by Joy Fielding
Aiden throws off his covers and climbs out of bed, dismissing the therapist with an abrupt wave of his hand. Naked except for a pair of blue boxer shorts, he cuts across the carpeted floor and goes down the stairs to the kitchen.
He opens the drawer directly under the elaborate toaster oven his mother gave them last Christmas, despite the fact they already had a perfectly good toaster, and this one takes up way too much space. Heidi wanted to exchange it for the Dyson hair dryer she’d been lusting after, but he’d convinced her not to. So here the stupid thing sits, eliciting sighs of frustration whenever Heidi deigns to look at it.
Aiden grabs a pencil from the drawer, then searches through the other drawers for a piece of paper he can write on, ultimately settling for a napkin when he can find nothing else. He sits down at the kitchen table, his pencil hovering, his mind an impenetrable jungle of unwelcome thoughts.
He’s still sitting there half an hour later when he hears Heidi come down the stairs. She’s wearing a short nightgown, the curve of her full breasts clearly visible beneath the white satin.
“Hey, babe,” she says softly, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him. “Whatcha doing down here?”
Aiden maneuvers the napkin underneath his right elbow. “Nothing much.”
“You feeling all right?”
“Yup. Just couldn’t sleep.”
“Poor baby. You want me to make you something to eat?”
He smiles. God, he loves her, has from the moment he laid eyes on her. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Perfect time for a donut.” She gets up from her seat and grabs two chocolate-covered donuts from the cupboard. “How about some warm milk to go with it?”
Aiden watches as Heidi pours some milk into a pot and turns on the burner, then retrieves two mugs from a nearby cupboard. He doesn’t know much, but he knows he can’t risk losing her.
“Here we go,” she says, returning to the table with their donuts and warm milk.
They eat the donuts and drink their milk in silence. Then she takes him by the hand and leads him back up the stairs to their bedroom, where they make love before drifting back to sleep till morning. The napkin with the list of what he’s been avoiding remains on the table. It contains only one word.
Mother.
Chapter Thirty-one
“Nana! Nana, where are you?”
Julia hears her grandson calling her from inside the house. “I’m in the garage,” she calls back.
Seconds later, the door separating the garage from the inside of the house opens and Mark appears, fresh out of the shower, his long hair hanging wet to his shoulders. “What are you doing in here?”
“Just going through some of this stuff,” she tells him, indicating the stack of old notebooks on the concrete floor beside the stool on which she sits. “Thought it was a good time to clean house.”
Mark drops down beside her, crossing one long leg over the other and lifting the top notebook into his lap. “What are these?” He starts flipping through the pages.
“Your grandfather’s lesson plans, mostly. From when he was head of the sociology department at the University of Miami.”
Mark scans several of the pages. “He must have been very smart.”
“He was.”
“I didn’t really know him that well.”
“Well, he wasn’t the easiest man to get to know. Not the easiest man, period. Rather like your father, in that respect.”
“But you always seemed so happy together.”
“Oh, we were happy. Not all the time, of course. We certainly had our differences. He could be a bit humorless at times. I could be quite stubborn. But overall we complemented each other nicely.”
“Do you miss him?”
“I do. But…”
There’s a but? Mark thinks, not sure he wants to hear what it is.
“Don’t misunderstand me, darling. I loved your grandfather very much. He was a good man. A very good man. Just that, since he died, well…how can I say this?” She looks toward the ceiling, as if the answer is floating somewhere above her head. “There’s no tension.” She smiles. “Do you understand?”
“I understand tension,” Mark says, and Julia’s smile widens.
“Is that why you smoke so much weed?”
Mark laughs. “What do you know about weed, Nana?”
“Weed’s been around a long time, my darling. Yours isn’t the first generation to indulge. Of course, in my day, we called it grass or pot.”
“And did you…indulge?”
“I may have allowed myself the occasional puff or two.”
“No way.”
“Oh, there’s lots about me you don’t know.”
“Tell me,” Mark says, laying the notebooks on the floor beside him.
“Tell you what?”
“Everything. Start at the very beginning.”
Julia leans back against the concrete of the garage wall, her mind doing a quick scan through her eighty-four years. “Well, my grandparents came from Russia and were either smart or just plain lucky enough to settle in Florida. My grandfather got a job as a traveling salesman; my grandmother stayed home and raised a family, two boys and a girl. The girl was my mother, Emma. She met my father through her older brothers, and they got married and had three daughters. I was the youngest. My father went into business with my grandfather, selling costume jewelry. They’d travel all week together, although they didn’t really get along very well, and come home weekends. Heard enough?”
“Not a chance. When did you meet Grandpa?”
