The Big Shuffle (12 page)

Teddy places the stack of photos on Mom's bedside table next to a little maroon-covered copy of the New Testament. “ ’Bye, Mom,” he says as he leans over and kisses her cheek. “Tomorrow is Saturday and so I'll be able to stay longer.”

I follow Teddy's example by bending over and kissing Mom on her forehead. As I do it I feel like bursting into tears and so quickly turn and head for the door.

We're silent on the way home. Teddy stares out the passenger-side window, lost in his thoughts. I'm wrapped up in mine. Mom is I don't know where. Sorrow is a solitary road.

W
HEN WE RETURN HOME I FIND OUT THAT AUNT LALA HAS BEEN
able to get a seat on the overnight flight to London from New York. I'll take her to the airport after dropping Eric at the bus station. The next hour is a whirlwind of Eric's draining the furnace in the basement and my assembling some dinner for the kids. Organizing one simple meal in this house is like planning an invasion. How my mother managed three every day is just short of a miracle.

It isn't until Aunt Lala's suitcases and Eric's backpack are in the hall that I realize Uncle Lenny's battered canvas sea bag is not among them. I just assumed he'd be leaving, too. Pulling Eric into the front hall closet, which has become the winter conference center, I say, “You can't leave me here alone with
him.”

“C'mon, Hallie, he's a harmless old guy,” says Eric. “Okay, so he's a little rough around the edges. But he's a relative.”

“Eric, we hardly know
anything
about him,” I say. “He could be wanted for murder in six states! Last night at dinner Uncle Lenny actually admitted that he was forced to leave the country back in the 1980s!”

“You weren't listening—he incorporated his charter fishing
company in the Bahamas because the U.S. government was killing small businesses with taxes and regulations.”

“Well, find out when he's leaving,” I say.

“Hallie, that's rude,” says Eric. “Now come on or I'm going to miss the bus and Aunt Lala is going to be late for her flight. Are you sure it's okay to leave Teddy in charge here for a while?”

“Yeah, the twins are down,” I say. “We'll put Lillian in the car seat.” The way I figure it, any sibling is better than Louise, who was the anti-baby-sitter. For all she cared the kids could turn on every appliance in the kitchen and play restaurant.

As we exit the closet Aunt Lala appears with her coat over her arm. “Hallie, one of the boys is a bit fussy.” She's been too polite to mention that I lost the ribbon on Roddy's ankle and there's no way to tell which twin is which, so we've been circumnavigating the identity issue by saying “one of the boys.”

Ugh. Why can't they get on the same schedule? Aside from when they wake up in concert every morning, one is always dropping off just as the other is coming to life.

“I took the liberty of calling the airport taxi service and they've agreed to drop Eric at the bus station.”

Eric and I both panic at the word
taxi
, much the way Dad used to shudder at the words
field trip.
Visions of dollar bills dance before our eyes.

“Don't worry,” she says and smiles. “It's my treat. And I've left some money on the kitchen table to tide you over until the insurance check arrives.”

“Thanks so much, Aunt Lala,” says Eric. “That's very generous of you.” Pride is put aside. Obviously we're in no position to be turning down assistance from a relative.

“I wish it were more,” she says. “Maybe one of these days I'll win the lottery.” Aunt Lala is a fanatical player of lotteries and bingo. Cappy says that lotteries are a tax on people who are bad
at math and bingo is a Native American word that directly translates to: She who pays eighty dollars for a lamp worth twelve.

The taxi arrives and we all hug each other good-bye, too exhausted for tears. Uncle Lenny shakes hands with Eric while I look at my brother in a way that clearly states, “If we're all killed and chopped up for shark bait it's
your
fault.”

A
FTER DINNER I START PUTTING THE KIDS TO BED, PATROLLING
the house room by room and issuing threats like a prison warden. Without Eric around it takes longer to settle things down at night. Previously we could divide and conquer. The other problem is that a few of them are starting to sense that I might not have the control vested in me by sheer size, like Eric, or age, like Bernard. If this were the jungle, they would be the team of smaller but wily animals sizing up their chances of overpowering the larger but single elephant.

