and a ratty Nerf ball wearing a bite-sized gouge—both finds from last summer’s Community Sale, even though Aunt Verdella’s house was already stuffed with so many toys that it would make the stash in Santa’s workshop look skimpy.

  “Well, I suppose,” Aunt Verdella said, giving her thighs a quick clap. She stood up, leaned down, and gave Dad’s forehead a kiss, then ruffled his hair like he was a boy. “Boohoo?” she said, “Aren’t you gonna give your daddy a hug? …” But the screen door was already slamming. I hurried along Boohoo’s trail, holding my breath for fear that Aunt Verdella would ask me the same.

  Maybe it was seeing Fanny Tilman, dressed too warmly as she was that day back in ’61, heading through the doorway of The Corner Store where I’d first met Freeda and Winnalee, that suddenly had me thinking of the Malones again. It was a day like this one. Early June. Warm. Breezy. Winnalee was refusing to get out of the truck, and Freeda had “to pee” and thought Winnalee should do the same. It was the first time I’d ever heard a woman cuss, or seen a girl in dress-up clothes. The memories made me smile, and Fanny gave me an odd look, like she thought I was smiling at her—fat chance of that!

  “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!” Boohoo shouted, bumping Fanny’s side as he zipped past her to get to the freezer.

  Fanny shook her head. “That boy could use some manners.”

  Aunt Verdella ignored Fanny’s remark, asking her how she was, while I went to grab the gallon of milk. Ada Smithy was behind the counter, as she’d been for years. She asked me if I’d be working full-time at Jewel’s Bridal Boutique now that I’d graduated. I told her yes, but that I’d be working from home. I was shy around most people, but not Ada, who was sunshine warm like Aunt Verdella, though softer-spoken.

  “Button’s living in Mae’s place now,” Aunt Verdella added, even though she was still over near the bread rack with Fanny.

  “How nice. You and Verdella will be good company for each other.”

  I told her I’d be doing some beading and other trim work on the bridal gowns, and sewing some of the bridesmaids’ dresses, then bringing them in to Linda. “We’re making mother-of-the-bride dresses and soon we’ll be adding prom dresses, too, so Hazel and Marge are working in the shop now instead of from home. It’s crowded in the work room, so Linda might look for a bigger place. Until then, me working from home works best for all of us.” Ada glanced at Boohoo, who was ripping the wrapper off an Eskimo Pie, and she nodded. “Of course.”

  Aunt Verdella was heading to the counter, the ice-cream wrapper Boohoo dropped as he ran outside bunched in her hand. Fanny followed behind her, looking like the Grim Reaper in her long wool coat and dark scarf. “You stay right out front where Auntie can see you, Boohoo!” Aunt Verdella shouted.

  Aunt Verdella asked me if I wanted an ice-cream bar as she veered to the freezer, adding that she was having one. Fanny Tilman scrunched her face. “She,” Fanny said—never calling me by name, not once in my whole life—“could use one. But I’d think twice before having one myself if I were you, Verdella. No offense, but you’re getting as big as a house.”

  Ada gasped, and my jaw tightened. I’d never liked Fanny Tilman, who smelled like horehound candy and had a personality equally as repulsive. Fanny didn’t like many, and she certainly never liked me. Not even when I was a shrimpy kid with short, brown permed knots, and ears the size of dessert plates, who was always quiet and polite.

  “That wasn’t very nice, Fanny,” Ada whispered.

  Fanny shrugged as if to say, But it’s true. Then she said to Ada, “She keeps this up, and Rudy will be looking elsewhere.”

  I wanted to shout at her that Uncle Rudy loved Aunt Verdella just the way she was, b
ut of course I didn’t. Because even though I’d just celebrated my eighteenth birthday, I still felt like that shy, big-eared kid most of the time. Especially around people like Fanny.

  Aunt Verdella looked down and patted her poochie middle. She’d been the same size since I could remember, though her belly hung lower now. “Oh dear,” she said. “I was wondering if I’d gained.” She pulled the elastic waistband from her pink polyester pants and gave it a snap. “These did feel a little snugger when I put them on this morning. I guess I’d better stop having a treat every time I give Boohoo one,” she said with a laugh. She glanced outside, then gave the window a rap when Boohoo wasn’t in sight.

  “I’ll go look for him,” I said, eager to get away.

