The Saturday Story
If you’ve read my ‘About Me‘ page, you already know that I am an aspiring novelist. I simply can’t wait (until I sign a publishing deal, or choose to self-publish) to begin sharing my work, so I will be sharing one of my stories with you over the coming weeks. If you’re new to my Saturday Story: Rags to Riches, please find parts 1-5 below, and parts 6-10 here.
Part I:
No way. No, that can’t be right, I thought, trying to convince myself that my trembling fingers must have tapped the wrong buttons. I checked my calculation again. And again. And again.
It was correct. I was so shocked, I dropped my iPhone.
Upon picking it up, I felt light-headed. I looked down; my iPhone’s newly cracked screen displayed a number that would change my life as I knew it. Holy shit.
I’d always led a very average life… until now.
……
From Rags:
My name is Franca Bruno. I have chocolate brown, wavy hair that hangs just below my shoulders, and jade-green eyes. I’m a 34-year-old restaurant manager. I always wear red lipstick and in my opinion, headbands are an overlooked opportunity to accessorize. I don’t care that my sister stopped using them to corral her dark mane by her 10th birthday; I wear one almost every day.
My roommate (and best friend since high school), Anna, and I rent a three-bedroom townhouse down the street from my parents. My on-again, off-again boyfriend of six years is currently in an ‘on-again’ mood. His name is Kevin, and he’s recently kicked it into high gear; he’s been dropping hints that he wants to get married. I’m not convinced that this mood is going to last forever, so I made the very mature decision to skirt this incredibly awkward conversation (and probable argument) by avoiding him altogether. The ups and downs of my relationship create the kind of waves every experienced surfer only dreams of; it seems that the rocky terrain never ends as I stumble aimlessly down lovers’ lane. This only confounds my parents, as they have been happily married for 37 years.
My parents, Melanie and Carlos, still live in the house that I grew up in in the suburbs. If ever a couple could convince you of the existence of soulmates, it’s them.
They met in my mom’s first year of University, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They married the year my mom graduated, and my sister was born exactly nine months after their wedding day. My parents have been setting impossible relationship standards for me ever since. If the longevity of their relationship doesn’t set the bar high enough, they’re also business partners/serial entrepreneurs, so they live and work together in a haze of marital bliss, 24/7.
My older sister, Priscilla, is 36. She followed my parents’ perfect example to a tee, at least in the relationship department. She met her husband, Luke, in high school. They live in the same neighbourhood as my parents, and have three boys: CJ (Carlos Junior), age 10, Nicholas, 7 and Jordan, 5.
My younger brother, Chris, is 22. He’s the smartest of all of us, but he still has some growing up to do. He’s flaky and noncommittal in almost every aspect of life. Chris has no interest in being in a serious relationship. Instead, he has a lot of women whom he claims are his “friends”- but my parents will never meet any of them.
Chris insists that he’s a romantic at heart, but my sister and I are convinced that our brother seeks quantity over quality when it comes to intimate interactions. If sleeping around evoked national pride, he’d be on our $100 bill. (Don’t tell my mother. She’s a smart woman, but she is blind to my brother’s countless sexual escapades.)
I was walking to work when my phone rang. Fishing my phone out of my large, violet purse (that is really less ‘purse’ and more ‘duffel bag’), I consider it an early morning accomplishment that I was able to answer it in time.
“Hey Chris,” I said, greeting my brother.
“Hey. Do you have any cash I can borrow?”
“I’m fine, how are you?” I said sarcastically, ignoring his question.
“Sorry. I’m good, thanks,” he apologized, hurriedly. “Listen, I need to borrow some money.”
“What for this time?”
He exhaled into his iPhone. “Jenny found out about Sherry, and took it out on my car.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“Right. Dad’s car.”
Uh oh. I took a moment to take a couple of deep breaths. “What do you mean, she took it out on the car?”
“You ever hear Carrie Underwood’s, Before He Cheats? I think Jenny used it as inspiration. But I got to her before she attacked the interior. So…” He added, clearly thinking this qualified as an upside.
“You intervened?!” I asked, shrilly. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Chris replied, flippantly, unimpressed that our conversation had deviated from his original request. “Jenny was under the impression that she and I were serious and exclusive- when she realized that wasn’t true… there was some fallout.”
I know my brother, and something wasn’t adding up. “Did she have any reason to believe that you two were serious?”
