Screen Door by Mary Lewis

Annie bit into the packet of ketchup and squeezed it out over her tater tots. It wasn’t enough so she canined her way into another one. 

“You know you can do that without using your teeth, Sis. Here, I’ll show you,” Gary reached across her lap to pick up the remaining unopened packet from her burger basket, held it between his hands with one still on the steering wheel and did the job. 

She took it without slapping his hand like she wanted to, or he might have crashed into a parked car.

“You are so talented.” 

“Just trying to help.”

They were leaving the mall where they stopped so she could chow down on something other than airplane pretzels, and now were passing fields of corn stubble. “I forgot how naked the farms around here look in the fall.” She shivered.

Gary scratched his chin, all bristled like those fields of corn. “Must be green all year in California.” 

“They harvest then plant, no winter to get in the way.”  

They had time to talk with fifty miles to the farm, but she didn’t want to dive in just yet.

She dipped another tot into the pool of ketchup on her burger wrapper only to lick off the ketchup. She wanted the crispy hot nugget, but tortured her desire for a moment more.

“Pop it into your mouth, for godsake.” 

So she could still tease him. 

“You want one? She held out the ridiculous nubbin she’d licked. 

Gary shuddered and the car did too. “Why are you being so gross?” But she could see his mouth work against the smile that flickered there. 

 They could have been her fifteen and his twelve again, in the back seat of the old Ford on the way from town after a family bowling night. Dad would tell them to knock it off and they’d turn it down to giggles.

She couldn’t stand it anymore and popped it into her mouth. 

The sun was probably down already, though she couldn’t tell with all these clouds. She watched farmhouses go by, their utility lights flaring to life. 

Gary turned the radio on, but low, like an invitation to talk but not a mandate. “Kind of ironic you studying strokes in rats, and here’s Dad with one.” 

“Yeah, Dad got the same drug I use on my rats.” 

“So do your rats end up in wheelchairs?”

“No, but they should. They’re old enough. That’s what makes my work different by the way, doesn’t make sense to use young rats when it is old people who get strokes.”

She studied her younger brother’s profile in the twilight. Smarter than her, he could do anything he wanted. But he’d stayed in Four Corners, framing walls for a contractor.

“Gary, bro, why don’t you come out and make some little wheelchairs for my rats?  I have a cute lab assistant who’d love your farmer ingenuity.”

“Plus my farmer build, don’t you think?” He took his hand off the wheel and flexed his biceps and his superhero frown like he used to on the school bus.   

“You could you know. Stay at my place till you find one of your own.”

Gary sped up, way past 55, and leaned hard on the steering wheel. “Damn it, Annie, someone has got to stick around.”

Annie braced her hands on the dash. In a voice that was more hiss than speech she said. “It couldn’t be me, as of course you know.”

He took his foot off the pedal and they slowed down to well under the limit. “I know you and Dad never got along, and he was mean to you.”

“Get a grip, Gary, you knew what was going on.”

“And what was I going to do at twelve?” He was shaking. She could tell because the car shuddered under his hands.

“My little brother, no, you couldn’t do anything, he would have beaten you.” She reached over to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to know anything about it.”

The county road graveled under the tires, and the car slowed down at 5391, the sign in white numbers against a blue background in the headlights. 

It was a long driveway, no sign of anything from the road. Those endless journeys to the school bus suddenly came back to her. So many times they’d have to sprint when they saw the dust cloud a quarter mile away across the fields, even before the yellow appeared. Her lungs would burn the whole way. 

She hadn’t been back for three years. 

“Hi Mom. Look who I brought you.” Gary ducked into the kitchen, leaving Annie with Mom at the entry.

“Annie, my girl.” Mom took her in her arms. When she held her at arm’s length Annie got a better view. The wrinkle between her brows was permanent now, and her shoulders more forward than before. 

“He’s different now, sweetie. Thank God he can talk and has his mind, but there’s something softer about him.” 

She would never use that word to describe Dad. 

“Go ahead, he’s waiting for you.” She brushed Annie in like some chicken that needed guidance to the henhouse.

The living room smelled as it always had, with that air freshener like pine needles Mom thought could drown the smell of cows.

Her father sat at the front window sunk into his wheelchair, a blanket over his knees. She was not in danger now, so why this sudden rush of fear, stronger than on those nights when he had stood over her bed?

He wheeled around to see her. “Gary said he’d come for you.” His head cocked to one side, hair gray now, but still plenty of it. 

How could that gruff voice come out so easily after the storm that hit his brain?

She took her time taking off her coat and gloves. 

“What, no greeting for your old paw?” Some laughter there down deep.

“Hi Dad. It’s good to see you.” She walked to him and took the hand he reached out. The other limp at his side. He pulled her towards him, with a strength that caught her off balance and she fell against him, but struggled away.

