Late spring 1979.
Companion piece to Hurricane George. Same backstory as HG, Night Before Christmas and my other stories.
For T. I hope this serves as a worthy distraction.
Tornado Gilligan
Gilligan squirms uncomfortably in his seat.
He coughs. Drops his napkin.
He glances at Mary Ann. She has someone's cute baby in her lap, so she's not paying the least bit of attention to him.
Gilligan looks up. Three strapping young men are sitting across from him. When they look at him, Gilligan knows they're scrutinizing him in the same way their father did. He can see it in their eyes, the way their rugged features crease when they squint at him. They're all handsome, tan, strong. They're planted solidly on the bench, broad shoulders filling the space around them, and Gilligan feels like a scrawny twig. They could probably snap him in half just by looking at him sideways.
Earlier that day, William Gilligan blew into the Wichita airport like an F5 tornado. He staggered blindly through the terminal, insisting on carrying both his and Mary Ann's bags, tripped over his own feet, and flew headfirst onto the baggage carousel. He sat on the conveyor belt, riding it around in a slow circle as he tried to detangle himself from their bags, which were now mixed up with the luggage coming off of a flight from New York. Every time he passed the slide from which more luggage would appear from the plane, he would get slammed in the back by another suitcase. On her feet, Mary Ann followed him around the circle, hissing at him to get down while trying not to laugh. She stopped glaring at him only long enough to smile and apologize to a confused bystander whose bag Gilligan was sitting on. Gilligan spotted two familiar faces in the crowd, but they disappeared as he rode past, Mary Ann's stalking form blocking most of his view. When he finally untangled himself and collected their bags, Mary Ann hauled him off the belt. He stumbled and dropped the bags and nearly knocked Mary Ann over. She finally got him to his feet and they turned around only to come face to face with a whole contingent of Summerses. Aunt Martha and Uncle George looked thrilled to see them. The rest of the herd looked stunned. A homemade "Welcome Home" sign flopped to the floor beside one of the little kids, who was apparently too astounded by what she had just witnessed to hold onto it properly.
Gilligan ducks out of sight to search for his lost napkin. He finds it under the table in the grass. There's also a dog under the table, patiently waiting to snatch up any dropped food. There's a little girl under the table too, trying to feed her ear of corn to the dog, who apparently doesn't like corn and is pointedly ignoring her. Gilligan scratches the mutt behind the ears. The little girl offers Gilligan her corn. He has his own, but he takes it because he doesn't want to be rude.
Gilligan clambers back up onto the bench. They're still studying him. Sam's head tilts slightly when he spots the corn. Their oldest nephew and his father have joined the lineup, eyebrows cocked almost identically.
A warm breeze gusts through the field and nineteen hands instinctively slap down on their napkins. They've done this before. Gilligan watches helplessly as his newly rescued napkin floats away on the breeze and disappears into a wheat field. He frowns. Everyone else continues eating, barely noticing the interruption.
The Summers family doesn't fit around the kitchen table anymore.
The nine of them used to be able to sit at the table together. It was tight, but they fit. But the kids got older and they got married and they had their own kids and eventually they started eating in shifts, standing, sitting on the floor, perched on the counters, yelling from the other room to stay in the conversation.
Eventually Martha grew tired of stepping over people and scraping mashed potatoes off of her couch cushions and pulling her grandchildren out of the sink when they tipped over backwards. So she commissioned – no, ordered – her husband and the boys to build her a giant table out of the enormous pile of old wood that George had been hoarding in the barn for thirty years and was never going to use.
They worked on it for months, learning quickly to stop whining about it and stop trying to convince Martha that they liked eating like a bunch of hillbillies. She wouldn't entertain any complaints, comments, or suggestions. Whenever one of them would wander into the kitchen, hat in his hand, thoughtfully scratching the back of his neck, she'd fix him with a look that would send him straight back outside before he could utter a word. George would show up next, all smiles, and call her darlin'. She'd narrow her eyes and ask him if he wanted to sleep in the barn that night.
Martha knew exactly what she wanted and the completed table was gorgeous. Big and rustic with mismatched wood. It had room for all of them and room to grow, which for Martha was the most important part.
