That One Day (That One #1.5)

by Josie Wright

“His parents went to visit relatives who didn’t have a baby gate. He fell down marble stairs, suffered a head trauma. He was in a coma for a few weeks. They didn’t even know if he would pull through. When he woke up, he had changed. According to your grandmother, he started being short-tempered, had mood swings, and was violent at times.”

  Her words halt the flood of relief when I realize she has known about his issues and still let me be around him. “You knew? You knew he was crazy?”

  My mom shakes her head yet again. “No. Your grandmother told me after I left him. I mean, he had his mood swings, and sometimes a short temper while I was dating him and was married to him, but he was never violent. If I had had any idea…Ben, I would have never left you alone with him. I didn’t think anything of his irritability. I mean we both weren’t getting much sleep after you were born. You have to believe me…there was no indication he would do anything like that.” She looks at me, her eyes pleading to trust and believe her.

  A part of me would love to put it all on her. To find flaws in her logic, to make her the bad one. It’d be easier than putting the blame on someone who isn’t of sound mind. Someone I can never hold accountable for the things he has done.

  I’ve taken the easy way for long enough. I can’t do that anymore. Not if I want to move on with my life. I get it now. I know she tried her best. She had no way of really knowing her husband was a raging lunatic who would try to kill her baby. Just like I had no idea that letting Noah into my life would end up with him trying to kill Archer.

  There are so many what ifs spanning my life. Starting with what if my mom would have left him sooner, ending with what if I would have been home and not went to pick up the gift. There is no point turning in circles.

  “I know, Mom. Sorry. I know it’s not your fault. It’s just hard to wrap my head around it all.”

  I watch as Frankie prepares Archer’s bottle and passes Archer to my mom so she can feed him. Mom can barely contain her emotions over holding her grandson. I take the opportunity to ask more questions, like why the hell did my grandmother not tell my mom sooner?

  “She didn’t want me to leave him because of it. She thought that maybe being in love and happy would balance him out. In a time where mental illness was a taboo, she never looked into any treatment for him, not wanting her son to deal with prejudice and judgment from others. She thought she was doing what was best for him. I can’t blame her though, if she had told me earlier, I would have probably never married him and then I would have never had you, Ben. No matter what happened, you are my everything. And now I have a grandson and a daughter to complete our family.”

  I smile at her words, allowing them to finally sink in. I won’t end up like my father. I won’t hurt the people I’m supposed to love and protect. I won’t become a danger, a monster. All the shit that happened, I finally feel like I can deal with it, like I can work through it. I don’t have to fear I could harm Archer or Frankie. For nearly two years, I’ve been picturing myself in a mental hospital sooner or later, wasting away without a purpose. And in the past days, I’ve been petrified to be alone with my own child for fear of repeating my father’s sins. All of this is suddenly gone and I feel like a rock has been taken off my chest. No, not a rock, a fucking mountain. I can finally breathe.

  ***

  My mom and I sit in the living room, while Frankie attends to Archer upstairs and my dad helps her set up Archer’s travel crib. We sit next to each other on the couch and Mom places her hand on top of mine.

  “I’m so glad you came home, Ben. I…” She struggles to talk, emotions taking over.

  I put my arm around her and pull her to me.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry, I didn’t give you a chance to explain and just left. I just…” I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath in. “…felt so betrayed. Still do in a way, but I understand better why you did what you did. I wish I would have listened to you.”

  “It was my own fault, hon. If I had told you from the start, none of this would have happened.”

  Smiling, I nod. “True, but then I also would have never slept with Frankie and gotten her pregnant.” Only now do I realize we have my grandmother’s letter to thank for the fact we both finally acted on our feelings.

  “Yeah, we’ll still talk about that one, young man,” my mother jokes and I look at her to find her smiling.

  For a few minutes, I allow myself to enjoy this lighthearted moment. My mom and I used to have many of those before shit went down, joking and teasing each other constantly. There are still so many questions and thoughts I have, things I need to talk to her about. Things only she’ll be able to understand since she knows Noah.

