“Where’s Dad?” Ginny asked her sister in a low voice.
“He’s upstairs, sleeping. He usually goes to sleep around eight o’clock.” It was almost nine by then. “I gave him something for the pain. His arm is hurting him today, and I think the cast bothered him last night. He gets up at the crack of dawn as soon as it gets light. Alan will be home in a few minutes. He played tennis after work.” The strangest thing about being there, for Ginny, was seeing how little anything had changed. They were doing the same things as when she had left, in the same house. Even the dog was the same, and recognized her. The children were bigger, but nothing else was different. In one way it was comforting, but in another it made her feel even more out of step. Her life experience in the past three years had been so far removed from theirs. She felt as though she had just landed from Mars, as Becky poured them both a glass of wine and handed one to her.
They left the kids in the kitchen, wandered into the family room, and sat down. They used their living room only on Christmas and Thanksgiving. They gathered in the kitchen the rest of the time. And they had a huge flat screen TV over the fireplace in the family room, where they watched Monday-night football and sports on weekends, and any kind of play-off game. They were all sports nuts. Becky and Alan were great tennis players, which Ginny never had been, although Mark had played a good game and had played with them sometimes. And all their children were on various sports teams—basketball, soccer, baseball, girls’ volleyball—and Charlie was the captain of the swimming team at his high school. He was graduating in June with honors. None of them had ever done anything wrong, or even had bad grades. Becky was smug about it, and she was very proud of Charlie getting into UCLA.
“He’s cute,” Becky conceded, referring to Blue, and her sister understood.
“Yes, he is, and smart. He’s remarkable considering what he’s been through and how little help he’s had from anyone. If I can get him into that high school, it would be great for him.” Becky still couldn’t understand why Ginny was doing it, but she had to admit he was very polite when they arrived. He had thanked Becky for letting him come when he shook her hand. And when they went back to the kitchen, he and Lizzie were talking about music and seemed to like all the same bands. She was showing him something on YouTube on the computer they kept in the kitchen, and they were both laughing. They seemed to have found common ground. Then Charlie announced he was going out. His mother told him to drive carefully, and as he drove off, Ginny realized that he had his own car now. He really had grown up. Margie drove, too, although she had to borrow her mother’s car and didn’t have her own.
Lizzie offered to show Blue the downstairs playroom, and she and Margie left with him to play video games. Blue was doing fine. And then Alan walked in and made a big fuss over her. He was pleased to see her, although he told her that she’d gotten too thin. Her face seemed longer and more angular than it had before, and she looked even less like Becky now.
“What are we having for dinner?” Alan asked as he poured himself a glass of wine. “I’m starving.” He was wearing his tennis clothes and was still a handsome man.
“Salad and scallops,” Becky said efficiently, and put three shells in the microwave that she had gotten at the market that afternoon. With Becky, everything was speedy and well-organized, even if it lacked a certain charm. But the scallops were delicious when she served them, and Alan poured them all more wine.
“I’m glad you finally got out here,” he said to Ginny pointedly. “The last couple of years have really been hard on your sister. You left at just the right time.” He said it as though she had done it on purpose to shirk her responsibilities, not because her husband and son had died. He said it with just the barest edge of resentment, which Ginny picked up immediately. But she could imagine how stressful and disruptive it must be caring for her father while he was living with them and deteriorating dramatically. She knew it must be upsetting for the children, too.
Ginny helped Becky clean up the kitchen after dinner, and they went back to the family room, as Alan sat down with them. And they could hear music coming from somewhere, and Ginny smiled as she realized what it was.
“Wow, great CD, honey. Did you just get it?” Alan said, and Becky looked puzzled. It was a medley of popular songs.
“No. I don’t know what that is. Lizzie must have put it on the stereo downstairs.”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Ginny said, as she beckoned both of them to come with her. They followed her downstairs to the playroom, where Blue was playing the piano they kept there for parties. He was playing all the songs Lizzie asked him to, and in between he played Mozart to tease her and make her laugh, and then he broke into boogie-woogie, with the most skilled hands they had ever seen play their piano.
