“I think there’s probably a lot we need to talk about, Rosalyn. So why don’t you go first?”
“Well,” she said, pausing and suddenly becoming very interested in her cuticles. “Well … it’s like this, Jax.” She took another deep breath and another until I thought she was going to hyperventilate. “You kind of … it’s just that you sort of …”
I sort of what? Rosalyn did not look well. She looked like she needed to gain a few pounds, but more than that, she seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“You kind of … oh, Jesus Christ, Jax, you have a son.”
The words tumbled out of her so rapidly and furiously that I felt like I’d been shot down by a machine gun.
“What?” The world tilted on its side then righted itself. “What did you just say?”
“I said that you have a son.”
All the air left my body. In that past day I had imagined a thousand scenarios: Rosalyn needed money, Rosalyn was in trouble with the law, Rosalyn needed to leave a forwarding address with someone she knew because she was moving to the goddamn moon, but never in my wildest imagination did I think those words would come out of her mouth. A son? A brief flicker of pride passed through my heart, a smile playing upon my lips. That feeling was quickly replaced with anger. I wanted to scream at Rosalyn. A son? Why didn’t you tell me? Instead, I buried my face in my hands, my breathing erratic, then peeked at Rosalyn. “Are you sure about this? I thought you were on the pill.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I was on the pill. But you know how I am. Sometimes I get a little careless.”
I sat up straight. “No, Rosalyn, I don’t know how you are. I haven’t seen you in thirteen fucking years,” I said, glaring at her. “You better not be screwing with me. Who have you been sleeping with over this last … decade? Or are you going to tell me you still get off with your vibrators?”
“Shh!” she said. Then she reached for my hand and said, “Jax, I’m so sorry. It’s a really long story.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet it is,” I said, jerking my hand away. “I’ll bet you’ve got all kinds of adventures to report back to me after all this time.”
“Jax?” she said, turning to face me. “Please don’t be this way. I really need you right now.”
“Yeah? Well, I needed you at one time too.” I stood up and faced her, anger rising dangerously up my spine. “But you know what? I don’t need you anymore.”
A sob escaped her lips, and she wiped away tears. “Maybe this is a conversation we shouldn’t be having in public.”
“Damn right, we shouldn’t,” I said. “Now why don’t you tell me all about why you need to see me so badly and why you think I’m the father of someone who is a goddamn stranger to me?”
“Can’t we go sit in your car or something?”
I paced back and forth in front of her, checking out the surfers in the lineup and dragging my hand through my hair. Surfers were catching wave after glassy wave, enjoying the day while couples strolled past with dogs on leashes. Everything seemed so normal. Except that it wasn’t.
The past thirteen years, all I’d wanted was Rosalyn. And now here she was, and it was far from the reunion I’d imagined. Rosalyn had pulled the rug out from under my life, and now she was telling me we had a son together? If that were true, I didn’t know if I could forgive her denying the kid, whoever he was, and me, of a life together. How dare she?
“Come on,” I said, striding toward my truck.
I slammed the door on my side of the truck while Rosalyn meekly arranged herself in the passenger’s seat.
“Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?” I said. “I am dying to hear your story.”
“Well, it’s like this,” she said, taking another deep breath. “Toward the end of our affair, I missed my period.” I looked at her through narrow eyes, and she continued. “And I got a pregnancy test and sure enough,” she said with a small laugh. “I knew what would happen if I told you, so I just thought it would be easier—”
“Easier,” I said, erupting in anger. “God damn it Rosalyn. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were only nineteen. And you thought you were in love with me.”
“Yeah, well that’s what I thought. I thought a lot of things in those days, not the least of which was, how could you just pick up and leave like that? Did you ever,” I said, looking at her through eyes that were slits, “ever even wonder how that affected me? How it affected Tyler?”
She flinched. “Of course I did, sweetheart.” She reached for my hand.
