IN BALANCE
ALM 92, August 2026
SHORT STORIES
Before the divorce, when we were all one big happy family, we’d rent a cottage for the month of August. Dad would drive up every Friday afternoon and the first thing he’d do is wade into the lake with such slow ease, he’d hardly cause a ripple. At a certain point, he’d back up and bend down to scoop water over his arms and shoulders with such grace he always reminded me of a South Seas islander.
Dad’s always been graceful. And he’s persnickety. Most Friday evenings before he retired, he’d shine his three pairs of work shoes. He’d never go anywhere with a wrinkle in his clothes or a hair out of place, and he washes his comb every morning after his shower. He firmly believes that first impressions are important. I always found it strange that he was Grandma’s only child because she’s the opposite of persnickety, and I loved her for it.
Growing up, I’d spend a month every summer at Grandma’s farm and packing for this trip, I relived what I always think of as my formative summer; starting with Ginger running around from the back of Grandma’s barn. Then, once we’d parked, Dad had her sit and shake before rewarding her with a piece of pretzel he found in his pocket. In the front hallway, as always, Grandma’s church coat, raincoat, two jackets and a sweater older than Dad were on hooks. Boots, shoes and slippers were lined up, heels to the wall, on the floor. Hats and gloves were in shoeboxes on the shelf. “Mom!” Dad shouted, and she emerged from the kitchen.
“Come in, come in,” she said, drying her hands on an apron we all recognized. Years ago she’d sewn four of them from the same remnant of material. Dad always said we’d bury her in one of them.
She gave Mom a hug, held Dad a bit longer, and then opened her arms to envelop me in her tight pillowy-soft hold. She told Dad to put my bags in his old room before apologizing for not having everything ready, saying she had to get back to her gravy or we wouldn’t have anything to put on our meat and potatoes. The dining room table was set with her best china. A covered basket containing breadsticks sat beside a relish dish filled with carrots, celery, olives and pickles.
When we sat down to eat, Grandma had taken off her apron and draped a colorful scarf around her shoulders. It had the blues and yellows of a macaw, and I imagined her flying up to perch on the chandelier for a better view of her son and his unhappy family.
Usually after dinner, Mom and Dad would visit old friends from high school but that year Mom asked if she could join me and Grandma on our first ride of the summer. I was impressed she could saddle and mount a horse but cantering made her nervous and Grandma, knowing I wanted to let my horse run, told me to go off on my own. I rode through the woods to the pond and back, joining them on the straightaway in the east meadow.
“What took you so long?” Mom asked.
“I did our regular ride.”
“Of course you did, Allie,” Grandma said. “And for keeping us waiting, you’ll have to brush down and feed the horses.”
Grandma knew this was no punishment. She was the only one who understood my fascination with the farm. The year before, it had rained the first week of my stay and Mom called to ask if I wanted to come home early. “You must be bored to death,” she’d said and I’d laughed. Grandma and I began each day with breakfast in town, then returned to take care of the horses, do chores, and play board games on a table we’d cobbled together using an old door and bales of hay.
One sunny morning a week into my stay, I was crossing the road from the barn to the house when I saw the ancient black Cadillac parked in the driveway. For years I was convinced Aunt Lou was a witch. She was almost as tall as Dad and had a nose on her that looked like it could inhale a small child. Her thick red lips, I was convinced, would taste like blood.
“Get in here Allie,” she called to me as soon as I’d opened the door. “I want to take a good look at you.”
I smoothed back my hair and entered the dining room where the two sisters were playing cribbage. Aunt Lou was wearing one of her African tunics and smelled of lilacs.
“Well, look what the wind blew in,” she said, giving me the once-over.
Grandma smiled and I leaned against her chair. “Aunt Lou brought your favorite,” she said. “It’s on the stove. Why don’t you see if it’s hot enough to eat.”
The booyah --- rich broth, thick homemade noodles, and always one or two chicken bones to make things interesting --- was hot and we sat down to eat. As usual, Aunt Lou filled the air with talk. I wasn’t paying attention until she tapped my hand.
“How old are you now, Allie? I always forget.”
“I’ll be fifteen next month.”
“Your dad was like you, tall and lean, but you have your mother’s prettiness.” She turned to Grandma. “Remember how he used to walk down the road on his hands?”
“That’s when he wanted to be a professional wrestler,” Grandma said.
“Dad?” I couldn’t even imagine it.
“He said it gave him a good sense of balance,” Grandma said. “I asked him about looking at things upside down. He said he could only look someone in the eye if they were far away.”
“He was a funny kid.”
“He didn’t like horses like you do, Allie. Said they made him stink like a farmer.”
“No, he never liked the farm,” Aunt Lou said.
“Neither does Mom,” I said. “I was surprised she could ride a horse.”
“She took lessons as a kid,” Grandma said.
