“We didn’t go out to have fun,” Jonathan Sr. said grimly. “We just needed to talk privately.”
“Everything okay?” He shifted Ava to his side, his arm around her shoulder.
“Not really, son.” He sighed heavily and sank his head into his hands. Jonathan felt what had come to be a familiar knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. Life had been tumultuous, so unpredictable, that the sensation hardly had a chance to fade before providence dealt another crisis. If he could do with his body what he had become accustomed to doing with his mind, he would be the greatest running back of all time; dodging formidable players with minds set to knock him to the ground and keep him there, making split-second decisions on which play has the most chance of success.
His father sighed and said, “That part-time job I had at the quarry. The one I pretended I didn’t have? Well, I was let go.” Ava looked at Jonathan, waiting for his reaction.
“Okay.” He nodded slowly and decided, “So it’ll be a little tight around here. We’ll pitch in more.”
“It’s not only that.” Jonathan Sr. looked at Margaret with apology and angst but directed his words to Jonathan. “You were right,” he said softly.
“I was right about what?” Jonathan asked cautiously.
“Getting back in. I didn’t say anything. I had big plans when the payday came.” He rubbed his face hard with his hands. “I should have listened to you,” he said softly.
“What in hell are you talking about, Dad?”
“I went all in. The end of March. Every last cent of my savings. Gave it to a friend of mine in Boston, the one I wanted you to start working for, Jack. He said it was at bottom, nowhere to go but up. Get in while it’s good.” He shook his head remorsefully. Jonathan closed his eyes and dropped his head. “It’s all gone. What little we had saved is gone,” Jonathan Sr. said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you.”
“You’re damned straight you should have. Did I not tell you that it was unstable, Dad? Didn’t I tell you that it wasn’t finished shaking out?” Jonathan Sr. nodded, eyes cast down like a child being scolded. “When it all started sinking again,” Jonathan began, shaking his head in disbelief, “didn’t you think to get out then? Right at the beginning when you still had something left. Did you have to ride it straight to the bottom?” he demanded. Unconsciously, his grip on Ava’s shoulders had tightened like a vise and she squirmed under the pressure.
Jonathan Sr. nodded. “I wanted to, but Jack kept saying–”
“Kept saying what? Ride it out? It’ll rally, it’ll all be okay?” Jonathan shook his head at the ignorance. “Dad. They've been saying that since October of last year. People are still losing their jobs left and right. Families are doubling and tripling up to survive, more and more businesses and factories are closing. There are soup lines and bread lines in New York, in every major city for that matter, which are blocks long. Our friend was just robbed and you know what they took? Food. Didn’t bother with anything else. I don’t care what the weekly address says, it’s bad and it’s only getting worse . . . .” he trailed off, with a hanging jaw, not sure how to further emphasize the magnitude of what was going on in the world around his father.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan Sr. said into his hands. Jonathan sighed deeply and glanced at Ava, signaling her to follow him.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as they walked out the backdoor. He led her to the car and opened the door for her to get in, then walked around and climbed into the driver's seat.
“Of all the stupid things,” he said and then turned to Ava. “I made a huge decision without you recently, and I’m not about to do that again. I need to talk to you about this.”
“Okay.” She waited curiously for what he might have thought of in the last three minutes.
“His savings is gone. His part-time work is gone. He still has a couple of accounts he does on the side, but that’s not enough to live on, and I doubt those businesses will survive much longer anyway.” He rubbed his forehead with a grimace. “I don’t think we have a choice but to stay,” he said with resignation. “Take over the bills. Keep the boat afloat so to speak. I’ll have to work more, but there’s no way they can survive now. It’ll only be a matter of a few weeks, and they’ll lose the house and be starving. And honestly, with Jean and our baby, it’ll be damned hard for us to make it alone as well. We’re not getting as much for the lobster; it’s getting vicious. Everyone’s undercutting prices so they'll at least walk away with something.”
