by O. J. Lovaz
“Just things the voices tell me.”
Cutting a flatbread pizza into near-perfect squares with the meticulousness of a brain surgeon, Frank asked her the usual questions. How’s work? How’ve you been? Have you talked to Mom? He got the usual answers too.
Anna scanned his apartment. “Is that a new guitar?” She pointed at the black-and-white electric guitar in the middle of the set.
“Ah, you noticed my new Fender. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
“It’s gorgeous. What happened to the other one?”
“I sold it and bought this one. Doesn’t it look nice up there, next to my Gibson?”
“It does. When can I see it in your hands?”
“I’d be happy to give you a little demonstration later.” Frank finished cutting the pizza and now picked up two beers from the fridge.
Anna walked over to the piano, ran her hand over the smooth, black surface. Such elegance; an intriguing contrast to the wild guitars on the wall.
Frank gave her one of the beers, then went and placed the tray with the pizza squares on the center table.
On the TV, though muted, images from a developing story of a plane crash in Indonesia reminded Anna of the grim account of recent events she’d had to give Frank. Pieces of fuselage scattered out everywhere, no survivors. Would she soon be picking up the pieces of a disaster of her own making?
She sat down facing Frank.
He picked a pizza square, folded it. “You said there’s something you wanted to tell me.” He took a bite.
Anna’s pulse quickened; she felt such a knot on her throat that she feared not being able to utter a single word.
Frank lifted his index finger, swallowed, and resumed speaking. “The thing is, I also have news to share with you, and I just can’t wait. So, would you let me go first? You won’t regret it.”
Anna felt her throat loosen. Nearly gasped for air.
“Absolutely. I’ve waited this long. What’s another few minutes?”
Her response, she knew, had been a bit odd, as a quizzical look on Frank’s face confirmed. She added eagerly, “Go ahead. I’m on pins and needles here.”
“Okay, I’m just going to come out with it,” he said, putting down his pizza. He fiddled with his chestnut hair for a moment.
His eyes, as green as her own, gleamed with excitement. “I’m going to propose to Sarah. I’m doing it tomorrow.” And having said that, he pulled from his pocket a little jewelry box that he opened to reveal a lovely diamond engagement ring.
Frank’s keen expression hinted that he wanted Anna’s approval of the ring, which she figured must have cost him at least a month’s earnings—a dainty pretty item, to be sure, though not spectacular or in any way ostentatious. A fitting display of devotion from a man who was not wealthy, and who was proudly making a life for himself, unwilling to accept scraps from a cruel benefactor.
Anna edged forward and took his hand. “It’s a beautiful ring, Frank. She’ll love it.” A rush of tenderness came over her. “Can I hold it?”
She held the ring close to her face, admiring it from different angles, and then, seeing Frank so happy, she teared up thinking of the darkness she’d come to cast over him. How could she tell him everything now and threaten to shatter this moment of happiness in his life?
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine, just a little emotional. Oh, you look so happy.”
“I am happy, and I’ll be even happier when she says yes.”
“How are you going to propose to her?” Anna needed to buy some time to figure out what to do.
“I won’t do any of the cheesy classics—the fancy restaurant, or in front of a crowd, none of those. I’ll take her to our favorite spot by the lake. She won’t suspect anything. I’ll wait until sunset; that’s when I’ll propose.”
“I’m impressed—you’ve turned out to be quite the romantic.”
“Who knew, right?” Frank grabbed another piece of pizza. “But the right girl can soften even the worst of ogres.”
“Who said you’re an ogre?”
“Well, I’m not easy. I know that much. Hey, you haven’t touched the pizza.”
“I’m not very hungry, but I’ll have a piece.” She picked up a pizza square. “You’re not difficult, Frank, just strong-willed.”
Frank sipped his beer. “Isn’t strong-willed another term for stubborn, and stubborn the very essence of being a difficult person?”
“A strong will is what you need to triumph over adversity, as you’ve done.”
“You’re doing it too.”
“Following your footsteps,” Anna said.
“That’s nice of you to say, but you’ve fought your own battles.”
“You were the beacon I followed. Your grit was the only example I ever needed.”
Frank smiled fondly, then said in a suddenly saddened voice, “Then I’m glad at least I was a good brother to you.”
“At least? What do you mean?”
“I wish I’d also been a good son,” he said with downcast eyes.
“To our horrible father?”
“No, to our poor mother.”
Anna felt instantly irritated. “How were you a bad son to her?”
Frank’s face sunk. “I left her at the mercy of that monster. I watched him slaughter her spirit and extinguish her happiness for years, and I did nothing.”
“And what is it you think you could have done for her?”
“God damn it, I should have had the guts to stand up for her!” He leapt off the sofa and paced around the living room, waving the beer bottle in his hand precariously, his eyes gleaming with bitterness.
Anna hesitated—she hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. “You remember how he was, Frank. He could have killed you.”
“Or I could have killed him!” he yelled convincingly, like he meant every word—it gave her chills.
“And you would have thrown away your life!” Anna cried out.
“Maybe so, but she could have started a new one,” he said in a more subdued voice.
“No mother wants a son to rot in prison.”