Aunt Lou grabbed my hand. “What do you think about all this going on?”
Of course Grandma would tell Aunt Lou. Dad always said one of them couldn’t sneeze without the other one calling to say gesundheit.
“Lou, we’re not talking about it,” Grandma said. “This is my special time with Allie.”
Aunt Lou repeated the question and I said, “Mom told me Dad might be moving out.”
“Things could still change,” Grandma said.
“Things aren’t going to change, Gertie,” Aunt Lou said, getting up from the table. “Allie, let’s you and me take a walk.”
I was staring down into my bowl of booyah, wishing I could shrink down and swim away in its golden broth when Aunt Lou lost her balance. She clutched the end of the table with both hands and dropped back into her chair without mishap; but her water glass fell to the floor and shattered.
“Ah, hell, Gertie,” she said, sounding defeated.
“Stay where you are, Lou. I’ll clean up.”
“I’m sorry, Gertie. But if you don’t know me by now . . .”
Grandma leaned over to kiss her cheek.
The only walk Aunt Lou and I took that day was when she was leaving. She held onto the porch railing with one hand and gripped me with the other. Even on the flat driveway we moved at a snail’s pace and I remember wishing she’d parked closer to the house.
“Give me a smile, Allie,” she said when we got to the car. Then she nearly knocked the air out of me with a hug. “Listen to your Aunt Lou. I love my sister but she doesn’t understand the times, do you understand me?” She chucked me under the chin. “Stay as sweet as you are, Allie. And try to forgive your Dad.” She got in the car and rolled down her window. “In my book, he’s a saint.” She laughed. “Not a miracle worker maybe, but he’s a good soul. You remember that.”
After she drove away, I joined Grandma on the front porch.
“I’d forgotten your dad wanted to be a professional wrestler,” she said. “Or that he could walk on his hands. He started out doing a handstand close to the tool shed, just leaning his body up against it. Then he began taking a few steps at a time. Your grandpa and I used to watch him. It took a while, but he eventually got good at it. He said it was like having a dial in his brain and he had to turn it one half circle before he could see properly. Life’s funny, Allie. One day one thing’s so important, and then after a while . . .”
“What else was important to Dad?”
“You, your sister, your mother. You know the story, love at first sight. He was only a high school senior but that didn’t make any difference.”
“Not then maybe.”
“Oh, Allie, love is hard to deny, no matter what age you are.”
I didn’t tell Grandma what Mom had been drilling into my head ever since I could remember --- that I shouldn’t fall in love until I was through with college and had a good job.
“But how can I help falling in love?” I’d ask and Mom would say that I should remember that everything fades with time --- even love.
Grandma interrupted my thoughts with, “One day you’ll find true love, Allie, and I want you to let it whisk you away. You’ll see. It’s what makes life worthwhile.”
At the end of the month, Dad was alone when he came to pick me up. I heard him tell Grandma he’d moved out of the house, and that he hadn’t seen Mom since they’d driven my sister Gail back to college.
In the car, he told me that from now on I’d be living with Mom, but that he’d gotten a place nearby and I’d spend every other weekend with him. He also told me that new neighbors had moved in across the street and there was a girl my age. After that, he plied me with questions about my month on the farm, Grandma and the horses.
By the end of the week, Katie, the new neighbor, and I were best friends. I don’t know how I would have survived the divorce without her. She spent lots of time at our house and if I asked, Dad usually said yes to her spending the weekend with us. It’s why I finally gave in and signed him up as my ‘plus one’ for her wedding. Mom had nudged me to accept his offer. “It’s fifteen hundred miles, Alice,” she said. “Let him do this for you.”
I should explain that geographically and in every other way, my family is divided into two camps. Dad owns a condo down the road from my sister Gail who lives in a mansion by the lake. Mom has a small house on a quiet residential street a few blocks from my downtown loft. She enjoys working at the central library, has many interests and is always busy.
Dad insisted on planning the trip. He also volunteered to help with the driving. But getting into the car this morning, he announced he couldn’t drive for at least twenty-four hours because he’d just taken the last dose of a medication. Then he slept through Indiana, Tennessee and a rainy Georgia, but he did wake up when we were passing a horse farm to say, “You used to draw a decent horse.”
By the time we made it to the motel he’d reserved for the night, the storm clouds had moved on and the sun was sinking into the horizon. I had to zigzag to avoid all the potholes in the parking lot, their puddles reflecting the pink neon vacancy sign a few shades brighter than the faded flamingos planted among the weeds.
I dropped him off at the office so he could register us. Then, before I joined him with our overnight bags, I covered my bridesmaid’s dress and crinoline slip with a flannel blanket, tucking them in as if they were my babies and I didn’t want them catching cold.
