“Sounds like someone else I know,” Pandora said. “Baxter won’t touch them, either. It’s pizza, bagels, hamburgers, or nothing.”
“When we used to take the kids to McDonald’s once upon a time, I’d have to scrape off all the onions, pickles, and ketchup on Mo’s hamburger, or else he’d throw a total conniption fit,” her mom said. “Remember that, Thistle?”
Edith did remember. She also remembered that when her daddy ended up coming along, he demanded that Mo eat his burger, onions, pickles, ketchup, and all. “Why do you think you deserve special treatment, huh, boy?” he used to ask a sullen Mo, who raged silently and refused to eat until he got his way. She’d admired this quality of his, his ability to stand up for himself, for later it became even handier when he had to stand up not just for himself but also for Jacob, whom her dad used to corner and shout at, saying, “Well, which are you—a little boy or a little girl?” Jacob, who got bullied at school only to come home to take more bullying from her dad. At the time, of course, Edith found it hysterically funny, though she slowly realized that she only laughed to hide her own mortal fear, for he could turn on any one of them at any moment, and often did. His bullying knew no bounds—he liked to keep the house at a steady 80 degrees Fahrenheit in summer, which they all found far too warm, and an even steadier 61 degrees Fahrenheit in winter, which they all found far too chilly. Sometimes, at night, her mom raised or lowered the thermostat by a few degrees, and it was up to one of the kids, usually Mo, to return it to where it had been before he noticed. This worked well for a while until he eventually caught on. The next day, he installed a plastic cover with a lock, the key to which he had on him at all times. His excuse for keeping the house either too hot or too cold, he said, had to do with their part in conserving electricity and saving the environment, although Jacob rightly understood that it just came down to dollars and cents. “Cheapie the Jew rides again,” Jacob liked to say of him behind his back. Mo seconded this and gleefully joined in the roasting, while Edith abstained.
An hour later, Pandora pulled onto Von Trapp Lane just in time to pass a police car driving away in the opposite direction. “This doesn’t bode well,” her mom said, her voice fragile and throaty once again. Edith looked at her, the transformation she’d undergone at Rejuvenate reversing and quickly undoing itself the closer they got to the house.
Mo and Jacob were stationed in the yard with unhappy looks on their faces. Jacob raised a hand into the air and pretended to stab himself in the gut. Had Invisible Girl arrived on the scene just in time to step out of the shadows and put things right?
Pandora pulled into the driveway and the second she came to a stop, Edith leaped out and hurried over to her brothers. “You didn’t…Did something happen to Daddy?” she asked, glancing at her brothers for signs of blood. Blood had not been a part of the plan.
“Perish the thought, dear sister,” Jacob said, “for our father, King Julian of Crapmenistan, is resting peaceably in his chambers and expelling intestinal gas through his anus, no doubt.”
“Oh, that’s so funny, Jacob,” Mo snorted, mock-laughing. “But thanks to this one’s boyfriend, who opened his damn German mouth, we now have a serious problem, because the old man’s threatening to leave.”
“Dietrich said what to Daddy about what?” she asked, her head still muzzy from the tequila.
Worse, though, she was suddenly queasy, her stomach churning from the fried calamari, which was not sitting well. In fact, none of this was sitting well with her. She desperately wanted to put on her dress and her heels and hightail it to Pomona, where she’d be treated with the respect of her station as a leading luminary in the field of ethics. But did anyone in her family ever take an interest in her career? Did they ever see her as anyone but the unattractive middle child whose marriage had fallen apart, who continued to struggle with her weight, and who had sex with wildly inappropriate men? No, the moment she stepped back into the family fray, she was as invisible as ever, which was just another reason she wanted nothing to do with her brothers’ asinine, murderous plot. She loved her mom, but her mom’s life was her own and had nothing to do with Edith anymore, nothing to do with any of them anymore. What made her brothers think that killing their dad would somehow restore order to the universe? Wasn’t it better just to cut their losses and walk away?
