Bright Lights, Dark Nights

by Stephen Emond

  “Walter was so clingy,” Mellie said, holding a glass of wine. “I couldn’t even go to the movies with my boyfriend without Walter tagging along. Remember I used to call you my shadow?”

  I offered a weak smile. I wasn’t her shadow anymore. We saw things differently. She thought Dad had had it coming, that Mr. Spencer was a better match for Mom. She thought Dad was cold and aloof, and Mom had been suffering. What I had seen was Mom depressed, all the time, and when Dad wasn’t working, he was trying to cheer her up, and it never worked. And then our neighbor started spending way too much time here, making everyone uncomfortable. Mel hadn’t been there when Dad and I moved out, at five in the morning so the neighbors wouldn’t watch or talk to us. She didn’t have this image burned in, of Mom watching us drive away in a U-Haul truck from the window, drinking coffee. I’d been sure Seth had already been on his way over.

  Seth was telling everyone about his big splurge, a sailboat. This wasn’t just any boat—this was going to be the envy of the sea. “You’ve gotta come see this thing, Walter. It’s a work of art. What do you think, sport? Maybe in the summer? We can bring Naomi, Mel, your mom.”

  “You and your toys,” Mom said with a laugh. “What are the neighbors going to think?”

  “What do the neighbors think?” I asked. Naomi’s eyes were wide and everyone was quiet, but it was such a good question that I hadn’t thought of. After all, I moved away, Dad moved away, but Mom did not. What did the neighbors think? “What do they think of Seth and his ex-wife? What do they think about Dad? Do people actually like this? Do the neighbors all think you’re a cute couple? Are they happy for you? They shouldn’t be. It’s not cute, or sweet or romantic. You basically have the worst how-we-met story in history.”

  “Oh,” Mom said, and her body sunk.

  “This isn’t appropriate, Walter,” Seth said, pushing his plate away. “And it’s really disrespectful to your mom and your company.”

  “And who says ‘sport’?” I asked, choosing to ignore his comments about Naomi. “What is that? Is that, like, a British thing? ’Cause you’re not even British. You don’t break up a kid’s family and call him sport, you just don’t do that.”

  Mom got up and left the table, and for a second, my heart broke and I didn’t want to feel that way when I was right. So I shoved my chair out from under me and stood up myself. “It’s better to not be here, and not think about this,” I said. “I was doing fine before. I was doing really good.”

  There was nowhere else to go but outside, so I went there. I left Naomi at the table. I don’t even remember walking to the door or closing it. I just remembered Naomi’s shock and my mom withering away, and then I remembered the blankness of standing outside. I was looking at the dark outline of the woods and the light from inside that reached the trees by the street. And the moon. I didn’t have my license or the keys, so I couldn’t just hop in Mel’s car and head off. I couldn’t leave Naomi behind, either.

  “Are you okay?” Naomi asked from the back doorstep. That was a relief, as she was the only one I wanted to see. She was trying to play it cool. “It’s okay. You warned me,” Naomi said. “Really I’d have been let down if everything went nice. I was expecting fireworks.”

  “I told you this wasn’t Disney World,” I said. I wondered if that could be a Bogart-cool line. “It’s a crappy situation. Not good at all.”

  Naomi walked to where I was and ran her hand up and down my back. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and watched my breath swirl into the air.

  I heard Mel tell my mom and Seth that she’d take us out for dessert, and before I knew it, she was grabbing me by the arm and pulling me to her car. I opened the back door. “Front,” Mel barked. She was not happy, but I wasn’t, either, so that didn’t bother me. I slammed the back door shut, got in the passenger side, and slammed that door. Naomi followed behind, wide-eyed, and got in the backseat. Mel got in the driver’s seat and slammed her door, too.

  “That is not fair to Mom, what you just said.” Mellie turned on the car and turned off the music and sped onto the road. She was driving a little faster than I was comfortable with. She was never a great driver. “I know you want to sit there and be quiet, but I’m talking. I know you’re mad at Mom for what happened, but it takes two. You’re letting Dad off way too easy. He has some blame in this, too. He could have done more. Mom was depressed—you know she was, and he did not want to deal with it.”

