No Return Address Read online

  Do you know he practices every day? I’ve been impressed that he stuck with his lessons this long. He will go on to teach music down the road, I’m sure of it. Make sure he gets this guitar, will you?

  I have another favor to ask. Cody may be a young man now, but he still needs a grandmother. He will for some time. Will you be that for him, now that I’m gone?

  I think he can offer you quite a bit in return. I know you always wanted children of your own. Being a grandmother is even more fun! No need to train the kid. That’s Mom’s job. As a grandmother, you can just enjoy your time with him! And maybe that will inspire Rhonda to spend more time with you.

  That’s it for now.

  You were always so very dear to me, Lisa. Be good to yourself.

  I’ll love you always.

  Hugs and kisses,

  Meg

  I stared at the letter for a moment, taking it in. Then I folded it and gave it back to my aunt. “She wants you to be a grandmother to Cody.”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Is that something you want?”

  “Yes! But I figured I needed to ask your permission first.”

  “Lisa, you don’t need my consent.”

  She paused. “You haven’t visited much recently, so I wasn’t sure —” She stopped there.

  Lisa and I didn’t have the kind of strained relationship my brother and I had. Still, my mother was right. I hadn’t visited my aunt nearly as much as I should have.

  “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around much,” I said. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I haven’t gotten out more. But I do know it wasn’t anything to do with you. Cody and I drive into town every Saturday to shop. Can we pop in on you then?”

  “I’d love that.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. It occurred to me that Lisa might be as lonely as I was. Why hadn’t I visited her more?

  “Cody buses into town for school,” I said. “On some Fridays he can walk here after school and stay overnight. I can pick him up the next day.”

  “That would be great! We can watch zombie movies together.”

  I laughed. “I didn’t know that was your thing.”

  Lisa winked. “I suspect there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Tea?”

  “Please.”

  Lisa poured us both a cup and then blew over her tea before taking a sip. “How did things go with your brother?” she asked.

  I sighed. “Not so good. Doug and I just started arguing about the same old things.”

  “You are going to see him again, though, right?”

  “Not anytime soon,” I said. “I’m not sure what I’d say.”

  We were both silent for a moment, listening to Cody play his guitar.

  I put down my cup. “You know, I just don’t get Mom,” I said. “She could have given Cody that guitar before she died. Instead she made a production out of giving it to you. And she sends me the yo-yo to give to Doug. If she really wanted Doug and me to mend things, why didn’t she just say something before she died?”

  “She did, remember? Before she got sick she asked you to sort out things with your brother. You got angry at her, told her to stop meddling in your affairs.” My aunt paused. “I think you’re angry with her now.”

  “No, I’m not!” I said. Then I thought about it. “Okay, yes, I am angry.” I picked up the letter Mom had sent Lisa and waved it. “She’s manipulating me, pulling my strings, even from the grave.”

  “How so?”

  I paused as I came up with a way to explain. “When I was a kid Mom tried to get me to audition for school plays even though she knew I was terrified of being onstage. I’m mad because she’s doing that again here.”

  “Because she’s pushing you to heal old hurts between you and Doug, you mean? Are you sure that’s why you’re angry at her?”

  “Why else would I be mad?”

  “Maybe because she got sick and you had to take care of her.”

  “That’s not it at all,” I said. “It was my job to take care of her. I was her daughter.”

  “And yet you’re mad at Doug because he didn’t help.”

  “I had to juggle work, being a mom to Cody and taking care of Mom. I was exhausted. Doug is a single guy. He didn’t help at all.”

  “That may be true. But are you mad at Doug for not helping or at your Mom for getting sick and leaving you?”

  “You can’t get mad at someone for getting sick and dying.”

  “Can’t you?”

  I took sip of tea as I thought about that. “If I’m mad at Mom at all, it’s because she told Susan everything about me.”

  “Susan?”

  “The postal clerk at my post office.”

  Lisa lifted her chin. “Oh, right, Susan.”

  “You’ve met her? You don’t use that post office.”

  “I was in there a few times with your mother. Meg and Susan were great friends.”

  “A little too friendly, I think.”

  “You can hardly fault your mother for that.”

  “I can when she tells everyone about my life.”

  “Oh, Rhonda. Meg didn’t tell everyone about your life, only people she trusted. In many ways, she was as shy and private as you.”

  “She wore a wedding dress to my graduation ceremony!”

  “At least she dyed it purple first.” Lisa laughed, and I found myself chuckling with her.

  “Mom always had to be the center of attention,” I said. “I would hardly call that shy.”

  “Being onstage was her way of getting over her shyness. Did you know she didn’t talk until she was four? It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk. She was simply too shy to open her mouth. I did the talking for her.”

  “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “It’s true! Then in fifth grade she had a teacher who urged her to take a part in the school Christmas play. It was just a small acting role, but she had to recite a few lines. She didn’t want to. More to the point, she was scared just like you were. But she did it. And something changed for her. After that she pushed herself to do things she was afraid of. She took on bigger and bigger parts in the school plays, until she ended up in lead roles.”

