The Real Mother

by Judith Michael

  “How do you know that’s what it is?”

  “I’ve smelled it before.”

  “Why doesn’t he just leave?” Carrie asked. “It’s awful that he just…hangs around.”

  “You’ve said that about twenty times,” Doug observed.

  “Well, it is awful. Abby, can’t we do something? I don’t like him in the house.”

  “I called the Pierces and the Abbots,” Abby said. “Nobody’s home. It’s like everybody we know cleared out of our neighborhood.”

  “I don’t want us to go somewhere else; I want him to go somewhere.”

  “We could call the sheriff and have him evicted,” said Doug.

  “What are you talking about?” Carrie asked.

  “I don’t know. They do it in a lot of movies.”

  “You can’t evict somebody who hasn’t done anything wrong,” said Abby. “Anyway, are you going to call the sheriff and say you don’t want your brother in the house? That sounds pretty bad.”

  “Does Chicago have a sheriff?” Carrie asked. “I thought they were only in the Wild West.”

  “Oh, forget it,” Doug said glumly.

  “He’s quiet now,” Abby said. “If we just ignore him, we’ll be fine.”

  “I know,” Carrie said. “But I wish Sara was here.”

  “Me, too,” said Doug, and he looked at Abby as if she could make Sara appear.

  Abby leaped up, turned down the volume, and savagely punched numbers into the telephone. “Reuben, where’s Sara?” she demanded.

  Carrie and Doug listened, holding hands, which they almost never did. When Abby hung up, they both said, “When will she be here?”

  “They’re getting a car.” Abby stood uncertainly in the middle of the library, not knowing how she was going to get them all through the hours of waiting. “Sara says they’re on their way.”

  “But when will they get here?”

  Abby sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s too long!” Carrie exclaimed. “They have to get here sooner!”

  “They should drive faster,” Doug said.

  “I can’t do anything about it,” Abby said, losing her temper. “I have to wait just like you and I don’t like it, either, but they can’t get a plane and they’re going to drive all night and probably not get any sleep and if you don’t stop complaining I won’t talk to you anymore.” She waited but Carrie said nothing, shrinking back into the couch, still holding Doug’s hand. Abby turned the volume up. “We’re going to sit here all night and watch all our movies, every single one if we feel like it, and make popcorn, and then Sara will be home, and everything will be fine.”

  “Do we have to go to bed?” Doug asked.

  “I said we’d stay here all night.”

  “I don’t want to go upstairs.”

  “Fine. We’re staying here.”

  “I don’t want to go upstairs, either,” said Carrie.

  “We’re staying right here!”

  “Can we have ice cream and popcorn?” Doug asked.

  “You can have anything you want.”

  “Anything?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Starting now?”

  “Anytime.”

  “We’re going to the kitchen and get ice cream, and then after that we’ll make popcorn.”

  “Fine.”

  “We can really have both?”

  “Damn it—!”

  They scurried out, and Abby sank into an armchair, letting the silence settle around her. She was exhausted. How did Sara manage everything? No wonder lots of times she shut herself up in her own room; she needed this lovely silence. Not to have to talk, to explain, to make others feel good when you didn’t feel good yourself. The silence stretched out, and she let it settle around her, hearing clattering from the kitchen, and chatter, which meant they were happy and not worrying, at least for now. The telephone rang, and she grabbed it.

  “Hi, love,” said Sara, “I just wanted you to know we’re in the car and leaving New York. Is everything quiet?”

  “We’re fine. We’re watching movies and Doug and Carrie are getting ice cream and everything’s quiet. Don’t worry about us. Here, they want to talk to you.”

  Doug and Carrie were coming back and Abby held out the telephone. “So how come you’re not flying home?” Doug asked.

  “We can’t get a plane. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Tell me what you did today. Do you have a lot of homework?”

  “I did it. We all did, so we could watch movies. Abby says we can watch all of them, every one we have. And we’re having ice cream and then popcorn. Abby said we could. Do you want to talk to Carrie?”

