“Auggie, I’ve let you have your say, now let me have mine.” His face was intent and I owed him the same liberties as I’d taken. I nodded to go ahead.
“As idealistically wonderful as what you’re saying sounds, this is an imperfect world and there are no guarantees for anyone. Not those of us with money, and not those who will never have a penny left over. We are all victims of one kind or another. Did all our money stop the Linc disaster? No. Would not having money have stopped it? No. It’s because we are imperfect, just as you say. The world is nothing more than a collection of the same kind of people. Fate gets us all in the end, as they say. It’s how you ride the wave that separates us. I want to be happy. Hell, we all want to be happy. Money may not make me happy, but I can damned sure guarantee you that poverty will make me far more miserable.”
I sat back and processed what he was saying. “So, you think I was happy at the condo, not because I stumbled upon an individual reality, but because it was simply different?
“Not exactly, but yes, sort of. You’re high on the feeling that you can chuck everything and everyone to the side of the road. That felt good. Want to talk reality? Was it honorable to leave me and to leave your son? To not want to see people who cared about you and had your back? How do you think that felt to me, Auggie?”
My mouth gaped. He was so right. I had thrown away the world, gone underground and loved it; never giving a moment’s thought to how it affected others. That was so, so wrong. I had abandoned my family, myself.
He went on. “I get it that Joe’s is not the role model for a life with integrity. Don’t you think I know that? But what are the alternatives? Shall I go down the street to O’Charlie’s and sit with the rest of the wannabees? Listen to their tales of being stepped on and overlooked for promotions they believe they deserved? On what basis? On the basis of having shown up for work most often? That’s not integrity, Auggie. That’s the system. They have theirs, we have ours. Ours has been around longer and has more money. Theirs? There are just more of them. Do you think if I stepped into O’Charlie’s and held up a check for a million dollars and said it goes to the first person who’s willing to leave his wife at home alone five nights a week — do you think there wouldn’t be any takers? Of course there would. There always will be. In some crazy ass way of thinking, they are happier because we are who we are. We are the role model for who they think they want to be. That makes us their incentive. Their incentive to show up to work, to get an education, to have a savings account for a bigger house. We provide a billboard for what they think they want. We are the excuse they give to themselves for not having money. They criticize us, deride us, even hate us; but they still admire us. It’s how they’re raised. Do you really believe that knowing that, you would be happier among them? Because that’s what you’re suggesting, Auggie. You’re suggesting that we give up our way of life in order to embrace theirs, which includes wanting to become just like us. See the insanity of it?”
I felt alive for the first time. I was being challenged to think in a way that had never happened before. Sure, I was educated — which was simply another word for being trained. What Worth was giving me, however, was mental stimulation and I was eating it up. My brain was swimming with new thoughts, new ideas, new perspectives. I absolutely loved it and it was erotic as hell!
“I’m sorry for leaving you, Worth,” I said in a humble voice.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You left me the first time willingly. You left me this last time because it was part of the necessary healing process. The next time you leave me, it will be because I’ve driven you away. I don’t want that to ever happen, Auggie. If you take nothing more than this from all you’ve just said, realize that I acknowledge I was wrong to leave you out. You’re an intelligent and honorable woman and I’m very, very proud to have you as my wife. I shouldn’t have left you behind. I should have pulled you closer, connected you to my hip. The problem with that is you begin to use my values as your own and while that may result in fewer arguments, it also takes away from the added perspective you bring to me, to us.”
I stood up to make coffee, turning my back not to separate myself from him, but to gain a few moments’ worth of space in which to think. I turned eventually, holding out a cup for him and taking my own into the family room. I slid into the lounge chair in front of the fire. He joined me momentarily, sitting on the sofa nearby and putting his feet up so he, too, was reclining.
“So,” I began in a quiet, less animated voice, “where does that leave us?”
“How do you mean?” he asked, and I could hear a tinge of fear in that question.
“Not us, as in you and me and our marriage. That’s a given. We’re together, for good. No, what I mean is where does all this leave us in terms of how we relate to life, as we’ve been given it. What do we decide to do about Ford? About the foundation? About this estate? I can’t disregard all I said or felt about the condo. I enjoyed my life there, Worth, I really did.”
“Sweetheart, I may have a wall full of diplomas, but that doesn’t mean I have all the answers. We are unique; everyone is unique. The best we can do is to decide what’s best for us and let others have that same right.”
“So,” I began, “what I’m hearing you say is that the best answer is to empower people. Let them make the decision for what is best for them and we’ll do likewise. Is that right?”
“I think it’s right. It’s the best answer I can give you.” Worth was generous in his humility.
“Then let’s take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, Bernie is going to drive up and bring Ford back for Christmas. He’s been there for a semester now, so the homesick part is over with. Let’s be a real family over the holidays. Let’s spend time together and be respectful to one another. Then, at the end of the vacation, we’ll ask him if he’d rather be at school, or be here. If he chooses school, we agree, right now, you and I, that we’ve allowed him to make the best choice for himself and we won’t interfere. We won’t let it hurt. We will have given it our best shot. If he chooses to come home, then we make him finish out the term, just for the sake of self-discipline, and he can begin his next year at a school closer to home, whether private or public.”