Frank sat back down on the sofa and set down the beer bottle on the center table, then hunched over, and covered his face with both hands. “Perhaps, she would have left him if I’d done something, or at least said something.”
Anna held his hand. There were tears on the corners of his eyes, which he hastened to wipe off with his free hand. “None of what happened was your fault. Who knows why Mom never left him? She might have been afraid not only of him, but also of being without him.”
“Yeah,” Frank said, his body slouched forward as if deflating, a bleak half smile crumbling on his face. He guzzled down what was left of his beer. “Listen, I’m sorry for that absurd rant. I didn’t invite you over to depress you. It’s Friday night—what the hell is wrong with me?”
Anna sipped her beer, relieved. “I think this is on the job description of a sister, actually. I read it somewhere—listen to your brother’s incessant rants.”
“I don’t know about incessant. You may have added that part.” Frank chuckled. “We should watch a comedy, or sing.” He stood up and walked to the kitchen.
“I vote for singing. You can play the piano, and I’ll be the lead vocalist.”
“I could play a Whitney Houston or Celine Dion song to put you to the test.” Frank held two beers. “Do you want another?”
“Sure, this one’s warm.” Anna went and grabbed the beer from him. They sat across from each other at the kitchen counter.
“Wait, what did you want to tell me before? You said you’ve waited long to tell me. It sure seemed important.”
“Oh, Frank, I just don’t think the moment is right anymore.” She felt a shiver down her spine. “It will upset you. Had I known you were planning to propose to Sarah tomorrow, I would have waited. Let’s…can I tell you later?”
“Anna, just lay it on me, whatever it is, and then we can sing
the night away,” Frank answered resolutely. “Come on, how bad can it be?”
“It’s bad enough that you won’t be in the mood for singing.”
“Well whatever it is, now I’ll be twice as miserable if you don’t tell me.”
“You better sit down, then.”
Frank came around the counter and sat down next to her.
Anna could feel her knees shaking.
“I want you to promise me two things. First, that you will not interrupt me until I’m finished.”
“And second?” he asked.
“That you will not leave this apartment tonight, and you will not make any phone calls either, no matter what you hear from me.”
Frank’s eyebrows jumped up, his head pulled back. “Oh, this is going to be bad.” His hands went behind his head. “Sure. I promise.”
“All right, then.” Anna took a deep breath. “It’s about Dad and Mom, and…” She choked before she could say her aunt’s name, took a sip of her beer, and swallowed with some effort. “And Aunt Marlene.”
Frank’s eyes opened wide briefly, then his face became somber, his hands clasped together over his lap.
Anna narrated the events from the previous Sunday at her parents. First, the detonating incident, so to speak, when she unwittingly glanced at her father’s phone at the exact moment when the fateful text message from Aunt Marlene had popped up.
A menacing darkness descended on Frank’s countenance the moment Anna revealed the text of the message, word for word. He looked as if he might burst into flames at any moment.
From time to time he would fix his gaze on the beer bottle in front of him, glaring at it with such intensity that one might have expected the bottle to shatter into a thousand pieces. Anna observed him closely, dreading a sudden explosive reaction, but he only sat there and muttered resentfully, “With her damn sister!”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time that evidence seems to point to a wrongdoing, only to be disproved later.”
Frank smirked. “Right, let’s not jump to conclusions. What was the message again? ‘You and I are both to blame for this, and we shall be judged in the end.’ Holy shit! It has a biblical ring to it, doesn’t it? I’m sure Dad liked that about it.”
“Cool down. Should I go on?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s more, huh? Yes, go ahead.”
“Yes, there is, and I’m afraid it doesn’t get any prettier.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but what the hell—let’s hear it.”
Anna shifted in her seat, crossed her legs, and let her mind fly back to her mom’s garden once more. The summer heat, the mixed scents of flowers and moist soil, and the pain on her mother’s face.
She gave Frank a thorough account of the odd exchange, describing in vivid detail how flustered their mother had become trying to answer Anna’s simple question.
“That’s disturbing,” said Frank while rhythmically stroking his chin, his gaze distant. “Maybe Mom actually knows, or at least suspects, about Dad’s affair with Aunt Marlene.”
“Still, I could think of other reasons why Mom might be feeling cross with her sister.”
“True, but the evidence is starting to pile up.”
“And there’s one more thing I haven’t told you yet—something I did.”
“Something you did?” Frank’s tone spiked with surprise.
“As you’d imagine, I was upset after that awful day with Mom and Dad. I could think of nothing else for days. I kept dissecting that text message in my head—it seems incriminating, but it’s also very obscure. It doesn’t openly mention an affair.”
Frank nodded rolling his eyes ever so slightly.
Anna continued. “I couldn’t prove that Aunt Marlene and Dad had had an affair, and that’s a heck of an accusation to make without evidence. But I wasn’t going to ignore what I saw. And that’s how I decided to do a little digging myself and see if anything turned up.”
“I see you have a little Sherlock in you. And what did you do?”
“You might recall that Grandpa once told us that he had donated some pictures of our family to the Blake County Historical Society, and how we were now part of the history of our town and all that.”