  He held out the telephone and Carrie took it and said that everything was fine, they were okay, nothing was happening, but there was this boy at school… Listening, Abby thought it was as if the three of them were in an unspoken conspiracy to keep Sara from worrying. Carrie had not even mentioned whatever had sent her up to Mack’s room that afternoon, nor how upset she was about… whatever she was upset about. She still refused to tell Abby, and Abby had stopped asking her.

  But right then, in the library, as Carrie talked about school, it seemed for a few minutes like an ordinary evening, with Sara calling from work to tell them when she’d be home and to make sure they had everything they needed for dinner. Just another night, Abby thought, and curled up in her chair with the dish of ice cream Doug had brought her, with two biscotti stuck in it like rabbit ears, and Doug took back the telephone and Carrie chose a movie while he said good-bye to Sara. “And we’ll see you in a little while, right?”

  “Right,” Sara replied, and when she hung up, she said to Reuben, “I hope they know how elastic ‘a little while’ is.”

  “Isn’t time supposed to be elastic when you’re young?”

  “If you mean it stretches out endlessly when you’re anxious for something to happen, yes.”

  “So it will stretch out for all of us. Do you think you could get some sleep so you could take over driving in a couple of hours?”

  “I can’t sleep, but of course I’ll drive.”

  “Try to sleep. There’s a pillow on the backseat.”

  Sara smiled. “You thought of everything.” She arranged the pillow and put her head back, closing her eyes. “Don’t turn off the radio.”

  “It might keep you awake.”

  “It definitely will keep you awake.”

  Reuben took her hand and kissed the palm. In the close darkness of the car, he felt a deep tenderness for her, not sexual, but protective and nurturing. He wanted to give to her, just give, without specificity, anything she might ever need or dream of. And he knew she felt the same urgency: both of them wanting to give, openly, steadily, without expectation of reward: give freely to each other whatever each could give that would make their separate and joined lives full and fulfilled.

  When had he ever felt this before? He had not; he had not known himself capable of it. He had not known he would find a woman capable of offering it to him.

  They had not talked about this, but Reuben knew it with absolute clarity. He supposed he would have known it in any circumstances, once they had found each other, but it seemed to him now that sharing the frustrations and inchoate worries of the past hours, the feelings of helplessness and then a regaining of control, and now this race to get to the children, had bound them in new ways that transcended the attachment of two people who had decided they would share their lives, without, at the time, having any idea what that sharing might encompass.

  He did not resent this; he welcomed it. Never before had he been responsible for someone who was not dependent. Now he knew how much he had missed that, especially now, when he knew Sara’s strength, and knew that she, like he, needed not guidance, but support.

  The highway was crowded, as others turned to driving for their travel. In the stream of cars, he tried to keep up his speed, hoping for a clear highway as they moved west across New Jersey and into Pe
nnsylvania. He glanced at Sara. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing steadily, but her hands were clenched in her lap; she was not asleep, but willing her body to rest so that she could drive when it was her turn. He wanted to touch her, to warm her tense hands and relax them, to hold her so she would not feel worried or fearful, would not even imagine worrisome or fearful things.

  I love you, Reuben said to Sara silently, and wondered at the simplicity of a phrase, that, at one time, with one person, contained a universe and a lifetime.

  And yet…The thought sprang abruptly: You’re driving to a house where there are problems, where there are three children who need help and advice, comfort, encouragement, love, parenting. Where there’s a brother who’s a wild card and may be involved in criminal activities. Where there are demands you have never faced. It was one thing, he mused, to marry and then have a baby—babies—to guide through the stages of childhood and adolescence; it was another to leap into a maelstrom of them without preparation. Even worse: to leap without knowing if these particular adolescents wanted him or gave a damn whether or how quickly he learned (or failed) to offer all that they required. It was almost a given, he thought, that they would prefer the familiar and predictable: Sara by herself, the four of them together with no interference from outside. Why would they want anyone else? A father to replace the one who had abandoned them? If they did, or thought they did, what would they expect of him? And how could a man who had never been a father even begin to meet those expectations?

