He didn’t respond. Instead, he stared out the front window. Before the overhead light went off, he caught a glimpse of the drywall. One summer the boys complained that the inside of the garage was dull and boring. Mike had shrugged a shoulder and said, “Then fix it.”
They’d spent weeks doing
artwork
on the interior, covering the entire space. Some of it was simple shapes and letters—their initials, the school Spartan head, Brian’s uniform numbers, the logos for Jamie’s favorite bands. Other parts were scenes they asked Gretta to sketch out, and they’d painted colorfully within the lines. It was an eclectic hodgepodge that to this day both he and Maggie treasured. Tonight, Mike ached for that time in his life.
So he said, “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
“What?”
“That our different views on Jamie and his life are going to split us apart. And we’re going to lose the closeness between us because we disagree about him.” He paused. “I know it’s selfish, that I should be thinking about Jamie, and I am, I swear. But I’m worried about us, too.”
Reaching across the gearshift, she took his hand and held it in a way that made his pulse calm. “So am I, honey. I’m afraid of exactly that.”
“It’s why I drank so much.”
No response. What could she say?
“Promise me we won’t let this come between us.”
“I promise, Mike.” She kissed his knuckles, her lips as soft as her skin.
“All right then.” He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t want Jamie to know I was upset tonight about him.”
“We’ll tell him we had a fight.”
They’d been honest with the kids throughout the years, thinking it was healthy for the boys to see two people in love disagree and work differences out. “That’s a plan.”
She hesitated. “Mike, maybe you should get counseling to sort out your feelings. Melissa Fairchild could suggest someone. I’ve got another appointment to talk to her next week.”
Melissa was Maggie’s therapist, whom she’d seen periodically all of her adult life. Given the way Maggie had grown up, Mike had always been glad she had Melissa, though sometimes he worried what she told the therapist about him.
“I don’t need Melissa. I’ve got an appointment with Father Pete on Wednesday.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to help us.”
“You need Melissa. I need Father Pete. Maybe
she
won’t help us either.”
The door from the house to the garage opened, precluding further discussion.
It wasn’t Jamie standing in the entryway. It was Brian. Silhouetted against the light coming from the hallway, he seemed smaller, more fragile than he really was. They were going to have to be careful when he learned the news about Jamie.
“What’s going on?” his older son asked when they exited the car.
Mike stuck his hands in his pockets. Despite what he said earlier about his kids seeing him like this, he hated tainting the boys’ image of him. “I had a few too many beers. Mom came and got me.”
“No shit.”
Now that Brian was almost an adult, they didn’t chide him about his language. Both boys cursed, but not to excess and seldom in front of their parents. And they never took God’s name in vain.
“Sorry, son. I’m not being a good role model for you guys.”
Brian grinned. Blond curls tumbled into his eyes. Mike remembered taking him for his first haircut and how Maggie cried when wispy pieces hit the floor. “Oh, I don’t know, Dad, I could do worse than become a man like you.”
Mike’s hands fisted at his sides. Finally he managed to say, “Thanks, Bri. But not in this.”
Once inside, Mike turned left to go upstairs, but Brian went into the kitchen with Maggie. Out of sight, but in earshot, Mike stopped to listen to their conversation.
Brian said simply, “What’s really going on, Mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“The vibes around here have been wacked for a few days.”
“Have they?”
“Nobody’s sick, right?”
“No, honey. Nobody’s sick.”
“You and Dad, you’re all right?”
“Yes, I promise. But you know what? I haven’t had much time alone with you. Why don’t we go out to dinner tomorrow night? Just us two?”
“I have baseball practice until six. After that?”
“Sure.”
The chair scraped back and Mike heard Brian say, “I love you, Mom.”
Before he was caught eavesdropping, Mike stumbled upstairs and into his bedroom. He shed his clothes and fell into bed. He wasn’t proud of himself, and Maggie was none too happy either. Worse yet, he’d disappointed God. He said a brief prayer of apology as he drifted into unconsciousness.
*
The next day, Maggie agreed to go for a walk with Gretta. She needed her friend even if she couldn’t divulge the secret she was keeping.
“It’s getting warm, finally,” Gretta commented as they went down Main Street, her long strides eating up the pavement.
“I’m glad to see spring. It always cheers me up.”
They didn’t talk for a while. She loved that she didn’t have to be
on
with her friend. After a while, though, Gretta spoke again. “I’ve sensed something’s been bothering you, Mags. You know you can tell me anything.”
“You’re right, of course, I’m upset. But I can’t tell you why yet.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been asked not to.”
Her cell phone rang.
Gretta’s brows rose. “Why’d you bring that on a walk?”
“I gave Caroline’s daughter my cell number.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to miss a call from my sister.”
“Go ahead, then, and answer it.”
“Hello.”
“Maggie?”
“Yes, who is—” but she stopped midsentence. And suddenly, she knew the identity of the caller.
“This is your sister Caroline.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded to Gretta. “I-I knew it. I knew this was you.”
Gretta grabbed Maggie’s free hand. Her own eyes were moist.
“Oh, Caroline, I’m so glad you called.”
Sniffling on the other end. “Me, too, Magpie.”
At the nickname, Maggie began to cry.
“Shh, honey, let’s not blubber.”
“O—” Hiccups. “Okay.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Walking downtown with my friend Gretta.”
“Do you want me to call you back?”
“Uh-uh. Hold on a sec.” To Gretta, she said, “It’s her, Gretts. Oh, my God.”
“Want me to stay?”
“No, you go on ahead.”
“Call me.” She kissed Maggie’s cheek. “And enjoy this, honey. Don’t worry about whatever else is going on in your life.”