When it was finished and sanded and sealed and clean enough to eat off of, George and Martha sat on the edge of the table in the backyard. George scratched his head and frowned at the narrow door to the house. "Why didn't we think about this?"
Martha grinned at him and swung her feet girlishly, her toes just grazing the tips of the grass. "It's not going in the house."
Between May and September the entire family eats Sunday dinner outside under the warm Midwestern sun. The handmade table is covered in gingham tablecloths, china that doesn't all match but still seems like it goes together, and enough food to feed a small army. Sheets hang on the clothesline behind them, waving gently in the breeze.
When it's cold out, they haul the table into the barn and string up lanterns and try to ignore the horses peering over their shoulders eyeing their dinners.
When it's really cold out, they retreat inside the house to drop mashed potatoes on the couch cushions and fall backwards into the sink again.
The kids call it The Big Table and when it isn't being used for dinner, it becomes a cave, a pirate ship, a stage, or a spaceship. They hide underneath it and dance on top of it. They pull freshly laundered sheets from the line and build forts around it.
Every Sunday morning, chaos descends on the farm and the Summers house bursts at the seams. The day hasn't truly begun and Martha can't truly relax into her routine until the peaceful silence is shattered by truck engines and kids screaming and dogs barking. The men stride away to help George with whatever he's doing that day. The women gather in the kitchen to gossip and eat and pretend to help cook. The kids disappear – the boys to get in the way of whatever the men are doing and to bother the animals, the girls to pick wildflowers for the table and to yell at the boys for bothering the animals.
Neighbors claim to be able to hear the din all the way in downtown Winfield and that's exactly the way Martha likes it. Until it gets late and the kids are falling over dead asleep in the grass, jars of fireflies clutched in their hands, and she's grateful that they have their own houses to go back to so she can rest up for next week. Except for weeks that the kids stay there, which are fairly common. The older ones are put to work and the younger ones run around and get into trouble.
This is Gilligan's first Summers Sunday dinner.
And it's louder than the storm that shipwrecked the Minnow.
If Mary Ann hadn't made sure he had a full plate when the meal began, he would be going without. Food is disappearing from the table faster than if he was dining with nineteen Skippers.
Gilligan turns to Mary Ann. She has somebody else's cute baby in her lap now, so she's really not paying any attention to him.
He's not sure who this baby belongs to. There are so many kids and they move so fast that he can't keep them all straight. Most of them are running around in circles screaming. The older ones sit at the table with the adults, trying to be grown-up, but looking desperately bored. People pass the babies around like salt shakers. Martha holds court at one end of the table, scolding the children, kissing their boo-boos and constantly inquiring where her next grandchild is coming from. George is across from her, a million miles away, explaining all the great plans he has for the farm to the boys and trying to tell a salty story about Mrs. Higgenbotham that he heard in town without actually telling the good part.
They're laughing and teasing each other and throwing rolls down the length of the table. Maggie accidentally beans her little brother in the chest with one and then pretends she had nothing to do with it. They learned the hard way that if they pass the basket down past ten other people all the rolls are gone by the time it gets to the person who asked for it in the first place.
"Ow! Grandma!" The oldest girl, the one Rachel named after Mary Ann, rubs the side of her head and plucks a soggy roll off of her plate.
Martha yells an apology from the opposite end of the table, but she's too busy laughing to sound like she actually means it. "Hand that to your grandfather."
Annie scowls and dumps the roll into George's outstretched palm. He winces as string bean juice from her plate runs through his fingers. "I don't want this one. Toss me a fresh one."
"No!" Annie ducks as her grandmother winds up and another roll sails through the air where her head had been a moment before. "Grandma!"
"Relax, Annie." Her brother rolls his eyes. "She didn't do it on purpose." Jack pauses and smirks mischievously. "Not like this." On cue, rolls pelt Annie from all directions – her parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, Summerses and otherwise. Even the cute baby in Mary Ann's lap gets her hands on a roll and attempts to fling it across the table. It flops into the bowl of peas and she starts to cry.
