"Little" Sister Pt. 03

Next to the boiler room was the new laundry. I found our two Amish girls folding sheets. They both recognized me from the wedding. They curtsied and refused to look up. Lord Jesus, had I been that high and mighty? I asked them their names—Miriam Lapp and Sarah Beiler. The older woman that served as cook and chaperon was also named Lapp. I learned that she was an aunt to both girls, but had no surviving children of her own. On that sobering information, I thanked the girls and went outside.

The yard was another jolt. Just having the merry-go-round missing was discordant, but the real change was in activity. There were no crowds of workers. For that week, the yard was my personal demesne. Now, it was just winter brown grass. Still, some things were left. During the wedding party, we had an area for child care. That had been formalized into a fenced playground.

One of my small contributions to the party was seating. I had ordered dozens of bench kits. Many of them were set near the sand box, swing set, jungle gym and under shade trees. Off to one side was what appeared to be a dog park, which was a nice touch. Nearby were two croquet courses, one flat and one hilly. Further on I expected to find horseshoe and bocce lines. Closer up was a basketball goal and a new shed. I suspected it was where the balls and equipment now lived.

Looking it over, I recognized the basic plan from in May. Some things were moved. Others were new, but the layout was familiar, only it now centered on the playground. It gave me a nice sense of continuity, but one thing was missing—a play house. I knew where to find carpenters. The noise from the boathouse had been nonstop.

Going inside, I could see why. Sean's yacht, The Other Shoe, was nearing completion. From what I could tell, there seemed to be a rush to finish something. Presently, Clayton Roberts, aka CR, came over. He was the man in charge of getting the yacht float worthy. I suspected he was well beyond that point.

He said, "Miss Jo. Ye're looking fine. What can CR do for ye?"

I answered, "How's she doing. She looks fit enough, though I have no eye for such things. This seems a lot of activity for this late in the day."

CR snorted. "Right ye are. She be fit as they come. She'll test out right enough, but the finish wood is another story. The cabinetry is a work of beauty, but that makes fixin' slow goin'. These Amish folk know their stuff, but... You, of anyone, knows about deadlines. I never saw such a work as you pulled together. Mr. Sean wants her to sail this week. I was hoping for the holiday. Then it was Friday. Now I'm thinking Saturday.

Why didn't he just ask for permission? Sometimes it's easier to ask forgiveness. "CR, you should not try these tricks on me. I know Sean is busy, but he would make time for this. Plan on having her wet right after Thanksgiving dinner. Organize everything you cannot finish into one job. That, you set aside. Pull those people to finish the rest. Any man that knows boats, knows the work is never done. Can you do that?"

CR looked a little shocked, but he nodded. "Aye. That I can do, and make her look good with the cabinets closed. I'll make a list of unfinished things for Mr. Sean. Mostly it's the closet in the captain's cabin. We tears it all out to replace a tension beam. Ye're right. Any boatman would know it be a big job, but one that needed doin'. Thank ye. I can see why the help thinks so highly of ye."

I was a little taken aback. Christine was grinning ear to ear, the scamp. We went back in through the ballroom. This was not an area that had many visible changes, though the lighting was up to modern standards. I wanted to see the kitchen. There the changes were quietly dramatic. The cabinets and stone counter tops remained, but everything else was new.

Professional grade ranges and ovens were the most obvious. What had been an outside door was now walk through refrigeration. The dish sinks were gone, replaced by a door into a dish washing room. A muscular bread kneading machine was in one corner. An ice cream freezer was in another. It was all spotlessly clean and empty. I could see that this was the entertaining kitchen. That said interesting things about future chef competitions.

Just as I was about to go through the rabbit hole, to the new house, Sheila came through. It was ten AM, but she looked wiped out. I had to ask, "Morning sickness?" Sheila nodded and waved me through. I followed her back to the music room. Soft piano music was playing. Sheila sat next to a cup of colored ice cubes and stuck one in her mouth. It had to be Gatorade, or something like it. Nice trick. Cold liquids stay down better.

Sheila said, "Most days are not this bad. I need a favor. I was supposed to meet someone at the airport. They understand Sean will be tied up. Barbara's a nurse. Just tell her what I look like. She'll explain it to her husband, Don. These are good people, but plain. I do not want to send a limo to pick them up. Since I cannot go, it would good if it was family." It had been such a slow day.

