Jaguar

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Ida, I’m sorry,” begged Henry, reaching out to her.

  “No!” she slashed at him with her hand. “You can’t tell your son to leave. You can’t throw him out. He’ll go and I’ll never see him again. I’ll never see him!” She held out her arms to Jaguar.

  Jaguar crossed around the table, moving between his father and mother. She caught his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Don’t listen to him! Don’t you leave this house!”

  He put his arms around her. “I won’t, Mama,” he said. “I won’t leave.”

  “If you go, I’ll never see you again. I couldn’t stand it. Please don’t listen to him.”

  “I won’t go, Mama. I promise you. I won’t go.”

  She enfolded him in her arms, pressing his head to her shoulder. Jaguar could feel every rib in her back through her bathrobe. She was skin and bones. Her hands stroked his hair as she crooned to him, begging him not to leave.

  Glancing up, he saw his father turn and walk out of the room, not bothering to look back.

  * * *

  Jaguar sat on the bench in the park beside his mother, giving her bread from the bag they’d brought, watching her feed the ducks. She liked to hold it out to them, waiting for one of them to get brave enough to take it from her hand, then she’d giggle. He smiled watching her, trying to drive down the worry of how thin she was getting. It was like she was wasting away before him.

  After the outburst this morning, Henry had gotten her showered and dressed. It was good to see her in something other than her bathrobe for a change. Jaguar and his father had tiptoed around each other, not daring to speak. They both were embarrassed by the outburst, by the fact that Ida had been forced to intervene.

  Jaguar pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at the display. Hifler hadn’t called him back. He knew he should break down and call him again, but his pride wouldn’t let him. The man had hung up on him. Him. Who the hell did he think he was?

  Not that Jaguar was any more settled about his options. The unopened envelope lay on his nightstand and his mother was deteriorating more rapidly than he’d thought. If they didn’t do something about her lack of appetite, she wasn’t going to make it to see the inside of a nursing home. And of course, there was his father. Jaguar didn’t remember a time when he’d gotten along with the man. When Jaguar was a child, Henry had worked nights, which meant he slept during the day. Then when Jaguar was a teenager, he’d spent as much time away from the house as he could to avoid the man. It was funny how two people could share DNA and yet be strangers to each other.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” said Ida, leaning back on the bench and looking around. The ducks squabbled over the crumbs by her feet.

  Jaguar smiled at her, thinking it was a beautiful day. Once he would have scoffed at spending time sitting on a bench in the shade, feeding ducks, but it seemed peaceful today. Ida laid her cool hand on his forearm.

  “Your father just doesn’t get you,” she said softly, staring out over the pond. “He just doesn’t get people like us.”

  “Like us?” he asked her. He realized he treasured the days when she remembered him, even if she thought he was still eighteen.

  “Musicians. You know that saying about people dancing to their own drummer?”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard it.”

  She smiled at him again. “It means people like us. People who have music in their souls.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  She grew silent, thinking. He could feel her drifting away and he hated it. “I used to think it would be nice to think like he does. To just know things are facts and never question them. This is this, that is that.” Her attention shifted to the left and she leaned forward, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Do you see it?”

  Jaguar looked to where she pointed. “See what, Mom?”

  “The blue butterfly. Goodness, I haven’t seen one in years. It’s so pretty.”

  Jaguar frowned. He didn’t see anything except trees and grass.

  She leaned back, still looking at a spot that he didn’t see. “So pretty. Fragile. We need to protect them better or they’ll go away and never come back.” She fell silent, her chest rising with each breath. At her feet, the ducks continued to mill about, searching for scraps. Finally, she looked out over the lake again. “It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said.

  “It is.”

  “He means well. He’s a good man inside. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

  Jaguar wanted to scoff. When he was younger he would have. Then Ida would tsk at him and tell him he wasn’t giving his father a chance. The arguments over this man were decades long. He’d always wondered what had held their marriage together.

  “Mom, you said you could have played violin in the symphony. Do you remember telling me that?” He found himself holding his breath, praying she would stay with him just a little longer this time.

  She made an amused sound. “What made you think of that?”

  “You mentioned it the other day.”

  “Did I?” She smiled at him, her hand still resting on his forearm. “I was that good. They told me I should audition. My music teacher and the conductor at the community college. They said I could make it. They had an open call one time. I was supposed to go to San Francisco.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, I was afraid. I didn’t think I was good enough. Then I met your father.” Her brow furrowed. “I knew from the moment I met him he would be a good husband. A good father.”

  A bark of bitter laughter left Jaguar. She tightened her grip on his arm.

  “Don’t be disrespectful. You’re young. You don’t know how hard it is. He just wants the best for you.”

  That was definitely not true, but Jaguar wasn’t going to contradict her.

  “He wants you to go to college. It’s why he rides you so about your grades.” She leaned closer to him. “That report card was awful. You have to admit.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, it was awful.” He wasn’t sure which one, but it didn’t really matter. Pretty much all of them were.

