The Last Time I Was Me. Cathy Lamb

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СКАЧАТЬ was the truth. Look at that! The little frog jumped to another rock. I tried to inch closer. The river lapped around my legs.

      “Because you liked the pancakes?” I knew my brother’s hand was now rubbing that little space on the nose between the eyes. I could see him glaring out his office window in some high-rise in Portland.

      “They’re delicious. Unbelievable. Can you drive out here and have some with me?”

      “No, Jeanne, no” He raised his voice. I knew he was back to curling that curl. “No, not now.”

      I strolled down the middle of the river. I watched a small wave crash into another, blend, crash again. There went the hoppy little frog. I followed.

      I decided to tell Charlie the startling truth so he would get off my tail, God love the man. “I don’t want to work right now, Charlie.”

      He swore very quietly, but I heard it. “Don’t swear,” I said, with quite a prim note in my voice.

      “Jeanne, do it for me. You’re making me anxious. I feel anxious about you.”

      I almost laughed. My big brother needed me employed so he could stop worrying about me and he specifically wanted me near him to make sure I didn’t drive my Bronco into the Pacific. “None of the other people Jay’s got in his office are the remotest bit as competent as you are, plus you’d be awesome-awesome-with the media. You speak like you know what you’re speaking about.”

      “Charlie, political campaigns are nightmares. I’d rather poke my buttocks with sharp needles while cartwheeling.”

      “Plus, plus you’ve always been interested in politics-local, state, even on a national level, you’re a walking, talking political history book. You have a mind like a trap, a good trap, not a bad trap. Come on, Jeanne-”

      “I know nothing about Oregon politics. Nothing. I don’t even know what the gubernatorial candidates look like. I don’t know, or care about, this ‘Jay’ you’re talking about.”

      “He’s a phenomenal man. He’s honest. He knows his stuff, Jeanne, honestly knows it. He’s innovative. He’s decisive. The polls have us in a dead heat against a closed-minded conservative state senator. Please, Jeanne, the pay’s good and I would consider it a personal favor.”

      “I don’t owe you a single favor,” I told him.

      We both laughed.

      I owed him a thousand and one personal favors, and we both knew it. He had saved my life on many occasions. I watched the frog leap again. What a leaper!

      “All right, Charlie, I’ll do it. I’ll make an appointment with this guy.”

      He sighed with relief. “Good. When?”

      “Soon.”

      “How soon is soon?”

      “Soon, darlin’. How’s Deidre?” The river kicked up a notch. Little baby waves splashed around my legs.

      Asking about Deidre took Charlie’s mind off our conversation. “She’s doing great.”

      Deidre is athletic-looking. She wears no makeup because she doesn’t need it and tells me that she makes their four kids play outside a lot because, “God made their skin dirt-proof so even if they roll in a puddle I know they’ll clean up good.” She does not allow video games. She hardly allows TV. She is super kind, well read and educated, and can talk about any topic under the sun. Beneath her cheer and good humor, she is a flaming liberal, a true and ardent believer in women’s rights.

      I am sure that everyone she comes in contact with loves her.

      And I cannot recall a time that I have ever been friendly to Deidre.

      In fact, I have been snappish and often rude and dismissive of her stay-at-home mom’s life, the fact that she doesn’t work-isn’t she bored? Does she feel bad about not developing herself to her full potential? How can she be fulfilled? Is she, like, screaming to get out of her narrow and dull domestic life?

      The truth of it is that I am crazily, greenly jealous of Deidre.

      She has everything I want.

      A husband. Many children. Lots of pets.

      I thought I was going to be Deidre. I wanted to be Deidre. That dream was obliterated.

      “She’s always wished that the two of you were closer.”

      “I know, but I’m too cranky.” And currently mentally unstable. And a drunk, and a raving lunatic who appears normal from the outside. But who wants to state the truth about one’s mental health aloud?

      “The kids would like to see you, too,” Charlie said, his voice so quiet. “You haven’t seen them in years. You’ve never even met the younger three.”

      “I know.” Their first child is right about the same age as my daughter, Ally Johnna, would have been. Her name is Jeanne Marie (named after me). Charlie and Deidre always send me pictures of my nieces and nephews and I have scrapbooked every single one of those pictures. I love those children even though I have very rarely seen them. I send fabulous presents at their birthdays and Christmas, after consulting with Charlie about what they want. It is too bad they have such an off-her-rocker aunt who can hardly stand to look at them in real life without feeling like a sword is sticking perpendicularly through her heart, but I do adore them from afar.

      “I’ll come see them, Charlie, I will.”

      “You will?”

      I almost cried at the hopeful note in Charlie’s voice.

      “When? How about this weekend?”

      “I can’t this weekend.”

      “Why not this weekend?”

      “I have plans.”

      “What plans?”

      “Fun plans. Thrilling plans.” Plans to watch this frog leap from one rock to another. I decided not to voice that.

      “Jeanne, I know it’s hard for you, but the kids need an aunt. Deidre has no siblings, they need you-”

      “I don’t want to talk about that, Charlie.” I snapped the words out like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun, and regretted it. “I’m sorry. I will come and see the kids. I want to, I do.” I thought about it. Maybe I did. Maybe I could handle it.

      I closed my eyes, waited for that tight vise on my heart to loosen.

      “And you’ll call Bob Davis right away? He’ll set you up with an appointment with Jay. This’ll all go quick, you’ll be interviewed, offered the job, and we’ll get you moved to Portland. This is all settled. No problems.”

      “No problems.” But there were problems, pesky problems. I didn’t want to work, didn’t want to write, didn’t want to help some egotistical whack-jerk lying politician get reelected.

      Charlie reeled off a phone number twice, told СКАЧАТЬ