  “I can’t get my head around the way he manipulated me. I believed him, Mom. I believed every-fucking-thing he said. He played me for a fool.” I groan, letting my head fall back onto the back of the couch.

  “You need to understand that even though he’s ill, it doesn’t make him any less intelligent. That’s the thing with psychosis—it can allow the patient to become a perfect pretender, someone you believe easily. Why do you think it took me so long to figure things out?”

  “I guess,” I say, not convinced of her explanation. “I just never questioned a thing he said. Not even to the point of talking to one of the doctors about it.” I still can’t believe how stupid I was not seeing through his act.

  “You were hurt. I lied to you. You wanted to be able to believe someone, and I’m sure he sensed that, making the most of it. You’ve done nothing wrong,” she says, reassuringly patting my hand.

  “Why do you think was he so hell-bent on hurting Archer? He never even met him, Mom. He kept on babbling nonsense that he’d give me my life back once he got rid of Archer. But Archer is my life. And so is Frankie.” I’ve gone over so many theories in my head in the past few days and they all seem fucking insane.

  “Hmmm, I don’t think it’s something we’ll ever know for sure. I suppose to some degree he was mixing up your life with his past. And maybe he felt rejected or abandoned, like he did when you were little and I focused on you and your needs.”

  I start nodding. “Yeah, I thought about that a lot. There were times where I had to decline something he asked me for, or end a conversation because Archer or Frankie needed me. He always seemed upset, but I chalked it up to his depression and mood swings, never even considered there was more behind it.”

  “You had no way of knowing. We all could’ve done things differently if we had known better. But we didn’t.”

  We’re interrupted by Frankie, Archer, and my dad coming back in. Dad announces the arrival of our Indian food, while Frankie lets Archer crawl on the couch and he heads in my direction with purpose until he’s in my lap. I tickle his belly, causing him to laugh. “You’re so silly, little man.” I kiss his forehead with a loud, overly dramatic smooch. “Daddy loves you.”

  And that’s the last I get of my son for a few hours, since my mom snatches him away.

  “Well, Grandma loves you too. And grandmas always come first,” she explains to him matter-of-factly, helping him stand up in her lap so they are eye-to-eye. “Grandma is gonna spoil you rotten.”

  “Oh dear,” I hear Dad mutter under his breath, but when I look up I can see the hint of a grin he’s trying to hide.

  Frankie sits down next to me, snuggling into my side and making the attempt to eat our food highly complicated. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  It’s early evening when Frankie takes Archer upstairs to put him to bed and crashes herself. Undoubtedly, she’s exhausted after the past few days—she hasn’t been sleeping well at all. But I also think she wants to give me and my parents some space to talk.

  While my mom makes herself some tea, my dad offers me another whiskey.

  “No, thanks, Dad. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I decline his offer, remembering Mike’s story, and even more so, his words. All the shit that went down lately would drive any man to drink, and I sure as fuck don’t
want to go down that road.

  He gives me a quizzical look, so I go on to explain. “After I left here, I had a bit of a love affair with whiskey. I think I drank enough to last a lifetime. The glass earlier was just a spur of the moment thing.”

  “Judith, you better make him some tea, then,” he teases.

  “Dad, I’m not sick. I don’t need tea. I’ll just grab some orange juice,” I say, walking to the fridge—the feeling of being back home still foreign and weird.

  When I sit back down, my dad’s reclining in his armchair, feet up on the footrest, while my mom is sitting on the couch facing me. I don’t think we’ll run out of things to talk about—there’s just so much all of us want and need to know.

  One question has been burning a hole into my mind and so I ask it.

  “Mom, did Noah ever sing to me…when I was fussy as a baby?” I think of the story he told me about singing “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens and wonder if at least this was true or if the story and the Christmas gift were just part of his elaborate web of lies.