Elspeth was driving down. The trip is about five hours from Boston, on a good traffic day. I text her that I was going to the airport and would not be able to greet her at the Residence. A few minutes later, I realized I had adopted Sheila's name for my childhood home. As Spock would say, interesting.

We have a functional regional airport, but a surprising number of people prefer to use the hub airports in Philadelphia, Newark and New York. Silly, but true. Sean, unfortunately is one of those. He had booked the Micellis into Philadelphia. I climbed in the back of Sean's Mercedes and tried to ignore traffic for an hour. It was not easy, but Dr. Richards could cope with small distractions.

About three quarters of the way there, my text message ring tone sounded. Sheila said there were three to pick up. The third was Kiku Toda. That seemed a coincidence, until I noticed that she was an airline employee. Sheila's messages need to be parsed like statutory language—every word matters. I wondered if the Micellis even knew Ms. Toda existed. Then I remembered Sean's comment on competent people—they ask difficult questions.

I started by assuming Ms. Toda (she had to hate her surname) was competent. I picked up the Micellis and took them to baggage claim. Don Micelli reeked of military on unfamiliar turf. Barbara Micelli gave off supportive military wife, but also other things. Interesting. She was the one to talk to.

I said, "Hello. I'm Siobhan, but you can call me Jo. Sheila sends her regrets. She has a bad case of morning sickness. If I understand correctly, you know more about that than most. Sean, as you know, is buried in the office. I'm his little sister. Since neither of them could make it, they sent me. Don, you can call me Dr. Richards. It might be easier." I was not Sheila, but I tried to cram everything in.

The reaction was gratifying. Don stared a moment, then relaxed. Barbara watched Don, then relaxed. I was picking up more than the usual husband-is-in-control vibe. Barbara was demure, though not on Christine's level. She was going to love me. Don, clearly, was already fixated on Sean. We could make this work. That was when Kiku introduced herself.

Sean has good taste in people. Sheila has good taste. It can be a fine distinction, but there it was. Kiku was a Sheila person, though Sean would approve. For me, damn Skippy. I wanted to take Kiku somewhere and investigate her toenails and everything above them. Wow. It took a conscious effort to reign in my libido, but Dr. Richards does not lack for control. Instead, I introduced her to Don and Barbara Micelli.

The ride home was stressful. I put Kiku in the front and sat with the Micellis, sitting next to Don. This was entirely necessary. Kiku needed to be as far from me as possible. Barbara needed to be on the other side of her husband. Heaven help us if we were unchaperoned. I might eat them both. What would I say to Elspeth?

Still, a tense ride is only a tense ride. In a reasonable time, Russell was turning into our drive. At the motor pool, we met Sheila, looking much the worse for wear. Barbara ran to her, relieving me of that burden. That left Ms. Toda, who showed patience worthy of Christine. As if on cue, Christine appeared with refreshments. This was the garage. Why serve refreshments here?

The answer, as with many answers, was Sheila. She should have been up in the main house, taking it easy. Where she went, Christine would follow. Hence, refreshments in the garage. I urged everyone into the house. On the way, I made a mental note to consider wheelchair access. It was enough of a concern that I almost missed the Micellis staring at me.

Don spoke first. "At the airport I almost didn't believe it. I would not question what Mr. Richards tells me, but you didn't look at all like him. Now I get it. You have the same guard dog mentality, the same command presence. It's just that you're spit and polish and he doesn't give a damn." That cracked me up.

They wanted to know what I found funny, but I waved it off. Sheila would show them the whole thing in pictures soon enough. Instead I focused on Barbara, who was being very quiet. Christine quiet. That was the clue I needed. No wonder Sean and Sheila got along with them. Don understood Sean at a basic level and Barbara was submissive. Rather than ask rude questions about their love life, I gave Barbara a wink when Don was not watching. Bingo.

Everyone was in the music room. Sean and Sheila both love classical music, which irritates me. Still, soft piano music can be soothing. At least it was not John Tesh or some such. I wanted Sheila to have some girl time with her friends, so I offered Don a game of 8-ball. Playing a decent game of pool is almost a job requirement in the military. Don did not disappoint me.

