Eileen Slovak

Chapter Twenty-seven: Anniversary Woes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Catherine

It’s January 25th, the anniversary of Mom’s death. Scarlet took the morning off from work to join me at the Mass I had dedicated to Mary at St. Francis of Assisi church in Narragansett. Gary got the boys off to school. A friend is watching Charlotte for the morning.

      “Dad’s not coming,” I say, giving Scarlet a knowing look. Despite our offer to bring him every year, he’s only joined us one time, the first year after her death.

      “Surprise, surprise, will you see him later?”

      “He’s coming up for dinner. You’re still welcome to join us.” 

      “I have to pass. I plan to work late to make up for this morning. If I take any more time off, Frank’s going to fire me.”

      “Doubtful, you’re the ideal employee. He’d be lost without you.”

      “Maybe. Sometimes I want to quit and do something completely different with my life.”

      “It’s been a rough month for you.”

      “I really thought Dad would come this year. I think he still hasn’t forgiven God.”

      “Nope. The man can hold a grudge.”

      We sit through the mass silently. Afterwards we drive into town in my minivan. I follow Scarlet’s gaze to the empty snack packets, crumbs on the floor mats, various scattered toys. I smell sour milk wafting up from the back seat. The condensation on van windows reveals tiny finger drawings, including one of a stick family with a stick dog.

      “I know,” I say. “I need to clean it. But it ends up looking this way again in a few days, so it seems pointless.”

      “I wasn’t saying anything,” Scarlet replies.

      We go to breakfast at a family run restaurant in the pier called The Seaside Café. It’s a few blocks from the seaside really. The décor has a beachy theme, with surfboard tables and netting with glass buoys hanging down.     

      “Remember when this was Brown’s Burgers and Beers?” Scarlet asks.

      “Yes! Oh my gosh. We came here after every softball game for milkshakes. They had the best fries. It’s changed hands a bunch of times since then. This whole area is really commercialized now. I feel like I’m in Martha’s Vineyard.”

      “I know, I hardly run into anyone I know down here anymore,” she says.

      “You do, but you probably don’t recognize them.”

      While we look over the menu. Anthony Marchetti, who was sitting at the breakfast counter, walks over to our table.

      “Scarlet O’Brien, look at you all grown up and turned drop dead gorgeous. Catherine, nice to see you as always,” he says, leaning in to give me a peck on the cheek.

      “Hi Tony, it’s good to see you.”

      “So Scarlet, how have you been?” he asks, never taking his eyes off my darling sister.

      “I’ve been great. How about you?” When she answers, I realize she has no idea who he is.

      “Oh, about the same as always, I guess. I bought John out of the dock. I’m running the whole show now. Wow, you always were a stunner. I hear you’re a big shot executive up in Providence now.”

      “Not a big shot really,” she says, still trying to place him.

      He can’t stop smiling.

      “Catherine when you see Mikey, can you tell him I’m looking for him? I’ve left a few messages. It’s easier to get in touch with the Pope, if you know what I mean. Ladies, have a lovely breakfast.” He tips his baseball cap, then leaves.

      “Take care, good seeing you,” Scarlet says.

      “Bye, Tony. I’ll tell Mike to call you!” I call after him.

      Once he’s gone, Scarlet asks, “who was that guy?”

      “Scarlet you’re hopeless. Tony Marchetti. Angelo’s younger brother.” Seeing that Scarlet still has no idea who I’m talking about, I go on. “He was in Mike’s class, worked at the Top of the Dock selling bait on weekends when we were kids. We’d go in there to buy sodas on the days when we jumped off the dock.”

      “Not ringing a bell.”

      “He certainly seemed excited to see you again. He’s been in love with you from about age fourteen on.”

      “Oh, that Tony. Skinny kid, long hair, always wore heavy metal t-shirts? Yeah, he looks a lot different.”

      “I heard he got divorced, poor guy. Drinks a bit now.”

      “Don’t even think about it,” she says.

      “He has his own business, obviously still worships you. You could do worse.”

      We order some breakfast basics, eat, and drink coffee for awhile.

      “I know it’s been ten years but I still can’t believe she’s gone. I feel cheated. She’ll never know her grandchildren,” I say stewing. “She’s missing so much it makes me angry.”

      “I know. She won’t be here for my wedding,” Scarlet says.

      “When’s the wedding? I had better be the maid of honor.”

