Dinner at the Big Farm Inn

“Do you remember when we were kids, Ashley told us the cat was stuck in the big tree out front?” Pam asked Brian of their younger sister. Now in their early forties, Ashley was still not done with her thirties and her marriage was on the rocks. Again.

Each October the three siblings met at a different restaurant in Brock, the beautiful mountain town they’d grown up in together. And each year, it was the same thing: Ashley spewed her numerous troubles while Pam did her best not to lose her mind and Brian handled it all just fine and dandy, which oftentimes irked Pam even further. When their parents had been alive, Ashley had stolen the show, as well, even though her marks at school were average and she had participated in no extra activities, other than being rotten and looking cute. Too often, Pam and Brian found themselves scrambling for rides to gymnastics and football practices because Ashley would tie their parents down with nonsense they should have seen through but didn’t.

Being the only one who could see behind that mask wasn't a comfort to Pam—it was a curse. Nobody else in the family seemed to get it. Then, when the bad things would happen to Ashley, just exactly as Pam had earlier predicted, the family would call her negative and insist that she give Ashley a break. It was a no-win routine she grew tired of quickly. But Brian listened to her. He always had. Even when he didn’t agree, he listened. And for that, Pam was thankful beyond words. Her own husband didn’t understand her like Brian did.

And now, here she was again, three decades later, playing the same role and enduring the same frustrations, feeling like she's never allowed to speak her mind—speak the truth—for fear of backlash and chaos from all directions. She was caught in the seer’s trap: smart and intuitive enough to find the actors behind the puppet show, but helpless to get anyone to listen to her. And so the show went on. And on.

And now she was stuck playing emotional ping-pong with Brian, who also thought she needed to tone it down when it came to Ashley. But at least he was polite about it. Some of the other family members weren’t. Over the years, she learned to simply keep her mouth shut with them, but that took its own toll.

They’d decided dinner that year would be at the Big Farm Inn, a series of barns and grain silos that had been converted into upscale hotel rooms with country themes throughout. Its giant restaurant, with its fancy woodwork and dim lighting and small tables covered in white cloth, was open to the public and Ashley said the atmosphere calmed her, so there they were. Ashley was running late. Big surprise.

“Of course!” Brian said, a big smile below a formidable red-brown mustache. “I was like fourteen but I can recall that afternoon like it was last week. Dad had gotten her a stuffed cat that looked just like our real one. The heck was its name? Puffers? Ruffers? Something?”

Pam giggled. “Duffers.”

“Right, right. Duffers. Because that was the obvious choice for a black Halloween cat.” He furrowed his thick eyebrows and they both laughed. “Anyway, yeah, she put that stuffed thing in the tree outside her window and then basically begged us to rescue it, crying and carrying on. What a fucked prank.”

“Exactly. And remember how she let you get a ladder and actually climb up to save it? You risked life and limb and she never said a word!”

Brian shook his head. “Yeah, but I mean, it was just a joke.”

“It wasn't just a joke,” Pam said, her serious tone reflected in hard, blue eyes. Dark and wavy brown hair encircled her face, pale and drawn. “Don't you remember the look she had on? That sideways little smirk? And her eyes?”

“Yeah, I remember. We spoke about that devious grin for a long time. But Pam, she was like nine years old or something.”

Pam shook her head resolutely. “Doesn't matter. That's not the kind of thing you outgrow. That knowing little smirk of hers is why the whole thing is crumbling underneath her.”

“You counselors, you always have folks nailed right down, don't you?” Brian said. “Don't forget there are two people in that marriage.”

Pam sipped from her water glass and nodded. “Yes, yes of course there are. But don't you see? Ashley is always going to be the problem. There is no one who'll be just right for her because nobody is. I hate to say it.”

“Then don't,” Brian said. “We don't know anything about their struggles and we shouldn't presume. Look, I'm not saying she’s easy to deal with; I'm saying that usually, it takes two.”

She smiled at him playfully. “You teachers… you use every cliché in the book, don't you?”

“The book itself is cliché,” he responded with a grin. “Double negative. I win.”

Pam shook her head and laughed. “Oh, you. I'm just concerned, that's all. And I think Ashley is more of the problem than you believe. I just wish you saw it.”

“I know. Come here,” Brian said, and scooted his chair closer to hers. Pam rested her head on his shoulder. They’d been afforded a table in a small, candle-lit and wooden-walled cubby, away from other diners. “Ashley is a big girl. She's going to have to handle this. We can support her, but she has to either fix it or call an attorney. There's no point in stressing, sweetie. For now, all we can do is listen and see what she has to say. We’ll go from there. Don’t boil the ocean.”

“I know, I know,” Pam said quietly. “But I'm her big sister, yanno?”

Brian pulled her close in a hug. “And I'm her big brother. If she needs us, we'll help. Until then...” he began, but Pam finished.

“Yeah. I know. Let it be. Your favorite saying.”

“Hey, the Beatles weren't wrong. They were never wrong.”

Pam giggled. “Even while they lived on a yellow submarine?”

“Oh, hush. All the great bands had their phases.”

“I guess. If trash is a phase.” Brian gave a look but Pam was steadfast. “I hate to break this to you, but there's something really wrong with her.”

Ashley pulled in to meet her siblings a few minutes later, booping her convertible’s alarm before sauntering inside and finding their table. Brian, the warm-but-tough cowboy type, listened attentively while she broke down the latest catastrophe after they’d ordered their food, pointing nearly every finger at her husband and only taking accountability for petty things that wouldn't matter anyway—and even then, not entirely. Pam, on the other hand, only sighed and rolled her eyes at each complaint, at each victimization of herself, making it clear she wasn't entirely on board. It's not that she didn't care; it's that she'd heard all this same stuff Ashley's whole life and nothing ever seemed to change.

