Cheated By Death

by L. L. Bartlett

  “Mom said I had colic,” she whined.

  “What else?” Maggie prompted.

  His face screwed up in thought. “For a while he used to sing some damn ABC song—all day long. Thank God that didn’t last.”

  Maggie beamed and I felt my face flush.

  Chet’s smile faded, and a far-away look entered his eyes. “But he didn’t laugh much, either.”

  “Still doesn’t,” Patty said, and took another swallow of beer.

  “Eh . . . we didn’t have a very happy home,” Chet admitted.

  A fragment of memory flashed.

  My mother and father, screaming at each other, me crawling behind the couch to get away. Hands pressed tightly over my ears, I’d curled into a ball of fear, willing myself to just disappear.

  After the yelling came—

  My hand tightened around the beer bottle.

  I didn’t want to remember any more.

  “He didn’t even play with his toys much,” Chet continued. “We took him to some fancy doctors ’cause someone told Betty he was probably autistic, but they said he was okay. Just a quiet kid. Doctors told us we should be grateful.”

  Yeah, a quiet kid, who even as a toddler had known not to rock the boat. Because if you did, you’d hear that voice that could cut you down to nothing. That could—

  The anger flared anew. I couldn’t look at the old man, feeling cowed—like I was as a kid again. More embarrassing was talking about it in front of strangers—Ray and Patty. Hell, except for Maggie, they were all strangers.

  “Can’t we change the subject?” The edge to my voice was unmistakable, the silence that followed was awkward.

  “So where did you get the nice camera, Jeffrey?” Patty asked.

  “My brother, Richard, got a new one, so he gave me this one.”

  “Why didn’t he buy you a new one?” Chet demanded. “He can afford it.”

  I felt an unreasonable need to defend my brother. “He wanted something digital. I used to have one just like this, but it was stolen.”

  “Jeff’s sold some of his pictures to a magazine,” Maggie said.

  “Then why are you still a bartender?” Chet accused.

  “It takes time to build a new career,” Maggie answered for me.

  The anger I’d never been allowed to show as a child threatened to erupt. Who were these people to judge me? To judge Richard?

  “Take pictures now,” Patty said. She smoothed her hair and plucked at her blouse.

  I didn’t want to take any pictures of her, yet I couldn’t see a graceful way out of it. I picked up the camera and attached the flash, glad to hide behind it.

  “How do I look, Dad?” she asked.

  The old man gazed at her with pride. “Like my little princess.”

  I snapped a couple of shots, started to put the camera away.

  “We have to have a family photo,” Patty insisted. “Just the three of us. Maggie can take it.”

  “I’d be glad to,” she said, reaching for the camera.

  I hesitated, but reluctantly handed it over. Patty and I perched on opposite arms of the old man’s recliner.

  “Lean in closer,” Maggie instructed, looking through the viewfinder. “Closer.”

  I reached out a hand to steady myself against the back of Chet’s chair, unwilling to touch him. His very proximity drained my soul, dragging me to depths I hadn’t visited in thirty-two years.

  “Say cheese!” Maggie encouraged.

  “Whiskey,” Patty said, and I forced a smile. The flash momentarily blinded me. “Take another,” Patty said.

  Maggie cocked the shutter, advancing the film, then waited for the flash to light ready. “Nice big smiles!”

  Take the fucking picture, I mentally ordered.

  Why was that damned Ray staring at us so intently?

  Ruby and Vera had seen the flashes and bustled into the room, demanding to get into the act. I suffered through several more shots until Maggie finally surrendered the camera and I could lose myself in a familiar task.

  Patty dragged me into the living room and I ended up shooting the rest of the roll on the assembled relatives, with Patty promising prints to people I didn’t even know. She enjoyed being the life of the party, a feat I’d never been able, nor wanted, to accomplish. Her laugh was golden—she basked in the attention.

  It took twenty minutes to extricate myself from the crowd. Now that they’d eaten, my cousins had more questions for me. Part of me would rather have spoken with my father—I had a lot of questions, although I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know the answers.

  By the time I got back to the family room, Chet was dozing in his chair, his rattling breath uncomfortable to hear. I set my camera down and faded into the background, nursing a warm beer, letting Maggie take up the conversational slack. I half-listened, smiling when appropriate, but not actively participating. Ray had finally wandered off, probably bored.

  I stared at my father, trying to remember him as he used to be. Fragments of memories drifted into my mind—fuzzy faces and indistinct events that hadn’t entered my thoughts in years. Yet I hesitated to embrace them. All these years later it was still all too painful.

  I vaguely noticed Patty in the background. Her voice was getting shrill, her laugh became a cackle. My half-drunk beer suddenly tasted sour. I set it aside.

  Ruby glanced toward the kitchen, and looked distressed. “I think Patty’s had a little too much to drink.”

  “Eileen and Michael said they’d take Chet home and get him settled. It’s on the way,” Vera said.

  “Does this happen often?” I asked.

  Ruby nodded, lips pursed. “I’m afraid so.”

  An embarrassing silence fell among us, as though we shared in a conspiracy.