  “Yeah, it was the one sweet thing he used to do.” She smiles, clearly lost in the memory. “He always sang “Father and Son” to you and you would doze off right away. I must have heard that song hundreds of times.”

  At least there was something real. One memory that isn’t tainted by his lies and actions. Something I can hold on to. It reminds me there may be a part of him that cares, but is caught up in an illness that makes him cold and calculating.

  We talk for hours—about my childhood, my time in Tucson, my life in Northampton, and of course, about Frankie and Archer.

  That’s when my dad chimes in. “So, Ben, I’ve heard you owe Frankie’s parents a bottle of whiskey and a new couch?” He’s clearly amused, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  Sheepishly, I look to the side, rubbing my neck. “Technically yes, but they don’t deserve either. They’re assholes.”

  “Benjamin,” my mom scolds, her lips pursed.

  “When he’s right, he’s right,” Dad jumps to my defense, and I laugh at my mom’s exasperated eye roll.

  It’s a little like old times, and I let myself enjoy it now that a lot of the weight is off my shoulders. The things that transpired are still looming over me, but at least the fucking fear of ending up like Noah is gone. Hopefully, the rest will sort itself out with time.

  Chapter 43

  Blood Ain’t Thicker Than Water

  Sitting on the couch, I’m scarfing down my breakfast while my mom is playing with Archer on the floor and Dad is reading his newspaper.

  Frankie is still sleeping. I suppose our nighttime activities have worn her out. They definitely helped my appetite, in more ways than one.

  We’ve crossed a few things off my teenage to do list last night—much to the amusement of my dad, whose greeting this morning was, ‘You’ve got yourself a loud one, huh?’ I hope he doesn’t say anything to Frankie. She was shy about it as it is, scared my parents would hear us.

  Personally, I couldn’t care less because she fucking blew my mind—pun intended.

  Minding my own business, I hear my mom ask the room while not looking up from my old building blocks that she’s helping Archer stack, “So you and Frankie, are you planning to get married?”

  “Judith, will you let the poor boy eat?” Dad groans.

  Laughing, I shake my head. “It’s okay, Dad. Honestly, down the line, I’d love for that to happen. But the past months have been a rollercoaster from hell. It would be nice for things to settle down and for us to be able to just enjoy everything before we consider taking the next step.”

  Looking away from me, my mom still doesn’t manage to hide the big grin on her face. “We’re not rushing it, Mom,” I emphasize.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  My dad and I start laughing and Archer stops his playing to look back and forth between us. I turn around to notice Frankie standing in the doorway. When I approach, asking if she’s okay, she nods and explains she needs to talk to her parents. “Things can’t go on like this,” she says and I wholeheartedly agree.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  She thinks a moment, but then shakes her head, telling me to spend time with my parents and Archer. I’d love to be there for her and help her, but it’s something she needs to do by herself, I guess. I’m just really glad she’s finally taking the step and standing up for herself.

  ***

  At night, we’re lying in my bed with Archer already asleep. We didn’t have a chance to talk since she got back from her parents as we spent most of our time downstairs with everyone, including Dave, who is now snoring on my parents’ couch.

  He proudly told us all the stuff Frankie said to their parents, standing up to them and he followed suit. I couldn’t be prouder of both of them. But their parents reacted the way I expected—with about as much warmth and love as a dead, cold fish.

  She’s lying on her side, her back turned to me and she seems lost in thought.

  “You okay, babe?” I ask, running my hand down her cheek, past her neck, and down her arm.

  She just nods, not answering.

  “Babe?” I press in the hope she’ll talk to me. I massage her lower back, feeling the tension in her body.

  “They just don’t care. Not about me or Dave. Apparently, not even about Archer—since they rather not see him again than swallow their stupid pride.” She pulls my hand to her front, interlacing our fingers. “I guess I just foolishly hoped they would give a damn.”

  I pull her closer and she leans her head back against my chest. “I’m sorry, babe. They suck.”

  “Yeah, they do. Big, sweaty donkey balls.”

  Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I can’t hold in the laughter. After a few seconds, she joins me. “Screw them. You’ve got me and Archer. My parents, Dave, and the gang back home, too.”

  Exhaling a ragged sigh, she nods. “You’re right. I guess not everyone is born to be a parent.”

  There isn’t much to add. I can’t say anything that will make either of us feel better. We can’t change who our parents are. We need to find a way to move on, to leave behind the damage and destruction caused by our parents. We need to figure out how the fuck to live with the scars that won’t heal. The sad truth is that our parents don’t love us, or don’t love us enough, or don’t know how to love us because of their illness. We need to learn how to handle the reality that we’ll never enter our own kitchen without a part of us remembering what transpired there.

  A part of us will always be broken. The question is whether or not we’ll let it define us and our future. I’m sure the next few months will tell.

  Chapter 44

  One in a Million

  Sitting in a comfortable armchair, I look around the room. It looks exactly the same as last time and all the times before. Yet, it’s easier to inspect the paintings on the wall than face the scrutiny coming from the chair across from me.

  I can feel Nathan, my therapist, staring at me since I finished talking about thirty seconds ago. It’s about as comfortable of a feeling as walking over hot coals.

  I’ve been coming here weekly for two and a half months now. After we got back from the visit with my parents, Frankie’s professor recommended him to me. So here I am, yet again, on a Friday afternoon.

  Frankie has the day off, and her therapy session for the week was on Monday, so she’s home with Archer.

  The past months weren’t easy. We’ve been dealing with the aftereffects of Noah’s meltdown. Any attempts to forget it were thwarted thanks to phone calls from cops, doctors, and personnel at St. Michael’s.

  I never would have expected it, but every time my cell phone dings and I see a message from Frankie, I break out in a cold sweat. It’s starting to get better, thanks to therapy, but at times it feels fucking debilitating. Worse than my own issues, it hurts to see Frankie go through this. She has been so much more fearful than she used to be. A knock on the door will make her flin
ch, and when Archer takes a fall in his attempts to walk, she’s near tears.

  It’s only in the past couple weeks that I’ve seen her former confidence return. It’s still a long road ahead of us, but as long as we walk it together, I think we can do it.

  The scent of vanilla and tobacco hits my nostrils before I register Nathan’s question.

  “And you are sure about this, Ben?”

  I roll my eyes in exasperation. We’ve talked about it before, and though I was adamant from the start to do it, there was no date until now.

  Looking up and straight into Nathan’s eyes, I nod. “Yes, I’m just as sure as I was last week and the week before.”

  “You don’t think it’s rushed? Is it just a way to escape your past? To heal the wounds your father has left behind?”

  He takes another drag of his pipe, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. I look at him and just like every time I’m here, I can barely stop myself from shaking my head. He’s the oddest guy I’ve ever seen which is saying something.

  In the past months, we developed an easygoing relationship. I don’t know what he’s like with other patients, but we’re definitely not formal with each other.

  When I first walked in here, I thought it was some kind of joke. The guy is a weird mix between a British aristocrat and a hippie. Today, he’s wearing a tweed blazer with elbow patches and an ascot tie, paired with bell bottom jeans and a pair of thick-rimmed hipster glasses. The pipe is his go-to thing. After I okayed it the first time I was here, he’s been smoking it every single time.

  There’s psychedelic music playing in the background, giving this whole experience an even odder feeling.

  I asked him once what the hell it was all about. He just smirked and told me in a conspiratorial tone that people have an easier time confiding in someone who seems crazy. I still haven’t figured out if it was a joke or not, but he seems to be right because I quickly felt at ease talking to him.

  As odd as he is, he has helped me move past Noah’s attack. I’m slowly able to believe his actions don’t mean he never loved me, but that his illness took away his ability to connect with those emotions and to show his love. We’ve discussed everything—my mom’s lies, my time in Tucson, my return, and of course, Frankie and Archer.