by Rob Kaufman
“This is it,” Angela said, clomping toward the kitchen and waving the documents. “Once I sign these, I’ll never have to deal with Jonathan Beckett again. Except to cash his checks, of course.”
She pulled a dining room chair away from the table and carefully lowered herself onto it. June watched its legs wobble and she tensed up with every creak from the wood. When Angela finally got comfortable, June walked to the table with the baby.
“What do you mean you’ll never have to deal with Jonathan again? What about visitation, holidays, and birthdays?”
Angela snorted. “June, tell me. Are you so involved with that Mexican cop boyfriend of yours that you’ve lost your ability to think? Have you not noticed there’s been no sign of Jonathan since Little Philip was born? It’s been four months, for God’s sake. Do you ever think past your nose?”
June moved the baby to her other arm and let his face fall onto the burp cloth covering her shoulder. “No need to get testy, Angela. First of all, Office Juarez is not Mexican. His family is from Puerto Rico. And… if you remember correctly, every time I asked you why Jonathan hasn’t come around, you just shrug your shoulders. Now you’re flapping these papers around and not telling me what they say. How am I to know what to think?”
Angela threw the pile of papers onto the dining room table and leaned back in the chair. “June, if you ever want to get this guy in the sack, you might want to stop calling him Officer Juarez.” She laughed at her wit, picked up the papers, and fanned herself with them. “The long and short of it is that Jonathan wants nothing to do with me or Little Philip. He’ll pay hefty support payments every month until Philip turns eighteen. He even kicked in another fifteen hundred a month if we moved out of Connecticut and promised never to return. Hence, we’re moving back to the city.”
A pang of sorrow punched June in the stomach. She caressed the baby’s head, trying to cover his ears as though he could understand what Angela was saying.
“I don’t believe it. He wants nothing to do with Little Philip? It’s his son, Angela. I just can’t imagine him not wanting to be part of his life. And to have you both move away?” She patted the back of Philip’s head. “It’s just unthinkable.”
Although June spoke the words, she didn’t mean them. In the back of her mind she sympathized with Jonathan. Angela and Little Philip would only be tragic reminders of the lover he’d lost and the life he’d never reclaim. She yearned to speak with Jonathan; to tell him how horribly she felt, how she would watch over his son and make sure he was always taken care of. But she knew he wouldn’t want to see her.
“Yeah, unthinkable,” Angela mumbled, still fanning herself with the documents. “What’s really unthinkable is that I’m going to have to keep coming back here for Tommy’s trial. I don’t understand it. He confessed and my account supports his confession. Why the hell do they need to have a trial? It’s a waste of time and money for everyone.”
“It’s the American way.” June placed Little Philip in his stroller. He grabbed the rattle hanging from the crossbar and surprised her by examining it rather than shaking it. She smiled at his inquisitiveness. “Have you visited Tommy?” She could barely say his name without gagging.
“No. And I will never visit, no matter how many phone calls or letters I get from him. Seeing him in court is going to be bad enough. After the trial’s over, I never want to see him again. He ruined my life.”
June walked behind Angela so she couldn’t see her face. “He ruined more than just your life, Angela.”
Angela’s cell phone rang and June let go a sigh of relief.
As Angela reached into the pocket of her housedress to answer the phone, she turned around and glared at June with eyes that shot invisible flames. She looked at the phone number on the caller ID.
“Shit, I have to take this.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and used her head to gesture toward the bedroom in back. “Can you give me some privacy, June?”
“Sure.” June sauntered down the hallway, but stopped before she reached the bedroom and stood completely still, trying not to make a sound. She extended her neck forward in an effort to hear Angela’s voice.
“I can’t talk now,” Angela said in a stage whisper. “I have to call you from the road.” After about a minute of silence, she spoke again. “I have the papers right here. You’ll get it every month.” More silence. “Enough, Dee. I said I’ll call you from the car. I’m in the middle of moving, for Jesus’s sake. I have to go.”
June waited, unmoving, for what seemed like an hour. Who was Dee? She’d never heard Angela mention that name. . She kicked it around in her head trying to find some recognition. Nothing. She started to inch back into the living room.
“Are you off the phone? Can I come in now?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Who was that?” June asked, trying to seem as disinterested as possible as she shook the rattle in front of Little Philip.
“A pain in the ass is who it was.” Angela put both palms flat on the table and pushed to lift herself up. “And where the hell are the movers? They said they’d be here by now.”
At that moment, the beeping from a truck backing up into the driveway stopped Angela mid-sentence. June ran to window and pulled aside the curtain.
“They’re here!” She looked at Angela and then to Little Philip who smiled and blinked his long lashes over perfectly round, chocolate-colored eyes. “They’re coming to take us away!” she said to him a playful voice.
She looked around the room, her gaze stopping when she reached the kitchen floor. They’re coming to take us away. Was leaving Connecticut a good thing for Little Philip? Only time would tell. In the meantime, she’d finish packing boxes and help load the truck that would take him away from a house filled with sadness, a sordid past he never chose to be a part of, and a father he’d probably never know.
