I was nine when my mother met Dan Cleaver, a physician from the Midwest and a lodging guest at Dr. Phillips's home where she worked as a housekeeper.
We had been living with my grandparents for three years by then, as we could no longer afford the house with what little money Mom earned. It had been hard on both of us to leave our beloved home, but Mom had rather left voluntarily than getting turned out for not being able to pay the rent. Now she was saving every penny, hoping to find some affordable dwelling for the two of us eventually.
Dan went out with her a few times, and she often saw him at Dr. Phillips's in the afternoon when he returned from the hospital where he worked as a resident.
One fine spring evening, my mother came home from work, hung up her coat and sat down at the kitchen table. "Mickey, love, come over here", she said, reached out for me and pulled me down to sit on her knee which I hesitantly did and put an arm around my shoulders. "I want to tell you something."
I sensed it must be something very important and potentially scary, remembering another instance when she had sat by another kitchen table like that, hugging me, telling me Dad would never come back.
The news she gave me sounded almost as bad to me. She and Dan had decided to get married and settle down in his hometown where he was supposed to take over his father's practice soon.
I gaped at her, horrified. I had feared that Dan had become much more than some chance acquaintance, but it had never occurred to me that she could actually want to marry him, let alone to move elsewhere. And it stung that she had not breathed a single word about her plans to me earlier. This revelation without a warning devastated my little world completely, but obviously I was just a kid who didn't need to be let in on things until they had been decided.
She tried to explain all the advantages to me - that she wouldn't have to work any more, that she would have more time for me if she didn't work twelve hours a day, that I wouldn't have to help in the household as much, that we would have a house of or own again, that I would have my own room and a bicycle and nice clothes and toys, and that she wouldn't feel so alone and sad any more – but I couldn't see anything good in the future she tried to paint in such vivid colours.
"But you aren't alone, Mommy. You've got me!" I interjected indignantly. I wanted to contest her other arguments, too, but I was on the verge of crying and didn't trust my voice. If I wanted to convince her that I was company enough for her and she didn't need to marry Dan and move away with him, she mustn't see me bawling like a baby.
"Of course I'm glad to have you, darling, but there are times when a grown-up woman needs a grown-up man. Maybe that sounds strange to you now, but you'll understand it better as you grow older. And look, I know you still miss your dad. I miss him, too, every day. We won't ever forget him. He will always be with us", she said softly, taking both of my hands and clasping them against her chest, "here, in our hearts, and nobody can replace him. But now it's time for me to move on. Dan is a very nice man. You will like him once you really get to know him."
Inwardly, I swore that I wouldn't, but I sensed that any discussion would lead to nothing. I knew from her tone of voice that she had made up her mind once and for all, so I just nodded and slid off her lap, shuffling outside to sit on the back doorstep, grinding my heels into the gravel, brooding.
All of that "grown-up" business felt so wrong for me. I didn't want to leave my grandparents, and I didn't want my mother to marry that man, even if that meant she wouldn't be so sad and tired any more which she certainly deserved. I didn't want her to marry again at all. Did it really take another man to make her feel better? Dan might be nice as a person all right, but I didn't want him, or anyone else, to be around my mother all the time, to usurp the place by her side, the place that rightfully belonged to my dad. No one could ever replace him for me, that much was certain.
My mother's other arguments didn't resonate with me either. I didn't care about a house of our own, I loved sharing my grandparents' home. I didn't mind sleeping on the sofa in a corner of the large kitchen that occupied most of the ground floor. On the contrary, I liked the feeling of sleeping right there in the heart of the cosy little house.
I loved the little duties Grandma gave me like feeding the chickens and helping her pick fruit and make jams and pickles and tend the garden because they made me feel grown-up and important. I loved the freedom I enjoyed whenever I went out with Grandpa and he allowed me to climb trees and taught me all about rowing a boat and building a fire and swimming and fishing and carving little figures and animals out of driftwood. My mother always talked about the dangers of my favourite activities, permanently afraid I might cut myself or get burned or break a bone or fall off the boat and drown, so Grandpa and I kept most of the things we did on our "boys'" outings a secret between us.
No room of my own or all the toys in the world could ever make up for the way Grandma hugged me whenever I was worried or how Grandpa treated me like an adult, earnestly discussing aspects of boating or fishing with me. He always let me have my own experiences even if that meant learning the hard way how things didn't work, like when I hadn't believed him that this particular branch of the old pear tree wouldn't support my weight any more and I had broken my arm. Mom had been furious at Grandpa about the incident, but I had been secretly proud, feeling like a real adventurous hero and showing off my plaster cast like some badge of honour although it was heavy and cumbersome and my arm hurt awfully.
I wanted our life to go on as it was, without any stranger intruding, threatening to whisk us away into the unknown. But I was too young to have an opinion that counted.
After a night spent tossing and turning, I poured my heart out to Grandpa the next morning, unashamedly shedding the tears I'd held back earlier. He didn't say much, but the look that flickered across his face for an instant spoke volumes. Obviously he wasn't enthusiastic about Mom's plans either.
"She's made her decision, my lad, and you and I both know that she's gonna stick to it no matter what", he sighed, ruffling my hair. I sniffled loudly and blew my nose into the large checked hankie he gave me.
"You look like you could use some fresh air, mate. Go and get your fishing tackle, we'll take a walk over to the lighthouse and nip down to the beach on our way back. Maybe we'll make some nice catch, and perhaps you can even swim a bit."
I nodded eagerly, glad about the distraction, and off we went in the cool breeze of the cloudy Saturday in early May, wearing our rubber boots and oilskins. The work at hand took my mind off my mother's announcement for the time being, and I thoroughly enjoyed our outing. We were successful with our fishing, and when the sun came out later, I splashed around in the water merrily with Grandpa watching me. I was tired but happy when we went back home, proudly carrying part of our catch.
We feasted on the fish that evening, Grandma, Grandpa and I. Mom wasn't home, though. Dan had taken her out to some fancy dinner in town. If I was honest, I didn't miss them.