by Joan Shott
Don’t make me ashamed of you, Diane. Be a good girl and don’t let no guys tell you to do what you know you shouldn’t.
It wasn’t as if he had ever told me what I shouldn’t let them do. I knew the subject of sex embarrassed him, and when he thought about it, he only got angry and blamed my mother for leaving him with a responsibility he didn’t want to handle. But he expected me to be a perfect, chaste daughter. Which I was — because I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. The prospect of having to face him with news of any indiscretions kept me in line. I supposed that was one reason I married Bobby. I couldn’t have sex with a man I wasn’t married to. That was then.
When we walked in, he looked up from his easy chair, his glasses resting on the end of his nose. “Come to your senses, did you?” He started to get up, spotted Matthew behind me, and sank back into the deepest crevices of the overstuffed chair. He dropped his TV Guide and his bifocals onto the end table.
“Daddy, we need to talk to you.”
He stood up and turned down the volume on the television, walked back to his chair, and sighed with impatience. The pert girls in their gingham dresses and pony tails of Petticoat Junction smiled at us with their practiced looks of innocence. “What happened to him?” he asked me, as if Matthew weren’t in the room.
“His nose is broken. Again. This time from a fight with Bobby. Okay? But we didn’t come here to talk about that. Matthew and I are going to have a baby,” I said. I closed my eyes as if thunder would roll and lightning would strike me, but only silence roared in my ears. I opened my eyes, and he was staring at the television.
“Say something. Get mad, yell, but don’t just sit there,” I pleaded.
He scratched his head and took a deep breath and let the worn out cushions envelop him even more. “What is it you want me to say?”
“How about that you wish us luck or you’ve always wanted a grandchild?” I said.
“Well, it seems to me you got yourself a problem. You’re still married to another man. What about your husband?”
“He’s not my husband. It might say that on a piece of paper somewhere, but he’s not my husband anymore.”
“Law says he is.”
I pulled my hands through my thick hair, wanting to kick something, but I kept my frustration pushed down deep below my lungs. “The law will say differently. I’m getting a divorce.” My voice was a forced but steady keel.
“We ain’t never had a divorce in the Miller family. I can’t accept it.” He turned away and stared out the window.
“Well you’d better, or you’ll be throwing me…us away.”
Matthew put his arm around me. “Mr. Miller, Diane loves you. Don’t do this to her. She needs you.”
“Now, don’t you tell me how to feel, young man. You,” he stood up and pointed his finger in Matthew’s bruised face. “You are the one responsible for all this trouble. With a father like yours, I’d a thought you’d know better. Putting your good mother’s name to shame, too. If it hadn’t been for you, my daughter would still be a respectable woman with a husband. A husband who needs her right now. But instead, she’s shacking up with a war protestor. Didn’t you learn nothin’ over in Vietnam? You want me to welcome you like some prodigal son? The hell I will.”
I stepped in between them. “If you can’t accept Matthew, you can’t accept me. Or your grandchild, either. Is that what you want?”
“It’s not what I want matters. You two are the ones who brought all this trouble to my doorstep. I think you’d better leave. This is one big mess you’ve made, little girl. I don’t see how you’re gonna fix it.”
“You know what, Daddy? There are some things you can’t change, and you need to figure out how to live with that.”
My father turned his eyes back to the television and stared at the screen.
Both he and Bobby didn’t see the woman I’d become and wanted me to go back in time. I couldn’t do anything other than move forward. To them I was still Diane, the girl. I knew I was Diane, the woman, the mother-to-be, the person who wanted peace in the world — between everyone and everything, even the birds. Maybe what I wanted in my life was as much a fantasy as the one the simpering girls on the television show pretended to live.
“Call me when you’ve had a chance to think it through, Daddy.”
“Don’t hold your breath, little girl.”
“But it’s Christmas…”
He didn’t answer but walked to the television and turned up the volume. The girls of Petticoat Junction were about to surprise their uncle with a birthday party, even if the grumpy, old man didn’t deserve it, because it was written in their scripts.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I had to try to reason once more with Bobby, even if it was Christmas Eve. Matthew was busy working at his desk when I asked for the keys so I could run an errand. He kissed me goodbye, said, drive carefully, and went back to his papers. I headed north on I-5 towards the island. It was close to two o’clock, and I didn’t want to get to the house after dark, afraid Bobby would take that the wrong way. If I had to see him, it had to be in the light of day.
If I stayed on the interstate up to Mt. Vernon and drove down the island to Useless Bay, it would be dark when I got there. The steering wheel shook in my hands as I took the exit for Mukilteo and the ferry — the shortcut. I tried to sit back and relax as if it was the easiest thing in the world, like an airplane trip where people drank and ate and read magazines while their lives were protected by faith and engineering.
