“It’s for you, Lilyanne,” Lucky bellows from his chair. That’s just like him, blasting someone’s eardrum. 

            “I’ll take it upstairs,” she says, and then, “Daddy!”

            “What?” Lucky bellows again.

            “Hang up when I pick up. Don’t leave the receiver in your lap.”

            Lucky says something none of us can hear except the caller, and Lilyanne rises from her chair. She starts out of the kitchen, then comes back to peck me on the cheek. We are nearly of a height.

            “Come back soon, Aunt Susie.”

            “You bet, sweetheart.”  I give her a wink.

            “Cool.” She runs up the stairs and I know she has a boyfriend. 

            Nonna watches our exchange with a far -off expression. No, lost. Something is wrong here.

            “Nonna, I asked if you were sick.”

            She shakes her head as if coming out of a dream. “Not anymore. Not really. I had a bad cold earlier in the spring and haven’t been able to shake it off. I still get sharp pains, but that’s where the pleurisy set in.”

            “Pleurisy! Why didn’t you call me?” Before she can answer, I demand, “Did you even go to a doctor?”

            “I went to Dr. Veach. He gave me some pills.” Her head shoots up without her hand, and I forget about her tooth but I can’t forget about her choice of physicians. Dr. Veach is half blind, mostly deaf, and should have retired twenty years ago. People go to him out of habit. He was once the only doctor in Harshbarger Mills.

            “Nonna.”  I try to keep my voice calm. “Dr. Veach isn’t the answer to anyone’s medical problems, not anymore. What kind of pills did he give you?”
            “Antibiotics, a generic brand I can’t pronounce. They were working fine, but I didn’t take the full course. I was supposed to go back and get a refill from Brenda, but I got busy around the house and forgot.” 

            I feel worry lift from my shoulders. Dr. Veach is ancient, but Brenda is just old. If Nonna would go back, Brenda would fix her up. I’m going to call the office tomorrow.

            “Susie, nothing is seriously is wrong with me.” She tilts her head and raises her hand to her mouth. “Dr. Veach brought me into this world. He wouldn’t tell me wrong.”

            “Fine.” I let out a long breath. “But at least listen to me about the flea market. You could make a fortune selling the stuff you’ve got squirreled away around here. Sell, Nonna, and buy what you’ve been wanting all these years. You like modern.” 

            “I do, but all our furniture came from your mother’s house. Lucky would have a fit if I changed anything.”

            “Let him.” I shrug. One look at her face and I know I’ve taken the wrong approach. “Listen, Nonna, his bark is worse than his bite. Growing up, he was always exploding and forgetting about it fifteen minutes later. Besides, Lucky is a man and men don’t really notice things.” I have a confidence born of experience. “One time I bought a new refrigerator in the same color, and Jim didn’t notice for months. Finally, he caught on when he realized he was pushing his glass against an ice maker instead of popping a tray.”

            “I’m not certain about this,’ she says, one hand covering her mouth while the other, fisted, goes into her apron pocket. Other than Nonna, I haven’t seen a woman wear an apron in years. “It’s easy for you, Susie. You can talk to anybody. I’ve never talked to anybody much in my life.”

            The television clicks off and Lucky comes into the kitchen with Jim trailing behind. My brother sets a coffee cup down on the counter which Nonna takes to the sink and rinses, then she wipes the counter.

            “Jim and I are driving to Branchland,” Lucky announces, looking at me instead of his wife. “A man is selling an English Pointer, female, not yet two years. Bloodlines are good, but I want to know what Jim thinks.” 

            “Jim won’t know what to think,” I snap, glaring at my husband. He gives me a look that says, What was I supposed to do?  “We get our dogs from the pound. It’s the humane thing to do.” I look at Lucky, daring him like we are kids.  “Don’t be gone long. It will be dark before you know it, and I want to check on Billy.” 

            “Give the kid some space, sister. He’s almost seventeen.”

            “He gets space.” Then I remind Jim to remind Lucky not to drag his feet. I stand at the back screen and follow the pick-up until it’s out of sight, then I turn back to Nonna who is wringing out the dishcloth for the fourth or fiftieth time.

            “My brother will come back when he’s good and ready and not one minute before. I hope Jim snatches the keys.” I pause and blurt out, “How do you stand it?”

            She is silent for so long, I don’t think she’s going to answer, then she shrugs.

“I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve picked up after him for more than half my life. Now, it’s her, too.” She jerks her head in the direction of the stairs. “Lilyanne’s just like him.”

            I’ve wanted her to admit something like this for years, and now I wish the can of worms had remained shut. But it’s my fault. I pried the lid.

            “Lilyanne is going through a stage,” I say quietly. “Billy’s room is a sea of clothes. He’ll pick up something and yell, ‘Mom, is this clean?’  and I yell back, ‘How long have you walked on it?’ Lilyanne will be fine. She’s more like you than you think.”   

            “She stays to herself too much. Her friends call, and she goes up to her room and shuts the door. She reads books that aren’t from school; plus, she’s started locking her door. I used to tap on it at night, just checking, but she stopped answering. The next morning, I’d feel like a fool because she’d be down for breakfast before I was. She eats half a cup of cereal with skim milk. I can’t stand to watch her pour. It reminds me of the water Lucky pours over the Gravy Train.”

            Nonna’s hands are motionless now. I should say something, but the air in the room is like that before a storm. She speaks again, her voice is expressionless, yet her words take my breath away. 

            “All I can think about is dying. Sometimes I wish it would be soon. I think how it might happen. Don’t look at me like that, Susie, I haven’t made a plan. Just listen. I used to be so afraid, living out here in the country. I know I was raised in the country, but at least we could see Grandpa’s roof from where we lived. There aren’t any neighbors here. I don’t give that a second thought now, but I do think about a stranger pulling up in the yard, a stranger so sweet that even the dogs like him. He’ll tell me he needs to use the phone or maybe ask for a glass of water, and I won’t think twice about opening the door. But that stranger will shoot me with pleasure, like he knows the darkest secrets of my heart. He’ll shoot me between the eyes in my clean kitchen. I’ll be blown to bits, and I imagine looking down at myself with blood and brains everywhere and thinking That’s one mess I won’t have to clean up.  

to be con’t.

©Joan Heck Spilman. All rights reserved.