The Gingerbread Boy

by Lori Lapekes

  He chose the guitar.

  He hadn’t been able to play it in months. Wouldn’t it have been great if he’d only had tendonitis? Or carpal tunnel syndrome? Still he reached down and picked up the instrument, the symbol of dreams now fizzled, and worked the strap over his shoulder. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head, and weakly strummed the chords with fingers that felt glued together with rubber cement.

  Still… he imagined. He murmured verses to songs he knew by heart, some he’d written himself when he was only twelve years old and, suddenly, he was back on stage. The lights were flashing, the audience was on its feet and cheering. His band was on fire, playing together like a finely tuned machine, like a wonderful, newly discovered organism where four hearts beat as one.

  They’d change the world.

  So they’d thought.

  Still, Daniel sang on. Before he knew it, he was murmuring words on auto-pilot, words he hadn’t wanted to remember…

  …if I were an eagle with wide, spreading wings

  I’d soar high and gaze down on beautiful things

  Then I’d see the only one who could bring me back down

  My earthbound angel waiting there on the ground.

  And then he was back in the ballroom with Catherine, dancing. He felt the warmth of her arms around him, smelled her hair, was lost in the magic. He let go of the guitar, let it swing from his shoulder and lifted his arms, as if he was truly back in the moment, and wrapped his arms around air. He could feel her. See her smile at him. See her eyes shine.

  He took a step to dance, then another, then tried another… but his leg refused to lift. Off balance, and thrown back into reality, Daniel stumbled and fell across the bed, his guitar jammed sideways beneath his ribcage.

  Daniel pounded the mattress with a weak fist. A fist as useless as clay.

  “No!”

  Fitfully, he rolled over, and the guitar lay at his side like a detached body part. Daniel stared at the ceiling, gasping, as Yoo-hoo fluttered his wings and squawked. A moment later, the door burst open.

  “Daniel, what’s wrong?” his mother cried, rushing to his side, her faded blue robe fluttering against her legs. It reminded Daniel of when he was the one breaking into a room — Catherine’s room at the old house in the pines and he had been the one to rescue her. She’d had a nightmare. A nightmare where he had turned into a monster. A leering skull.

  It was coming true, both physically as well as emotionally, and she was only aware of the emotional aspect. He was most certainly a monster to her now.

  “I’m all right,” Daniel said as his mother hovered over him with terror on her face.

  “Are you sure? What happened? Why is your guitar on the bed…” then she noticed it was still strapped to him.

  “Oh, Daniel.” Tears came to her eyes.

  “It’s okay, mom. Don’t worry.” Daniel turned his head away from here. “I hate having you see me like this.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m your mother.”

  He nodded. “I hate being a burden to you. I hate it.”

  Yesterday he’d caught sight of his mother sitting alone in the living room staring at a photograph. It was an old black and white photo of the family when it was whole and complete. She, her wonderful husband, her adorable son and daughter leaning against a rickety hut in South America. Smiling. Such a beautiful family.

  A disappearing family.

  He’d buried his face in his hands and wanted to scream. Then he’d retreated to his room to summon his strength, gather his courage, and come out to comfort his mom.

  “Do you want to talk?” Daniel’s mother was now asking, still visibly shaken. She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands together. Her lips were trembling.

  Daniel wiped his eyes and tried to pull himself together. “I feel like I’m six years old again,” he said with a limp smile. “And we’re surrounded by the jungle. There are scary things all around me and I don’t understand them and can’t control my fear. And then, you and dad come in, talk to me, calm me, and all is well once more.”

  “I wish I could make it all well again,” his mother said, lowering her face.

  “You make it better. That’s what counts.”

  Daniel’s mother raised dewy eyes and looked at her son, a loving look tinted with despair.

  “I feel guilty, Daniel.”

  “Guilty?” Daniel raised himself on the bed and leaned on his elbows. “What do you mean?”

  She looked away. “For so long,” she began, “I tried to stop you from running away from things,” her voice became fractured, and she put her hand to her mouth, “and now it’s becoming a struggle for you just to walk!”