“I would want to anyway, Jonathan, even if we could make it on our own. They helped us when we were at bottom.” She reached over and took his hand. “I remember when you had a very similar look on your face, lost and scared, wondering what we were going to do. There’s no way we can abandon them now.” He nodded slowly, staring through the cracked windshield. Ava watched him as his eyes narrowed in concentration. She felt it an absurd question but asked it anyway. “What are you thinking about?” He picked at the thick cracked leather of the dashboard.
“Patrick.”
“Why Patrick?” Her brows came together in confusion.
“Because he’s resourceful and purposefully versatile. I was just thinking that with his approach, it’ll see them through.” His voice was soft and distant as he retreated into his mind, racing through ideas and possibilities, giving them undivided attention.
“I’m glad for him, but I don’t understand what that has to do with your father?” She watched his eyes as they flitted back and forth, deep in contemplation. She knew from experience that if she asked him anything now, he either wouldn’t hear her or would answer unintelligibly. She waited several moments for him to come back, entertaining herself with the daydream of a trip to visit Maura. In her mind, they were walking along Broadway with linked arms, talking and laughing.
Jonathan snapped his head back slightly. She looked over with a smile.
“What'd you figure out?”
“It just might work, won’t make a lot of money, but it’ll keep him busy, make him feel productive.”
“What will, Jon?”
“Let's go back inside.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the driver's side door. “I’ll explain, don’t worry.”
∞∞∞
“Huh?” Caleb jerked his head up, looking left and right, startled.
“She’s ready to go down,” Arianna whispered. He stood, stretched, then shuffled to the rocking chair, yawning and took Little Girl.
“We really need to give her a name,” he whispered as he cradled his daughter in his arms. Arianna nodded but was too tired to think. “What kind of parents let their baby go over a month without a name?” he asked as he walked toward the stairs.
“The kind who didn’t expect her in the first place and are now too tired to put serious thought into it. Long as she has one by the time she starts school,” she said and grinned as she stood, arching her tired back. Jean walked over to her, tugging at her skirt.
“I had a friend in Paris. She liked me and she had a pretty name,” he offered.
“Oh, really, what was it?” Arianna asked, pushing his hair back off his forehead, smoothing it into a neat side-part.
“Savrene.” It rolled off his accented tongue with an elegant flair. Caleb stopped at the doorway of the living room and turned around.
“Say that again?”
“Savrene.”
“No, in English.”
“That is in English, silly. Suh-vreen.” She enunciated without the French intonation, smiling at Jean. “And I like it.” Caleb looked down at Little Girl.
“I like it, too.” He turned to Arianna, eyebrows raised.
“Then it’s settled. Little Girl finally has a name. Savrene,” she said pleasantly. Jean stood very close, smiling. “Thank you for helping us name our baby,” she said, hugging him to her side.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, proud but slightly embarrassed. Caleb disappeared upstairs and Jean stood quiet
for a moment. “If I ask you something, Aunt Ahna, will you tell me the truth?” She put an arm around his shoulders.
“Of course, what is it?”
“Well, I have two questions.” His little face was mixed with seriousness and fear. Arianna walked, holding his hand, to the couch and sat him down beside her.
“Now, what are your questions?” She wrapped her arm around him and he sunk into her side, leaning his head on her soft, warm bosom and feeling maternal comfort for the first time in months.
“Is my Dadee going to die?” he blurted out without emotion, as if he were asking what was for dinner. “And if he does, can I come live with you?” He looked up at her with wide eyes, misty with the beginning of tears. Arianna gasped with surprise.
“Sweetheart, what on earth makes you think your Dadee is going to die? No, no, he isn’t. Don’t you worry about that.” She rubbed his shoulder and he continued to stare at her, waiting for her answers. “Jean.” She turned to face him more fully and held his face between her hands. “Your Dadee is not going to die. But if he did, yes, you could come live with me.” His face relaxed, and he settled into her side again. “Why would you worry about such things?” she asked, instantly feeling foolish. Of course, he would worry about Jonathan dying. His mother just died and Jonathan is all he has. Perfectly natural, she thought.
