Marcia Talley: Occasion of Revenge

“He’s a grown-up, Ruth,” I reminded my sister. “To him, you’re still a kid. He probably doesn’t think he needs to account for his actions to you.”

“Still, it’s rude. What if he’s been in an accident?”

“Unlikely. He left the reception with Darlene surgically attached to his arm.” I wrapped my fingers around Paul’s incurably roving hand. “Look, if he hasn’t returned home by noon, let me know and we’ll send out a search party.”

“Where?”

“Darlene’s, to begin with. The local bars.”

“That’s not funny, Hannah. Besides, do you know where Darlene lives?”

“Somewhere in Chestertown.”

“What’s her last name?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Great. So we just drive over to Chestertown and ask around for somebody, anybody named Darlene?”

I hadn’t been to Chestertown for several years, but I remembered it as a small, friendly place, home to Washington College and featuring a waterfront lined with stately colonial and Georgian-style homes. Chestertown had all the charm but none of the size of Annapolis; folks were likely to know one another there. Recalling Darlene’s startling hair and revealing wardrobe, I imagined that if we approached enough people and described her, eventually someone would be able to tell us who she was.

“What if Daddy’s lying in a ditch somewhere?” Ruth worried.

“In that case, somebody would have called.”

“Should I check the hospitals?”

“Don’t be silly.” I thought for a minute. “He did have his wallet with him, didn’t he?”

“I assume so, but I don’t know for sure. It isn’t on his dresser, anyway. I checked.”

I felt the mattress heave as Paul slid out of bed. “Coffee?” he pantomimed. I nodded and watched with affection as he padded toward the hallway in his bare feet.

“When he gets home, I’m going to kill him,” Ruth grumped.

“Killing would be too quick. Why don’t you tie him to a chair until he promises to keep you posted on his whereabouts?”

Ruth snorted. “He has no consideration. No consideration at all.” The rant continued. “I have to open up the store in a couple of hours.”

“Today’s Sunday, Ruth. You don’t open up until noon on Sunday. And if you’re a little late, people will just have to wait for their aromatherapy kits. Nobody ever died from running out of patchouli.”

“Maybe I’ll feel better after I have my coffee.” I heard the sound of running water. Ruth must have been calling from the kitchen. “Wait a minute!”

“What? What?”

“Why, the old devil!” Ruth whispered. “He’s tiptoeing up the driveway now! I can see him out the kitchen window. Must have parked his car out front. Ha! Old tomcat probably thinks he can sneak in and climb into bed without me being any the wiser. Well, do I have a surprise for him !”

I took a deep breath. “Don’t do anything stupid now, Ruth.”

“Nothing he doesn’t deserve for making me worry like this. I don’t need any more gray hairs, thank you very much.”

With a half-smile on my lips, I imagined the scene. “Call me later.”

“And he’ll probably be wanting breakfast, too.”

Just before the telephone clicked into silence, I heard Ruth drawl, “Well, good morning, Casanova.”

I waited a good ten minutes for Ruth to cool her jets, staring straight up, watching slivers of early morning sunlight creep across the ceiling. Then I called back.

Ruth answered on the first ring. “Plato’s Ethical Culture Parlor.”

“Oh, har de har har. What if I’d been somebody important?”

“I knew it was you.”

“Oh?”

“Who else would be calling at this hour?”

I directed a raspberry into the receiver. “Don’t forget who woke up who, Ruth. Or is it whom?”

“Well, I wasn’t sleeping, so I figured I’d share the joy.”

“Thoughtful of you.” In the background I could hear the high-pitched squeal of the coffee grinder. I could almost smell the aroma of fresh-brewed Starbucks breakfast blend wafting down the telephone lines. Then I had to laugh. Paul was coming through the bedroom door holding a mug of steaming coffee in each hand.

I blew him a kiss, reached for my mug, and sipped at it gratefully. “So, what’s his story, Ruth?”

“He spent the night in Chestertown with You Know Who, just like you said.”

“Sometimes I hate to be right.”

Ruth sighed heavily. “I don’t know what he sees in her.”

“She makes me laugh.” It was Daddy’s military voice, crisp and clean-cut. I imagined him leaning over Ruth’s shoulder, addressing the receiver as if it were a raw recruit.

“Keep that up, and I’ll go deaf.” Ruth’s voice gradually faded. “Excuse me, Hannah, while I go repair my eardrum.”

“You should have called home, Daddy,” I said when my father took control of the telephone.

“Sorry, dear. I didn’t think.”

“Ruth was worried sick.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“So, Darlene makes you laugh, huh? So do Laurel and Hardy movies, but you don’t have to buy them dinner.”

“You know what I mean, Hannah. Since your mother died…” He paused. “Well, I have needs , dear.”

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, I realized that this was the closest my father had ever come to discussing sex with me. He quickly changed the subject. “Look, why don’t you and Paul come over for dinner tonight? Bring everybody.”

“Dante’s gone back to Virginia,” I said. “He has to be at work this morning.”

“Tonight?” That was from Ruth. Daddy must have covered the receiver with his hand because there was a muffled discussion before Ruth came back on the line, sounding exasperated. “Well, don’t expect Julia Child,” she snapped.

“When did I ever?” Ruth could arrange your kitchen according to the principles of feng shui, but ask her to put seven basic ingredients into a harmonious casserole and you’d be out of luck. “I’ll bring bread and a salad,” I reassured her.

“Great! If Georgina brings dessert, I think I can manage.”

“Georgina, Scott…” I did a quick mental head count. “With you, Dad, us, and all the kids, that makes eleven.”

“Twelve,” she corrected.

“Twelve?”

“Don’t forget Darlene.”

Indeed, from that day forward, there’d be very little danger that I’d ever forget Darlene.

She arrived late. Fashionably late. ClaudiaSchiffer on a Versace runway couldn’t have done it with more style. From the moment she glided over the threshold of my father’s house and into the entrance hall, Darlene was in control, keenly aware that all eyes were on her. A cold front had moved across Maryland overnight, and against the unseasonably chilly weather she wore a red wool cloak, which she unbuttoned and swirled off her shoulders like a matador, launching it in my general direction. Perversely, I just missed catching it.

“Here, allow me.” Emily bent to retrieve the cloak, knocking heads with Darlene in the process.

“Ouch!” Vigorously rubbing her head, Darlene straightened to her full five foot two plus at least three inches of trendy stacked heels. Above them, she wore sleek black capri pants and a sweater the color of bubblegum. I had read that capri pants were back in style, but I couldn’t help thinking that she looked like a refugee from the old Dick Van Dyke Show .

“I’m so sorry!” Emily’s face wore a look of genuine concern. “Are you all right?”

Darlene handed my daughter the cloak. “I guess I’ll live.” She looked over Emily’s shoulder, one pale eyebrow raised. “Where’s your grandfather?”