  Daniel wrestled out of his guitar strap, pushed it aside, and put his arms around his mother’s neck. She lowered her head against his chest. “Don’t worry, Mom none of this is your fault. It just happened. I did run a lot. I ran away when dad died, and when Julia died. I did it all the time and pretended nothing was wrong. It’s what I do, I guess.”

  “But you weren’t really running, were you?” she said, “You were managing. Coping as best you could in your own way.”

  “Maybe.” Daniel paused and heaved a sigh. “And I know what you wonder now and it’s probably true. You think I’m running from Catherine.”

  His mother pulled away and straightened herself. Her coppery-colored eyes shone, bore into his as she pleaded, “Can’t you tell her, Daniel? Can’t you just explain to her what’s happening to you? I know we’ve talked about this, but I still can’t understand it. Help me understand.”

  Daniel looked at the floor and whispered, almost to himself, “Such a short time. Such a short time we were together and I knew right from the start that she was the one. And you never even got to meet her.”

  “Then give me that chance.”

  Daniel tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “The burden on her would be intolerable. She’s a healer. A fixer. She wouldn’t want to leave my side. She could go on like that for months or years. She’d never be able to fix me. She could hate me one day for it.”

  “And you’d rather have her hate you now? Let her think you pushed her aside for your career?”

  “That… or her old roommate.”

  His mother sighed again. “Oh, Daniel. I don’t know.”

  “If things were different, things would be different,” Daniel said. “But staying by my side now would ruin her life. I have to look at her circumstances, too. She’d quit college. I know she would. She’d throw aside all her dreams, and they’d be hard, maybe impossible, to pick up again. This is the best way. I still believe it.”

  “But it’s such a… a front.”

  Daniel grinned wryly. “The name of my band. How fitting, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “All I know is that if I were Catherine, I’d want the choice to stay or go.”

  “I’ve thought of that. But don’t you see, Mom, telling her would take away the choice. She’d feel obligated to stay. I’d rather her not know.”

  “But it just seems so… so…”

  “Cruel?” Daniel finished.

  “Daniel. You don’t have a cruel cell in your body.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  There was a period of silence. The morning light deepened, brightening the room’s cool, green colors and calming plants. Yoo-hoo bristled on his perch, then relaxed, folding his feathers together in a form of smug cluelessness.

  “I just don’t want you to be so alone in this, honey. You need her. Don’t you miss her?”

  Daniel sagged back down on the bed. “With every breath I take.” He closed his eyes, feeling a deep tremble inside which had nothing to do with his illness. A restless stirring in his bones, a heaviness inside which sometimes swelled to the point of bursting.

  “But I can’t dwell on it. The things I can’t have, or the things I can’t do. I’d go crazy, if I haven’t already. And,” he added, “I’m not alone. I have you. I have Uncle Paul an
d Aunt Susan. I have Joey. The church people are here all the time and the people from the Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis Association have been great. I’ve got a lot of support.” Daniel lifted himself to his elbows and stared at his mom. “I’m more concerned about you than myself most of the time. I’m worried about you being alone.”

  “I’m never alone, Daniel. Don’t worry about me!”

  Daniel lowered his eyes. “You know what I mean. Afterward.”

  “I don’t want to think about that. I can’t think about that! There have been spontaneous remissions, people who live for decades with this illness. I know, I’ve researched.”

  “And so have I,” said Daniel. “Those cases are rare, and mostly unconfirmed.”

  “But it could happen to you. It could be you, Daniel! Have faith.”

  “I do have faith. Without it, I’d be gone by now. I would have jumped off a building or driven into a tree while I still could. I’ll endure this, mom. Will you?”

  His mother shook her head and wiped at a tear.

  “Mom, how about you?”

  “I’ll be all right. Do not worry about me.”

  Daniel eyed her. “There’s this man,” he began carefully, “Benjamin Geller, from the ALS Association. You’ve met him…”

  His mother looked at him. “Yes. I know him.”

