The Secret Letters (16 page)

“Ricky wants blueberry pie,” Norma said. She was wearing an old flower-pattern apron of our mother's.

“That's not very Christmassy.”

“I'll call the bakery.” She picked up the phone and spoke, then I heard her giving someone a tongue-lashing and slamming down the phone. “The pies won't be ready till four. You can go pick them up.”

“Me?” I thought of explaining that I didn't do Main Street any more, but I was too tired to argue. I put it off as long as I could, then drove into town and parked outside the Wild Hare. It was packed, probably with my old customers. Madame Rosa's blue neon sign was on, and I was afraid she might see me through the window. As I ducked to avoid her, and the giant bubbles floating down the street, I wondered what it would be like to live in a town that still had a grocery store.

The pies weren't ready yet. The cute guy behind the bakery counter offered me some free coffee, but I didn't want any. I just wanted to go home. “Didn't you have that restaurant that—” he said.

“Yeah.”

“I saw you on the news.”

“You want my autograph?”

“Just when you pay.” He smiled like he was flirting with me. I imagined him asking me out, us falling in love, and then him leaving me for someone else, or getting cancer and dying. There was no point to anything.

As I headed down the street with a warm stack of pies, I tried hard not to let my eyes wander across the street, but I made the mistake of looking up and saw that my
building was completely gone. The insurance company had told me something about this, but I wasn't listening, and now I was staring at a sign saying, “Danger, Keep Out,” and behind it, a giant crater. Someone told me that during the fire, the firefighters tried to aim their water cannons at the back of the building, where the fire was, but couldn't get a good shot because the creek was in the way. If only they could have reached it, they said, my restaurant could have been saved. The creek that ran under my house, that I had sailed plastic forks on, had screwed me.

By the time I got home, I was so anxious I was panting. I was trying to decide if I needed to go take some asthma medicine or maybe some Valium when I heard Ricky calling me, saying he had to go to the bathroom.

“Dude, I'm on my way,” I said, and I didn't think about my building after that.

Tim and his friend Alex burst in the front door like celebrities, tan and shiny as if they had just been at the beach. Tim had been in and out of town for months, but Alex hadn't seen Ricky since the accident, as we called it, and he stopped short and stared, and for a moment I thought he was going to cry. If Tim was upset at the way our brother looked now, he managed not to show it. He kneeled down next to the wheelchair and took Ricky's good hand carefully and held it. I stared at their hands.

“Who wants eggnog?” Norma trilled. She was carrying a tray of Santa mugs. We each took one.

“Merry Rickmas,” Pam said, clicking her mug against Tim's.

“I hope Rickmas is better than Christmas,” Tim said, draining his cup. He probably thought it had alcohol in it, but Norma wouldn't let me put any in. “That fucking sucked.”

“Rickmas will be awesome,” Star said, massaging Ricky's shoulders from behind the wheelchair. “We should celebrate it every year.”

“Every day,” Pam said.

“Oh, come on, you guys,” Ricky laughed. His hair had started growing back and made a halo of curls around his new crooked smile. “Not every day.” He tried to downplay it, but it was obvious he loved having his own holiday.

Milo came in the front door carrying a big flat box and handed it to me. He had driven down to the Eastern Shore to get oysters like Frank used to do. I set the box down on the kitchen counter and took out a gnarly shell, pried it open with an oyster knife I found in a drawer, and tilted it to my lips. Something about its cold, astringent juice made me so sad I could hardly see.

“Did you know you can get a terrible illness from eating those things raw?” Pam asked.

“Yep,” I said, slurping another one.

“That's right,” Milo said. “
Vibrio vulnificus
.”

“Live fast, die young,” I said.

“Yeah, you're living so fast,” Pam said.

“You think I don't live fast?” I popped open another oyster.

“You never leave the house. When's the last time you went anywhere?”

“I went down Main Street to get the pies.”

“I mean for fun. Picking up Ricky's medicine at Rite Aid doesn't count.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I don't know. Nothing. Never mind.”

“Julie, do you ever think about the phoenix?” Milo asked. He was standing next to Pam and frowning at me like they were my parents.

“Hell no, their food is terrible.”

“No, not the bar. The bird. The one that rises from its own ashes.”

“What about it?” I didn't know what bird he was talking about and I didn't care.

He paused, like he was trying to find the right words. I already knew what he was trying to say. “The thing is, Julie, you might find that if you opened another—”

“No fucking way.” I cut him off before he wasted any more breath.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—” Poor Milo.

