It's Just a Game

Three - Breakfast on the Patio

Eleanor said, "Let's have breakfast on the patio."

Dad said, "I'm fine here." He didn't look up from his crossword. Mom said, "Good idea," and carried out the tray with the coffee pot and the china mugs. Eleanor carried out the coffee cake she had just taken out of the oven and tipped out onto a large cake plate.

I'm a person who likes a simple unadorned meal. A slice of toast with a dollop of peanut butter would suit me just fine. Lots of sugar would just make me sleepy. But it did smell delicious and my mouth watered. Mom poured and Eleanor sliced. I ducked back into the house and got the creamer and sugar bowl and brought them out. I like my coffee black, but I was quite sure that the sisters like to add cream and sugar or at least cream. I was right. They both added cream. Well, it wasn't cream. It was in a creamer, but it was a blue-tinted skim milk. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes.

After we indulged ourselves, Mom began explaining about Pauline's death. Again. Why was she telling me this all over again? Pauline's death was the main, the only reason, I was here. She fixed me with a steady gaze. As she spoke, there were no inflections of sarcasm in her words.

Eleanor made a demonstration of angst, brushing the tears from her eyes before they appeared and with a voice croaky with sorrow, excused herself from the table and hurried back into the house.

The August sun was warm in the back yard, if you could call it that. It was a piece of property as wide as the town house and maybe thirty feet deep. Beyond those thirty feet, there was a shared green area with neatly trimmed spirea and flower beds that were now sporting late summer flowers in shades of orange and yellow.

The dividers between the properties allowed for privacy among the five houses in each unit. They were high enough to allow a person to sunbath in private, in season. Yet they were not so high that they blocked out the sunlight and if the neighbor happened to be quite tall, it was possible to see that tall neighbor.

Eleanor had a very nice patio set on the little deck that had been constructed off the back patio door. It was redwood, wide boards neatly tongue and grooved, and well-constructed. It took up about half of her backyard. The back half had been turned into a mini garden with a white-stoned walkway through the central area.

The walkway was bordered by a two-foot picket fence. The picket fence seemed a little bit overkill to me because oh, well that's a good question – why did I think it was overkill? I like things simple and plain but that was me, and I was not my aunt and I did not live here.

The picket fence wasn't white which would have been worse, more cluttered looking. It was made to match the deck. The pickets flowed down from the handrails on steps that led down from the deck. The proportions were good because there were only two steps. It was not a massive deck.

The main problem was the walkway led to nowhere. It ended at the open shared space. I suppose that it was there for a reason. Perhaps the residents shared afternoon cocktail hours in the shared space but the dividers seemed to indicate that they might have preferred privacy.

Beside the picket fence there were large peonies. When they were out of season, as they were now, they were neatly trimmed and contained so that they look like hedges. Maybe I thought the walkway's picket fence was overkill because it made it inconvenient to get to the peonies.

I made a note to inquire more about the gardening hobby that Eleanor had. I wouldn't have to ask too many questions because she would tell me everything I needed to know and even some things I didn't need to know.

Mom watched Eleanor leave, her face passive as she sipped her tea. I rested my cup of coffee on the wrought iron of my lounge chair, considering the choice of peonies over rose bushes and let Mom continue discussing Pauline and Eleanor and their friendship. I knew she needed me to do something to calm her sister. I just didn't know what I could do that would help, so I let her talk.