Gilligan can't understand a word that anyone is saying. They're all screaming, yelling, laughing, and he doesn't know how they seem to be able to hear each other. Annie is trying in vain to throw rolls back at anyone within reach while shielding herself with her arms. Her Uncle Jake is pulling the doughy middle out of the rolls and rolling it into balls between his palms. They're denser and harder and hurt more when they hit. The baby's still crying. The first baby is back across the table with her mother, cackling with glee and clapping her chubby hands. Martha is laughing so hard she's halfway out of her chair. Annie is turning bright red and yelling incoherently behind her arms.
Mary Ann is the only person besides Gilligan not engaged in the roll war. She's sitting absolutely still, hugging the crying baby and absorbing the moment. She smiles peacefully amongst the chaos, like she's remembering a similar instance from the distant past, pulling it from her memory and tucking this one safely away alongside it.
It isn't until one of the kids stops dead and addresses Gilligan directly that the others remember he's there and that he's a new novelty they should be paying attention to.
Eight year old Bobby hops up on the bench behind Mary Ann's cousin Charlie and wraps his arms around his father's neck. "Gilligan!" he yells and the commotion around the table screeches to a halt. Annie looks relieved. The baby quiets and watches him through huge brown eyes. She sniffles.
With so many eyes suddenly turned on him, Gilligan wishes he could disappear under the table with the dog and the little girl. He looks up at the boy, who's staring at him in awe.
"What's the ocean like?" Bobby breathes, low and reverent.
Gilligan swallows. The sudden silence is deafening. The dog and the little girl have emerged from under the table and join the twenty two other people staring at him. "It's, uh ..." Gilligan looks around the table. Eyebrows raise. They're waiting. "It's ... wet."
Bobby grins like this is the greatest thing he's ever heard. The others are confused for a moment. They smile uncertainly. Is he kidding? Martha is chuckling, grinning at him over her glass of water. "Cool!" Bobby decides and jumps off the bench. This answer is good enough for the other kids, too, and they go back to chasing each other and screaming.
The rest of them return to their meals and their pre-food fight conversations. Annie shoves a pyramid of rolls off of her plate and shakes crumbs out of her hair. Gilligan turns to Mary Ann. He looks pained, but she's smiling at him. The baby in her lap gives him a big toothless grin.
"That's right, boys!" George exclaims from the head of the table. "Gilligan here was in the Navy." A giant hand slaps down on Gilligan's shoulder and he flinches. It claps him on the shoulder a few times, shakes him affectionately. Gilligan grabs hold of his hat before it's dislodged from his head. "He's a true blue, bona fide Naval hero. He's got a medal and everything!" Gilligan smiles sheepishly. The young men around the table look up with interest. They're either mildly impressed or totally incredulous. But George is grinning. "How do you like that, huh? The Navy!"
# # # #
"Now, who can tell me the most important thing about a water rescue?"
The class peers at each other. A few hands tentatively go up. Annie smirks. "To have actual water?"
"Well ... well, that goes without saying." Gilligan sniffs importantly, hitches up his imaginary gun belt. He's standing barefoot with his pant legs rolled up in the stream beyond the meadow where the cows graze. The water gently laps his ankles. The kids are scattered on the banks, standing in the water, sitting on rocks. Mary Ann and her youngest cousin Grace stand in the back, each with a baby balanced on their hip. Three year old Joey nods distantly, not knowing what he's agreeing with. He's sitting in the grass at their feet, facing away from the stream and not paying the least bit of attention.
"No, the most important thing is not to panic. Now, when your Aunt Mary Ann was drowning in the lagoon, I dove right in, cool as a cucumber, just like I was trained to do in the Navy."
"My hero!" Mary Ann calls from the bank and Gilligan grins, puffs his chest out.
Annie's brother Jack raises his hand obediently. "She told us that she almost drowned you and the Skipper had to jump in and pull you both out."
The kids giggle as Gilligan's shoulders slump and he shoots Mary Ann a look. She shrugs and has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. A cow moos plaintively in the distance. Gilligan clears his throat. "Well, now, that's just the point," he continues. "The most important thing is not to panic. She panicked."
"If I were drowning I'd probably panic," Tommy says.
"Me, too," his sister Emma agrees.
"How are you supposed to rescue someone who's panicking? Wouldn't that make you panic?" Annie is giving Gilligan her best wide doe-eyed look of worry. It must be genetic.
"And how can you rescue someone if you're panicking?" Jack asks.