  “You’re a smart boy. Why don’t you apply yourself, just a little bit?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s the music. It’s always in your head.”

  Not anymore, he wanted to say, but he bit it back. “If you hadn’t met him, if you hadn’t met my father, would you have tried out for the symphony?”

  She looked at the lake again. “There are things you do and things you don’t. It doesn’t really do any good to wonder about the things you don’t. I met your father and we had you and that’s all that matters now.”

  “So you don’t regret it?”

  “Regret? Oh, goodness, Jerome, what’s the point of regret? Life is so short, so fragile. Like a butterfly’s wings. Why waste it with silly things like regret?” She laid her head on his shoulder, falling silent as she stared over the lake. He allowed himself to relax, sitting next to her, just soaking up the moment, trying to hold in every part of it, and yet knowing it would fade.

  “Goodness, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said softly.

  He rested his cheek on her cloud of white hair and exhaled. “Yes, it is,” he said.

  * * *

  When they got back to the house, his father met them at the door and urged her into the kitchen for a late day snack. As their eyes met, Jaguar knew his father understood she was wasting away in front of them. He was trying to hold it back with puddings and ice cream, but it was happening just the same.

  His phone rang as he watched them shuffle off together, disappearing around the corner, and he fished it out of his pocket, a strange thrill of hope rushing through him. When he didn’t recognize the number, he almost didn’t answer. The hope bled off into anger at a manager that was clearly losing interest in him. He wasn’t sure what to do about it, how to stop that part of his life from disintegrating.

  He swiped his thumb across t
he call and lifted it to his ear. “Jaguar,” he said, his voice coming out sharp.

  “Jaguar, it’s Pam. Pamela Rosen, Nancy’s sister.”

  Nancy. The woman who’d tried to kill him. Who’d killed an innocent girl. Who’d held a gun on his mother in this very house. The rage pulsed to the surface again and he almost threw the phone across the room.

  Grappling for control, he went back out the front door and took a seat on the stairs, still holding the phone to his ear.

  “Jaguar?” came her voice again. It was so similar to Nancy’s – cool and detached, almost bored – he felt a shiver race up his spine.

  That was how Nancy had confessed to trying to kill him. It’s not really about him. I know he thinks everything revolves around him, but it doesn’t. He could still hear the matter of fact way she’d talked about putting arsenic in food he was meant to eat.

  “Jaguar?”

  “What?” he managed to say.

  She sighed. He could hear it through the phone. “I thought you’d hung up on me for a moment.”

  “What do you want, Pam?”

  “I got the DNA results, the paternity test, or actually, Nancy got it, but I’m picking up her mail for her.”

  He tried to answer, but he couldn’t. The envelope lay on the dresser, mocking him, but he still hadn’t opened it.

  “I know you got it too,” she said.

  “What do you want? Money?”

  She hesitated a moment. When she spoke again, he heard weariness in her voice. “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

  “I’m trying to keep this out of the news, Jaguar. I’m sure you want that too. For everyone’s sake.”

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted.

  “I’ll get a lawyer if I have to, but I don’t want to do that either. I don’t really have the money for it. Look, I’m raising three kids on my own here. Their father’s not in the picture anymore. I can’t even find him to serve him for child support.”

  “So you do want money?”

  “Damn it!” she said, the boredom gone now. She didn’t say anything for a moment and he could imagine her fighting for control. “Look, I think we need to meet. I think we need to discuss this. I’m trying to be fair here. I’m not trying to make you the bad guy, but I need help.”

  The thrum in her voice made him realize she was serious. He knew she was going to eventually ask him for money, but she did sound like someone at her limit, someone needing help. His antagonism softened.

  “Okay. I’ll meet with you. When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’m going to Nancy’s shop to pack up stuff. The building’s going up for sale and they want it cleaned out by the end of the week.”

  “What time?” he asked, wondering if it was late enough in the day to have a beer.

  “Ten. Ten would be good. The kids are in summer camp at the Y.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “I’ll find it,” he said, hearing the edge in his voice.

  “Thank you.” He heard the tremor again. She was being genuine. “Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ll see you at ten.”

  He didn’t respond and a moment later he disconnected the call. Looking out at the empty street, he turned the phone over and over in his hands. He could see the envelope where it lay. She said she had the results, but he didn’t have them. He hadn’t opened the envelope, but he figured he knew what it said.

  Tapping the phone against his forehead, he closed his eyes. God, when had he become such a coward? When had he stopped facing what he feared? He’d stepped out in front of thousands of fans and sang, but now he was afraid to open an envelope.

  Pushing himself to his feet, he shoved the phone into his pocket and went back inside the house. He could hear his father washing dishes in the kitchen and he felt a wave of irrational anger. He wanted to shout at him to use the damn dishwasher, but that was petty.

  Turning into the hallway, he saw his mother in the bathroom, running a comb through her hair. He smiled. He didn’t remember when she’d last cared enough to worry about her appearance. The sight of her doing something so normal gave him courage and he pushed open the door to his room.

