"Mom, where's dad?"
Tessie flinched. Turning slowly, she lied as casually as she could,
"He's out right now, Edna. He had to work another shift at the plant."
"No, he's not!"
"Yes, he is, Bradley Pangborn, and I'll have you mind your tongue!" Tessie spoke more sharply than she had intended. Her son's eyes spurted anger light, but he said no more. Edna stared at her plate.
"Now, we'll see about some supper."
"There's no food!"
"Yes there is, Brad."
"Yeah? Where?"
"Right here!"
Tessie limped to the counter, where she had put the day-old bread. She knew there was just enough margie in the fridge for a few slices, and they had a half quart of milk left. Maybe they could put some sugar on the margie and pretend it was a treat.
"Sugabread!" Edna smiled.
"That's right, Eddie," Tessie smiled. She looked over at Brad. He was staring at his plate now.
Tessie held herself in check. Her hip had been bothering her now for days, ever since her slip on the stairs, and she knew the pain made her touchy with the children. They couldn't afford her losing control like that. They couldn't afford food, either.
"Me, too!" she said heartily. "Let's get down to some food, then! Whose turn is it to butter?"
"Me! Me!" Eddie said. She hopped off her chair and trotted over to Tessie, avoiding her mother's bad side almost unconsciously. Looking up at Tessie, she held out her hand for the butter knife and reached for the loaf.
"There green stuff on the bread this time?" Brad growled.
"Bradley! Just be thankful we have something to eat!" Tessie shouted. "There's millions o'kids around the world--"
"--Who have nothing and would be grateful for what we have," Brad finished with a sneer. "'Cept their dads don't drink it all!"
Before Tessie could reply, thunder growled outside, like a cat purring far away. They looked around, as though trying to find where it came from.
"Mommy?" Edna's eyes were widening.
"It's just a little thunder, is all, Eddie," Tessie reassured her daughter quickly. "Maybe it'll pass behind us."
Brad said nothing, for once. Silently grateful that he hadn't opened his mouth, Tessie unconsciously looked over at the door. Edward, wherever he was now, might get caught in the storm, if there was one. Just as likely, he'd find even the threat of one an excuse to stay inside, drink some more. Either way, it wasn't likely he'd be home for at least another day. Tessie shivered. She was running out of excuses for him.
At that moment, a pailful of rain smacked the window. They jumped.
"Mommy!"
"Shit!" That was Brad, as the rain hosed down the window, skittering drops through the screen onto the floor. Tessie hobble-ran to shut the window. The rain spattered her apron as she pushed downward, the moisture-warped casement resisting her efforts. Behind her, she heard a bang. Brad was there, forcing the window down with all his strength. With a groan, the casement bottom pulled out beneath the glass. The glass cracked. Brad's wrist was scraped. Blood shot back at the rain.
"Jesus!"
Tessie forgot to rebuke his language. She tore off her apron, wrapped it around his wrist. She was reassured when the blood did not seep through the thin cloth. Maybe they'd caught it. Maybe not such a bad wound. She fainted.
"Mommy?"
She could hear, but not see.
"She's waking up. Don't worry!" Brad sounded like his dad. God, the boy was growing up too fast. How did she know that? She couldn't see anything yet. Then, like the television suddenly coming on after it warmed up, she saw her children staring at her. The scene flickered, then reappeared, a bit blurry this time. Something gray and white blotted out her vision, which blinked out again. She felt a dry cloth on her face.
"My," someone said. Somebody else in the room?
"You all right, mom?"
Now she saw Brad and Edna clearly, and beyond them, the kitchen ceiling. She could hear a rushing, like water somewhere nearby, as though they lived by a river. The St. Clair River wasn't that far away, she recalled, but they rarely heard it this clear and close except when they were out at the Fourth of July shindig or something like that. Turning her head, she realized she was on the floor. Tessie thought to get up.
"Did I have a sleep again?" she asked lightly.
Brad nodded, as though careful not to break something fragile in his head.
"You fell, mommy!"
"Guess I did," Tessie said. "Nothing broke, though. Can you help your mother get up?"
Each extended their hands. Instinctively, Tessie sought the more solid strength of her son, to avoid toppling her daughter. Yet, Edna's tug was surprisingly strong for her age. Maybe she was growing up too fast, too. Something had to be done, she knew. But there was no time and no energy for that, yet.
As she stood, the room bucked and rippled a little, then settled down. Brad prodded her over to a chair. The other lay on its side on the floor across the table. As she sat, she smelled coffee. A cup of instant, black, was steaming away in front of her. She felt tears erupting from her eyes.
Not trusting herself to look at either of them as yet, she sniffed the fragrance of their offering.