He paused. “She asked if I ever wanted to get married. I said, ‘one day,’ but I didn’t say that I’d be married to her…”
Now it was my turn to exhale into my phone, “You have a good mother, and two caring sisters,” I lectured. “How are you such a pig? I wish it was your car.”
“Me too,” Chris said, sincerely. (He ignored the rest. Don’t worry- I caught that, too.) “Dad’s going to freak, but if you loan me some money, my friend will rush to repair it before Mom and Dad come home from Aunt Allie’s cottage next week. There’s no bodywork; just glass, a headlight, and one of the side mirrors. Dad’ll never know.”
I was silent at this. Chris had some really good friends, but not all of them were stand-up citizens, and my (sometimes) short-sighted brother could be taken for a ride when in a state of desperation.
“Come on, Frankie,” he pleaded, using a nickname only family and very close friends were permitted to use. “You’ve always been good with money! You’re a manager; people call you “boss”. You must have some.” He said, trying to be playful.
I rolled my eyes. I had some in savings, but not a heck of a lot.
“I work hard to save some, Chris,” I retorted, reminding my oftentimes spoiled brother that cash wasn’t exactly easy-come, easy-go.
“I know,” he replied, earnestly. “If I could ask anyone else, I would. I’m starting a construction job with Luke’s company today. You’ll have your money back in two weeks.”
“Okay,” I agreed, feeling defeated. “God knows Dad can’t pay for it.”
“Thank you, Frankie!” Chris exhaled, sounding relieved. “And no! He can never find out. Neither of them can ever know. You know Mom can’t keep secrets from him.”
“I know. Your friend better be good,” I warned my brother, as I had the mental image of my father’s windshield collapsing the next time he went through a car wash.
“He’s good. No concerns there.”
……
“Are you kidding me?!” My sister exclaimed, her deep, brown eyes wide with shock. I’d just told her of our brother’s latest predicament, as we sat in our favourite café on my lunch break.
“We were too easy on him when he was a kid,” she said, shaking her head. “Two protective, older sisters, and parents who worshipped the ground he walked on? He had it made!”
“I know,” I agreed.
“I mean, I know Mom and Dad love us, but let’s not pretend that they weren’t thrilled that their surprise bundle of joy turned out to be a boy.”
I nodded. They were. “I remember. I was 12.”
“They told us just before my fourteenth birthday. Chris was my special present that year,” Priscilla rolled her eyes.
“That’s right!” I laughed, as I reminisced. “Times were tough, I guess. But now you have three wonderful boys of your own,” I smiled.
Priscilla softened at the mention of her children. “Yeah, they’re true gifts. So is Chris, really. He’s starting work with Luke today; I’m sure Chris will tell him all about the misunderstanding that led to the unscheduled batting practice. Chris has to be honest with his friends, and get himself together. That poor girl…” she said, as she looked off, lost in thought for a moment. “His friend better be good at fixing dad’s car,” she said, coming back to reality.
……
My sister and I are the best at managing money in our family. We had it better than many, but seeing our parents struggle with money when we were growing up instilled a deep sense of financial responsibility in us. Still, my sister’s brood drained much of what Priscilla and Luke made (“Wait until they’re older, and you have to feed three teenaged boys. One of us will have to win the lottery by then!” Our mom joked), and working in restaurant management didn’t exactly put me in the top 1%. Priscilla and I were savvy, but we still struggled to make ends meet.
My parents balance each other out in a lot of ways, but unfortunately, they’re cut from the same cloth when it comes to their saving habits. It’s not that they don’t work hard; they’re extremely innovative. They take smart business risks (usually), and they’ve always provided a good life for my siblings and me. While they’ve had some fun along the way, they’ve always said that they’ll worry about tomorrow… tomorrow.
Fortunately for my family members, ‘tomorrow’ was going to be a beautiful day, I thought, as I looked down at my cracked iPhone.
………
Part 2:
To Riches:
She was dressed in a sharp, midnight blue suit and black suede heels (an ensemble that probably cost more than what I used to spend on rent for many months combined). “Congratulations, Ms. Bruno,” the real estate agent said as she smiled, handing me my keys.
“Thank you, Ms. Pierce,” I said, accepting the keys.
I couldn’t believe that this was my life. I stood back to take it all in; to admire my new… house? No. Not a house. It’s a mansion. A sprawling estate on perfectly manicured grounds that seemed to go for miles. Life really can change in an instant, I mused.
