Poppy Done to Death

"How long is the boy staying?" my mother asked. Her voice was a little stiff. She had always had a hard time with the existence of another child of my father's, but I hoped she would get over it right now.

"I think at least for this week. He's out for Thanksgiving break now. I got the impression that things are going pretty badly between Dad and Betty Jo." No point in spelling out my father's peccadilloes. As far as my mother was concerned, it was an old story. "Phillip got caught up in the middle of that. He made his way over here, and I hope he can stay for a while. He's so big now, Mother, you wouldn't recognize him."

"Just like Phil, messing up a second chance to get it right," my mother said.

This was such a vulnerable way to put it, and her voice was so unhappy, it was hard for me to believe I was listening to the same stiff-backed woman who had created her own fortune after my dad had left her. The shock of Poppy's death had cracked Mother wide open.

"Have Poppy's parents come in yet?"

"No, they'll be here in about an hour, I think. Then poor John will have to go through another emotional scene."

"Why?"

"Well, he feels obligated."

"No, Mother. John David is obligated, not his dad. You make John go to bed, tell him John David and Avery can handle the Wy

That would make my life even even more confusing, but I wanted to help my mother any way I could.

"I'll give you a call back on that. But you're right," she said resolutely. "John needs to rest more than he needs to worry. Avery and Melinda are perfectly capable of handling whatever comes up. And poor John, he keeps thinking that he and John David are so alike because John lost his first wife and now John David's lost his ... but the situation is totally different. Tell me, where was John David when you tracked him down?"

"Ah, he was visiting a friend." I closed my eyes at my own stupidity. That had sounded pretty lame.

"Visiting a friend, in the afternoon of a workday." My mother's eyebrows were probably arched clear up to her hairline. "I'll be willing to bet the friend is pretty and female and wasn't wearing work clothes when she opened the door."

I winced. "Well..."

"You don't need to say anything else," Mother said. "And Poppy, bless her heart, was just as bad. People these days are just like rabbits. Everything's sex. No duty, no loyalty. By the way, where's Robin?"

I didn't like her thought association there, and she was not the first person who'd asked me today where Robin was. We weren't engaged and we weren't talking about marriage. We weren't a locked-in official couple.

"He's in Houston. He'll be back day after tomorrow," I said, sounding just as stiff as my mother.

"Do you think he and Phillip will get along?"

"Mother, you have enough to worry about right now. I believe I can handle Phillip and Robin."

"You're right. Well, let me go. I have to convince John he's not responsible for the whole social process surrounding Poppy's death, and I have to remind John David that he is."

"Good luck, Mother. I'll be there when I can. Remember, if the Wy

"Thanks, baby. I'll talk to you soon."

Because I couldn't seem to sit still, I went to the third bedroom and made the bed, just in case. If the Wy

I just didn't know.

I yawned, a big jaw-cracking yawn. I'd run out of steam.

Phillip shambled into the living room and plopped down on the couch opposite my chair. He was looking much better, and he was smiling.

"Thanks for the clothes and stuff," he said. "It was neat to find the bags in the room when I woke up."

I was glad I'd passed a rack of those drawstring fla

"I was glad to do it."

"Listen, what's happening about your sister-in-law?" he asked.

I told him what the situation was, and he was openmouthed at the awfulness of the adult world. Moments like this reminded me how young my brother really was.

"I'll bet you're hungry," I said.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, yes. Just point me at the kitchen. I can fix stuff myself."

"Has your mom been working these past few years?" I felt guilty for not knowing this basic fact about Phillip's life.

"Yeah, ever since we moved to Pomona, she's worked at an insurance company as a clerk."

"I talked to her."

He froze in the act of turning on the oven. He'd already found the box of Bagel Bites in the freezer compartment. "Um, how is she?" There were so many layers to his voice—guilt, anger, grief—it was hard to pick the dominant emotion.

"Glad you're okay. Relieved she knows where you are. Not too happy that you're with me."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"You don't have to apologize. She wants you to be safe and happy more than anything."

"Then why can't they act like it?" he said furiously. "Why can't they act like parents, instead of switching partners like they were kids?"

This was a complex bunch of ideas. I was begi

"People don't always do what I wish they would, either," I said. In fact, people stubbornly lived their lives as they wanted, without regard to me, to an amazing degree. I suppressed this observation, as I expected it wouldn't find favor with Phillip.

We talked for over an hour while Phillip ate (and ate, and ate). I told him about the possible arrival of Poppy's parents and introduced him to Madeleine, who came in while he was wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Is that a cat?" he asked, regarding Madeleine with startled eyes.

"Sure," I said, trying not to sound offended. "She's really old, I know... ."

"She's really fat."

"Well, that, too. She doesn't get as much exercise as she used to, now that we live in town."

"She probably can't walk more than five feet," Phillip said scornfully.

"I guess she is a little dumpy," I said, wondering how long it had been since I'd actually looked at Madeleine and really evaluated her. "You know, she must be—let's see, when my friend Jane died and left me Madeleine, she was at least six years old. That was at least seven years ago. Wow, Madeleine, you are really old." I tended to forget between vet appointments.

"Almost as old as I am," my brother said.

That was a startling thought. I wondered if any of Madeleine's kittens were still alive. I scrabbled around in my memory for the names of the kind people who'd adopted them. That led to another thought, one I should have mentioned earlier.

"Oh, your mom said it was okay for you to stay this week," I told him.

Phillip hadn't asked, but he'd been anxious; I could see his shoulders relax. I scolded myself for not having told him sooner. A deep sigh left him, as if the weight of the world had squeezed the air out of his lungs.

"I'll clean up the kitchen this time," I told my brother, "but from now on, when you use it, you wash it. That's the rule."

"Thanks," he said. "I clean up at home, honest. Sometimes I vacuum and stuff, when it's on my list."

I'd done the few dishes, wiped down the kitchen surfaces, and straightened up the living room a little, when Phillip, who'd been wandering around, said, "He doesn't really look that different." He was looking at a newspaper article about Robin's latest book. I'd clipped it to give Robin when he returned.