  “He pulled me aside after the last meeting. He wanted to know if it would be all right with me if he asked you out for dinner.”

  His mother rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped.

  Daniel persisted. “He seems to be a kind man. He lost his wife to ALS four years ago, so he’d understand what you’re going through. And he’s quite handsome,” Daniel added, with a little grin. “Maybe not as handsome as dad was but he’s a… a babe, as they say.”

  “Goodness, Daniel! What is in your mind, anyway? That man has to be ten years younger than me.”

  “Even better. You look ten years younger than you are.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Daniel pulled himself upright again. The effort was clumsy, and he knew his mother noticed.

  “It’s not silly. You need some companionship. Dad’s been gone for years. It’s time, mom.”

  His mother shook her head. She stared at her hands folded in her lap, and remained silent.

  “Promise me you’ll think about it? Please?” Daniel put his arm around her waist once again. “For me?”

  At last, his mother sighed. She turned to her son and smiled weakly. “Now, how can I turn down my son’s request? I’d never hear the end of it.”

  Daniel kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  “But I still think you should do the same thing for yourself. Call Catherine. Or write to her — anything.”

  Daniel lowered his head. “Someday. Someday, I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  She’d never done anything like this before.

  Here she was, sitting in a rental car in Maryland, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly a hurricane couldn’t have ripped her away. Here she was, trying to discreetly stare at a white-pillared mansion, which a strange old lady had willed to Catherine, hoping to catch a look, just a glimpse, of the woman Daniel loved.

  Here she was. Being deceitful.

  Sneaking behind her son’s back, taking a one-day, round trip to Maryland while he was spending the day with Joey and thinking she was taking a short getaway trip to a relative’s home.

  What was becoming of her?

  Mrs. LaMont’s eyes swelled in tears. She knew what would become of Daniel. Knew only too well. One day, soon, if his condition continued to deteriorate at the speed it’d been in the past few months, Daniel would lose his voice. Her wonderful, gifted son, the musician with the haunting, elastic voice, would barely be able to grunt out a sentence. Next, he’d have a difficult time swallowing. He’d choke and gag, and they’d have to resort to soft foods, baby foods. Maybe even a feeding tube.

  And then… Daniel would begin to have difficulty breathing.

  Mrs. LaMont choked back a sob and raised one of her stiffened arms and buried her face in her hand. Daniel said he’d refuse a ventilator. Didn’t want a machine keeping him alive. It’s what Benjamin Geller’s wife had wanted, too. Ben said she’d only lasted a few weeks after that point.

  “Lynell,” he’d said, “it will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever gone through. This is a monstrous disease. But I’ll help you through it. And I’ll help Daniel through it, too. He’s a wonderful man. He’s got a mysterious inner peace about this that’s almost impossible to understand. I wish I’d known him longer.”

  Bless him for saying that, for being her friend.

  But even Benjamin didn’t know she’d taken a secret flight to Baltimore today and betrayed her only son. Why did she want Catherine to know the truth about Daniel’s illness so badly? Was it a selfish thing? Wanting to know what her future daughter-in-law would have been like, what kind of foods she enjoyed, what her favorite book was, her favorite color? To learn of her dreams? Her fears?

  One more person to share memories of Daniel with?

  Was that so bad?

  Of course, she’d have to explain to Catherine that Daniel didn’t want her to know of his illness. She’d be truthful about that. She hated herself for thinking it, but she rather hoped Catherine would be less forthcoming of how to tell Daniel she’d found out about his illness, though. By accident, possibly? By bumping into one of his former band members someplace and him spilling it out. Or perhaps she’d run into the realtor who sold Daniel’s house. Or maybe she’d heard it from an over-zealous fan who’d spied on Daniel and learned the truth.

  Maybe Catherine would be zealous enough to do a little spying herself.