  Lisa took my hand. “But she never stopped being afraid. That shy little girl who was too frightened to talk was always a part of her. She simply learned to face her fears.” She squeezed my hand. “That’s what she was trying to do for you when she made you deliver that yo-yo to Doug. She was helping you get over your fears so you would go see your brother. Go see him again.”

  I pulled my hand from hers. “I just can’t,” I said. “There’s too much hurt there.”

  “If you can’t talk to Doug about what’s bugging you without getting mad, maybe you and Doug can just spend time together. The three of you could take Cody to the go-kart track like you used to.”

  I sat back and crossed my arms. I didn’t like anyone telling me what to do, not even Lisa.

  Lisa studied me for a moment and then topped up my tea. “Maybe you can’t heal things for yourself,” she said as she poured. “But you’re a good mom. I know you can do it for Cody.”

  She put down the teapot and nodded at my son. Cody was still playing his guitar on the other side of the glass doors. If I let him, he’d play that thing all night.

  “His dad isn’t in the picture like he used to be,” Lisa said. “Cody may need a grandma, but I think he needs an uncle more.”

  EIGHT

  CODY STAYED WITH Lisa that night to watch a zombie movie with her. I went home alone. The house seemed so empty. I watched a dumb space movie on TV and still felt lonely. And when I heard a knock on the door, I was startled.

  I clicked off the TV and opened the front door just a crack to find my brother standing on the doorstep. He held a box and was dressed in a light jacket and jeans. That night I was the one in pajamas, flannel ones with kitty paw prints. And I wore the happy-face slippers
my mother had given me. I knew I looked ridiculous. I opened the door all the way anyway.

  “Hey,” Doug said.

  I crossed my arms. “Cody isn’t here. He’s staying at Lisa’s tonight.”

  “I’m here to see you, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “This came in the mail today.” He offered me the box and I took it. It had a bit of weight to it.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “No return address?”

  Doug nodded. “Mom included a note with it. She told me to give the box to you.” He hesitated. “Well, I’ll leave you to open it.” He turned and started to walk toward his truck.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He turned back. I pointed a thumb back at the house. “Come in for a soda?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I’d like you here while I open this.” I held up the box. “I know Mom would have wanted you here.”

  “You’re right. She did.” My brother stepped inside.

  I placed the box on the kitchen table and opened it. Inside there was yet another box. It was covered in red velvet, and when I opened it a ballerina popped up. The tiny doll twirled around as music started playing. My dad had given me this jewelry box on my twelfth birthday, just before he passed away.

  “I didn’t know Mom still had this,” I said.

  “It looks like she kept a lot of our things after we moved out.”

  I looked up at my brother. “Did Mom say anything about this in the letter?”

  “Read it for yourself.” My brother handed me the single page of writing paper.

  Oh, my darling boy!

  I hope you don’t mind that I still think of you as my boy. It startles me sometimes to see you all grown up. But, of course, you’ve been a man for many years now. And what a fine man you are. I hope you know that.

  By now Rhonda has brought you that old green yo-yo. When you were ten, you never went anywhere without it! Then it was a trophy you kept on your bookshelf. Later it sat forgotten on your windowsill until you moved out. But I kept it as a reminder of those hours I watched you do yo-yo tricks on the porch.

  Even if Rhonda won’t let you teach her those tricks now, show Cody a few, will you? I know he’d love that.

  In this package you’ll find your sister’s music box. You already know what I’m about to ask. Please deliver it to her in person. I’m fairly sure the yo-yo wasn’t enough to do the trick, but maybe this music box will get you two talking? I hope so. If not, please keep trying. Eventually you’ll settle your differences. Rhonda is stubborn, but she will come around.

  I love you, son, and I always will.

  Hugs and kisses,

  Mom

  The tinkling song on the music box wound down as I finished reading. I looked up at my brother. “Am I really that stubborn?” I asked.

  Doug took the letter from me. “Sometimes.” He thought about it. “Maybe stubborn isn’t the right word.You have trouble changing gears, getting over things.”

  “You’re no different. You dig your heels in too.”

  “I know.” He pocketed the letter. “Mom really wanted us to work things out, didn’t she?”

  I laughed a little. “She sure did.”

  “Then I guess it’s time we did.” He pulled out a chair and sat at the table.

  I hesitated a moment and then got us each a can of soda from the fridge. After I joined him we sat at the table for several minutes, not knowing what to say. To fill the silence, I wound up the music box. The ballerina twirled again.

  “I used to dance to this music in my room,” I said. “In my mind, I was this tiny ballerina.”

  “You always stopped dancing when I came into the room.”

  I closed the lid on the ballerina and the music ended. “I guess I was shy,” I said. “Nothing like Mom.”

