The Lighthouse

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“Not a date, not a meeting, not even an intimate handshake. Who’s in this town to date?”

We both laugh and, for a moment, I feel like years ago, when we’d sit in the kitchen and talk for hours.

“That reminds me. Guess who I saw at the café?”

“What is this, twenty questions? Who’d you see?”

“Adam Williams.”

Sandra stares at me. “Who the hell is Adam Williams?”

I laugh again, feel good. “I went to school with him. So did you. Don’t you remember? He was the guy who used to walk around the school with a calculator doing square roots.”

“Brown hair, tall, average looking, pimples?”

“Yeah the brown hair, but no pimples.”

“They all looked like that.”

“He always gave teachers crap about what they didn’t know. Really smart.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I walked over to the café this morning, and he was there. He’s an engineer. Still different, very nice, though.”

“And why did you walk over to the Lard Yard early this morning?”

“Oh, I needed fresh air, some exercise.”

“Don’t we all.” She looks out the window.

I close my eyes for a moment, to get centered, tell myself to quit thinking about missing my mother. Then I look at Sandra.

“Is your dad okay otherwise? I don’t see him much.”

“He seems lonely. He hasn’t changed a thing in the house, except it’s a mess and he’s walking at night, which I think is weird.”

“Hey, walking is good for the heart,” Sandra says. “You know when my dad died, my mother got a little…” She stops. “Oh, hell, let’s not talk about this stuff. It’s too depressing.”

“Okay.”

“Just remember, it takes a long time to get over a death. Jake’s probably still dealing with a lot.”

“Probably,” I say, knowing this is true. “I just thought I’d come home and we’d connect because Mom is gone. You know, there wouldn’t be friction.”

“Maybe you need to give it more time.”

“We’ve had forty-some years. And I didn’t realize how coming back was going to affect me. I miss my mother a lot.”

“I miss her, too. Remember how she used to put on her makeup just so?” Sandra brings her hands to her face, strokes the sides.

And for a moment, I fall into a memory. My mother sitting at her vanity, looking back and smiling at me.

“It took me two years to feel okay after my father passed away, and I wasn’t as close to him as you were to your mother. Hospice says it takes time.”

“Are you still working there?”

She nods. “I’ll be there forever. I guess it’s my way of making the world a little better. They don’t pay me enough, but I stay. And the office is up on Western, close to Mama.”

“How’s she doing?” I ask.

“She’s hanging in there. The nursing home is nice, well, as nice as it can be. But every day when I go into her room, I feel guilty. But I remind myself I have to work.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for her to be alone.” I try to reassure her, but I’m not sure how. What does it feel like to be responsible for your parent?

Sandra nods, smiles a little. “You know, when I made the final decision to put her in the nursing home, I found her five blocks away, standing in the middle of the street, and she didn’t know where she was.” She sighs, rubs her eyes.

I think about Josephine, how I loved her. She was always so concerned, warm.

“What?” Sandra asks.

“I was just thinking about your mom.”

“Yeah, I do that a lot.” Sandra gets up and looks out the window to the backyard. “I see your dad once in a while, working around the house. He seems okay. Sad, distracted, but I guess that’s to be expected. I mean, anyone who knew your parents knew how crazy he was about your mother. And to have it happen so fast, not be able to say goodbye…” She stops, turns back to me. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m doing okay. You know years ago, did you think we’d be sitting here talking about this?”

“No.” Sandra walks back, taps the table, smiles. “How many boys did we moon over at this booth?”

“I miss those times. First, boys, then worrying about parents. What’s next? Our own aches and pains?”

“Oh, God. You know what we need?”

“A second-base date?” I say, laugh, and she does, too.

“Well, yeah that, too. It’s almost Christmas, how about a little brandy? Oh, God you’re going to think I’m an alcoholic. I’m not really. Just so happy you’re here. It’s nice to see you again.”

One time, when Sandra came home from college, I’d just graduated from high school. She bought two bottles of champagne to celebrate for just the two of us. Her parents were gone for the weekend. We got drunk and passed out on the living room floor. My mother found us the next morning throwing up.

“Do you remember the champagne episode?” I ask.

“How could I forget? I still can’t drink champagne.”

I hold up my hand, like I’m making a toast. “Hey, to second-base dates and brandy before five.”

Sandra goes to the cabinet where Josephine always kept the liquor. “I’m glad we ditched the hot chocolate idea. Brandy is a much better drink.”

Jake crossed the dark porch and went down the steps. A moment ago, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get out of the house.

He walked down the street. When he got to the edge of Point Fermin Park, he stopped and studied the sky.

The stars looked close, bright. Visibility had to be at least fifty miles tonight. Dorothy had read him a poem on a night just like this.

Jake sat on the hard curb and tried to remember more of that evening, hoping none of the details had faded.

That night, they had taken a walk, and when they’d gotten back to the house, Dorothy had come into their bedroom holding a thick book. She’d placed it on the nightstand, carefully took off all her clothes and lay next to him.

A moment later, she picked up the book and turned to a marked page. Her voice was soft, smooth, as always.

“And as silently…” Jake whispered the few poetic words he could remember.

Anguish and hurt gripped his body. The poetry book was still in the house. He hadn’t given anything away because he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d find the poem, read it aloud, and maybe more of the memory would return.

Jake fought his tears by turning his face up to the night sky. Looking for a poem his dead wife read to him wasn’t going to do any good. He needed to accept that memories would eventually fade.

But that night, when she lay beside him, naked except for the white sheet, he hadn’t paid much attention to her poem. Even at his age, all he could think about was her naked body close to his.