“Where did he learn that?” Becky said with amazement, as he played a beautiful Beethoven piece, then switched back to one of Lizzie’s songs. She was grinning from ear to ear, she loved it.
“He taught himself,” Ginny answered her sister, proud of him. “He plays the guitar, too, composes, and reads music. He just applied to the high school of music and arts in New York. LaGuardia Arts. I hope he gets in. Music is his passion, and he has an incredible gift.”
“My God, he’s like a prodigy. Charlie took lessons for five years and all he can play is scales and ‘Chopsticks.’ He never practiced,” Alan commented. Watching Blue play reminded Ginny of the story about Father Teddy in the church basement, but she pushed it from her mind. Blue was having a ball on their piano, and he and Lizzie had hit it off as though they’d grown up together. She was impressed by him, too, but Alan and Becky were even more so. His musical talent was undeniable, and he was clearly a nice boy. He played for an hour, just having fun with it, and then he and Lizzie went upstairs to watch a movie on the big flat screen, while the adults stayed downstairs on the comfortable couch there.
Their whole house was designed for comfort. It had none of the elegance of Ginny’s old house in Beverly Hills, but it was perfect for their life in Pasadena, which had always been much more casual than her and Mark’s life. Theirs had been more glamorous, and their house had looked it. They had been TV personalities, even if just on network news. Mark had been a very big deal, and made a lot of money. And Ginny had done well, too.
“Becky’s been telling me what you’ve been doing for him,” Alan said, referring to Blue. “I think it’s admirable, Ginny, but you can’t forget who he is and where he comes from. You need to be careful.” Alan struck her as pompous, and he annoyed her as he said it. Becky was nodding agreement.
“You mean you’re afraid he might steal something?” They both nodded, unashamed of what they had said and what they meant by it.
“I check his pockets every morning before he goes to school,” Ginny said innocently, shocked by their comment and how narrow-minded they were.
“I can’t believe you have him staying in your apartment. Why don’t you take him to a shelter? He’d probably be happier there.” Her brother-in-law had no idea what he was talking about or the conditions there. He had never even seen a homeless shelter, or who was there.
“People get beaten, mugged, and robbed in shelters every day, and women get raped,” Ginny said calmly. “I got him into a very good youth shelter where he stays when I’m away.” If he doesn’t run away, she added silently to herself. She hated how superior they felt, and the assumptions they had made about a boy they didn’t know, no matter how bright, decent, and talented he was. They had already judged him, based on their own limited experience in the suburbs in a totally sheltered life. Fortunately, their children were more open-minded than they were, and Lizzie and Margie were having fun with him. He was too young for Charlie to be interested in him, which was why he had gone to visit his girlfriend.
Ginny changed the subject, and they drifted into the topic of her work in human rights, which they disapproved of, too. They thought it was too dangerous for a woman, or for anyone, but she was doing some good in t
he world, and she loved it. Instead of acknowledging how adventurous and brave she had been to embark on something so different, Becky and Alan both told her she’d never find another husband if she didn’t give up running around the globe soon and living in refugee camps. They told her it was time to get over her survivor’s guilt.
“I don’t want another husband. I still love Mark, and I probably always will,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think he’d approve of what you’re doing, Ginny,” Alan said seriously, which Ginny thought was totally out of line.
“Maybe not,” she admitted, “but he’d think it was interesting. And he didn’t leave me much choice. I wasn’t going to sit in my empty house in Beverly Hills without him and Chris and cry for the rest of my life. This is a lot better.”
“Well, we hope you give it up soon.” He spoke for both of them, and Becky let him. She was having her fourth glass of wine of the evening by then, which surprised Ginny—she didn’t used to drink that much. “Where are you going next?” Alan asked her. “Do you know?”
