Damage Control

by Lynn VanDorn

  “You could have challenged that in court,” Mike said. Tyler’s mother gave Mike a look and he didn't say anything more, just took another sip of his beer.

  “It became clear to me early in the marriage that it wasn't the fairy tale I'd thought it would be, no matter that he swept me away and put me in a house right on the lake that looked like a castle. Once I'd given birth to Ryan, Peter pretty much lost all interest in me, but he did dote on our son, and I took hope from that. I tried to save my marriage, but there wasn't anything to save. I was a naive teenager that didn't realize until too late that I'd been bought and paid for only because I carried Peter’s child. I had a hard enough time learning how to be Peter’s wife in public; I had no idea how to do it in private. He had a mistress, or maybe several of them. I don't know. I just knew he didn't want me. I'd have never gotten Brad if Ryan hadn't kept asking for a sibling. He wanted a brother or a sister more than anything else, and so Peter decided to give him what he wanted. After Brad, we drifted into separate bedrooms and never drifted back. By the time I thought to try and reconcile with him, Peter made it clear that an heir and a spare were sufficient and the physical aspect of our marriage was over. I could either like it or lump it, but if I left, he would fight me tooth and nail for the boys, so I stayed.”

  His mother looked at Josh. “I'm sorry, but I would actually like some water.”

  “Of course.” Josh rose and went to the kitchen.

  “When Brad was in preschool, my best friend Sophie—Mike’s wife—got sick. Thank you,” she told Josh when he handed her a glass of ice water. “We found out she had leukemia. She was very ill with the treatments and we thought she was going to die. I was wildly unhappy. Mike felt the same. And we—”

  “Got busy,” Tyler said, not feeling particularly charitable.

  His mother's eyes flashed at him. “We comforted each other.”

  Tyler made a rude noise. “Whatever. You had unprotected sex with your sick best friend’s husband and got knocked up. Not that I'm ungrateful, but let's not dress this up.”

  Once you were old enough to know where babies came from, the next uncomfortable logical leap was to realize that your parents had had sex at least once. It was one of those horrible parts of reality that were inescapable, like gravity and death. This, however, was a step beyond, and Tyler thought he was justified in being pissy about it. Learning that you were the product of an affair, and a rather clichéd one at that, was more than he was prepared to deal with without snark. Especially since he was still semi-hungover and knew that none of this story was going to culminate with, “And that's why you're a superhero, here's your awesome costume, go save the world now, sweetheart.” Which was a shame because his ass looked very fine in spandex.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Not that it excuses anything, but that night the doctors gave Sophie a short time to live. I was distraught. That isn't really an excuse, just context.”

  “But your wife didn't die. I mean, not then,” said Josh, king of tact. “I remember her vaguely. The picture I saw last night jogged my memory. I know I saw her at the Chadwick picnics and parties. And up at Blue Lake, too. I think I remember seeing you up there as well, or am I not remembering that right? It was a long time ago, but I keep associating you with those summers up there.”

  Mike started. “No,” he said. “You're right. My wife and I did spend time at the lake. We have a house up there, although we mostly rent it out now.”

  Josh gave him a look. “White marble in all the bathrooms?”

  Tyler wanted to laugh, and he stuffed his hand in his mouth to keep it from escaping because he knew it would sound hysterical.

  Mike looked confused. “What?”

  “I think I rented your lake house two weeks ago. How many Michael Connollys could possibly own houses up there?”

  “Not to mention conveniently close to our house,” Tyler pointed out. His mother's insistence that they spend every summer up there made perfect sense now.

  Mike blinked at Josh. “I rent it through an agency. I had no idea, Josh. What a coincidence. That's just—”

  “Not really,” Josh said. “I looked for rentals as close to the Chadwicks’ place as I could find. Yours was the closest one available.”

  “It's a small world,” Mike said with a lame smile. “Sophie and I bought the land at the same Peter and Cynthia bought their plot. We were all good friends at one point.”