Just to be safe, I haul the twins back upstairs so Uncle Lenny doesn't get any ideas about absconding with them during the night. I'll definitely catch hell from everyone if my little brothers end up as cabin boys on a pirate ship in the South Seas. With Louise gone, I can move back into my old room upstairs, leaving an entire floor between us and Captain Ahab.

Exhausted, I finally crawl under the covers and find myself dreading the fact that tomorrow is Saturday. This is quite a contrast to the old days, or at least to a month ago, when the weekend is what I lived for, and Mom was a superhero able to heap dirty laundry in a single mound.

In the bed across from me nine-year-old Darlene is a slight figure with flame-red hair among a heap of stuffed animals, mostly of the feline variety. After the light is out a tiny voice trembles in the darkness, “Hallie … are Mommy and Daddy coming back?”

Obviously I'm not the only one operating in a hurricane of confusion. It would be easier to say that she'll see Dad again in heaven, or that he's watching out for us from up there. Meantime the doctors don't even know what the prognosis is for Mom, other than to say that they're optimistic and we need to give it some time. But when pressed for the definition of “time”—a week, a month, a year—Eric says they simply shrug and talk about the importance of quiet, good care, and hope.

“Daddy isn't coming back, sweetie,” I say, unable to make myself go with the heaven story. “But he loved us a lot and now he's in our thoughts and memories, and that's the important thing.”

There's a brief silence before I hear an ominous series of bass notes coming from the hallway.

“Ahoy there, Hallie, are you awake?”

Oh my God! He's been waiting for Eric to leave and now begins the murderous rampage. I think if there are any weapons in the room, but all that comes to mind is Darlene's baton next to the dresser. While lunging for the baton in the darkness I trip over a step stool and land flat on the floor.

The overhead light goes on, and Uncle Lenny's large figure blocks the doorway. He's wearing an old coast guard sweatshirt and worn white deck pants. “I'm afraid we're taking on water,” he reports.

“Huh?” I shake my head in an attempt to recover from having almost knocked myself out.

“Downstairs,” Uncle Lenny continues without remarking
on the fact that I'm lying prostrate on the floor with a step stool for a pillow. “A pipe burst and the basement is flooding.”

“Oh no!” I manage to get up and limp after Uncle Lenny. Sure enough, there's an inch of water covering the basement floor with alphabet blocks and Lincoln logs floating around like little boats.

“What do we do?”

“I've already shut off the water,” he reports. “We just have to call the plumber in the morning. If you have a pump I can clean this mess up pretty easily.”

“A pump? No, I don't think we do.”

Uncle Lenny surveys the basement. “Not a problem. There's just cement. It'll drain.”

“So there's no water?” I ask. With ten people in the house there's normally a certain amount of toilet flushing during the night.

“Plenty of snow outside,” says Uncle Lenny. “I'll fill a few buckets and put them in the bathrooms. Then you just pour in water to refill the tank.”

“Thanks, Uncle Lenny,” I say. “You're a lifesaver.”

He shrugs off this praise as if a basement flood is pretty low on his list of emergencies. “I'll collect some of these toys so they don't clog the drains. Just show me the mop and buckets and get back to bed. Morning comes fast around here.”

“What did you just say?” I ask.

“If you have some buckets—”

“No, after that.”

“Morning comes fast around here.” Uncle Lenny chuckles. “It's what our mother always said right before we went to sleep.”

“It's what my dad used to say as he shooed us off to bed.”

“He comes by it honestly,” says Uncle Lenny.

Suddenly Uncle Lenny doesn't seem quite so sinister. In fact, he's more like a savior.

After I climb back between the sheets it's only a minute before I see Darlene slip out of her bed and stand next to mine. Wordlessly I lift the covers, and she slides in next to me.

“Hallie, do you know what would make everything a lot better?” she speaks softly in the dark.

“Yeah. If we had a plumber in the family,” I say. How much is fixing the pipes going to cost? I wonder.

“No, really?” says Darlene.

“What would make everything a lot better?” I hug her tight, expecting to hear that if Mom and Dad were home and life was back to the way it used to be.

“If we had a kitten,” she says.

Mom and Dad had a strict no-pets policy, reasoning that we didn't need any more mouths to feed, someone was probably allergic, and the furniture would be ruined. Though it's not as if ten kids haven't destroyed their fair share of furniture without assistance from a pet.