“During my last year of university. I was studying psychology. He was a few years older than me, and studying for his PhD. We dated for a few years, then got married. He got a job teaching at the University of Miami. I stayed home to raise what I assumed was going to be a large family. Coming from a family of women, I was positive I was going to have nothing but girls. ‘What am I going to do with a boy?’ I remember crying to my mother when Norman was born. But she assured me I’d love him just the same, and she was right. And then it turned out I couldn’t have any more children, which suited Norman just fine. He always liked being the center of attention.”
Mark chuckles. “Not much changed there.”
Julia smiles her agreement. “And that’s about it. My parents died before you were born, and my two sisters are both gone now, too. I’m the last one standing.”
“You have me,” Mark says.
Julia smiles. “Yes, I do.”
“What’s this?” Mark asks, reaching into another box and pulling out a small brass trophy in the shape of a hand holding a bunch of playing cards.
“Oh my God!” Julia exclaims. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“What’s it for?”
“I came first in a bridge tournament, God, it must be thirty years ago.”
“I didn’t know you played bridge.”
“Well, I haven’t in years. Your grandfather was never terribly good at it, which was surprising, because he was so good at most things. But he never quite got the hang of the bidding, and eventually he lost interest, so we stopped playing. It’s too bad. I loved the game.”
“You should take it up again.”
“No, it’s too late now.” Julia conjures up the multiple card rooms at Manor Born. “There’s also a bridge club, a mahjong club, a book club, and a choir,” she hears Carole Reid say.
“Well, a trophy is a trophy! You shouldn’t throw it away,” Mark says, returning it to the box and exchanging it for a mahogany case that he lays across his lap. The name Smith & Wesson is etched into the dark wood of its lid.
“What’s that?”
“Looks like we found Grandpa’s gun.”
“Careful,” Julia warns as Mark opens the case.
Slowly, gingerly, he withdraws the old revolver, holding it by its black textured wood handle. “Oh, wow. It’s heavy. Is it loaded?”
“I have no idea. It’s been sitting out here for years, and with all this heat and humidity, even if it is loaded, I doubt it would work. Plus, I think you’re supposed to clean them regularly. But be careful,” she warns again. “You never know with guns.”
Mark studies the weapon for several seconds before returning it to its wooden case, then depositing the case back inside its cardboard box. “What do you say we go inside and I’ll bake you something fabulous?”
“I say, lead the way.” Julia is extending her arms for Mark to help her up when they hear a car pull into the driveway.
“Are you expecting company?” Mark asks.
Julia shakes her head.
“Mark!” a man calls loudly from outside.
“Shit,” Mark says, recognizing the voice.
“Who is it?”
“Just this guy I know.”
“What guy?”
“A friend.”
“A friend?”
“More like an acquaintance.”
“An acquaintance to whom you owe money?” Julia asks.
Mark sighs.
“How much money?”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“A few hundred dollars.”
The knocking grows louder, more insistent. “Hey, man. I know you’re there.”
“Stay here. I’ll get rid of him,” Mark says, opening the door to the inside of the house. “And don’t worry, Nana. He’s harmless.”
“If he’s so harmless, why do I have to stay here?” Julia asks, but Mark is no longer beside her. Standing by the open door, she hears him moving toward the front of the house. She holds her breath as the front door opens.
“Hey, Gary,” she hears him say. “What’s with all the racket?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Gary says. “You know why I’m here.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“I think I’ve been pretty patient, letting you pay on the old installment plan, but I’m getting squeezed here myself. I got people to answer to.”
“I know, man. I’m sorry. I should have your money by the end of the week. You can wait another few days, right?”
“You gotta give me something now, man. I’m not leaving here empty-handed.”
As if on cue, Julia steps out of the shadows into the hall. She is momentarily surprised by how inconsequential a figure this Gary person is. About the same age as her grandson, but shorter, rounder, and baby-faced. Hardly the intimidating figure she’d been bracing herself for.
“Nana!” Mark says, his eyes moving from her face to the Smith & Wesson in her hands. “Nana, what are you doing?”
Julia raises her arms and points the gun directly at Gary’s chest.
“Holy fuck!” Gary immediately falls to his knees.
“How much does my grandson owe you?” Julia asks calmly.
“Five hundred dollars.”
“I believe I have about three hundred dollars in my purse. Will that do?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s plenty. That’s good.”
“Mark, go get my purse, would you? It’s in the kitchen.”
“Nana…”
“Go.”
Mark runs past his grandmother to the kitchen, returning seconds later with her white leather bag.
“Now fish inside my wallet and give your friend his cash.”
Mark quickly removes all the cash from Julia’s wallet and hands it to Gary.
“Count it,” Julia advises. “Make sure you’re satisfied.”
Gary’s hands are shaking as he counts the cash. “It’s fine.”
“Good. Now, I want you to leave my house and never come back,” Julia instructs the young man. “Are we clear on that?”
“No problem.” Gary stuffs the money into the pocket of his jeans as he struggles to his feet. “You get your weed from somewhere else from now on,” he says to Mark. “Are we clear on that?” He backs out the front door, leaping over the row of coral impatiens to his car.