  I regretted Naomi seeing all this. I had no way of knowing what she was thinking. I looked in the mirror and saw her eyes darting around. I let my head tilt, looked out the window, and watched the streetlights hover past.

  “If you don’t want to put any blame on Dad because he’s not the one who cheated, I get that,” Mel said. “Just know that adult relationships don’t always work out. Everyone has their own path to take, and they don’t always line up with their partner’s. Things don’t always go the way people want or expect. That’s something you just figure out when you’re older.”

  What had she figured out? She hadn’t even been around for the worst of the fighting. She saw some of it, sure, but then she got out of the house. It was easy to have a levelheaded response from that distance. She hadn’t even been around when Mom essentially had a boyfriend over at the house all the time.

  “What makes Seth so special?” I asked. “I can’t stand how Mom acts around him. I don’t think she ever acted like that before.”

  “It’s called taking her meds, Walter,” Mel said. “What planet do you live on? Mom was sick; Seth helped her get better. And you’re going to ruin all the progress she’s made with outbursts like that.”

  I hadn’t thought she was sick. Things hadn’t been great, but she’d just seemed bored, or cranky. I could always make her laugh, and things were usually okay before long.

  “Seth isn’t a doctor,” I said. “I don’t see why she needed him in any way.”

  “Dad completely ignored it,” Mel said. “Seth noticed; he talked to her. Jesus, he didn’t have to write out a prescription to help. She’s bipolar.” Mel let out a frustrated groan. “I know it wasn’t easy for you. Believe me, I have a lot of guilt for leaving you there. I thought maybe we could start some kind of repairing process. I guess not. Naomi, I’m sorry you’re hearing all this.”

  “It’s okay,” Naomi said. “I have plenty of family drama myself. I’ve seen it all.”

  Her family had seemed so warm and together when I saw them. She did mention that sister, though, the one she went to the concert with. I had a lot to learn about Naomi still.

  Mel started talking to Naomi because I was quiet. “Our dad would be out working, or upstairs sleeping, and Walter would tell Mom all these corny jokes. I don’t even know where you got those bad jokes. Or he’d tell her everything that happened on the TV shows we’d watch. He’d do anything in the world to make her smile.”

  “Now you’re just talking to talk,” I said. We were close to the ice-cream place anyway.

  “Walter, you can’t be mad now because she finally is happy. That’s not fair. You should know more than anyone what Mom was like,” Mellie said, facing away from the road. Why did she have to turn her head? Watch the road, Mellie. “You were always trying to cheer her up.”

  I leaned my head against the window. I could see Naomi in the passenger-side mirror. She lifted her hand to wave. She gave me a soft smile. It wasn’t that long ago that I didn’t have that smile in my life. It was a major improvement. I guess I had some other improvements, too. Dad was happy, finally. And Mom was happy. Maybe this was a key moment, or I could make it one, a conscious decision to let go.

  *

  We got to the ice-cream place just out of the neighborhood and went inside. It seemed odd to have ice cream on a winter night, but there we were. I got a hot-fudge sundae. Naomi had mint ice cream. Mel got her usual vanilla milk shake.

  “Our mom was babysitting the kids next door once,” Mel said. “Walter ran over there with a bunch of flowers he bou
ght for her. He missed her so much, right next door. ‘Mom! These are for you!’”

  “I didn’t buy them,” I said. “I pulled them out of our own garden. That doesn’t even count. I didn’t have any money.”

  “Oh, it counted,” Mel said. “She told everyone about that for months. He’s a romantic, Naomi.”

  “Not anymore, apparently,” I said. Regret was starting to sink in. “I probably shouldn’t even go back there. I’ll give it some more time.”

  “My sister used to say there’s millions of colors in the world, but most people only see a few shades of gray,” Naomi said. “She’d say everyone has their own story and something to offer. Basically don’t think do or don’t, good or bad, because life’s always more complicated than that. So I think you should talk to your mom and just work with what’s there. What’s done is done.”

