“I don’t think so.” Corbin faked a yawn. “I’ve had a long day.”
He could see the disappointment in Ray’s face, but the bandage on Corbin’s hand reminded him of the false accusation hurled in his direction seconds before.
“See you at the office on Monday,” he said as he turned away.
He drove up the driveway to his duplex. Seeing the empty house, he felt a twinge of regret at stiff-arming Ray’s invitation, but pride wouldn’t let him change his mind at this point. Anyway, it would be less stressful for everyone if Corbin wasn’t around when Roxy showed off her boyfriend. Cindy could relax, and Corbin wouldn’t have to spar with Roxy, whose words on a good day were sharper than Ray’s comments when he was in a bad mood.
Corbin wasn’t fighting a craving for whiskey, but he really wanted a cold beer. It was a thought that had lurked in the back of his mind during the second hour he spent with Billy on the bank of the pond. In the refrigerator was a neat row of five cans nestled close together. Corbin grabbed one. Immediately the outside of the can was covered with a thin layer of frost that signaled the perfect internal temperature. Corbin popped the top. It was a sound like none other. He lifted the can and let the amber beverage flow smoothly through his mouth and down his throat. There was nothing like a cold beer at the end of a day.
“Ah,” he said with satisfaction.
He sat down on the front stoop where he’d welcomed the day. He took two more long swallows that emptied half the can. The valley looked different in the late afternoon light. No longer poised in anticipation, it looked softer, more relaxed. The scene perfectly matched his mood. He wanted to savor the final bit of beer but gulped it instead. He stood up to get another can from the refrigerator when his phone rang. If it was Ray calling, he wasn’t going to answer.
He took the phone from his shirt pocket and glanced at it. It was Roxy.
Ray went into the backyard. Roxy followed, carrying the raw steaks on a metal sheet. The red-hot coals were uniformly covered in gray ash. Ray laid the steaks on top of the grill. It wouldn’t take long for them to begin to sizzle.
“How does Peter like his meat?” he asked.
“Medium, but less cooked is better than overcooked.”
“I think I can handle medium.” Ray glanced past Roxy toward the kitchen door. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave Peter alone with Dad?”
“It’s probably the best thing we could do. Dad’s being the most social I’ve seen in years. He’d rather talk to Peter than us.”
“Yeah,” Ray chuckled, “I’ve heard those stories too many times to pretend that I’m interested.”
“The thing about Peter is he’s not pretending. He’s wanted to meet Dad for weeks.”
“Why?”
“Because he cares so much about me.”
Ray glanced up. “I knew this was serious or you wouldn’t have brought him to meet us,” he said. “Has he asked you—”
“No, no.” Roxy cut him off. “But he’s really helped me come out of the shell I’ve been hiding in. He always knows what to say to me when my default is to shut down.”
“I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
“Believe me, it sounds weirder to me than it does to you.” Roxy turned around toward the kitchen. “I’d better get back inside, if for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity.”
Ray wasn’t sure what was happening in his sister’s life, but any crack in her armor was positive. He eyed the steaks and resisted the urge to poke them with a long fork or lift up an edge to check how fast they were cooking. Scattered pops came from the coals as drops of melted fat fell through the grill. The kitchen door opened, and Cindy came outside.
“The potatoes are out of the oven,” she said. “All I have to do is give the salad a final toss before putting it on the table. How’s the meat?”
“It won’t be long. The fire is hot. And I think someone has kidnapped my sister and downloaded someone else into her body.”
Cindy smiled. “I won’t file a police report if you won’t. She’s been very cordial, and I left Peter listening to your father as if he’s a sage who spent his entire life in search of ultimate wisdom.”
“What about the conversation around the dinner table?” Ray asked. “Who’s going to steer that in a positive direction?”
“Not me.” Cindy held up her hands. “I’m the nonlawyer in the family. The rest of you intimidate me.”
“We’ll let Peter direct the table talk. From what Roxy just told me, he’s found the lost key to her soul and is on a mission to do the same for Dad. I want to watch him in action.”
He turned the steaks over, revealing perfectly formed grill marks on the side exposed to the coals. “Unless anyone wants their meat burnt, these should come off in three to four minutes,” he said.
Cindy left Ray with his thoughts. He looked up at the stars that were beginning to dot the night sky.
The back door opened a third time, and Billy came out, bringing a clean platter for the steaks. His hair was still wet from the shower and combed away from his forehead. He looked more and more like Corbin each day.
“Mama said you’d need this,” he said, handing the plate to Ray.
“Thanks. Did you meet Peter?”
“Yeah, he and Pops are talking about you and Aunt Roxy.”
“What are they saying?” Ray asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Stuff from when you were teenagers. I had a question for Pops about fishing, but he told me not to interrupt.”
“There will be time for you to talk to him about fishing before he leaves.” Ray handed the platter back to Billy. “Here, hold this while I take the steaks off the grill.”
“I don’t want to drop them.”
“You won’t. Anyone who can reel in some of the fish you’ve been catching can handle a platter of dead cow meat.”
“Daddy, that’s gross.”
