by Josie Brown
Harry nods his approval. “Sounds like a plan. But remember, study doesn’t involve Wii.”
Jake nods solemnly, then reaches down and picks up his sister, who has been climbing his legs for attention.
For once the tension goes out of Harry’s shoulders. He sees the future, and it might actually be okay.
I hope Jake sees it too.
I am convinced this is the case when, later that evening, Jake calls to tell me he won’t be coming over after all. Apparently he’s already memorized the names of the South American countries that were tripping him up. And besides, Temple is so fussy lately. . . .
Don’t worry, I assure him. Family comes first, with study a close second.
As I hang up the phone, I wonder if Tanner will ever be as mature as Jake.
32
“Only choose in marriage a man whom you would
choose as a friend if he were a woman.”
—Joseph Joubert
Wednesday, 11 Dec.
The crash outside my window has me bolting upright in bed. My eyes go to the clock on the nightstand, where the digitized numbers 1:13 stare back at me. My first thought is to shake Ted so that he can see what damage has been done to the live oak in the front yard.
But he isn’t here.
Then I remember he was working late. Again.
Or maybe he’s sleeping in the guest room. Again.
I’m wrong. Ted isn’t sleeping at all. He’s in the kitchen, helping himself to the leftovers from our dinner. He too has heard the crash and is headed for the front door, a roasted chicken leg still in hand.
The car wrapped around the tree is Harry’s. The front end is smoking ominously.
Behind the wheel, unconscious and bleeding from his head, is Jake.
“Call 911! Call Harry! His number is on the fridge.” I rush to open the car door, but the frame is too bent up to give way.
Ted runs inside, but is back out by the time I’ve moved the poor kid out through the passenger door. Then I wonder if I should have left Jake alone, in case he has any broken bones. When the flames roar out of the hood, I realize I’ve done the right thing.
Ted rushes back into the house to pull the fire extinguisher out of the kitchen. By the time he comes back with it, a police car, a fire truck, and an ambulance are already here.
But no Harry.
“Didn’t you call him?” I glare at Ted. Of course he knows whom I’m referring to.
“I forgot.” He feigns interest in the medics, who are strapping Jake to a stretcher.
Liar.
I snatch the cell out of his hand and dial Harry’s number. Harry’s voice comes out as a faraway murmur. “Who is it? . . . Lyssa? What’s up?”
“Harry, you’ve got to come over here now! It’s Jake! He’s crashed the car.”
“What?” He’s loud, anxious, and angry. “What time is it? Lyssa, why would you let him drive your car?”
“Not my car, Harry! Your car. He was driving your car.”
“But . . . that can’t be. My car is in the driveway—” I hear the receiver drop. A moment later, he’s back on. “I don’t understand! Did you send him home? Why didn’t you let him stay at your place?”
“My place?” I feel as if I’m talking a different language. “Harry, Jake never came over here after practice. He called and said he’d changed his mind.”
His silence is long, his words heavy. “I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll survive this divorce.”
“Ted and I are leaving now to follow the ambulance to the hospital. We’ll swing by your place and pick you up.”
He groans anxiously and hangs up.
1:52 a.m.
Jake is conscious by the time we get to the hospital. He stares at the wall, but I know he’s listening to the doctor’s conversation with his father.
“Your son is shaken up, but no broken bones. He’s groggy from a concussion. I’d like to keep him overnight.”
“Of course.” Harry looks pale in the hospital lighting. He signs the papers proffered, then watches the doctor as he goes down the hall. This gives him a few more minutes to collect his thoughts.
“It’s nice of Summer to watch Temple for you.”
“She came right over.” The thought of her puts a wry smile on his face. “Only she can laugh off something like this. Says she can see her future just by watching our kids. She and Cody fully expect karmic payback when that hellion toddler of theirs, Elvis, gets into his teens.”
“At the very least, he’ll rebel over that name.”
