Sunflowers

by Melodie Starkey

  Of course, hindsight looked so simple. He was leaving out the part where half of what was wrong with their relationship was him, not her. It was easy to say, “well she was manic depressive and couldn’t help it.” But anyone would’ve gotten tired of living with him after awhile. He had to give her credit for lasting longer than any of his previous girlfriends.

  “Gus?” she called, then appeared in the doorway. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Ready?”

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Your letter. You know?”

  She nodded, looking down.

  “Thank you for that. If you want, I can make you a pretty long list of things to be mad at me about.”

  This made her look back up, her eyes sparkling with moisture but a tiny smile on her lips.

  “The thing is, I promise to try to honor the hands-off ban as long as you need. But I really, really miss you. Regret you.” He sighed and said quieter, “Love you.”

  With impeccable timing, Sam burst into the room so neither of them had to break the tension alone.

  Several times during dinner he caught her looking at him while Sam was busy with talking his shrimps to each other and eating his salad with his fingers because the fork made it taste funny. They finally ended the meal by sharing a slice of death by chocolate cake between the three of them, giving him an excuse to move closer and look at her without being obvious. A couple of times she even directed her lovely smile at him, making him smile back reflexively, his heart speeding up.

  At the school, Sam clung to each of their hands firmly to establish that they were his family. When the teacher greeted them as Mr. and Mrs. Moore, Maureen smiled and didn’t correct her. They admired artwork in the hall, picking out Sam’s easily enough by the constant presence of the giant dog blob in every picture. They congratulated him on his folder of handwriting drills and counting worksheets. Finally, at 7:30, they headed home. Sam was wide awake, wanting to play pirates or cowboys. Gus said, “Remember that part where you need to have a bath and go to bed?”

  “But Daddy!”

  “No ‘but Daddy.’ Maureen, can you do bath and bedtime while I take Frodo out?”

  Sam jumped up and down. “I need bubbles! Can you tell me a story?”

  She smiled in delight. “Sounds good. Any kind of story you had in mind?”

  “Tell me a story about Daddy. Grampa always tells me funny stories about Daddy.”

  She looked over at Gus, who said, “Oh god. I don’t even want to know.”

  With a laugh she led the bouncing child down the hall.

  Gus took Frodo out back and seated himself in a patio chair. They needed time alone. He had to let her know he would respect that whenever she came over; he wouldn’t try crowding in on her time alone with Sam. He closed his eyes, imagining folding her into his arms and swaying slowly with her, his face buried in her thick, dark hair. He remembered how they had gone dancing when they were dating; how he had never wanted to let her go.

  When it seemed like an ample amount of time had passed, he stood and looked at his watch. 8:45. The wicked witch would be here soon. He slipped into the house and headed quietly toward the hallway. But she was sitting in the foyer on a chair that he kept there for Sam to remove his galoshes. After a hesitation, he knelt in front of her. “Okay?”

  She wiped her eyes and nodded.

  “Anything I can do?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks.”

  “Can we sit in the living room until she arrives?”

  “Okay.” She stood and followed him, sitting in the rocking chair.

  “Any chance you’ll tell me what happened with your job?”

  “I quit.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “I never cared about that job. Never. You know I was just working there to get through school.”

  He nodded.

  “I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to spend all day with magic little kids like Sam and Jordan, you know?”

  “I remember that, yes.”

  “But now I can’t. I can’t ever be a teacher. I can’t ever be a mother.”

  “You are a mother. You are Sam’s mother. That’s forever, okay?”

  She kept her eyes on her lap.

  “So what now?”

  She looked up. “Hm?”

  “Your job. What now?”

  “Oh. Well. I have some money tucked away. Nothing like you, but enough.”

  He nodded.

  “I was thinking of traveling a little once I’m feeling better. And writing. I was thinking of trying my hand at writing some stories for Sam. Although I may need to rethink that after story time tonight.”

  He frowned skeptically. “What happened?”

  “He wanted a funny story about you, remember?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I told him about our trip to Arizona to see the Burning Man, remember? About when you fell asleep in the sun…”

  “Not all the details.”

  “Afraid so. He was absolutely astounded that I’d seen you naked. I think you guys are overdue for a certain discussion.”

  “Look, I’ll give you $50,000 to explain it to him while I’m not home.”

  She laughed. “Chicken.”

  “Got that right. You’ve never been interrogated by him!”

  Headlights hit the curtains, announcing a vehicle in the drive. “That’ll be Cathy,” she said.

  “Or Cruella DeVille. Same thing.”

  “Shame on you.” She smiled though, standing up. “I had a really great evening. Thank you for doing this.”

  “No problem. I’m a good guy.”

  “I know.” She ducked her head at this admission, and hurried toward the door.

  He followed as far as the porch steps, but the aura of Cathy’s scorn held him at bay.

