Page 6 of Gulfside Girls
Her mother, Joetta Kelly, died in a car wreck when Ali was in second grade. She tried hard to hold onto memories of her mother. But second grade was so very long ago.
Now, it was her father’s time. She was about to be a forty-nine-year-old orphan. What would stay with her of Bruce as Ali’s life moved forward? Pretty hair and perfume for mommy, gruff strength and motor oil for daddy?
Bruce was not going easy or quickly. But he had been quiet. The stoic nature of Bruce Kelly was intact. His only complaints were having to rely on others these last few months. He was as independent as a man got. But now, even that was washed away.
Ali hoped she was making the decisions he wanted. She committed to caring for him with as much dignity as she could when he couldn’t even manage the basics anymore.
“Hi, Dad, I’m here.” She brushed her hand gently on his cheek. He stirred. Even that must have hurt.
Ali checked the room. Darlene had it arranged the exact way she would have done it herself. There was a cold pitcher of water and a clean glass with a straw if Bruce needed it. But he hadn’t asked for water lately. For days, actually.
That was a sign, she knew.
The room was tidy. The covers on the hospital bed were neatly folded over Ali’s father. At one point, he’d been visibly uncomfortable, but now, he lay still in the bed. He breathed in and out but slowly. Darlene had told her to listen for a rattle.
She leaned down to listen to her dad. No rattle.
Ali looked around. There was no laundry in the hamper. Darlene had taken that to the laundry room in the basement. There wasn’t even anything to dust.
Ali could sit by the bedside, go to the bedroom down the hall and sleep, or sit in her dad’s TV room and watch something.
But she was restless. Reeling. A jumble of images and scenarios played in her mind. What was her priority right now? The implosion of her marriage? The final details of the home and garden show at work? Protecting her nearly adult kids from the knowledge of the implosion of her marriage? Or was it none of the above?
Her father’s needs were met, for now. What was the productive and useful thing to do after what she’d been through today?
Ali found herself wandering around the house. She and Faye, her middle sister, had convinced Dad to get rid of the shag carpet and the orange countertops, small updates. But not enough. Shewondered what a future buyer would think of this place—Bruce Kelly’s well-maintained time capsule.
It was a three-bedroom ranch house south of Kenwood, on Densmore. Ali lived on a double lot at Barrington and Christie. Her dad’s place didn’t have the grandeur of some of the homes near her. It was perfect, though, for her working-class dad, her union-strong dad.
They didn’t make them like her dad anymore, she knew. That was good and bad, she also knew.
He’d raised three little girls with no feminine side of his own to tap into. He barely tolerated their Caboodles of Bonnie Bell and clouds of White Rain. She’d spent her life tiptoeing around his temper.
This house had all those memories. She looked at the framed pictures on the china hutch that sat in the dining room. Senior pictures of Faye, Blair, and her. A picture of her Grandma and Grandpa Kelly, and of course, Bruce with his beloved Starcraft fishing boat.
He’d given the boat up a few years ago. He’d loved putting it in at Devil’s Lake in the Irish Hills. Alas, he never pulled the trigger to buy a cottage there. Too bad, that would have been a nice family memory. Too late though, property in the Irish Hills was too expensive these days.
He worked. That’s what Bruce Kelly did. He worked. He paid for this house and fine-tuned it to proper working order. Over and over.
And now what? Would she move back in here so Professor Can’t Keep It In His Pants could live happily ever after with—what’s her name? Oh, yeah, Star.
She wandered around the house three times and realized she needed her sisters. Darlene had said her dad did, too, and that this could be it.
There was no way Blair could get there tonight, but Faye could. Ali would worry about how to handle the disaster that was her marriage after she’d handled whatever came next with Bruce Kelly.
She texted Faye.
Hey, Dad’s okay right now, but we’re on death rattle watch. Darlene’s assessment.
Got it, packing a bag. One hour?
I think.
Faye lived in Sylvania, close by, but not as close as Ali did.
An hour.
Ali continued wandering around, until suddenly, from down the hall, she heard her father’s voice. Ali rushed back to his bedside. He was mumbling. His head moved from side to side. She also heard the rattle. The end was close, as Darlene predicted.