Ted shakes his head. Absentmindedly he puts his hand on Harry’s arm. Maybe it has taken something like this for Ted to realize that Harry is just like him: a dad putting his kids first.
We hear the click of heels on the linoleum hall floor before we actually see DeeDee. Harry recognizes the sound first. His eyes go dark and glassy at the realization that he has to explain how their son has ended up there, in that hospital bed, under his watch.
She looks at each of us, but stops short at the vision of her son, black and blue and bandaged all over. “How did it happen?”
“He left the house under the pretense of studying with Tanner. He must have pocketed the extra set of car keys. I’d given him permission to sleep over at the Harpers’—”
“On a school night? And you let him drive over? My God, Harry—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, DeeDee. He stole the keys.” Harry shakes his head in shame. “And the sleepover was a special circumstance. They were to study together for a test, then get up early for the team photo—”
“But instead, he’s out joyriding! Isn’t that just perfect.” She strips the scarf from her neck in frustration. “Wait until the judge hears about this! Wait until—”
“Wait until the judge hears we don’t want to live with you.” Jake sounds groggy, but he is adamant. Everyone turns to him. In a flash, both Harry and DeeDee are at his side.
Even as she pats his hand, DeeDee is firm. “I’m sorry, Jake, but that may not be up to you. Especially after tonight.”
“Jake, I know you’re angry. At us both.” Harry tries to keep the despair out of his voice, but he’s doing a lousy job at it. “But misbehaving only takes away what few options you have. That we have, as a family.”
“I’m not going to live with Mom. She doesn’t love us.” He turns his head away from DeeDee, but she’s not having it.
“Who told you that? Is that what your father says?” She swings back around toward Harry.
“Quit blaming Dad! It’s not him. He never says anything mean about you at all. It’s how you’ve been acting, and you know it!”
At that, DeeDee rears back as if she’s been slapped in the face. But Jake isn’t through with her. “Mom, did you leave him for that guy you sleep with? Did you leave us for that guy?”
Almost as if time is standing still, everyone freezes.
“I saw him, Mom. Tonight. That’s why I took the car.” Jake lets that sink in. “I thought he might come over, since you don’t have us on Wednesdays. And I was right. I wanted to confront him, to tell him what he’s doing to our family. What he’s doing to me.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying! You don’t know what you’re doing.” DeeDee’s already pale face suddenly looks translucent.
“Who is he, Jake?” The urgency in Harry’s voice should break the trance between Jake and DeeDee, but it doesn’t.
Finally Jake turns to him. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t do it, not in front of Mom. So instead I followed him home.”
Harry frowns. “You know where he lives?”
“Well—no, not exactly. It was dark, and he was driving too fast.” Jake tries to raise his arm, but he winces in pain and puts it back down. “I lost him when he turned on Bougainvillea. I figured I could drive around in time to see him walking into his house, but I guess he parks in his garage. Or else he’d already turned another corner. If the Conovers’ cat hadn’t jumped in front of the car, I wouldn’t hav
e driven into the Harpers’ tree.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “Dad, I’m sorry I took the car. It wasn’t the first time, so I thought I’d do okay—”
“I tell you, he’s got it all wrong. I have a right to have friends, too.” She looks at all of us—Harry, me, and Ted—before confronting Jake. “You’re making all of this up because you’re in trouble. Don’t dare blame me. Taking the car was wrong. And once again your father was negligent on your behalf. You see, Harry? Another reason why they should be with me full-time.”
“Mom, I’m not lying! Oh, by the way, I’ve taken your car out too. And I’ll be sure to let the judge know it.”
DeeDee opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. Instead she glares at her son, but he takes it in stride.
For the longest time, no one says anything. Finally DeeDee breaks the silence. “Harry, I presume you’re staying here tonight?”
“Yes, I’d planned on it.” Then quickly he adds, “Temple is covered.”