Frank sneered. “Just to hear you say it makes me want to puke all over again. Like this town needed to remember his son, Victor Goddard the Great!”
“I’m right there with you, but I figured there might be something in one of those pictures—a furtive lustful look between them caught on camera by mere chance or them dancing too closely in the background on a picture taken at some black-tie event. I didn’t know what I might find, if anything at all, but I didn’t have any better ideas.”
“So, you went to the historical society then?”
“Yes, I went there yesterday”
“And?”
Anna smiled. “I may have found a boyfriend, but I’ll tell you more about that later.”
“Oh, really? We’ll definitely circle back to that later on.”
“But I also found two pictures,” said Anna, her voice regaining a sober tone. “They were taken the night St. Mary’s won the basketball championship in 1984.”
“Ooh! They snatched those up before National Geographic?”
“Funny. In one of them, Dad was kissing Mom under the bleachers.”
“A high school classic, huh?” Frank’s voice brimmed with sarcasm.
“Yeah, but Mom’s always said that she was in college when she met Dad.”
“Mm-hmm.” He seemed unimpressed. “And the other picture?”
“Well, that’s the kicker, Frank. In the other picture,” Anna responded somberly, “Dad was with Aunt Marlene.”
Frank’s face contorted with bewilderment; his eyes fixed on Anna appeared on the verge of bolting out of their sockets. “You mean he was with her, as in…”
“Yes,” Anna interrupted. “She was wrapped around him, kissing his neck.”
Frank snapped, “Ah, that fucker!”
A moment later, he resumed speaking in a speculative tone. “Mom must have found out about it. That’s why she reacted the way she did when you asked her about Aunt Marlene and Dad. There’s your answer. They got along just fine.”
“Maybe she did find out, but then she still married him, right?”
“Sadly, she did.” Frank took a big swig from his beer. “Although she may have only found out about it after she married Dad. A nasty fight, I would imagine.”
“Yes, I guess so.” Anna liked this theory instantly. If all this had been about something that happened decades ago, and the whole thing had already been out in the open, then there would be nothing more to be done about it, and she could carry on with her life.
“Can I see the pictures?”
“I don’t have them with me, but I can get them.”
“You didn’t get copies at the historical society?” Frank asked, squinty eyed.
She should have, of course. “I was going to, but I froze when I saw Aunt Marlene savoring Dad’s goddamned neck. I wasn’t by myself. This guy I met there, Michael, was showing me the photos, and I felt so embarrassed—I just wanted to leave.”
“Yeah, I get it. So, Michael, huh?” Frank’s face softened a little.
“Yes, Michael Donovan. He’s the guy in charge of the library and archives department there.”
“I must say I’m intrigued. You haven’t dated anyone in a while.”
“I’m not easily impressed.”
Frank’s intensity came down a few notches. “So, tell me about this guy.”
“Well, he’s devilishly handsome, smart, witty, and interesting. I think he’s a dreamer, and a bit of a nerd too.” She laughed. “He’s a real history buff.”
“I kind of like him already. Sounds like a fun dude.”
“Yes, I think you’d like him.” Anna stood up. She’d been sitting on that hard stool for a while now, all tensed up. “So anyway, next time I see him, I’ll ask him to
send me those pictures.”
Frank got off the stool and went to sit at the piano. “I feel like playing something angry and depressing on account of having a sack of shit for a father, but I also feel like playing something romantic. What’s your pick?”
“The night is young; why not both?” Anna stood next to him, with her back leaning on the wall.
Frank smiled faintly at her, then suddenly became very pensive.
“What are you thinking?” asked Anna.
“You know,” he said, “even with the whole high school love-triangle thing, I mean…Aunt Marlene’s message couldn’t have been just about that. At least, I don’t think so. That was ages ago, and her message was too ominous. There must be something they did much more recently; something a lot worse than dating in high school behind Mom’s back.”
Frank stood up and slowly walked back to the kitchen counter, where he grabbed and raised for visual inspection the bottle Anna had abandoned with more than half of the beer still in it. “How about a fresh beer?”
“Actually, I’d rather have a water,” Anna responded feebly while sitting down on the piano bench with her back to the keys. Her fleeting fantasy about a quick-and-easy resolution to her current predicament had been crushed in an instant. She knew right away that Frank was right, and she’d been naive to think differently, even for a minute.
Frank came back with two water bottles.
“So, we are back to them having had an affair, then?” Anna asked.
Frank leaned against the wall. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Aunt Marlene wrote, ‘You and I are both to blame for this.’ You’re quite sure about that, right?”
Anna nodded, slightly annoyed by his question, “Yes, I’m sure, those were the exact words. What are you driving at?”
“See, that wording is very important. She wrote ‘for this’ when she could have written ‘for that’ or ‘for it.’ If the object of her shame had been in a distant past, she would have used different wording.”
A malicious smirk formed on Frank’s face. He paused for dramatic effect—he liked to do that sometimes. “‘For this’ means now, the thing is present, staring at her with all its ugliness and baring its fangs. She prays for God to make it go away, but it just won’t—not until judgment day, as she herself eloquently put it in her message.”