“Not even a kiss? Come on, Annie, my little one.”

She planted one on his cheek and backed off again. This was a mistake. Where was Gary, and her mom?

“I forgot something outside. I’ll be right back.”

She found Gary in the kitchen, and gave him a glare with a nod of her head. “C’mon to the porch for a sec.”

Gary followed her and let the screen door bang. 

“I can’t do this.”

Gary paced the floorboards and made them creak. “Give it more than five minutes, Sis.”

She half sat on the railing and ran her hand along the peeling paint. A flake caught under a fingernail.

“They’re letting the place turn into a dump.” 

From the top of the porch stairs Gary leapt straight out to land on the ground, an old trick, and he could still clear all those steps. But at 32, he took longer to scamper back up the stairs than he did as a kid.

“The first shock is over. Had to be the hardest part.”

“Sure, the pain of a loving daughter to see her dad in decline.” She straddled the railing and grabbed one of the vertical posts at the side of the stairs. 

“Still your golden palomino. Bronco something?” His face sketched a grin, the first she’d seen since entering the house.

“Wonco, Bronco Wonco. I was such a poet.” She stroked the post as though it was a mane. “You had one too, remember? Flash, wasn’t it?” 

Gary mounted his porch horse on the other side of the stairs. “Lightning Flash.”

“He’s lucky he has us at all. Especially you.” 

Gary had helped them with the milking till they sold the herd last year, and after because there was still plenty to do with the cropland.

“Have you talked to Mom about selling the place? She’s in no shape to take care of an invalid, in the country no less.” 

“Dad won’t hear of it.” 

“Tough. He doesn’t have a say anymore.” 

“Legally he does. Joint owners.”

They kept riding their horses, bouncing side to side.

“What do the doctors say?”

“With rehab he could walk again.”

“We’ve got to get power of attorney over them both.” 

“Right, Alan can help us with that tomorrow.”

“But we’ll have to get Dad’s signature.”

It felt good talking logistics, even hairy ones. 

“At the least they need assisted living, unless you want to take them on in your place.”

“We could get an auctioneer, get rid of all the farm equipment, household stuff they’ll never use.”

Mom came onto the porch and the screen banged again.

“Don’t you think we should be involved in this conversation?” She stood wide legged like some tribal maven in her long skirt. “This is not some clean-up operation.” She sat in the old wicker chair that fit her bottom. It creaked with the weight of her.  

Annie stayed on her horse, but Gary got off his and sat on a folding chair next to Mom. “You know we have to make some changes, Mom, and Dad will resist.”

“But Mom won’t, will you?” Annie made her horse slow to a walk.

Mom slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair. “Stop pushing, both of you. The doctor said he might recover fully.” 

“Great,” Annie leaned on the neck of her horse, “but he could do that in town. There’s no need to farm anymore without the cows, so why stay out here with the barns and the fields?”

“You know he’d give up if we made him go to town.”

“Right, he’d rather make everyone’s life difficult to please his own needs.”

Mom’s voice turned iron. “Try to have some sympathy, Annie. This is your profession, after all.”

Dad in his wheelchair kicked at the screen door. “Damn it, I’m in here alone.”

Gary sprang up and wheeled him onto the porch.

“Thought you were coming right back, Annie.” 

Gary set the brakes on the wheelchair. 

“Haven’t seen you in three years and you can’t spend two minutes in the same room.” 

Annie stayed on her horse. “Had to say hi to my horse.”

Dad scanned her from feet to face in that hard way he used to before he made a move. But now he turned his head aside, as though he was trying to conquer something. Before, he made no attempt to hide that stare. Why would he, he was the head man. She the daughter. 

Annie heard the crackle of the hundreds of strands of fiber in Mom’s chair as she twisted to watch him. She saw that look. But she settled back with an exhale and grazed her closed eyes with her fingertips. Just like before, when she pretended so hard not to see.

“It must be hard for you, Mom, having to take care of everything.” Annie held the post and leaned back to see past the eaves to the dark sky..

Mom opened her eyes. “Well, Gary helps out when he can. But Annie, you’re so far away. How do you stand living with so many people all around you?”

The old rag. How could you move away from us?

“That’s where the work happens, Mom. Last I heard, no one in Four Corners was torturing old rats to see how long it would take them to die.” 

Gary checked the brakes on the wheelchair again. “Don’t, Annie.” 

“Don’t what? Don’t you think they have a clue what I do?” 

“You make rats have strokes like mine.” 

Still sharp, how wonderful. But Annie couldn’t tell if that lift of his brow meant he was proud or angry. Maybe only hopeful. She got off her horse and pulled up a stool in front of him. “Yes, Dad, you’re right. If we can figure out how to cure rats, we’ll have a better chance to help people.” 