“I would hope so! I can only pray it’s someone who’s too old for joyriding.” Without another word to anyone, she walks off.
Harry blinks twice. I know he’s contemplating Summer and her Maserati.
I pat Jake’s foot. “Well, I guess we should go too.”
Harry reaches over to give me a hug. I feel awkward taking it, especially in front of Ted, but Harry needs it now, so Ted be damned.
“I guess you had to call DeeDee about this, so thanks . . . I think.”
I shake my head. “But I didn’t call her. I just didn’t think about it. Frankly, I thought you were bold to do so.” We stare at each other, stymied.
Ted shuffles uncomfortably. “I called her, after I called 911.”
Taken aback, we both turn to him.
He stares us down. “I found her phone number in the school directory. I thought she should know too. I mean, if it were me, I’d certainly want to know. You’d feel that way too. Am I right?”
Harry nods grudgingly.
I, on the other hand, am less convinced of Ted’s empathy for DeeDee.
We drive home in silence. Only after we climb into bed does it dawn on me that while he thought to call Harry’s soon-to-be ex, it was actually me who called Harry, because Ted had so conveniently forgotten to do so.
And if I hadn’t, she would have arrived at the hospital first.
Is that what Ted had wanted?
I now know how much he hates Harry.
33
“The best thing to hold on to in life is each other.”
—Audrey Hepburn
Thursday, 12 Dec., 8:53 p.m.
Where is my daddy?”
This is the fifteenth time Temple has asked me that same question in the past three hours.
I’ve got her and Jake with me at my house. I know my smile is wobbly, but it’s better than giving in to the impulse to frown. “You know, sweetie, he didn’t realize how late they’d keep him at work.”
“But it’s bedtime. Why isn’t he home yet?”
I pause to contemplate other excuses I can give her. The only one I can think of is the lamest of all parental fallback positions: “Maybe he stopped off to get you and Jake a surprise.”
She doesn’t want to come out and call me a liar, so instead she sucks on the baby bottle that is her constant companion these days, and goes back to finger-painting a black cloud over a family of stick people.
Temple has given up on adults telling her the truth.
I don’t want to let on that I’m concerned about him too. He was supposed to be home by four, and it’s now going on nine. After the eighth time she asked, I tried his cell phone and got a very terse, “Not now! I’ll call you as soon as I can . . . like in half an hour.”
That was three hours ago.
Jake, who finished his homework sometime before dinner, sits silently in the corner with his eyes half shut, trying hard to ignore Mickey’s incessant chatter, which meanders from his baseball card collection to his prowess on the soccer field. He’s more patient with his idol than his big brother, who gave up on engaging Jake after they had a falling-out during a one-on-one game of b-ball. Jake’s foul shots might be off, but he’s learned the skill of tripping up those whom he perceives as opponents with scathing taunts that leave no insecurity unturned. In Tanner’s case, his shorter stature is ridiculed, along with his growing infatuation with Natassia—or in Jake’s words, “Little Miss Skank.”
This last is it for Tanner. He walks away, not bloodied but emotionally bruised. “What’s with you, man? You’ve become an asshole. A real sadist.”
At least during dinner we had détente.
I guess it’s a good thing that Ted is on a business trip. After Jake’s collision, he’s made it clear that he’s not too thrilled about Jake and Tanner’s friendship.
Not that he’ll come out and say that. Mention of any of the Wilders is off-limits for us these days.
Apparently lovemaking is on that short list, too. At least, as far as Ted is concerned. We haven’t had sex since Thanksgiving.
If that’s what you call what we had that night.
I call it payback sex. He was paying me back for daring to make him jealous.
I wasn’t trying to make him jealous. Still, I have to admit it was nice to feel he desired me again. Make War, Then Love seemed to be our motto.
But no more. Jake’s crazy joyride has me realizing how precious life really is, how we all do things we later regret. How we hold on to the hurt and the pain when we really don’t have to.