“My mother told me,” he started, swallowing hard before going on, “that my Dadee had to leave Paris before I was born. She said it was the only way his heart would be happy. There was a man on the boat when we were traveling here, who died. I heard someone say he had a bad heart. What if Dadee’s heart isn’t happy anymore and goes bad?” Arianna was momentarily at a loss for words.
“Jean, I don’t think your mother meant he had a bad heart as if he were sick. I think she meant . . . .” Dammit, Jon, what the hell am I supposed to say, she growled in her mind. Caleb crossed the threshold into the living room and sank into the comfortable chair by the fire.
“Hurry. They’re both asleep, we might be able to get a ten minute nap,” he said, leaning his head back with closed eyes. Arianna looked back at Jean.
“I think this is something you should talk to your Dadee about,” she said in a whisper. “But I can tell you that he is not sick, he does not have a bad heart, and there is no reason to worry that he is going to leave you, all right?” She stroked his hair as he nodded weakly.
“But if–” He looked up again with big, pleading eyes.
“If so, yes, you can live with me, all right?” she said softly and he snuggled back into her side, content with her answer.
“Can I ride the pony tomorrow?” he asked sometime later as his eyes started to close.
“Oui, vous pouvez monter le poney demain,” she said, kissing the top of his head.
∞∞∞
“Okay.” Jonathan walked into the kitchen and sat across from his father with his proposal. Ava stood behind him, glancing from Margaret’s worried eyes to Jonathan Sr.’s bleak expression. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jonathan started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “We’re going to stay on here. Take over the bills–”
Jonathan Sr. threw his head back and opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly muted by his son. “You’ll be homeless and starving in a month, Dad, and you know it. If we were to move out, we’d have to pay all the same bills. Why not pay them here? Just until things get better.” His father shook his head, feeling slightly disgraced and blew out a hard breath. “And here’s what you’re going to do,” he continued, not letting his father get in a single word of opposition. “You’re to use what you’ve got. When you got rid of the new car I sent you and bought that old, rusted piece of junk–”
“Hey! That old piece of junk runs just fine now,” his father yelled indignantly. Jonathan smiled widely.
“Exactly. Did you know how to rebuild an engine before you bought it?”
“No. I learned out of necessity.” He folded his arms, wondering what Jonathan was getting at.
“Well, now you’re going to take what you learned out of necessity and use it for profit. Marginal, at best, but profit nonetheless.” He leaned back in his chair, mirroring his father's posture, staring victoriously into uncertain eyes. “I’ll talk to the guys Monday, but I don’t think it will be a problem. I’ll replace the money over time, if it doesn’t work.”
“If what doesn’t work? Talk to them about what?” The forlorn form had given way to a straightened posture and a curious eye.
“I’m going to borrow some money from the business savings. You,” he pronounced and pointed a finger at Jonathan Sr., “are going to take it and find another jalopy like the one out there. The worse condition and the cheaper the better. Then you’re going to spend your days fixing it up. Save back some of what I give you for parts. When it’s done, we’ll put the word out and you can sell it. There are a whole lot of people right now looking for cheap transportation. It’s a pattern I don’t see changing anytime soon. And then,” He reached across his chest and put his hand on Ava's resting on his shoulder, and squeezed it lightly. He could almost feel her smiling behind him as he continued. “you’re going to take that money and do it again. With each sale, you can pay down the loan. It won’t make you rich, but it’ll keep you busy, and it’ll bring a bit of money in.” He and his father sat, eyes locked. Jonathan’s expression was satisfied and slightly triumphant; his fathers’ was unreadable.
“Jon.” His mother turned to him with grateful eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea.” She reached for his hand, and he let go of Ava’s to accept it.
