By Monday morning, Art Caldwell had made one very serious mistake. He had told the Bellamy sisters they could have a birthday dinner. He had not specified what kind of dinner. That technicality would cost him dearly.
At nine o'clock, Art was standing in his driveway working on his lawn mower when Vivian came across the street wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a notebook. Art looked at her. “No.” Vivian smiled. “Good morning to you too.”
“What are you planning?” questioned Art. “Nothing,” Vivian replied quickly.
“You have a notebook.”
“I always carry a notebook.”
“You're wearing a hat.”
“I like hats.”
“There's a tape measure sticking out of your purse.”
Vivian looked down. “Oh.”
She tucked it back inside. “Coincidence.”
Art stared at her. “I'm too old for this.”
Vivian patted his arm. “That's what the banner says.”
“I saw the banner.”
“Good.”
She walked toward his porch. Art followed.
“Vivian.”
“What?”
“What's in the notebook?”
“Party details.”
“I thought Martie was handling that.”
“She is.”
“Then why do you have a notebook?”
Vivian smiled. “Backup.” Art sighed.
Across the street, Martie was already preparing food. Lou was supposed to be helping. She wasn't. She was sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by ribbon. Martie looked down at her. “What are you doing?” “Thinking,” said Lou.
“You've been sitting there for twenty minutes.”
“It's complicated.”
“What's complicated?” asked Martie.
Lou held up two pieces of ribbon. “This one says Happy Birthday.” “Yes, ”noticed Martie.
“And this one says Happy Birthday,” said Lou. “Yes,” Martie said eyeing both ribbons.
“They're different,” said Lou. Martie looked again. They were exactly the same. “How?”
Lou blurted out, “This one feels happier.” Martie closed her eyes. “Lord, give me patience.” Lou smiled. “Do you want me to pray for you?” “No,” said Martie. In a serious voice Lou asked, “Why?” “Because I think the Lord has already given me more than enough,” laughed Martie.
By Tuesday, the entire neighborhood knew about Art's birthday. Art discovered this when Mrs. Edna Price stopped him at the mailbox. “Arthur!” Art turned. “Good morning.” “I hear we're having a party,” chirped Edna. Art looked across the street. The three sisters were suddenly very interested in anything except him. “Apparently.”
Edna smiled. “I'll bring my potato salad.” Art nodded. “That's kind.” Edna added, "I'm bringing my chocolate cake.” “That sounds good," said Art. She leaned closer. “Vivian said you like chocolate.”
Art looked at the sisters. Vivian waved. He waved back. Then he muttered, “What in the world are those women doing now?” Edna laughed. “Oh, honey. They're doing what they do.” “What is that?” asked Art “Taking care of people,” laughed Edna. Art smiled. “I've noticed.”
Edna looked at him for a moment. “You know, Margaret would be happy.” Art's smile faded slightly. “You knew her?” Edna nodded. “Not well. But enough.” Art was quiet.
“She was a lovely woman,” Edna added. “She was,” reminisced Arthur. Edna smiled. “She told me once that you were the hardest man she'd ever had to love.” Art laughed. “That sounds like her.”
“She said you thought needing people made you weak.” Art looked down. “I probably did.” Edna touched his arm. “She said you were wrong.”
Then she walked away. Art stood beside the mailbox for a long moment. Across the street, Lou was watching him. She didn't wave. She simply smiled.
Wednesday brought another surprise. Art came home from the hardware store and found a handwritten sign attached to his front door.
BIRTHDAY RULES
Underneath was written:
1. NO GRUMPING.
2. NO COMPLAINING.
3. NO HIDING.
4. NO REFUSING SECOND HELPINGS.
5. HAVE FUN.
Art read it. Then he turned around. The sisters were standing across the street. “Really?” Martie shouted, “Those are reasonable rules!” “They are not!” yelled Arthur. Lou yelled, “There are only five!” Vivian called, “And we're being generous!” Art shook his head. Then he laughed. He took the sign off the door. He carried it inside. He didn't throw it away.
Thursday afternoon, Art decided to mow his lawn. He had barely started when the mower coughed. Then sputtered. Then died. Art pulled the cord. Nothing. Again. Nothing. He kicked the tire. “Come on.” Nothing. He pulled again. The mower made a horrible grinding sound. Art stopped. He stared at it.
Then came the voice. “Need help?” Art looked up. Martie stood at the edge of the driveway. “No.” She walked closer. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened, the mower's dead," said Art
“It isn't dead.” “It just needs adjusting.” Martie crouched beside it. “You've got a loose belt.”
Art stared at her. “How do you know?”
“My husband taught me.” She reached for a wrench. Art stepped back. “Don't.” Martie looked at him. “Why?” “Because I can fix it,” said Art. “Then fix it,” replied Martie. He stared at the mower. Then at her. Then back at the mower. “Hand me the wrench.” Martie smiled. “I knew you'd see reason.”
Ten minutes later, Lou appeared. Then Vivian. Then Hank. Art looked around. “How did all of you get here?” Lou shrugged. “We heard machinery.” Vivian smiled. “We came to help.”
“I don't need help.” Martie was underneath the mower.
“Yes, you do.” Art looked at her. “You've been under there for ten minutes.”
“And?” stated Martie.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?” questioned Art. Martie rolled out. She was covered in grass. She looked at him. “Do you want to fix it?” Art handed her the wrench. “No.” Lou crouched beside the mower. “What's wrong with it?”
