Chapter Twenty
“Mrs. Graham?”
I spun around. “Diane! You scared me to death.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t want—can we go inside?” she asked, looking around behind her, fear marring her pretty features.
My fingers shook as I unlocked the door. Delayed reaction.
I got another shock when I saw the lump on the hallway floor, flashing back to that night when Greg first came home and I mistook his suitcase for a body. After a second, I realized it was the carpet shampooer. I hadn’t stopped to put it away when Darren called. I really had to get a grip on my nerves.
Diane followed me around the shampooer and into the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?” I asked, mainly because I damn sure needed some.
“Uh—no thanks.”
“Coke?”
She brightened. “Please. If it’s no trouble.”
How much trouble could a Coke be, I wondered, but held my tongue. After all, she hadn’t meant to scare ten years off my life. I felt out of patience with youth. All youth.
I fixed her Coke and poured myself a cup of coffee from the morning’s pot. I put it in the microwave and nuked it for ninety seconds. I was trying to figure out why Diane was there. “Where’s your car?” I asked, suddenly realizing it hadn’t been in the driveway.
“Oh.” She laughed self-consciously. “I parked it down the block. I didn’t want Greg to see it if he drove by.”
I sat in the chair across from her and regarded her. “Why all the subterfuge, Diane?”
She picked up the can of Coke, ignoring the glass I’d put beside it. She took a healthy sip. To bolster her courage?
“It’s probably silly, Mrs. Graham, but Greg wouldn’t understand my being here. He’d think I was running to report on him. You know what I mean?”
“I’m not certain.”
Diane played with her Coke. If it had been a hankie, it would soon have been in bits. I noticed for the first time that her hands were shaking.
“Greg is—really upset right now. He told me all about it.” She glanced up at me from under impossibly long eyelashes. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind me knowing.”
“It doesn’t matter whether I do or not,” I said with more than a trace of bitterness. “I suppose everyone will know eventually.”
She looked decidedly unhappy. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Graham. He needed to talk to someone, and I was there.” She took a deep breath, and then let it out. “Look, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come.” She started to get to her feet.
“No, Diane.” I put a hand on her arm. Upset and unsettled as I was, I had absolutely no quarrel with Diane Jarvis. She seemed to be a sweet and lovely young woman who was sincerely concerned about Greg. There was no reason to punish her for what was going on in my life. I remembered the look I’d seen on her face that night that seemed so long ago. Was she in love with my son?
“Please don’t go. At least not until you tell me what you came to say.”
She sank back down in her chair, but it was a moment before she continued. The cola can seemed inadequate. She picked it up, gave it a little shake, and then put it down again. I felt sorry for her. I almost went and got one of Darren’s old hankies for her to twist.
When she spoke, her voice was less tentative. “I’m really sorry about everything that’s happening, Mrs. Graham. I mean all of it,” she said, looking up to emphasize her point. When I nodded, she continued, “When Greg showed up at my place, I thought he’d been mugged. I couldn’t believe he’d been in a fight. I mean, Greg and I went to school together. He never fought anybody in all those years.” She shook her head. “Then he told me what happened. About his dad and all. You should have seen him.”
I almost said I did see him, but it was her show.
“His lip was all split and bleeding. He was sick at first—I mean physically sick, and—and he was crying.” Her eyes widened at the enormity of it. “When he finally told me what had happened, well, I asked him to stay at my place. I wanted you to know how it happened, that’s all. He’s staying there because I asked him, not because he doesn’t want to be around you.”
Ah. The old protection game. “That’s very nice of you to say, Diane, but I am well aware that Greg doesn’t want to be around either of his parents right now, and I for one don’t particularly want him around.”
“Don’t be mad at him, Mrs. Graham. He really can’t help—”
“He most certainly can help it.” I burst out. “He beat his poor brother-in-law to a pulp, and Bob stood there and took it because he was afraid he’d hurt Greg. I could personally throttle Greg for that.”
“He didn’t mean to,” Diane said quickly. “He told me that. He said it was like beating up Bambi. He said that’s what made him so sick.”
I personally thought a mild concussion might have been what made him sick, but I didn’t voice it.
“I meant he can’t help worshipping his father,” she went on. “Even when we were back in school, his dad was his hero. I remember when I was waiting my turn to date him—”
“Your turn?”
She blushed. “Well, that’s what all the girls said. We all waited our turn. He never dated anyone very long, but he did date most of us.” Her blush crept up her face, coloring her cheeks prettily. “When it was finally my turn, all he did was talk about his dad, the architect.”
I was finding it impossible to dislike this girl, or even to be put out by her coming over. “That must have seemed pretty weird.”
“Oh, no. I’d met Mr. Graham, and he was such a hunk—” She covered her mouth. Her face turned so red I thought for a moment she was going to cry. “Oh, Mrs. Graham, I meant—”
“That’s okay, Diane,” I said, giving in and smiling. “I’ve always thought he was a hunk, too.”
Her relief was tangible. “And Greg is so much like him. I mean—well, that’s what has him so worried.” She averted her eyes again. “He hasn’t said anything, but I know that’s what he’s thinking. He tried so hard to be like him, and now….”