“I was cleaning out the trunk of the rental car when Diet came out of the house to tell me that Dad was ‘on the war course.’ And sure enough the old man appeared a second later and he’s carrying on about his money clip and he knows for a fact that the Mexicans stole it. He’s making a beeline directly for them, hollering about INS and immigration and how they had no business in this country, although he had no idea if they’re illegal or not. But leave it up to him to assume the worst, right?”
Yes, leave it up to her dad to assume the worst about others and leave it up to Jacob to assume the worst about him. “So add this to his list of offenses,” she said. “Bravo, Jacob.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” he said. “So he’s standing at the curb, shouting at them to return his money clip and that there better not be a single dollar missing, when Diet taps him on the shoulder,” and Jacob demonstrated it on Mo. “ ‘Dr. Jacobson, instead of shouting at them, maybe you have misplaced your money clip in the house,’ he said. And of course this doesn’t go over well with the old man, who actually mocks Diet. Yes, mocks him, accent and all. I’m about to say something when Diet crosses the street to speak to the three men, who are loading the equipment back onto the trailer. That’s when our dear beloved dad goes into the house and calls the police. I should mention that Diet’s pretty much the most morally upright person I’ve ever met in my life. He honestly believes in the goodness of others, even in that thing we call a father. Once I made a nasty remark about the Gypsies who hang out all over Berlin selling postcards and while you’re browsing, the kids pickpocket you. It happened to Grandpa Ernie when Ma and I took that trip with them to Europe. Anyway, the Roma are actually not nice people. I made an off-the-cuff remark about them to Diet, like how they’re parasites feeding off the kindness of Germany and should be rounded up and deported. This completely set him off and he said, ‘This is the same line of reasoning the Nazis used on your grandparents,’ which absolutely took me aback, because the Jews weren’t preying on unsuspecting Germans or tourists, they were very much a part of the fabric of German life, so the comparison, I told him, was fallacious and—”
“Yeah, he’s definitely the most morally upright anti-Semite who’s ever stayed in my house,” Mo said.
“—insulting. But upon later reflection, I saw he had a point,” he continued. “And by the way, Mo, you can just suck it. Every German isn’t anti-Semitic and every Jew doesn’t hate the Germans. Case in point,” and he pointed to himself.
“What about when you went to visit his parents in Munich and they took you to the symphony? You said his dad ‘got a glint in his eye’ when he pointed out Hitler’s old residence, then went on to say how much ‘he admired the man.’ These were your words, Jacob.”
“Boys, enough!” Edith said, stepping between them. “I can’t listen to any of this right now. Besides…” But she lost track of the thought, for the heat, albeit dry, was going straight to her head, and her stomach was bloated and cramping, as if someone were drumming on it from the inside out. Contrary to the comment her mom had made earlier, Edith was not premenstrual and had just had her period, which meant one of two things—either the Stardust Hotel had served her rejuvenating squid or she was letting her nerves get the better of her.
Turning, Edith walked away from her brothers into the cool house, to lie down on the sofa, hoping that whatever this was would pass. She fell almost instantly into a deep sleep in which she dreamed her mom had turned her into a white peacock that Jacob then ran over. She awoke with a start to find her mom standing over her.
“It looks like we’re leaving,” she said. “Your father’s loading up the minivan.”
/> “Ma, you do realize that it’s rush hour in Los Angeles,” she said. “Maybe you guys should at least wait until tomorrow morning.”
“You know your father, Thistle,” her mom said. “He just wants to go, so we’re going.”
“What about you?” she asked. “What do you want?”
“I think you already know the answer to that,” her mom said.
“Then let him go on his own and you can fly back,” she said. “Your children came here to spend Passover with you and Daddy, but if he’s going to be difficult, it’s probably better that he leave before someone loses an eye.”
“I can’t let him drive back alone,” her mom said. “He’s terrible with directions, you know that. He’ll end up in Mexico if I’m not there to direct.”
“The minivan has a state-of-the-art navigation system, Ma,” she said. “All he has to do is tap in your address and it will tell him exactly where to go.”