When Gretta headed out, Maggie spoke into the phone. “I can talk now. I’m sitting down so I won’t fall over.”
Caroline laughed and Maggie remembered the sound viscerally. She hadn’t been exposed to much laughter in the Lorenzo household except for Caroline’s.
“Teresa told me about Derek. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s awful. The holidays are the hardest.”
Ah. Teresa had called at Christmas, and Easter wasn’t far away. “I’ll bet. You could come here for Easter. Celebrate with us.”
“Oh, no, honey, I’m not ready to face the family yet.”
“Not even me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m rushing this. Like I always do. I’m just thankful you called.” She waited. “I will see you though, right?”
“Yes,” Caroline said. “I plan to visit in the summer. Terry rented a cottage for us on Conesus Lake. I’ll be finished with teaching and you and I can see each other then.”
“Will Teresa be able to get away for the summer? Is she a teacher, too?”
“No, she chose to stay home with Chloe. Unfortunately, she and her husband have divorced, and she’s at loose ends right now.”
“I’m sorry, that must be hard for her and you.”
“At least you’ll get to meet her and my precious grandchild.”
“Oh, Caroline.”
“Now, tell me about your husband and those boys of yours.”
For fifteen minutes, Maggie regaled Caroline with happy stories about her family, leaving out the most recent strain.
“You could come and watch Brian play baseball. And we have a video of Jamie’s performance in
Brigadoon
.”
“No, Mags. I need a bit more emotional equilibrium before I churn up my past.” A long hesitation. “I’m still trying to cope with Derek’s death.”
Caroline went on to tell Maggie about her husband, Derek Dean, finally divulging her last name. Derek was the younger brother of Caroline’s boss and a partner at the architectural firm where she went to work right after graduation from high school. He’d been separated from his wife—no kids. He and Caroline had met, fallen in love, and after he divorced and they married, they moved to Colorado, intentionally far away from the Lorenzos. He’d died at seventy-three of a heart attack.
“We can e-mail and talk, though,” Caroline offered. “But don’t tell Sara or Jimmy yet.”
No mention of their mother. Caroline and Derek had stayed in touch with Derek’s brother, so Caroline knew their father had died in his sleep ten years ago and that their mother was still alive. In his eighties and retired, the brother was the one who’d kept the Deans apprised of the rest of her family situation.
“Phone calls and e-mails will be great,” Maggie conceded. “Send pictures, too.”
“I’ll do that tonight. I’m so glad to be in touch with you, sweetie. So glad. See you soon, sis.”
Not soon enough, Maggie thought as she thumbed the off button, but she’d already pushed too much. She was going to take this gift on her sister’s terms and, as she said, not try to control what happened with it. Maggie began the hike toward home, vowing to appreciate the good in her life and not mope about the issues her immediate family was dealing with.
But as she walked, memories she’d kept at bay intruded. One in particular, the night that Caroline left…
Her parents were in the front room of their house in Cornwall watching
All in the Family
when the show was preempted by a news bulletin about the Vietnam War. At eight, Maggie hadn’t been sure what war was about, but recalled distinctly her father’s disgruntlement at the interruption.
Caroline walked into the room. Her sister was so pretty, so kind, that Maggie always smiled at the sight of her. She ruffled Maggie’s hair, then sat down on a chair in the corner where she could see both their parents. “Ma, Dad, I gotta talk to you.”
“Be quick about it,” her mother said. “Archie’ll be back on soon.”
“Mags,” Caroline told her, “go check on Jimmy.” Their one-year-old brother.
“He’s sleeping, Caro.”
“Go anyway, sweetie. I need to talk to Ma and Dad alone.”
Maggie had left the room, but instead of heading upstairs, she stood by the doorway out of sight and listened.
“What’s the matter?” their mother asked. Maggie heard the sound of a match being lit, smelled the familiar, awful scent of the Chesterfields her parents smoked.
“I’m…I…”
“What, Caroline Anne?” Maggie’s father’s deep voice rumbled from the couch. He worked odd hours at the Glass Works, and when he
was
home, he wanted peace and quiet. Mostly, he wasn’t there, though. He spent nearly all his free time gambling at the race track or playing cards until the early hours of the morning.
“I’m getting married,” Caroline said simply.
Silence. Then, her mother shouted, “Jesus Christ, are you pregnant?”
“No.”
“You don’t even have a boyfriend,” her father put in.
“I do.”
“Why don’t we know about this?” Her mother’s tone made Maggie afraid. “You know you aren’t allowed to go out with anybody unless he comes here and we meet him.”
“I-I was afraid to tell you.”
“Who is it?”
Caroline waited a long time. “I’m not ready to say yet.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Her mother again.
“Is he colored?” her father asked in a horrible tone.
“No, Dad, he’s…divorced.”
“What?” Her mother bellowed now. “That’s a sin. Divorce is a sin.”
“I won’t have it,” her father added. “You stop seeing him right now.”
“It’s not up to you, Daddy. I’m eighteen.” Her sister’s birthday had been last week.
“Is that what you were waiting for?” Gertrude snapped. “Sneaking around with some married man until you were legal age.”
“Frankly, yes.”
“This is fucking ridiculous. I won’t have it,” he repeated.
Maggie had never heard her father use the word that Caro told her never to say.
“I’m calling Father Bingham.” Their parish priest, who was mean, even scary sometimes.
Caroline gasped. “Please don’t do that, Ma. He’ll make all this worse.”
When her mother rose to use the phone in the living room, she caught sight of Maggie eavesdropping. “Go upstairs, you little brat, and stay up there, or I’ll get a switch from the lilac bush.”