"Thank you," she murmured. She waited a few moments, then dared a sip. "It's good!"
Relief and gratitude so strong they nearly toppled her in their own right, washed through her, upward and outward, into the corners of the room. They would last this day, she knew. They would be together. Glancing at the window, Tessie shivered. Get hold of yourself, girl! she thought to herself.
"We should play some cards!" she blurted, catching herself off guard. The children looked at her, uncertain. "It's Saturday, isn't it? No school? Why don't we clean up and play some cards?"
No one seemed able to win, no matter what game they chose. Hearts, Crazy 8s, Rummy (Tessie steered them away from Gin) all meandered aimlessly. No one concentrated. No one bid. A try at a singsong fared a little better.
A thunderclap jarred them then.
"What's that?" Brad said after the rolling peals had died down. They listened. Dripping water.
"The ceiling, again, I think, "Tessie said, looking toward the middle of the room. "Bradley, hon, could you go get the pot?"
Without a word, Brad trotted to the sink, where he crouched, opened a door, reached inside.
"Hey, there's something here!" he said, as he handed a pot off to one side on the floor.
Tessie shivered again. Not one of Edward's bottle stashes.
"It's--!" Brad couldn't finish. He held out before him a paper bag. He rattled it.
"What's that?" Edna asked. "Seeds?"
"No, stupid! Popping corn!" Brad 's words started as a sneer, ended as a shout of joy that even Edna joined in.
It was delicious. They popped it all, salted it, used the last of the margie to drip on it. With full stomachs, the children calmed down. Brad even sat in on a Dr. Seuss story that Tessie read to Edna. She made deliberate mistakes in reading, letting Edna correct her. Brad even smiled at a couple of them.
It rained all that day, and thundered and lightninged.
One thunderclap burst, it seemed, over their heads. Edna squealed. Tessie ran to her, saw the wild look in her eye above the surprised smile.
“Ah,” Tessie said above the rumbling, “maybe it’s a wicked storm!”
“What’s a wicked storm, mommy?”
“A wicked storm, now that’s something!” her mother spoke like a master storyteller spinning a tale of mystery and menace. “It’s a storm that is so mad and strong, it scares all the other storms!”
Even Brad was paying close attention. He looked so much younger --himself, she would have said--again.
“The lightning is brighter, it’s like swimming in a great whopping vat of white paint to see it,” she added, “and the thunder growlier, like a great big wolf in the sky!”
Thunder rolled again. They all looked up, and out the window. They looked back at one another, smiling. Somehow, it was all right. Later, Edna, smiling, allowed her mother to tuck her in. Brad brushed his teeth without a word, dropped in his bed across from Edna's, and did not object to bedtime prayers, as he had started to do of late.
It was grand, Tessie thought. Just grand.
Tired, but not ready to turn in herself, Tessie moved to the fire escape door. She glanced round at the children’s room once before carefully turning the knob. It was stiff, but gave in to her strength. The cold wet air slapped at her dress as she slipped through the opening into the deepening night.
“Wicked storm,” she muttered. “Wicked.”
The rain swatted at her face like open palms even as her dress quickly dampened, then soaked. She stood up to it, peering into the blackness. Her eyes felt like knives, stabbing outward. The wind and rain and angry thundering and lightning brewed a feeling in her, a feeling that grew and fed, then grew some more.
“Wicked!” She knew she was smiling, and she knew the word in that smile.
Edward was out in this, even as she was, but he was not a thin doorway away from safety and warmth. He did not have the family, even if they must scrape and suffer and fear.
“Wicked!” She heard herself beginning to laugh, heard herself scream into the thunder, and knew something of rage.
“Don’t come home!” Lightning chalk-streaked from the sky, touched a street lamp a couple hundred yards away. The lamp exploded, died. Thunder blasted the air wide open.
“Wicked...” She jumped, shuddered. “Don’t come home!”
She shivered.
“Go. Just go. Don’t come back. Ever!” Leave us, Edward, she said inside herself. Leave us, and don’t come back.
It was time to go in.
Soaking wet, she made to towel off with her apron in the quiet after the last lick of thunder. Seeing her son's blood, she sighed. Looking about her, she had a feeling of something different. Couldn’t put her finger on it, but something--
Someone knocked at the door.
Tessie debated about even answering. Frowning, she realized that Edward never knocked, and no one could possibly be out in this weather what had any sense. She shivered, unlocked the door, opened it.
The police touched his cap brim under the rainwear.
“Mrs Edward Pangborn?” He looked so young, it jolted her. And so tired and almost scared. She nodded. “It’s your husband. There’s been an accident. I’m sorry.”
.JPG)
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