“Don't worry about it,” I said, slurping down another oyster. I knew he meant well, but there was no way in hell I would do that to myself. It was the same reason I had never tried to get married again—what was the point? You let yourself care about something and then boom, it's gone, or it's cheating on you with your best friend. As much as I had loved Brandon, or thought I had, I had loved my restaurant way, way
more. I had been drunk on its colors, its tastes and smells, in the most intoxicating romance of my life. Now all I could taste and smell was the kind of thick, black smoke you can't get out of your nostrils.

***

I was about to put pepper in the batter for the French toast (another of Ricky's requests) when Pam grabbed my wrist. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Putting in the pepper.”

“That's disgusting! She never did that.”

“Mm, pepper.” I shook in more than I normally would have. “Trust me.”

“
Pepper
?”

“Who's the chef here?”

“No one is a chef. No one
wants
to be a chef.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“I give up.” She made the familiar washing motion with her hands.

“Wait and see,” I said.

French toast with pepper has a mysterious zing, like a secret. Even Pam had to admit it was
amazing
. After breakfast, we gathered around the tree for presents, the way we always had, mostly stuff for the baby. Somehow, holding a pair of tiny socks made it real, and we laughed about how he or she was going to pop out with little dreadlocks and some piercings. The dogs were prancing around like it was a special canine holiday. When we were nearly done, Pam handed me a box wrapped in weird green foil with buffalos on it.

“Buffalo giftwrap?” My voice was casual, like it hadn't kind of freaked me out.

“It's from Buffalos R Us,” she said, adding, “ha ha.”

I tore off the wrapping paper.

“Hold it up so everyone can see,” Norma said.

“What's that, a spittoon?” Tim asked.

“It's a hand-hammered copper Ruffoni stockpot,” Pam snapped.

It was. It was the most incredible pot I had ever seen. It was huge and round, at least seven quarts, I was guessing, and looked like it was made of pure gold. On its top was a fancy ornament, a little sculpture of an artichoke. The copper was so clean and new I could see my reflection in it.

“It's wicked,” Star said.

“It is.” I ran my hand along its smooth, perfect rim. I could hardly breathe. “It truly is wicked.”

“I knew you'd love it,” Pam said.

“It's a fucking pot,” Tim said.

Before anyone else could get their dirty fingerprints on it, I carried it up to my room and set it carefully on my dresser next to my row of pictures, one of Donny, one of my mother and Frank, and one of the Arizona desert.

***

The doorbell rang, and I heard Bob's voice yell hello, then goodbye. I looked over at Norma and saw her wipe her eyes just before Bobby and Billy burst into the room with the dogs right behind them. She smothered them with kisses they didn't want, then pounded avocados for red and green guacamole while B&B yakked about all the fun weekend-dad stuff Bob had done with them.

When the doorbell rang again a while later, I knew who it had to be, and I ran to get it. It was Julia Fallingwater in a navy blue jacket, her salt-and-pepper hair combed to one side with a silver barrette. It was an old-fashioned look, but it worked for her. “I'm so glad you could come,” I greeted her, though actually seeing her made me nervous, since I didn't want to have to explain to anyone—especially Norma or Tim—what the story was with her. “Come in and meet the gang,” I said, hoping I sounded more
comfortable than I felt as I led her into the living room.

As I made the necessary introductions as briefly as possible, she looked moved, even shaken, at the sight of everyone gathered around the tree: Ricky in his chair, Star attached to him like a barnacle, Tim and Alex on the couch sucking down dirty martinis that Pam had poured into their Santa mugs. It had to be weird for Julia, I thought, to be here with my mother's family now that she was gone. It was hard enough for us, and we were used to it.

“Thanks so much for including me,” Julia said. “Can I help with anything?” I had the feeling she might want me to give her a job so she wouldn't have to do too much talking, so I led her into the kitchen and handed her a carving knife, parking her in a corner next to the ham. Then I rushed to the stove to rescue my gorgonzola sauce, but Milo had done an outstanding job of keeping it from breaking.

“I didn't know you could cook,” I said.

“I can't,” he said. “Not like you.” He handed me the whisk.

I made a disgusted sound and stirred.

When I went back to check on Julia, I found the plate I had given her covered with perfect paper-thin slices of ham. “Nice work.”

“It's wonderful to be here, Julie. It means a lot.”

“I can imagine,” I said, though I couldn't.

“I feel her here. Her spirit.”

“Ah.” Now this, I understood. I had lived in this house with Donny's ghost for so many years, and then later, Frank's ghost had joined him, and the two of them were probably joking around together somewhere just out of sight, playing pranks on angels. Now my mother's spirit was everywhere, floating in the air we breathed. The house even still smelled of her sometimes—a weird smell, to be honest, of musk and cologne and sweat, but whenever I picked it up in the hallway, or in her bedroom (now Pam's
room), it made me happy. I still missed her, but in moments like that, it felt like she wasn't even really gone. “It's great having you here,” I said to Julia, and as I said it, I knew it was true. After months of imagining J. Fallingwater somewhere out there, sharing his Native American wisdom with me, being the father that my own father, that rat-bastard Bill Barlow, never was, it was actually weirdly comforting to see her.

