Marge called me just before midnight. She was drinking and babbling, telling me bits and pieces of the story and slurring that she wanted to die. I’d just gotten my driver’s license and somehow, I knew exactly where to find her. I raced to the water tower and spotted her car parked beneath it. I made the climb and found my sister sitting near the edge, her legs dangling. There was an open bottle of rum beside her, and it was immediately clear that she was beyond drunk and practically incoherent. When she saw me, she scooted closer to the edge.
Speaking quietly, I was able to convince her to let me come closer; when I finally reached her, I put my arm around her and inched her back from the ledge. I held her as she sobbed, remaining at the top of the water tower until it was nearly dawn. She begged me not to tell our parents and after I promised, I drove her back to her dorm room and put her in bed. When I got home, my parents were livid – I was sixteen and had been out all night. They grounded me for a month, and I lost driving privileges for another three months after that.
But I never told them where I’d been, or how devastated my sister had been that night, or what might have happened to her, had I not shown up.
It was enough to know that I’d been there for her, that I’d held her in my arms when she’d needed it the most, just the way I knew she would for me.
Needless to say, after dinner with my family, Vivian and my postponed date night didn’t happen. Vivian wasn’t in the best of moods by the time we got home. Neither was I.
Sunday morning began in a lazy fashion, one that allowed for a third cup of coffee after a five-mile run, my longest run in nearly ten years. London was watching a movie in the family room and I was reading the paper on our back patio when Vivian stepped outside.
“I think London and I need a Mommy and Me day,” Vivian announced.
“A what?”
“You know, girl stuff. We’ll get all dressed up and get a manicure and pedicure, maybe have her hair styled, things like that. Kind of a mini-celebration before her first day of school, where we’re not having to rush around like crazy like we did yesterday.”
“Is any place open on Sunday?”
“We’ll find something,” she said. “I could use a good mani-pedi, too.”
“Does London even know what a mani-pedi is?”
“Of course she does. And it’ll be good to have some alone time with her, you know? I’ve been working so much lately. And it’ll give you a break, too, to do whatever you want. Goof around, work, whatever.”
“When do I ever goof around?”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Anyway, I have to go help her pick out some clothes. I want to get all dressed up and make it special.”
“That sounds like a very girly day,” I agreed. “I hope the two of you have a good time.”
“We will.”
“How long do you think you’ll be out?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It depends. We might not be back until dinner if London wants to have lunch. I want the day to sort of play out in a relaxed sort of way. Who knows? Maybe she’ll want to see a movie.”
Forty-five minutes later, they were out the door, and I had the place to myself. These days, it wasn’t all that common, but I’d grown so used to rushing from here to there that I wasn’t even sure what I should do. Because everything was pretty much arranged with Taglieri, there wasn’t really anything in the way of work, and other than a few dishes to place in the dishwasher, the house was tidy. I’d finished my workout and the paper and I’d visited with my family most of the day before, all of which left me wandering the house aimlessly after I’d been on my own for less than an hour. Something was missing – or rather, someone – and I realized that what I really wanted to do if I’d had the option was to ride bikes through the neighborhood with London, the two of us together on a wonderful lazy Sunday afternoon.
Vivian and London didn’t return home until nearly seven and I ate both lunch and dinner alone.
I would have loved to have been the kind of guy who’d gone to the gym or meditated, or spent the afternoon reading a biography of Teddy Roosevelt, but the low-key day led to a low-key energy level without a tinge of self-improvement ambition. I ended up spending the day surfing the Internet, one click leading to the next, whatever caught my interest. I read about a giant jellyfish that had washed up on the beaches of Australia, the ongoing travails of various countries in the Middle East, the impending extinction of gorillas in central Africa, and the “Ten Best Foods to Eat to Reduce Belly Fat Fast!”
If there was anything about the surfing to be proud about, it was that I didn’t read a single item about any celebrity. It wasn’t enough to make me hitch up my pants and walk a bit taller, but it was something, right?
Vivian and London were both weary by the time they came home, but it was a good kind of weary. London showed me her fingernails and toenails and told me that they’d seen a movie and gone shopping, in addition to eating. After her bath, I read to her as usual, but she was yawning steadily before I turned the final page. I kissed her, inhaling the scent of the baby shampoo she still preferred to use.
By the time I was downstairs, Vivian was in her pajamas and sitting in the family room, holding a glass of wine. The TV was on – some show about housewives, most of whom seemed emotionally unstable – but Vivian was more chipper than usual. She chatted about her day, gave me a coy expression when I made a suggestive comment and we ended up in bed.