I waited in line for the cars to begin loading and tried to think of what I would say to Bobby, rehearsing my lines to keep my mind off the ferry swaying in front of me. When the cars began to load onto the wobbly deck, I drove like an eighty-year old, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, my eyes glued on the men directing the traffic down the ramp to the wide, flat deck. I made it without incident, let out a loud sigh, and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. Other people left their cars and headed to the main deck for the small coffee stand or to the seats for a better view during the twenty-minute crossing. I stayed in the car and closed my eyes when the boat began to rumble across the water. Every bump of the engine, every little wave, tied my stomach into knots tighter and tighter.
I swallowed the pangs of nausea, the combination of terror and my morning-night pregnancy sickness now finding its way to the afternoon. When the dock at Clinton finally came into view, I locked my eyes on the piers to steady my stomach and my nerves. As I drove off the ramp onto land, I swore I’d never do it again, but things that frightened me were lining up in my life as if I were the hottest ticket in town. I couldn’t keep running away from Bobby or my father or trips across the water.
When I came up to the driveway, I took it unhurriedly, coming around the curve of the evergreen hedge at a crawl. There was a pick-up truck parked at the side of the house and smoke curled from the chimney. I parked the car and walked towards the front door, peering in the side windows of my own house like a thief. When I rounded the corner and stepped onto the weathered, creaky porch, he was sitting in a chair, staring at the distant violet-shadowed mountains. His eye was swollen and discolored; a cut was stitched closed on his forehead.
“Oh, Bobby, you frightened me,” I said.
“I heard you coming,” he looked around the edge of the porch. “See you got rid of that old clunker. That’s a pretty big step up…a Mercedes. Wait, don’t tell me. It belongs to Bluestone.”
He’d shaved and cleaned himself up. I hoped that meant he was ready to move on. Maybe if he knew I still cared about his future, he’d feel as if he had something to hold onto. And if I could help him, I would.
“Bobby, I hope you’ve reconsidered. Are you…?”
“Reconsider? That would mean I did something wrong. I’m in the clear, Diane. You’re the one who needs to reconsider.”
“Can we go inside?” My teeth were chattering, my bare hands frozen. “It’s pretty cold out here.”
“Sure. G
o ahead. You know the way.” He followed me into the living room, and I sat in my favorite chair by the fireplace. I leaned over and warmed my hands close to the crackling logs. The smell of the wood smoke brought back memories I didn’t want to think about. My house had once been my anchor and my haven, and now I was someone who had to be invited in.
“Bet you miss this place. I’ve been thinking about building an addition with an upstairs bedroom. What a view, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about the house. Can we discuss what you know about Matthew’s brother?”
“Did that goddamned creep send you here to do his bidding? I told you, he’s a coward. Let him ask me face to face without you around to cry and whimper about the poor boy and his dream to rescue his brother.” He stood up from his chair, his eyes fixed on my face then they fluidly moved down my body. I held my coat closed despite the warmth from the fireplace.
“Bobby, if I ever meant anything to you…”
“If you ever meant anything to me? How can you ask that? You meant more to me than I meant to you, by the looks of it.”
“That’s not true. I had a terrible time after I thought you’d died.”
“But you got over it. You changed.”
“Yes. I did.”
“Then if you can change one way, you can change back. If you try hard enough, you can love me again. Try it.” He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me up from the chair. “Come on. It’s Christmas Eve. Last year I spent Christmas locked in a cage.”
“Bobby, no.”
“Give us a chance, Diane. You want something from me, and I want something from you.” He pulled me towards the bedroom, and I grabbed the edge of the doorway with my free hand. The eyelet curtains I’d sewn and hung in the window darted across my panic, the painting of the salt marsh I’d hung over the bed wavered like a mirage. How could this be happening in the place where I’d once felt so safe?
“Don’t do this, please.” My wrist burned from his grip. He pulled me until I couldn’t hold on anymore. I lost my footing and fell onto the bed. Bobby rolled on top of me, pulled open my coat and grabbed the waist of my jeans with his hand. I thought I should have been able to get away from a worn-down, one-armed man, but I couldn’t move him off me.
“This will make it all come back to you. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it,” he said.
“I only thought I loved you because…I didn’t know…you call this love?” I heard my voice, but it sounded as if it belonged to someone else.
“Don’t bullshit me, Diane. It doesn’t matter if I’ve lost an arm. I’m more of a man than anyone you might have picked up in your anti-war marches. You just need a reminder.”
He’d managed with his one hand to unbutton my jeans and force the zipper down. His hand slid behind me and across the back of my thigh. He dug his knee in between my legs so hard I was afraid he’d do something to endanger my pregnancy.
“Don’t do this, please.”
“I just want you back…one more time,” he said, his mouth pressed against my throat.
“You’ll hurt my baby.” I must have screamed, because he flinched, and my ears rang with the echo of those words.
What all the pushing and shoving and screaming had failed to do, those few words did like a strike of lightning. He stood up, still breathing hard and turned to look out towards the other room. “Get out of here. Don’t ever come back asking for my help.”
I sat up on the bed and buttoned my jeans, wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand. “I won’t.”