  Chet woke from his uneasy doze, his watery gaze settling on me. He managed a smile. “Still here.”

  Did he refer to me or himself?

  Chet straightened in the chair but his breathing didn’t ease.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked.

  He shook his head and a coughing spasm overtook him. Ruby was instantly at his side, steadying him as she rubbed his back. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, the choking noises growing—his distress radiating like a smothering blanket. My own unease verged on panic. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.

  Then Maggie stepped in front of me, and took my hand. Her calm, blue-eyed gaze, and the tranquil she projected, was a counterforce against the anxiety building inside me. She smiled, squeezed my hand, and my breathing eased. She edged closer and pushed me away from my father.

  A gaggle of relatives surrounded the old man, deciding it was time for him to leave. Vera pushed through the crowd, Chet’s coat draped over her arm.

  Vera’s son-in-law must’ve pulled chauffeur duty before, because he took charge, guiding the old man and his walker to his car. Maggie and I followed, and stood watching in the frigid stillness.

  Chet paused at the open car door, his gaze riveted upon me. “Are you gonna call me, boy? Will you come see me again?”

  “Sure,” I said, not looking forward to it.

  We watched the glow of taillights recede into the distance. I put my arm around Maggie’s shoulder and walked her back to the house to say our good-byes to Ruby. We found our coats and I snagged my camera. I heard Patty’s shrill laughter from another room. Her friend, Ray, could take her home.

  “We’ll see you at Hanukkah, won’t we?” Ruby asked hopefully.

  I’m a lapsed Catholic—I didn’t know anything about Jewish traditions. “I haven’t made any plans yet. I’ll let you know,” I hedged.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, and I got the feeling she had restrained herself from pinching my cheek. “We are your family. We love you,” she said and threw her arms around me, radiating unconditional love.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  As we headed down the walkway, I turned to see her wave. Framed in the doorway, she sudd
enly looked liked someone else—someone very familiar.

  I put the thought out of my mind. I had too many other things to think about just then.

  CHAPTER

  8

  The ride back to my place had been quiet. Maggie doesn’t push me when I fall into one of my contemplative moods. Confusion battered my mind and soul. I wanted to get shitfaced—a condition I found myself in too much lately.

  Like my sister?

  The lights were still on in the big house when we pulled up Richard’s driveway. Maggie glanced at the glowing clock on the dash. “It’s early. Do you want to stop in to see Brenda and Richard?”

  “Why not,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I’d rather get the inquisition over with.

  We went in through the back door. Only the stove’s hood light illuminated the kitchen. Maggie followed me down the hall. “Anybody home?” I called.

  The big old house felt gloomy and empty after Ruby’s tiny little Cape Cod overflowing with people. I called out again and we headed for the study, which was where Richard and Brenda tended to end up after dinner. A trail of lights led to the front of the house, and the soft sounds of Vivaldi from the stereo broke the quiet.

  “In here,” Brenda called.

  Holly barked and danced wildly around Maggie’s legs. “Did you miss your mommy?” she asked, making a fuss of the dog. “Is she being a good girl?”

  “I may not give her back,” Brenda said. Stretched out on the leather couch, she was surrounded by stacks of catalogs and brochures, all featuring baby products. “You’re back early. How’d it go?”

  I shrugged noncommittally. “Not bad.”

  “Everybody was very nice. And the food was de-lish,” Maggie gushed, taking off her coat and setting it on the opposite side of the couch.

  “How’s your father?” Richard asked from his seat behind his grandfather’s big old mahogany desk.

  “Not good.”

  Brenda studied us, waiting for more. “Is that it?”

  I nodded. “Essentially.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Maggie said, clearing a space on a chair and sitting. “I’ll be glad to fill you in on all the details.”

  Brenda’s gaze was still fixed on me. “I don’t think Jeffy’s ready to talk about it.”

  “I think you’re right.” I turned to Richard. “Got any beer?”

  “As a matter of fact, no.”

  “What kind of a host are you?”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “One who didn’t make it to the grocery store today.”

  “I’ve got a twelve-pack in my fridge. Want to head over there?”

  “What about us?” Maggie asked.

  “You don’t drink beer,” I said.

  “It’s possible male bonding is about to happen,” Brenda said.

  She knew me well. I did feel a need to talk to Richard, although I hadn’t realized it until that moment.

  “Then by all means, don’t let us interfere,” Maggie said.

  “There’s some wine in the fridge if you want it,” Brenda told her. “I’ll bet we could polish off the last of your Black Forest cake, too.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Maggie agreed, and Holly wagged her tail enthusiastically.

  “Hang on, I’ll get my coat,” Richard told me. He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and followed me across the driveway to my place.

  I hit the switch and the warm glow of incandescent light filled my living room. I hung my jacket in the closet before heading for the kitchen.

  “Drinking buddies,” Richard mused, peeling off his coat and setting it on the back of the chair. “I haven’t had one since college.”

  “I’ve just opened up your life.” I crouched before the open fridge, tore open the cardboard carton and handed him a bottle of beer.

  “On the contrary, I like to think I’ve opened yours.” Richard settled on the upholstered wing chair, stretching his long legs out before him.

