by Sandi Ward
But Mother wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t even consider it.
So Father took the medication for her bipolar disorder and threw it all away. And he knew. He knew what was going to happen. He knew how terrible and empty and scared she was going to feel.
Mother was angry at him, at first. And then she sank into the lowest form of misery and hopelessness. She just wanted to die. “The highs could be upsetting,” he explains. “But the lows were worse, and she spent more time that way. You remember how bad she got. I kept telling you guys it was okay, but it wasn’t okay.”
Father saw how she couldn’t get out of bed. At the same time, he was scared for the baby and he didn’t let her take any more pills. He didn’t want something to go terribly wrong with the baby and then they’d live their lives never knowing if it was because of those medications she took.
And then, of course, the baby was born and it made no difference that she’d stopped taking the pills, because Finn was born with a problem anyway. He was deaf, which would have happened whether she took those pills or not.
Mahmee had never mentioned that she had an uncle who was born deaf. It wasn’t until Finn’s doctors started asking questions that Mahmee told Father for the first time about her uncle, who was sent away as a child.
So Father felt he had made Mother suffer for nothing.
And, Father tells them, “This poor kid didn’t have to be born at all. It was my idea. And now he doesn’t have his mother anymore and he needs her so much. He’s just a baby. It’s my fault she left.”
And: “Sometimes I don’t know if I can do it, take care of this kid for the rest of my life. Because he reminds me of how your ma suffered, and I know he’ll suffer too without her. I can’t live with the guilt.”
Father puts his hands over his face, his elbows on the table.
There is a moment when Jimmy looks down at the rug, thinking. And then he takes his hand off Father’s back.
“I can’t believe you just told me that.” Jimmy looks confused. “What is wrong with you? Why would you even tell me that?” He stares at Father, appalled.
And then Jimmy stands up, tall and imposing and angry. “I hate you so much for doing that to Ma. And saying that about Finn. What kind of a person are you?” He paces back and forth for a moment, thinking.
And then, unexpectedly, Jimmy starts to cry.
It washes over him like a wave and catches him by surprise. His body, tense since Father’s panic attack, now folds in and crumples as the tears well up in his eyes. He begins to shake and puts a hand up on his eyes.
I realize, as I watch him, that I never saw Jimmy cry after Mother left. He has been calm, and resigned to the way things are, and even upbeat on many days. Maybe he hasn’t really allowed himself to think about it too hard, until now.
Mary cried many nights, and cut up things with scissors, and dyed her hair, and did what she had to do. But Jimmy never fell apart like this.
Jimmy walks a few paces away from the table. Father drops his hands from his face but doesn’t look at his son. He just listens, staring down at his lap.
“What kind of person does that, Dad?” Jimmy whispers. A tear rolls down his face. “You pressured her to have a baby? That was the last thing we needed. You took her medicine away from her knowing she was going to get worse? While she was pregnant? What if she had . . . ?” He winces, and I can see he doesn’t want to allow himself to complete that thought.
Mary frowns at her brother. But she doesn’t correct him.
Jimmy turns around in a complete circle, hands on his hips, as if searching the room for something that’s missing. “What if she had hurt herself?” he finally blurts out.
“I’m sorry,” Father whispers back, his throat hoarse.
“Yeah. Great.” Jimmy frowns, gasping to catch his breath. “I offer to go to community college and stay here and help you, and you don’t say one goddamn thing to stop me. Knowing this is partly your fault. You let me think it was all her fault. You let me think she did this herself.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jimmy’s face is red as he cries harder. “Jesus, Dad. Dad.”
Father doesn’t move. He can’t watch Jimmy cry. He can’t face it. Jimmy looks like Mother, and talks like her, and there is only grief in it. Father is helpless in front of his son.
“You are incredibly STUPID.” Jimmy says this knowing it was Mother’s favorite insult, knowing how much it is going to hurt. “And careless. And mean.”