Dad and I took turns in the tiny bathroom reeking of disinfectant before crossing the quiet highway to a restaurant advertising fabulous ribs. A brassy hostess had us follow her through the bar to a booth near the window. Without even glancing at the menu, Dad ordered two rib-plate specials, a tap beer for himself and a scotch on the rocks for me. The waitress returned with our drinks and we toasted Katie and her future husband.
“Our first day wasn't so bad, huh?” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m excited, Allie. I haven’t been to a wedding in ages."
"Katie says I’m the only bridesmaid who isn’t a size ten-petite.”
"Stand tall, Allie,” he said, sitting straighter in the booth. “Remember the book, ears over shoulders.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do.”
In the seventh grade I was taller than everyone, including our teacher, and I developed a slouch. When Dad was home, he had me walking around with a book on my head.
"It helped when the boys started catching up to me," I said.
"You were such a gawky kid, your sister so self-assured. Same parents and yet the two of you are as different as night and day."
"Gail was the pretty one,” I said. “She was popular and excelled at every sport."
"While you sat on the sidelines drawing your pictures." His expression softened and he took hold of my hand. "I knew Florida would bring back the memories. Your mother and I honeymooned here. She didn't want a big wedding. Said we couldn't afford it.”
The waitress arrived with our food and he let go of my hand so he could unwrap his silverware and place the napkin on his lap. “She insisted on buying a suit she could wear again,” he said, salting everything on his plate. “I agreed on the condition that it had to be pink."
“I used to love looking at your wedding pictures. You both looked like movie stars.”
"When you get older you think, or I did when your mom divorced me, that maybe we’d been too young to marry. I loved her. I still do. But back then, if a man had a wife who worked, it meant . . .” He put down his silverware so he could tick off the reasons with his fingers. “He wasn't making enough money for his family to live on, he was henpecked, or he spent everything he earned on one bad habit or another.” When I rolled my eyes, he got off his soapbox to ask, “How do you like the food?"
"Tasty," I said, knowing it’s what he wanted to hear. The ribs were done to perfection but the hash browns came out of a frozen pouch. Ditto for the creamed corn.
"Your mother spent a lot of time with the kids in the garden this summer. At first it was on my days off, but by August she’d stop by most days to help the kids pick what was ripe. She’d point out what animals came by in the night. She teach you all that?"
"We mainly had rabbits.”
"Well, you know your sister has that woods nearby so lots of wildlife come through. I never see them but Gail says early morning she'll look out and see deer grazing in the backyard."
Every conversation with my father returns full circle to my sister. Successful businesswoman, married, three adorable kids while, according to him, I eke out a living doing manual labor. Five afternoons a week I shop and, depending on the season, cut grass and tend gardens or shovel for my mother’s neighbors, earning more money than I did working a fifty-hour-a-week museum job. I use my mornings to paint. Again, Dad doesn't understand.
One morning, shortly after I’d quit my museum job, I was out walking. It was mid-March and we’d just had our first week of warm weather. In a neighbor’s front yard, the trunk of an old oak had a dazzling patch of kelly-green moss growing in-between bare white wood and rough gray bark. The contrast of colors and textures was so stark I knew I had to commemorate it in a painting. It took me months before I was satisfied with the results. In fact, I was so foolishly proud of it, I had it framed and gave it to Dad for his birthday.
Gail asked me later, “Why couldn’t you just paint a tree?”
“He doesn’t like it?”
“Allie, you painted three stripes of color. I saw the moss once you told us, but Dad has no imagination.”
Dad would say he doesn’t have time for imagination. He started his own plumbing business when I was three and Gail was seven. Most days he left for work before I woke up and returned after I was asleep. Before the divorce, I remember him as a lump on the couch watching sports or cop shows, calling out to my mother or me to refill his glass of water or tomato juice. Then, after Gail had her first child and contrary to anything I would have expected, he sold his business and became a fulltime babysitter so my sister and her husband could concentrate on their careers. A disinterested father, he’s now the quintessential doting grandfather.
***
I’m not a sound sleeper under the best conditions, so it was a relief when sunlight finally beamed in through a crack in the blinds and I grabbed my sketchbook and snuck out of the room. Later, when I gave Dad the drawing I’d done of a horse, he acted overly touched and laid it gingerly under his clothes at the bottom of his suitcase.
While Dad read breakfast-diner reviews on his phone, I drove, and we were both starving when I finally pulled into a highly-rated mom-and-pop place.
"Reeny likes cheese omelets too,” he said when we were eating. “She takes after you in lots of ways."
Maureen, Gail's daughter, is a clone of her mother. I pushed my toast saturated with butter across the table and he used it to mop up the syrup on his plate.
“The drawing’s a gift, you know,” he said. “You should come over more."
"Dad, at the end of a long day I don't feel like getting in a car and driving clear across town."
"It doesn't take that long."
"Then you come see me."
