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“Night Troy,” I replied sitting the phone in the cradle without waiting for him to respond.
“Gabrielle, your sister came to where she belongs,” Yancy snapped at me.
“No Yancy, she belongs with her husband,” I told my mother emphasizing the word husband standing too close to my mother. The alcohol was making me braver than ever. I was fearless. Then turning to my sister I said, “Gemma you belong with Troy. You can’t run to home to mommy every time you and Troy have a fight. She’ll never accept Troy if you do.”
“You’re drunk,” my mother accused me stepping closer to me still and inhaling the scent of alcohol that was strong on my breath.
“No Yancy, I’m not. However, I am very tired and will now go to my room if everyone doesn’t mind.” It was only eight-thirty but I will be damned if I hadn’t already had enough of the women in this house for one night.
“Goodnight,” they all said to me. No one argued.
I passed my father who was sitting on the steps watching the action from afar. I hadn’t seen him yet. He looked inviting and my heart melted at the sight of him. My Pop.
“Staying out of the line of fire?” I asked him.
“Enjoying the circus,” he replied patting my leg as I passed him on the stairs. “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”
“Like hell,” I replied. “You’re the ringmaster’s assistant. She’s the ringmaster,” I pointed over my shoulder at Yancy.
I could hear his chuckle follow me all the way to the third floor.
In my room, my childhood room where nothing had changed I sat on the window seat’s padded cushion of a soft flowery design and stared into the dark night time sky. My posters no longer adorned the walls and Yancy had painted them a different color but the comforter was still the same comforter I had when I had slept here night after night.
Outside my window was the tree that Michaela had climbed when she was ten years old. She had been angry about one thing or another. Micki was always throwing a temper tantrum about something. My parents were out to dinner that evening and both sets of grandparents were babysitting. The men had been friends since early childhood and the women tolerated each other only for their husbands.
Michaela was probably level with my window when Nana Gabrielle came outside to coax her down. My five foot eleven grandmother had stood beneath the tree and called to Micki to come down before she got hurt. I was eight years old and Adin was two. We stood next to Nana waiting to see if she would get Micki down from the tree.
Vividly I remember Adin holding my hand while we both stared high up in the tree where my sister sat. Grandma Rosa stood inside the house at the front door watching the three of us with disdain. I clearly remember looking at the front door and mouthing the words, “She’s not coming down,” to Grandma Rosa. When she could no longer stand Nana’s whining she marched outside and ordered Micki down from the tree with one clipped, stern command.
My sister had complied immediately. We had all been afraid of Grandma Rosa. Her small stature belied a strong woman with a mean heart. Trying hard to remember a time when she had been nice I couldn’t imagine her producing a man that was as good as my father.
Why do they do this to me? I asked myself coming back to the present. Because I allow them to, my inner voice responded. I was tired of fixing the other members in this family’s problems. Gemma was cheerful and bubbly but spoiled rotten. Troy would have his hands full with her. If her marriage would last she had to stop pulling our mother into the picture.
Adin, I missed a great deal. We were the closest of all four of my sisters. We had developed a link that formed when I held her in my arms when I was only six. When Adin turned twenty-one I took her to Paddy’s for her first drink. We crawled home that night both too drunk to stand. Kat had held my head while I vomited into the toilet. My little girl had to be the adult that night and the next morning when I needed caring for because of the incredible hangover I had incurred.
Michaela and I were closest in age but the competition between us had prevented us from becoming extremely close. Competition my mother had always encouraged with her remarks and comments.
Micki was the whiney one. I was the obstinate one. Sometimes, I could see my mother in myself and it frightened me. I never wanted to be like Yancy but I heard myself saying certain things that reminded me of her. She spoke her mind and that trait a bad one at times had filtered down to me.
Then there was Kerry McCoy. He wanted to see Kat. I was sure that Kat would want to see him too. I would be surprised at her if she didn’t but God only knew what she would say to him. There were feelings inside Kat that she thought I didn’t understand but I knew they were there. Kat would want to see her grandmother Esther as well especially when she learned that Esther was dying.
Esther had taken great pains to ensure that Kat knew what Kerry was all about. She had shared childhood pictures of him with her. She had told tales of him growing up, the good and the bad. Kerry was no angel and Esther had never tried to paint him as one. I had taken strides to ensure that Kat didn’t think ill of Kerry either. I had not understood myself why he left town. Why he left us? I had not understood why he seemed to not want a relationship with his daughter but I was not someone who needed or wanted to judge him either. Did he mean it? Did he stay away because he couldn’t see Kat without seeing me? His words floored me even now.
Kat opened the door and whispered, “Mom.”
“Here Kat,” I replied leaning around the wall that blocked me from her view.
“Can I come in?” She asked.
“Yes, you don’t have to ask you know. I’m not Yancy.”
“Nana is furious with you.”
“I’ll bet. How’s Gem?” I asked.
“Sorry that she came to Nana’s,” Kat replied with a soft chuckle. “She sees the error of her ways already.”
“We usually do figure it out where Yancy is concerned. Come sit down sweetie. I need to talk with you and now is as good a time as any,” I said dreading the conversation I had to have with my daughter. The alcohol in my body still giving me the required fortitude.