“I’m not your sweetheart anymore!” I jerked away, gripping the steering wheel so I didn’t punch something. “Sure didn’t seem like it to me. Seemed pretty goddamn selfish, Rosalyn. Let me ask you something. Do you ever think of anyone besides yourself?”
She stared down at her hands. “Will you let me tell you about Eugene?”
Eugene. I had a son named Eugene.
“How do I even know he’s my kid?”
“You can do the math yourself. And you’ll know when you meet him.”
“How do you know I want to meet him? Jesus fucking Christ, you haven’t changed at all. You think you can just call me after thirteen years and tell me I’ve got a son, and I’m going to jump and follow you around like I did when I was a teenager? Well, you’ve got another thing coming because it doesn’t work that way, babe. Not this time.”
“Jax, he’s your son.”
Your son. Anger swirled around me anew, heat flushing through my body. I turned to face Rosalyn and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me before now? You think I’m a robot with no feelings? What have you two been doing all these years? And, oh my God, Rosalyn,” I said. “What the fuck did you tell him?”
She seemed to study her fingernails and swallowed hard. “Well, I told him a little white lie.”
“What lie?”
She glanced out the window and said, “I can’t talk about that right now. I’ll tell you later.”
“No, Rosalyn. You will not tell me later. You think this is some kind of game? I’m going to ask you again. What did you tell him?”
She gazed at me like she was about to faint and said, “I told him that he … that he was conceived through a sperm donor clinic.” She buried her face in her hands and started crying softly. “But you can’t tell him I made that up!” Her eyes were frantic. “He’s really sensitive.”
“Jesus, Rosalyn,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “What’s the matter with you? A sperm donor clinic? Fucking … just fucking hell.”
We looked at each other, and I almost laughed because the whole thing was so grimly comical. I had to give her credit for creativity.
“And did you think that story would satisfy his curiosity?”
“It has so far.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t think it’s going to fly for long. The kid’s probably not stupid.”
Then it was her turn to get mad. “What was I supposed to say? So, guess what sweetie, your dad is a kid, just like you,’” she said in a singsong voice. “And not only that, he was the son of one of my best friends. Think that would’ve gone over well?”
“I wasn’t a kid anymore!” I screamed. “I can’t believe you. I think that sacred herb of yours finally screwed up your brain cells.” I glared at Rosalyn, exhaled heavily, and leaned back in my seat, inspecting the cuts on my knuckles.
“What happened to your hand?” she said.
“Nothing. Just a little surfing incident.”
I tried to process everything that was happening. All those years after Rosalyn left that I had lain in bed wondering where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of me, if she was alive or dead, if she regretted anything, if she was happy, if she had other lovers. All those thoughts had never included a child.
“Why now, Rosalyn?” I said, looking at her and forcing her to meet my gaze. “Why are you coming to me now?”
When she spoke, her
voice was barely a whisper. “You know that cancer thing I told you about?” she said. “Well, it’s a little worse than the doctors thought. Jax, they gave me six months.”
She may as well have hit me with a sledgehammer. A vein in my neck pulsed, a steady thrum, as anger, fury, and despair wrapped around me like a vise. “God damn it!” I punched the steering wheel so hard that my hand started bleeding again.
Rosalyn touched my arm and said, “Jax. I really need your help. I need you to raise our son.”
I put my face in my hands, my throat tight, emotions swirling around me. I swallowed hard and finally looked at her. My voice was bitter when I said, “And what if I say no? What if I decide to call the shots this time, Rosalyn? What if I decide to take a lesson out of the Rosalyn Richards book of life and walk away? What if I tell you I’ve got my own life now?” I pointed at my chest. “I compete with my surfing. I’ve got a girlfriend. I have things in my life that don’t include you.”
“Please?” Her voice was so pathetic that I almost took her into my arms right then and there to make all the pain of the past thirteen years disappear.