Mark watches the old Mustang disappear down the main road, then shuts the front door and turns back to face his grandmother, who is still clinging tightly to the gun. “Holy fuck, Nana!” he says, borrowing Gary’s words.
“Holy fuck,” Julia agrees.
“Why don’t you let me take that?” he offers, gently prying the weapon from her hands.
“Good idea. Oh dear.”
“What is it?”
“My heart is racing.”
“Well, no wonder.”
“I’m feeling a bit strange.”
“You should sit down. I’ll get you some water.”
“Darling…”
“Yes, Nana?”
“I don’t want you to be alarmed but…”
“What?”
“I think maybe you should call an ambulance.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
Julia hears the panic in her grandson’s voice and watches the color that has only recently returned to his cheeks start to disappear again. It’s the last thing she sees before everything goes black.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dani is sitting behind the wheel of her black Mercedes, its engine running, her windows open, the garage door closed. In a few minutes, she thinks, it could all be over.
She glances in the rearview mirror, pulling back the hair at the side of her face to reveal the golf ball–sized swelling that is the result of her husband’s most recent outburst. Her head is still pounding from when he reached across the kitchen table last night after dinner and grabbed a fistful of her hair, then slammed her head against the table with such force that it cracked the glass. A large jagged line now lies, like a scar, across the table’s surface.
“What happened to the table?” Tyler asked this morning when he came down for breakfast.
Dani pretended to notice the crack for the first time. “I don’t know,” she told him. “That’s weird.”
In truth, Dani knows exactly what set Nick off. He was annoyed because she’d forgotten to pick up his shirts from the cleaners, and when she casually suggested it might be a good idea for him to pick up his own shirts in the future—the words out of her mouth before she had time to weigh their consequences—he’d exploded.
Luckily, the boys were upstairs getting ready for bed, so they saw and heard nothing.
Nobody ever sees, she thinks. Nobody ever hears.
See no evil. Hear no evil.
“Better put some ice on that,” Nick told her as they were getting ready for bed. Minutes later, he was tenderly kissing her neck and climbing on top of her.
I’m so tired, Dani thinks now. Tired of having to weigh my words, of having to consider the consequences of even the most innocent of remarks, tired of walking on eggshells, of being afraid.
Of being ashamed.
She inhales, wondering how long it would take for the garage to fill with carbon monoxide, then watches the faces of her two sons take shape in the increasingly poisonous air. She pictures the bus bringing them home from camp at the end of the day, sees the looks of confusion on their faces when they get no answer to their repeated knocks on the door, their confusion turning to horror when their father informs them what their mother has done.
Could she really do this to them?
Could she leave them with a monster?
Ben might survive. He’s always been the tougher of her two boys. But Tyler…
Again, she feels them knocking on the door, the sound growing louder, more insistent. It takes several seconds for Dani to realize that the knocking is coming from outside her garage door and not from inside her head.
“Dani
,” a voice calls out. “Dani, are you in there?”
Dani quickly shuts off the engine and presses the remote to open the garage door, exiting the car and stumbling into the fresh air.
Maggie stands before her. “My God!” she shouts, pulling Dani into the driveway. “What the hell happened?”
Dani coughs, trying to expel the fog from her brain and come up with a plausible explanation. “I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “I got in the car…there was somethin’ wrong with the radio…I kept tryin’ to fix it…I guess I forgot the garage door was still closed. And…” She realizes that Maggie has stopped listening to her and is staring at the bump on the side of her head. Her hand reaches up to touch it. “I got dizzy and must have banged my head on the steerin’ wheel,” she improvises. “How did you…?”
“I got home from taking Leo to camp and I heard a car running and thought I smelled gas,” Maggie explains. “We should probably get you to a doctor.”
“No. No, I’ll be fine. I wasn’t in there very long.”
“Long enough to get dizzy and hit your head.”
“I’m fine. I just need to sit down for a few shakes.”
Maggie gently lowers Dani to the curb, pulling out her cellphone as she sits down beside her. “At least let me call your husband.”
“No!” Dani says, with more force than she’d intended. “Please. I don’t want to worry him. He’s so busy. Please. Don’t call him.”
Maggie reluctantly returns the cellphone to her purse. It’s several seconds before she speaks. “What’s really going on here, Dani?”
“What do you mean?” Tears fill Dani’s eyes. “I told you.”
“You were trying to fix the radio…”
“Yes.”
“And you forgot to open the garage door…”
“Yes.”
“This was really an accident?”
“Of course.”
“You got dizzy and banged your head on the steering wheel…”
“Yes!” Dani says. No! she shouts silently. Nick did this to me! He did this! She pushes herself to her feet. “Look. I’m real sorry about all this. I feel like a plumb fool. But I’m fine now and you don’t have to fuss about me any longer. Don’t you have to be at work?”