THIRTY-SIX
Even though it was slightly cramped, everyone sat around the table in the dining room. On the spur of the moment, Ray asked Billy to say the blessing for the food.
The little boy didn’t hesitate. Bowing his head, he used the exact words in Ray’s standard blessing.
“How much broccoli do I have to eat?” he asked as soon as he finished.
“It’ll taste better because you prayed over it,” Ray replied.
“Three pieces,” Cindy said. “Which is two less than normal because you were willing to pray.”
The serving dishes made it around the table, and everyone dug in.
“Did Roxy tell you we’ve gone to church together?” Peter asked Ray.
“Yeah, what prompted that?”
“I’m not sure how exactly to describe it, but I’m going through some kind of spiritual awakening. I didn’t go to church at all when I was growing up, so this is all new to me, but I know it’s real.”
“I know what you mean,” Corbin added under his breath.
Ray, who was about to put another bite of steak in his mouth, stopped. He could see the shock on his wife’s and sister’s faces.
“What did you say?” he asked Corbin.
“You heard me.”
“But I don’t know what you mean.”
“That it’s real.”
“He’s talking about God,” Billy cut in. “I understand him.”
“Yeah.” Corbin motioned toward Billy. “That’s right. Billy gets me.”
With Peter’s prompting, the conversation veered to Ray and Roxy growing up in Alto. It was a delicate subject, but Peter kept the focus positive by asking questions like, “What were some of the funny things you remember Roxy and Ray doing as kids?”
Corbin’s story about an incident with a sprinkler and a water hose made Roxy smile. Ray couldn’t remember the last time father and daughter had shared a molecule of common humor.
“Would it be okay if I asked a few questions about Mrs. Gage?” Peter asked.
“Kitty,” Corbin replied. “She ne
ver would have let you call her Mrs. Gage.”
Ray looked at Billy, whose eyes had suddenly widened.
“Maybe not now,” Ray said, motioning with his head toward his son.
“Sure,” Peter replied. “Billy, tell me about the lake your Pops mentioned, the one where you give names to all the big bass.”
Everyone relaxed as Billy became the center of attention for the rest of the meal. As Ray listened he felt grateful for his son’s unself-conscious influence on the adults. Even Roxy was relating to Billy more as a person than as an unformed juvenile. All this had to be due to what Ray labeled in his mind as the “Peter Factor.” Roxy’s boyfriend should have been the one nervous at meeting the extended Gage family, but he made all of them feel more at ease with one another.
“Who wants dessert?” Cindy asked. “I made a lemon meringue pie this morning while Ray and Billy were cleaning the bedrooms.”
Everyone except Roxy opted in.
“It’s already going to take an extra workout or two for me to take care of this meal,” she said. “How about you, Cindy? Are you still working out a few days a week?”
Cindy was carrying the empty serving dish for the broccoli to the kitchen. She placed it in the sink and turned around toward the table.
“No, I’m pregnant, and the doctor wants me to take it easy during the first trimester.”
The family-wide announcement was unexpected. Ray quickly glanced at Billy, whose eyes were suddenly fixed on his mother’s abdomen.
“The baby is tiny right now,” Ray said to his son. “But we’re praying that he will grow and get bigger.”
“Or she,” Cindy added.
“Congratulations,” Peter said.
“Uh, yeah,” Roxy said with a perplexed look on her face. “Did the doctor clear you to have another baby?” she asked. “Because of your history—”
“Roxy!” Cindy cut in.
Ray raised his fingers to his lips and nodded toward Billy. Their son knew nothing about the multiple miscarriages.
“Oh, sorry,” Roxy said.
Corbin, who was sitting next to Billy, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “After dessert I’d like you to show me the school project you told me about. You know, the one about the impact of dams on fishing.”
“Okay.”
The room remained silent while Cindy cut the pie. Roxy left the table and brewed a cup of decaf from the Keurig.
Corbin swallowed a bite of pie. “I’ll add my congratulations about the baby,” he said thoughtfully to Cindy. “You and Ray are great parents, much better than I ever was. I’ve been thinking a lot about that recently, and I need to—”
“Pops,” Billy interjected over a mouthful of pie. “You’re awesome. Most of the kids in my class don’t have a grandpa who takes them fishing and does fun stuff with them like you do with me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw Roxy shift in her chair as a dark cloud passed over her features.
Corbin ate another bite of pie. “Come on, Billy,” he said. “Let’s go to your room.”
The remaining adults sat in silence for a few moments. Ray wanted to revisit Corbin’s attempt at an apology but wasn’t sure how to introduce it.
“Peter and I had better get going,” Roxy said, looking at her watch. “Thanks for dinner.”
“And to you for buying the steaks,” Ray said.
Everyone stood.
“Are you going to say good-bye to Dad?” Ray asked.
“No, we’ve been civil to each other so far tonight. I don’t want to chance a relapse.”
“I look forward to seeing you again,” Peter said. “Billy too. He’s a great kid.”
After they left, Ray and Cindy returned to the kitchen.
“Did you hear what my father was doing before Billy cut him off?” Ray asked her. “He was going to apologize for his mistakes as a father.”
