Blood Secrets

by Jones, Craig

  “What was your father’s name?”

  “Same as mine—Evans.” Virgil smiled.

  “I mean his first name.”

  “Frank, really.” I turned to Virgil. “He’s writing a book about first names.”

  Virgil laughed. But Frank was not to be put off. “What was his name?”

  “Philip.”

  “What kind of work did he do?”

  “He was a handyman.”

  “Did he have a business?”

  “Not really. People called him for odd jobs. But he did pretty well for himself.”

  “You were born in Fort Lauderdale?”

  “No, in Canada in a house trailer. They were on a fishing trip.”

  “Are you a Canadian citizen?”

  “No. They registered the birth later, in Florida.”

  The questions continued. Although Frank’s tone was conversational, I felt an urgency behind the questions and I think Virgil did too. Finally, I stepped in.

  “What do you plan to study in college?” I asked.

  “Not history or English.” He chuckled. “They’ve always been my worst subjects. Maybe phys ed or social work.” He talked readily about his love of sports. I tried to keep my face looking interested while I observed Frank. I could see he was itching to jump back in.

  “Regina said you met at a football game,” Frank said.

  “That’s right.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I was sitting next to her.”

  “Since you don’t go to that school, how did you happen to be at one of their games?”

  “You know Central has been the class A state champ quite a few times. They have a big following.”

  “That kind of news gets all the way to Florida?”

  “No, I found that out when I got up here.”

  “All this question and answer is making me hungry,” I said. “I think we should eat.”

  As we moved toward the dining room, I brushed Frank’s arm and whispered, “Leave him alone now.”

  While we ate, Virgil and Regina told us about the movie. Virgil did most of the talking and Regina hung on every word. It was both touching and amusing to see the transformation in her, all that hard brass turning to putty. Already I was drawing parallels between her and myself at the time I had met Frank.

  She walked Virgil out to his car and Frank watched from the window. When she came back in, he was waiting for her.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes. Until we got back here.”

  “Honey, I’m just interested in who you see.”

  “You’re just interested in ruining things for me! If he doesn’t ask me out again, I’ll—you’ll be sorry!”

  “If he likes you,” I said, “he’ll ask you out again.”

  She turned to me. “I’m not bringing him in this house again if he’s here!”

  Frank flinched. I wanted to take a crack at both of them, at Frank for his ridiculous behavior and at her for handing out orders. “No fighting,” I said. “It’s too late.”

  “Regina, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, yes, you did! You’re always butting in, you’re always asking questions. I’m sick of it. Just leave me alone.” She ran upstairs and slammed the door.

  Frank sat down with a long sigh. I knew we had to discuss this and I was anxious to get it over with.

  “She’s right, you know.”

  He looked up and looked away. He wasn’t even going to challenge me.

  “If you don’t leave her alone, she’s going to turn her back on you entirely.”

  No answer.

  “The Frankenstein monster turned on his creator.”

  “I don’t think that’s amusing.”

  “It’s not supposed to be. She’s growing up and you had better start accepting that. You always wanted her to have everything, but now that she’s found something she wants, it seems you’re going out of your way to sabotage it. I don’t understand it.”

  “I’m not sabotaging anything. I’m simply concerned.”

  “I’m concerned, but I’m not playing interrogator.”

  He said nothing. He wasn’t going to talk. But I knew how to get a reaction from him.

  “If we had had the baby, you might not be so preoccupied with running Regina’s life.”

  “I’m not running her life.” Then: “I’m sorry about the baby, you know that.”

  “No, I don’t know that. Maybe losing it was a blessing. Maybe you wouldn’t have had enough love to give it.”

  “That’s a rotten thing to say.”

  “I can’t help feeling it’s the truth. But since it’s not here, it doesn’t matter, does it? What does matter is Regina. And you. You’re going to be very unhappy if you don’t let her grow up on her own. A five-year-old or a ten-year-old may enjoy being coddled, but Regina is sixteen. She doesn’t want you that way anymore.”

  He sat staring at the floor. There was no point in going on.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said. “Are you coming?”

  “Later.”

  As I walked past him, he reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Irene, please be patient with me.”

  “It’s not my patience you have to worry about. It’s Regina’s.”

  Within three weeks’ time, Virgil Evans was bringing Regina home from school every day. He would stay for an hour, drive off, then return around nine o’clock, after Regina had finished her homework. We let them have the recreation room to themselves until ten-thirty. They went out every Friday and Saturday, and Virgil always had her home by 1 a.m., her curfew time.

  There was absolutely nothing in the boy for Frank to criticize. He was bright, personable, considerate, and had a sharp, mature sense of humor. But I could see that Frank was looking for something to criticize. Quietly, he watched the boy like an apprehensive cat, and I found myself watching him watch.