My thoughts were jumbled. “This is a nightmare. I think you need to go home now,” I said. “Where do you live? I’ll drive you.”
“I can walk.” She looked down at her hands again.
I reached over her and opened the door for her. “Nice seeing you again, Rosalyn.”
After she got out, I slammed the truck into gear and peeled out, my tires chirping their protest. As I drove away, Rosalyn’s form in my rear view mirror grew smaller and smaller in the setting sun.
A son? Six months to live? Rosalyn better not be messing with me.
I needed to surf. But it was almost dark, so instead I made the left turn and headed back to Half Moon Bay.
Rosalyn
I wasn’t sure what kind of reception I expected from Jax, but the anger that flew off him in waves was not the Little House on the Prairie homecoming I hoped for.
After our meeting, I trudged back home. Eugene was at band practice and wouldn’t be home for about a half hour. I fell into my easy chair and called Carissa.
She picked up the phone before it even rang, her voice breathless. “How’d it go?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I don’t think it’s going to work out. He’s pretty mad at me.”
“Oh honey, tell me what happened.”
“He acted like he didn’t believe me about Eugene being his son. Like I’d make that up? He’s different, Carissa.” Remembering Jax’s anger made me flinch. I’m not your sweetheart anymore. I told Carissa all about the meeting.
“Sounds like he really let you have it. Let him be angry. He’ll cool off. Give him a few days. You’re doing the right thing, and you can’t have regrets.”
Did I have regrets? Hell yes. “But I do.” I gritted my teeth. “I regret the day I put my hand on Jax’s cock when he was lying in bed with a hard-on all those years ago. The guy was only eighteen. I could’ve stopped this whole thing back then, but did I? Jax is right,” I said. “I’ve been selfish.” I hauled myself out of my chair and into my bedroom. I sat cross-legged on my bed, reached for my bong, and lit up, taking a deep toke. Leaning back against the pillow, a small tear slid down my cheek.
Carissa tried to make me feel better. “But would you trade Eugene for anything?”
“Of course not. Eugene changed my life. He’s the only good thing I’ve got.”
After I found out about the breast cancer, I’d done everything I could; I meditated, I went on juice fasts, I put a teaspoon of baking soda in spring water every morning because that was supposed to create an alkaline environment in which cancer cells couldn’t survive. I performed yoga, I stood on my head, I arranged all my crystals for maximum healing potential around my bed. I even moved my bed so that my feet were facing south and my head north because that was supposed to assure that the earth’s electromagnetic waves moved through my body in the proper direction while I slept.
Finally, I’d relented to having my precious body invaded by doctor’s scalpels and chemotherapy. I’d had a double mastectomy, followed by a pretty darn good reconstruction done by one of the best plastic surgeons in the area. All this for what? A “six months left to live” prognosis.
It really is just like in the movies. At my last doctor appointment, a team of specialists met with me, grim faced men and women wearing white coats, holding clipboards, iPads, and a mountain of paperwork for me to sign. There were advanced directives, do not resuscitate orders, and they had pretty much told me to get my affairs in order because the tumors were spreading throughout my system.
Carissa interrupted my thoughts. “I’ve heard really good things about the Trinity program.” Her voice became hushed. “Honey, you’re going to get through this. You’re going to fight. You can’t give up.”
I could try the Trinity Therapy, which was performed in Mexico because the FDA wouldn’t approve it in the United States. It was a complete detoxification program consisting of organic juices, coffee enemas, supplements, organic soups and teas, castor oil, and clay packs. The Trinity program boasted a high success rate in curing the incurables. But it wasn’t cheap. A two-week stay at the clinic was twenty thousand dollars. Cash.
I took another toke off my bong. “But what if I don’t survive?” A sob escaped my throat.
“You will. I’m proud of you. It took guts to contact Jax. He’ll come around and if he needs to he’ll raise Eugene.” We were both silent. Then her voice became playful. “So, what’s he like? Anywhere near as good looking as his pictures?”