      “Oh, you know what I mean, if I ever get married. I want her back.”

      “I know, me too. The kids have Gary’s mom, but it’s not the same. I can’t blame Dad for how he’s handled it. I kind of wish he would remarry.”

      “Wow, I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Scarlet says.

      “I’m tired, Scarlet. I don’t want to have to take care of Dad forever.”

      “I help as much as I can. He doesn’t really need to be taken care of. He does okay.”

      “I know. But as he gets older, it will be tougher. He’s so stubborn.”

      “True.”

      “I still have anger myself,” I say, “that it could have been prevented.”

      “What was she thinking?”

      “She was thinking that she was protecting us, sparing us.” I poke at the cold eggs on my plate.

      “I hope she’s up there finally admitting she was wrong for once,” Scarlet says shaking her fist at the ceiling.

      “I doubt it. I think I understand her more now than I did then. Protecting your family from pain is instinctual. But she put me, all of us, in a terrible position.”

      “You were always her favorite.” Scarlet says, sounding more resentful than I’m sure was intended.

      “And you’re Dad’s. Do we need to go there again?”

      “No, I guess not.” Scarlet drains her coffee.

      “She didn’t take care of herself. There had to have been signs. She ignored them, putting her health last, too busy taking care of everyone else. It’s what mothers do. I never understood it until I became one. Bit by bit you give things up, until finally there’s little left of who you once were.”

      “Well, that’s depressing. Are we talking about Mom or are we talking about you now? That makes no sense, how can you take care of other people when you’re a mess? I wonder how long she suspected it.”

      “She must have felt pain or symptoms for months she dismissed. I’m sure she made excuses for the headaches or the blurred vision. I still can’t believe she told Aunt Grace, making her swear not to tell Dad, or us. Imagine what Grace has to live with? She knew Dad would make an issue out of it when she chose to ignore it.”

      Scarlet listens to me rant even though we both know this story by heart. It’s our way of grieving. We go over it again, hoping one day the whole thing will make more sense to us.

      “I don’t get Aunt Grace either, keeping it to herself. Of course, Dad would have made her see a doctor, rightfully so! He would have insisted. How could she be so…selfish.”

      “That’s where the anger creeps in. Who knows what happened there. Grace said it took years for Mom to get over the whole ordeal of Mike’s birth after Mom’s miscarriage. Maybe Grace was afraid Mom would shut her out again.”

      “That wasn’t fair either. It’s not like Grace planned it. Mike is like the brother we never got to have,” Scarlet says wistfully.

      “I’ll never forget that day, Mom falling on the stairs while she was bringing the chairs up for Thanksgiving. Aunt Grace pulled me aside to tell me, but by then it was already too late. I kept quiet all through Thanksgiving dinner. There she was, acting like nothing was wrong, passing around bowls of mashed potatoes and stuffing. I wanted to scream.”

      “How did you keep it in?”

      “I don’t know. It was that following Monday, I demanded she go see Dr. Shields. I said I was telling Dad. I said I would drag her there if I had to.”

      “The first time Dad knew anything was when there was a final diagnosis. There we were sitting in Dr. Shield’s dark paneled office with the hunter green pseudo-leather seats. I heard the words ‘inoperable brain tumor, six months, maybe less’ but it was like my head was underwater. When Dr. Shields was finished, Mom stood up, thanked him, ever gracious, then we all walked out. My legs were like spaghetti. I sat in the back seat, staring out the window, bawling my eyes out. Dad wouldn’t even look at us. He drove all the way home with white knuckles.”

      Scarlet listens intently while I prattle on.

      “That week she went right into trying to plan her own funeral. Catherine, here’s what needs to happen when I’m gone. She was furious with me. Catherine, are you listening? This is very important. You need to pay attention! Using that tone that she always used when she was frustrated with us. I think I grew up overnight.”

      “It’s so unfair. How could she do that to Dad? Wouldn’t you tell your husband if you were worried about something?”

      “She couldn’t have been thinking straight. Or maybe she actually believed the cancer wouldn’t beat her, then she ran out of time. She was only forty-nine. Who thinks about dying in their forties?”

      We sit in silence contemplating this.

      “Do you think Dad will ever forgive me?” I ask.

     “He doesn’t blame you, Catherine. You remind him of her; you’re so much like her. You even look like her now. I think he still believes he could have saved her somehow, if he knew sooner. Maybe it’s not God he’s mad at after all.”