  I nodded. I would do it for Naomi.

  We talked more as we finished our dessert, about the board games Mel and I would make, our crowning achievement being the Piggy Police card game. The famous photos we’d re-create with Mel’s stuffed animals. We told Naomi about how we drove Mom and Dad crazy. We’d hide in clothing racks at department stores and drive Dad nuts; he’d hated shopping enough already.

  Mom and Seth were in the TV room when we got back. It was an addition to the back of the house with a huge TV, giant windows, and a sprawling couch-and-chair setup. “I’ll take Naomi upstairs,” Mel said. “There’s a treasure trove of photo albums she needs to see if she’s going to spend time with my little brother.”

  “Ooh, yes, please,” Naomi said.

  I’d been through the albums more than a few times. Family vacations on the coast, camping trips with Mom and Dad, cousins, friends, our one trip to Disney World. It seemed crazy to think we’d done so many things and had so many memories.

  I took ten long steps to the TV room. “Hey,” Seth said. To his credit, he was still friendly after my outburst. “How was the ice cream?” he asked. Not snarky or sarcastic like he could have been and I’d have understood.

  “Can I talk to…” I started to ask, and Seth was already up. He put a hand on my shoulder as he passed me on his way into the kitchen. I sat down on the soft couch next to Mom and sank right into it. This room was really amazing. They were watching an episode of Parks and Recreation, Amy Poehler’s close-up seemed to fill the room. Mom crossed her legs and clutched a sofa pillow.

  “Nice couch, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “It really is,” I said. Maybe Mel made the right choice after all, staying with Mom. “I’m sorry. That was really rude, what I said before.”

  “Me too,” Mom said, even though she hadn’t done anything. I was the one who’d spazzed out. “You have to apologize for an outburst, but I have to apologize for a half decade. Or more—I don’t even know.”

  I placed my hand on the pillow Mom was holding, and she gave my hand a squeeze. It took me back in time for a second, when tears and laughing and embracing were common. I felt a tear coming on, and I looked up at the ceiling.

  “It’s okay,” Mom said, and smiled. “It’s nice to hear your dad is doing well. I was worried about him.” She looked exhausted or relieved. It didn’t feel like talking to my mom still. She truly felt like another person. Whether it was the meds she was on or the time that had passed. She had a new life. “I want to know how you’re doing.”

  “I’m all right,” I said. “High school is pretty different—the city is different. There’s a lot of fighting and stuff, but I’m okay. I stay away from it. I met Naomi and she’s really cool—that gives me a lot to look forward to every day.”

  I hadn’t planned on talking about Naomi; I still hadn’t told Dad about her, or anyone, really. I hadn’t talked to my mom in years, but there I was, thoughts pouring out of my mouth.

  “We went to a Halloween party last week,” I said. “We were supposed to go as a detective and a femme fatale. I don’t think she knew what that was, though. She still looked way better than me. I’d never been to a party, really, before that. It was lame, but it was fun going with her.”

  Mom smiled.

  “We’re not dating or anything,” I said. “I mean, maybe it’ll happen at some point, but I’m not really sure how to go about that. It’s kind of stressful.”

  “You’ll get there,” Mom said. “I think she likes you. Why wouldn’t she? Just enjoy the ride. Don’t stress it.”

  Why wouldn’t she? Such a simple question, but Why would she? was just as simple, and that was my default question. Other people must think why wouldn’t. I wished I could.

  After talking to Mom, I looked at more pictures with Mellie and Naomi before Mel was going to take us back to the city. I lay on my stomach and elbows as they passed through the pages. School pictures … myself in ninth grade, just a few years ago. Eighth grade, sixth, elementary school pictures.

  “Aww, look at that hair!” Naomi said. “And those glasses!”

  Pictures of Mellie and me as kids in the summer. Mellie hitting me like a grown adult—you could tell from the tears on my face. “You deserved it,” Mel said.

  Pictures of me in a baby stroller. Me just as I was born. “Little baby Walter,” Mel said.

