The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,40

go first thing in the morning.”

“Not tomorrow,” I say. “Eli’s birthday is tomorrow.”

“It won’t take long.”

“It will if it works.”

“Come on, Eliza. You know you’re going to say yes.”

He puts one of his large hands on my shoulder, pulling me awkwardly against him in a semi-hug. For a second, I’m fifteen again, looking up to my big brother, called by the nickname my family gave me, Eliza. It was Rick who started calling me Beth.

No, I’m not blaming him.

I liked it.

Eliza was a calico-and-lace kind of name out of My Fair Lady, Audrey Hepburn singing in cockney, her high cheekbones rouged in faux filth. Becoming Beth freed me from that.

And just imagine: it takes audacity to rename someone, to play Adam to the animals. Rick did it almost without thinking, like it was his right. Staking his claim the very first time we met. Before he had any designs on me at all.

Months would pass before he changed my last name along with the first.

“I don’t think it will make a difference,” I say, “but if you want me to, I’ll go.”

“Thank you, sis. Seriously.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead, the most affection he’s shown in as long as I can remember. His lips leave a damp impression, cooling in the night air. I lean my head against his chest, content.

“I hope the neighbors don’t see me, cuddling with a strange man.”

“I’m sure they’re a broad-minded lot,” he says. “People with money usually are,” then laughs at the hilariousness of his own joke.

“Spoken like somebody without any.”

We walk back, the heels of his leather shoes clicking on the sidewalk. A breeze stirs through the trees. It’s really beautiful here, especially now. A garden of tranquility on the edge of the big city, and here I am smack-dab in the middle, as riddled with useless anxiety as the corseted ladies who used to recline on Dr. Freud’s couch. Oh, the ingratitude.

“I’m glad you came,” I say.

“Really?”

“I’ve been thinking about old times. You remember Miss Hannah?”

“How could I forget? She had a glare that would take the paint off a barn.”

“Well, she never used it on me. I was remembering the other day about that place she took me, the meetinghouse with the opening in the roof.”

“Ah, right. Did you ever figure out where it was?”

I shake my head. “If it weren’t for that vivid memory of her stretching out on the bench, I’d tell myself it was all in my imagination.”

“Have you been reliving more episodes from your past?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s about that time. Your midlife crisis. I’d say you’re pretty much overdue.”

“Ha.” A midlife crisis. If only he knew. There’s a crisis in the family, no question about that, but it isn’t mine. “Gregory, you’re going to find out soon enough, so I might as well tell you. You asked when Rick was coming home and I told you not to worry about it. That’s because Rick is home. He’s living in the shed in the backyard.”

“He’s what?”

“I didn’t put him there, if that’s what you’re thinking. He made the choice himself. He’s unfulfilled at work and conflicted about a new job offer he just received, so naturally he decided to wait for an answer from God. Meanwhile, he’s sequestered himself in the shed. As people do.”

“Right. Of course. This is the same Rick we’re talking about—my brother-in-law, the ultimate sportsman, deep as a ditch?”

“Not anymore. My neighbor thinks he’s becoming a mystic. I think she left an offering of flowers at his door.”

“Wow.” He stops in his tracks, takes his arm from my shoulder. “I mean, wow. Eliza, that’s weird. It’s, like . . . messed up. I’ve never even heard of something like that before. He’s really gone off the deep end?”

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”

“You seem pretty calm about it. I’d be freaking out.”

“Trust me, I’ve been freaking out. My son’s birthday is tomorrow, and as far as I know his father isn’t planning to be there. I have the keys to a beach house in Florida on my nightstand, I have permission slips to get the boys out of school, and I don’t have a husband anymore to go with me. I’m like a single mother all the sudden, except there’s a crazy man living in the backyard, sneaking into the house when I’m not around so he can go to the bathroom.”

“Liz,” he says. “Oh, Liz.”

“I know. And the really insane part is, I’m used to it now. It’s only been a