I tried to explain this to Pam when I ran into her on the back porch where we were storing drinks that wouldn't fit in the fridge.

“You mean like if the man you imagined was your father was heroin, Julia is methadone?”

“Not funny.”

I must have sounded hurt, because she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Sorry, I mean, I get it. She's nothing like Mom, but she feels familiar. I wonder if we ever met her.”

“She said they never saw each other again after they broke up. But yeah. She's familiar. Like a relative.”

“Just don't let Tim figure it out,” Pam said. “Or Norma.”

“Hell no,” I said.

The holiday china was piled high with ham and turkey, green beans, roasted potatoes, vegan meat with carrots and pearl onions. It was like a painting of something I had seen somewhere but couldn't place, and I was about to try to find my new phone and take a picture, but everyone started passing the plates around and the picture dissolved. We all started to dig in.

“Isn't anyone going to say grace?” Norma snapped.

“You go ahead,” I said.

She said some kind of prayer, and then she got Bobby to say one, and then Billy just had to say one, too, and meanwhile, the food was getting cold. The food was my prayer, I thought, and putting it on the table was my grace, but I didn't think Norma was going to buy that. I sat fidgeting until all the damn praying was done.

I was just lifting my fork again when Julia said, “Thank you for inviting me into your home. It means a lot to me.”

I could see Tim stare at her like he was wondering who the hell she was and how she had horned in on a family gathering, but he kept his mouth shut for once. From opposite ends of the table, Pam and I exchanged looks.

“We're glad to have you here,” I said.

“We're glad to have everyone here,” Pam said. “Even Tim.” She smiled a bratty smile at him.

He shot her a poisonous look, but only said, “Pass the ham.”

“Look at this.” Julia Fallingwater pointed to her plate. “It's a work of art.”

“Everything looks amazing,” Alex said, heaping green beans onto his plate.

“Let's drink to Julie.” Pam held up her glass of the fancy French wine Milo had
brought.

They all raised their glasses, even Ricky, but I said, “No, no, I didn't do it. It was Pam and Milo.” My voice sounded whiny, like I was defending myself from an accusation.

“Come on, you did most of it,” Pam said. “You deserve the credit.”

“Dude, it rocks,” Ricky said with his mouth full.

I had to admit, the touch of basil in the cranberry sauce was mysteriously delicious, and the gorgonzola-mushroom cream sauce kicked the ass of Campbell's soup. Ricky and Star were over the moon about their Tofurkey, though I was sure it tasted like wood.

Julia Fallingwater said, “You know, Julie, people are put here on the Earth for a reason, and it's obvious you were put here to cook.”

“Thanks.” I found myself wishing she could have eaten at my restaurant. She hadn't asked me why it was called Falling Water, and I was never going to volunteer the information, though she had probably figured it out somehow. I looked around and saw everyone eating, and for the first time in a long time, I thought about how amazing it had felt to cook for people and make their lives better, if only for a little while.

***

“This is such a nice room,” Alex said, looking around. He was just making polite conversation though. It was an ugly little room off the kitchen, with a table that was too long, a fake-antique china cabinet, and embarrassing family photo collages on the walls. “It has a nice feel. Did you always eat in here, growing up?”

“Only on holidays,” Pam said. “We normally ate in the kitchen.”

“We should have dinner in here more often,” Star said. “It's really nice.”

Tim gave her a weird look. I started getting a bad feeling in my stomach.

“We could have a formal dinner every weekend,” Pam said, not paying enough
attention to Tim. “With wine, and candles. Jools, you could cook something great every Saturday night.”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“I'll cook on Fridays, you cook on Saturdays,” Pam went on as if I hadn't just refused. “And on Sundays, we'll order pizza.”

“Sounds like you figure you'll be here for a while,” Tim said. “I know the market tanked, but the house has to sell at some point.”

Pam looked at Tim, and I saw her get it. “True,” she said.

Then Norma had to open her big yap. “We're not putting the house back on the market.”

“What was that?” Tim turned to her. “I don't think I heard you correctly.”

“We are not putting the house back on the market,” she repeated more slowly, in case he hadn't heard. I thought maybe she would say it again in another language in case he didn't speak English.

“You think
you
can just decide this?”

“Majority rules. Ricky and Star and the baby need somewhere to live. And Julie.”