  Mom and Dad getting married, as a young couple. Their moms and dads. My mom’s family, in their big country home, somehow both clean and messy, full of food. Mom’s family was right out of Leave It to Beaver. Mom’s older sister. And Dad’s family, all his brothers and sisters. They were louder, always laughing. And Grandpa Wilcox—Dad idolized him. He always had a story, knew all the people in the neighborhood. He was Dad’s inspiration to be a cop. Kids loved him.

  “What a sweet smile,” Naomi said.

  Mel drove us back home, and we both fell asleep in the backseat. I woke up to Naomi’s head on my arm, a few blocks from her home. I leaned my head on hers for the last few minutes, mad I’d slept through the ride.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke up to a voice mail from Mom.

  “Hi, Walter,” she said. “It’s your mother. I’m just thinking about you, how much you’ve changed. All in good ways, better than I could have hoped for. I’m so glad you came over, and I hope we can do it again. And I’m glad you brought your friend over. She’s really a sweetie. I feel like a huge weight is off my shoulders. Do you feel that? I was really sick and really worried for a long time, and I want you to know how much better you made me feel. Anyway, I should get to bed. I love you. Talk to you later.”

  I didn’t know where things stood, and we couldn’t go back to where things were before. I didn’t think any of us could—me, Mom, Mel, Dad. We were all in different places now. But we could pick up from here and see how it goes. She wasn’t the only one with a weight off her shoulders. That had been a lot of baggage to carry around.

  Ricky came over in the afternoon. I was doing homework in my bedroom, trying alternately to ignore and eavesdrop on his and Dad’s conversation. Dad was pacing back and forth. He was the pissed-off one and Ricky was trying to calm him down.

  Dad drinking in the afternoon was rare. He didn’t normally drink at all, so when he did, it meant something was different. Either he was celebrating and had company or he was especially depressed. Even when he was depressed, though, like right after the divorce, he didn’t drink much. He turned to food more than anything. In this case, he was drinking angry.

  From what I pieced together, everything that was going good for him was possibly out the window, just a week later. The confession was gone, his popularity at the precinct was gone, and he was back to square one. Or maybe worse.

  “There’s too many people involved,” Ricky said. “Too many loopholes. It’s supposed to protect the innocent, but it protects the guilty—the system is flawed. The courts are flawed and they don’t work one hundred percent of the time.”

  “It doesn’t work even fifty percent of the time,” Dad said. “It’s not flawed; it’s corrupt. These kids that go down to fight in the old basketball court hav
e it right. You go there, state your business, and you settle it. Done. I’d thrive there, Ricky.”

  “I know,” Ricky said. He was just listening and agreeing. Sometimes that was the best you could do.

  “Since when is an outright confession not good enough?” Dad said. “I had the confession, the kid admitted to the crime, case closed, right? Red hat and everything, just like my neighbor had said, same kid. Not only does the punk take away the confession, he makes me out to be some monster. Profiling, assault. I’m a goddamn honest cop, straight up and down—all there is to it.”

  “I hear you,” Ricky said. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but it really does happen to all of us.”

  “Well, that’s a problem, then, isn’t it?” Dad asked, and I heard his bottle hit the table. “The truth will prevail—that’s what they say, right? It’ll turn around again.”

  One of our good-luck swings was tilting, but this could still work in my favor. It was getting difficult to be around Dad, ever since the Halloween party. He’d figured something was up, that I was a little more secretive, a little quieter. He asked outright if I had a girlfriend I was hiding and I said no, which was true. Naomi was not my girlfriend, much as I wanted her to be. But Dad knew something was up. I was on the phone more, not that we shared a phone, but he could hear me talking to someone through the walls for sure. I’d been grooming a little more, and I might have asked to borrow his weights, which certainly raised suspicion. Seemingly anytime we were in the same room, he found a new way to ask the same questions.

  Like when I finally stepped out into the living room.

  “And then there’s this guy,” Dad said, holding out his arm toward me. “The case of my own son. Suddenly he’s got places to be. Mr. Popularity over here.”