Poetic License

I was in deep crap. My mother preferred to say I “crossed the line.” Either way we were now sitting in our driveway waiting to leave. The June sun baked the car and I was sweating but didn’t dare speak. Her anger was still evaporating.

My mother adjusted her navy-blue readers and looked over her checklist one last time. I had never seen her take charge of a project like this project. And this project was getting rid of me for six weeks. Normally my dad oversaw family road trips.  He would buy salted sunflower seeds at the gas station and fill up the gas tank. That was the full extent of his planning. But my mother had taken this on like she was orchestrating a corporate merger. Research. Checklists. Paperwork. Strategy sessions on the phone. Advice from her closest advisors. The plans were complex and mistakes could not be made. Packing and repacking my suitcase. Packing and repacking her own suitcase. She had rented a car, filled a small cooler with apples and bologna sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, printed off two copies of directions and put them in a file folder marked SUMMER HOPE. The double meaning wasn’t lost on me. It was my summer but clearly she had a lot invested. She pulled her thin blonde hair into a neat knot and she patted my hand for reasons I can’t explain. She rarely drove. It made me anxious.

Aunt Lou lived five hours south of us in Devney, Nebraska. I had never heard of it. Of course, up until a week ago I had not heard much about Aunt Lou other than a passing reference to “my youngest sister”.  My mother referred to her when illustrating how a person ought not to act. “My youngest sister would wait for the final notice before paying this bill.” “Well, you could act like my youngest sister and pay no attention to sodium content in cottage cheese.” “My youngest sister would likely stay up all night just to catch a glimpse of those northern lights and ruin a good night of rest.” From the handful of stories, I could only deduce that Lou was bad but also fun.

News radio was the only station playing in our car with my parents and now was set so low it became white noise. I fell asleep with my face against the warm window until we slowly rolled into Devney. Strange how the body senses speed and doom even while sleeping. I jolted awake to see this unfamiliar small town. We slowed to idling and then stopped for the crosswalk. My mother waved two young pedestrians past with both patience and irritation.

She hunched over the steering wheel peering at the town like she was examining a painting she didn’t like.

“Ugh.” She muttered.

“So, I see they went with green there I guess.” she said to no one. She frowned.

Aunt Lou lived just outside the main drag in Devney, a town with no stores I recognized. Painted wooden signs announced a grocery, a shoe repair shop, a bookstore. Tall yellow weeds grew up between cracks in the sidewalk and elderly couples sat in webbed lawn chairs outside storefronts watching the world go by.

Lou’s house had a bit of everything going on. A small crimson turret jutted out on one side and a large front porch was filled with plants, their vines crawling down and around the spindles. The leaves were every shade of green and tropical shiny. Not a dead leaf in sight. The porch had slanted steps with boards warped here and there and the paint was peeling off the edges of the entire building. Her house was molting.

My mother quickly gathered my things from the trunk and hoisted my suitcase up the steps like a bell hop hoping for a tip.  She marched through the front door without a knock. Aunt Lou screamed from somewhere inside when she heard us arrive.

I backed up into the doorway waiting as my mother stood woodenly looking at her sister. Lou walked fast and unevenly and scooped my mother up like a sack of groceries.

“My God Louisa. Put me down!” she said. I could see even my mother couldn’t hold back a smile.

Louisa laughed, pleased to illicit that reaction and trained her gaze on me.

“HOPE!” she bellowed. She clapped her hands with joy.

I gave her the smallest nod I could manage and she laughed again.

“Don’t worry, I won’t pick you up. Yet.” She waved us in and we walked to the back of the house.  The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and bug spray. A pan of just baked muffins were on top of the stove cooling. Dishes sat soaking in the sink and one lower cabinet had a dog bed sitting in the bottom, the door clearly removed for that reason.

Lou brought out a tall glass of lemonade for me and coffee for my mother. My mother held her purse clutched on her lap.  “You can put your purse down. I won’t steal it.” Lou smiled at me. An old dog limped into the kitchen, sniffed at us and settled himself into his bed.

“Go look around Hope. You’ll be here awhile. Then I’ll have a minute with your Mama.”

This was code for, “The grownups are about to talk about you.” I was used to it. I grabbed my lemonade and walked into the dining room that had a large brick fireplace along one wall.

The mantle was lined with framed photographs. Nothing matched. Some wooden frames. Some silver plated. Some modern. Some antique. The dust was visible between them. I spotted a picture of my grandparents and the seven children. My mother in the back, her graceful hand shielding her eyes with no smile. And in the front, a plump child with arms outstretched as if giving a hug through the lens. Lou. I looked closely at the photo looking for clues. How could my mother have ever been anything but an adult?

They came out of the kitchen and looked at me and then at each other. Nobody said anything but clearly, they agreed on something. My mother hugged me and gave Lou a peck on the cheek before she got into her car.

My mother cranked the window down looking doubtfully at Lou and I standing on the lawn. I stretched my toes out in my Keds during the awkward silence.

“Hope behave yourself. And Lou…well behave yourself.”

My aunt threw her head back and laughed loudly, “Have we met before?”

“I will. I promise.” I said. It sounded like a lie, but it wasn’t.

My mother winced and her rented blue Buick pulled away and vanished as it was swallowed up by a bend in the road. 

Aunt Lou brought my bags into the room I’d be staying in. She had put a box fan in my room but told me to stop flitting around because I was making myself hotter than I needed to be. My room had a twin bed with a pink coverlet. Two pink pillows at the window. Like this room had always been waiting for me. We sat on the porch and drank another lemonade, the condensation sliding off the glass right into my bellybutton. After an hour, Lou stood up and said, “Well, be best get to it.”

“To what?”

Lou laughed. “Follow me.”

We walked around back to a detached garage. The garage door was up and parked inside, a green Cadillac. She opened the car door and slid onto the bench seat on the passenger side. I peered inside. Lou’s car smelled like leather and something citrus. It was cleaner than her house.

“Me? You want me to drive?” I said.

“Of course. Why do you think your ma sent you to me?” she said.

I stared at Lou. Her plank like arm rested on the back of the seat as she waited.

“What do you mean? Because I’m in trouble. I’m sure she told you about the mailbox. She doesn’t want me around.”

Lou opened the door and turned to face me.

“No. That’s not it. She’s just tired. Was always so responsible. You know people can use up all their responsible. She just didn’t have a choice after our parents went.”

I didn’t know what to say. Their parents died when Lou was just a baby.

“She doesn’t hate you Hope. She loves you. Loves you like I’ve never seen someone love. She is just terrified you’ll die.”

“She is?” I said.

“She is. You know she was in the car. With our folks. Was just never the same after that. So even though she has more memories of them, well, she carries around that one too.”

I opened the car door and slid behind the driver seat. Lou clicked her seatbelt tight over her stomach.

“I’m going to teach you how to drive because I’m a great driver. Adjust your mirrors. So you can see ALL the mailboxes better. Your mama loves you so much she sent you to the best.” She looked at me and grinned.

I moved the mirrors into place turned the key in the ignition and Lou stretched back in the passenger seat. I started crying.

“And the fact she asked me to help shows how much she loves me.” Aunt Lou’s eyes shone with her own tears.

I moved the shifter to drive.