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe India or Africa. I’d be happy with whatever assignment I get.” Alan looked shocked, and Becky shook her head.
“Do you have any idea how risky that could be?” he asked her as though she didn’t know.
“Yes,” she said smiling at him. “That’s why they send me to places like that, because they have problems and need human rights workers to help them.” And by now, she was a pro. Alan was probably right—Mark might have been shocked by what she was doing. But it was a lot better than committing suicide in the East River, which she had considered not that long ago. And thanks to her work, and Blue coming into her life, she was feeling a lot better now than she had in three years. Neither Becky nor Alan had any idea what that kind of tragedy was like, or what it took to survive it. And she hoped for their sake they’d never know. But they had no concept of what it was like to be in her shoes, and what it took to get out of bed every day.
They sat downstairs for a while, and then Alan went upstairs to watch tennis on TV in their room. Becky took Ginny to the guest room so she could unpack. Blue would be sleeping with Charlie.
“You don’t think he’d take anything, do you?” Becky asked her conspiratorially, and for the first time since she was fourteen, Ginny wanted to slap her.
“How can you say something like that, Becky?” She wanted to say “Who are you?,” but she didn’t. How could they have become so narrow-minded and bourgeois to think that because he was homeless, he was a thief? It was pathetic. “No, he won’t take anything,” she answered. “He never has with me.” And she hoped he didn’t make an exception to that now. They would never let her live it down if he did. But she wasn’t worried about him.
They kissed each other goodnight, and Ginny unpacked in the pretty flowered guest bedroom. Blue stuck his head in a while later, on his way to bed. Lizzie had shown him where his room was.
“I had fun tonight,” he said, smiling at her, which was more than she could say. Her sister and brother-in-law had depressed her. “I really like Lizzie, and Margie’s nice, too.”
“They’re good girls,” Ginny agreed. “Maybe we can borrow an old swimsuit tomorrow from Charlie. I forgot to buy one for you.”
“That would be really cool,” he said. He felt like he had died and gone to heaven, in Pasadena. Ginny kissed him goodnight then, and he disappeared down the hall to Charlie’s room. She closed her door softly, thinking about her father. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy to see him in his diminished state.
But even everything Becky had said to her in recent months hadn’t prepared her for how gaunt her father looked and his blank stare when he saw her. The next morning, Ginny sat next to him at the breakfast table and helped feed him, since one arm was in a cast and he had lost interest in feeding himself. She fed him a bowl of oatmeal, and after he’d finished it, he turned to look at Ginny.
“I know you, don’t I?” he said weakly.
“Yes, you do, Dad. I’m Ginny.” He nodded, and looked like he was processing the information, and then he smiled at her.
“You look like your mother,” he said in a voice that was suddenly more normal, and she could see recognition in his eyes, and it brought tears to hers. “Where have you been?” he asked her.
“I’ve been away for a long time. I live in New York now.” It was easier than explaining Afghanistan to him.
“Your mother and I used to go there on trips,” he said with a wistful look and she nodded. And he was right—she did look like her mother, more so than Becky. “I’m very tired,” he said to the room in general, and he looked it. Remembering her had taken a superhuman effort, but sometimes he had moments like that, when he remembered things, and then faded away again just as quickly.
“Do you want to go upstairs and lie down, Dad?” Becky asked him. She knew his routine. Ginny didn’t. He often napped after breakfast since he woke up so early.
“Yes, I do,” he said, and got up from the table on unsteady legs. Both his daughters helped him up the stairs, and sat him down on his bed. He stretched out then and looked at Ginny. “Margaret?” he said softly. It was her mother’s name. Ginny just nodded, and fought back tears, as she realized she should have come sooner, but he had recognized her for a few minutes. He closed his eyes then, and a moment later he was asleep, snoring softly. Becky gently rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke, and then they left him and went back downstairs.