  “Right.” Tyler wanted to derail this line of conversation. It was leading him down paths of thought he didn't want to follow. “Back to your wife, who didn't die.”

  “Of course, Tyler,” Mike said with the ghost of a smile that disappeared almost as soon as it came. “No, she didn't die. Not then. Her cancer went into remission and she made an amazing recovery. It was a miracle.”

  “Only there was this inconvenient baby,” Tyler felt the need to point out. “Oops.”

  His mother frowned. “Mike didn't know, not then, at least. Your—I mean Peter knew you weren't his right from the beginning. We hadn't… so he knew the child couldn't be his. He said he didn't care as long as I told no one, but if it ever got out that there was a cuckoo in his nest, the interloper—his words, not mine—and I would be out on our asses without a penny. However, if I kept my mouth shut, you’d be raised as a Chadwick. He also warned me that there better not be any more surprises.” She sighed.

  “Why did you stay?” Tyler asked. “That's what I really need to know. I mean, all this ancient history is great for context, I suppose, but it still doesn't explain why you stayed as long as you did.”

  “You don't remember, because you were too young, but I did try to leave him. You were maybe two, and Peter smacked you when you were crying and you fell and hit your head. There was so much blood. I thought he'd killed you, but I knew you’d be fine when I picked you up and you started screaming. I got you cleaned up, and when the boys got home from school, we left.”

  Tyler gripped his drink so hard the can dented, the noise as loud as a gunshot in the silence. “No…”

  “She did,” Mike said. “She brought you and your brothers to stay with Sophie and me for a short time, but—”

  “But staying with Mike and Sophie wasn't a long-term solution. They had their own family, and living with them full-time would have been difficult at best.”

  Tyler laughed. He couldn't help it. It had bad sitcom written all over it. Either that or a reality show on Bravo.

  His mother frowned at him, then continued. “I talked to my parents, but they weren't prepared for me to bring three boys back home with me. There wasn't the room, and they didn't have much money. On top of that, Ryan wanted to go back home. He was so angry with me. He wanted his father and he didn't understand why we left. He said if we didn't go home he'd never forgive me and that he'd run away. And then your grandfather—Peter’s father, I mean—contacted me. He said that I had to go back to Peter. Divorce wasn't an option. Your paternity would come out because Peter had vowed to fight for custody of his two biological sons, but not for you. Your grandfather didn't want any of the family dirty linen to air, so he cut me a deal. He had trust funds set up for Ryan, Brad, and you. Peter wouldn't be able to touch the money, and it would be yours on your twenty-first birthday. The only thing I had to do was go back to Peter and, as your grandfather put it, keep my damned legs shut. In addition, he made Peter promise to keep his hands off you.”

  “That sounds like him. Grandfather always was a tyrannical bastard,” Tyler murmured. “So, you went back.” Too bad Dad didn't keep his hands off me, and I'd be willing to bet my trust fund you didn't keep your legs shut, either.

  “Yes, Tyler, I went back. Where else could I have gone? Ryan was furious with me at the idea of leaving his father, his friends, and his school. In addition, how was I supposed to support us? I never finished high school. Your father said there was no need, because he would always take care of me. I could have gotten my GED, sure, and then what? I had no skills other than what your grand
mother taught me. I could be a society hostess, but there’s not a lot of demand for that. In addition, I had a rebellious twelve-year-old, a rambunctious six-year-old, and a toddler. Who would take care of you while I worked, if I could even find a job? And that was if I got custody, which wasn't a sure thing. Money, Tyler, is important. So, yes, when your grandfather came to offer me that deal, I took it. It seemed like my only choice. And Peter promised never to hit you again.”

  Anger burst through Tyler. “Only that didn't last very long, did it? And yeah, I guess I can understand staying while Brad and Ryan were still at home, but once Brad left for college, we could have gone, too.”