……
From Rags:
Whether the summer heat caused beads of sweat to form on the back of my neck, or winter’s chill attacked and quickly numbed any exposed skin, I wiggled and pulled. The key to the restaurant always stuck in the lock. No DIY remedy or professional locksmith could fix it for long. I had been struggling with this lock for years. The irony? Our neighbourhood diner was actually quite welcoming- once one of the staff could open the door, that is.
I studied hospitality and tourism in college, but my training in the industry started at this very diner when I was a teenager. After years of working as a runner/dishwasher, then as a member of the waitstaff, I was promoted to the position of the diner’s manager.
Our customers were friendly, and my staff were reliable. The previous managers instituted some good policies, but I wanted each and every person to feel that they were welcome. It was more than a neighbourhood diner to me, and I wanted to create a lasting impression; a simple diner could remind patrons of their grandmother’s kitchen, and feel less like the many franchises we’ve come to know so well- if we worked hard enough. Our dedication paid off. In fact, so many of our customers were ‘regulars’ that it was cause for excitement when an unknown person walked into our establishment. As such, the ‘regulars’ were the heart of our operation, and all of us had our favourites. I am fond of so many of our customers, but after so many years, I consider Rosalee a friend and confidant.
Rosalee is the first customer I spoke to on my first day on the job. As a teenager at the time, I was unsure and quiet, but she was so kind. An older lady, she is easy to open up to. Over the years, she has become a trusted friend, and is endlessly helpful, as she has assisted in helping me to navigate through many of my own personal storms. Rosalee is soft-spoken, but exudes a nearly regal air of patient confidence. She is the perfect mix of maternal and formidable, and she has been a customer of the diner for years (for many years before I met her).
Rosalee always orders the same thing: a slice of warm apple pie, and a black coffee. (It’s good pie, but as she visits the diner every other day, I don’t know how she never tired of it throughout the years.) Because of Rosalee, apple pie survived every menu revision and budget cut. I make sure to have fresh apple pie just for her.
It was a Wednesday afternoon.
The diner was quiet, so I told Rosalee that one of my brother’s ‘friends’ had conducted a private batting practice on my father’s car (after she found out that my brother had been ‘scouting players’ from various teams).
Rosalee listened patiently, as always. As one of the diner’s most valued customers, Rosalee had met my brother, and knew a bit about him from our conversations. She didn’t comment on his immature antics, instead sympathizing with Chris’s ‘friend,’ Jenny, when she said, “I believe it was William Penn who said, ‘The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.‘”
I placed my cell phone on the table, and nodded in agreement. Looking towards my phone, I explained, “Chris said he’d call me if there is a problem with the car’s repair.”
“When will your parents be home from your Aunt’s cottage?” Rosalee asked.
“Saturday afternoon,” I responded.
My phone rang, and Chris’s picture filled the screen.
I looked at Rosalee, and exhaled in anticipation of trouble.
“You’re such a good sister,” Rosalee complimented and encouraged me. I gave her a slight smile of gratitude as I answered the phone.
“Hello?”
………
Part 3:
To Riches:
“Where’s dad?” I asked my mother, upon entering the grandiose kitchen.
New to a life of luxury, my mother joked as she leaned forward slightly, focusing her gaze as if straining to see me from far away, and asked, “Is that my beautiful Frankie?”
I smiled.
Though I had given my brother, Chris, enough money to buy his own chain of restaurants, he preferred to keep tabs on when my mother would be cooking. (“Buy all the mansions you want; mom’s cooking means ‘home,'” he said, whenever I reminded my mom that she need not cook so often anymore.) He continued my mother’s jest by jumping up and down while waving frantically, “Frankie! FRANKIE!” he called. I added an eye-roll to my smile- which was directed entirely towards my brother. We had enough money to join the highbrow parties, but something told me we lacked certain social graces required.
“Where has your father been since we moved, darling?” My mother asked, in answer to my question. “He’s driving his cars- every morning, a different one. You want to know why the price of gas keeps rising? Your father. He’s increased demand, singlehandedly.”
My brother chuckled, as he loaded his plate with our mom’s famous frittata, pancakes and bacon. “Thank goodness this place is so big; dad relies on the square footage for exercise,” he added.
I opted for an espresso and fresh fruit, and joined my brother at the island- a single, relatively small component of the space, but it was bigger than my previous kitchen.
“Let dad enjoy,” I said. “He’s always loved cars, and he deserves the break.”
“Oh, he’s enjoying it, all right.” My mother assured me, with a slight smile and shake of her head.
