Part of a week of stories brought to you outside the paywall by Detroit History Tours. Aug 21 will be my three year anniversary on Substack. The Roulette Weal Archive is packed like Joe Louis Arena used to be on playoff night. If you love short fiction, you won’t find a better value anywhere.
Norm Quinn hit his knee on a recliner. He swore, stifled into more of a hiss because he didn’t want to yell and scare Molly.
“Why’s it so fucking dark in here? Electric? I’ll pay the damn bill, turn on some lights.”
Geri Quinn shoved her tongue in her left cheek and wiggled her head. Small movement, but emphatic.
“If the lights are too bright Molly thinks she’s at the grocery store and starts taking things off the shelves, then wanders, looking for her basket, then gets upset. Darker is better.”
Molly sat at the head of the dining room table, staring out the window…or maybe just staring.
Caviar sat curled in her lap.
Molly petted her with her hand, then took a blue cloth napkin off the table and petted Caviar with that.
Norm looked at Geri and Geri shrugged.
“She just does it. Doesn’t talk much anymore, doesn’t explain herself…if she even understands what she’s doing.”
“Time for the pros, Gerr. Gotta place Molly somewhere.”
Geri turned her head, flashed her brother the most angelic fake smile and kissed her rosary.
Under different circumstances Norm would have run.
When Geri kissed her rosary the gates of five foot two Irish Catholic hell were about to open.
Norm held out a flat palm. “I know, I know. I forgot. As soon as Caviar crosses the rainbow bridge. Sorry. I know.”
Geri tucked her rosary back into her shirt.
“If I could find a place that would let her keep the dog, I would. But I can’t. So it’s this…”
Geri swung her arm like a game show hostess, displaying their great-aunt, refolding a cloth napkin and placing it back on the table.
No smile, no expression.
Norm drummed his fingers on his thighs.
“I wish you could have been here on her birthday,” Geri said.
Norm turned away from Molly, toward Geri and whispered aggressively.
“Yeah, sure. ‘Hey Mike, I can’t finish the Carlson project because I gotta fly to Detroit and celebrate the birthday of a great-aunt who doesn’t know where she is’.”
Norm cracked his knuckles.
“I’m here now, aren’t I ?’
Geri leaned on the counter with both hands.
“She smiled then, is all I’m saying. Like…for hours. When I brought her little cake out with the candles on it she thought Floss Marchetti was there.”
Norm started laughing and Molly looked over.
“You remember Floss Marchetti, Molly?” Norm asked.
Molly petted Caviar, hesitated, looked at Norm and said “So tall.”
Norm laughed again, and so did Geri.
Their grandfather, Jimmy “Copper Pipe” Quinn owned Quinn’s Mug on 7 Mile. It was popular with media types. Jimmy threw his baby sister a twenty-first birthday party at the bar and asked some of the guys he knew to invite some local athletes.
The Tigers were in Seattle, but a few Lions, a few Red Wings, and one Piston came.
Frederick “Floss” Marchetti was a gangly seven foot five shot blocking novelty act who the fans loved when he came off the bench in blowouts.
“She talked to Floss like he was there, smiled, even blew out her candles.”
Norm looked at his great aunt. She petted her dog, quiet, expressionless.
“Any cake left?”
“It got stale, I threw it out. There’s a few Dutch Girl donuts if–”
Norm shook his head.
“I’m gonna go to Kroger’s, grab a cake.”
Geri scowled.
“You want cake that bad?”
Norm grabbed his sister’s shoulders. “You got candles still?”
Geri nodded.
“Great,” Norm said. “ If it makes her smile,if it triggers happy memories, it’s her birthday every night.”
***
Nice Jimmy. Very sweet. It's a tough thing to see a loved one fade like that. There's only so much you can do. Good on this family for doing what they can.
Jimmy, you know how to touch the heart, that is exactly how it is, everyday can be a Birthday! 🎂🎂🎂❤️