Chapter 28
On Halloween, as we waited for Grannie Annie to arrive with a costume for Callie, I mentioned that I had always bought ready-made costumes for my children, shared a story about going with her mother to a department store no longer in existence to purchase a specific one.
“Di thinks that’s wasting money. She told me never to buy something you’re going to use once,” my granddaughter said.
I assumed Di had never been a bridesmaid.
“Then how do you get a costume?” I asked.
“From things you find in the house.”
“Oh,” I said.
“But this year is different because Grannie Annie made me a costume.”
“From things she found at her house?”
“No. From scratch. She’s a very good sewer. When she was young, she won blue ribbons lots of times. Once was for a quilt she made from old T-shirts. She showed me pictures. She said if she still had it, she would give it to me.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. What kind of costume?”
Macallan held a finger over her lips. “I can’t tell anyone.”
“Fine. I’m happy you’re happy.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a hint. Fairy tale,” she offered.
I guessed wrong on purpose. “You’re going to be Prince Charming.”
“Cinderella! But pretend you don’t know.”
We stopped in the guest room. “Trick-or-treating with us?” I asked Di. The roses from Arlo were on the night table. Petals had fallen, which made the arrangement extra endearing.
Di frowned. “Have you met me? Not really my thing.”
“You could dispense business cards.”
She smirked. “You go with Annie. I’ll answer the door, give out treats so we can avoid an egging. It’s a tough job, but someone must do it.” She held her hand limply to her head, a damsel in distress. “Do you have a costume?” she asked to alter the subject.
“Yes. I’m going as a twenty-five-year-old.”
“Good luck with that.”
At the appointed hour, Annie appeared dressed as a chicken, plump with yellow feathers.
I clucked about her costume, as it was downright fabulous.
“For you.” She handed me a green canvas bag from the co-op.
“What is it?”
“Your costume. I made it.”
“You made a costume for me?” I said, touched by her generosity. “What am I?”
“Look,” she said, pleased with herself.
Eager to see her handiwork, I opened the bag to find I was destined to be an egg.
“I’ll bet you scrambled to make this.”
“Not at all. Can’t you see you’re hard boiled? What came first,” Annie asked, “the chicken (she bowed) or the egg (she pointed at me)?”
“Thank you. I hope you didn’t make a costume for Di. She’s not planning to go.”
She shrugged. “Di wouldn’t trick-or-treat if it was her last chance for nourishment.”
“You’re right. She’s staying here, doling out candy.”
“We’ll see. Try it on. I can’t wait.”
I was in my costume when Callie hollered from the top of the stairs, “I’m coming down!” And there she was—Cinderella—holding one slipper and wearing the other, showing off her blue satin ball gown.
I touched the satin. Callie twirled around. I was astounded by Annie’s talent.
We journeyed out, and our first stop was next door, where Alison dropped candies in Callie’s bag and gave her a special gift—a chocolate marshmallow pumpkin. Alison handed me several airline bottles of vodka. “For the adults.”
At the next house, Callie insisted on taking the path to the door on her own. Annie and I waited on the road with flashlights, chatting with parents impressed by our costumes.
At Callie’s next stop, I asked Annie, “Have you ever thought of sewing for a living?”
“Oh, these costumes are just for fun.”
“Look, you have a real talent. And more important, you enjoy sewing. Do what you love, and you’ll never feel as though you’re working.”
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
“You love feet?”
“I like feet. I adore my patients. I miss working. My office manager told me that one of my favorite patients got engaged. She’s ninety. He’s ninety-six. They met and dated during high school, married other people, found each other again on Facebook.”
“That’s romantic.”
“Let’s talk about you,” I said.
She put her hand on my arm. “You’re the first older person who ever wanted to talk about me.”
“Oh, come on.” I kept my eye on Callie, who was waiting with a gaggle of other children as the homeowner seemed unusually slow at dispersing treats. “I’m serious. You have a talent. It’s a blessing. Make the most of it.”
“But how would I even start?” she said, at a loss.
“I don’t know much about the field, but maybe contact the summer theaters around here. Maybe one needs help designing costumes. Offer to intern in exchange for experience. Send an email for starters.”
“I don’t know,” she said, clearly uncomfortable.
“I’ll help you.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course. Without question—look at all you do for Callie. I’m grateful.”
“No woman has ever helped me before. Except for Lisa. She’s been great to me. When I moved in with Milton and I first met her, she asked me to watch Callie. Lisa paid me a lot, twice what I got from other moms. But then we grew close. Callie began calling me Grannie Annie. I never took a penny from Lisa or Brian again.”
Annie’s eyes were wet.
“I don’t think chickens have tears,” she said.
“What happened with Milton?”
“Oh, Milton. He promised he would never cheat again. Swore up and down. Vowed on his dog. Even though he put Barker to sleep in the spring. He said the woman I found him with was an old friend from high school, that she had left town anyway, and he was sorry. He said if he was going to leave me, it would be for someone younger. Milton said if I stayed with him, he’d put me in his will.”
“Is he planning to die soon?”
She laughed. “No one lives forever. There’s the house. And whatever money Milton still has would mean a lot to me.”
I was aghast Annie believed a word Milton said. However, no matter how motherly I felt, she wasn’t my daughter, and it wasn’t my place to tell her so. I worried she’d find out the truth the painful way. But she was strong enough to do what women have always done—pick herself up and move on.