……
From Rags:
“What is it, Chris? What’s wrong with the car?” I asked my brother impatiently, upon answering my phone. Rosalee (my friend, and favourite patron of the diner I managed) sat and waited, while I spoke to Chris.
“Mom and dad are coming home on Sunday, right?” Chris asked.
“No, Saturday. Why? What’s wrong with dad’s car?”
“Can you talk them into staying until Sunday? The car looks good, but the side mirror won’t be replaced until late Saturday.”
“This is your mess, Chris. Why would I talk mom and dad into anything?” I asked, exasperated.
“Because they will know that something is up if I ask them,” Chris retorted.
Given my brother’s track record, that was probably true.
Calming down, I jumped into ‘big sister’ mode. “If you’re sure that it will be fixed on Saturday, text dad and ask him if you can keep the car until Sunday morning. I’ll pick them up from the train station on Saturday.”
“Thank you, Frankie!” Chris said, sincerely.
“You’re welcome, but I’m doing it more for them than for you,” I replied. My father would be furious if he knew that his car had been damaged, and my mother would worry for my brother’s philandering soul. This was best for everyone.
………
Part 4:
To Riches:
Nicholas (one of my nephews) loves trains. If you ask him one question about them (anything from their operation, capacity, construction or history), his eyes light up. It’s a sure way to get a smile, and redirecting his attention with questions about trains has helped to quell tears from many scrapes and skinned knees. He will happily regale you with stories and fun facts about trains- anytime.
A couple of years ago, his parents took him on a train. He met a railroad conductor, and he was absolutely starstruck. My sister told me that little Nicholas (only about 5 years old, at the time) was standing in the aisle, looking up at the conductor, mouth open in awe, as if he was meeting a rockstar.
Once Nicholas regained his composure, he peppered the conductor in a flurry of questions. The conductor, a very kind gentleman, beamed at my little nephew. He answered as many questions as he could, and gave Nicholas the very conductor’s hat that he was wearing that day.
Now that we have money, his parents bought him every conceivable train set and toy (though, if I’m being honest, the windfall of money I was lucky enough to gain only improved the quality of these items; my family creatively nurtured Nicholas’s love of trains at every birthday and holiday before we had extraordinary means to).
His new room had been painted with murals of scenes you may see travelling in various lands via train. As if looking out the window of a passenger car, murals capture the sun rising on the east wall of his bedroom, overlooking a rocky, mountainous landscape, and sets on the west wall of his bedroom, looking out into a bustling city on the coast.
Though much larger, his room is fashioned as if he lives in a luxury train, complete with a sleeper car and separate area for entertainment.
Train sets run overhead and around the perimeter of his bedroom. Nicholas even has his own private space to assemble new trains and fix broken ones.
He loves his new room; it’s more than any kid could ever ask for, but ask my little nephew what his favourite thing is, and he’ll say his conductor’s hat (“From a real conductor!”) every single time.
……
From Rags:
It was Saturday afternoon. My parents were due home from my Aunt Allie’s cottage any second.
“Stay by the car, Nick,” I reminded my nephew, as he studied the train that was slowing down, as it arrived.
“Ding, ding, ding,” Nicholas mimicked the chime the train made, signalling that the doors were open. “Do you think I can make that my ringtone when I get a cell phone?” He asked, innocently.
“A phone?!” I asked. “It’ll be 10 years before you need a phone. Trains may not even make that sound by then,” I said to my seven-year-old nephew.
“Not 10 years. Maybe 5 or 6,” he said, confidently.
“I think your mom will say 7 or 8,” I said, imagining my sister weeping at the thought of her second-born being old enough to need a cell phone.
“There they are!” I said to Nick, as I spotted my parents. “Hi Mom! Hi Dad!” I waved.
“Hello!” My mother called to us, enthusiastically.
After they greeted Nicholas, I kissed and hugged them hello, as I helped gather their bags.
“Did you have a nice time?” I asked my parents, as we gathered into the car.
“Oh, yes. It was very nice,” my dad answered.
“Beautiful weather,” my mother agreed.
“Thanks for picking us up, Franca,” my dad said. “I text Chris back to let him know that he could keep my car until tomorrow. Everything okay?”
Thank goodness I was driving, so I didn’t have to make eye contact with him. “Of course!” I smiled, as I focused on the road. “What? It’s odd that Nick wanted to come and pick you guys up from the train station?”
“No,” my father answered.