  When she was gone, he sat at his computer, reading the headlines on CNN.com without absorbing anything. Hype about the upcoming elections. More bad news about Iraq. Crude oil hitting record high prices. What if he just went for it? Just asked her back? What if he asked her to marry him? Would she think it was a pity gesture? If she accepted just to be with Sam, would that be enough to keep them together? Would that be enough to keep her from going off the deep end again? Or would they get on each other’s nerves, being home together all day? Maybe they could convert the spare bedroom into a study for her so she could have private space. And they could travel whenever Sam was out of school. Christmas break, maybe? Calendar… He glanced around, and spotted Sarah’s battered Daytimer. As he reached for it, he was thinking his parents would probably insist on a Christmas visit. But the week after that… In the front of the book was three years at a glance, 2004 being the second of them. He started to look at December, but an oddity caught his eye. Every single month in the past except this last September and now October had a circle around a date that was near the first of the month. All this year, all last year, one day a month. Why not September and October?

  None of his business.

  He turned to October 1st. Friday. A note about dinner with Cheryl at 7 p.m. One of her coworkers. Flipped to today, October 4th. G, with a Presumably him. When had he become shorthand? Backed up through the other Mondays. All G Turned to the night in August she had stayed over. “Afternoon in Neverland, Night in Paradise!” At least he rated well.

  A new thought—he turned all of the way back—February. Found a Thursday. There it was: G And “Dad well; talking.”

  He looked carefully at the other entries; where was Reece? Sure enough, usually Saturdays. No smiley faces—should he take some satisfaction in that? He turned to April. They really had stopped a few weeks before Spring Break, like she had said. Anyone else? He mostly checked weekends. No other initials. A few dinner dates with various names, probably colleagues or friends. He shouldn’t be snooping. It was none of his business. He started to close it, but something made him open the bookmarked page. October 14. Sam’s birthday. That
was noted. There was also a notation of 10:00 a.m. with a phone number and a reminder to fast. Fast? He dialed the number. Got a recording for the Chicago Planned Parenthood clinic, with hours of operation and emergency contact numbers.

  He set the phone down carefully. Planned Parenthood? Turned back to the yearly calendar. Two months missing. September and October. After their “night in paradise” in August.

  Should he confront her with this? He shouldn’t have been snooping. He would never have known. And he was a firm believer in a woman’s right to choose. He looked at the photograph of Sam next to his monitor. At least in theory he supported it.

  Of course she didn’t want to go through an unplanned pregnancy, with her job and her social circle and the inevitable questions. And she had already admitted she wasn’t parent material that time Sam threw in the curveball about dead people getting out of their graves. He reminded himself of the things he knew from Biology class. A zygote. Just a blob of multiplying cells. Of course the heart was beating by now, but it was really just a blob with a rudimentary heart. And maybe those weird polliwog eye things. He looked at the computer, but shook his head—he didn’t want to know. She had made her decision. He shut the book, forgetting all about the dreams that had made him open it in the first place, and shuffled off to bed.

  Chapter 41

  He tried to push it from his mind all week. It wasn’t his choice to make. Wasn’t his right to judge. Then he’d think of Maureen deciding to carry Sam in spite of their split-up and her emotional seismic activity at the time. If Maureen had simply decided to terminate her pregnancy, how different all of their lives would be!

  After school Friday he hustled Sam to get ready to go to his grandparents. “Come on, Shorty. Get the lead out.”

  Sam stopped and crossed his arms. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “You been actin’ so crabby all week. I feel like I’m arready at Gramma’s.”

  Gus crossed over and swooped the boy into the air, lifting him over his head, then lowering him into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I promise I’ll try to be better, okay?”

  Sam squeezed his cheeks and rubbed their noses together. “Okay.”

  Gus smiled and kissed him before warning, “And don’t you ever compare me to Grandma again.”

  “Grandma Gus!” Sam giggled.

  “Addison!”

  Sam burst into laughter at that, wiggling out of Gus’s arms.

  In the car, Sam reminded him, “If Mommy calls, tell her to come see me Saturday.”

  “Will do.”

  “We could call her.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Remember when you brung her to Gramma’s house?”

  “Mm hm.”

  “Grampa says she looks like a talon princess. What’s that mean?”

  “Italian. He’s talking about her dark hair and eyes. And he means she’s very beautiful—that’s why he called her a princess.”

  “Maybe she really is a princess. If she’s a princess, would I be Anakin?”

  “Anakin’s mother was a slave. Besides, he’s going to turn into Darth Vader, remember?”

  “I like Darth Vader. He’s smarter than Darth Maul.”

  “I’d like it if you stayed Sam Moore, okay?”

  “You shoulda named me ‘No.’”

  “No? That’s not much of a name. Why?”

  “Then I would be ‘No Moore.’” He giggled.

  “How about ‘Gimme Moore’?” Gus suggested.

  “Lotsa Moore!”

  “And when you have a son, we’ll call him ‘A Little Moore’.”

  They laughed together, until Sam abruptly said, “Daddy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Mommy and them guys comin’ to my birthday party?”

  “I’ll invite them tonight. I promise. You want the whole family? Even the smelly girls?”