She seemed so lovely, and so impossibly young. “You really care about Greg, don’t you?”
She nodded unhappily. “When we dated, well, I knew it was casual to him. I mean, I was just his current girl, but it was a lot more than that to me. I thought I got over him when he went away to college, but then when I saw him again…” She pushed the Coke can away from her. “Anyway, right now he doesn’t know what to think. He is a lot like his father, and he knows it. He even looks like him. He’s got to realize that he can be like his father and not—be like him.”
“Not be gay.”
“Yes,” she breathed out, seeming relieved the word was finally spoken. “Mr. Graham is so super. Once Greg gets his head back on straight, he’ll be able to see all those great parts again, and he’ll be able to separate what he is from what his father is. He would have had to do that anyway eventually if he was ever going to grow up.”
I blinked, surprised at the astuteness of her remark.
“Right now he’s got to prove to himself that he’s—oh, a man, I guess. Heterosexual. Macho. You know how they are.”
I felt a smile pulling up my lips. Then it vanished. “With you? Prove it with you?”
I could see her spine stiffen. “Well, I—”
“Don’t let him use you, Diane. You’re much too smart a person to allow that.”
“I won’t let him—use me,” she said defensively, with a quick glance at me, then her chin raised a degree, “but I will be available.”
“Don’t be too available,” I said, thinking that this child was too damn nice for her own good. “Greg won’t appreciate a doormat.”
“I’m not a doormat, Mrs. Graham, but I care about Greg and I’ll be there if he needs me. For however long it takes.”
“What if he needs someone else? Or more than one someone else,” I asked, hating myself for saying the words I was certain she hadn’t thought about but de
termined to put reality before her.
I was wrong. She had thought of it. She hardly missed a beat. “Then I’ll wait.” Her Coke can shield forgotten, she folded her hands together. “I’ve had this—thing about Greg since I was sixteen years old. If I waited all those years with almost no hope, I can wait some more now that I know he cares about me.” She glanced up at me, then back away. “I wish you wouldn’t tell him I said that.”
I reached over and squeezed her hands. “I won’t tell him. He’s very lucky to have someone like you. I think you’re probably too good for him,” I added, only half joking.
“Oh, no. Greg is wonderful. He’s mixed up right now. Please give him time.”
Now I did smile. “I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? Tempting as it is, it’s a little late to trade him in on a new model.”
* * * * *
A trade became unnecessary because he left town the next day. That news came from Diane, who stopped by late in the afternoon to tell me. At my request, she stayed for dinner, and I found out she was not only lovely but, when she was discussing something other than my son, intelligent and conversable. As attractive as she was, it would have been fairer to her peers if she had turned out to be a bimbo.
We had dinner a couple of times in the weeks that followed. I sincerely enjoyed her company, and I think she enjoyed mine. She certainly wasn’t trying to worm her way into Greg’s affection by befriending me. After all, he wasn’t even speaking to me.
Greg was a subject I tried very hard to ignore. I rationalized that I couldn’t do anything about his reaction to our divorce but, of course, that was the pebble on Mt. Everest. The rest was that I didn’t know what to think. My son, the child I’d felt I knew so well, had turned into a stranger. The disgust I’d seen in his face when he’d looked at his father and me was real, and I had to go a step further and wonder why in all the time I’d dreaded the final shoe falling and run scenarios through my mind, I hadn’t foreseen his inevitable conclusion.
Of course Greg would be threatened by his father’s homosexuality. Whether it was because I wanted to believe it or whether I’d done more reading on the subject, I firmly believed that homosexuality wasn’t hereditary, nor did I doubt for a moment that Greg was the heterosexual little stud he believed himself to be. Or had believed himself to be, if Diane was accurate. His foundation, like Jana’s, had been severely shaken, and I didn’t know if he’d ever totally recover. I now remembered why I hadn’t wanted to tell the children the whole truth about the divorce.
The fireworks appeared to be over. During those weeks before the final decree, life settled into a sort of rhythm. Spring arrived. The days were warm, the nights pleasantly chilly. The azaleas bloomed in profusion. Hostas poked their leafy green heads up to check for the arrival of summer, only to be burned off by the one or two below-freezing nights of late March. Bob’s face healed. I made good on my promise to spend more quality time with my mother. We had lunch twice, and I actually invited her over for dinner and cooked for her one evening. I made sure everything was organic and low fat, although I did draw the line at espresso. She got strong decaf and seemed reconciled.
I saw very little of Darren, and when I did, he seemed ashamed to face me. If Greg had meant to wound his father with his words, which of course he had, he had done a stellar job. Darren looked older and tired. I doubted he was sleeping, and it looked to me like he’d lost weight. Because I didn’t think he’d appreciate me mentioning it, I said nothing.
Work was a little tense. Jeff and Sam tiptoed around my sensibilities until I wanted to scream. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the divorce or the fiasco with my son or if they’d already heard rumors about Darren. They would, of course. Word would get out, but it wouldn’t be a disaster. Architects dealt closely with interior designers, and it’s a simple fact that a lot of interior designers are gay. The architectural community couldn’t afford to be homophobic, a fact that Greg might want to consider as he pursued his chosen career.
