The Trouble with Joe

by Emilie Richards

  “Your faith in the system is admirable.”

  “I have no faith!” Sam threw her purse on the chair. “What kind of faith am I supposed to have? Verna doesn’t deserve that child! She’s never going to be a good mother to her, no kind of mother at all! And then there’s people like you and me—” She stopped.

  “Go on, Sam.” He faced her. “What about people like you and me?”

  She lifted her chin. “Then there’s people like you and me who would be wonderful parents, but we can’t have children.”

  “But that’s not quite it, is it?” He tossed down the rest of his drink. “You can have children. You’re certifiably equipped to conceive and bear them. I’m the one who’s deficient.”

  “You’re the one who’s infertile,” she said. “There’s nothing deficient about you, Joe.”

  “Except that I have no good sperm. A small deficiency.”

  She started toward him, but he turned away.

  “Joe, if it had been me, how would you have felt?”

  He didn’t want to answer her; he didn’t know how the conversation had started in the first place.

  “Joe?”

  “Leave it alone, Sam.”

  “No. It’s a legitimate question. What if I had been the one who couldn’t conceive? Would you have loved me less? Would you have thought I was less of a woman?”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “It very nearly is.”

  He felt her hand on his shoulder. It was all he could do not to shake it off. “I don’t want to talk about this. We’ve been over it. Life goes on.”

  “But it isn’t going on. You’re so tied up with our infertility, so angry and hurt that you’ve completely shut me out. I love you. I need you.”

  “You need children!” He faced her. “Damn it, don’t you think I can see that? You were born to be a mother. And I can’t give you kids! Don’t you know how that eats me up?”

  “You can give me kids.”

  “No!”

  “Joe, we can adopt. We both love other people’s kids. That’s why we do what we do for a living. We can raise other people’s kids, too, and make them ours. Do they really have to have our genes?”

  “Yes!” He turned away again. “I don’t want somebody else’s children.” I want my own, hung unspoken in the air between them.

  “This isn’t about adoption or having kids at all.” Her hand tightened on his shoulder. He could feel the sharp bite of her nails. “It’s about Joseph Giovanelli and the way he feels about himself. It’s about your pride.”

  He faced her again, and her hand fell to her side. “I don’t need your psychological assessment, damn it! If you’re not happy with things as they are, then you’re married to the wrong man. I can’t give you kids any way at all. If you can’t accept that, then we have nothing to say to each other.”

  “So how would that be different? When was the last time we had anything to say to each other?” She moved closer. “I can’t keep fighting this demon that’s come between us, Joe. Not by myself. Give me something to hang on to. I can live without kids, but I can’t live like this. I need you, but I’m not going to go on saying it over and over. I’ve got pride, too.”

  He wanted to grab her and hold her forever, but he couldn’t reach out. He couldn’t reach out.

  She stood there for a long moment, then she turned and walked away. He watched her go, and he knew that one day she would leave and close the door behind her.

  He wondered why she hadn’t closed the door the day the doctor had told them that they would never be parents.

  Chapter Six

  JOHNNY AND TEDDY lived in Goldsboro, where Johnny was a sales representative for a North Carolina furniture manufacturer. At the age of thirty-three, just after her husband’s untimely death, Rose had pulled up stakes in Brooklyn and moved her young family to Goldsboro, where she had a brother to find her work and help with the raising of her brood.

  Over the years all the Giovanelli children had drifted—but not far—to settle permanently in the state they’d grown to think of as home. Johnny was the only one to stay right in Goldsboro. When Rose complained that Johnny had stayed to watch over her, Johnny grinned the famous Giovanelli grin and refused to reply.

  On the morning after the fight with Sam, Joe pulled in to Johnny’s driveway. His brother’s house was a comfortable brick ranch that was set apart from its neighbors by exquisitely perfect landscaping. Teddy was slowly pursuing a degree in landscape architecture, and their yard was an ongoing laboratory.

  Johnny was in the garage working on his car when Joe got out. He looked up from under the hood, then went back to work without saying a word.

  “What’s the problem?” Joe asked.

  “If I knew that, I’d be fixing it, not looking for it.”

  “Want some help?”

  “From you? Since when did you know anything about cars that I didn’t?”

  “Forever.” Joe took off his wristwatch and pocketed it before he ducked in beside his brother.

  Johnny didn’t look at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I was just out for a drive.”

  “That’s a pretty long drive. Where’s Sam?”

  “At home.”

  “Too bad. She and Teddy could have gabbed.”

  “She’s not in a gabbing mood.”

  “Neither are you most of the time.”

  Joe ignored what was an obvious opening. “What’s this old wreck doing that it shouldn’t?”

  “Running rough.”

  “When? Low speed? High speed?”

  “High, mostly. When I’ve been on the road too long.”

  “Could be a lot of things.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Did you reset the choke?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Check the plugs?”

  “I just got here! Check them yourself.”

  Joe dove in to do just that. Johnny attacked the air cleaner cover and both men were silent for a while. Finally Joe straightened. “Look at this.” He came out from under the hood and stood by the door holding two spark plugs in his hand. “See the spots on the insulators?” He held them out to Johnny. “They’re overheating. Maybe you got a vacuum leak, or maybe they were just put in wrong. You do them yourself?”