  The door was propped open with a chipped brick, and Fanny’s scratchy voice tagged me outside. “You have to think of those things, Verdella. Bad enough that Rudy’s been tripping over somebody else’s kids all these years—the least you could do is not let yourself go.” I hurried so I wouldn’t have to hear any more.

  I found Boohoo behind the station chasing a grass snake that had slipped between two large barrels. I hauled him back to the car, kicking and complaining. “Let me go! That snake’s gonna be my pet. Knucklehead don’t play with me no more.”

  “Well, a snake won’t play with you, either. Now come on, Boohoo. Get in the car.” I got Boohoo inside and slammed the door, but he just slid across the seat and slipped out the other side. He wouldn’t give up on the snake until me and Aunt Verdella lured him back with a Bonomo Turkish Taffy and a Mallo Cup.

  When we got home, Aunt Verdella went into the hallway near the bathroom and rooted around in the linen closet. I heard something clunk to the floor, and then “Oh my Lord!”

  When she came into kitchen, her mouth was hanging open like she’d just seen a car wreck. “I’m two hundred pounds!” she announced. “I never thought I’d see two hundred pounds! I’m only five three and a half. That’s just too heavy!” And Boohoo, who was standing at the table, twisting off a long string of banana-flavored taffy to give to Knucklehead as Uncle Rudy came through the door, turned to him and said, “Uncle Rudy, Aunt Verdella is as fat as Fred Flintstone!”

  “Boohoo!” I hissed.

  He turned to me. “It’s true. That’s what Fred said he weighs. Two hundred pounds! And that’s just how much Aunt Verdella is.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  BRIGHT IDEA #23: If an apple is sour and has rot spots, don’t think you can make it sweet by putting sugar on it. It will still taste sour and probably give you the shits.

  I told myself to let go of the mean things Fanny Tilman said, but that night as I brushed my brown hair into a ponytail at the top of my head before bed, I remembered every single thing she’d said, and how she treated me. It always bothered me, the way I’d let belittling or insensitive comments simmer under my skin.

  I stared in the mirror and wondered what about me always made people talk around me, not to me, like Fanny did. Like Dad did. Winnalee told me once that Ma and I were “gray people.” I still didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I knew that I’d been one before the Malones came, that I ceased to be one by the time they left, and that after Ma died, I tarnished again like neglected brass.

  I studied my face in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. I wasn’t homely anymore. Not once I grew into my ears like Aunt Verdella said I would, and let my hair grow long and stopped getting it thinned (though I did think it would look better if I lightened it with Sun In). And my friend Penny always said that I had pretty eyes. But my guess was that being a gray person was probably more about personality than looks. Try as I might, though, I just wasn’t one of those bubbly, whirlwind people who exuded personality. Nor was I gray and outspoken, like Fanny Tilman. No, I was plain and quiet. Ordinary inside and out. Too self-conscious about myself to be vibrant. Mostly because I had boobs the size of coconuts, on a trunk the width of a knitting needle. Penny told me more than once how glad I should be that I wasn’t flat like her, but who could be glad about having old, creepy men gawk at your chest, and high school boys making vulgar comments, as if there wasn’t a human being attached to those breasts. If she had my boobs, I knew Penny would have understood why I kept my shoulders hunched, in spite of Aunt Verdella’s warning that I’d end up with a bad back like Uncle Rudy, and that my internal organs would start drooping (which, I told her, probably accounted for my big, knobby knees).

  I crawled into bed, my arms itching as I recalled Fanny Tilman’s rude remark about Aunt Verdella’s size. As big as a house? And telling her that Uncle Rudy would stray? Granted, Aunt Verdella thought Uncle Rudy was handsome in a Johnny Cash sort of way, but he was almost seventy years old!

  Even as I stewed, I had to admit to myself that what bothered me most was Fanny’s insinuation that Boohoo and I were a burden on Uncle Rudy and Aunt Verdella. Yes, I knew that they loved us and that we filled a void in their lives, but they were old now. And since Uncle Rudy retired, it seemed that he spent as much time searching for solitude and silence as he once spent looking for his cows. So I told myself that I’d hurry and finish cleaning a room for Boohoo, and I’d sew during the day and keep him with me at night. After all, it didn’t matter if I felt like a scared kid inside, I was grown-up now. And Boohoo was my responsibility.