“I don’t know how this came about. How I’ve been living with Milton this long. When he asked me to move in, I guessed it would be for a few months. I figured I could stash the cash I earned at the health club, then rent a place with a friend.”
“So, you’re with Milton because you have nowhere to go?”
“ Still with Milton because I have nowhere to go. When we first got together, I thought he was handsome. Those eyes. I think he looks like an actor.”
“I think you should talk to Lisa.”
“About?”
“Maybe you could be a live-in nanny. I mean Grannie Annie.”
“Oh, no,” she said as though I was out of my mind.
She continued, “I could never live there. Lisa doesn’t get along with Brian. When they have it out, she yells. Brian says nothing—not a word. Which makes her want to tear her hair out. She screams even more. That silent routine frays every nerve.”
I’d never witnessed this, never seen Lisa argue with Brian. Of course, they had their moments, who doesn’t? But I would never have figured Lisa screamed while Brian was Mr. Passive Aggressive. What else didn’t I know about my daughter?
“Then Brian thumps out of the house. Slam, slam. ”
I jumped as though someone had punched me.
“It’s way too unnerving. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
I had no clue that’s how it went down at my daughter’s house. Everything I had picked up on since arriving had concerned me, but Lisa screaming into silence, as described by Annie, provided a picture I knew I’d have a challenging time evacuating from my mind.
Callie had finally received her treat, and we continued to the next house.
“Maybe Lisa has a friend who needs a live-in nanny.”
“I wish I had had a mom like you. My mother took off. I have no idea where she is. I can only hope she’s in a church at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting right now.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is.”
“No, it’s what you make it.”
“How’s that?”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I’m sort of a day-by-day person.”
“You’re twenty-seven. Where would you like to see yourself on your thirtieth birthday?”
“Me? I’d be with a great-looking guy. He’d have a good job, a great salary, and a dirt bike. We’d get married—and have little dirt bikes.”
“Would you be working at the gym?”
“Well, you think I should sew.”
“Annie, the trick is doing what makes you happy.”
“How did you get so smart?”
“I’m not smart. I’m old. Sixty-seven years of trial and error. It’s weird, though. The more you know, the less people want your advice. Or maybe no one wants advice at all.”
Callie joined more friends from school, and we followed them from house to house.
One of the mothers said, “Wait until you see the next house. It’s everyone’s favorite. You’ll see why.”
“It’s amazing,” Annie promised me.
Haunting music and sounds filled the air as we arrived at a beautifully maintained, well-lit saltbox, the kind of house with a slanted back roof, two stories in front and one in back, about two hundred years old. Candlelit jack-o’-lanterns lined the stone walk to a little gate decked with fake spiderwebs. On the lawn, next to a mural of witches circling a cauldron, a big ghost in a sheet sat on a lawn chair. Kids waited for a turn to approach the ghost and receive a full-size Hershey’s bar. Callie stepped up. I watched as the ghost greeted her, waved at me. I didn’t know who the ghost was, but I returned the gesture.
Annie said, “Arlo outdid himself this year.”
“This is Arlo’s house?” I said, surprised he lived in the saltbox, dumbfounded he was the ghost and that he would go all out for Halloween.
“Yes. He loves holidays. You should see this place at Christmas.”
I thought about Arlo and Di. Opposites attract. When Callie and I had brought pumpkins home, Di warned that our jack-o’-lanterns would be destroyed on the porch, went on about how pumpkins were a waste of money. I’d heard of a Christmas scrooge. But a Halloween scrooge?
Back at Lisa’s, the lights were on. A carton from a liquor store full of snack-size chocolate bars sat on the porch. A handwritten note: “One candy per trick-or-treater.” One? Back when my kids trick-or-treated, the first person to arrive would’ve dumped the entire stash into a pillowcase.
Next to the goodie box was a basket—full up with real estate brochures.
Annie and I looked at one another. What else had we expected?
We found Di on the couch, snoozing. I told Callie to wake her up.
“I see you left the goodies at the door,” I said.
“Well, I was tired of getting up every five minutes.”
“When was that?” Annie said.
“Right after you left.”
I smirked but didn’t comment. “Okay, Callie, bedtime,” I said.
“But someone has to tuck me in.”
I was exhausted, but I offered anyway.
“No. You all have to tuck me in.”
“All of us?” Di sighed, seeking an out.
“Yes!” Callie said.
“Okay, wash, put on pajamas. We’ll be up soon,” I said.
As Callie climbed the stairs, I removed the airplane vodka (courtesy of trick-or-drinking Alison) from the pocket in my egg costume. I emptied the vodka into tumblers, adding orange juice and ice. Di, Annie, and I clinked glasses, downed our screwdrivers, went to tuck in Callie.
In addition to Callie, there was a lump under the covers. “What’s that?” I asked.
Callie didn’t answer.
I raised an eyebrow.
“My candy,” Callie said, holding the tarantula and blanket up to her neck.
“Why?”
She zoomed in on me. “Grandma Jo, I don’t trust you. You might eat it.”
Di, the health nut, took the bag and said she would guard it.
I whispered good night, thinking better of saying “Who loves you best.”
“Say it, Grandma Jo.”
“Who loves you best?” I said tentatively.
“We all do,” Di replied.
Annie hugged Callie.
“Say it, Annie,” Callie said.
“Grannie Annie loves your fanny.”
“I know you won’t eat my candy, Di. Because you don’t want to be fat.”