Free Porch Lights by Dorothea Benton Frank Page A

if only for a while. If Jimmy were alive, I wouldn’t have a thing to worry about. We’d be in our home in Brooklyn watching the news and making supper. It was so hard to accept that even such a simple daily act like watching the news and making supper together could never happen again. I wasn’t so sure then that I even wanted to live in that house anymore. Without Jimmy it was ruined. And all wrong. Wasn’t it?
    It was still very warm. Though the heat of the day was broken, the night would become sultry as the tide rolled in. I could already feel the rising humidity as my hair and skin grew damp. And my heart felt heavy, as though something in my chest was sinking. Jimmy had loved the island too. I missed him something awful.
    “Hey, Mom?”
    Charlie appeared. His hair was wet combed and slicked back. My mother’s fingerprints were all over that one. He looked adorable. And miserable. It was impossible not to smile.
    “Well, hello there, Handsome!”
    “I hate my hair. She trimmed my bangs too.”
    “She?”
    “Whoops. I mean, Glam,” he said and rolled his eyes.
    “That’s better. Well, Son, they needed it. Your bangs were over your nose.”
    “I just hate cutting my hair.”
    “I know this about you.”
    “So, Mom? What am I supposed to call the doctor? And can I have a Diet Coke?”
    The screen door opened, and my mother came out to the porch and joined us.
    “Call him Dr. Steve,” I said and handed him a cold can. It was decaffeinated. Mom must have bought them for Charlie.
    “Deb calls him Mr. MD,” she said, and I winked at Charlie. She scrutinized every detail of the self-service bar and gave it a passing grade. “This looks very inviting.”
    “Mr. MD? That’s silly,” Charlie said.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    We heard a door close somewhere in the distance and my mother said, “That’s him. He’s coming. Get ready!” She shook her hands in the air. Her nerves were acting up again.
    Sure enough, I looked up to see Steve walking toward our house. She even knew the sound of his door closing?
    “Get ready for what?” Charlie asked.
    I looked at my mother and caught her eye. She was embarrassed.
    “What?” she said. “Why, get ready for a wonderful night at the Salty Dog, that’s what!”
    “Such a silly name for a house,” I said.
    “You’re telling me,” she said.
    As he climbed the steps and came onto the porch my mother’s excitement was nearly palpable. Then, for some reason, I gave myself a mental kick in the pants. Maybe she was just lonely. She probably was. What was the matter with me? I was so suspicious of her. From the time I’d been a teenager, I’d always thought she had an ulterior motive in everything she did because many times she did have one. But, shame on me, I could see from her face that she just wanted to have a nice evening, and I was ready to run and tell Daddy that Mom was being unfaithful to him. I was being just as ridiculous as she was overenthusiastic.
    Steve, who smelled very nice, handed her a bottle of wine.
    “Oh! Thank you, Steve! Not necessary but always appreciated! Would you like a cocktail?”
    “Well, I think that’s a wonderful idea. Can I make one for you?”
    “Why not? I think I’d like a gin and tonic. Jackie? Would you like a drink?”
    “Sure,” I said. “A glass of white wine would be great.”
    “Got a corkscrew?” Steve asked, holding up an unopened bottle of sauvignon blanc. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. “I have this if you need one.”
    “No, we’ve got one. Right there on top of the napkins,” I said. “It makes a good paperweight too.”
    “Smart girl!” my mother said.
    “Can I see how that works?” Charlie asked.
    “Sure. Step over here, young man,” Steve said. “You see, you take this curlicue end and wind it down into the cork—”
    He was fixing my drink before he fixed my mother’s. She was visibly irked. Mom needed poker lessons. But this Steve fellow spoke to