Delia Parr - Day by Day

H ot, humid days and sultry nights each summer slowed the pace of everyday life in Welleswood, a small suburban town in Southern New Jersey. Despite the renaissance that had breathed new life into this once-dying town, many families fled the suffocating heat and escaped to nearby mountain retreats or beach resorts for a few weeks at a time. Others remained to take advantage of townwide recreational and cultural events organized by an old-fashioned network of women who worked together to make Welleswood a good place to live, even in the throes of summer.

Within the predictable cycle of summer this year, however, the early days of July would bring heartache and tragedy, as well as new challenges to grow in faith and love, to three very different women in Welleswood.

Daddy cant come.

At the sound of her granddaughters voice, Barbara Montgomery looked up from the travel brochures that littered the dining room table. Her husband of thirty-four years, John, was standing in the doorway holding their twin granddaughters, one in his arms, and the other at his side. Jessie! Melanie! What a surprise!

Barbara pushed back from the table, rose to her feet and quickly set aside all thoughts of the sailing adventure she and John were planning two years from now when they launched into retirement as members of a crew on a two-year sailing trip around the world.

Daddy cant come, Melanie repeated. Her little six-year-old face was strangely solemn, and she held tight to her Pappys shoulder.

Jessie tugged free from his hand. The eldest by all of three minutes and the more dominant by leaps and bounds, she folded her hands on her chest and stomped her foot. Daddy had to go away, and Pappy says we cant go with him, but I want my daddy. Why cant me and Melanie go? Youll take us, wont you, Grammy? You know the way to heaven, dont you?

Heaven? Confused, Barbara looked up and studied her husbands features. She froze the moment she saw his tearstained cheeks and the grief that shadowed his gaze. The world stopped for a moment. Time stood still. Her heart pounded against a wall of denial that refused to be cracked. Their son Steve was in heaven? Steve was gone? No, that couldnt be true. Impossible. Not Steve. He was only thirty years old. He was a health fanatic. He had these two precious little girls to raiselittle girls whose mother had deserted Steve and abandoned her babies shortly after their birth.

No. Steve could not be in heaven. Barbara had just talked to him this morning. She locked her gaze with her husbands, praying he would put her worst fears to rest. John?

Fresh tears coursed down his cheeks. Our Steves gone. Hes beenmurdered, he croaked. Our boy has gone Home, and the girlsthe girls need us, Barb, now more than ever.

Pain seared the very essence of her spirit. The look of absolute grief in her husbands gaze melted the wall of denial protecting her heart, and she rushed to embrace him. With one arm around Melanie, she pulled Jessie against her, too, as her soul clung to her faith in Godfaith that would somehow have to sustain them all.

Late Saturday afternoon, Judy Roberts quickly scanned the empty beauty salon and searched for signs of any cleanup task she might have missed. Satisfied that all was ready for Tuesday morning when her shop would reopen, she flipped the light switch and watched each of the green neon letters in Pretty Ladies sputter and flicker into darkness.

She let out a sigh and arched her back while every muscle in her legs and feet protested against each of the fifty-seven years she had spent on this earth, especially the decades she had spent as a hairdresser turning other women into pretty ladies. Time for this pretty tired lady to drag herself home, she mumbled. She opened the door, turned, and locked the door behind her, stepping from the relative comfort of the air-conditioned shop into a never-ending wall of hot, humid air.

Fortunately, home was only a few blocks away. She worked her way down Welles Avenue and eased through the influx of Saturday-night diners who crowded the brick sidewalk en route to a host of new eateries that were part of the trendy new Welleswood. There were some families out tonight, but mostly couples and mostly strangers to her, she noticed, and quietly turned off the avenue toward the row house she called home.

Row house. She chuckled to herself. Newcomers called the vintage row houses built during the Great Depression town houses now, but more than the name had changed. Prices of these homes had nearly quadrupled in the years since she and her husband, Frank, had purchased theirs some thirty-five years ago. With Frank gone four years now, God rest his soul, she was barely able to afford the taxes, but she did own the house, free and clear. Any plans she had for spending her golden years comfortably, unfortunately, had died with him, along with the hope she might one day be reconciled with their only daughter, Candy, or see her grandson, Brian. She stopped at the corner to let the traffic pass and patted her thigh. Looks like Ill have to struggle through, best as I can on my own. Dont need much for myself. Good thing, too, she mumbled before crossing the street.

Dog tired, she got a boost of energy as she started down the block where she lived and thought about taking a shower. A long, refreshing shower. Then a quick bite to eat and off to bed where she could fall asleep watching television, but only after she had set the alarm so she would not oversleep and miss Sunday services. Walking against the glare of the late-afternoon sun, she could just make out her row house on the corner at the end of the block, and it appeared that one of the neighborhood children was using the railing on her front porch like a balance beam.

Again.

Another boost of energy hastened her steps, and her purse swayed faster as she hurried toward home. She loved the neighborhood children. She did not mind if they played on her front lawn or climbed the backyard fence to retrieve a lost ball. She even let them skateboard in the driveway along the side of her house, since she could not afford the insurance for a car and the driveway served no real purpose for her.