They found a seat closer to the front than Sam would have liked, but his dad slid into a pew and he had no choice but to follow. He didn’t want to look around, so he kept his head down. Before he did he caught a glimpse of the altar, with pots of that pointy red Christmas flower surrounding the coffin that held Mrs. Spade. The coffin was a deep, shiny wood. Sam wondered if the flowers were left over from Christmas or had been purchased especially for this occasion.
Behind Mrs. Spade was an organist playing an appropriately somber few chords over and over again as the pews slowly filled in. When the family finally arrived at the church, the pews were packed. Bella walked in beside her father. Her hair, usually a mass of waves, was pulled back into a severe clump at the base of her neck. Her skin was pale, her blue eyes appeared to take up most of her face, and her lips were unstained. She was wearing the fur coat.
Sam watched Bella take her place among her nieces and nephews in the front pew. One of them tugged on her shoulder and another climbed into her lap and the coat slipped, revealing a pale shoulder and a strap of black. Sam flashed back to her body beneath the coat the night before, the way it had opened to reveal Bella in nothing but a pair of panties. He felt a twitch in his crotch and, embarrassed, twisted away from his father, willing it to go away, focusing instead on a stained glass window of a saint crying tears of blood.
During the service Sam contemplated Bella’s perfectly straight posture as she stared at a place beyond her mother’s coffin. He had no idea what was said. When the service was over Mr. Spade got up and approached the coffin with his sons and touched the spot near the top, near Mrs. Spade’s head. His sons followed their father, but Bella remained seated. When the organist played louder, Bella finally stood and gathered the children, who stayed clustered around her, and she ushered them forward, her head down. One of the smaller kids turned and waved, but Bella continued on, carefully avoiding eye contact with either the attendees or her mother’s coffin.
At the reception Sam and his father parted. Sam was surprised by how pulled together the house was less than eight hours after the previous night’s gathering. There was a fresh bar set up on the large kitchen island and platters of food covering the lengthy dining room table. Bella’s brothers’ wives seemed to be running the whole thing.
Sam ran into Frankie Cole and followed him out onto the back deck, where Bella was curled up in the coat on the lounge chair, flanked by Ruthie and Mindy. Everyone else was huddled around the fire pit trying to get something started. Sam looked around; they all appeared to be wearing a variation of their graduation clothes.
“The wood is wet, morons,” Frankie offered as he poked at the firewood stacked on the deck, covered only by an icy shelf of snow. “Snow, ice, all of it makes water.” He shook his head as Peter Chang lit another twisted piece of paper and held it up to the kindling. There was a sizzling sound followed by a tendril of smoke and then nothing.
“Just let it go,” Mindy said, coughing and waving a hand in front of her face. “Please, know when to stop.” Mindy and Peter had been an item briefly the summer before they went off to college, and ever since then she spoke to him like she was his ex-wife.
“Here, this will keep us warm.” Stephen produced a bottle of vodka from inside the folds of his voluminous gray coat. He set the bottle down on the deck and wrestled a stack of plastic cups from his pocket. No doubt he had swiped everything from the bar on his way through. He poured generous shots and handed them all around.
Everyone, including Bella, raised a glass. No one spoke, and Sam fixated on Bella’s bottom lip as it trembled. “To Mrs. Spade,” he said in a rush as everyone tossed back the shots. The vodka burned going down. Sam knew that alcohol was the worst thing to drink when you were cold, that it triggered some sort of false positive effect in your bloodstream, but it wasn’t as if they were going hiking. They were sitting on Bella’s deck, their own houses all within a two-block radius. So they filled their cups again and again until the bottle was empty and they were all feeling the heat.
Mindy and Ruthie refused to relinquish their spots by Bella. Sam looked over at her and mouthed the words Are you okay?
She nodded and smiled back and then looked away as Ruthie whispered in her ear.
“Hey, you have any food in that coat?” Peter pointed at Frankie, who flattened his pockets with his palms and shook his head.
Sam was closest to the door, and everyone looked at him expectantly. He shrugged. “Fine, I’ll go.”