Father turns his head away from Jimmy, unable to face him. He speaks softly, his voice now a whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want her to leave. But I messed up. She left anyway. I love your ma. I tried to take care of her. But I screwed up. And I’m sorry. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it at all.”
“I hate you.” Jimmy stands very still.
Please, Jimmy, I think. Please don’t do this.
“Jimmy,” Mary scolds him, a sharp tone in her voice. “Stop.”
Mary’s voice seems to snap Jimmy out of his tirade. He finally sighs, a heavy sound, and rubs his forehead. “All right. Okay. Fine. The truth is, it’s not all your fault. Don’t forget she left me because of me too. It’s my fault too.”
Father immediately turns and looks at Jimmy. He gets up and walks over to his son, grabbing his shoulder gently. “It has nothing to do with you. You should never think that it did. Why would you think that?” he wants to know.
“She didn’t like me either, Dad. I messed up too.” A thought washes over Jimmy, and I can see the shock in his face. “Oh my God. I made it worse. I didn’t help her at all. I drove her crazy.” Jimmy convulses in tears all over again.
“Jimmy, none of this is your fault. Your ma loves you. Don’t—”
Mary is still sitting at the table. She finally leans toward them and interjects. “Guys. Please stop. Please, come sit down.”
A bird calls loudly from a tree branch just outside the window. The air drifting in is warm, fresh, and light. It’s like nature is reminding our family to start over.
Jimmy thinks about it. He looks at Mary. The tears still well in his eyes, but he takes a deep breath, in and out. He and Father come back to the table and sit.
“Okay.” Jimmy is drained now, his face mottled and pink. He wipes off his cheeks. “I said what I had to say. I said it. So that happened.” Jimmy glances over at Mary, and they exchange a look. “But now. Now, Pops, you can—”
“Apologize,” Mary finishes the sentence. “See, now, Daddy, yeah, that’s horrible. You were horrible. Maybe we all were. But now you can apologize, and write Ma this letter, and wish her a happy life with Robert. You see, that’s what you can give her now. You can do this.”
Father puts his hands over his face. He takes a deep breath and then forces himself to sit up straight. His eyes are very red, and he wipes his nose with the back of his wrist.
“I’ll get you a bottle of water,” Jimmy offers, and gets up. He shakes his head. “No wonder you feel guilty. No wonder you’ve been acting so . . . Jesus, Pops. I don’t know who’s worse, you or Ma.” He walks out to the kitchen.
Jimmy is angrier with Father than Mary is. Regardless of how Mother treated him, Jimmy is the oldest child and he is very close to her.
But Jimmy’s a good boy. I believe that by tomorrow he will have slept on it and have decided to forgive his dad. That’s just how he is.
Mary leans her head on Father’s arm. “It’s okay, Daddy. We all love Ma. And we all wanted her to come back. Yeah, you did a bad thing, but so did she. She didn’t have to run off and live with Robert.”
Father glances down at her.
“She hurt you back already, right?” Mary turns so her forehead is right up against Father’s shoulder. “She already got even. You said she was thinking about leaving anyway, no matter what you did. And if she had taken her medication while she was pregnant, maybe Finn would have been born with more problems than just being deaf. Who knows. There’s a lot of what ifs.”
He kisses the top of her head. Father says he’s sorry because she and Jimmy and Finn are the ones who are paying for it now, with their mother gone.
Mary closes her eyes. “She can see us anytime she wants, Daddy. Anytime. How often she sees us is her choice now. Just let her go, Dad. That’s exactly what you can do for her. Let her go and live her life. And you know we’re going to help you with Finn. Finn is going to be okay.”
When Jimmy comes in with the water, Mary exits. Jimmy sits in the same seat, right next to Father, turned to face him. Father dries off Jimmy’s cheek with his thumb. Jimmy just looks exhausted now, his eyes swollen.
Mary comes back with a book and sits in the window seat with me. She strokes my back.
“You need any help writing that letter, let me know,” Mary offers to Father, sitting in a spot of sun. I get up, stretch my legs, and climb in her lap.