“I know where I’d like him to go,” her mom said. “This may be my last Passover with all of my children and grandchildren, and he’s behaving like a real schmuck. Maybe if you asked him to stay, he’d change his mind? You know he’s always had a soft spot for his Eddie. You are your father’s daughter, after all.”
At any other time, these words might have soothed, even inspired her, yet now they only managed to intensify her panic and distress. Part of her wanted her daddy to get as far away from there as possible, while the other part of her wanted to honor her mom’s wishes. Circumstances being what they were, Edith knew her only chance at convincing her dad to change his mind was to convince herself that he would be safe, that all of this talk about killing him was just that—talk—fantastical, improbable, discreditable talk, a way for her brothers to cope with the eventual loss of a parent, and the far more likable and agreeable of the two.
Before going to speak to her dad, Edith grabbed her dress and heels from the closet and went into the bathroom to change. She applied lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara, thinking as she did about Ephraim and fretting over how she was going to handle him and his runaway messages. That he’d broken into her house was one thing, but that he’d defiled himself in her shower was something else altogether. Was she going to have to take out a restraining order against him the way Tatiana had taken one out on her? Granted, her crush on Sheik Cohen had carried her into some pretty harrowing, uncharted waters, the currents of which had kept drawing her farther out to sea on the rickety raft of her own romantic delusions. The ethical standards by which she’d gauged his interest in her had been faulty, she’d realized that long ago, faulty and full of extraordinary loopholes. It was unfortunate that it had all ended the way it had, yet if anyone came out the rosier for it, it was Sheik, who’d gotten a novel out of it, spinning the grisly events into book sales and media appearances. She still hoped, some thirteen years later, that his publisher had dropped him, that he’d spiraled into one of his drunken, psychotic depressions, and that Tatiana had left him. While Edith wasn’t exactly thrilled with the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror, she was even less thrilled about wishing harm on Sheik, his career, and his marriage. Not to care—wasn’t this what years of therapy had taught her? Wasn’t this what she ought to have been reaching for still?
Edith found her dad at the minivan rearranging the suitcases. His fishing rod, tackle box, and waders lay on the driveway, her mom’s spare oxygen tank sitting on top of the cooler. Edith had been fishing with him many times and thought this might prove her only way in.
“Daddy, you’re not really going, are you? I was hoping we could spend some time together in Malibu. You know, fishing off the pier,” she said. “Mo says it’s some of the best fishing in the area.”
“He says that, does he? Well, I tell you what. I know when I’m not wanted,” he said. “I only want to be around people who want to be around me.”
“Don’t I count, Daddy?” she asked, the sun bearing down on her, inducing a painful throb behind her left eye, which, if she weren’t careful, might bloom into one of her legendary migraines.
“You’re the only one of my children who does,” he said.
“Then stay for me,” she wheedled. “I’ll protect you,” and the moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t.
“From your brothers? Those two broke-ass, ungrateful punks?” her dad snarled, his face pulled into a menacing sneer. “No need, Eddie, because your father’s going to have the last laugh yet.”
“If you stay, you have to promise to play nicely,” she said. “If not for me, do it for Ma. Will you do that?”
“Roz wants to get the hell out of here as much as I do,” he said. And you probably truly believe that, Edith thought. “I’ve told Mo time and again that those boys are growing up into TV and computer junkies and that they need to sit still and read a book. Exercise the mind, not their fingers or their mouths. You can’t wring intellect out of a stone, I suppose.” Meaning that her dad believed that Mo was raising his kids to be just like him, raising them to be shallow, entertainment addicts. But Mo was an incredible father, far better than her dad had ever been.
“I’ve already talked to Ma about your staying and she’s okay with it,” Edith said as her dad removed the suitcases and she returned the fishing gear to the minivan. She went for the cooler, lifting up the green tank, and froze, for it was perceivably lighter than her mom’s other tank. She checked the knob surreptitiously, but there was no sign of tampering. The seal on it hadn’t been touched or broken, a fact that Edith found both strange and disconcerting.