I allowed Jeff and Sam to avoid me for the most part, approaching them only when I needed them to sign checks and when the automatic door opener came in. I managed to avoid Klee, although I no longer disliked him quite as intensely. Even though he had certainly been instrumental in the process, it wasn’t his fault my son had come unglued. I did my job and left the office and went home to my empty house.
Jana also found reasons to avoid me. I let her. She, too, had to adjust to what amounted to her universe tilting. When I did see her, at least she didn’t look at me with the naked disgust and contempt that had marred Greg’s pretty features the last time I saw him. I spent a lot of time with my father, telling him more than once that he was lucky he had a daughter. This father/son stuff was too traumatic for me.
As it turned out, I also spent a lot of time with my father’s doctor. Jules was an easy man to be around. Somehow that made it a bit less painful to watch my father’s gradual but unceasing decline. My mother was going through her own pain.
Darren stayed away from all of us.
Jules became my friend.
We took long walks around the grounds and talked about our lives and our families. He was right. Some of the tulips died, but most of them popped back up and began to open their faces to the sun. He told me stories about his boyhood in Scotland and the years since. The Alzheimer’s patient in Edinburgh was his great uncle, and when Jules went to the nursing home after the funeral, he’s found a picture of himself among his great uncle’s possessions. Jules hadn’t known he had it. We talked about his change of careers. He’d been a successful surgeon until that fateful visit to the funeral. When he returned, he decided to dedicate his skills to Alzheimer’s patients and the elderly. His wife at the time had signed on to be married to a high-profit surgeon. When he gave that up, she walked away without a backward glance. Thank God there were no children.
I found myself relating tales of my own childhood, stories in which Darren generally played a large part. Jules listened well. So well that, on one of our lazy walks around the grounds, I told him about Darren being gay. The words slid out naturally. If Jules was shocked or appalled, he hid it well. He nodded thoughtfully and kept walking.
After a while, he said, “How long have you known?”
I explained that too, but told him we’d put off the divorce because of what it would do to the kids.
Again, he nodded.
As we turned and started back toward the Manor, he said, “Poor Darren.”
“I know. What he’s going through is terrible for him.”
He looked over at me. “No doubt, but I was thinking more of what he’s lost.”
I felt warmth start low in my belly and spread slowly upward until it tinged my cheeks with heat, and I chose to believe it was embarrassment.
* * * * *
That is how I spent my last weeks as a married woman. Darren and I wouldn’t have to go to court since the divorce was uncontested, but we would have to appear together in the judge’s chambers. Our joint attorney, Mitch Ziegler, told us it would be a snap. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t dissolving a thirty-year union.
I steeled myself as best I could. On the morning of our appearance before the judge, I dressed carefully and conservatively. Dark business suit, white blouse, pumps and hose. I felt like the imposter I was, posing as a woman who had it all together.
The judge’s chambers were in the new modern legal complex in Decatur. I’d been in the old stone courthouse on the square many years before for reasons I couldn’t remember. I did remember, though, that it’d had wood floors and windows that actually opened and beautiful crown molding and personality. The new glass and steel building was efficient and bleak, much the way my life felt that afternoon.
Darren and I met Mitch in the judge’s waiting room at four o’clock in the afternoon. Darren still looked ragged, and I surmised he still wasn’t sleeping or eating much. After a brief wait, we were escorted inside. The judge read the papers and signed them, only pausin
g to ask if I wanted my maiden name back. I said no. I’d been married so long I felt like Graham was my maiden name. He had Darren and I sign the papers. That was it. Over marriage dissolved in a smear of black ink.
Back in the waiting room, Mitch offered to buy us both a drink, as well he should considering what his services had cost Darren. I declined. I didn’t feel much like celebrating.
As I started out the door, Darren said, “Lou?”
I turned.
He approached me with a large white envelope in his hand. “I wanted to give this to you,” he said, holding it out to me.
Not understanding, I took it. As I turned it over and began to open it, he said, “No. Don’t open it now. Open it when you get home.”
I stared after him as he and Mitch left the courthouse. When the door closed, I looked at the envelope in my hand. My first thought was the Darren had written me some kind of goodbye letter, but it was too thick for that.
I tucked it under my arm and started for the parking lot.
As I neared my car, I saw a very familiar looking bug parked almost next to me.
“Hi,” she said a little uncertainly as I walked up to her window. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here, but I decided to come. Just in case.”
Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I fought them. “Hi, mom.”
“All done?”
I nodded.
She was studying my face. I tried to keep it impassive, but this was my mother, after all. “Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s dump your car and go to the Lemon Peel. We can watch the male strippers and you can drink too much, and then later I can hold your head while you throw up. What do you say?”
I gave her a watery smile. “It sounds perfect. Follow me to my house. I want to change out of this suit.”
She shuddered. “Good. You look like a librarian on her way to church.”
Chapter Twenty -One
I didn’t drink nearly as much as I intended because of something Mother said to me that evening. The seed, I think, was already planted; her words added the Miracle Grow.
An Irreconcilable Difference Page 19