We split two games and were working on the third when Sean walked in. It was only three o'clock, so he must have bailed early. I left to let them to catch up. In the music room, Barbara was all Registered Nurse. She had Sheila lying in the recliner, with her feet propped above her heart. It was the perfect opportunity to steal a march. I walked up, removed one of Sheila's slippers and started massaging her foot. I was right, because Christine turned pink.

The conversation was about diet and exercise. Barbara was impressed with the first and should have known better than to raise the second. Perhaps she was trying for an area of comfort. Knowledge is like that. It feels good to know. The interesting part, for me, was watching the plus one in the room, Kiku.

We established at the airport that Kiku did not know the Micellis, but knew about them, and vice versa. She seemed to have her measure of Barbara, which is not surprising. Barbara was not a complex person. Christine was being invisible, so that left me. Kiku seemed to find me fascinating, though not in a sexual way. She was pretty interesting herself. I wondered how she would take Jason Porter.

All that was cut off by my phone buzzing. Security was letting us know that Francine had arrived. This I had to see. I made eye contact with Kiku and tossed my head at the door. She gave a trace of a smile and followed.

For a multi-millionaire, Francine travels in junk cars. Part of this may be her dreadful driving, but she also does not care about appearances. Fortunately for the people of New Jersey, she had a driver. Roxanna was Sheila's personal assistant, but also a former employee of Francine's. I was guessing this was more than just a visit, since both were dressed to go out. I gave them each a hug, then introduced them to Kiku.

I did not bother to ask about the clothes, because Francine would soon tell me. She did. Later in the evening, we would be going to a sneak preview of a new movie. Francine was a producer and Sheila had done some of the film editing. Rather than listen to her talk for the next hour, I led Francine to the kitchen. After a small snack, I led them to the music room. Barbara took one look at Francine and told her to sit down. I was hoping for a mercury thermometer, which would quiet Francine for a couple of minutes, but no joy. Things were just settling down when Security called again. Elspeth was at the gate.

The afternoon soon turned into evening. Dinner was served in the new dining room. Deja vu again. The last time I was there, we had a competition of chefs. This time it was modern prenatal diet, prepared by Mother Lapp. I ate too much for the corset, but spent most of my time watching the others talk.

Kiku was still watching me, joined by Roxanna, while Elspeth watched both of them. That was odd. I could understand Elspeth. Roxanna and I were once lovers and my interest in Kiku was probably transparent. Kiku and I had just met and she was as straight as straight gets. Yet Kiku also watched me. I could almost feel Dr. Richards take over.

In The Last Dragon a kung fu fighter searches for "the Master". At the end of the movie, he realizes that he is the Master. It was like that. Words came back to me: Christine, "Strong."; Sheila, "raw pulsing power"; Dr. Miller, "you don't know your own strength."; CR, "I never saw such a work as you pulled together." There was even a line from the Bible, "he spoke as one who had authority." Whatever caused people to follow, I had it. I was a leader, whether I liked it or not.

The first irony was that my looks would not be a hindrance. Some of history's great leaders were ugly—Attila the Hun, Martin Luther, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson and Winston Churchill, to name a few. Hell, Eleanor Roosevelt. Not everyone can have the Kennedy nose or the Reagan hair. Distinctive was also good and I had distinctive in spades. At the time we were about to go to watch a movie. The second irony was that I was thinking about Reagan and his Hollywood looks. That closed a loop in my head. Although I did not notice it at the time, that was when I decided to go into politics.

The movie showing was surprisingly low key. There was no press or fanfare, not even a poster. Francine told us the special showing had some radio ads, but nothing else. That said, there was a nice crowd.

Francine had reserved seats for everyone. We trouped down to a roped off row. The theater manager brought us complimentary drinks and popcorn, which made me think (correctly) that Francine owned the local franchise. As soon as we were settled, the lights went down. There were two trailers, then Will Smith jumped out of a third story window into history.

What can I tell you about Hard Time that you don't already know? Movies that are nominated for Best Picture and make a gazillion dollars get a lot of ink. This I can say. Ten seconds into the movie, I knew what Sheila had contributed. That is how long it takes for the first still image to pop up. Every few minutes, something would happen, which earned a still image enlargement.