  On Sunday Aunt Verdella ran me over to Dad’s to pick up my car, and I headed to town to buy groceries so I could have Aunt Verdella and Uncle Rudy over for supper.

  The sun was bright when I headed east, so I yanked down the visor. An envelope fell onto my lap. It was addressed to me, in care of Dad, which meant he must have wedged it on the visor for me to find. I squinted at the envelope, made blazing white from the sun. The edges were trimmed in red, white, and blue, and “airmail” was stamped on the front. It was from Jesse Dayne, the boy who became my best friend after Penny moved away. Well, if you could consider a best friend to be one who continually seeks you out for advice about his love life, and you share nothing about yours because you don’t have one, aside from the secret fantasy one you’re having with him. I pulled the car over and put it in park. The letter came all the way from the U.S. Army base in Mannheim, Germany. There was a photo of Jesse tucked inside, dressed in his uniform, the American flag behind him. Even with his hair cropped to almost-bald, he was still cute enough to make my stomach flip.

  The letter was short, the print small, but for the l’s and t’s that tickled the bottoms of the letters above them.

  Hey Evy. How’s my best girl? Bummer that I missed you while I was on leave last May. I spent ten days of it in Santiago with my family for my sister Tracy’s wedding, then headed back to Dauber for three. I spent most of those days arguing with Amy—what a waste! I stopped at your place the morning I shipped out, but you were gone. Your dad said he didn’t know to where. Anyway, I was missing my friend so decided to write. Want to (pen) pal around with me?

  Your friend, Jesse

  P.S. I thought you’d get a charge out of this picture. Dig the hair.

  As upset as I was to know that Jesse had made an effort to see me, and that Dad hadn’t bothered to tell me, I was also filled with tingles that made my face feel flushed. I felt stupid for being happy—not like it was a love letter. No doubt he was only writing so he could fish for information on Amy Collins, his pretty girlfriend who had unwrapped the fluffy angora string she’d wound around his class ring in the parking lot of the A&W the day after they graduated, and handed it back to him. Or so Jesse’s mom, Rita, told Aunt Verdella when they ran into each other at the post office, on that, their first (but not last) breakup. Aunt Verdella—oblivious to how I really felt about Jesse—told me that he was crushed. And the next thing any of us knew, Jesse was heading out west to stay with his sister and look for work. Six months and another girlfriend later (according to his mother), he enlisted in the Army. Jesse came home to spend a few days with his family before he headed for basic training, and I went to see him off as he’d asked me
to. I stood back a few feet waiting for his family and buddies to say their goodbyes, and after they did, Jesse noticed me and came over. I don’t remember what we said to each other, but I’ll never forget that he kissed me. A quick peck maybe, but right on the lips.

  Jesse went to Oklahoma first, to Washington state next, then to Texas for some special training in missiles, before heading to the base in Mannheim, Germany. I kept tabs on him through Aunt Verdella, who got her information from Rita. Once, I almost got up the nerve to call Rita to ask for his address, but before I could actually get the phone off its cradle, I reminded myself of what was true—Jesse knew where to reach me, so if he’d wanted to stay in touch, he would have.

  I tucked the letter into my purse—thrilled that he finally wanted to be in touch!—then drove to Ben Franklin to buy some pretty stationery before getting groceries.

  When I got back, I hurried into Aunt Verdella’s to invite them for dinner. The only supper food I knew how to cook was meat loaf and baked potatoes with sour cream, but I had picked up stuff for salad, too.

  Boohoo was on the phone when I walked in, the TV blaring as usual. Aunt Verdella was shouting from the stairs, “Who is it? Ask them who it is, Boohoo. Button … that you? Take the phone from him, will you?” But before I could, Boohoo said bye and hung up.

  Aunt Verdella came into the kitchen, winded from hurrying. “Boohoo, what did Auntie tell you? You’re supposed to answer the phone, ‘Peters residence, Robert Reece speaking.’ ”

  “I said that!” Boohoo shouted, as he whipped dirty yarn from the ball that Aunt Verdella probably wound ten times already in a futile attempt to keep her house from turning into an even worse web of chaos.

  “No you didn’t, honey. You said, ‘Peters house, Spideyman speaking.’ ”

  Boohoo clunked down on his knees to wind the yarn around the legs of a kitchen chair.