Page 8 of The River in Spring
“Sunset. But both can be beautiful with the right person.”
“Songs thatgetme.”
He thinks for a moment. “People thatgetme. This is fun.”
“Clean fresh sheets.”
“God, yes.”
“Here’s a good one,” I say, leaning in. “Change.”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Stability. The familiar.”
We pause to soak in the revealing information about the other. I look around us at the colorful landscape.
“Flowers of all kind.”
He pauses for effect. “Sycamore trees.”
“Sycamore trees,” I say in agreement.
“Let’s have a toast,” he proposes, raising a glass of lemonade.
“What shall we drink to?”
“How about weak tree branches?” A gorgeous smile accompanies the words. Talk about feeling weak. That would be my knees.
The clinking of crystal seals our agreement. Sometimes the oddest detail in a day is the signpost on a new path.
3
Nobel
“I would have given my left nut to see that!” Aargon says between forkfuls of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.
“Falling out of the tree wasn’t part of the plan, but I don’t regret it.”
My father gives me a thumbs up. A big blue-sky afternoon has the birds singing, in our parents’ backyard patio. A hummingbird dive bombs my head then flies off to the feeder. It’s a good place for the family to enjoy my brother’s forty-sixth birthday. The menagerie of dogs running around the giant Oak reminds me of past celebrations and other dogs loved.
Somehow we lucked out with pets. The Lyons won the even-tempered dog lotto. Even though when they are together, the dog cousins’ energies change. Like kids do whenever they gather. It’s a squad. They become their wild thing.
If it was just Scarlett’s dog, that would be another story. Boo and Maudie are buds, and both have quieter dispositions. The Beagle/Whippet plays well with the Hound. But in this instance, leaving my dog at home was the right decision. Quiet time is more important than attending a dog rave.
We sit around the long wooden table, where we have gathered a thousand times before. Feeding our faces and making each other laugh are favorite pastimes of the Lyons. But for the last two years memories of our collective heartache always take their place beside us. Fresh wounds still bleed on a regular basis. Maybe someday far into the future it will be easier to bear Kristen’s death. I hope so.
For now, we try to be strong for each other. That’s the secret of surviving tragedy, I think. We have had to pretend for Sam’s sake most of all. Part of the pretense involves some sense of normalcy.
We didn’t drop the ball this year. Aargon’s cake is a masterpiece. The Lyon kids’ tradition started when Aargon and I decided to make a cake for Van’s tenth birthday. That first one was epic. The best part was my mother was all for it. She actually thanked us for helping. Until she saw it that is.
Unveiling it at his party was an important part of the joke. The little shit was always pissing us off and getting away with it, so we decided to send him a message. We baked a lopsided cake and wrote across it,Happy Birthday! You Are Ten and Have A Small Penis.He went crazy and cried. But in a twist, he proved us wrong a few years later during a pissing contest.His old friends still bring it up every so often.
Besides getting punished for our creative outlet, it started a lifelong game where we try to up the last birthday cake. All the siblings confer and then decide on the perfect message. It has kind of morphed to include things my parents said to us as kids. The funny stuff. Kristen was the best at coming up with old memories. But together we dig deep.
Today’s offering sits half-eaten, but the message is indelibly etched in our minds. When Van carried it out everyone busted up. It was something we heard my mother say one million times as we’d drive to school. And it was Aargon specific. At least at the beginning it was. He may have started it, but Van and I, Kristen and Scarlett picked up the ball and ran it into the ground. I can still see the frustration in my mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror.Whoever is singing the theme from Jaws is going to get slapped!
Remnants of lunch and unwrapped presents crowd the table. Alongside Aargon’s plate, blue tissue paper, held down by a glass of champagne, bleeds onto a napkin. Being able to revisit your childhood home is something us kids love. Referring to yourself and your middle-aged siblings as kids is stretching believability. I have a feeling we will be “the kids” forever. None of us want our parents to ever move from here, and we’ve told them as much. We have even vowed revolt should they get the urge to sell and travel the world. Van promised to tie them to the Oak like he used to do for fun when he was six. Think he was only half-kidding.
Aargon looks pleased with himself. It’s pretty rare to see him so chipper. His dry sense of humor is one of his best traits. I’ve never known an adult so glad to be having a birthday. Our mother did an excellent job of making us believe it was a special occasion for the world. I’m thinking it will be the same when he’s ninety. If he ever remarries, she better get onboard the birthday train.