  I took the south end of my couch and sipped my beer.

  It was quiet—too quiet. I thought about turning on the radio, but that would mean getting up and walking all the way across the room.

  I took a few more sips of my beer.

  Richard didn’t look happy. “Jeff, why’d you invite me over here?”

  I couldn’t look him in the eye. “My head’s filled with a lot of crap and it doesn’t feel good.”

  “You’re still not used to letting yourself feel anything. That’s why everything hits you so hard.”

  I didn’t comment—maybe because what he said was absolutely true.

  He took another sip. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

  “No. I felt like an outsider. There were so many people, and so much emotion spilling out. Obligation to be there—duty to family, yet everyone seemed at ease. They all knew every detail of each other’s lives—a history I have no part of.”

  “Didn’t it ever occur to you that Chet could have relatives in town?”

  “No. All I ever heard growing up was ‘your brother Richard this—your brother Richard that.’ Even though Mom didn’t know you, I could never measure up to her ideal of you.”

  His smile was ironic. “My grandmother used to talk about my father the same way. I couldn’t measure up to him in her eyes.”

  I took a deep swallow of beer, emptied the bottle, and got up for another. “Why’d he fall in love with our mother—she wasn’t in his league. Was he out to spite the old lady?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember him at all. Grandmother only spoke of his life prior to marrying Betty. Our mother was a forbidden subject. But sometimes Grandfather would tell me about my mother. He didn’t despise her the way Grandmother did.”

  I brought back four bottles, and set them on the coffee table. “How’d you find out about me?”

  He frowned and studied the label on his beer. “I hired a private detective.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  He shook his head. “It only took him a couple of days to find out Betty had remarried, where she worked, where she shopped. He took pictures of her with a little boy. You were about nine at the time.”

  An unreasonable anger filled me. “Why didn’t you contact us?”

  He exhaled a long breath. “I was going to Paris to study and—” He shrugged, and avoided my gaze. “I didn’t want to give Grandmother a reason to cancel my plans.”

  “I assume you needed her money to go?”

  “At the time, yes.”

  Why did it feel like he’d sold my mother and me out?

  “When I came back a year later, I was in med school and . . . life continued. I thought there’d be plenty of time. There wasn’t.” He gave me a faint smile. “But at least I still have you.”

  I sipped my beer, feeling like a shoddy consolation prize.

  “Last Easter you said you didn’t have any pictures of Mom. What happened to the ones the detective gave you?” I asked.

  “They disappeared while I was in Paris.”

  “Your grandmother found them?” I guessed.

  “They were gone when I came back. I knew better than to ask about them.”

  I thought about it for a few moments. “How come you showed up the day Mom died?”

  “We’ve been over this before,” he said quietly.

  “Not in over twenty years.”

  He sighed, and looked uncomfortable. “I was with her when she died.”

  I leaned forward, disbelieving. Why hadn’t he told me that before now?

  “She called me a few days before and asked me to come see her.” He paused. “She wanted me to take care of you.”

  “Kind of last-minute, wasn’t it?”

  He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, it was.”

  Maybe I really didn’t want to hear the rest of the story. I didn’t like to revisit the past—living with my mother or those few years with Richard. The memories were just too painful. And yet, I asked anyway. “She didn’t make any kind of provision for me—di
d she?”

  Richard’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. “Look, she didn’t really believe she was dying—not until the last couple of days.”

  “What about Chet? She knew he was still alive.”

  “She was adamant—she didn’t want him in your life. She said she’d rather see you in a foster home.”

  The anger inside me intensified. “Did she know I’d be living with your grandparents?”

  “I guess so.”

  I frowned. “She must’ve been pretty pissed at old Chester, because I know for a fact she hated Mrs. Alpert.”

  “I don’t know what went on between Betty and your father. She wouldn’t say.” Richard stared at some point beyond his hand, which was clamped around the long-necked bottle.

  Our mother died on a cold, sunny Wednesday in March. I was leaving school about three o’clock when I saw Richard standing on the walk outside the main entrance. I’d only met him once before, but I remembered his face. Remembered that grown-up moustache.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he said by way of greeting.

  “She’s dead. Isn’t she?”

  He nodded, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry, kid.”

  A group of teenaged girls passed us, giggling. He motioned for me to follow him to the parking lot. The sky was bright blue on that raw March day. How could someone die on such a beautiful winter’s day? I slid into the passenger side of Richard’s red Porsche two-seater. I’d never sat in an import before. The dashboard looked strange—as foreign as the controls on a space ship.

  Richard took papers from the breast pocket of his topcoat and showed them to me. “As of today, I’m officially your legal guardian. You’re going to come live with me.”

  Anger flashed through me. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got no choice.”

  I swallowed my pique, and tried to be grown up. “What about school?”

  “You can finish the year here if you want. You’ll be going to Amherst Central next fall.”

  No choices. Just commandments. My mother was dead and a stranger was calling the shots.

  “What about my stuff?”

  “We’ll go pack a bag now. We can get the rest later.”

  I ground my molars so hard, I was sure they’d crack. “What about Mom? Can I see her?”