Page 55 of Second Chance

“About Calvin.” She straightens, and despite the pop-bottle eyewear, her eyes narrow at me.

“No. She called me Calvin. Who’s Calvin?” For some reason, my heart races, and I inhale deeply, as if I can’t catch my breath.

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s it? What gives, Magnolia?”

“A what doesn’t give, a who does.”

I stare at her, even more confused than my mother.

“Okay,” I exaggerate. “Who is he?”

“I’m only the keeper, not the giver of secrets.”

Okay then, Magnolia has dipped into one too many meds today.

Pressing off the floor with her cane, she moves forward toward the front door and then detours to the parlor leading out to the screened-in porch. Guess I’m not playing escalator to her at the moment. She’s taken to calling me such a nickname when I carry her up to see my mother.

“You’re kind of slow, like an escalator. Not half as efficient as an elevator.” I’m slow because she’s fragile and I don’t want to drop her walking up nearly two flights of stairs as the house has taller than average ceilings. I have to bite my tongue from telling her she should have installed an elevator then, instead of using me as her mule. If I spoke up, I’d sound like an ass, too.

I shake my head and turn for the kitchen. Hidden behind the open refrigerator door, Dolores digs through the stacks of casserole dishes and piles of plasticware.

“Don’t we have any fruit? Just a simple apple would do.” She’s speaking to herself.

“Who’s Calvin?” I ask, and she freezes. I sense it in her sudden quiet, nothing shuffling on the shelves. Slowly, she stands, her hand on the top of the lower door.

“She told you,” Dolores whispers like my grandmother.

“No one’s telling me anything. Mother was just calling me Calvin. Muttering how he came back, or I came back. I’m not even sure what she meant. I think she’s looped.” Which reminds me, I could go for a hit right about now, and I wonder if I have any weed left in the secret compartment in my car. This place has turned looney.

“Calvin was Kip’s younger brother,” Dolores says matter-of-factly as if I should know this, as if I should remember him. Only I don’t. She closes the refrigerator door rather slowly, almost methodically and pauses a second with her palm on the yellow steel. Only her head spins in my direction. “He died when we were young.”

Something isn’t settling well with me and this simple explanation.

“Should I remember him? Are you a keeper of the secrets, too?” I tease, chuckling at the weird statement from Magnolia, but when her eyes widen, I realize I’m correct. My sister knows more than she’s telling.