"Well ... you're not supposed to just jump in and grab them! You're supposed to tow them in so you don't get dragged under!"
"Why didn't you do that?" Emma asks.
"He just wanted to jump in and grab her," Grace interjects and Mary Ann frowns at her.
"There wasn't time!"
Tommy is peering at Gilligan thoughtfully. "So, you're just supposed to hope they last long enough for you to go find something to tow them in with?"
Two year old Jenny stands on the bank clutching Mary Ann's hand. "That's silly," she decides.
"Silly!" Rebecca yells from Grace's arms and then grins at herself, three lone teeth poking out from her gums.
Bobby jumps to his feet and stomps out to stand with Gilligan in the middle of the stream. "It's not silly! It's Navy training!" He glares at his cousins and then points at Gilligan. "This man has a medal."
Gilligan frowns, digs his toes into the mud. "Thanks, Bobby," he murmurs.
"You're welcome." Bobby salutes him sharply and splashes back to his seat.
# # # #
Gilligan's voice penetrates the darkness. "Mary Ann?" She ignores him at first. She doesn't have the energy to respond. "Mary Ann," he repeats, louder, and she winces.
"What?" It's just a mumble, not even close to resembling the real word, but he deciphers it anyway.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes."
"I'm not. Well, I am. I'm too comfortable."
"You're crazy," Mary Ann murmurs, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. She's in her old bed in her old room in her aunt and uncle's house. Gilligan is as far over on the other side of the bed as he can possibly get without falling out, frowning at the ceiling.
Mary Ann had gasped when she stepped into her old room for the first time. Nothing had changed in fifteen years. Her teddy bear was still propped up on her pillow. Her mother's ballet shoes still hung from the doorknob. Grace had wanted her room when she got tired of sharing with her sister, but Martha would hear none of it. It was Mary Ann's room and it would remain Mary Ann's room. She would be back for it someday. Grace had gotten angry, told her mother that Mary Ann was never coming back, and got grounded for two months. Grace is next door now, eavesdropping, no doubt.
Gilligan slides around under the covers, pouting and scowling and muttering to himself, trying to get comfortable. He kicks her and apologizes. He settles in and is still for a few minutes and Mary Ann nearly falls asleep. Gilligan sighs and abruptly shifts again. He flops around like a caught fish, rolls over, pulls the blanket off of her. She snatches it back and he yelps in surprise.
Mary Ann lifts her head to peer at him over her shoulder. "Gilligan, what is your problem?"
"I miss my hammock."
"You've been sleeping in a real bed in Hawaii for eight months."
"Oh, yeah." He says it like he's forgotten. "Well, that bed's all lumpy like my hammock was."
Mary Ann squints at him. "Do you want to leave?"
Gilligan looks over at her. Her hair is falling in her face. She's groggy and mad at him and he should be scared, but he smiles. "No."
She flops back down and snuggles into her pillow. "You can always go sleep in the barn."
"Really?" His voice sounds brighter. "Can we do that?"
"You can."
Gilligan's quiet for a while. He squirms again. "Rachel doesn't live here anymore, right?"
"Right."
"And Sam moved out?"
"Yeah."
"And Charlie?"
"Uh huh."
"And Maggie?"
She just grunts.
"And Jake?"
She grumbles something that sounds like, "What's your point?"
Gilligan thinks about this for a long moment. "Then why are we in the same room?"
Mary Ann should be insulted, but she laughs instead. She can't help it. She turns and stifles her laughter in her pillow. Mary Ann rolls over and looks at him through the darkness. As suspected, he's staring at the ceiling, clutching the blanket, a look of great discomfort and confliction spread across his face. Mary Ann sidles up to him and digs her elbow into the mattress, propping her head up on her palm so she can peer down at him. She pouts. "You don't like being my roommate?"
Gilligan turns to look at her seriously. "Mary Ann," he begins, shaking his head as if he's breaking the worst news in the world to her. "We're not married."
Mary Ann nods. "I know. Aunt Martha lets that rule go if you're over thirty."
Gilligan settles further into the mattress, pulls the blanket up a little higher. He doesn't like it when she looks so amused while he's trying to be serious.