  I can’t say exactly when Frank’s nightmares began. I can only say when I first noticed them, between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Several times I awakened to find him thrashing and gritting his teeth. One night he fell right out of bed. When I questioned him about the nightmares, he said he didn’t remember them. But the one I remember—will always remember—woke me early one Sunday morning. There was a mumbling which slowly shaped itself into words, and I heard “Regina, come back.” I heard it twice. I rolled over and saw him twitch and open his eyes. In a daze, he looked right at me and said, “She’s going.” He then closed his eyes and went back to sleep. I got up, sat in the rocker and smoked cigarettes. He slept fitfully for another two hours.

  His loss of sleep began to show. He left for work groggy and came home exhausted. He looked attentive only when Virgil was in the house. He had run out of questions for the boy, but there was always the watching, the constant watchfulness.

  This change in Frank coincided with the change in Regina. Her first case of romance softened her considerably and I was delighted. Although her entire time schedule was shaped around Virgil, I didn’t mind in the least. In all her sixteen years, she was the most pleasant, the least demanding she had ever been. She looked contented, and more than anything, I hoped this experience with Virgil would spawn some self-confidence in her that would remain even if he left her one day. For a while, she seemed to lay aside her resentment of Frank, but she certainly had not buried it. It exploded in my face the afternoon I came home from school to find her and Virgil waiting for me. They were sitting on the couch when I came through the door and both of them stood up immediately. That one urgent gesture spelled trouble; all I could think of was: Oh, God, they’re going to tell me she’s pregnant. But one glance at the rage in Regina’s face told me the topic was going to be Frank.

>   “He’s crazy! He’s out of his mind!” she said.

  “Take it easy,” said Virgil.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Him! He’s spying on Virgil!”

  “Regina, be quiet. Mrs. Mattison, can you sit down for a few minutes?” I sat. “A few days ago, my aunt told me she thought a man was following her. I didn’t pay much attention to it because she does like to exaggerate. Yesterday, she said he drove past the house a couple of times and parked out in front for a while. The way she described him, it sounds like Mr. Mattison. She described his car too.”

  I sat there not saying a word, because I had nothing to say.

  “I’ve known from the beginning he doesn’t like me. I don’t know why he doesn’t. If I did, maybe I could do something to change it.”

  Only if you traded places, then he’d like you. I didn’t need to say it, only think it. The dark suspicion that had taken root in the back of my mind was beginning to spread its branches.

  “Virgil’s right,” said Regina. “He hasn’t liked him from the beginning. But he’s not going to get away with spying on him. I’ll move out!”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “You’ve said that before and he’s still the same. He’s worse!”

  “I promise you there will be a stop to this.”

  “Mrs. Mattison, I don’t want to make trouble, but my aunt—well . . .”

  “I understand. Take my word for it, it won’t happen again.”

  I asked him to go home and to stay away for a day or two. I let Regina go up to her room while I thought out what to say to her. I didn’t want to panic her, didn’t want her to see my panic. In the kitchen, I took a slug of brandy, then went up to her.

  She was lying on her bed in her bra and panties, doing her homework. It would have been easier for me if she had had clothes on.

  “I want to talk to you about something and I don’t want you to be embarrassed by it. I want you to know you can trust me. Whatever we say to each other will remain strictly between us. I won’t discuss it with your father and I don’t want you to discuss it with Virgil.”

  She looked surprised, not apprehensive. That encouraged me.

  “What I ask may be difficult for you to answer, but remember that it’s just as difficult for me to ask.” I drew breath. “You’ve been avoiding your father for a long time now. Even before you met Virgil. I want you to tell me why.”

  “You know why.”

  “I want you to be specific.”

  “He watches me. All the time. I’m sick of it. Now he’s spying on Virgil.”

  “Let’s stick to you. Has he ever said or done anything specific to make you . . . embarrassed or afraid?”

  “He’d like to embarrass me but he can’t. A few weeks ago he asked me if I was sleeping with Virgil.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him it was none of his business.”

  “And are you sleeping with him?”

  “Yes. I love him.”

  “Regina, have you thought about the consequences? Like getting pregnant?”

  “He uses something.”

  “Those things aren’t very reliable.” God, I thought, how these kids just jump right in.

  “You could get me some pills, then.”

  “I don’t know; we’ll have to talk about that later. Has your father said anything else or done anything to make you uncomfortable? Anything at all?”

  “Just that he’s always around, watching.”

  “From now on, if he does anything to upset you, will you come and tell me in private?”

  “Sure. If you can do anything about it.”