  Is that what I want with this woman? All the baggage she brings with her? To love her, to be with her, to share my life with her …these I want with all my heart. But all of it will be shaped by her obligations, responsibilities, distractions. Even today, when much is changing, most men and women who fall in love and marry, meet unencumbered: two people finding their own direction as a couple, eventually easing—yes, that is the only way to say it—into parenthood.

  Sara and I can never have that.

  After weeks of wrangling with Ardis to be free while longing for Sara, after the discoveries of their first hours together in New York, after the traumatic events of today, he never would have thought he would have doubts. But now, all toward which they were driving came into focus. At the center was Sara, surrounded by three young children, a brother who was unpredictable at best, a helpless mother, a life of complications, while, at the center of the life behind him, lay independence, a world of prestige, and the multiple attractions offered a successful, eligible male in the urban centers of the world.

  Was ever a choice so starkly presented?

  He looked at Sara again. She had not moved but she was watching him. Reuben wondered how clearly his thoughts had shown on his face. She smiled, and stretched out her hand, and he took it, and they were quiet, holding thoughts that may or may not have meshed. But for Reuben, that silence and the clasp of their hands were all that truly mattered. In the dark intimacy of the car flickeringly illuminated by the red taillights of cars in front of them, the glaring headlights of those behind, and streaks of lights as they sped past towns along the highway, with talk and music alternating on the radio as an undercurrent to his thoughts, he wanted her beside him, anywhere, everywhere, burdened or not.

  Every couple starts out with obligations, responsibilities, distractions, he thought, realizing with faint amusement that he was stating the obvious. There are no magic couples who start free and clear as newborns. We’ll deal with what we have, and what we are. And I’m not the only one who has a lot to learn; five of us will be learning at the same time. We’ll figure it out, and make it work, because Sara and I will not admit to an alternative.

  “I have to call home,” Sara said. She sat up, and took the cell phone from the console between them.

  Reuben lowered the radio volume, and his smile met hers. “Of course you do,” he said.

  SIXTEEN

  I’m on my way over,” Mack said on the telephone. “Just giving you a heads-up.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” Rosa demanded.

  “No.” He looked at his watch. “Son of a bitch. Time flies when you’re having fun. I’ll be right over.”

  “It’s four-thirty in the morning, you woke me up, I have an eight-o’clock class tomorrow—today, actually—I’ve had exactly thirty minutes’ sleep, and I’m not interested in you right now.”

  “But you’re interested in sex, right? Like always.”

  “Come off it, Mack. Go to sleep. Call me tomorrow.”

  “I have to come over now. In fact, I’ve been with you most of the night.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been with you since, oh, ten or so tonight. Maybe eleven.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve been with my friends until about an hour ago.”

  “Yeah, but I was there. Look, it’s no big deal; all you have to say is I’ve been there since eleven tonight, in your room, you know, you were with your friends and I was reading. The thing is, you knew I was there. Right?”

  “It sounds like an alibi.”

  “Hey, who said anything—look, you’d say I was there, that’s all. What the fuck, Rosa, I’m with you a lot, how much could it hurt to say I was there tonight?”

  “An alibi for what? What did you do? Never mind, I don’t want to know. You’re crazy, Mack. You want me to lie for you? Why would I do that?”

  “For Christ’s sake, I’m asking you—”

  “To lie for you. Why should I? Because we’ve been together awhile? Come on, Mack, you’re cute and not bad in bed but we’re not exactly going out. Anyway, you’re weird, you know, always trying to control everything, me included, but what you really want is for somebody to take care of you, me, I guess. How can you do both? It’s a little creepy but not very interesting, and sometimes you’re not interesting, and there’s no way I’d risk anything for you. Lie for you? Get in trouble with the police or a lawyer or a jury or whatever? You’re nuts. Go to sleep. And don’t come around until you get yourself straightened out.”