On his way down the hall he passed the bathroom and went in and shut the door to take a leak. The medicine cabinet was open, as if someone had been looking for something. Sam took a survey. There was the usual spare razor and blades, the half a dozen hotel soaps and tiny bottles of shampoo that seemed to collect in every spare bathroom, a bottle of Tums, and aspirin. He closed the door and blinked at his reflection, surprised to see himself there. It was entirely possible that he’d had too much to drink on a stomach of doughnuts and coffee.
Just like the night before, being in the back of the house and walking to the front was like entering another world. The decibel level was higher and people were everywhere. Sam caught sight of his father leaning against the wall near the front door, a sandwich raised to his mouth, nodding at something Henry Wild was saying. Mr. Spade, Mr. Wild, and Sam’s father all worked for the same firm. Sam’s father swallowed his giant mouthful and laughed at what Mr. Wild had to say before he took another tremendous bite of his sandwich.
Sam picked up a plate and began to make his way around the table, filling it with two of each kind of sandwich that was left. He balanced the plate in one hand and grabbed an unopened bag of potato chips with the other as the front door opened. He heard a chorus of greetings, and then his father shouted his brother’s name above the noise. The door must have still been open, because there was a sweep of cold air along the floor, swirling around Sam’s ankles. He headed toward the door, pushing through knots of people, curious to see if Michael had really shown up. His father had said he was too busy; the third year of medical school was too intense to even dream about asking for time off.
But now Sam could see that there was a commotion at the door, too many people attempting to funnel into one space. There was his brother in the center of it, his father reaching for him. Michael’s cheeks and nose were pinched red from the air. He had a blue plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and a striped long-sleeve shirt tucked into his jeans, nothing else, nothing like a coat or a sweater that would protect him from the cold. He leaned back and said something to someone behind him, but Sam couldn’t tell whom, because just as he did Mr. Wild stepped forward, blocking his view.
Sam started to back up, figuring he would have time to talk to Michael later. His friends were waiting on the food, and he didn’t want to have to hear everyone fawn all over Michael’s arrival.
But then Mr. Wild stepped aside and the person behind Michael moved forward. She had dark, wavy hair and was wearing a long navy wool coat. Her back was to Sam but in her posture there was something familiar. Sam stepped closer just as his father looked up, made eye contact, and motioned Sam over with an exaggerated movement. Sam pressed forward, the plate in front of his chest, the chips tucked carefully under his arm. As he did his father said something to the girl with Michael and she pivoted slowly in Sam’s direction. Even from a distance he could see the S formation of freckles on her left cheek.
Suzie Epstein.
“Sam!” His father pointed at Michael and Suzie as if Sam couldn’t see them from five feet away. “Surprise, huh?” His cheeks were red and his voice was strained. Sam was unsure if it was a few drinks that had done him in or the fact that his son had shown up with the daughter of the man who had broken up his marriage.
“Hey, hey, yeah. Big surprise.” Sam looked at Michael and Suzie quickly, afraid to land his gaze in one specific place. Michael and Suzie?
“Thanks, I haven’t eaten since last night.” Michael reached for a sandwich on the top o
f the stack. Dimly, Sam offered the plate to Suzie, who just shook her head.
“Wow, Suzie. Wow.”
“Wow, Sam.” She grinned. “Wow.”
“How long are you here?” Sam’s father asked.
Michael held up a finger in response, swallowed, and said, “Got to leave tomorrow first thing.”
“Where is Bella?” Suzie asked in a soft voice.
Sam gestured over his shoulder. “Come on. I was bringing food to everyone out back.” He turned quickly and then felt too shy to check and see if Suzie was behind him. Of course she didn’t need him to tell her where “out back” was located; she had spent more of her childhood in this house than in her own. Once they hit the long hall to the bedrooms she tapped him on the shoulder, and Sam nearly dropped the plate of sandwiches.
“Want me to take those chips from you?”
He’d forgotten he was holding chips between his side and arm. The bag felt kind of flat. “No, it’s fine.”
