Marcia Talley: Occasion of Revenge

Paul smiled at me like a kid, his eyes bright with excitement. I shrugged permission. How could I resist?

I was sure he’d paint Einstein. He fooled me, though. I waited, patiently amused, until he dabbed the final splotch of silver paint on the canvas of his masterpiece. Then he made me blush by singing “Burning Love” in his ruined baritone all the way around Church Circle and down Main Street, each “hunka hunka” delivered with teenage exuberance directly into my ear.

In a window of the Annapolis Shirt Company a few doors down from Mother Earth, we watched Leigh Bo, a mime wearing a white tailcoat with a fuschia tie and cummerbund, perform magic maneuvers with her top hat. By the time we barged through the door at Mother Earth, extracted the owner and her father, said hello to the temp, and listened to Ruth tell us three times how she should have gone the temporary route a long time ago, Leigh Bo was being replaced by the Beauty Shop Quartet wearing pink satin shirts and black bow ties.

Darryl, oozing so much charm that I wondered if it hurt, met us at the door of McGarvey’s. I could hardly bear to look at him. Exuding bonhomie, he escorted us to a round table in the back. Before sitting down, Daddy extended his hand to shake Darryl’s while simultaneously gripping the younger man’s bulging biceps. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help after your mother died.”

“I heard you came unglued,” Darryl said bluntly.

Daddy mustered up a smile from somewhere. “It’s as good an explanation as any.”

Darryl laid beer label coasters about on the table. “What can I get you to drink?”

I wanted a beer in the worst way, could practically taste it, could feel the hops and the malt exploding on my taste buds. I ordered an iced tea. With a quick questioning glance in my direction, Ruth ordered a coffee. When Paul followed suit by requesting a Diet Coke, Daddy shaped his hands into a T. “Wait a minute! Time out!”

All heads, including Darryl’s, swiveled in his direction. “Don’t coddle me, please! I’ve got to learn to live in the real world, a world where other people drink alcoholic beverages. Otherwise, what’s the point?” He pointed a finger at Darryl. “Sam Adams all around, Darryl. And bring me a cup of coffee, black.”

When Darryl returned with our drinks order, Daddy said, “Can you join us for a moment?”

I held my breath, dreading a yes.

Darryl laughed. “Not if I want to keep this job. I’m not even your server.” He waved a slim blond woman over to the table. “Take good care of these folks, Mary Ellen,” he told her. “They’re relatives of mine.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Later, dudes!”

Mentally, I shot arrows into his retreating back while Mary Ellen took our orders. When my quiver was empty, I sat back and watched Daddy as he sipped his coffee, trying to decide if he was comfortable with it or fighting with every molecule not to reach out, grab Ruth’s beer, and down it in a single gulp.

My father must have read my mind. “LouElla was a gift from God,” he said.

“How can you say that, Daddy?” Ruth fumed. “She held you prisoner, like that poor guy in the Stephen King story.” She looked to me for support. “You know, the movie with Kathy Bates and James Caan?”

“ Misery ?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Daddy smiled. “LouElla wasn’t offering to break my legs with a baseball bat if I didn’t shape up.”

“Still, you were being held against your will.”

“For the last time, Ruth, I was there because I wanted to be there.”

I decided to jump in before Ruth ended up spoiling the evening. “You know, Ruth, I was thinking back to the party, and what happened may have been partly my fault. I was going into the living room to check on Chloe and I remember pointing to Daddy and asking LouElla to keep an eye on him. I didn’t realize she’d take me quite so literally.”

“She lied to us, Hannah.”

“I’m certain that in her own mind, she wasn’t lying, just giving us her own cockeyed interpretation of the truth.” I nibbled on a bit of the smoked bluefish that had just appeared on the table in front of us. “For example, she told me, ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up hale and hearty’-”

Daddy interrupted. “And abracadabra! Here I hale and heartily sit!”

I stared at him suspiciously, wondering if he weren’t trying too hard to be jovial. “And when she said…”

“George?”

I paused in mid-sentence, unaccountably annoyed at the interruption, and turned in the direction of the speaker. Deirdre wore knee-high black boots and a slim, shimmery strapless gown in an odd shade of green that did little to detract from her pale, washed-out face. Her too-black hair stuck up in overmoussed spikes. She looked like a “before” photo in a magazine makeover.

Daddy sprang to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. “Deirdre! Do join us!” He grabbed a chair from the adjoining table and dragged it over to ours, squeezing it into the space between his chair and Ruth’s. Deirdre heaved herself into it with a grateful sigh. “Thank God! A friendly face.”

“Here for First Night celebrations?” Ruth asked.

“What a zoo! I had to park way down on South Street.” Deirdre turned to Ruth. “I’m only here to switch cars with Darryl. He’s going skiing again and doesn’t trust his jalopy to make it all the way to Vermont.”

I wondered what had happened to Darryl’s fancy motorcycle. I hoped it had been repossessed. It would have been a sight, though, to see him riding up I-95 with skis and poles tied to the side of his Harley. I wondered how he’d attach them to his mother’s Porsche.

Paul passed me a plate of crab balls and I picked one up with my fingers. Just as I popped it into my mouth, my beaded bag began to squawk. I plucked out the cell phone and stared at the illuminated window where the incoming number was displayed. “LouElla,” I groaned. I made an executive decision. LouElla had interfered with one too many family dinners, so I decided to punish her by stuffing the phone back into the depths of my bag. I chewed on the crab ball and tried to ignore the ringing tone that Emily had changed from Mozart’s 40th Symphony to laser gun warfare from Star Wars .

“Why don’t you want to talk to LouElla?” Deirdre inquired.

Ruth beat me to the draw. “She’s got some crazy theory about Virginia Prentice. What was it, Hannah?” She stared at me from across the table. “Smallpox virus in the drinking water?”

“Who’s Virginia Prentice?” Deirdre wanted to know.

Paul pushed the empty crab ball plate across the green-and-white checked tablecloth toward the center of the table. “You probably remember her from the engagement party. Stark white hair, red plaid suit?”

“Boston accent,” I added.

“Not really Boston,” Daddy corrected. “She’s from Row Die Lan.”

“Rhode Island?” I poked him in the ribs with my index finger. It was wonderful to have my old Daddy back, along with his sense of humor.

Deirdre leaned back to allow Mary Ellen to set a steaming bowl of Maryland crab soup in front of her. “I remember her now.” She picked up her spoon. “You know, that name Prentice rings a bell.” Squinting thoughtfully, she tapped the spoon against her chin. “I think Carson McPhee was married to a woman named Prentice before he married Mother.”

Now it was Ruth’s turn to ask, “Who’s Carson McPhee?”

“Lucky husband number two.” She grinned wickedly over her soup spoon. “He augered his Piper Cub into a cornfield in New Jersey rather than stay married to Mother. My theory, anyway.”

Something LouElla had said was nibbling at the edges of my brain. Wasn’t Carson McPhee from Fall River, Massachusetts? Or was it the Tinsley guy? The Lizzie Borden house was in Fall River, too. I had visited the Borden house once, and remembered Fall River being just across the state line from Tiverton, so close to Rhode Island it was practically in it. And didn’t Virginia tell me she came from Tiverton? With growing curiosity I asked, “Who was the first Mrs. McPhee?”