Dry by Christopher W. Hall

I’m parked on her street in front of the house. Hesitating. It’s just my third day back. What will Francesca do? I might have waited even longer if it weren’t for the thought of her sister, Lisa, who always greeted me with a hug and a smile.

Ellyn, their mother, always liked me too, I remind myself. That tips the balance so I exit the car and walk slowly toward the porch. It has been two years. Looks like a big Saturday late-afternoon crowd as usual—family and friends. The driveway is packed.

I eschew the bell and knock. And knock once again. The door opens and it’s Lisa, her broad face breaking into a smile. She dips her head and waves me in.

 It’s well-heated and noisy. Ellyn is frowning at me from the couch where she’s engaged in conversation with their Uncle Steve. He looks up and raises both arms as if to say “touch- down!” Lisa grabs my arm and guides me over to the bar set up next to the TV where a college football game is playing with no sound.

“You’ll need something,” Lisa says knowingly. My hands are shaking as I pick up a fairly clean glass and pour a generous amount of cognac into it. I take a sip and turn to her.

“I got your text yesterday and what a surprise! Are you back, Cal? Did you give up on the city? Or are you just visiting your parents?” she demands.

I spot some gray streaks in her hair as she swipes a strand away from her brow.

“Here goes,” I say, and take a breath. “I’m back. As in moving. Not officially yet, but I’ve given notice at the apartment.”

“Did you call her also, or text?” Lisa asks, but before I can respond Ellyn joins us.

“What about the job?” Ellyn demands. Her voice is loud and grating, her face more deeply lined than I remembered.

“One weeks’ notice, but I had two years vacation saved up. I have an interview with the school district on Monday. Figure I might as well use my degree.”

“I see,” Ellyn says, shaking her head. No longer on my side, I think. “Where were you in the city?”

 “I lived downtown,” I reply, as if she didn’t know. She had stopped by unannounced the second month I lived there. My parents had given her my address. She talked and talked about Francesca and Francesca’s loser boyfriend Lars. About how I left so suddenly and Francesca’s grief. “You know I worked for a brokerage,” I continue.

“Humph,” Ellyn responds and returns to the couch.

Lisa leans in, exposing much of her breasts as her paisley blouse falls away. “In the kitchen,” she says, and winks.

I put the glass back on the bar and edge past Lisa. As I start down the short corridor to the kitchen, Steve shouts, “Watch out for Lars!”

Lars is here. Where else? I stop just inside the kitchen and he’s sitting at the small 1960s-style Formica table peeling the label off a green beer bottle. Francesca is at the sink rinsing dishes. There’s a stack of them just to the right of the sink. Her dark, glossy hair is shorter. She is wearing a blue dress that nearly goes to the floor. She is barefoot. Her arms are bare also and slightly damp and I stare and stare. Lars makes a sound—sort of a grunt, and when Francesca turns away from the dishes, her brown eyes lock onto mine for three seconds. She spins back to the sink and grips it with two hands. I glance at Lars. His chair is tipped back and his wedge-like face is aimed forlornly at the ceiling.

Lisa has crept up behind me. “Lars, can you help me with something?” she asks.

Lars thunks his chair forward and heaves his bulky frame out of the seat. He limps toward Lisa passing between Francesca and me. She has turned the hot water on full blast and steam rises from the sink.

“Yeah, what is it?” Lars asks Lisa as they head back to the living room.

 Francesca shuts the water off. “Grab a clean dish towel,” she states.

 I walk three steps to my left, open the cupboard, and grab my favorite towel.

We stand side-by-side as she raises clean dishes out of the sink and hands them to me. Back in the living room, the TV is suddenly on loud and Lisa is shouting. Now Lars is shouting. My stomach is churning. Francesca reaches out and yanks open the window by the sink a few inches.

Lars is saying something like, “Now, I’m out?” She passes me a glass. Our hands touch and my stomach flips.

Steve says, “I think you’d better…” and there’s a crash.

Lars shouts, “So it’s goodbye Lars?” Now I get a plate. Thundering footsteps and the front door crashes open and slams shut. The TV goes louder. Someone has scored. She hands me a large, blue bowl. She’s wearing a cheap, metal ring. I hear a rustling and turn and Lisa is there in the doorway watching us. I dry the bowl and get another. Ellyn has joined Lisa and they move to the table. Francesca keeps handing me dishes and I’m drying them as fast as I can.

Christopher W. Hall

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay – piles of clean white crockery on a worktop