At Bella’s bedroom door Suzie reached around and twisted the knob. They stepped into the room and Sam tried to avoid looking at Bella’s bed. Heat was rising up from his back to his neck and he was sweating under the collar. But Suzie wasn’t paying attention to him. She was sprinting around the piles, her hair and coat flying behind her, getting to the deck steps before Sam.
Sam heard Mindy scream, then Ruthie. He stepped outside just in time to see Suzie take Bella in her arms as the girls burst into tears.
“It’s about fucking time, dude.” Frankie grabbed the plate of sandwiches from Sam. He took two off the top and handed the platter to Peter.
Sam dropped the chip bag onto a chair. Stephen sidled up next to him and said under his breath, “Holy shit, she is hot. I mean, I always thought she was. But you know, this is even better than I imagined.” He gave an approving nod.
Ruthie tapped Suzie on the shoulder and, when neither Suzie nor Bella responded, she tried to pull them apart. “All right, all right, you need to tell us how you got here and how you knew! Where have you been, Suzie Epstein?”
Bella pulled Suzie down with her onto the lounge chair, and Suzie leaned back against Bella’s fur-covered knees. Just like that they were fifteen all over again.
By the time Sam stumbled home it was midnight. He had learned that Suzie’s parents had lasted only another year after their attempted reconciliation in Massachusetts, and that Suzie had graduated from high school a year early and been accepted to Harvard, where she now was a senior, premed, studying to become a psychiatrist. She had bumped into Michael in line for coffee two days before, and Michael had told her about Bella’s mother.
Sam stood at the sink and tossed back two aspirin chased by a large glass of water. He squinted out the window, through the dull spray of a streetlight, and wondered what Bella and Suzie were doing. Suzie had not left Bella’s side all evening. He imagined them inside now, curled together on Bella’s bed, whispering into the shadows, wrapped in that damn fur. Suzie hadn’t made eye contact with him again all night, and he wondered what that meant, if it meant anything. It probably meant nothing.
The television was on, an infomercial for weight loss on the screen. Michael was asleep on his back on the couch, one hand resting on his chest, the other grazing the floor. Sam stooped down, picked up the channel changer off the floor, and clicked off the sound.
At the sudden silence, Michael snorted awake. “Hey, hey. What time is it?” He fumbled at his watch.
“Midnight. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He waved his hand in the air. “I’m used to sleeping for five minutes at a time.” The usual snap of sarcasm in his voice wasn’t there. “Medical school. One of the perks.” He snorted again and smacked his stomach. “Damn, I’m hungry.”
“I could make you something.” Sam couldn’t remember the last time he and Michael had spent any time together, and making him something to eat seemed like an easy enough way to do that. Besides, he was curious enough about Suzie and Michael that he was hoping for some more information.
Michael cracked open an eye and looked over at him. “Seriously?”
Sam nodded and moved past him into the kitchen. “Egg sandwich okay?”
“Ah, Sam-man, seriously, that would be fantastic.”
Sam opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, a jar of salsa, a block of cheddar, and butter. From deep in the freezer he found a bag of bagels—grocery store version, but they would do. He heated the griddle pan and sliced the bagels, putting them facedown on the butter to slowly toast before he cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl.
Sam heard the scrape of a kitchen chair and looked over his shoulder to see Michael slumped at the table. Michael poked at the pile of soy sauce. “Dad is going to get high blood pressure if he doesn’t stop eating this shit.” He gathered the packets up, leaned over for the trash can, and swept the packs in.
“There will be more next week,” Sam said as he set the plate in front of him. Steam rose from the sides of the bagel, off the eggs. Cheese and salsa oozed onto the plate. His own mouth watered as Michael lifted the sandwich and took a large bite.
He was still chewing, head down, when Sam sat across from him with his own sandwich. He ate half and then pushed it toward the middle of the table. Michael was licking salsa from his fingers and he looked up at Sam as he lifted the remains from the plate. A piece of egg was on his chin, slick with grease. “This is amazing.”
