Ron
“You must feel like you are back home in Michigan with this beef stroganoff, scalloped potatoes and creamed peas and onions,”
I say to Trudy, who has seemingly not lost her appetite even after her fight with Teddy.
“Our mother didn’t cook,” Teddy says. “Did she, dear sister?”
Trudy nervously shoves heaping forkfuls of food into her mouth.
I am seated between Ava and Trudy. Teddy positioned himself at the far end of the Pink Lady dinette set as far away from his
family as he could possibly be without being seated in Idyllwild.
“Well, it must at least feel like you two just sat down for Sunday dinner again together, right?” I continue undeterred.
“No, Ron,” Teddy says, taking too big a sip and rattling the ice in his glass. “What do you not understand? It feels nothing
like that because our mama isn’t hiding in the kitchen drinking vodka from a Windex bottle, Trudy isn’t humiliating me and
Daddy isn’t beating the shit out of me. We acted like the Waltons, but we were more like the Mansons.” He lifts his cocktail
glass. “To family!”
Teddy leans back in his chair, waiting for a reaction from Trudy. She continues to eat, not looking up.
“Did your grandma ever share stories about growing up with me?” Teddy shifts in his chair and looks at the girl.
Ava refuses to open her mouth, either to eat or speak.
“I didn’t think so, but they went a little something like this,” Teddy continues. “I made dinner every Sunday while your grandma
and our father were sitting in the living room belittling me and my mother. Eventually, your sweet, little grandma—the woman
who, I’m sure, is the pillar of your community, deacon in the church and beacon of light for so many upstanding folk—would
rile up our old man so much that he’d turn on me and beat the shit out of me. Finally, when he was full from dinner, satiated
by a twelve-pack of Stroh’s and exhausted from beating the living daylights out of me, I’d run away crying. No one ever came
looking for me. No one ever tried to help.”
Teddy stares at Ava. “Oh, and this is one of my favorite family stories! Once, I tried to kill myself after Daddy beat me
up. Your grandmother came into the bathroom and found me. Seems I’d cut my wrists the wrong way and didn’t bleed out. Rookie
mistake. So she bandaged me up and told me in the sweetest tone, ‘Wear long sleeves from now on, Teddy.’”
Ava’s jaw trembles. She looks at her grandma—horror etched on her face—as if a rabid coyote is racing toward her.
“Grandma?” Ava asks, her voice no longer that of a rebellious teen but of a scared girl. “That’s not true, is it?”
The table remains silent.
“Oh, it’s all true, sweetheart,” Teddy says to her.
“Teddy,” I say. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“It’s never the time or place, is it, Ron, to discuss something painful?
” Teddy yells. “You know what I endured! I know what you endured! I’d think church on a Sunday would be the perfect time to exorcise our demons.
” Teddy glares at me. “You act out this church fantasy every Sunday to pretend that you didn’t have the same exact childhood I did, as if you were the one who needed to pray for forgiveness and not the father who beat the crap out of you every week after pretending to be the voice of God.
We moved as far away from our childhood homes as possible to escape that hell, and now we’re old men who are still running, and I’m exhausted.
God, I’m just so tired, Ron. Aren’t you?
And you still say this isn’t the right time or place?
” Teddy sets his glare on his sister. “This is my home, Trudy, and I want you and this white trash Barbie doll out of here after that jaw of yours finally gets tired of eating
our food.”
Teddy stands suddenly, pushing his chair back so violently it flips backward onto the lawn, pink pirouetting across green.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he says in a polite tone, storming toward the house.
“Teddy,” I call, my tone somewhere between hostage negotiator and parent. “Where are you going?”
Teddy stops and turns.
“To book a hotel room and then get a few Tupperware containers so our guests can take their dessert to go.”
A light breeze skitters through the palm trees as Dean Martin croons “That’s Amore.”
Teddy disappears inside.
Barry actually looks up from his cell, and Sid keeps picking up his fork over and over again without taking a bite. He looks
as if he’s been kidnapped and forced to appear on tape acting as if everything is normal.
Teddy warned me not to do this, even as payback for his earlier behavior. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I overstepped.
“I know you, Ron,” Teddy said to me earlier when I was making dessert.
“You just have to be the savior. You couldn’t save your family, so you think you can save mine.
Well, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.
You’ll think Trudy is sweet until she turns on you.
My sister acts like Tammy Faye from the Church of Goodness and Light, but she’s really in disguise for the Westboro Baptist Church.