On top of everything, Ashley said she’d recently gotten a prescription for bad-mood pills, and she explained to them between forced-sounding sobs that she liked to wash them down with a bit of vodka, and so what? She said that Tom told her he can't take it anymore but that’s crazy because all she's doing is trying to get better and none of it was fair.

Pam thought Ashley's husband was a saint to put up with all of the crap he endured on a regular basis. But now? A check-out cocktail of booze and pills on top of her regularly-programmed crazy-pants antics? She didn't see how he did it. He was such a soft and kind man.

Yes, she was her sister and yes, she loved her, but Pam was only willing to write off so much bad behavior disguised as victimhood from one person. It’d been the same since they were children, only now her problems were more serious and the results of her games were more severe. Pam was not like the others in her family; she would not excuse away Ashley treating Tom like dirt while still expecting total devotion and unfaltering affection. The man was a saint; she would swear to it.

And now, as she sat across from her younger sister, she wondered if people can really change or if that was all just media-hyped, chocolate-coated psychologist bullshit. Pam suspected the latter. She herself hadn't changed much in the long haul. Not really. And Brian was still the same as he was as a kid, give or take. Goes to argue that Ashley still hosted those demons. The only difference was, hers were more visible and a thousand times more destructive.

But, as she glanced at Brian and saw the genuine care and concern on his face, the depth in his eyes as he spoke to Ashley, she softened. She didn’t think she would ever change her mind about Ashley, but she decided that maybe it wasn't worth making a scene during their annual meetup. Ashley was in trouble and she needed them, and that was all that mattered; the rest, as Brian had said, will come or it won’t. “Oh, honey, that’s awful,” she managed instead of what she wanted to say. “Have you two tried counseling?”

Ashley said they had discussed it, once or twice, but that they'd never actually pulled the trigger.

“Well, that’s something to think about, maybe.”

“Yeah, if he's even willing,” Ashley said.

Pam winced. Yeah, play that victim. Brian shot her a pleading glance and she cleared her throat. “Well, it’s worth the ask. After all, it’s your marriage we’re talking about. Do you even want to keep it?”

Ashley stared at Pam, gloss-covered lips hanging open. “Is that even a question? Of course I want to save my goddamn marriage! I’ve fought so, so hard just to get it this far.”

There it is, Pam thought. I, I, I, victim victim, look how hard I try but nobody understands. It sickened Pam, who’d had a son early in life and had been forced to grow up fast. Ashley had no children. She wasn't ready yet, she had told them the previous year at a restaurant inside the town’s small casino. And besides, they were just so damned much trouble. Pam was secretly thankful Ashley hadn't had children yet. For their sake.

Ashley was staying at The Grand Lodge, a huge log building constructed by settlers in the early nineteen-hundreds as a hotel and general store. Now owned and operated by Phillip Ross, the same man who owned the bank in town, it offered spectacular views at semi-reasonable rates—if you had money. As a point of sympathy, Brian had saved up and gotten an adjacent room to Ashley’s. Pam was staying at the Super 8 near the outskirts of town, where there were no streetlights but the Wi-Fi worked just fine.

The waiter brought their orders and the three ate, Ashley griping about all the terrible things in her life between bites, her blonde hair flawless as it flowed past her shoulders. Pam and Brian stayed quiet, mostly, enjoying the food and nodding or moaning at the right moments. For Pam, it was torturous. She wasn't one to pretend, even if it meant causing static to be real. But she understood. A little, she guessed. Kind of.

After dinner, the three clinked their glasses together and Brian stood up, as it was his turn that year to make a toast or to say something witty or funny or serious. His address was to and about Ashley. Most years they were to and about Ashley, no matter whose turn it was. Unless it was Ashley's turn and even then, she toasted herself one year. It was impossible to escape.

Pam concentrated on Brian’s soft tone and clay-built features while Ashley strung grievances together almost incoherently and blamed everyone else. But mostly, her husband. Then she said something about a fiasco at the nail salon and Pam decided she’d had enough. She leaned over the table and made her voice low, quiet. “If you say one more fucked-up thing, I’m going to puke my dinner all over the table, all over you. Please. Tell us something good that has happened. Anything. Nobody’s life is that bad. Nobody’s. You create all your own problems, kiddo.”

Ashley stared back at her, shock screwed onto her face like a bad mask. Then she was scooting her chair back and slowly standing, eyes big and round and blue. Pam’s stern expression remained even as Ashley grabbed her purse, smiled through tears at Brian, and walked away, flipping her flawless blonde hair as she whirled.

Brian made to go after her and Pam grabbed his wrist. “Not this time. I said what I said and I meant it. She can deal with it. We have, for too long. It’s hers now. Enough.”

Brian pulled against her at first, the need to protect Ashley almost overwhelming. But once he saw the look in Pam's eyes, he relaxed. Pam let go of his wrist and he nodded weakly. “Maybe you're right, sis. Maybe it is time. But where is she going? I mean, will she be okay? What happens now?”

Pam cocked her head and smiled sarcastically. “The bar. She’ll drink her fill, take some unwitting guy home, feel bad about it in the morning and then say look what the world did to me now. Then she’ll either come talk to us or she’ll drive home without saying a word and at this moment, I don’t care which. I don’t.”

Brian held up his hand and smiled. “I get it, I get it. Well, okay, I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring down at the table. A moment later, he raised his hand to signal the waitress. “Dessert, then?”

Pam exhaled and forced an exasperated smile. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds great. We’ll get extra, just in case.”