“You can't be serious.” Tim was starting to get the same pink spots in his cheeks Pam got when she was mad. “Julie can't go rent an apartment?”

“She's suffering from depression. She can't work.”

No one had ever said this to my face, and I wasn't sure I appreciated it.

Pam jumped in. “Anyway, this is our home.”

“It's not my home,” Tim said.

“Yes, it is,” Pam said.

“I hate this place. It's a shit-hole.”

“It doesn't matter what you think. The point is, we're not selling it.” Norma
made the family hand-washing gesture to show she was done with the subject.

“This is delicious ham.” Julia Fallingwater picked up a platter and passed it. “Would you like some more, Pam?”

“No thanks.” Pam's eyes were fixed on Tim like a dog's on a squirrel.

“I'm part owner of this house, and I want it sold.”

“You don't get to decide,” Pam said.

“I get to decide what you do with my part of the house. And you're selling it.”

“Fuck you, we are not,” Pam said.

“Language,” Norma said, pointing to Bobby and Billy.

“No, fuck
you
,” Tim said to Pam.

“
Language
.”

“And fuck
you
,” Tim said to Norma.

“This is
our mother's house
. She loved it,” Pam said.

“You think that fact should mean something to me?” His tone was low and deadly.

“What are you talking about?” Norma's voice was starting to rise into the range only dogs could hear.

“Maybe some people had some issues with her.”

“With Mom?” Norma apparently couldn't imagine this. “Like what?”

“Maybe some people thought she was a big, fat, narrow-minded, first-class hillbilly bitch.”

“Now hold on just a minute.” Julia Fallingwater put down her fork.

“Excuse me?” Tim turned to Julia with a truly scary look on his face. I felt my chest tighten like a fist. “And who the fuck are you, exactly?”

“I can't sit here and listen to you talk that way about your dear mother.”

“I would advise you to stay out of this,” Tim said. I didn't think he would punch
a woman, but you wouldn't want to test him.

“I can't let you insult her memory.”

“And how is this any of your business?”

“She was a beautiful person, and I loved her.” Julia was getting a pretty dangerous look on her face, too.

“You obviously didn't know her well.”

“I knew her
very
well.” There was something in her tone that told the whole story, and I sure hoped Tim hadn't heard it.

“Come again?”

Oh, here we go, I thought.

“I. Loved. Her.” Julia's eyes were narrowed.

“Julie, what is she saying?” Tim demanded. I didn't answer. “Is this some kind of lesbo thing?”

“Timmy!” Norma shrieked. “You shut your mouth!”

“Mommy, what's a lesbo?” Bobby asked.

I kind of hoped Julia would say something to defuse the situation, but she just sat there. Then I hoped I would defuse it myself, but I didn't. Julia and I just stared at Tim like silent twins.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Tim said. “Did
you
know about this?”

Pam nodded.

“This is nuts. I'm in Bizarro World. You're all crazy. You're all totally insane.”

“Yeah, we're insane,” Pam said. “Everyone but you.”

“After what she put me through—all the shit she said to me. And you're telling me she was—no way. No fucking way.”

Pam nodded. I was about to say something sarcastic when I noticed Tim had tears in his eyes. I shut my mouth.

Tim stood up. “Let's go,” he said to Alex.

Alex just sat there. I hadn't noticed until now that he seemed to be trying to hide a smile. “You go ahead,” he said. “I haven't finished my dinner.”

Tim turned and glared at him.

Alex covered his mouth with his hand like he was trying to keep something from escaping, then burst out laughing.

“It is pretty fucking funny,” Pam said.

“I don't get it.” Norma was scowling like she was planning to wash our mouths out with soap when she got a chance.

Alex pulled himself together, then burst out with another laugh. He turned to Tim and said, “I'm sorry,” He pulled himself together, then laughed some more. Tim was still standing there like he was about to bolt, a serial-killer look on his face.

“Sit down, Timmy,” Pam said.

Tim turned and looked at me.

“Yep,” I said.

“Will someone please explain what is going on here?” Norma demanded.

No one answered her.

“Time for blueberry pie,” I said, jumping to my feet.

Alex put his hand on Tim's arm. “For God's sake,” he said. “I want dessert.” Now that I finally understood what their deal was, I realized I had known all along. It made sense now, how angry Tim always was, how much he hated our mother, how he had left home and moved as far away as he could get. I could see now how much Alex loved him, though I couldn't understand why. I ducked into the kitchen and stood next to the stove, letting the familiar heat from the oven warm me, and when I came back into the dining room with a pie in each hand, Tim was sitting next to Alex, waiting for dessert, like nothing had happened.

We all dug into our pie.