“Belt” said Martie. Lou nodded. “Is that serious?” “Can it die?”
“Everything dies eventually,” Martie told Lou. Lou stared at Art. “That got dark.”
Art laughed. Vivian sat in a lawn chair. “Would you like some lemonade?” Art looked at her. “Where did you get lemonade?” “I brought it.” “Why?”asked Art. “Because it's hot.” She poured herself a glass. Art shook his head.
Twenty minutes later, the mower was fixed. Art started it. It roared to life. He smiled. Martie stood up. “There.” Art looked at her. “Thank you.” “You're welcome,” said Martie. Lou clapped. Vivian raised her glass. “To Martie.” Art smiled. “To Martie.”
Martie looked pleased. Then the mower lurched forward. Lou grabbed the handle. "Whoa!"The mower rolled down the driveway. Art chased it. “STOP!” Lou screamed and let go as she tripped on the curb. Vivian jumped up. Martie ran after him. The mower crossed the sidewalk. Art grabbed the handle. It swung left. Then right. Then straight toward the garden. “ART!” “I'VE GOT IT!” “You don't!” The mower hit a flower bed. Dirt flew. Lou screamed. “MY PETUNIAS!”
Art pulled the handle. The mower turned. It headed directly toward the garden gnome. Percival stood there holding his fishing pole. Art's eyes widened. “NO!” He jumped onto the mower. The mower hit the gnome. CRACK. Everyone froze. Percival's fishing pole snapped off. His red hat tilted sideways. Art stared. Lou gasped. “My baby.” Art shut off the mower. He climbed off. The sisters gathered around the wounded gnome.
Lou touched his broken fishing pole. “He's been injured.”
Martie looked at Art. “It was an accident.”
Art nodded. “I know.”
Vivian examined Percival. “He may need surgery.”
Art sighed. “I'll buy him a new pole.”
Lou looked up. “You will?” Art nodded.
“Yes.” Lou hugged him. Art froze. She squeezed tighter. “You saved him.”
“I nearly killed him,” Art mumbled.
“But you saved him,” said Lou. Art smiled. “All right.” He patted her shoulder. “Enough.”
Lou released him. Martie smiled. Vivian smiled. Art looked at the three women. “What?”
Vivian shook her head. “Nothing.” “You're looking at me,” he said. "Stop looking at me." “Well, stop.” They didn't. Art smiled.
That evening, Art sat on his porch. Percival had been repaired. His fishing pole was temporarily replaced with a wooden spoon. Lou said it gave him character. Art wasn't sure how that was possible. The sisters sat around him. Edna had brought potato salad. Martie had brought fried chicken. Vivian had brought flowers. Lou had brought a balloon shaped like a fish. Art looked at it. “Why?” Lou smiled. “Because you like fishing.” He laughed. “You remembered.” “Of course.”
There was something different about the evening. Art felt it. A month ago, he would have been sitting alone. Now his porch was full. He looked around. “This is nice.” Martie smiled. “It is.” Art looked at the empty chair beside him. Then at the women. “I used to sit out here and think about how quiet everything was.”
Vivian reached over. “And now?” Art looked at the three sisters. “Now I can't hear myself think.” Lou grinned. “That's because we're here.” Art laughed. “Yes.” He looked around again. “But I don't think I want it quiet anymore.” The sisters went still. Art swallowed. “I think I got so used to being alone that I forgot what it felt like to belong somewhere.” He looked down. “And I didn't realize how much I missed it.”
Vivian reached across and took his hand. “You belong here.” Art looked at her. Martie nodded. “You're stuck with us.” Lou raised her glass. “Forever.” Art laughed. “Forever is a long time.” Lou shrugged. “We're persistent.” Art looked at them. Then he smiled. “Yeah.” He squeezed Vivian's hand. “I know.” A breeze moved through the trees. The banner fluttered above the porch.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ART!
Art looked up at it. “My birthday isn't until next week.” Martie smiled. “We know.”
“Then why are we doing this now?”
Vivian leaned back. “Because next week is your birthday.” Lou smiled. “And this week is your birthday warm-up.” Art stared at them. “There is no such thing as a birthday warm-up.” “There is now,” Lou said. Art laughed so hard he had to put his drink down.
And across the street, the bungalow glowed beneath the evening sky. Four chairs sat on Art's porch. Four. Not three. Not four temporarily. Four as if they'd always belonged there. And for the first time, Art understood something that Margaret had known all along.
Home wasn't always a house. Sometimes home was a porch. Sometimes it was a dog. Sometimes it was a broken garden gnome. Sometimes it was three women who drove you absolutely crazy.
And sometimes, if you were lucky, home was simply knowing that somebody would notice if you didn't come outside tomorrow. Art looked at the three sisters. “I'll see you tomorrow.” Vivian smiled. “You'd better.” Martie nodded. “Breakfast at eight.” Lou stood. “And don't forget your birthday warm-up.” Art shook his head. “Lord help me.”
They started across the street. Art watched them go. Then he looked at Hank. “You know something?” Hank lifted his head. “I think I got exactly what I came here for.” Hank wagged his tail.vArt smiled. “Not what I thought I wanted.” He looked across the street at the glowing bungalow. “But what I needed.”vAnd for once, the quiet that followed didn't feel empty. It felt peaceful. Because Art knew it wouldn't last.
Tomorrow morning, somebody would knock on his door. Somebody would bring food. Somebody would have a ridiculous idea. And somebody would probably break something.vHe smiled. He was looking forward to it.