  Mack held the telephone long after she had hung up. It was as if another corner of his world had broken off and shattered. He stood still, listening for something, anything, to break the smothering silence of his room. There was something, far off, television, maybe, but too faint to sound like he had company. He looked around, a full circuit of the room. Empty. It didn’t even look like his, not really; it didn’t even before he’d packed his things. Nothing in it had ever said “Mack Hayden.” He hated photographs; he wasn’t interested in paintings, sculpture, or whatever, anything decorative; he only read magazines, not books, and threw them away when he was finished; he always stowed his clothes and shoes so that nothing was exposed.

  Still, it was his room. In his house. Where his family lived.

  Get out! Nobody wants you! We hate you!

  Who would take care of him?

  He felt sick. Nobody. Just himself. In all the world, the only person he could count on was himself.

  So think about me. And get moving. Any minute now Lew’ll figure out I might leave and send one of his guys …He yanked open the zipper on his duffel, threw out sweaters, and piled in the T-shirts and shorts he would need in Nauru, where it was always hot. He couldn’t go to Rosa, scratch that; he’d go to O’Hare, catch a plane, any plane, just get the hell out of Chicago, and then get to Nauru. He had a credit card and plenty of money in the bank; find a cash machine at the airport. He could live like a king in Nauru, never have to worry about anything again.

  He zipped shut the duffel and dragged it to the window. Nothing breakable inside; if it could survive airports, it could survive this. He lifted it to the windowsill, and shoved it out. He had calculated that it would land in the soft flower bed in front of the house, but unexpectedly it plummeted at an angle, propelled by his shove, and struck the sidewalk just beyond the garden. In the light from the street lamp, Mack saw it hit, saw one corner split open, saw his clothes tumble out as it bounced once and again before comi
ng to a rest on the curbing, one end in the gutter.

  Rage and bile churned in Mack’s throat; screams piled up inside him until he thought he would explode, jump out of his skin in a maelstrom of fury. His mouth worked as he glared at the jumble of clothes far below, but the curses racing through his mind were weak and flabby, used too carelessly in daily life to have any force in relieving the frustration churning within him. His body shook with hatred, of everyone, of everything. Blindly, he turned from the window. Forget the clothes, he’d buy new ones. He had a plan; he had to go through with it; it was set in his mind; he could do what he had to do without thinking.

  He stopped thinking. Nothing mattered now except what he was doing. He was saving himself.

  Not bad in bed.

  Rosa’s words rang out loud and clear, as if she were next to him. Not bad? He was terrific; every woman he’d ever been with said so. She was crazy. He was a sexual lion; some girl had called him that and he liked it. She’d miss him, Rosa. Serve her right when she called tomorrow and found him gone. He’d have another girl in a minute. Sexual lions aren’t alone for very long, ever.

  So, forget the bitch. Get to work. Move!

  Methodically, he arranged the room the way he’d planned it: rumpled bedsheets, indented pillow, open magazines strewn about, over-flowing ashtray on the nightstand beside a half-empty pack of cigarettes. This would all be ashes by the time the experts arrived, but still, it had to look realistic; you never knew what bits and pieces they could put together to re-create a whole scene.

  He lit a cigarette, took two or three drags, and let it fall to the top sheet. He stared at it, willing it to burn. Nothing happened. And then his fury returned. Bitch, he thought. Fire-retardant sheets. His fucking mother; getting in the way of every goddamn thing he wanted to do.

  He lit another cigarette and placed its lit end against the first, and blew on them. He added another and then another until eight glowing cigarettes radiated out like spokes in a wheel. And finally the sheet charred, and a small hole opened up. He lit another cigarette and smoked it as he stared, fascinated, at a thread of smoke curling upward and the charred hole spreading like a stain on the sheet. He grinned around the cigarette still clamped between his lips. With one last look at his room, shrugging because it didn’t mean a damn thing to him that he was leaving it, he ran down the stairway, past the closed bedroom doors on the second floor, and down the wide staircase to the first floor. He still had two more fires to set.