Mary Ann pokes him in the ribs and he squirms away, trying to stay annoyed. She's grinning at him now and he doesn't like this either. "You're nervous because you're in a real bed with a girl."
Gilligan folds his hands over his chest and closes his eyes peacefully. "No, I'm not." Gilligan lies perfectly still, as if he's suddenly fallen contentedly asleep.
Mary Ann laughs. "Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
Gilligan feels Mary Ann wind her arm around his torso, her hand sliding over his abdomen under the blanket, and he tries to pretend that he doesn't notice. "Yes, you are." Her lips are suddenly close by his ear and her breath prickles his skin. "And it's all cozy." His right arm is pinned beneath her and he becomes very aware of her weight pressing down on him. "And snuggly." He feels her nose brush his temple. "And warm." Mary Ann kisses his jaw.
Gilligan doesn't move. "Mary Ann, I'm sleeping," he informs her evenly.
Mary Ann kisses him again. "No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
"No, you're not!" Mary Ann tickles his sides and he lets out a strangled squeal. He tries to back away and keep from falling off the edge of the bed at the same time.
"Stop!" he forces out, trying hard not to laugh. "That tickles!" When Mary Ann finds the right spot on his back, Gilligan's foot kicks like a puppy and soon the blanket is in a heap at the foot of the bed. "Mary Ann!" Soon they're both hysterical, gasping for air, and he reaches for her hands, but is too weak to detangle her fingers from his shirt.
"Forget it! I won!"
"No, you didn't!" Gilligan grabs her elbows and is able to push her away from him and flat onto her back. She squeals and he grins, sitting on her to keep her from attacking him again.
"Gilligan!" She pushes at his chest, giggling uncontrollably, her bare feet kicking in vain behind him.
There is a loud bang on the wall behind the headboard and they both freeze, a tangle of arms and legs. "Don't be gross!" Grace calls from next door and Mary Ann clamps a hand over her mouth.
Gilligan's eyes widen in the darkness. He scrambles off of her and grabs for the blanket. "This is what I mean!" he whispers urgently. "I thought your uncle would make me sleep on the porch, or at least across the hall. I'm scared to roll over 'cause I keep thinking he'll know I moved and run in here with his gun."
Mary Ann smiles. "Gilligan, that's impossible." She gently brushes his hair away from his eyes and he smiles back a little, hesitantly. "I locked the door," she whispers and his jaw drops.
"Mary Ann!" Gilligan admonishes, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
Mary Ann rolls her eyes and collects her end of the blanket. "Gilligan, how long have we been together? Calm down. Besides, the kids are staying here this week, so there isn't room for you anywhere else. There are never enough babies in this house to satisfy Aunt Martha." Mary Ann turns away from him. She bunches her pillow up under her cheek and frowns at the wall. "She keeps telling me I'm not getting any younger," she says and closes her eyes.
"What's that got to do with me?"
Mary Ann sighs heavily. "Go to sleep, Gilligan."
Silence settles over the house. Mary Ann's not sure how long she lies there, but she knows he's still awake. Gilligan's brain never stops working, even at night. She's almost asleep when she hears him whisper, "Mary Ann?"
She grunts into her pillow, not bothering to open her eyes.
"Do you think they like me?"
"Who?"
"The kids."
"They love you," she mumbles.
Gilligan frowns at the ceiling. "They tease me."
Mary Ann smiles drowsily. "I tease you."
"That's different." Gilligan has his hands folded over his chest again, worry lines creasing his face.
Mary Ann flops onto her back. She reaches out blindly, finds his arm, and pats it sleepily. "They've been following you around like ducklings all day. Don't worry."
"Okay. If you say so."
"I say so," she murmurs, getting comfortable again.
"Mary Ann?"
She groans and slaps her hands over her face, rubbing her eyes. "Did the Skipper ever get any sleep on the island?"
"I'll say!" Gilligan exclaims, immediately forgetting what he was going to say. "He could win the World Snoring Championship."
"I don't see how."
"No, you have to hear him."
"I mean I don't see how he got any sleep with you talking so much."
Gilligan pouts and she can hear it in his voice. "I'm sorry. I'll stop. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
"Mary Ann?"
She laughs, even though she really wants to cry. "What?"
"Do you think the Skipper misses me?"