"She slams doors like you did too. Must be part of that artistic temperament."
"Who? Reeny?"
"God, but you were a spoiled child."
He moved his plate to the side and emptied two packets of sugar into his coffee.
“I was far from spoiled,” I said.
“No? Two trips to Europe isn’t spoiled?”
“Dad, my Sophomore year, I was a foreign exchange student. And last summer my friend and I were villa sitting. Plus, I earned a very tidy sum that more than covered my air fare and summer expenses when I sold those paintings.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Allie. It’s just that Gail would like to go to Europe and here you’ve gone twice already.”
“Why doesn’t she go? She’s got the money.”
“She’s also got kids, a husband and responsibilities. You wouldn’t understand.” He took out his wallet and left money on top of the bill. “Let’s hit the road,” he said. “I’d like to get a nap in before the rehearsal dinner.”
After we checked into the hotel reserved for out-of-town guests, I changed into my suit for a quick swim. Dad laid down on one of the beds and found a baseball game on TV. When I returned to get ready, he was paging through my sketchbook. I wanted to rip it out of his hands and tell him to mind his own business.
***
Katie was a beautiful bride and her wedding day was perfect. Dad danced with me a few times, and with Katie and her mom. He’s always loved parties and watching him, he reminded me of a cat who’d been given a huge bowl of cream.
By the time the party finally broke up, we were both so tired that we declined all invitations and went straight up to our room.
We had talked about staying in Miami for a few extra days but Gail wasn’t able to find a reliable babysitter so early Monday morning we packed up and checked out. A few hours later we stopped for lunch.
Dad raised his glass to me. “Like I said on Saturday, to the prettiest girl at the wedding."
"Thanks." I touched my glass to his.
"What?" he said. “You don't sound convinced.”
"Should I be?"
"Oh, boy. Now what's the kitten so upset about?"
"Gail's the pretty daughter. I'm the artist. I know you weren't around much when I was growing up, but I'd think you could at least get that part right."
"Whoa," he said. "You're making me wish I’d stayed back in Miami."
"We could have stayed longer. You're retired. I took off. It's you that has to get back to Gail and her wonderful family."
"Okay, and she's jealous of you too."
"Yeah, right. What’s she got to be jealous about?"
"About your trips to Europe. About me offering to go on this trip with you."
"But you babysit for her fulltime. You deserve a break."
"That's what I thought too. But, as always, she brought up the fact that once you were born, she never got any attention."
"But you were never around."
"Paid for your college tuition, Allie, and your year abroad."
"I can’t believe she’s jealous.”
"That's what I'd call the understatement of the year.” He took a huge bite out of his bacon cheeseburger and I handed him my napkin to wipe the ketchup off his chin. “I reserved a room in a fancy hotel for tonight,” he said. “Katie recommended it. Said it’s got a nice swimming pool. I’ve learned that’s important to you.”
After lunch, Dad finally offered to help with the driving and once we were back on the expressway, I wrapped up in a blanket and fluffed up my pillow. He turned off the music and asked me not to go to sleep yet.
“I’d like to talk,” he said.
“About?”
“Your Mom and me.” I didn’t respond and he took his time before coming out with, “We’re talking about getting back together. But first she says I have to tell you about the divorce.”
“Dad, I know you’re divorced.”
“Very funny. What I meant was, she told me I have to tell you the reason for the divorce.”
“I know the reason. She wanted her independence.”
“Is that what you think?” He sounded disappointed.
“Tell me then.”
“Your mother found out about an affair I’d had. I’d already broken it off, but that made no difference.”
“Does Gail know?”
“A friend of hers saw us out together.” He tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel. “It was a long time ago. Business was slow. Your mother and I. Our marriage wasn’t working.”
I leaned back and shut my eyes.
“You’re going to sleep?”
“Dad, I’m exhausted. I’ve had less sleep than you this whole trip and I’ve done all the driving.”
“So stay awake five minutes and tell me what you think.”
“Does it matter? I can’t believe Mom hasn’t said anything.”
“Nothing’s happened yet, Allie. But I’m hoping we can get back together.” He smiled. “It’ll make holidays a lot simpler.”
“Congratulations?”
“You think I’d be immune by now, Allie. But your mom’s still the love of my life.”
“Where will you live?”
“That will have to be determined.”
“What does Gail think?”
“At this stage, it’s just between your mom and me.”
“Is this the reason you wanted to go on this trip?”
“Of course not. I knew you wouldn’t get back on an airplane and I didn’t want you driving down by yourself. Things can happen.” He looked at me. “Okay, my five minutes are up. You look tired. Try and get some sleep.”
He woke me hours later, after he’d moved our suitcases up to the room he’d reserved for the night. And just when I thought he couldn’t surprise me anymore, he said he was going down for a swim and asked if I wanted to join him.
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