Father looks at me. My eyes start to close as I soak up the sun.
Write it, I think, hoping he can read my thoughts. It’s a good idea.
He taps his pen to the paper.
“Start with Dear Carrie,” Jimmy jokes, wiping his face again.
Father returns a sad smile and starts writing.
27
Dance Party
After Charlotte has worked with Finn one night, Father tells her that Sean is coming over for supper in a few days. Father would like Charlotte to meet him. Sean’s wife has offered to bring fish chowder.
Father asks Charlotte if they could possibly make a salad together. “After all,” he tells her, “you like salad.”
I assume Father remembers Charlotte’s “no cooking” rule. But he probably doesn’t think making a salad counts as cooking.
She agrees, but adds: “Tommy Sullivan, if you walk away from that kitchen counter for even one minute . . .”
He promises he won’t.
Of course, when the day of the dinner arrives and they have returned from the supermarket with oyster crackers and drinks and vegetables, Father is useless with the salad. He doesn’t even know how to peel carrots. And he does walk away from the kitchen counter, to talk to Jimmy, and then he has another pressing chore to do, and then he has to check on Finn.
Charlotte lets him get away with it, biting her tongue.
Charlotte Davenport, you should know better, I think, watching from the kitchen floor with curiosity. You’re setting a bad precedent. Start as you mean to go on.
When Father comes back into the kitchen and the salad is done, Charlotte wipes her hands on a towel and just looks at him. He takes her in his arms and tucks a hand under her blouse in the back. When he moves his head forward to kiss her, she turns her head away from him. But he persists and gets his mouth on hers, and she doesn’t really resist very hard.
Suddenly, he has all the time in the world to kiss her. I guess it’s more fun to kiss than peel carrots.
I never said Father was perfect.
He did, in fact, drive Mother crazy all the time.
“I love you,” he says to her.
“Yes, I know,” she answers. “I love you too.” She whispers this last part, as if she is confessing something that’s been a secret all along.
She is weak to his charms. I am thankful for that.
Charlotte is funny. She is still shy with him. I know Father’s gaze is intense, but sometimes she acts as if she has never kissed him before. Every time he touches her, it is new to her all over again. Maybe she’s not used to another human looking at her like that.
Sean and his wife are polite and kind and so happy to meet Charlotte. The only criticism I hear all night is when Sean is helping his wife out of her coat. She whispers to Sean, “She’s a little young.” But they are turned away from the others, so Father and Charlotte do not hear her.
“Look at that,” Sean remarks. “Look at Carrie’s cat. She heard you.” Sean’s wife turns to look at me as I continue staring at them.
They think I’m hilarious.
Jimmy takes Mary and Aruna out for a bite to eat, but Finn stays at home with us. Charlotte carries Finn into the kitchen, and the others follow.
This group does not stand on ceremony. The table is set in the kitchen. No one in this family actually uses the dining room for dining.
Sean’s wife brings a big pot over to the stove to reheat her chowder.
Father quietly gets Sean’s attention, and then motions toward Charlotte while her back is turned and she is fussing with Finn and the high chair. Father puts up his hands as if to say, What do you think?
Despite all his talk about being loved by the ladies, Sean blushes and awkwardly shuffles his feet. He tips his head to one side and looks Charlotte over, as if he’s contemplating buying a piece of furniture and isn’t quite sure if it will fit in his living room. He gives Father a thumbs-up and a nod.
Father smiles. He looks . . . he looks . . . I haven’t seen this look on his face in a while.
Happy?
Really happy.
While they eat, I linger under the table with Jasper, waiting to see if anyone furtively (or accidentally) drops us any scraps. But it’s chowder and salad, so there isn’t much to drop that would interest us. Maybe I’ll get a little piece of fish later in my bowl. During supper, the humans play songs on the radio, and Sean makes several trips to the refrigerator to pull out more drinks. Everyone seems relaxed, and I’m pleased to find that Charlotte is doing okay with this bunch.