  “Yeah, I did them and did them right. But they’re a different brand than I used to use. Maybe I should try colder plugs again.”

  “That could be it.”

  “Help me check the choke plate.” Johnny fumbled in his pocket for keys and threw them to Joe. “Floor it.”

  Joe got behind the wheel and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Then he stuck his head out the window. “See anything?”

  “Looks fine. Start the engine.”

  The engine roared to life and Joe got out to poke his head under the hood with his brother. “Open just a crack, like it’s supposed to be. Looks good so far.”

  “I’ll let it run awhile. Want to come in and have some coffee?”

  Joe thought about the friendly, family atmosphere of Johnny’s house. Once he would have liked nothing better. “Not yet.”

  “Then what do you want to do?”

  “Close the damned garage door and stick my head under the hood.”

  “Are you going to talk about this sometime?”

  Joe didn’t want to talk about his feelings ever, but he owed his brother an apology. He owed the whole world an apology. He was a walking apology, and he couldn’t seem to get two words past the permanent barricade in his throat.

  “Coffee on the patio, and I’ll threaten the life of anybody who bothers us.” Johnny disappeared before Joe could refuse.

  The patio was anot
her example of Teddy’s genius. Planters of sculpted miniature pines were set at angles along the edge, with smaller planters of cascading annuals to soften the stark effect. The table backed against a stone barbecue that Johnny had built himself. Before their confrontation at the housewarming, they had planned to build one down by the lake at Joe’s house.

  “So, what is it?” Johnny asked. He set a tray of coffee and ham biscuits beside Joe. Joe saw Teddy’s handiwork in the biscuits, the colorful pottery and linen napkins. He knew she would keep the children from bothering them as they talked. She was a lot like Sam.

  He still didn’t want to talk about his problems. “Did you check the choke again?”

  “Yeah. It’s open all the way. I’ll try cooler plugs and see if that does it. No sense in checking everything else if that’s the problem.”

  Joe sipped his coffee and stared at the backyard built around the needs of Johnny’s children. There was a swing set, a tree house and a sandbox large enough for the entire Giovanelli younger generation when they visited.

  Johnny spoke. “Are you and Sammy having troubles? I know I had too much to drink. I was out of line at the housewarming, but I didn’t know I was stepping on toes. You’ve always been so happy together.”

  “We can’t have kids, Johnny.” Five words. Joe hadn’t been sure he’d ever be able to say them. But he didn’t feel better; he just felt exposed.

  “What do you mean, you can’t have them?” Johnny was incredulous.

  Joe didn’t laugh; he didn’t even feel angry. Johnny’s reaction was so much like his own that he understood it completely. He remembered the day the doctor had told him.

  * * *

  WHEN SAM HADN’T gotten pregnant during their summer in the mountains, neither Joe nor Sam had been particularly concerned. They made the move to Foxcove and settled in a small apartment while they looked for a house to rent or buy. Just a week before the school year started, one of the first-grade teachers at Foxcove Elementary fell ill and tendered her resignation. Sam was the only qualified teacher waiting anxiously in the wings, and she was given the job.

  Since the school district had a generous maternity-leave policy, Sam and Joe decided to continue trying to have a baby. Even if she got pregnant immediately she could still finish most of the year. A more likely scenario was that the baby would be born in the summer. But even that scenario didn’t come to pass.

  A year after they had begun trying, Sam made her first trip to the office of a fertility specialist in Raleigh. The doctor did some simple preliminary tests, then told her to go home and return in six months if she still wasn’t pregnant. Six months stretched to twelve before she made another appointment. Joe was opposed to Sam consulting a specialist at all. He told her stories of other couples who had taken time to conceive. Medical intervention seemed like an invasion of privacy.

  When Sam finally returned to the specialist, she returned alone. Joe refused to participate, and Sam underwent the next round of tests without his support. But finally, when almost every avenue was exhausted and there seemed to be no medical reason that Sam couldn’t conceive, Joe reluctantly returned with her.

  He hated the tests every bit as much as he’d expected. But he hated the results most of all.

  The morning they went in for the verdict had been cold and dreary. Sam had repeated some tests, too, and she was nervous. The drive to Raleigh was a long one. He snapped at her for choosing a doctor so far away; she snapped at him for not cooperating earlier.

  But by the time they arrived at the office they were a team again.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Joe said, squeezing her arm. “We’re going to get through this okay. If we’ve got a problem, they’ll be able to help us. At least we’ll know.”

  She was pale, clearly apprehensive. Her mother had been able to conceive only one child before a tumor had forced a hysterectomy. Despite the doctor’s reassurances, Sam was convinced that her problems were going to be similar.

  The waiting room was lavender, with expensive watercolors on the walls. Joe had seen the bills Sam had submitted to their insurance company. He had a good idea who was paying for the watercolors.

  A nurse dressed in a soft print that matched the walls ushered them into the doctor’s office. The doctor stood to greet them. Then he turned to Joe.