Crisis averted, I thought. I hadn’t planned to use Nick’s passion for trains as a diversion, but that worked out well, I privately congratulated myself.
………
Part 5:
To Riches:
The sun was shining. It was a warm, beautiful, picturesque day.
My sister, Priscilla, and I sat at a chic café, enjoying a delicious lunch. Though I hadn’t worked as a manager at the diner for many months, I still found myself critiquing (and ultimately admiring) the quality of our food, the care of the chef and their team, and attentiveness of our server.
Bags- filled with an assortment of beautifully designed clothes- proudly adorned with luxury brand names surrounded our feet. We had been shopping that morning.
Priscilla and I have always loved shopping together. Whether we were having fun (like today) or delving into a little retail therapy, there was nothing a little sister time couldn’t solve. (And if we went home with a new purse or pair of shoes by the time we were done, all the better!)
……
From Rags:
“I’d say that that was another successful shopping trip!” Priscilla announced, as she looked down, surveying the many plastic shopping bags that were gathered at our feet.
Priscilla and I were enjoying dinner out on a Saturday evening. The food had arrived quickly, and the server (a man we knew from high school) invited us to join him and a few of his friends for a drink that evening. My sister politely declined, but I thought it could be fun, and agreed to join them. I ordered a coffee after eating to give me a little pick-me-up (it was at times like these that I missed the endless energy I had in my twenties). It had been a busy day. I worked in the morning and had picked my parents up from the train station that afternoon.
Whenever I compared my definition of a ‘busy day’ to my sister’s life, I felt grateful to have so much time to myself. Priscilla (busy with a successful career, a loving husband and three young sons at home) was savouring her burger and fries as if it was a gourmet meal at a fancy restaurant.
“What?” she asked me, after catching me grinning at her.
“You look like you’re enjoying that, that’s all,” I smiled.
“I am! I didn’t have to cook it, AND I don’t have to clean up afterwards.” (So that was it, I thought.) “Luke and the boys are eating pizza and playing video games right this very minute. CJ is probably yelling at Nicholas that he’s taking too long to win whatever they’re playing.” she said, as if telepathically connected to her children.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, laughing.
“Me, too!” she said in agreement. “It was a good day. I saved 40% on Luke’s new work boots. That was a steal.”
“Yeah,” I smiled, “I’m glad that you spotted them. Chris will appreciate the new pair I bought for him.”
Priscilla nodded. “We’ll take them to him after I finish my burger. I wanna see dad’s car before he returns it to him tomorrow.”
“I’m sure that it will be fine. Chris said it looked good.” I assured my sister. “How will we give Chris his boots? He won’t be at the repair shop,” I asked my sister.
“He told me that he’ll be picking up Dad’s car later tonight, so we’ll leave the boots in the car. I have a spare key,” Priscilla answered, confidently.
Twenty minutes later, we’d finished dinner and paid the bill. We drove down Main street to the auto repair shop where Chris’s friend worked.
I turned into the driveway, and parked alongside our dad’s car.
“It looks good,” Priscilla said, approvingly, after she circled the car and I put Chris’s new boots in the backseat.
“Thank goodness,” I said, relieved, as I walked back to my car.
“Hey, Chris is here,” Priscilla said, motioning to the window.
I looked into the window and saw my brother, looking down as he was focused on waxing a car parked in the shop.
I looked at my sister, who was still examining our dad’s car. “We should go say hi. Tell him how good the car looks, and congratulate him on getting away with more nonsense,” I grinned, looking back to my sister. Priscilla’s smile faltered; I followed her gaze back to the auto repair’s window.
A man stood behind our brother, his face buried in Chris’s neck, kissing him as he stroked Chris’s hair. Chris was smiling with his eyes closed, too caught up in the moment to notice his two sisters gaping at him from outside.
My sister and I stared at each other, wide-eyed in disbelief. She silently motioned to get back into the car. I slid behind the wheel, and Priscilla got back into the passenger seat. Careful to avoid looking into the window, I started the car and drove off, acutely aware of how loud the engine was. I silently prayed that Chris wouldn’t see us driving away. I don’t know if he ever planned to tell us about this part of his life, but I knew that if he had, this was not the way he wanted us to find out.
………
Thank you for reading! You can find parts 6-10 here.
Give your life the green light. It’s A Go!
Amber Green
*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2018-2020 Amber Green
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Amber Green is a self-published Canadian author and freelance writer. Her short stories can be found here: www.amazon.com/author/ambergreen