A Family Affair(88)

“She should do better than that,” Jake said, frowning.

“I could just as easily go to San Jose and see her. She’s not the only one in this relationship.”

“I don’t think she realizes how much you need her,” he said.

“Well, we’re not close. We’re family. We’d never be friends if we weren’t family. We’re nothing alike.”

“Lots of siblings say that about each other. I’m not close to Marty. If he weren’t in constant need of money, I’d never hear from him.”

The two of them did have that in common, Adele thought, but for very different reasons. Marty, short for Martin, was Jake’s younger brother. He’d been twice married, had three kids from those two wives, presently had a girlfriend he was living with, and was not doing very well at supporting his extended family.

For Adele and Justine, the twenty-year age difference was just the beginning. They had never really lived in the same house. Justine was in college when Adele was born. Elaine had been in her forties when surprised by a second pregnancy. Then, probably because of her age and experience, Elaine made Adele the center of her universe in a way Justine had never been. Adele had been dreadfully spoiled, her parents doting on her every moment.

It wasn’t as though Justine had been pushed to one side, but she certainly didn’t get as much attention. Many times Justine had told Adele the story of her asking their mother to make her wedding gown, Elaine having been a gifted seamstress. But, according to Justine, Elaine had said, “How could I find the time? I have a small child!” When Justine pointed out that the small child was now in school, Elaine had said, “But I have myself and Adele to get ready for the wedding!” So how could she find time to make a complicated gown for the bride?

It had ever been thus as far as Justine could see. Adele was the chosen one and Justine was expected to understand, step aside and worship her darling baby sister. Justine’s great accomplishments, and there were many, were taken in stride while Adele’s merest babble was praised to the skies. Justine used to claim, “If Adele put a turd in the punch bowl, Mother would say, ‘Look what Addie made! Isn’t she brilliant?’”

As Adele remembered too well, her parents didn’t exactly respond that way when she came home from college pregnant, refusing to name the father. Her own father reacted like he’d been shot in the gut, and her mother cried and cried, wondering what miscreant had knocked up her pure and precious daughter.

When her baby boy had been born dead, Adele’s father pronounced that now she could start over while her mother had called it a blessing. It was only Justine who had offered true and genuine support. “Having children of my own, I can’t imagine what you must be going through. Anything I can do, Addie. Anything. Just tell me what you need.”

That was probably the closest Adele and Justine had ever been. It was brief, bittersweet but meaningful. There would always be at least that bond.

“I think tomorrow night we should go to a movie,” Jake said. “We haven’t done that in years.”

“Not years,” she argued. “Maybe almost one.”

“Let’s get out,” he said. “Not that I don’t like our dinners in, but how about a movie. I’ll sit and quietly eat popcorn while you ogle Bradley Cooper.”

“You know the first time you rescued me I was about four years old.”

“More like ten,” he corrected. “Headfirst into the pool and you sank like a rock.” Jake had been a lifeguard at the community pool. He was eight years her senior and like a big brother to her. After that incident he taught her to swim. Now she could swim like a competitor when she got the chance. They had almost a lifetime of history. Their families lived a block apart in an older residential section of Half Moon Bay, California. Mr. Bronski used to walk to his market every day, Mrs. Bronski often visited with Addie’s mother and they both volunteered at the schools. Beverly Bronski remained Elaine Descaro’s most frequent visitor until her death.

They’d remained close through so many monumental events. Thirteen years ago, Jake had married Mary Ellen Rathgate and within two years she’d left him for another man, breaking his heart. Ten years ago, Max Bronski died of a heart attack. Eight years ago, Addie’s father broke his back on the job and was disabled for the remainder of his life. He had barely left the bonds of earth when Addie’s mother suffered her severe stroke. Since neither was close to their siblings, Jake and Addie had only each other to lean on for a long time now.

They cleaned up the dishes together and even though Adele had a dishwasher, Jake washed and she dried. They talked about the neighborhood, the people they knew in common, their families. Adele said Justine worked all the time. Jake’s younger brother, Marty, didn’t have the same history with the market that Jake had and only worked there when he was between jobs. “I think it’s high time he grew up,” Jake said, not for the first time.

When Jake was leaving, he told her to plan on a seven o’clock movie the next night. Dinner might be popcorn, and if they were still hungry afterward, they could get a bite to eat. He put a big hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze and said, “It was nice to spend some time with you, Addie.”

“It was. Thank you, Jake. See you tomorrow.”

He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before leaving.