Линвуд Баркли - A Noise Downstairs

It was rocky at first. Even if Frank had not been grieving, it would have taken them a while to work into a groove. That took about six months. After that, things went great. Frank even had time to go back to golf, bought a rowing machine, renewed a long forgotten interest in gourmet cooking, all while Anna made a living for the two of them by counseling the confused, depressed, and troubled of the world. Well, of Milford and environs, anyway. Frank encouraged Anna to get back out into circulation, find herself a new husband, maybe even have kids — “It’s not too late! Almost, but not quite!” — and when she did, he promised her, he’d find a place of his own.

She wouldn’t hear of it. Anna liked her life. Maybe she didn’t care about a husband and kids. She had her career, she had her dad, she had her house.

It was a stable, safe life.

But then, sixteen months ago, things slowly started to unravel.

Frank had a minor fender bender that could have been much worse — he backed into a Ford Explorer at the Walmart in Stratford, narrowly missing a woman pushing a four-month-old in a stroller. He became confused behind the wheel. One day, at the Stamford Town Center, he spent four hours trying to find his car in the parking garage. He’d walked past it, Anna figured later, at least a dozen times. He confessed to her later that he’d been looking for the Dodge Charger he’d owned in the late 1960s.

He lost credit cards. One day, he headed out of the house without a shirt on.

More recently, he’d been calling her Joanie, and other times, when he realized who she really was, he asked to be taken to the nursing home to visit his wife. He’d get in the back of Anna’s car, expecting to be taken there. So now, Anna was not only back where she was before her father moved in — running a household as well as doing her job — but taking care of her dad as well.

“Such is life,” she’d say to herself.

And yet, in the midst of this, there could be moments of great clarity. Frank was often his best first thing in the morning. When he showed up in the kitchen, Anna put a mug of coffee in front of him as he sat down.

“That cartoon channel runs some of the best Warner Bros. stuff in the morning. They had so much more of an edge than that wholesome stuff Disney was doing back then. Wit and sophistication. Cartoons for adults.”

Frank reached over to the counter for a pen and notepad that sat by the phone. He did some doodling with one hand, drank from the mug with the other.

“Lots of customers today?” he asked her. He never called them clients or patients.

“It’s the weekend, Dad. But I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not a good idea for you to be chatting with the people who come to see me.”

Frank looked puzzled. “When do I do that?”

“Not often, it’s true. But the other day, you were talking to this one patient. Gavin?”

Frank struggled to remember. “Uh, maybe.”

“You were about to tie up your shoes?”

“If you say so, Joanie.”

“It’s just... he’s not the kind of person you want to become familiar with.”

“Why’s that?”

She had been giving a lot of thought to Gavin ever since she’d found her laptop closed. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe she had closed it before he’d arrived for his appointment, but she hadn’t been wrong about seeing him behind her desk. Had he been looking in her computer and, when he’d heard her coming, closed it, out of reflex? And only remembered it had been open when it was too late to do anything about it?

She shook her head, ignoring her father’s question. “It’s just best if you do not engage with my clients.”

Still doodling, he said, “Speaking of engaged.”

“Dad.”

“Come on, sweetheart, we need to talk about this. I’m dragging you down. We can’t go on like this. I moved in to help you, and now you’re the one helping me.”

“Everything’s fine here.”

“Remember that cartoon where Bugs Bunny’s up against Blacque Jacque Shellacque?”

“Uh...”

“Anyway, Jacque wants Bugs’s bag of gold, but Bugs gives him a bag of gunpowder with a hole cut out of the bottom. The gunpowder leaves a trail, which Bugs lights, and blows up Jacque.”

“I don’t remember that one.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. The thing is, my mind is that bag of gunpowder. A little leaking out every day. Pretty soon that bag’ll be empty. You need to find a place for me. You need to start looking.”

“Stop it, Dad.”

He tore off the sheet of paper he’d been doodling on and handed it to his daughter. “There you go.”

It was a poodle, done cartoon-style, with a face that looked remarkably like Anna’s. Frank smiled, waiting for her approval.

“That’s quite something,” she said. “But my tail doesn’t look like that.”

Frank stared out the window for several seconds, then turned back to look at her. “I think I might hit some balls around in the backyard.”

And we’re out , Anna thought.

But wait.

He patted her hand and smiled. “What point is there in keeping me around now?”

She felt a constriction in her throat. “Because I love you, Dad.”

“You need to get over that,” he said, pushing back his chair. He grabbed his mug and left the kitchen.

Anna sat there, picked up the drawing of her as a poodle, looked at it, then got up and went to the counter. She opened a drawer and tucked the sketch in with several hundred others.

Paul stopped doing some online research when he heard the front door open and his son, Josh, shout: “Dad!”

Paul exited his office and headed for the top of the stairs in time to meet his son. He knew better than to expect a huge hug. Josh, backpack slung over his shoulder, gave his father the briefest of embraces and ran to the fridge.

“How was the train?” Paul asked.

Josh found a can of Pepsi, popped it, and said, “It was good. Mom went right down to the platform with me to watch me get on.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost ten. I’ve taken the train before.”

“She can’t help it. She’s a mom.”

Josh shrugged, then said, “Charlotte got you something. She wouldn’t let me put my bag in the trunk when she picked me up in case I saw it.”

Charlotte had reached the top of the stairs. “No blabbing!”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Josh said, taking a drink.

“Just one of those a day,” Paul said, pointing to the can. “You don’t need all that sugar.”

Josh displayed the can. “It’s diet.”

“Oh,” Paul said, then to Charlotte, “What did you get me? Is this the thing you mentioned the other day?”

She smiled devilishly. “I want you and Josh to take a walk. Go down to the beach. Give me five.”

Paul exchanged glances with Josh. “I guess we’re getting kicked out.”

Paul and Josh descended the steps, went out the front door, and rounded the house to reach the beach. The wind coming in off the sound was crisp and cool, but the midday sun cut the need for a jacket. It was early June, and the temperatures had been below average for this time of year. The water would have to warm up a lot before Josh would want to go in.

“How’s your mom?” Paul asked.

“Fine.”

“And Walter?”

Josh’s stepfather.

Josh looked for a stone to throw into the water. “He’s okay.” He paused. “I like it in the city. There’s tons to do.”

“Okay,” Paul said. It wasn’t that he wanted his son to be miserable in Manhattan with his mother and stepdad. He wanted nothing but happiness for the boy. But it pained him some to think Josh had to endure the boring Connecticut suburbs to spend time with him.