their food? What if he got mad and started to throw things? I never knew what to expect from him.
We made the trip to Oakland. The appearance of this house was quite different from the one I remembered in Berkeley. The tall “hotel” had given way to a small, charming bungalow on a street named Toggle Lane. It was built on the edge of a cliff open to a magnificent view. We parked along a small grove of trees out front and began to pull our luggage out of the car.
“Hey, Kiddo, is that you?” came Frances’ bright voice.
I looked up from the open trunk of our blue Chevrolet and saw the woman standing on the porch of the cottage. I would never have recognized her in a thousand years. Gone were the bright, bohemian clothes and black hair running down her back. In its place stood a mature woman in her early seventies, gray hair pulled into a bun and dressed in black slacks and a green tailored shirt. Then I saw Petrov coming up behind her with a wide grin, giving me a big wave. He still wore jeans and a black turtle-neck shirt, but now he had deep wrinkles in his face, his hair nearly white. His body looked frail.
My heart filled with love for this couple. It had been nearly thirty years since I’d seen them. I had changed, too. All grown up. I was a married woman, a mother. Nothing remained the same.
I hurried to give them hugs. A dog ran out to greet us.
“Mojito!” I cried. “Hi, girl!” I bent down and gave the Airedale an affectionate squeeze around her gray curly neck.
“Mojito the III,” Frances reminded me. The dog looked exactly the same as the one I’d known on our trip long ago.
By now, Bob and Brian had come around from the other side of the car and were making their way up the front walk. Introductions were made and warm hugs and kisses were spread around. Then Bob and I grabbed our gear and we all headed into the little house.
What struck me first was the sparseness of it. The clean straight lines of modern credenzas, the low-backed sofa, and chairs. Tones of beige and brown. An Oriental piece of art or painting here and there. A built-in bookcase covered an entire wall filled with books, a few plants, and some family photos. Simple. Attractive. The view from the rear window was breathtaking.
“Frances!” I exclaimed. “You’re so conservative now!”
“Yeah, well, ... Petrov and I thought it time we grew up.” She laughed. “Besides, it works out really well for all the weddings.”
“Weddings?”
“Petrov’s a minister for the Universal Church. He marries people. We have a wedding here most every weekend. Come on, you can put your crap in the guest room.” She led the way.
There were only two bedrooms in the house. We hung some clothes in the guest closet and left our bags on the bed to be dealt with later. I wasn’t sure where Brian was going to sleep while we were here. I prayed it wouldn’t be a problem for any of us.
“Petrov’s going to the grocery store for me. Brian, you go with him to keep an eye on him,” Frances announced, patting my son on the head.
Brian stuck his little hands into the pockets of his jeans and nodded. Then he followed Petrov out the back door.
I didn’t want to question the ability of Petrov being able to take care of my son, but the surprise of how much the man had aged disturbed me. He looked as though he needed someone to take care of him.
Bob occupied himself by studying the books and album covers in the bookcase.
“Put some music on, Bob,” Frances offered. “Play whatever you want, dear.” She took a seat on the brown sofa and took my hand. “I like your young man. He’s a gem.”
I smiled as I sat down beside her.
“Tell me all about yourself. And your mom.”
“Mom’s fine,” I told her. “But first tell me about yourself. How are you doing?”
Frances took a long breath. “I have my aches and pains,” she replied. “Well, more like angina.”
“You have chest pains?” I didn’t like hearing that.
“Yeah, well, I have my medications and doctors nearby. I don’t believe anything they tell me anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they told me I was going to die five years ago. Gave me six months to live.”
“I didn’t know that. What happened?”
Frances touched the back of her hair with her hand, then answered, “they found something in my bowel. Cancer, I guess.”
I was shocked. “Oh, my gosh!”
“But, I got it. I cured myself.”
“You cured yourself! How?”
“Enemas. Boiling hot. As hot as I could take them. I don’t recommend it,” she said, a pained look on her face. “Hurt like hell, but it tore away the inside of me. Got rid of all the infection.”
“That’s unbelievable.” I couldn’t believe she’d do that to herself.
“So, that’s my story. Now, tell me about that wonderful little boy of yours, Kiddo. He’s such an angel.”
Petrov and Brian had been gone for quite awhile when I began to worry. Then I heard the back door open.
“How’d it go, Bri?” I asked as they entered the kitchen. Petrov was unpacking a quart container of soy milk, an assortment of vegetables, and a few other things onto the counter.
“Petrov got lost,” Brian announced.
“You mean he couldn’t find the store?” I asked, concerned.
“He got lost in the store. So, I went to the store policeman and reported him missing,” Brian informed me.
“Well, what did you say?” I questioned.
“I told him that I lost Petrov.” He answered simply.
“What did the policeman say?”
“He said, ‘who’s Petrov? Your dog?’ I said, ‘No, he’s a man and he’s married to my grandma’s cousin.’”
“That’s right.” I laughed.
I was concerned about what Brian would do at dinner time. How would he react when Frances brought out the tofu and sprouts?
The meal looked appetizing enough. Frances had made tofu and spinach patties, peppered squash, and lentil and carrot puree. Not exactly mac and cheese. I held my breath.
As we sat down at the dining table and Brian looked as though he might cry, Frances disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later she returned with an individual-sized pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.
“Oh, Frances,” I exclaimed. “A pizza with real meat and cheese!” I was touched and very relieved by her thoughtfulness. This was why
