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Fiction Short Story

by Susanne Shaphren

Just Another Day In June

Nothing special about the sun shining so brightly through the curtains that it wakes me before the alarm has a chance to blare. Daily routine to scramble eggs for Brian, make French toast for Jeff, and pour Michael's favorite cereal.

Ever so dutifully, I chew and swallow exactly the right amount of nutrition-packed calories without tasting a single bite. Business as usual in the Taylor household.

I tuck Mr. Bear at the very bottom of Michael's bright red backpack so nobody at preschool will make fun of his need to have a furry friend nearby. A quick glance to be sure everybody's safely belted in before I heave my ever expanding girth into the driver's seat and carefully guide the SUV into traffic.

Never a hair over the posted speed limit. Always an eagle eye on all the mirrors. My heart beats much too fast as I anticipate every possible danger and prepare to swerve out of the path of some phantom drunk driver. Precious cargo; steer clear!

First stop is Harlan's Hardware. Brian hopes to save enough from his summer job to pay for car insurance. Gil and I planned the perfect seventeenth birthday surprise, a bright red Mustang we picked up for a song at auction and lovingly restored. If things had turned out differently, we could have stretched the budget to cover insurance too.

Jeff grumbles more than a little when I drop him off at the middle school recreation program. No secret that he'd rather be somewhere else.

Last stop is Michael's preschool. Except for the inevitable tears on the first day, Michael used to love going to school. Now, it's a daily challenge to find just the right combination of hugs and encouraging words to get him out of the SUV and into the brightly painted building.

So many errands. So little time before Michael's half-day at preschool screeches to a halt.

The carefully budgeted money evaporates even quicker than the condensation from the SUV's air conditioner on the parking lot. Brian's underwear doubled in price since the last time. If I don't buy it, he'll keep throwing the same worn too often undershirts and briefs into the laundry. No way he'll spend his hard-earned wages for this. Jeff's computer math game is on sale, but even with the promised rebate it costs a fortune. The cartoon character pajamas Michael insisted on are three times as much as the plain ones. Not a good day for the budget.

All the brightly colored banners in the Men's Department prove too hard to resist. "Don't Forget Father's Day!" "Doesn't the Special Man in Your Life Deserve the Best?" "Dad's Day!"

As if by magic, my arms fill with exactly the right gifts for Gil. I'm halfway to the cash register before the voice of reason reminds me this is just another day in June. My hands shake ever so slightly as I retrace my steps and place each of my carefully selected purchases where I found them.

I somehow manage to make it through the mall and back to the SUV before grim reality and an overdose of hormones pound me with full force.

There's no time in the schedule for trembling and sobbing. Never enough hours in the day to do all that needs to be done. Don't dare be late in picking up Michael. I wipe away the tears that escaped without warning and pull myself together. Nice deep breaths. I invest an extra minute to make sure my hands are steady before I turn the key in the ignition and drive to the preschool.

Michael chatters happily about his morning while I throw together sandwiches, pour tall glasses of milk, try to smile and nod at the right times. More tears I can't control when Michael proudly displays the morning's craft project, a Father's Day card.

Ever so patiently, I try to explain again what a barely four-year-old can't be expected to understand. My carefully chosen words don't seem to help at all.

Finally, I coax the tiniest hint of a smile. "I'm sure your Daddy would have loved this card, Michael."

No time to even think about starting dinner. The computer printer dutifully spits out monthly invoices for me to fold and stuff into window envelopes. Michael carefully adds stamps. Barely enough time to stop at the post office before the Taylor Trolley picks up Brian and Jeff.

The last thing I need is the answering machine's annoying red light flashing to welcome us home. NO! How many times this year have I urged Jake to replace that cooler? How many times have I crunched the numbers to make sure he could fit the deposit and monthly payments into his tight budget?

I grab snacks, herd the reluctant trio of passengers into the SUV, and head for Jake's Bar-B-Q Shack just off Highway Exit 51.

Jake's wife, Emma, greets me with an apologetic smile. She knows I'm just the lady who sells restaurant equipment, not the repairman. "Sorry, we just didn't know who else to call."

Before we tackle the necessary paperwork, I grab my cell phone to creatively beg for the earliest possible delivery date. Even with my best negotiating skill, this fortune in beef, pork and chicken will surely spoil long before the new unit arrives.

None of the handful of people who might be able to jerry-rig a temporary repair answer my calls. I can't just walk away. Jake and Emma can't afford to lose their inventory.

Brian easily slips where I can no longer force my bulk, reports exactly what he sees and follows my directions to the letter. Thank goodness, I paid attention all those times I tagged along with my Dad. The parts are hardly factory approved. No guarantee of long-term success, but with a little luck, the temperature will hold long enough for the new equipment to arrive.