Just like Jake. And Harry.
And, yes, me too.
Well, no more. I have turned over a new leaf. It means giving others the benefit of the doubt, and making new friends, even if they were formerly viewed as enemies.
It means making a truce with Ted. And certainly adopting a new motto.
From now on, I’m nice to everyone: the mean, the bad, the crazy.
Even the Coven.
Yeah, okay, even DeeDee.
The tap on the glass is so soft that I don’t hear it at first. I look up to see Harry staring at me through the window, an apparition half in shadow. He puts his finger to his lips, then beckons for me to come out. I glance around to see if the children realize he’s there, but no, they have finally settled into the malaise that comes with being guests who are embarrassed for having overstayed their welcome. Sullen solitude is appreciated on all fronts.
I slip out the back door into the velvety darkness broken only by the light streaming through the kitchen window. I hear Harry humming, but at first I don’t see him. “Harry, where did you go?”
He stops midstanza. “I’m over here by the love shack!”
Perplexed, I follow his voice, which is now singing off-key, “‘Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame! You give love a bad name. . . .’”
“Harry, keep it down! You don’t want the kids to hear you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He flops onto the stoop of the shed.
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Everything. Anything.” His head drops onto his chest. It stays there for such a long while that I think he’s fallen asleep—
Until he starts with the awful crooning again.
Harry Wilder is drunk as a skunk.
“You’re killing me, Harry! Have some respect. It’s Bon Jovi, for God’s sake.”
He processes that for a moment, then concedes with a nod. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that, back in the day, I used to look like him.” He pours the rest of his beer onto the grass. “Yeah, really, Bon Jovi. Do you see the resemblance?” He turns and stares me down.
“Nah. Brad Pitt, though, for sure. Especially around the eyes.”
He shrugs to give me the impression that he couldn’t care less, but I know better. “What the hell do they know, anyhow? Those assholes used to tell me a lot of things.”
“Let me guess: they told you something you didn’t want to hear today. Am I right?”
; “Jesus, Lys, you’re practically . . . psychic.” He pulls me down beside him. “Yep, that they did, loud and clear: ‘Sayonara.’ Just like that.”
“Who . . . your partners?”
“You’re battin’ two for two, girly-girl.” As he hugs my shoulders, I catch a whiff of his breath and recoil. At least, I try to, but he’s holding me too firmly, as if I am his lifeline.
But of course I am. I wish I could say I don’t like it, but I do.
“How did they do it?”
“Oh, it was all very well thought out, I can assure you. They built a case for my ‘erratic behavior,’ not to mention my ‘client negligence.’ Toss in the economy, and it’s a solid triple play. Of course, they’re blowing it out their asses, but I’d have to take them to court to prove it, and that’s time and money that, seriously, I don’t have. They know that, and they’re counting on the fact that DeeDee and Bethany have beaten me down so far that I’ll just take their shekels and run. They had papers already drawn up that give me a tidy little cash settlement for being a good boy and walking away from everything: the department I built from the ground up, my partnership—my firm, goddamn it! IT’S MY FIRM!”
I can hear the tears in his voice, but I don’t dare look over at him.
“What about your clients? They’re there because of you. They won’t hang in there if you take your shingle and hang it somewhere else.”
“That depends. Yeah, I’m sure a handful will stay true blue, no matter where I end up—if I can even talk my way into another partnership, that is. But the majority of my clients are wonks: they’re buying the name of the firm, first and foremost.”
“Will you fight it?”
“Of course!” He relaxes his hand on my shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I went by Edwin’s office to break the news to him. He turned a little green around the gills, let me tell you. Having zippo income is going to make it tough for me to pay his fee, let alone get the approval to hang on to the kids and the house.” He crushes his beer can. “On the other hand, whoever gets it may have to sell the house anyway.”
His head drops again, but this time it lolls over toward me. I don’t know what to do when I feel it land on my shoulder.