  “Yeah. They might give me more presents.”

  “Good call. You want me to invite Grandma and Grandpa, too?”

  “‘Course. And Sarah.”

  “We’ll see. Okay, we’re almost there. Smooth your hair down and pinch your cheeks so she’ll know you’ve been eating your vegetables.”

  He declined the offered cup of coffee, saying, “I really need to get going.”

  “Everything all right?” his father asked.

  “Yeah. Just a business meeting I have to get to.”

  “You seem a little edgy.”

  “He always was a moody one,” his mother offered.

  Gus smiled at her. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s a sign of genius?”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  He nodded. “Probably. Hey Samson! Come give me a hug!” He held the boy overly long, then whispered, “Don’t eat the oatmeal. I love you,” in his ear before setting him down.

  Sarah greeted him with her usual cheery smile, commenting on the horrible traffic before pausing to say, “Where’s Sam?”

  “My folks have him.”

  “Oh? Special occasion?”

  “They love him. He’s everything they wanted me to be.”

  “That sounded a bit harsh. Something happen?”

  He didn’t answer, walking toward the kitchen.

  “Gus?”

  “I have some new tea for us to try. With currants. It’s supposedly full of antioxidants, which always makes me think of radiator flush.”

  “Yummy.”

  “Here. Spice cake. Frank made it in one of his off-chocolate moods. Or do you have time to stay for dinner?”

  “Actually I committed the grave sin of picking up a sandwich at the Oasis. Figured I’d multi-task while stuck in traffic.”

  “The Oasis! I haven’t thought of that place in years! I should take Sam there some time.”

  She frowned. “Are we talking about the same place?”

  “By the airport, right? Just south of the 294 and Kennedy junction? The gas stations and fast food joints?”

  “That would be it, yeah. Why would Sam want to go there?”

  “Are you kidding? Do they still have those massage chairs? And donuts and gyros and the giant gumball machines? Think like a six-year-old for a minute.”

  She smiled. “You’re right. That is all there. All I ever see are the bathrooms and the McDonalds.”

  “If you always look at the sidewalk, you’ll never see the rabbits in the hedgerow. Shame.”

  “You’re in an odd mood today. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing. Nothing ever changes in the Neverland, right? What’s up in your world?”

  Her expression iced over. “What does that mean?”

  “Means what I said. Isn’t that how you see me? See us? Sort of like dolls you take out to play with when you need a break from your real world.”

  “Is that how you feel I treat you?”

  “Very much so, yes.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s not how I feel about you at all. I care very much about both of you. I think about you a lot during the week. Miss you. Miss Sam…”

  “Funny way of showing it. You haven’t come over when he’d be home since August.”

  “I figured weekends were reserved for her.”

  He frowned. “Her?”

  “His mother.”

  “I told you she was hospitalized. We’ve seen her once. This week.”

  “I’m sorry. When I ask you about her, you get sort of closed up. That’s why I’ve let it drop. I know that’s a tough subject for you.”

  He didn’t respond. Finally she said, “Tell me what’s really wrong.”

  He got up without answering and retrieved the Day Planner from his study. As he handed it to her, he asked, “Why did you leave this here?”

  She frowned. “Not on purpose. I just forgot…”

  He shook his head. “Maybe originally. But when I told you I had it—why did you leave it then? It’s so important to you that you can’t even come over for a morning
tryst without it, but then you could leave it here for nearly a week? We don’t live hundreds of miles apart.”

  Her eyes squinted. “You read it?”

  “No. I needed a calendar. Glanced in the cover.” He gazed directly at her, lobbing the challenge back into her court.

  “It’s not a diary or anything. Just appointments and reminders.”

  “None of my business, right?”

  “Right.”

  “What happened to September?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the front. No circle for September. Or October. Is that maybe my business?”

  After a long silence, he answered for her. “You know, six years ago I was a very content bachelor. Had a great flat in Wrigleyville, spent all day sleeping or wandering around in my underwear, and all night staring at a computer like a zombie, drinking beer and eating tuna fish out of the can. I could’ve lived that way forever. I certainly didn’t want to change. Didn’t plan it. But it changed. I was given a life. Quite literally. I was given a life.”

  She dug Kleenex out of her purse to blow her nose, still not speaking. Finally she stood up, grasping the book and her purse firmly. She nodded her head at him, and turned toward the door.

  “Sarah?”

  “I’ll call you…” She hurried out.

  He followed as far as the front door, and stood watching until he realized Ricky’s mother was in her yard staring at him.

  Inside, he forced himself to go through the motions of tidying up the kitchen and feeding the dog. He had given it his best shot. It was her choice. He was going to have to get over it.

  There was a knock on the front door, then it opened and Jordan shouted, “Sam!”

  Gus smiled and called, “Hey, Jord! I’m in the kitchen.”

  When Jordan entered, dressed as the Sith Lord, Gus said, “Sorry, buddy. Sam’s at his grandparents’ tonight. But you just reminded me—want to help me plan his birthday party?”