"I do."
"Me, too. I should call him tomorrow."
"You should."
"Okay." He's quiet for a minute. "Do you want to talk to him?"
Mary Ann shrieks into her pillow in frustration. "Yes! Yes, I want to talk to him!"
"Okay. Mary Ann?"
"Go to sleep, Gilligan!"
Gilligan pouts. "I just wanted to tell you something."
"Gilligan ...," she nearly growls it, sounding halfway like the Skipper.
"It's important."
Mary Ann sighs gustily. "What? What is it?"
Gilligan's quiet for a long moment. He stares at the ceiling. Just when she thinks he's given up, he says simply, "I love you."
Mary Ann smiles into her pillow. She reaches a hand out behind her until she finds his. She slips her fingers between his and squeezes his hand. "I love you, too."
After ten years of trying to get him to notice her, letting him take her on all sorts of dangerous island adventures, flirting shamelessly with him, scaring him away, and then repeating this process over and over, her heart still does a little back flip every time he says it. She knows how shy he is about expressing his serious emotions, even to her, and she knows if she could see him in the dark he'd be blushing or scrunching his face up awkwardly. Sometimes she still expects him to get scared and run away.
Mary Ann stares at the wall and the minutes run together. She sighs. Now she's wide awake.
Mary Ann reaches down and rescues her old teddy bear from the floor and tucks him safely in her arms. She settles in again and continues staring at the wall. Her old Mosquitoes poster still hangs by the door. Beside it is a poster of Hawaii she bought after she found out she won the radio contest and would be going to this exotic beautiful place – for free! The image on the wall is obscured in darkness, but she can see it clearly in her mind – a pure white sandy beach arcing in a graceful horseshoe around a lagoon, palm trees, a mountain in the distance. It looks like their island. Mary Ann stared at it every night before she fell asleep in the months leading up to her trip, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in such a place.
Mary Ann stares at the darkened Hawaii poster on the wall, pictures herself and the six other castaways on the beach. She sees their huts, sees their visitors, sees their visitors leaving, sees all sorts of failed rescue schemes. The land disappears from the image and all that's left is the wide blue sea and she imagines little ships with little sailors on them. Mary Ann's brow furrows thoughtfully.
"Gilligan?" she whispers faintly.
Behind her, Gilligan sighs dramatically, clearly mocking her. "Whaaaaat?" he groans as if she's the most annoying creature on the planet.
Mary Ann smiles. Is that how she sounds to him? "How come you never told me about your medal?"
Gilligan's quiet for a long time. She's known him to fall asleep suddenly in the past, sitting at the table during dinner, even mid-dig on a new well only to be woken up by the Skipper knocking his shovel out from under him, but she knows he's still awake now, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. She often wonders what he's thinking about all the time. Mary Ann's eyes are wide in the darkness, ready for a harrowing story about his epic feats of bravery. Or waiting to feel him shrug against the mattress and proudly tell her with a certain amount of swagger that it was all in a day's work in the Navy.
Instead, he says something so plainly accurate and so utterly Gilligan that she has to instantly forgive him for keeping her up half the night with his chatter and then not telling her what happened.
"You never asked."
Mary Ann's cousins and their spouses won't really appear after this, but their kids will, so here's a little family tree to keep them all straight. I actually had to download a free genealogy computer program to put them all in so I could keep track of everyone, the kids' ages, etc. Oy.
George and Martha Summers have six kids.
Rachel Summers married Daniel Wheeler (that poor kid from Hurricane George) and they have two kids, Annie (13) and Jack (12).
Samuel Summers married Hannah and they have two kids, Tommy (12) and Emma (6).
Charlie Summers married Elizabeth and they have two kids, Bobby (8) and Jenny (2).
Maggie Summers married Andy Bloomfield and they have two kids, Joey (3) and Rebecca (1.5).
Jake Summers married Lori and they have one child, Amanda (1.5), and are expecting another.
Grace Summers is 19 years old and lives with her parents.
I'm taking liberties with Kansas because I've only been there once. They live pretty far outside town, where there are the classic wide open spaces we all picture. I don't know what seasons things grow in or all the farming details, but I'm going for quaint and homey and adorable.
This story turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be, so stay tuned!