“Isn’t it strange and wonderful, that you fix strokes and here we are with your dad having one.” 

Gary got up from his chair. “Think I’ll get a pop. Anybody want one?” 

That old envy like when she went to state in track, and Mom and Dad held a party. People don’t really grow up, especially around their parents. “Sure, Gary, whatever they have.” 

He went in and let the screen door bang. That thing wouldn’t last long if they kept up this way.

Knee to knee with Dad, she turned to Mom. “You know, Mom, neither of you give enough credit to Gary, who is the one who stayed here after all. Give him some praise once in a while. He is a tender soul.” 

Dad straightened a little. “Did you know he helped frame the new auditorium down at the high school?”

Annie faced him again. “Have you told him you’re proud of that?”

He fiddled with the brake on his wheelchair. 

Mom rocked forward and back, though the chair did not. “He’s proud of both of you.” 

“He has no right to be proud of me.” 

“No, Annie, don’t talk like that.” 

She promised herself she could get through this. 

Gary came back with the cans of pop. 

Annie took one, and motioned Gary to sit down. 

“I’m OK, Sis.”  He walked down the porch then back to end up behind Dad. 

“Why do you always hover? Come over here where I can see you.”

Gary sidled around to lean against his horse post. “How’s this.” Not a question. 

It was always his way around Dad. Get out of the way, comply. Annie had had no choice. 

She shifted around on her stool. Dad at twelve o’clock, Gary at 3:00, a longer move past Mom at 9:00. 

She didn’t like their gaze, all at once on her. Dad should be in the middle, not her. But she would use it.

“Dad, this is awful what happened to you, but therapy should get you back on your feet. So, there’s still time ahead for you.”

Dad reached his good hand out like before, but this time it trembled in midair, until she grabbed it in her hands. She felt his go soft and his elbow dropped down, so she had to lean forward to keep holding on. His body sunk into itself and his gaze fell but caught on their conjoined hands.   

She squeezed his hand to destroy it, but instead it sucked energy from her that made him rise again, like a balloon awakening. His shoulders lifted, his face again in front of her, swelling against the back of his eyes. 

She took them on, those eyes, so near to her own. “Dad, do you have something to say to me?”

Mom at nine o’clock raised her pitch an octave. “Don’t push him, Annie. What if he has another stroke?” 

Dad pulled his hand away in a jerk that must have taken most of his energy and his back slammed up against the back of the chair. He tried to stand up, and she gave him room, but his one good arm and rubbery legs were not enough, and he fell back into the quivering wheelchair. 

Mom jumped up to steady it. Gary rushed over to slam the brakes on harder. 

Panting, Dad still managed to glare at her, and she leaned in for a good one of her own.

Gary took Annie’s shoulders. “C’mon, Annie, back off.

She threw him off so fast he fell back against the railing.  Then she spun around and reached for him. “Oh Gary, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.” She gave him a hug and he hugged back. But she would not let the tears come. She turned in his embrace to face them. 

Mom clutched the handles of the wheelchair. There she was standing behind him, the only difference from before was how short Dad was now in that chair. “Maybe we should all calm down.”

Gary spoke. “Sure Mom, like we always did.” He put his arm around Annie’s shoulders and held her upright.

Annie lifted his arm off and walked the few paces to her parents. “You know what I want, but I don’t think it’s in either of you.” 

She moved past them into the house, through the kitchen and the back door to Gary’s car.  

It was a good half hour before Gary came to sit beside her. “That went well, I think.” 

She looked around at him, was that a smile? “It was a disaster.” 

“You didn’t see what happened after you left.” 

“Well?”

“Dad’s still mad at you for going to California.”

“So?” 

“He told me he was proud of me.” 

“No way, he listened to me.” 

Gary grabbed the steering wheel, as though for support. “You told him to say that?”

“He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. You know how he is.”

Gary started the car and they moved out onto the county road, then the state highway into town where Gary’s house was. She could see him shaking his head there in the dark. “I didn’t think he’d ever say that.” 

“So, maybe he’ll apologize to me someday.” Annie took a deep breath and held it for half a minute. “But I won’t hold my breath.”

“But, Sis, you just did!”

“Did I? How weird.”

She elbowed him in the ribs, but not so hard that it disturbed his driving that was smooth all the rest of the ten miles into town.

Mary Lewis has an MFA, Augsburg University. Nominations: Pushcart, the 2023 Best of the Net Anthology, the Best American Series. Some journals: Antigonish Review, Cleaver Magazine, Feels Blind Literary, Inscape, Map Literary, North American Review, r.kv.r.y. quarterly, Sensitive Skin, Superstition Review, Thieving Magpie, Wilderness House Literary Review, Wordrunner, The Woven Tale Press.