Jake sends us on our way with enough barbequed goodies and side dishes to feed an army. Emma tucks in one of her famous peach pies still warm from the oven.

Gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tightly, I navigate through rush hour traffic and say a little prayer for God to bless our perilous journey. I used to enjoy driving BGA. Before Gil's Accident. A drunk driver's carelessness changed everything in one split second of useless brakes and mangled metal.

That was the day I paced back and forth in front of the living room window as if I could somehow magically will my husband to come home a few minutes earlier than usual.

There were candles on the table and my mother's best china. Gil's favorite pot roast simmering to perfection with a garden of vegetables. Chocolate fudge cake for dessert.

I'd balanced the tiny flat pink package tied with frilly lace ribbon against Gil's water glass. He couldn't get away from the office to come to the doctor with me, but the next best thing was waiting for him. The special package contained a sonogram picture of our dream come true baby girl, Emily Anne. I was positive Gil would agree that combining our mothers' names would be perfect for our precious baby.

Gil never saw that picture. When I finally heard the welcome sound of a car door slamming and rushed to greet Gil, there was a nervous young police officer standing on my front porch. He stumbled over the words neither of us wanted to hear, tried to assure me that my husband hadn't suffered, told me as gently as possible that there was nothing any driver could have done to avoid the inevitable and tragic outcome.

I prayed things would get easier with time. No such luck. Months after Gil's memorial service, my hands are every bit as clammy whenever I reach for the keys to the SUV as they were that first impossible time when I had to pick up the pieces and start driving again.

Every time I get behind the wheel, I feel exactly like the target in one of Jeff's computer games. Always on alert for that split second when some drunk comes out of nowhere and destroys everything precious.

Almost like a miracle to arrive home safe and sound.

Brian carries in the paper sacks. Jeff sets the table. Michael insists on distributing the stack of mail "all by myself." He can't really read yet, but he knows the difference between his brothers' names and recognizes his own. Everything else gets dumped at my place.

"There's a letter from Mom! Open it first and see if she liked the Mother's Day card I sent her."

"See if she sent the check for computer camp," Jeff chimes in. "I already missed the first session."

No thank you for the card. No regular child support check much less the extra check Jeff was hoping for. Just the excuse of the month from Gil's ex-wife.

"She loved your card, Michael. We'll fill out the application and send the check for computer camp later, Jeff." One more expense to magically fit into the budget.

I'll never understand why Gil's ex-wife chose a big city career over her family, can't figure out how she can afford a fancy condo and bright red sports car but never manages to send even a token check to help support her sons.

I paste on my very best imitation of a smile. Brian, Jeff, and Michael have already lost Gil. I won't let myself say angry words to make them lose respect for their mother.

Brian is unusually quiet while Michael and Jeff giggle their way through dinner, catch us up on the important news of the day. He's had to grow up much too fast since Gil died.

Dishes to do while supervising homework. Lunches to pack and tuck in the refrigerator. Michael's precise bedtime routine. Prying Jeff away from the computer long enough to do a couple pages of the math exercises his teacher suggested we work on over the summer. Just another day in June.

When I come downstairs, Brian is sitting in Gil's favorite chair. He smiles and hands me a bright blue envelope.

"You can open this later. Right now, you have to come see the surprise."

Tears stream down my cheeks when Brian opens the door to Gil's old den. Rosebud pink paint on the walls with carefully painted ballerina bears.
Changing table under the window. Rocking chair in the corner. Tiny crib in exactly the right spot.

"Mr. Harlan helped me refinish what I bought at yard sales. We decided the crib should be new. Jeff helped. Michael too. We all wanted to be sure that Emily Anne comes home to a special place of her own. Open the card, Mom."

"Mom." None of the boys has ever called me that. There's a bear on the card too. A silly smiling bear holding a heart that says, "To the best father in the world!" Brian's firm handwriting on the inside. "And mother too! We may not say it often, but wanted you to know we appreciate what a special home you've made for us!"

Brian shuffles as nervously as Gil did the night he proposed to me. It seems like forever before he admits calling his mother after Gil died.

"I told her it would be better if we came to live with her since you were going to have a baby of your own to take care of. The little guys don't know, but she said no."

"Brian, I'm sure your mother loves you every bit as much as your Dad and I. Emily Anne is very lucky to have such special brothers to help her grow up."

Just this once, ever so grown up Brian lets me hug him and kiss him on the cheek before we double-check the locks and turn off the lights.

Such a special day in June!


About the Author
Susanne Shaphren's fiction and articles have been published in a wide variety of print and online venues including: NEWN (New England Writers' Network), ABSOLUTEWRITE, DANA LITERARY SOCIETY ONLINE JOURNAL, ESPRESSO FICTION, and MONTHLY SHORT STORIES.