Evening on the Porch

By Eolas Pellor

Brody was sitting on the swing, looking out at the Moon rising. He could feel in his joints that it was going to be a dewy night. Behind him the screen door opened and closed, quietly. He smiled; Charlie was the only person he knew who closed screen doors carefully.

“How are the little ones?” he asked.

“Tucked up and sleeping,” Charlie said. She sat down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. She loved having the grandchildren over, but Brody knew they were starting to wear her out, more and more. 

“I can call up Leanne, to come and collect them tomorrow, if you’d like?”

“Brody Dunn, don’t you dare!” Charlie replied. “I don’t get to see them half as much as I’d like; they’re growing so fast…so fast.” She sighed and moved closer to him on the swing. Their own kids had grown up so fast it seemed bewildering, sometimes. One day kids were going off to school for the first time, and the next they were graduating from high school, and ready to take on the World; everything in between was a blur. With grandchildren it seemed even more hectic; you saw them a lot that first year, then the visits got more and more spaced out. Soon they’d be teens, and visits would only happen on holidays, Brody guessed. He wondered what holidays would be like then, and he put his arm around Charlie to make that thought go away.

“Ellen was asking about the picture of Ann,” Charlie told him. Brody felt a pang, not of guilt exactly, but of loss, something irredeemable that had slipped through his fingers, as he always did when he thought of Ann.

“Don’t they teach the kids anything in school, these days?” he said. “How can they not know about the most famous actress in the World?” Charlie squeezed him and laughed.

“That was a long time ago, and she’s only 7. I don’t think they do much history until high school,” Charlie said.

“It’s funny thinking about our lives as history, isn’t it?” She rubbed her shoulder; it must be stiff again. Her arthritis had gotten worse the last few years.

“Well, if you live long enough, I guess that’s what happens,” Charlie replied. “Is your coffee cold?” Brody took a swig; it was, as she’d guessed, stone cold. He put the cup aside. If he said anything he knew she’d go inside to make fresh and he didn’t want her too.

“It’s fine,” he lied.  She felt warm against him, not that the night was cold, but that Spring dampness got into the bones, and her presence was comforting.

“Look!” Charlie said. “Fireflies! They’re the first ones I’ve seen this year.” The twinkling lights hovered around the bushes. When the kids were young Charlie used to wake them up so that they could try to catch them. He wondered for a moment about waking the grandchildren but they could do that tomorrow, or the next night, maybe. There weren’t going to be enough nights left for just Charlie and him.

“Did you make a wish?” he asked her, and he kissed her forehead.

“That’s first stars, not fireflies, silly man!” Charlie laughed. 

“It can be fireflies, if you want it to be,” he replied. She didn’t reply, just snuggled in a little more. Butch wandered up onto the porch from wherever he’d been exploring, his tail wagging, happy to be home. He lay down with his snout on his paws and watched the two humans he relied on. Brody wondered how old he was, now?

“We got him right after we moved in,” Charlie answered; sometimes it was like she could read Brody’s mind. “The kids insisted we get a dog, after we moved up here on the Mountain.” She was right, of course; that meant Butch was six…no seven years old, now. 

“They thought he’d protect us, since the police have trouble getting out this far,” Brody said, remembering. “I’m pretty sure he’d be a great protection, as long as the robbers hated having their faces licked.” 

“Oh, he’s a good dog!” Charlie said. “It isn’t his fault he’s not fierce.” She’d chosen the runt of the litter, of course, and babied him. It was no wonder he was as soft as they come. Brody smiled and reached for her hand.

“You didn’t bring your own coffee?” he asked. Charlie shook her head. 

“It doesn’t agree with me, these days,” she said. “I think it’s the medicine the doctor gave me.” Brody nodded; veratridine and sodium thiocyanate had jaw-twisting names that worried him almost as much as learning Charlie’s heart wasn’t what it had been. He wondered for a moment if she’d worn it out being too loving, too kind for her own good, but that was silly. The heart isn’t really where you love, it just feels like it sometimes, like now. 