I snapped up, my body rigid. “Who cares about any of that?”
“Oh, Roz, I’m just trying to lighten things up. So, what’s he like?”
Seeing Jax after thirteen years was a mixed bag of emotions.
I set the bong down, leaning heavily against the pillow. “He’s a man now.”
She chuckled. “A very good looking man.”
Jax was so different from the last time I’d seen him at age nineteen. He was confident, strong, and brazen. There was a new dimension, maturity and self-assuredness. “Maybe.” I smiled. “At least I picked good DNA for Eugene.”
“What did he tell you about his life?”
I stared at the ceiling. “Nothing, really. Other than the fact that he’s got a girlfriend.”
“I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”
“Everything we’ve googled so far hasn’t mentioned anything about a partner,” I said.
“That means it’s not serious. Listen, honey, we’d be pretty naive to think he didn’t get laid now and then.”
Did he live with this girlfriend? Was he in love? What did he do for work when he wasn’t surfing?
My voice was low when I said, “You think he’ll be willing to be a dad? I mean, if I need him to? Am I kidding myself?”
Carissa sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Seems like his folks raised him right. And from everything you told me, he sounds like a good guy.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing. Give him a couple of days.” Her voice was confident when she said, “Roz, this is all going to work out. I’ll do a special meditation when we hang up.”
The screen door slammed. “Carissa, I have to go.” I hung up and smoothed down my clothes then took a deep breath and faced my son. Eugene and Nelson were already in the kitchen, removing dinner items from the fridge.
“Oh hey, mom,” Eugene said as I walked into the small kitchen. “Sit down here and relax.” He pulled a chair out from the table. “We’re cooking your favorite, brown rice and broccoli, and Nelson’s even going to make the salad.”
I smiled broadly, putting my feet up on the chair opposite me. When Eugene was old enough, I’d trained him to fend for himself in the kitchen, and he had taken a liking to it.
Nelson handed Eugene a pot. “I’ll get the rice.” Like a professional athlete in a locker room, he slapped Eugene on the butt. “Top Chef, move over!”
When dinner was ready, the three of us sat around the table and enjoyed small talk about our day, conversation about school and music and how big the waves had been.
I savored the nutty aroma of brown rice then spooned it into my mouth. “How was school today?”
Eugene wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Same. More dumb calculations in math class. What’d you do after work?”
I crumpled my napkin in my lap and began to methodically shred the thing. “Oh, nothing. Just replanted some of my sprout jars.”
Both boys studied me. “Didn’t you do that yesterday?” Eugene said.
“Yeah, well, you know, I’ve been wanting to try out some new stuff. Haven’t eaten lentil sprouts in a while.”
Eugene’s eyes strayed to the windowsill where the vibrant sprouts grew in jars. “Lentils? I don’t see any.”
“Oh!” I said, “I meant alfalfa.” But the alfalfa sprouts had already been sprouting for two days.
I hurriedly finished dinner, stood up, and in a voice squeakier than I meant, said, “I’ll clean the kitchen.” My dishes clattered in the sink. I plastered a smile on my face. “Thanks for making dinner you two. You’re the best.”
Later as I showered and readied for bed, the reality of my health situation almost overwhelmed me. As much as I tried to meditate and breathe deeply to assuage the panic, sometimes my dilemma was too much. My body filled with dizziness, and I gripped the safety rail in the shower, my knees buckling. Calm down. Take a deep breath. But, drying myself off, I glanced in the mirror. I was once again reminded of cancer by the scars on my breasts. Please don’t let me die, I prayed. Please allow Jax to open his heart.
I pulled on my nightshirt and went into my bedroom. As I climbed into bed and reached for my book, Eugene came into my room. “Mom, are you crying?” he said.
“A little, honey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes I just feel sad.” How was I going to break the news to Eugene?
Pleasure Point: The Complete Series Page 43