  His mother frowned at him. “I already told you why I stayed. I made that bargain. I promised your grandfather to stay until you were of age.”

  “Was it just money? That's all? If you'd have ever bothered to ask me, I'd have told you I didn't give two shits about the money.”

  “Tyler, you have no idea what you're talking about. You've never been poor. Not one single day of your life. I know you like to say that you and I fled your father with only the clothes on our backs, but that wasn't true. You thought roughing it was flying economy. You had your college tuition paid for completely. Did you think going to university was free? You've never had to work to support yourself. The first job you ever had wasn't working at McDonald's. It was in a commercial for McDonald's. You have no idea what reality is. You don't know what it's like to worry that there won't be enough money for both rent and food. Your idea of economizing was buying a house in Burbank. It's easy for you to sit there, dressed in hand-tailored slacks and a cashmere sweater that I know cost a small fortune, and tell me money doesn't matter. I hate to break it to you, but it does. A lot.”

  Tyler felt like he'd been slapped. It was unfair to hold him accountable for choices his mother had made on his behalf. He hadn't had any control over any of it, from the arbitrary punishments he'd suffered under, to the extravagant presents he received at holidays and birthdays. None of it had been of his choosing. “If you'd given me the choice at thirteen between living with Dad and shopping at Burberry or living on our own and shopping at Walmart, I'd have picked Walmart, but you never asked. I would’ve told you the money wasn't worth it, but I guess I ended up earning every penny of it, didn't I?”

  “Yes, you say that now,” his mother said with an edge to her voice. “But who's to say you’d be better off in that other life, the one with Walmart and worrying about making the rent payment and hoping our lights aren't shut off because we were late paying the electric bill?”

  Tyler pushed up his sleeves, showing the scars on his wrists. “I wouldn't have these,” he said.

  His mother looked at him and gave him a sad smile. “Or you’d still have them, but for a different reason. We can't know what would have happened, only what did.”

  She and Mike shared a look, and Tyler thought he understood everything after seeing it. She'd stayed so long not, as she claimed, because of the money. No, even if she believed that, it was a lie. She'd stayed because of Mike. The two of them stared at each other like lovesick teenagers, and it made Tyler want to give his mother a good shake. Despite that lecture she'd just given him, the real reason she'd stayed with Peter was because if she left him, she'd have had to leave Mike, too. How hard it must have been, visiting Tyler in the hospital, and having to weigh her son’s life versus her own selfish wants. He should be grateful, he supposed, that slashing his wrists had finally been enough to tip the scales in his favor.

  “Well,” he said, “I think it's safe to say that had we been poor I'd have never gone to Bridges, been raped four times, and then branded. That place was expensive.” He gave his parents a wide, sunny smile. “And what a shame it would have been to miss out on that fun experience.”

  “Tyler—”

  “Not to mention all those years I had with Peter Chadwick as my father. He ignored me, belittled me, mocked me, controlled me, and when that wasn't enough, he hit me. But, hey, I did get a brand-new Mercedes for my sixteenth birthday, so that totally made up for everything else that happened. And my shiny Blackberry absolutely was worth feeling that there must be something wrong with me because my father didn't love me.” Tyler’s fist clenched and the can dented further. He put the drink down before he ended up spilling it. The last thing he needed was to set Josh off by making a mess. Before Tyler could stop him, he'd be waxing the floor or something equally ridiculous, and Tyler didn't have the energy right now to circumvent him.

  His mother started crying and Tyler tried not to care. She should be crying. He was crying, he realized, and as he angrily wiped at his stupid eyes that had no business leaking like this, he thought it was only fair that she join the waterworks. Mike—it was impossible to think of the man as anything but Mike—sat in blank silence. There was no way to know what he was thinking or if any of the accusations Tyler had spouted were news to him. Maybe his mother had already told him, or maybe he thought Tyler was being a drama queen, or maybe he just didn't give a shit. It was impossible to tell. Tyler found it funny that he couldn't read a face that was so like his own. Josh sat beside him and looked grim. He was probably wishing he'd never gotten involved with any Chadwick ever, starting with Ryan, and he'd be right to think so.