“I don’t have anything to give you anyway. I don’t know where he is anymore. All I know is the last time I saw him was a month ago, and he was still alive. And…” He looked back at me with tears running down his face, “he doesn’t blame his fucking, stupid brother for any of it.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was just the three of us at Matthew’s apartment. No Christmas tree. Only the glittering decorations from the houseboats of Lake Union as reminders of the holiday. I stared from the living room window at the strands of colored Christmas lights, shimmering in the distance like rare birds liable to take flight if they sensed my anxiety. I wanted to gather them in my arms as if they would lighten my troubled heart, but I knew it would take more than tinsel and a few gaudy lights to heal what was wrong. I walked towards the kitchen where Lilly was hard at work making a soufflé. Matthew was asleep on the couch, a book open on his chest.
“Why aren’t you wearing Matthew’s gift?” Lilly asked.
I fingered the ring suspended around my neck on a gold chain, the diamond tucked into the cleft of my throat and hidden beneath my shirt. I hadn’t been able to give Matthew the gift I’d planned — information about his brother, as if I could have put it in a box and wrapped it with a bow.
I was still numb from my confrontation with Bobby. I’d gone there looking for one thing and had come back with something else: an understanding of who he’d become. He was a casualty of war, left to stagger through life like some prize-winning racehorse gone lame and no one knowing what to do with him.
“It’s beautiful, Lilly, but I can’t put it on my finger. I’m still married to someone else.”
“It means a great deal for you to have my mother’s engagement ring. She passed away before Matthew was born. She wanted the first daughter-in-law to have it.”
“I wish I had…” I let whatever it was I’d wanted to say slip through my fingers like water. It could have been something as simple as I wished I’d known her mother, her sons, Jim and Max, but I was hesitant to talk about the past. The thoughts fell away, melting in my heart, another lost bit of love that might have been.
Lilly said. “Even when we lived at the base in West Germany, we had a Christmas tree. Real candles on the branches, too.”
“It seemed out of place this year.” My voice droned. I felt like a kid overlooked by Santa, even though I was the one who had refused to put up a tree.
“Do you miss being with your father today?” she asked.
She knew what I was thinking before I did. “More than I thought I ever would.”
“Then go see him,” she said. “Maybe you have to be the one to make the first move. Sometimes men can behave like little boys.”
“I could just drop in on him.”
“He’s at the diner across the street for someone named Mae’s holiday party.”
“How do you know?” I’d forgotten how intrusive, yet pragmatic, she could be.
“I called him this morning to say Merry Christmas, of course. One thing led to another. I know I shouldn’t have interfered, but he’s the grandfather to my grandchild. He needs to think about all there is to lose if he doesn’t stop being such an obstinate man.”
“Maybe he listened. He respects you.”
“He respects you, too, Diane. But he needs to understand what’s past is past. I can’t promise, but I believe he’s been nudged in the right direction.”
It took some convincing to get Matthew to drive to my father’s, but by early evening we pulled in front of his garage. Across the street, the fogged windows of Mae’s Diner told of a holiday party in full swing. We walked in the diner’s front door, the air sluggish with the smell of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie. The loud chatter wilted at the sight of two uninvited guests. Mae looked up from her place behind the counter and smiled at me.
“Now you get over here, sweet thing, and give Mae a big, old hug.”
I fell into her open arms, wishing for a moment they belonged to my mother. “My father?” I asked, looking around the room until I spotted him.
“That man, he’s a regular mule sometimes. But I told you, girl. Don’t give up the love of a good man. That goes for your daddy’s love, too.”
I walked over to the table where my father sat with a couple of his VFW buddies.
His two friends stood up. “Hey there, Diane, Merry Christmas.” They glanced past me at Matthew. “That there’s the general’s son. Maybe
he wants to have a drink with us.”
“Why don’t you go ask him?” I said. The two men scrambled over to Matthew, and the three of them walked to the counter where Mae was pouring out shots of bourbon into small glasses of eggnog.
“What you want, little girl?” My father took a sip of coffee and kept his hands tightly wrapped around the cup. His eyes studied the vinyl checkered tablecloth.
I slid into the booth across from him. “I want you to let me live my life, but I want you in it.” I felt the tug of tears but fought the urge to cry like a child.
“I wasn’t so good having Christmas morning without my girl,” he said. I thought I could hear the gears turning in his head or maybe it was his heart creaking open. “I think I know what you mean ‘bout accepting things that ain’t gonna change. I’m a stubborn man, but I can see my life’s gonna be a whole lot different. I want you…and my grandchild.”
I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. His rough, calloused hands were older, the skin thin and spotted, but his grip was still strong. “We’ll get through this, but I don’t want to do it without you,” I said.
My father glanced at the counter where Matthew was surrounded now by a group of VFW guys, and he shook his head. “I suppose he ain’t all bad.”
“Well you know what they say about men.”
“What?”
“You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.”
My father stood up and walked to my side of the booth and kissed my forehead. “I don’t never want to live without you.”