22
“Hello, Jonathan.” The woman moved toward the bed.
He recognized her at once: plain face, straw-like hair, and big teeth. Other than her deep wrinkles and sagging jowls, she’d looked the same thirty years ago. Not knowing what else to do, he clenched his fists and looked out the window. He didn’t hate her. He barely knew her. His initial reaction was to have Katy throw her out, but he kept his mouth closed. What did he have to lose at this point?
“This is June Juarez,” Katy said. “Do you remember her?”
June took a few steps closer to the bed. “I was June Stokes back then.”
He wanted to look at her, but couldn’t make himself do it. He stared out the window, where the sky was now blue and a hawk circled in the distance.
“I know who you are,” he whispered.
“Would you like me to leave?” Her voice was weak, shaky, as if she were about to start weeping. “I know this must be difficult for you.”
He didn’t answer, just shrugged his shoulders and watched the birds disappear behind a giant maple. A snapshot of the night Angela and June came to their house shot into his head and his body twitched. It was the night of conception, a memory he’d driven from his thoughts for over thirty years and was now forced to face head on.
A sudden noise came from the doorway and he turned to see Katy lifting the open-armed visitor’s chair and placing it beside the bed. June nodded her appreciation and sat down, her movements slow, her frail, inflexible body hard to bend. She laid her pocketbook on her lap and used both hands to sweep brittle strands of hair to each side of her face.
“Jonathan, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Katy tapped June’s shoulder and smiled at them both before walking out the door and closing it halfway.
Still unable to look June in the eyes, Jonathan watched her trembling hands.
“Angela’s dead,” June announced.
Jonathan couldn’t move. His entire body went cold, numb. These were the words he’d longed to hear for three decades, yet now he felt nothing.
“Supposedly a brain tumor, but I don’t know the
details. Angela and I hadn’t spoken for over twenty five years.”
Jonathan slowly moved his gaze up her body until he reached her eyes — hazy and gray, the same as his own.
“Why are you here?” Jonathan clasped his hands so tightly his knuckles were white. “After all these years, why are you here?”
June grabbed her pocketbook with both hands and squeezed it. Tears filled her eyes. She took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair. “I’m not sure you know this, but I was Little Philip’s godmother.”
Hearing the name made his legs jerk with such force he feared he was losing control of his muscles. The last time he’d heard the name Little Philip was in G’s office while signing the child support documents.
“Do you want to know what she named him?” G had carefully watched his expression as she slid the documents across the table.
Jonathan shrugged. Unable to understand the legal jargon, he scanned the pages for a place to sign. He trusted G. She’d fought as hard as she could to minimize his payments to Angela, but as she told him over and over again, without his participation in the proceedings her hands were tied. He didn’t care. His only wish was never to see or hear from Angela or the child again and he’d sell his soul in order to make that happen.
“Little Philip,” G said softly. “I thought you should know, because I remember that was the name you and Philip decided on.”
Jonathan threw the pen onto the table. “G, please stop.”
She looked down at the table and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t bring it up, but I can’t help it. For God’s sake, it’s your son. I just can’t believe you, of all people, could act as if he doesn’t exist. I don’t doubt for one second that Philip would want you to be a part of your child’s life.”
Jonathan jumped up and walked to the window, trying to calm the intense trembling deep inside his stomach. He didn’t want to let his anger loose on G, he needed at least one friend to help get him through this. But if she didn’t stop talking nonsense, he’d have to let her go like all the others.
“G, please, stop.” He leaned his back against the wall and looked deep into her eyes. “First, don’t ever assume to tell me what Philip would have wanted. Only Philip knows what he would have wanted. And second, I’m in the midst of building my wall.” He smiled at her bewildered expression. “I don’t expect you to understand. Maybe because you’re a mother and have mother instincts, or maybe it’s because we’re just totally different people. But I need to build a mental barrier between myself and the child. It’s the only way I can get through this.”
G tilted her head and looked up at him, her expression pleading for him to reconsider.
“When I think of everything that’s happened — Angela, , the insemination, Philip’s death, the baby, it feels like a nightmare; like a bunch of unspeakable events that took place with me on the outside looking in. Everyday I’m learning how to package those events and distance myself from them so I don’t have to feel the pain and fear that’s goes along with every memory.” He shook his head and looked out the window again. “I know it sounds crazy, G, but if I want to live any kind of life, this is the only way I can manage.”
“Okay, okay,” G said. “I’ll give in on that. If that’s the way you want to live, or think you have to live, then so be it. But Jonathan, to give this selfish bitch five thousand dollars a month for eighteen years? That’s over a million dollars. You know that, right? One million eighty thousand dollars to be exact. It’s excessive, for any child support arrangement.” She stood, walked around the table, and leaned against the back of a chair so her face was only inches from Jonathan’s. “I know you’re getting your insurance claim and I know you make a good living, but I’ll say it again: It kills me to think that she’ll be living off Philip’s memory and your hard earned money. The only good thing is your son will be provided for. Other than that, I think the whole arrangement sucks.” She kissed his cheek. “And that’s my professional, legal opinion.”
