and put his backpack in the front hall closet.
I groaned. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“My sister is dropping off my nephew. He’s staying with us for the weekend.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, in a way that indicated she’d never met Frank Shrapnel. “How old is he?”
“He’s ten,” I said. “It’s just—” But it was too late to explain because now Frank was clomping up the stairs. His timing had always been bad, but today was the absolute worst.
“Frank, come back here!” Carly called after him, and then just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, I heard her footsteps clattering behind his.
The door flew open revealing Frank, his shaggy hair all askew, his eyes bright with excitement, “Hey, Russ, guess what?” And then he saw Mallory and he transitioned from overeager-Frank to shy-Frank. “Hi,” he said.
She waved back “Hello there.”
Carly’s face popped through the doorframe. “I tried to stop him, Russ! Really I did. Oh, hello…” She spotted Mallory perched on my bed, and you could read the shock on her face. Nobody expects much from old Russ, that’s for sure. An instant later, a smug smile formed on her lips, like she totally had something on me. “What have we here?” she asked. I could have killed her for acting like this was a big deal.
“Mallory, this is my sister Carly and my nephew Frank,” I said, gesturing.
Mallory got up and crossed the room to where Carly stood, and politely extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mallory Nassif, a friend of Russ’s,” she said. “I brought his homework over for him.”
Carly shook her hand and looked over at me. “You were home sick today?”
“You would have known that if you’d read Mom’s note on the kitchen table.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She ran her fingers through her hair and checked out the room, as if maybe there was more to see. Carly was nearly grown when I was born, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at her. She was thirty but appeared much younger, and since she kept up with the kind of music, games, movies, and clothes that were current, she felt like we were peers, but we weren’t, and even though I knew she wanted us to be friends, it was never going to happen.
It wasn’t always like that. When I was little, she used to take me to the park and out for ice cream. She read books to me and we played hide-and-seek. I loved Carly then. But one day, when I was four, she just took off and we didn’t see or hear from her for over a year. My mother told me that every day for weeks I’d sit on our front stoop waiting for her to return. My memories are fuzzy, but I remember looking down the street wishing she’d come back to me. By the time she did, more than twelve months later and pregnant with Frank, I didn’t trust her anymore.
So much about Carly was unstable. After barely graduating from high school, she’d had one loser job after another. Cell phones were another matter. She was always losing them or changing her phone number. Men came and went in her life. The identity of Frank’s father was this big mystery. Carly never named him. My guess was that Frank was the product of a drunken one-night stand and she didn’t catch the guy’s name.
Carly had a busy social life and men loved her. I’m not sure why. One after another, it was like they had lined up, waiting for their turn. Her pattern was that she’d begin dating a guy, and we’d hear her talk about him nonstop. She’d say that this one was different; he was more caring, more enlightened, more responsible, blah, blah, blah. She’d start bringing him around and we’d be subjected to him at Thanksgiving and family birthdays. Just when I got used to a guy, she’d dump him. Any number of them would have married her, but she wasn’t going for it. My mom thought she was searching for something and not finding it. My dad said he was glad she was supporting herself and not living
I groaned. “Oh no.”
“What is it?”
“My sister is dropping off my nephew. He’s staying with us for the weekend.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said, in a way that indicated she’d never met Frank Shrapnel. “How old is he?”
“He’s ten,” I said. “It’s just—” But it was too late to explain because now Frank was clomping up the stairs. His timing had always been bad, but today was the absolute worst.
“Frank, come back here!” Carly called after him, and then just when I didn’t think it could get any worse, I heard her footsteps clattering behind his.
The door flew open revealing Frank, his shaggy hair all askew, his eyes bright with excitement, “Hey, Russ, guess what?” And then he saw Mallory and he transitioned from overeager-Frank to shy-Frank. “Hi,” he said.
She waved back “Hello there.”
Carly’s face popped through the doorframe. “I tried to stop him, Russ! Really I did. Oh, hello…” She spotted Mallory perched on my bed, and you could read the shock on her face. Nobody expects much from old Russ, that’s for sure. An instant later, a smug smile formed on her lips, like she totally had something on me. “What have we here?” she asked. I could have killed her for acting like this was a big deal.
“Mallory, this is my sister Carly and my nephew Frank,” I said, gesturing.
Mallory got up and crossed the room to where Carly stood, and politely extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mallory Nassif, a friend of Russ’s,” she said. “I brought his homework over for him.”
Carly shook her hand and looked over at me. “You were home sick today?”
“You would have known that if you’d read Mom’s note on the kitchen table.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She ran her fingers through her hair and checked out the room, as if maybe there was more to see. Carly was nearly grown when I was born, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at her. She was thirty but appeared much younger, and since she kept up with the kind of music, games, movies, and clothes that were current, she felt like we were peers, but we weren’t, and even though I knew she wanted us to be friends, it was never going to happen.
It wasn’t always like that. When I was little, she used to take me to the park and out for ice cream. She read books to me and we played hide-and-seek. I loved Carly then. But one day, when I was four, she just took off and we didn’t see or hear from her for over a year. My mother told me that every day for weeks I’d sit on our front stoop waiting for her to return. My memories are fuzzy, but I remember looking down the street wishing she’d come back to me. By the time she did, more than twelve months later and pregnant with Frank, I didn’t trust her anymore.
So much about Carly was unstable. After barely graduating from high school, she’d had one loser job after another. Cell phones were another matter. She was always losing them or changing her phone number. Men came and went in her life. The identity of Frank’s father was this big mystery. Carly never named him. My guess was that Frank was the product of a drunken one-night stand and she didn’t catch the guy’s name.
Carly had a busy social life and men loved her. I’m not sure why. One after another, it was like they had lined up, waiting for their turn. Her pattern was that she’d begin dating a guy, and we’d hear her talk about him nonstop. She’d say that this one was different; he was more caring, more enlightened, more responsible, blah, blah, blah. She’d start bringing him around and we’d be subjected to him at Thanksgiving and family birthdays. Just when I got used to a guy, she’d dump him. Any number of them would have married her, but she wasn’t going for it. My mom thought she was searching for something and not finding it. My dad said he was glad she was supporting herself and not living
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