“Pretty Moon tonight,” he said. It hovered above the roofs of the nearby houses, and seemed bigger than normal; the brilliant glow cast shadows and dimmed the streetlights that tried, ineffectively, to compete with Mother Nature. 

“A Full Moon and fireflies,” Charlie said, “What a perfect evening on the porch!”

“You wouldn’t rather be dancing?” Brody asked. Charlie was a great dancer; when the kids were small he tried to get one night a month when he could take her out, somewhere, to hear the music and cut a rug. It made her eyes sparkle, and he loved to see it.

“We could dance, here,” Charlie said. Brody stood up and took her hand. She leaned into his embrace and they danced across the front of the house, while Charlie sang the words to Stardust.

One of the kids called for Grandma; Beth, probably, or Anne. Charlie gave Brody a quick kiss on his nose and went to see what was wrong. He stood there and sighed. Butch got up and pushed his snout into his hand, and Brody petted his head. 

“It’s OK, boy. You never knew what it’s like to have little kids in the house all the time. This is just normal.” Butch didn’t say anything. Brody watched the fireflies dancing in and out of the bushes. He knew they were looking for love, that’s why they glowed; their short lives would be over before they got to realise that holding onto love makes you glow, not looking for it. Charlie came back out.

“Anne’s doll had slipped out of her bed,” Charlie said.

“Where was it?”

“Oh, right on the floor. But she couldn’t get it herself, because Beth thought the monster under the bed would grab her, if she did.” Brody nodded and smiled, his arm around Charlie’s shoulder. 

“They say they’re looking for men down at that new Studebaker plant,” Brody said. “I wonder…”

“Mr Dunn,” Charlie said, cutting him off. “Don’t you even think about it. You put off retiring because of the War; that at least made sense, and was the patriotic thing to do. But now I’ve got you all to myself, and I like it. No more working!!”

“You’re not sick of me yet?” 

“Not at all.” Her forehead was clammy as it brushed Brody’s cheek. It was a pleasant evening, but it wasn’t that warm.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I feel a bit dizzy and breathless,” Charlie said. Brody took her over and they sat down on the swing again. Once seated he made the swing rock, slowly. “I must have hurried too much rescuing the doll.”

“That’s probably it,” Brody agreed. They sat and listened to the crickets singing, and a distant dog barking an alarm. Butch looked over in that direction.

“I hope no one is dropping another body over the Mountain Brow,” Charlie said. 

“That was over to the south, more,” Brody chuckled. “By Buttermilk Falls. There’s too many houses around here to risk dumping bodies.”

“You’re terrible!” Charlie said, but she laughed. He was glad; at the time she’d almost insisted on selling the house and moving back into Durrand. 

“What do you think about loading the kids into the car, and taking them to the drive-in tomorrow night?” Brody asked. He used to plan things weeks ahead, Charlie was really the one for spontaneous ideas like that. 

“That might be fun!” she said. “What’s on?”

“The Treasure of Sierra Madre, and Fort Apache,” Brody answered. 

“I’m not sure the girls would like either of them, much,” Charlie said. Her voice sounded drowsy.

“Oh, they’ll probably be asleep before the cartoons finish,” said Brody. There was no answer. Charlie’s head rested on his shoulder, and he guessed she’d fallen asleep; grandchildren can wear a body out. Overhead, a shoot-star whipped by from behind the house, shining brightly, it vanished into the purple-blackness of the sky. He wondered if some kid had seen it and made a wish. There was a consolation in that; it was just a grain of sand, falling out of eternity to burn up in the sky, but for a moment someone hung a wish on it.  In a quiet voice, Brody sang the rest of the song.

Eolas Pellor’s work has appeared in a variety of online and print publications. He is an autistic former reporter, who taught a wide variety of subjects in inner-city schools for nearly 30 years before retiring from teaching.