He kissed her back and gave her a tense hug, the only kind of affection he’d been able to display since Philip’s death. Touching others had become more of a task than pleasure. He felt more alone every day, pulling away from friends and family in a way that felt dangerous, but unavoidable. In time he’d return to his old self, or somewhat close to it. At least that’s what he told himself day after day, year after year, until surrendering to the irrefutable truth that the life he was meant to live had been stolen.
*
And now, here he was, a shadow of the man he used to be, wondering what this woman sitting beside his bed was up to. Why, after all these years, had she decided to stir up memories he’d buried so well?
“Are you okay, Jonathan? Can I get you something?” June grabbed the bed railing and tried to lift herself.
“No. I’m fine. Now please, June, just tell me why you’re here.”
Once again June squeezed her pocketbook as though holding on for dear life. “I’m sorry. I’ve thought this through a hundred times, but now that I’m finally here I can’t seem to get it out.” She took a breath and pushed it out through her teeth. “It was two days before Little Philip’s fourth birthday. The phone rang at one o’clock in the morning and woke me from a deep sleep. When I saw Angela’s number on the Caller ID I panicked, figuring something was wrong at the apartment. But there wasn’t.” Her voice weakened. She opened the pocketbook and rummaged through the contents desperately searching for something. When her hands finally surfaced, they held a bundle of tissues.
“She called to tell me I was no longer Little Philip’s godmother. No warning. No reason. Nothing. Just that I was no longer going to be a part of her life — or his.” Jonathan watched in awe as she wiped the tears with the wadded up tissues. She acted as though she’d heard this news only days before rather than decades ago. “I asked her why. I begged for an answer. But in her obnoxious, selfish way she just said, ‘This is just the way it is, June. You’ll have to deal with it.’ And then she gave me the worst news of all. They were moving to another state and she wouldn’t tell me where.”
“That sounds like her,” he muttered. “Rotten to the core.”
June pulled at the tissues and nodded her head wearily. Jonathan scrunched his eyes to see her better and realized she was lost in thought. Or maybe she had Alzheimers and didn’t know where she was. He cleared his throat to get her attention, but didn’t get a response. He cleared it again, this time much louder, shaking her from her fog and bringing her back from wherever she’d gone.
“I did everything for that boy. Bathed him, sat for him, took care of him when he was sick. I was the one who potty trained him for God’s sake. He was such a sweet child. And then bam! She takes him away from me like it meant nothing.” She wiped her eyes with the shredded ends of tissue. “For the first few days I left ten to twenty messages a day. I’d go by her building, but the doorman wouldn’t let me in. I even stood outside the building one day in the freezing cold, waiting for them to come out. When they finally did, I ran up to her. She stood in front of Little Philip’s stroller so I couldn’t see him. Then she said she didn’t care if my husband was on the police force, if I didn’t stop harassing them she’d call the cops and press charges. In the end it didn’t matter. Less than a week later when I tried calling her again, the phone had been disconnected. She’d taken Little Philip and moved away.”
Unable to look her in the face, Jonathan stared at her hands.
“Was she still big?” His voice was barely audible.
“As a house,” June said, covering her smile with her hand. “At least she was the last time I saw her. But that was almost thirty five years ago.”
A ray of sun slid past the blind slats and through the crystal Katy had stuck on the window a few days before, painting June’s face with spots of color.
“I’ll ask it again, June. Why are you here?” He struck the mattress with the side of his fist. “I’m tired.” He
looked into her eyes. “I’m just so tired.”
She placed her hand on his with such lightness he could barely feel it. Even so, his body jerked. “About three weeks ago, I received a call from Little Philip.” She smiled and tightened her grip on his hand. “I should say Philip, not Little Philip. He is thirty five years old, though it’s still hard for me to believe. He told me Angela had died. When he met with her lawyer to review the will, he saw something odd at the bottom: there was a heading that read, ‘For Answers’ and beneath it was my name and someone called Dee Previn, along with our telephone numbers. The phone number next to my name was old, from before I married Jesse and we moved to the Village. But Philip did some research and found me. I couldn’t believe he recalled so well the things we did together. He was only four at the time, but he remembered. We talked for over an hour.” She smiled and turned toward the window. “I cried for half of the conversation. Just hearing his voice and the fact that I was part of his memories filled my heart with joy.”
Jonathan let her fingers slide into his closed fist as he fought back tears and tried to swallow the painful lump in his throat. Something was coming. He could feel it in the air and in her touch. He felt it in the sun that brightened the room with its midday glow and warmed the side of his pallid face. He’d ask no more questions. He’d just let her speak.
“Philip said the phone number Angela left for Dee Previn now belonged to someone else. He tried every way to discover who or where she was, but had only reached dead ends. I told him my husband Jesse was an ex-police officer and had detective friends who could probably find something. So Philip and I set up a date to meet and I promised him by that day I’d have more information about Dee Previn.”