She will destroy you, Ron. I’m sorry for not chipping in more.
I’m sorry for not being more appreciative of you.
I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately. But I am not sorry when I tell you that you are wrong for letting her stay in our home after all she’s done to me. ”
I could tell he was about to say something more when Trudy came into the kitchen, and Teddy scurried to the patio.
“Well, we’re having pineapple upside-down cake,” I say in a too-high voice, pulling the top off the pan in the middle of the
table. “Ooh, it’s still warm! Hopefully, this dessert will turn everyone’s mood upside down.”
Barry and Sid stare at me as if I’ve been possessed by the spirit of Dolly Parton.
I smile at them. Ava looks around the table, her eyes begging for help. She puts AirPods into her ears to silence the commotion.
My heart breaks.
Teddy is wrong: If I can win a war against all the demons in my life, I can win this war, too.
I motion for Ava to remove her AirPods. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Ava sighs dramatically, holding the pod in mid-air.
“Not for this,” she says, looking at the table. “I feel like I’m in a nursing home.”
“Language, Ava!” Trudy scolds.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
“Starbucks and pizza.”
“I have some coffee brewing in the kitchen, and there’s some leftover pizza in the freezer if you’d like it,” I say. “Why
don’t you change into your swimsuit and enjoy the pool.”
You don’t need to be a part of this, I don’t say.
“Finally,” she says, pushing her plate away and standing to leave.
Barry and Sid look at me.
“You don’t have to stay either,” I say.
They grab their plates and flee.
Trudy and I carry on eating without saying a word, the clatter of silverware filling the silence.
“So?” Trudy finally asks, scooping a slice of pineapple upside-down cake onto her dessert plate. “When do we go to church? It’s getting awfully late. I’m guessing you go to church later on the West Coast?”
“I told you earlier, we are at church.”
Trudy carefully places her knife and fork on her plate, folds her arms into her body and looks me directly in the eye.
“What do you mean?”
“This is our church,” I say, spreading my arms to encompass the sun, sky, mountains, trees, all of nature.
“This is not a church,” Trudy says. “This is a backyard.”
“No,” I say. “This is our church. We call it Church of Mary.”
“To honor the mother of Jesus?”
“Sort of,” I say. “We created this tradition decades ago as a way to celebrate our friendship as well as our special relationship
with God. My father was a pastor.”
“Then he should have taught you that you need to go to a proper church, right?” Trudy asks.
“We have faith, Trudy, but we do not participate in organized religion. There is a big difference between faith and religion.
Organized religion has caused irreparable harm to me and my community. But I do believe that one does not need to attend church
to have faith. Have you ever read Walden?”
“No, I only read the Bible, and I’m sorry to inform you that you will go to hell.”
My mouth drops open, and I stare at Trudy, who simply nods emphatically at my disbelief.
I jump at applause behind me. Teddy is back. With a new cocktail. And Tupperware.
He has placed them on the bar behind us and is clapping his hands loudly.
“Told ya, Ron. My sister will never change. She speaks with a forked tongue.”
“The Bible never changes.”
“You are the greatest actress to walk this earth since Meryl Streep,” Teddy says. “I’m shocked you haven’t won an Oscar.”
“Hollywood,” she says dismissively and with disgust.
“And yet they make all those Tom Cruise movies I’m sure you still love to watch.”
Trudy’s face beads with sweat. I cannot tell if it’s the heated debate or escalating temperature, but she tugs at her sweater
and dabs her dewy face with a cocktail napkin that was hidden under a basket of rolls. My eyes bulge, and I look at Teddy.
Damn it, Teddy! You picked these napkins on purpose.
He smiles at his sister as she dabs her forehead again.
Please, I pray. Don’t look at the napkin. Crumple it up and toss it on the table.
“Would you like to go change, Trudy?” I ask. “It warms up quickly here. Cool mornings, hot afternoons.”
“She’s leaving, Ron, remember?” Teddy admonishes. “Believe me, she’s not changing either her clothes or her way of thinking.
And we need to get used to this heat, Ron, since we’ll both be burning in hell, right, sis?”
Trudy shifts in her chair. She looks light-years older than Teddy with her red cheeks, wash-and-set, pursed lips and figure
that is more SpongeBob than SilverSneakers. When I look at Trudy, I do—God, forgive me—picture Shelley Winters in the movie The Poseidon Adventure trying to make it off the ship alive.
Trudy leans over to grab another napkin. This time, she dabs the corner of her eyes.