Worth gave this some thought and finally nodded. “Agreed. We’ve only explored two options so far, neither of which has worked perfectly. There’s always room for something that will fit him better. In fact, although he’s young, he is still also relatively unaffected by peer pressure or hormones, so his judgment will be pretty sound.”
“Okay, then we’re agreed on this point. Now, as for my moving back in here, in order for us to have a complete family, we have to legitimately be complete. Yes, I learned some things about myself being alone, but you make an excellent point about it being at the expense of others. That was selfish of me. So, for now, I will move back here. When I say ‘for now,’ I only mean until you and I decide where we want to live permanently. That brings us to the third big decision about the foundation. Do we want to do it? Are we capable of doing it well? Will it damage our family life? Are there options we haven’t considered?”
“Boy, you’re sort of on a roll here, aren’t you?” Worth laughed.
“Well? Why not talk about all this at the same time? It’s all sort of linked, you realize?”
“I think that we should deal with family first and foundation last. Let’s have your things moved back here, but we’ll keep the condo open and furnished. It can be our ‘in town’ nest. When the weather is bad, particularly, or if we have meetings for the foundation, being already in town could be a nice arrangement to have. As for the foundation, let Brandon finish up the paperwork because if we don’t do it the way we’ve discussed, we’ll adapt and the foundation will still be necessary. I suggest that maybe after the holidays, you and I take a trip and visit some of those neighborhoods, get community leader input and visit some other similar camps around the country. We’ll stick to a southern route for the best weather. It would be go
od for us to get away, don’t you think? Then, when we have the best information, we can make the best decision. How does that sound?”
“Like a man who knows what he’s doing. I’m proud you’re my husband, Worth. I truly am. If you’ll follow me into the bedroom, I’ll show you just how proud!” I smiled wickedly.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Worth
Ford pounded in the entry door shouting, “Mother?”
“Ford!” Auggie shouted from upstairs and skipped down the staircase toward him. He was beaming at her; apparently so glad that she was back to normal. She hugged him and lifted him right off his feet in pleasure. “Glad to be home?”
“You bet! You know, there were a couple of guys who couldn’t go home for Christmas. Their families lived too far away and couldn’t afford it.”
“Oh, no, really? Could you invite them here? We’d be glad to have them.”
“I don’t think so, Mother. It’s too late. You’d need written permission from their parents and everything.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. Next time, maybe we can plan ahead. I’m so happy you’re here, though. We have so much planned to do!”
“Hello, son,” I said and Ford looked up to me and extended his hand.
“Hello, Father.”
I was a bit taken aback by the cool formality, but wrote it off to the military discipline he was subjected to. I decided to overlook it.
Auggie was peeling off his jacket and telling him to put his things away. “Come down to the kitchen then and help me bake some cookies, will you? I just can’t seem to tell if they taste okay. I need a professional tester.”
He nodded enthusiastically and ran up the stairs to his room. Auggie’s personal effects had already been moved back into our bedroom and he noted that as he passed by our open door. I saw him pause and sort of nod with approval. He came back down and asked, “Mother? Are you home for good?”
“Home for good.” She smiled and handed him a fresh cookie. “You think there are too many chocolate chips in that one? Shall I cut back a bit?”
“No, no, Mother, it’s perfect. In fact, you could even up it a bit and I wouldn’t complain!” His face was so full of joy. I felt complete.
“When you two are done in the kitchen, we have a little tree-picking to do. I thought we’d use one of our own this year. There’s quite a few beyond the track and naturally we had to wait for you to come home to select just the right one,” I said. This seemed to meet with his approval because he hurriedly asked Auggie how many cookies they were baking.
“Just enough for right now, I think,” she said. “We can bake a few more batches before Christmas, though. I thought you might like to take some over to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
“Aren’t they coming for Christmas?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “They’ll be here. They’re looking forward to seeing you home again,” I added, hoping I wasn’t prejudicing his eventual decision about staying at school or moving home again.
There wasn’t much snow on the ground, and we made the most of it. We bundled up and decided to walk down to the track. We would pick a tree and tag it for one of the hands to cut and bring up to the house.
Ford was like a live wire, skipping around and pointing out birds’ nests and things you couldn’t see when there were leaves on the trees. Auggie was delighted; her face shining and her cheeks red from the cold. We tramped back into the woods and Ford picked out a pine that was, for the most part, straight. He used his scarf to mark it and we headed back, going by the barns on the way so he could say hello to his horse and the hands who were working.