  Mrs. LaMont sighed. What was becoming of her mind? Anyway, from what she’d learned about Catherine from Daniel, and how badly he’d hurt her, Catherine would let him go with dignity. She’d move on. She had good friends and a career, and she’d understand that a rock and roll boyfriend would never have fit into her life anyway. She’d realize all of that one day. Mrs. LaMont’s hands balled involuntarily into fists. Catherine mustn’t hate her son!

  Then her eyes rested on a photograph on the seat next to her. A few shots Joey had taken some time ago of Catherine and her friend Joanne hamming it up in the studio. He’d only just printed them a few days ago. Catherine, with her big, lovely eyes and smile, playfully choking the cute, plump-faced Joanne with an arm crooked around her neck. Mrs. LaMont wondered what the joke had been. She’d probably never know. She also wished Joey had taken a photo of Catherine and Daniel together, but for some reason, he never had.

  Could that have been some kind of an omen?

  Suddenly, the sound of voices across the street jolted her from her thoughts. Mrs. LaMont’s heart leaped as she saw Catherine, Daniel’s Catherine, and Joanne come out of the front door, laughing, and trot down the steps to the rather beat-up car in the driveway. It struck Mrs. LaMont as funny; Catherine now had all of this money, and she still drove such a beat-up car.

  Just like Daniel and his old buddy, Bruiser.

  Of course, she realized, Catherine could have a sleek new Corvette lurking somewhere nearby. Daniel once had. But sometimes old friends, even mechanical ones, were the fondest.

  Then, suddenly, the girls were in the car, slamming the doors. Joanne had to slam her door two or three times, as it seemed to pop open a little bit.

  Mrs. LaMont had to move, had to get their attention, talk to them before it was too late! But as their car’s engine started and Mrs. LaMont’s heart rose into her throat, her legs would not move. Not budge an inch. What was this? Gasping, Mrs. LaMont pushed at her legs with her hands, and she jerked her own door open, trying to physically push herself out.

  Too late! The car was backing into the street.

  “Don’t leave,” Mrs. LaMont cried, but her voice came out as a croak. The girls put the car in gear, not more than twenty or thirty feet from her, and sp
ed off on some mission without ever noticing the panicking woman struggling to get out of her vehicle.

  Mrs. LaMont sagged back in her seat and stared emptily ahead.

  She’d missed her chance. The girls could return at any time, but maybe they’d be gone for hours, too. And she had a plane to catch before long.

  Was this how it was meant to be? Had she been divinely stopped from betraying her son?

  A calm resignation settled over her mind.

  And then, a moment later, she saw a different vehicle, a green jeep, spin into the driveway. Mrs. LaMont sat up a little straighter. Her heart thumped as a tall man with a shaggy beard and oversized plaid shirt got out of the car and trotted up the steps to the house. Handyman? Salesman?

  No too rough for a salesman.

  And then, to her astonishment, the young man pulled a key out of his pocket and let himself into the front door of the house as if he belonged there.

  What?

  Who was this young man who was allowed to enter Catherine’s house so easily?

  An ugly thought scratched Mrs. LaMont’s mind, a thought too intolerable to bring forward and focus on, yet its unpleasant nature lingered. Had Daniel been replaced already?

  No, wait. Joanne lived there too! Maybe he was a friend of hers.

  So, had Joanne replaced Joey so soon?

  Their relationship had never seemed as solid as Daniel and Catherine’s, and, according to Joey, was more of a great friendship. A way for all four to remain close and connected. Still…

  Without conscious thought, Mrs. LaMont opened her door and, finding her legs suddenly working just fine, scooted out of the car and hurried across the road. It wasn’t until she was walking up the steps that her legs grew rubbery. She felt small and insignificant as the mansion stretched above her. On closer inspection, though, the pillars, big around as small oaks, were cracked and peeling. The home needed repair. Maybe the man really was a handyman. Painter, electrician, plumber, but a plumber with a key?

  She would find out, somehow. She lifted her hand and rapped on the sturdy oak door, having no idea of what she would say or how to present herself. Right now, she wasn’t exactly sure of who she was herself.