“Will he be okay?” Ginny asked, looking worried, realizing what Becky had to contend with. It was an enormous responsibility, dealing with him. He could choke, die, fall, or get hurt at any moment. And on a good day, he could let himself out of the house and get hit by a car, or get lost and remember neither his name nor his way home. He needed full-time supervision, which Becky had provided for two years.
“He’ll be fine for now,” Becky reassured her, “but not for much longer. I’m glad you came out this weekend.”
“So am I,” Ginny said, and put her arms around her and hugged her. “Thank you for taking care of him. I couldn’t have done it, even if I lived here. It takes a special kind of person to do it.” And Becky had done it faithfully. Ginny was grateful to her for that.
“I couldn’t do what you do,” Becky said, crying. “I’d be scared shitless.” They both laughed and joined the young people at the breakfast table. They were a lively group, and Charlie had just offered to take the others to Magic Mountain for the day.
“Do you like roller coasters?” Ginny asked Blue. And he nodded with excitement in his eyes.
“I love them. I’ve been on the Cyclone in Coney Island.”
“These are a lot bigger,” she warned him.
“Good,” he said with a grin.
The whole group left a little while later. Charlie lent Blue a swimsuit for the water slide and Ginny gave Blue money. The two sisters cleaned up the kitchen, and then Ginny poured them both a cup of coffee. Ginny hoped she wouldn’t say anything unpleasant about Blue again. She didn’t. Alan came through carrying his tennis racket a few minutes later. He was wearing shorts and tennis shoes, and he grabbed a banana on the way out, and said he was late for a game.
“He’s been a good sport about Dad,” Becky said as they sipped their coffee after he left.
“It must be tough on all of you. I see it more clearly now that I’m here,” Ginny said sympathetically. “You’ve been amazing.” Even more than she’d realized.
“I have a woman who comes in to help now in the daytime. If I didn’t, I’d be trapped here. It’s been so depressing watching him fall apart.” It was a relief being able to say it to her sister. And Ginny was thinking that taking a bullet from a sniper would be a better fate than dying slowly and losing your mind. Her dad had been so intelligent and vital. It was heartbreaking to see him now, at the end. And you could see looking at him that he didn’t have much time left. At least most of the time he wasn’t in pain, except for the arm he’d broken rece
ntly, but he looked so lost. “The kids are really sweet to him, and even when he doesn’t know who they are, he enjoys them. That’s more than I can say sometimes.” She grinned at her sister. “I know who they are, and they drive me nuts. But they’re good kids.” Ginny wanted to say that Blue was, too, but she didn’t. He wasn’t family. But she didn’t have Chris to crow about anymore, and his three-year-old victories. Seeing Becky’s children reminded her of just how much she missed that, and nothing would ever replace it.
The woman who helped care for their father came at noon, and Becky asked Ginny if she wanted to go out to lunch, which sounded nice. They went to a small restaurant a few miles away, and chatted easily, and then they came back and sat at the pool. Alan had stayed at the tennis club for lunch. The kids didn’t come back until the late afternoon—they had had a ball at Magic Mountain. Blue said he nearly threw up twice, which was testimony to how cool the rides were. And with that, they all jumped into the pool, and Charlie’s girlfriend came over to join them.
Alan made a barbecue that night, as he did on most Saturdays, and Becky had a little too much wine again. Ginny went upstairs to sit with their father before dinner, but he was sound asleep the entire time. And Becky decided not to wake him for dinner. She said he would just be confused. He was slipping away slowly, but there was nothing they could do. He had stopped responding to the medication. It made Ginny sad just seeing him that way, and Blue felt sorry for her. He could see how nostalgic it made her.
They all sat in the backyard until midnight, and then everyone went to bed. Ginny lay in the dark, thinking about all of them. It felt warm and poignant being with her family, but she felt like a stranger in their midst. Her life experience now was just too different from theirs, and underneath what they said, there was always a hidden current of disapproval. Even when it was unspoken, she felt it. It was a lonely feeling. It made her feel like an outcast.
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