There’s nothing like the scents inside a working horse barn. It was far warmer than the outdoors and even the smell of manure was familiar and comforting. It steamed in piles along the perimeter and mixed with the odors of liniment and leather. The horses’ nostrils steamed a bit and they were glad of the sugar cubes and petting. We were all in a holiday mood. The only sad part was that Auggie had demanded that Carlos’ stall never be re-assigned and so where he once stood, now only a plaque with his name and his abandoned bridle served to remember him by. Auggie stood at it for a few minutes, as though trying to absorb his individual scent and to let the memories of all the times they had shared together fill her consciousness. We let her have her moments before we dragged her back out into the cold sunlight. Ford was waiting, a snowball in hand and he caught her squarely in the back.
This naturally triggered a family snowball fight and since the snow was sparse, it took more effort to make a ball than was feasible. We gave up quickly and went indoors. Auggie and Ford went up into the attic to get the tree decorations and I helped the men get the tree into the house and into the stand when they arrived.
Auggie made us a special family dinner that night, preparing a huge tray of lasagna with French bread and salad. We let Ford chatter on about school and all the people he knew. We exchanged a few looks over his head, knowing that his decision could go either way when it came time to make it.
We topped off dinner with strawberry shortcake and then took hot cocoa into the family room to decorate the tree. The tallest and only person not afraid to climb a ladder, I was elected to begin stringing the lights and to put the star on top. Ford and Auggie entered into a heated, although friendly, discussion about the ornaments and where they should go. They were two of a kind and I had to factor that in, as well, regarding his ultimate decision.
The hour grew late and Ford went upstairs to bathe and go to bed. He scampered down and gave Auggie one last kiss before he climbed into bed. I got a hug this time and reasoned that it was probably far more seemly, considering I was his father.
Auggie and I switched to wine and sat before the fire. We talked of our own Christmas celebrations as children. We compared notes and it seemed that as long as we believed in Santa Claus, things had been idyllic — or at least so they seemed. Once we knew Santa was imaginary, the pretense was dropped and there were no celebrations or seasonal traditions. On Christmas morning, we each received a gift certificate to some store or another and life had gone on as usual. Auggie said her dad wanted to do more, but her mother had always objected, saying that she had been unruly and belligerent through the year and that sort of behavior should not be rewarded.
How many times have I wished that Auggie’s mother had actually married my father and left the rest of the world alone? Then, I reasoned, there would have been no Auggie or me, and that put the question to rest.
Auggie and I made sweet, gentle love that night. There was no pressure of knowing that one of us would be leaving afterwards. There was only the acceptance of one another, complete with faults, and the overwhelming sense of family. For us, lovemaking was the ultimate way to be close to one another.
The next morning, I suggested to Ford that we had some shopping that needed to be done. We were off to town before Auggie had a chance to object — I think she was looking forward to shopping with him too. But I felt I needed some dedicated time with him. I think she understood because she was smiling contentedly as we left.
We chose one of the large department stores and bought Margaret and Walter a compact but powerful home entertainment system. Ford commented that his Grandfather always seemed to have the volume turned up awfully high, so we bought a system that supported individual headphones with adjustable volume. Ford asked for some spending money and an hour alone to buy his mother and me a gift. I gave him money and settled down in the store café for a cup of coffee and to read the newspaper while he was gone.
“Merry Christmas, Bro.” The voice. The words. The condescending tone sent chills down my back. I looked up at the man standing before me and if it weren’t for the emerald green eyes, dancing with wickedness, I wouldn’t have known him.
I was speechless.
“Surprised?” he asked, chuckling in that evil tone I remembered. “Thought you might be,” he said, pulling out a chair at the other side of my table and taking a seat.
> “What are you doing here?” I asked, all the while knowing it was the most pathetic question I could possibly ask.
“I think what you mean, is why am I alive?” A toothpick hung from his mouth, but his full beard almost completely hid it. “How’s my sweet-bodied little sister?” he snarled and it took every fiber of my body not to lunge at him. I had to remain cool. There was too much at stake. Ford would be back at any moment and I had to have this creature gone. “Pretty good act — rising from the dead not once, but twice, wouldn’t you say?”
I wanted to pick up the fork and gouge his eyes out. Those were the eyes of my Auggie and of our son. He didn’t deserve to have them.
“What do you want?” I barked tersely.
“Same thing I always wanted. What was owed to me.”
“How are you alive?”
“Funny how that works,” he said. “I’ve come to learn a great deal about switching people. Seems they’re not as identifiable as you might think. I got switched once and I figured out how to do it again.”
“And Jessie?”
“Her? Oh, yeah, she’s dead for sure. She was my cover.”
“But how did you fool the coroner?” I asked, even at the same time denying that I didn’t want to know, but somehow needed to know.
“You forget, Bro. They don’t have any prints on me. All that went into the hole with the other kid down the road at the family plot. I’m what you might call… untraceable.” He chuckled and winked at me, repositioning the toothpick.
I spotted Ford coming down the escalator. “Leave. Now! Meet me at my office tomorrow at three o’clock.”
He just sat and looked at me. I reached into my pocket and threw a wad of bills at him. “Now leave! We’ll settle this tomorrow!”
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