  I wasn’t certain she had understood my questions fully. But I couldn’t bring myself to be more specific.

  That night, I was more specific with Frank. I waited until he was in bed reading. With no preface at all, I asked him point-blank: “Why have you been spying on Virgil?” He looked up, disbelieving but guilty. “Well?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. You drove past his house and you parked out front. I call that spying. Do you realize you’ve terrified his aunt?”

  “I don’t believe he has an aunt. At least, not in that house.” He laid the book down. “Don’t you see there’s something about the boy that doesn’t jell?”

  “What, for instance?”

  “Just look at him—he could have his pick of girls. Why does he want Regina?”

  Soon after I had met him, I had been told by Gloria and my parents that I could have my pick. But it was a point I couldn’t make to him. “You can’t explain those things, you know that.”

  “It’s obvious he’s using her.”

  “It’s not obvious to me. And what if he is? That’s a chance everyone has to take.”

  “I don’t want him using her.”

  “Frank, you have no say in the matter. And the crazier you act, the more appealing Regina will find him.” His face was set against anything I had to say, but it changed with my next statement. “I want you to leave them alone. And I want you to see an analyst.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me. I’ve had it, Frank. I’ve had it with your nightmares and your delusions. You want to know something? My school’s gotten so awful that everyone counts the minutes, waiting for the end of the day. I don’t. Because I know what I’m coming home to isn’t going to be much better than work. You’re making both Regina and me miserable and now you’re starting in on Virgil and his aunt. You need help and I can’t give it to you.”

  “You honestly believe that?”

  “I believe it enough to tell you this: there’s something terribly wrong in this protectiveness of yours. If you won’t go to an analyst, I’ll leave you. And I’ll take Regina with me.”

  “Irene!”

  “I mean it. You find somebody by the end of the week and you make an appointment.”

  When I got into bed, he turned off the light and slid toward me.

  “Please don’t.”

  He pulled away and lay on his back. “You’d really leave me?” he whispered.

  “If you force me to.”

  I was drifting off when he spoke again. “Trust me, Irene. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “But you are hurting me. I’ll trust you when you start getting help.” And after I get some information. I decided then that he wouldn’t touch me again until I had had a talk with Vivian. And maybe not even after that.

  Long-distance information gave me the number of her lumber company. I dialed twice and hung up both times before the second ring. Standing there with the phone in my hand, I couldn’t shake the memory of Frank’s kindness to the blind boy, Larry, or the looks of adoration on the faces of those students he tutored in our living room at midterm and finals. He was still the same man and that man couldn’t be capable of . . . Then I remembered the rumors about the girls, the young girls, coming to his apartment that summer I lived with Gloria and he lived upstairs. And I saw Sylvia’s hand going under a sheet, with him accepting it. Was that another man, hidden from me all these years but forced to surface now to draw breath? One of the teachers at school had been married ten years and then discovered the two-year affair his wife had been having with another woman. And I had thought at the time: How could he have been so blind?

  The third time I dialed, I let it ring through. A man answered. I asked for Mrs. Snell.

  “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s a personal call.”

  “She ain’t here right now. She’s—just a minute.”

  I heard some kind of rustling and the man say sniggeringly, “Says it’s personal.”

 
“Hello.”

  “Vivian?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Irene, Frank’s wife.”

  Slight pause. “Is something wrong?”

  “I was wondering if I could come and talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone.”

  “Is it about Frank?”

  “Yes, it is. Could I drive up tomorrow?”

  Another pause. “I’ll come there.”

  “We can’t meet here.”

  “I assumed that,” she said. “You name a place to meet where I can have a drink.”

  We settled on a restaurant at the edge of town near the expressway she would be coming in on.

  Dinner that night was totally silent. Regina gulped down her food in five minutes and left the table. Frank picked at his and stared at the wall. When I came back from the kitchen with the coffee, there was a slip of paper near my napkin. On it was a name and telephone number.

  “One of the graduate assistants goes to him. He’s supposed to be good.”

  “Did you get an appointment yet?”

  “Next Tuesday at eleven.”

  There was nothing more to say. Any word would have been the wrong one. I wanted him to see the analyst, knew he had to see one, and yet I cringed at his quick compliance. He wanted me to be pleased, but he looked more beaten and drained than I had ever seen him.

  As soon as he went up to his study, Regina came down and motioned me into the kitchen.

  “Well?” she said.

  “It’s all right. We had a talk.”

  “A talk? You’ve had talks with him before and nothing’s happened.”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  “What’s taken care of? What did he say?”

  “He knows he’s been wrong.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What do you want—blood? I am doing the best I can. And you yourself could make things a little more pleasant by being kinder to him.”

  “You don’t care what he does to me, do you?”