Halfway through the movie is the first fight scene. Still images isolate the weapons before they are picked up, the lackeys before they interfere, the bad guy's getaway exit and, of course, the key piece of evidence that gets lost. This all happens in fifteen seconds of screen time.

That was what got everyone. We know that many things happen quickly. There are dozens of expressions that refer to the fact. The genius of the movie is that you never doubted the witnesses that claimed they never saw anything. It only took fifteen seconds. You were there. You watched in real time. You understood.

I was looking over, to congratulate Sheila and Francine. I saw something that still makes my blood run cold. Sheila was miming a fight, but it was not the one on the screen. This was a flash back to Sheila's fight in Hawaii. Christine picked up on it, no surprise, but so did Barbara Micelli, which was interesting. As Sean says, simple does not mean stupid.

The moment passed and we went back to the movie. According to Francine, the original cut was nearly an hour longer then this one. I believed it. The last thirty minutes flew by. Simultaneous action was done split screen. One nice touch was stills of both cell phones whenever a connection was made. The big fight and the big chase scenes took only five minutes, but probably cost half the budget.

Will Smith jumped out of his window again. The first time it was ten seconds into the movie. The second was with ten seconds left. The camera pulled back. Other shots joined and merged. Still enlargements multiplied. Everything froze for a heartbeat, then a cropping block appeared. The images outside the crop faded away. Those inside transferred to a computer screen, under the LA Times banner. A caption appeared under the image as the frame enlarged. Under the computer screen credits started to roll in silence.

The silence was not just the soundtrack. There was an uncanny hush in the crowded theater. As the theme music came up, so did applause, followed by whistles and yells. When the half lights came on, Francine jumped up on the arms of her seat and faced the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming. That went well, I think. Do you think it might make me some money?" She got a few laughs. "When I go west again, I'll tell Will and Ben that you liked it. Good night. I think I need to throw up."

I could see it coming so I was already moving. I picked Francine off her perch and put her on the floor. Christine handed me a popcorn bucket, which was immediately full of nasty stuff. I told everyone it was morning sickness, which brought nods and looks of sympathy. After a half minute or so, I passed Francine a lidless drink and told her to wash out her mouth. Instead, we endured some dry heaves. I noticed Sheila looking away, probably trying to control her own stomach.

Everyone else was looking at me. Why was I in charge? Doh! I was in charge, because I took charge. Sean looked amused. Don looked impressed. Roxanna, Elspeth and Barbara looked, for lack of a better word, adoring. Just what I needed, groupies. Kiku looked alert and she was near an aisle. I motioned toward the door. She got everyone moving.

A few minutes later, while Sheila and Francine were in the washroom, I asked Roxanna what she thought of the audience reaction. She probably expected a question about the movie itself, so she needed to switch gears.

She said, "That's a very good question. The answer is, I'm not sure. Silence before applause is always good. It means the audience is waiting for more, which means you have their full attention. This is a good reaction, very good. How good is the question. Of that I'm not sure. Let me make some calls." I never heard back from her, but the movie buzz was everywhere the next day. I decided to keep my ticket stub. It went in a drawer and I forgot about it.

Instead, I was back in my old role as supervisor. Thanksgiving dinner would be for about thirty people, so the ballroom was being dressed up again. It was like coming home. Michael and Mitchell Gilbert welcomed me back. Later I would meet their families. The Chef Johnson and Mother Lapp needed some boundaries set. Mostly I just said, "Keep going. It's fine."

Fortunately, both Sheila and Francine looked much better. Sheila said the morning sickness came and went. Yesterday was her worst day in a week. Today she was almost normal. I flicked a look at Francine and told her I was glad to hear it. Sheila made no sound, but her lips fought a smile.

I sent Christine to fetch the boombox. If all went well, we could have some dancing later. I tipped Roxanna, so she could partner with Francine when the time came. Until then, we forgot everything in a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. There was roast turkey, ham, four styles of potatoes, two bean casseroles, dressing and gravy, cranberry sauce from fresh berries, succotash, fresh baked rolls and a dozen relishes. I had elected to skip the corset, so I watched my helpings closely. I still ate too much.