  “When you were really little, you weren’t shy at all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Mom dropped you off at preschool before she took me to school. Sometimes I was there when you did show and tell. You most often got up and danced.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did! You wore your ballerina outfit, your pink tutu, every day. Mom couldn’t get you to wear anything else. You wanted to be a dancer when you grew up.”

  Like most little girls, I imagined. “Mom must have liked that,” I said. “She always wanted to see me onstage. Instead I turned out to be a bookkeeper.”

  “Mom was proud of you.”

  I shook my head. “When I started out in this business, she asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep books. She said bookkeeping was boring.”

  “No. I remember that conversation. Mom said she was worried that you would find bookkeeping boring. You were an active kid, always moving. She thought you needed a job where you were up and about.”

  “Really? I’ve been mad at Mom all these years over that. I thought she didn’t accept my job choice.”

  Doug shrugged. “She only wanted you to be happy in your work. When she saw that you were, she was happy too.”

  I stretched my legs. “She was right when she said I needed to move. I can’t sit for long. I go on several walks a day.”

  “Have you thought of taking yoga classes? I noticed there’s a yoga studio right behind your post office. I just got back into weights myself because the gym is a good place to meet friends.” He grinned. “Or find a date.”

  “I doubt I’ll find a date at a yoga class.” I said. “Likely all middle-aged women. But I’ll check it out anyway.”

  We sat in silence again.

  Finally, Doug said, “Look, do you even remember why you were mad at me?”

  I stared at him like he should know.

  “I understand I should have helped out more when Mom was sick. I just couldn’t stand to see her like that, you know?”

  I nodded. I had watched my mother waste away.

  “Does that make me a coward?” Doug asked.

  “I had to be there for her.”

  “I guess I should have been too.”

  “Yeah, you should have,” I said.

  Doug held up the letter. “Mom wasn’t mad at me. Why are you?”

  I glanced at him and away.

  “Or are you mad because I was still friends with Glen after you guys divorced?”

  “Look, I get it,” I said. “Glen was your friend for a long time. Before he and I met.”

  “Since we were teens.”

  “But I’m your sister.”

  “You thought I had to choose between you.”

  “You did choose. After our divorce, you spent time with Glen but not with me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He sat back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Maybe I did pull away from you after your divorce.”

  “From both me and Cody.”

  “But Rhonda, you did too.”

  I took a deep breath to control my anger and then nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

  Doug leaned forward again, clasping his hands together on the table. “The truth is, I was uncomfortable,” he said. “I felt caught between you and Glen. You were both so angry at each other. If I visited you, you said stuff about Glen. If I visited Glen, he said stuff about you. I stopped hanging out with both of you.”

  “You did? I mean, I thought you and Glen were still friends.”

  “He comes over now and again, but I rarely see him.”

  I sat back in my chair. “Then why didn’t you visit us? Cody misses you.”

  “I miss him too. I miss being around family, you know? I even miss Mom’s horrible Sunday dinners.”

  I put a hand to my mouth. “Oh god, she overcooked everything.”

  “Her pot roast was so dry!”

  “And her peas!”

  “Mush!”

  “Like eating pablum,” I said. “Green baby food.”

  We both laughed.

  “Bu
t at least I got to see you all every week. Now —” He turned his can of soda. “I don’t have many friends either, you know.”

  I thought of the single chair in his living room, stuck in front of the ridiculously large television. I’m sure he didn’t have a girlfriend either. If he did, he’d own a couch. My brother was as lonely as I was, maybe lonelier. At least I had Cody.

  “Let’s have one of those horrible family dinners on Sunday,” I said. “Right here. I’ll invite Lisa over.”

  “As long as you don’t let her near the oven. She overcooks everything just like Mom did.”

  I laughed again. “I’ll do the cooking,” I said.

  He nodded. “Then I’ll bring dessert.”

  “I don’t suppose you have your yo-yo with you this evening?”

  My brother grinned. “No.”

  “Maybe you could bring it over to our house on Sunday. After dinner you could show Cody and me a few tricks. Deal?”

  He nodded. “Deal. So, are we good?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But we’ll get there.”

  NINE

  ON SUNDAY, IN honor of Mom, I cooked a pot roast with potatoes and green peas. But I didn’t overcook them like Mom always did. Cody and Doug sat on one side of the table, talking about guitars and cars. Lisa and I on sat on the other side, chatting about our clients. The conversation rolled around to the packages Mom had sent the past week.

  “I’m still wondering about Mom’s timing,” I said. “Why did she send those packages now? Why a year after her death? Why didn’t she have them delivered right after the funeral?”

  “Or before,” Doug said. “She could have just handed her gifts to us. Talked to us in person.”

  Lisa helped herself to more roast. “I expect she knew you needed time to heal,” she said. She glanced at my brother and then me. “Both of you were very emotional in Meg’s final weeks. You directed your grief at each other. Remember that fight you two had in the kitchen at the funeral reception?”