“That might work for you, but it’s going to take a lot more than a few words over a piece of pie to get rid of that mountain for Roxy.”
Ray wanted to say something about God moving mountains. But at that moment it would sound more like a platitude than a promise.
Roxy and Peter walked down the driveway to her car, and Peter opened the passenger door for her.
“I can drive,” Roxy protested.
“Or you can ride,” Peter replied.
Roxy slid into the seat, leaned her head against the headrest, and closed her eyes. Peter started the car and moved forward down the street.
“I’m exhausted,” she said. “Being in the same room with my father wears me out worse than a three-hour case conference with Mr. Caldweller. And when he spouted out that lame comment about how Ray and Cindy are better parents than he was, pretending it was an apology, I thought I was going to throw up.”
“Maybe there will be a time and place when he’ll say what he needs to say directly to you.”
“That’s the point. Excuses aren’t going to erase a lifetime of actions.” Roxy sat up straighter and shifted so she faced Peter. “He put me through emotional purgatory for the first eighteen years of my life. That’s not going to go away like a puff of smoke in the wind.”
“Which road leads back to the interstate?” Peter asked.
“Oh, take a left at the next light. Sorry, I should have been paying attention.”
“You pay attention very well,” Peter replied. “Maybe too well.”
Roxy bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Peter reached the light, which was red, and stopped. “I don’t want to make you mad, so I’ll drop it.”
“Are you saying I’m making a bigger deal out of this than I should? You have no idea what it was like. Over dinner you wanted to hear funny stories from my childhood. You should have balanced it with stories about broken promises, yelling, and the number of times I walked in on my mother and found her in tears because Dad had done something that she wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me about.”
“You’re right,” Peter said as he turned onto the highway that led to the interstate. “I can’t get my mind around what you’ve gone through or what needs to happen to fix it.”
“Fixing it is easy,” Roxy said. “It’s an abusive situation. When that exists you leave and don’t come back. I made a mistake letting you talk me into begging him to come to dinner. I knew it wasn’t right, but you and Ray ganged up on me.”
“I wanted to meet him.”
“Why?”
“So I can better understand you.”
“Well, if you think I’m like him, you’d better drop me off at my townhome and never see me again.”
Corbin made it through Sunday without a beer or shot of whiskey. It wasn’t easy. He couldn’t stay inside the house because the temptation from the kitchen cabinet and refrigerator was too great, so he spent most of the morning in his yard pulling weeds. Previously he’d left the weeds alone. He’d even welcomed them because they were green and offered a break from bare spots of clay that stubbornly resisted his best efforts to grow fescue grass.
Sunday evening he went to an AA meeting. To his disappointment neither Jimmy nor Max was there. It was a twelve-step meeting, and the discussion focused on Step Four—“Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.”
There were eighteen people present, and it was quickly obvious that most of them had spent a lot of time considering each word of the step. Their comments reminded Corbin of the way lawyers and judges analyzed an important section of a statute or law. As the discussion moved around the circle in his direction, Corbin became more and more uneasy. He knew he could pass and decline to participate, but he felt it would be a retreat from his recent breakthrough with steps one and two. A woman named Lynn, who was sitting next to Corbin, took a tissue from her purse before she spoke.
“This was the hardest thing for me to do,” she said. “It was easy admitting all that was wrong in my life and what I’d done to other people. I did that when I was drinking. But I knew this wo
uld be different. I wasn’t going to list my faults, then blame someone else for my problems. This time I had to hold the list beside my face while I looked in the mirror and accepted responsibility for everything on it. That’s what I did, literally. It was painful but it was a turning point that helped me keep going.”
“How long was the list?” the leader asked.
“Six pages,” Lynn replied. “It was five years ago, but I still have it. Oh, and I’ve added more pages since then. This isn’t a onetime thing. That’s the reason for Step Ten—“Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.” It sounds crazy, but by being weak, I’ve grown stronger.”
Lynn finished, and the leader looked expectantly at Corbin. His mind was swirling with thoughts and images from his past, but none of them stayed still long enough for him to capture them.
“I’m not there yet,” he said, then paused. “But I want to be.”
To his surprise, everyone in the circle spontaneously clapped.
“What did I say?” Corbin asked when it was quiet.
“They don’t call them the Twelve Steps for nothing,” the leader replied, smiling. “And you just took a big one when you declared your intention to take the next step.”
“I’m sixty-two years old,” Corbin replied. “And I’ve been drinking too much for over forty years. A searching and fearless moral inventory could take awhile. I’m not even sure where to begin or end.”
“We’re all traveling down the same road,” Lynn replied. “And we’ll be glad to walk alongside you.”
It was such an unselfish statement that it touched Corbin deeply. Heads all around the circle nodded. Corbin had seen some of the other men and women in other AA meetings during the past few weeks; others were total strangers. But he knew there was substance behind their silent support.
“Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I have to say.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Roxy woke up Sunday morning regretting the silence that had divided her from Peter during the drive back to Atlanta. She hadn’t trusted herself to speak and suspected he didn’t know what to say either.
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