“Yes, I suppose that would make things a lot better,” I agree.

“Really?”
says Darlene, unable to believe where this might be leading after her five-year campaign to get a cat.

“Really. Now go to sleep,” I whisper close so that my breath tickles her ear and she squirms and giggles. “Morning comes fast around here.”

O
N SATURDAY I RISE TO THE USUAL CACOPHONY OF THE TWINS
howling in stereo. It's almost eight o'clock and from the sound of things, the rest of the household is already wide awake. There's shouting in the hallway, the garage door goes up, the basement door slams shut—every conceivable noise except the shower running. Which reminds me, I have to call the plumber.

The kids will be starving for breakfast. I stumble into the kitchen to get bottles for the twins. Uncle Lenny, outfitted in his admiral's cap, a blue coast guard polo shirt, white pants, and well-worn deck shoes, looks like the skipper in
Gilligans Island.
He sits at the kitchen table leaning over a map and appears to be preparing to take over the town as he draws lines from one dot to the next.

“The plumber will be here at oh nine hundred hours!” he announces in a reverberating bass that could do serious damage if the listener had a hangover. “I fished the number out of your mum's logbook. Meantime, the mates have suggested breakfast grub at the mall food court, and I have agreed to be their captain, if that's okay with the Home Office and you can lend me a vessel.”

I'll
bet
they suggested the food court, with all its chain restaurants. Mom never lets anyone eat out unless it's a friend's birthday party. Just looking at those prices makes her dizzy.

The door leading from the garage into the kitchen swings open and Bernard enters in musical mode, performing one of his favorite numbers from
Singin in the Rain.
“Good morning, good morning, we talked the whole night through, good morning to you!” He then points to us individually while adding, “And to you and you and you.”

When Bernard sees Uncle Lenny's marine garb he salutes and shouts, “My Gallant Crew, Good Morning!”

Uncle Lenny looks up from his map and bellows, “Refrain, Audacious Tar!”

Suddenly I'm afraid they're going to have a fight. And I appear to be correct.

Bernard approaches Uncle Lenny and yells, “Can I Survive This Overbearing?”

“Never Mind the Why and Wherefore,” Uncle Lenny volleys back while rising from the table, his bushy eyebrows floating above his eyes like fluffy white clouds.

Practically toe to toe with Uncle Lenny, Bernard hollers, “We Sail the Ocean Blue!”

To my great amazement they both break into lively song,
“We sail the ocean blue, and our saucy ship's a beauty; we're sober men and true, and attentive to our duty.”
Never shy about performing, Bernard makes up in enthusiasm what he lacks in pitch. However, Uncle Lenny of the low register growl erupts into an opera-ready high tenor. Not only can he carry a tune, but potentially seed a few clouds with his robust projection!

After their chorus is complete Bernard notices my startled expression and casually explains,
“H.M.S. Pinafore.”

Bernard nods approvingly at Uncle Lenny. “Those are
some
pipes.”

“Twelve years in the Coast Guard Glee Club,” Uncle Lenny proudly states, and then salutes Bernard.

I see this as my opportunity for a conference about Uncle Lenny's plan to disembark with the kids and say, “Bernard, um, could you come and help me with the twins for a moment?”

“Of course.” It's apparent that he gets my drift. “I'll leave these thank-you notes here on the counter.”

Bernard follows me out of the kitchen and upstairs to my old bedroom.

“A pipe burst in the middle of the night and Uncle Lenny has offered to take the kids to the food court at the mall over in Timpany.” I whisper so that Uncle Lenny doesn't overhear. Though I can't imagine he would since you practically have to shout right in his face for him to know he's being addressed. Back when Uncle Lenny was in the coast guard, they must have still been using cannons.

“I thought the kids were terrified of him,” says Bernard. “And though he appears to be a jolly fellow underneath all those whiskers, I can see why they might be a bit tentative.”

“With the power to access fast food he's become exponentially more appealing,” I explain. “They'd follow a serial killer to the food court. All Palmer children suffer from acute Happy Meal deprivation.”

When we reach the spot where the twins cribs are, I can't believe my eyes. Teddy has just finished changing both boys. I wasn't even aware that he knew
how
to change a diaper.