Sam laughed. “Did you even chew?”
Michael shook his head. “I’m telling you, medical school, especially the last two years, fucks with everything. Between rotations and classes and studying, you can’t sleep more than an hour at a time and you eat like a pack of wolves is at your back.” Sam handed him a paper towel and he wiped his mouth and chin. “And at the end you get a diploma.”
“And a cushy life.” Sam knew his perspective was probably ignorant. But considering his future looked less than bright, anything seemed cushy in comparison.
“Hey, yeah, but it takes years to get to that life. And frankly, health care and insurance being what they are, I don’t know that the monetary rewards of being a doctor even exist anymore.”
“I’m flunking more than half of my classes,” Sam said. He didn’t know where the confession came from, but he wasn’t entirely sorry it was out there.
“What the fuck?” Michael looked concerned, but not shocked.
Sam shrugged. “I know some of it’s my fault. But, I don’t know, I just can’t get it.”
Michael shook his head. “There’s a difference between can’t and don’t want to. Do you need a tutor? Do you need to change your major?”
“I don’t know if that would help.” Sam hesitated. “I just don’t think I’m you, Michael. I’m not cut out for the books, never have been.”
Michael made a face. “Nobody is asking you to be me. But, Sammy, it is so freaking hard to get a job without a college education. Have you told Dad?”
“No.”
“You have to talk to Dad.”
“And what is he going to say? Try harder?”
Michael ran a hand through his hair. Sam noticed that he too needed a haircut. “Is that impossible?” He squinted at something past Sam on the wall before he turned his attention back. “So you finish in five years instead of four. You take summer classes.”
Sam sighed, pushed back his chair, and stacked their plates in the sink. “Feels like impossible is the answer.”
“What are your options: make goat cheese?”
Sam grinned. Michael and he rarely brought up the topic of their mother. He looked over at his brother and was surprised to see him smirking. “Would that qualify as learning a family trade?”
Michael threw back his head and laughed. Sam watched his Adam’s apple move up and down. When Michael stopped laughing he snuffled a few times and said, “I mean, when I think about Mom, I still picture her with Dad. Quiet, sad, moody. And then I remember where she is now.”
“You remember he
r like that?”
Michael nodded.
Sam swallowed hard. He remembered their mother singing silly made-up songs, lining up his plastic army men on sheets of newspaper and spray painting them crazy colors, letting him drive the old station wagon while sitting on her lap, allowing ice cream to dribble down his arms on a hot day and then hosing him off. Sam knew she could be quiet and sad, but that wasn’t all he remembered.
“Shit, Sammy, look at your face. We had it pretty good. Even after, we did, you know?”
Sam nodded. What would Michael know about after? He had been away at college. But he was right. They had survived more or less intact.
“Was it awkward with Dad tonight?” Sam asked, then clarified, “because of Suzie?”
Michael stopped mid-yawn, his hands above his head, his shirt untucked to show a hairy slice of his lower belly. “What do you mean?”
Sam stared hard at Michael. Was he kidding?
Michael shook his head from side to side. “Sam?”
“That summer Mom left was the summer the Epsteins moved. I think Mom and Mrs. Epstein were close, or, you know, Mom felt bad for her when Mr. Epstein left.” Sam knew he was stammering idiotically, but Michael had already seemed to lose interest. If Michael didn’t know about their mother and Mr. Epstein, now didn’t seem like the time to tell him.
Michael stood again, shrugged, and yawned. “You going to crash?” Sam asked, eager to get off the subject.
“Yeah. I have to be back in Boston for nine A.M. rounds. So I’m leaving in”—he checked his watch—“three hours.”
Sam didn’t want to ask if he was taking Suzie with him. He nodded and said weakly, “Any time you need an egg sandwich . . .”
“You rock, Sammy-boy. Thanks for that.” Michael patted his stomach, then started down toward his room. He paused at the door and looked back. “And talk to Dad. Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret.” He reached up and tapped the molding and then he was gone.
The Grown Ups Page 10