She set the tank in the back, recalling her conversation with Pandora, still refusing to believe the worst about her dad, who was already wheeling the suitcases down the sidewalk. She half hoped he might pause to take notice of the way she was dressed, to tell her how pretty she looked, and to ask where she was going, yet he simply held up a hand in a wave, then disappeared into the house and shut the door.
Edith pondered what was a fairly normal exchange with her dad except for one thing—the earlier apprehension, which he’d expressed about his sons, had vanished. Something had changed his mind about leaving, and it certainly wasn’t Edith.
“I can’t protect you from them, Daddy,” she said to herself, turning to the house to find Mo and Jacob heading for her.
“Nice work, Thistle,” Jacob said.
“Yeah, you certainly earned your keep,” Mo said.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “I did it for Ma.”
“Then even nicer work,” Jacob said, helping her into the van. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, reaching for her seat belt.
As she did, she quickly glanced back into the dim cargo hold for the syringe, but it was gone. Though beads of sweat rolled down her face and back, her skin was chilled, her pulse excitable, and the spot above her left eye twitching and throbbing. No, she couldn’t protect her dad from them any more than they could protect her mom from him. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. But all of this would have to wait until later, she conceded, bidding her brothers good-bye. Driving off, she caught them in the side mirror, their faces as blank and eerie as she’d ever seen them, inscrutable but for the smiles they wore, smiles that belied the uncontainable relief and bitter scheming they hoped to mask.
When Edith came to the stop sign at the end of the street, she paused longer than necessary, thinking, No, I can’t let them do it. I won’t. What kind of ethicist would I be if I did? But then she continued on, following her phone’s instructions to merge onto the 101 going south, then onto the 210 going east. She felt good behind the wheel of the van and was able to look down into the other cars, everyone headed home or to someplace else this weekend, which marked both the Hebrews’ flight out of Egypt and the resurrection of Jesus Christ. She thought about that Jewish family who’d died such a horrible death on the 405, suspecting it was only a matter of time before it happened on one of the quiet
streets in Toco Hills, or on Interstate 85 in Atlanta, out north toward Sandy Springs, where many Jews lived. The world was an unsafe place for the Jews these days, her people, who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. They’d given Israel back, yet the world still came for them. How could anyone have guessed that a mere eighty years after the end of World War Two the Jews would be made to roam the world yet again? It was despicable what was happening, which only made what her brothers wanted to do that much more reprehensible. How could they ask her to be part of such a macabre plan, to take another Jewish life, when they knew every single Jewish life was precious, so easily and readily extinguished? If they’d thought it through, they would have understood the pitfalls, the traces they were bound to leave behind and that the police would surely investigate. She was not about to go to jail because her brothers wanted to do a nice turn for a woman who might not survive into next month.
Over an hour and a half later, Edith finally arrived in Claremont, which sat in the Pomona Valley, the San Gabriel Mountains rising to the north and the Chino Hills to the south, the college itself sitting in the middle of town. The first thing she noticed upon driving through the gates was the ravishing beauty of the campus, full of luscious green lawns and giant palm trees, the architecture done up in the Moorish style with Spanish-tile roofs, everything perfectly manicured and maintained. The second thing she noticed was just how much lighter she felt driving through this campus as opposed to Emory’s, whose heavy white-marbled, neoclassical-designed buildings she found oppressive and ugly and very out of place, looking more like the Acropolis than a top-tier, research-one university. She was unhappy to see that while the rest of California was dying of drought, this institution of higher learning was awash in water—pun intended, she thought, passing an enormous fountain that might well have irrigated one or two hundred acres of farmland.
The third thing Edith noticed on her drive along N. College Avenue toward Pearsons Hall was the emptiness. Where was everyone? Had the students already left for Easter? The fourth thing she noticed—actually it went hand in hand with the third—was the police presence, both campus and municipal, which made her wonder if some dignitary or important politician weren’t nearby. Was that fascist President Cox, Republican granddaughter of Richard and Pat Nixon, speaking on campus? (She still found it amusing that in comparison to the many other adjectives used to describe her, the least offensive of them all was “Republican.”)
Tell Me How This Ends Well Page 21