  The envelope lay where he’d put it. It was the most non-threatening piece of paper he’d ever seen. Official and crisp, it lay there waiting for him. He moved around the end of the bed and took a seat, staring at it. Then he looked around his room.

  It was a time capsule to when he’d been a teenager. Same posters on the wall – Aerosmith and the Rolling Stones. A British flag hung from grommets next to the closet. Concert tickets had been tacked to the corkboard he’d placed over the desk he’d never used for studying. In the corner was the first acoustic guitar his mother had given him. Even now he kept it immaculate, running a cloth over its surface every morning.

  His eyes tracked back to the envelope and he scrubbed his hands on his thighs. A pepper of sweat tickled across his spine. This was stupid. There was nothing to fear from a piece of paper. He snatched it up and tore across the top of it, reaching in to pull out the letter.

  He smoothed it out on his thigh and stared at it. One line, then a table.

  Jerome Jarvis is not excluded as the biological father. 99.99%

  His eyes zeroed in on two words. NOT EXCLUDED. The weight of those two words made black spots dance in front of his eyes. He put his head in his hands and tried to take slow even breaths. Jerome Jarvis is not excluded as the biological father. Is not excluded. For a moment, he wondered if he didn’t understand exactly what it meant, but he forced himself to look again. The CPI or combined paternity index was 100 and the Probability of Paternity was 99.9%, which meant pretty clearly that he was a father.

  The sound of shattering glass made him jump and the letter fluttered to the floor. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, wrenching it open. His father met him in the hallway as he grabbed the doorjamb of the bathroom.

  His mother knelt on the floor over a broken hand mirror, blood streaming from a cut on her palm and pooling on the tiles. She looked up at them, her expression terrified, her pupils dilated, then she cowered back against the wall, cradling her hand in her lap.

  “It slipped,” she said as his father pushed into the room, grabbing a towel off the rack and kneeling before her. “It just slipped.”

  “It’s okay,” he told her, wrapping the towel around her hand. “It’s okay.”

  Jaguar felt like he was going to be sick again. He sucked in air and fought the black spots dancing before his eyes. What the hell was he going to do now? How the hell was he going to get back to LA?

  His mother looked up at him, her eyes so like his own, the same exact shade, but she looked at him with fear, not recognition, and he knew…he knew she’d forgotten him again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jaguar wandered out to the kitchen the next morning, half-asleep. He found his father talking on the phone and his mother sitting at the kitchen table, her bandaged hand resting on its surface. Her eyes lifted to his face, unfocused, but he smiled at her and detoured to the coffee pot, reaching for a mug.

  “Right, I think it needs stitches,” he heard his father say.

  He turned, leaning against the counter, lifting the mug to his lips, and watched the older Jarvis pace back and forth across the worn linoleum. He’d offered to upgrade some features in the house, but his father had said it was a waste of money. Now Jaguar wondered if he’d objected just because Jaguar had agreed to pay for it.

  “No, she can’t wait in the emergency room. You don’t understand.” His father shook his head in frustration and paced again.

  Jaguar pushed himself away from the counter and took a seat at the table. He set the mug down and reached for his mother’s hand. She pulled back and he held up both hands in a gesture of comfort.

  “I just want to see it,” he said.

  She studied his face and he already knew it was a bad day.
“Are you a doctor?”

  He unwound the bandage and gave her a soft smile. Him, a doctor. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. “Nope, but I have some experience with stitches.”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile and watched him inspect the cut on her palm. It was pretty deep and still oozed blood. When he’d been ten, he’d fallen off his bicycle and split open his knee. She’d taken him to the emergency room and they’d given him ten stitches, one for each year of his life, she’d said.

  When he’d been fighting back the tears, afraid and hurting, she’d smoothed his hair and told him that now he’d have a great story to tell and a scar to prove it. She’d always said scars were the way people tracked the years they’d been alive. The more scars, the more living.

  He began winding the bandage back up again. He could hear his father’s foot tapping in frustration, but he ignored it, lifting his mug and taking another sip. “I don’t think it’ll take much to sew that up,” he said.

  She cast a worried look at his father, then she leaned close to him. “I don’t know how it happened.”

  “You dropped the mirror last night and it shattered.”

  She sat back, considering that. “Why don’t I remember that?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Her eyes tracked back to him and she stared for a moment. “It is if you’re the one unable to remember.”

  That caught him. “You’re right,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed in concentration. “Sometimes it feels like there’s something there.” She tapped her forehead. “Like I should know something, but I can’t remember it.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Like I feel I should know you. Like I’ve seen you before.”

  He stared back at her, but he didn’t know what to say. He felt the same way.

  His father disconnected the call, throwing up both hands in frustration. Jaguar broke the stare with his mother and looked over at him. Henry huffed. “They say I have to take her to the emergency room. Her regular doctor doesn’t have time to see her today.”