Toward the end of the meal, I hear Sean’s wife talking, and her voice is getting shrill and tight. I realize that she and Sean are getting into an argument about something. Sean asks Father for his opinion. “Tommy, help me here,” he says.
I expect Father to jump in and defend his friend, but something surprising happens. From my vantage point under the table, I see Charlotte reach over and put her hand on Father’s thigh and rub gently.
Father, who was tapping his foot, stops moving. It completely catches him off guard. He does not respond to Sean, because his brain is momentarily distracted. There is an awkward silence. Charlotte then asks Sean’s wife a question in her chipper voice, changing the subject.
I find this soooo amusing. Charlotte is smart. And intuitive. I give her credit for that.
A song comes on the radio, and Sean is suddenly snapping his fingers and getting to his feet, pulling his wife up. I don’t know if it’s an old song they’ve known for years, or a brand-new one they all like, but it’s got Sean moving and dancing right in the kitchen, and his wife joins him.
“C’mon, Tom. C’mon!” It’s funny to see Sean shake his butt.
I move out from under the table and jump up to watch from the armchair in the living room. Music and loud noise are not my thing.
Father laughs at Sean. He looks down at his soup bowl and then over to Charlotte.
I know what he’s thinking. He’d like her to join in. I haven’t seen him dance in ages.
But this is something he used to do with Mother. It feels suddenly wrong, or strange, and fraught with the possibility of failure. Charlotte might refuse. She might not like to dance. Or she might feel unsure about it.
Father leans in and whispers to her, and then I see them both slowly standing, cautiously, as if being careful not to step on each other’s feet. Father leads her away from the table, and I realize I am holding my breath watching them.
But I exhale as I see Father has figured it out. He puts his hand around her waist and pulls her hips up against his, and he puts his forehead right up against hers. She smiles, shyly. Father has always been a good dancer, and I quickly see Charlotte cannot dance at all. But he leans into her and leads her, so there is no way she can feel awkward or excluded. Father mouths the words of the song to her, and Sean sees this and cheers him on.
Charlotte’s face is red. The words of this song must be somewhat embarrassing, I think, but I think she looks very happy too.
Jimmy, Aruna, and Mary have just walked in and heard the music. They appear in the doorway of th
e kitchen.
Jimmy stretches to take off his sweatshirt, surveying the scene. “It’s a Sean Murphy and Tommy Sullivan dance party,” he says dryly, looking at Aruna.
The kids laugh. The girls strip off their spring coats and throw them on the couch. Then they start dancing too, in the living room. Jimmy dances with Aruna, heads nodding and their hands in the air. Mary picks up Jasper and bounces and twirls him around.
Finn and I are the only ones not dancing. But let’s be real. He’s a baby who can’t hear the music.
And I’m just a cat.
28
A Sweet Life, Again
Let me tell you about my father.
He has a firm hand, but he is not too rough. Father is a quiet human most of the time, which I appreciate. He’s comfortable just sitting with me on the couch for a long stretch while he watches the television.
Sometimes he will read a book in bed while lying on his stomach, and he has a warm, strong, broad back that I like to climb up and sit on. Otherwise, I usually sleep by his feet. I enjoy our nights alone, when Father and I can really stretch out.
On the nights that Charlotte sleeps over, sometimes I get to snuggle between two humans. It is a great feeling, being sandwiched between them. Other nights, I find space on Father’s pillow. I am a fat cat, but there is occasionally room for me behind his head when he nestles up close to her.
Father likes to whisper in Charlotte’s ear in the morning, before he gets up. He always listened very carefully to Mother, but now he is the one talking.
I think he is talking because he has been through so much, and life is short, and we need someone to listen to our stories.
When Father goes out, he always comes back. He is always here because there are three children and a cat and a Not a Cat who depend on him.
Little Finn is walking now and needs extra attention. Father has built a gate at the top of the stairs, so sometimes I get accidentally trapped up there with Finn. But I don’t mind. Someone is always up there with us.