“I thought so.” He tilted his head, grinning arrogantly.
“It is,” his father said quietly. “Good thinking, son. Thank you. I should have been thinking along those lines.”
“I’m sure you would have thought of it as soon as the shock wore off,” he said graciously. Jonathan Sr. rubbed his face hard, skin loose with finely aged wrinkles moved by his fingers on the once handsome face, and he tiredly spoke through his hands.
“Maybe. Maybe not. I might have ended up in a bathtub, too, if–” He froze the moment he said it. Caught up in relief, reveling in a sliver of hope when only a moment ago he had been consumed by despair, he had let the words slip out. He dropped his hands in his lap with a thud. “I’m sorry,” he pled to Jonathan’s stunned expression. “I didn’t mean–”
“Forget it,” he ordered with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. His father nodded and lowered his eyes. Margaret and Ava exchanged puzzled expressions.
∞∞∞
“Do we have to leave tomorrow?” Claire asked lazily as she stretched.
Aryl lifted his head from her stomach. “Well.” He craned his neck to see their small crate of food across the room. “If we ration, we might be able to make it a week,” he said and grinned happily.
“I’ll starve,” she said, smiling and tangling her fingers in his hair. “Let’s stay.”
“I wish we could.” He looked up at her, folding his hands on her stomach and resting his chin on his knuckles.
“Are you sure this is all right?” He gave an admiring gaze at the bare breasts between their smiles. “I mean, I’m perfectly content to do this for days on end. But I do wish I could have done more for you.”
“It’s wonderful. Just as it is.” She looked around the room. “Just being here again. Planning it all, it was the perfect anniversary gift.” He smiled gratefully and turned his head to the side, sliding one arm down to hug her hip. They lay quiet, his head rose and fell with her breathing, listening as the wind picked up and rain began tapping the windows of the lantern room.
“You know,” she said, running her fingers aimlessly around his scalp. “We won’t be able to do this after the baby is born.”
“I know,” he whispered and raised his head look at her. His eyes were dancing, but to Claire’s surprise, there was no shock. Not the expression that normally strikes the faces of men just told they were going to be fathers.
“How did you know?” she asked, slightly deflated.
“My mother,” he said apologetically.
“But I hadn’t told her! I hadn’t told anyone. I wanted you to be the first to know!” She was thoroughly disappointed and angry that his mother, who took far too much interest in the intimate side of their marriage to begin with, had stolen her moment. She pushed his head off her stomach and sat up, pouting.
“She didn’t know, she only suspected.” He turned around to sit in front of her. “She’s been watching the laundry.”
“Oh, my Lord!” Claire stared at him open-mouthed.
He grinned apologetically. “She really wants grandchildren. She talked to me yesterday about her suspicion and I told her to keep quiet, so you could tell me.” He lifted her chin. “And I was really hoping she was right,” he said and smiled, his brown eyes were genuinely thrilled.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she whined with tears in her eyes, pulling her chin away and dropping her head.
“Well, it was . . . sort of.” He sat for moment, thinking. “Here. Lay back down.”
“What?”
“Lay back down,” he said. “We’ll re-do this.”
“We can’t redo it,” she said sadly.
He nudged her shoulders back down on the feather tick. “Yes, we can.” He repositioned his head on her stomach, lifting it and laying it back down several times to get it just right. “There. No, wait.” He moved his arm to hug her hip. “There.” He looked back up at her briefly. “You had your hands on my head,” he reminded and rested his head back down. She plopped her hands on his head lethargically.
“Okay,” he said, satisfied. She lay staring at the ceiling, growing angrier at his mother with every minute. She would do something about this–teach her a lesson. She rolled several possibilities around in her head. She was lost in her ideas of retribution when Aryl cleared his throat as a cue. He lifted his head again. “Here’s where you tell me,” he whispered and quickly dropped his head. She smiled down at him for his effort.
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