  * * *

  “IT’S ME WITH the problem, not Sam,” Joe told Johnny. “I’m allergic to my own sperm. How do you like it? Couldn’t have been dogs or dust, it had to be my sperm.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A doctor in Raleigh did some tests. My sperm count is low to start with. The ones I manage to produce are attacked by antibodies before they can go anywhere. I’ve got as much chance of getting Sam pregnant as flying to Mars.”

  Johnny was silent. Then, “God, Joey, and what I said at the party...”

  “You were just being your usual obnoxious self.”

  “But can’t they do anything?”

  “We tried a round of steroids. I reacted badly. It’s not much of a help, anyway, even if the sperm count’s high. A real long shot. Now there’s nothing left to do.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “I found out late in the winter.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of brother keeps this to himself?”

  “My kind.” Staring straight ahead, Joe finished his coffee.

  “You’re ashamed of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Joe didn’t answer.

  “Like you had something to do with it. That’s stupid. You know that, don’t you?”

  “And how would you feel?” Joe faced him. “What if it was you who couldn’t get your wife pregnant? What if your backyard was full of nothing but Teddy’s flowers and shrubs? What if you didn’t have that tree house or sandbox or those kids watching television in there? How would you feel?”

  Johnny’s shoulders slumped. It was answer enough.

  Joe set his cup down carefully, even though he wanted to send it crashing against the barbecue. “I wanted you to know. I don’t want to blow up again at anybody in the family over this. And I don’t want Mama to be sitting around waiting for us to reproduce. Because we aren’t going to. Not ever.”

  “You want me to pass on the word?”

  Joe felt the barrier in his throat again. He nodded.

  “You’ve considered the alternatives? Other ways of making a family?”

  “I’ve considered them, yeah.”

  “No go?”

  “No go.”

  Johnny didn’t argue, just as Joe had known he wouldn’t. Johnny was brash and outspoken, but there was nobody living who would understand Joe’s feelings better.

  “You’re no less of a man, Joey.”

  Joe didn’t answer. He couldn’t call his brother a liar to his face.

  * * *

  COREY STOPPED TO rest under the same tree that had sheltered her on her first trip down Old Scoggins. She was getting used to the walk. It was quiet here, not like around her house. The people next door fought a lot, and Corey could hear them late at night, yelling and throwing things.

  She didn’t know why they had to throw things. She guessed it made them feel better. Her mama had thrown a pot at her once, but she couldn’t throw too good, and she’d missed. Still, it had scared Corey, because she knew that if her mama’s aim had been better, that pot would have hurt pretty bad. Most of the time Mama just left her alone, but sometimes she got so mad Corey had to sneak around and hide until Mama went off somewheres.

  She was off somewheres today. The house had been empty when Corey woke up. It was quiet, nice for a while. She’d eaten s
ome peanut butter out of the jar and drunk all she liked from the faucet. She had even stayed inside and watched cartoons on television all morning, but after a while she’d gotten bored.

  And then she’d thought about Miss Sam.

  Her mama had told her not to go to Miss Sam’s house again. Her mama had yelled a lot about Miss Sam making trouble and stuff. Corey didn’t believe it. Miss Sam fixed trouble.

  But if Mama found out that she’d gone to see Miss Sam again, she would be real mad. She might throw things at Corey, or she might do worse. When she hit, she hit hard.

  So Corey hadn’t visited Miss Sam again. Not exactly, anyway. She had been to Miss Sam’s house. She had hidden in the trees beside her driveway and watched cars come and go. Once she had seen Miss Sam in the yard, planting something. She had been wearing yellow, the same color as her hair. She had looked all fresh and cool, like a drink of water after a long walk.

  Corey had wanted to call her name, but she had been afraid. Her mama wasn’t the only reason. Part of it was Mr. Joe. He was the biggest man Corey had ever seen. And he had the meanest eyes. He looked like he was mad at everything. She knew he didn’t like little girls, not the way Miss Sam did. He didn’t even look like he liked Miss Sam very much.

  So Corey hadn’t called Miss Sam’s name that day, and she wouldn’t call it today, either, even if Miss Sam was outside. She didn’t want Miss Sam to see her. She just wanted to see Miss Sam. She didn’t know why exactly.

  She just did.

  * * *

  JOE STAYED AT Johnny’s for lunch, braved the assaults of his nieces and nephew and gave them beloved uncle piggyback rides. But by the time he was on his way home, he felt as if he had been to hell and back.

  He still had to face Sam. They hadn’t spoken after their argument. Their days had become an endless progression of frostbitten conversation marked only by eruptions of rage. He didn’t know how to change the pattern, or even if he wanted to. When Sam was angry or distant he wasn’t forced to relate to her—something he no longer knew how to do.

  A storm had come and gone, but the sky was still light when he pulled on to Old Scoggins Road. Several miles closer to home he realized he was driving faster than he should. Killer had become an outlet for his frustration. He had given dozens of lectures to juniors and seniors at Sadler High about the dangers of doing exactly what he was doing now, using his car to express his feelings. When he saw he was going sixty he lifted his foot from the accelerator.