The Other P-Word(18)

"Actually, if you could run to the store and grab a carton of almond  milk, that would be great. I meant to go myself, but forgot."

Clearly, whatever conversation was going on between Rick and Marley  wasn't over. "Sure, I can do that." I slipped on my Chuck Taylors and  almost made it out of the door before I realized I didn't have a mode of  transportation. "Can I borrow your car, Marley?"

"It's in the shop," she said quickly.

Before I could question it, Rick threw his keys toward me. "Take mine."



* * * *



By the time I got back, the whole family was there. Marley did a great  job pretending that nothing was wrong, but she overacted in these  situations, mimicking a false sense of exuberance.

Rick on the other hand was quiet, almost stoic in a way. His eyes rested on her with a tangible heaviness.

"Who's signing tonight?" Damien asked.

"My turn," I said, standing up.

We all took turns signing to George. It got him used to communicating  with different people. Plus, it was good practice for us. The children  dominated the meal with their funny antics. Marley reveled in the  distraction, playing with our little brothers and nephew.

"Let's have dessert," Marley said, standing to clear the plates.

"Sit. I'll get it," Rick said, taking the dishes from her hand. Perhaps  the only thing he'd said without being asked a direct question.

We had chocolate coconut pudding made with almond milk so Mom could eat  it. I had to admit, Marley was becoming a really good cook. We all  complimented her. The boys, both the little and big ones, finished their  bowls quickly. The triplets and Bobby stared with agitation at the  colorful trunk in the corner, which doubled as a toy chest.

"Go ahead, boys," Marley said, opening the trunk.

We watched them for a while, all fascinated with their serious glee at  playing a golf game with plastic clubs, going so far as to create an  impressive make-believe fairway in Marley's living room. John, Paul and  Bobby all attempted to sign to George so he was part of the high action  adventure game they played, but in the end, their bond was so strong  that he seemed to understand what they were saying even when they forgot  to tell him.

"Let's dish," Stevie said.

"Sounds good," Marley agreed.

"You start," she countered.

Yeah, there it was. I wasn't the only one feeling the tension.

"I don't have anything to share."

"Sweetie, how was your appointment today?" Mom asked.

"Dish-everything went well," Marley said. "Someone else go now."

"Dish-we enrolled Bobby into Montessori," Adam said.

It went on from there, each of us telling a little piece of what was  going on in our lives. Mom had started the tradition when we were little  girls because she was tired of asking us what we did in school for us  to reply, ‘nothing'. Having such a health nut for a mom somehow made all  us sugar junkies, so when she threatened to withhold desserts, we  started spilling our guts.

Damien finished telling us about his new hotel in the Keys right on the  water. He suggested we all take a joint family vacation to that  destination when Marley and the baby could travel. No argument here.

Rick cleared his throat. "Dish."

We all focused our attention on him, especially Marley, who seemed to be conveying a silent plea to him.

"Marley was in a car accident today."

Stevie, Mom and I gasped. Then we shot questions at a rampant pace. I  don't think anyone noticed, but I sat next to her and saw her hand grip  Rick's in a way that was far too tight to be a sign of affection.

"What the hell happened, kid?" Dillon asked.

"Are you hurt?" Mom asked.

"How could you not have told us?" Stevie demanded.                       
       
           



       

Marley held up her hand to back them off. "Just relax, guys. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Stevie said. "I think it's a huge deal."

When Marley spoke it came out in a high-pitched, clipped pace. "First  off, I'm fine, and even more importantly, so is the baby. We went to the  hospital after and they put a monitor on me."

Our sighs of relief were collective, almost harmonious in a way.

"What happened exactly, honey?" Mom asked.

"We left the doctor's office. Rick met me there so he was following me  home. He was a few cars behind me on the expressway. This man-a teenager  really-came into my lane and clipped the front end of my car. It was  just a fender bender. I could have driven it home, but Rick didn't want  me to so we had it towed to the shop."

"Was he drunk?" Damien asked.

"Oh no, Damien, nothing like that. He was texting and not paying  attention. He actually got the worst of it because his car fell into the  ditch, which trapped him inside until the police came. Thankfully, they  got there very fast." She turned to Rick. "I think it was less than ten  minutes, don't you?"

"Felt more like ten hours," Rick replied, a grim tone to his voice.

"I couldn't imagine being trapped in my car," Dillon said with a shudder.

"It was the safest place he could be," Marley said.

"Why?"

"Because Rick would have killed him."

"Can't blame him for that," Damien added.

Marley jerked her thumb toward Rick, jabbing him in the chest, her  irritation clear. "It took two officers to hold this one back when they  got the kid out of his car. I thought I'd have to bail my husband out of  jail, but thankfully the police officers on the scene were able to calm  him down. I think the poor kid probably shit his pants."

"So long as he got the message," Adam said, his jaw set in a hard line. "Did he get the message, Rick?"

"Affirmative," Rick said.

Marley giggled, a strange high-pitched sound that wasn't natural to her.  "That's the story, guys. It's not a big deal and I didn't want to tell  you because I figured you'd have this reaction."

"That's not the whole thing," Rick said. He turned toward her, taking her hand in his. "You need to quit your job, sweetheart."

"This again? The accident wasn't my fault. Stop acting as if it is."

"You're stressed all the time and you're not sleeping well."

Mom, Stevie and Dillon all straightened in their chairs as if they had  choreographed the action. "What do you mean, she's not sleeping well?"  Mom asked.

"Nothing," Marley responded. "I'm going to get started on the dishes." She stood but he stopped her.

"I'll do them," Rick said, gently squeezing her shoulder. "You visit with your family, baby. Enjoy it."

Right then, I understood what Rick was doing. He'd reached the end of a  rope, unable to convince her, so he'd thrown her to the wolves to get  some much needed backup. And this pack of fiercely loyal family members  wouldn't disappoint.

"Wait a sec, Rick. I have some dish," Mom said.

I wondered what could be important enough to trump the current discussion.

"I'm getting a nanny," she said.

"You are?" Damien asked.

She nodded, a glint in her eye … or maybe it was a tear. "We all need help  sometimes. There is no shame in it. I can't keep up with the boys.  They're all super energetic and the number of activities they are  involved in is just too much for me. I'm going to stop being a stubborn  woman and take my husband's wise suggestion."

I got it right away. Mom was conveying a message to Marley without  preaching, using herself as an example. This was the way she'd always  taught us lessons growing up, letting us make our own decisions, but  always guiding with a firm touch. Unfortunately, we were all on to her  clever antics.

Marley crossed her arms and nodded. "That's a great idea, Mom … for you." She didn't take the bait.                       
       
           



       

"Excuse me," Rick said in a low voice.

"I'll help you," I offered, picking up plates before he could object.

I craved more information and my sister was stiff-lipped about these  things. She never wanted any of us to feel sorry for her. Her sense of  pride was her greatest and most annoying trait.

"You don't have to help," Rick said once we reached the kitchen. "I've got this. Go out there and hang out with everyone."

"Ah, I think your Machiavellian plan has enough participants."

"That obvious, hey?" he asked, grinning slightly.

I started scraping the food off the plates and handing them to him. "Why do you think the accident has to do with her terrors?"

"I was behind her. I saw it all. As accidents go, it wasn't her fault,  but Marley's a good driver. She had enough time to react. If she'd hit  the breaks or slammed on her horn, I don't think it would have happened.  I can't say for sure."