  Tyler wanted to crawl into bed and forget any of this had ever happened. He wanted to go back to when his mother was a martyred saint, tied for years to marriage with a man she despised because of reasons that Tyler didn't know or understand, but nevertheless knew to be justified. Or, failing that, he wanted to sleep until he wasn’t so angry with her anymore.

  “But you did finally leave,” Tyler said, his voice drained of emotion. He wished this was over and done with so he could be alone. He felt Josh’s hand on his leg and thought, well, maybe not entirely alone. He'd told Josh that if he couldn't forgive his mother he would have nothing left, but that wasn’t true. It had never really been true. There was Purvi, his brothers, all his friends back home, and now Josh. “And I somehow kept the trust fund and got my college paid for. How’d you manage that?”

  “While you were in the hospital in Wisconsin, after you…” His mother stopped, her uncertainty palpable.

  “Tried to kill myself, just like I told you I would,” Tyler prompted, merciless.

  “Yes. I went to your grandfather again. I told him that we had to leave, that I had started divorce proceedings and Peter was fighting me on it and I wanted him to intervene. Staying in the marriage was no longer an option because you were going to end up dead if we didn't leave, and if you died I would make sure that every piece of Chadwick nastiness was aired. At that point, I'd have nothing to lose and no reason to remain silent. Your grandfather agreed to arrange for a quiet divorce from Peter. I would receive custody of you, enough money to support us, and you would get your college paid for and your trust fund. In return, I agreed never to tell anyone about my marriage and why it ended, that Tyler wasn’t Peter’s child, or that there had ever been any abuse.” She waved her hand. “So, there you go. The whole story.”

  Tyler doubted that, somehow, but he didn't want to poke at it anymore. He'd heard enough. He looked at the man who had provided half of his DNA. It was unsettling looking at him, seeing himself in that older, yet eerily similar, face. “Do you have anything to add to this lovely story?” he asked Mike.

  “I’ve known you were my son for a long time, but it wasn't something I let myself think about. Peter made it clear that he'd fight me if I tried to claim you.”

  “Why? He never loved me, never wanted me.”

  Mike shrugged. “Pride, maybe.”

  His mother nodded. “He didn't want anyone knowing his wife had been unfaithful.”

  “Yes, well,” Mike went on, “right before my wife died, we went to a movie you were in. Seeing you on screen—looking just like me—was a pretty big ‘a-ha’ moment. There was no longer any point in pretending I didn't know you were my son.”

  “I bet that was super awkward,”
Tyler said, almost finding it funny.

  Mike’s ghost of a smile returned. “Sophie already knew. She'd known since you were a baby. You looked just like…” He paused, then decided to go on, “our son. Garrett. Who is your brother, biologically if not spiritually, and who remembers you even if you don't remember him, and would like to meet with you. As would my daughter, Gretchen. Brad probably remembers Garrett. The two of them are only a year apart and used to play together sometimes when they were young. Garrett’s wife just had a baby less than six months ago. Your niece. And Gretchen has a little boy. You’re an uncle.”

  Tyler wanted to clap his hands over his ears. He didn't want to hear about this pseudo-family that was his and yet not his. These people who thought they had a claim on him.

  “I…” he started, then stopped. He took another sip of ginger ale, then put his can back down. “Not now. It's too much, all at once. I can't. Not yet.”

  Mike looked disappointed for a second, then he smiled and it all went away, almost like magic. “No problem. Maybe later.”

  “Maybe.” It was weird seeing a smile he'd practiced in the mirror on the face of another person who, despite looking just like you, was a stranger. Tyler had heard of long-lost relatives being reunited with family they'd never known and feeling an instant connection, but there was nothing here. Not really. Just a sense of unreality.