Bringing Home a Bachelor

by Karen Kendall

  She didn’t move a muscle; she simply exhaled an odd little puff of air. It decimated him—he suddenly remembered why people said “God bless you,” when someone sneezed: the belief that the soul popped out of the body and could be snatched in an instant by the devil.

  He felt that something had left Melinda with that tiny exhalation, something precious that he could never recover for her.

  “You’re despicable.”

  He barely heard her words; they were so quiet. And yet they were more devastating than a death rattle. “Mel. Oh, God. I swear to you, Melinda, that—”

  She turned away, turned to her mother as if in slow motion, and looked her up and down from head to toe, in utter disgust. “And you. There aren’t any words bad enough to describe you. You’re a sick, unnatural woman.”

  Jocelyn lowered her head and put her hand out as if to ward off a blow. She no longer looked like a powerful socialite with the tongue of a viper. She looked old and frail and miserable.

  Pete would never understand why he said it, but he did. “Mel, she didn’t want you to be hurt. I doubt she thought beyond that.”

  She threw her head back. “Shut up!” she shouted. “So I was your pity-fuck. At least she was smart enough to see it. I was so dumb that I believed your lies and fell for your manipulation.”

  She was shaking with emotion, her blue eyes raw with betrayal in her stark white face.

  “No, Mel. You were never that. Please believe me,” Pete pleaded.

  “I’ll never believe anything that comes out of your mouth again, you son of a bitch.”

  “Mel, I called you because I wanted to. Mel, I love you.”

  “Liar! You’re still telling everyone what you think they want to hear, Mr. Customer Service. You can’t even stop, can you? You soothe, you placate, you suck up, you kiss ass. You make me sick.”

  Richard got up from the table, went to his daughter, and put his arms around her. Over her shoulder, he inspected his wife as if she were a particularly repulsive species of maggot.

  Mel said brokenly, “Dad, take me home. Oh, please…just get me out of here and take me home.”

  “I’ll do that, sweetheart.” He eyed Jocelyn somberly. “And I’m not sure I’ll be coming back.”

  Looking pole-axed, she slid down the dining room wall into a navy puddle on the polished floor. She gave a cry of anguish as they left, slamming the garage door behind them.

  After a half moment of silence, Mark surged out of his chair, his face and his fists like granite. As Kendra shrieked, he reached across the table and grabbed Pete by the collar, hauling him through the green beans and biscuits. “I’m gonna kill you, shit head.”

  As flecks of Mark’s saliva settled over his face, all Pete felt was bone-weary. He nodded. “You do that, Mark. Go ahead and hit me. I friggin’ deserve it.”

  “You sure as hell do! You pick up my sister at my wedding, use her for sex and then lie to my face about it? You—”

  Suddenly Pete’s weariness morphed into rage. Without conscious thought, Pete gripped Mark’s shoulders and head-butted him, hard, knocking him backward into Jocelyn’s loaded china cabinet.

  “For the last goddamned time, I didn’t use Melinda for sex! Why will you people not get that through your thick heads? Why?”

  Mark blinked in shock, then recovered and came for him head down, like a bull. The dining room table went over in a crash of silver, glassware and porcelain and Kendra screamed.

  “If you want to know the truth, she came on to me, and I was flattered! I thought she was hot!” Pete yelled the words right before being brutally sandwiched between the floor and two-hundred-forty pounds of pissed-off Mark.

  “Don’t talk about my sister that way,” he panted, and then plowed his fist into Pete’s jaw.

  “I friggin’ love your friggin’ sister, you friggin’ asshole!” Pete thundered, as he punched Mark in the eye. All the aggression that he’d tamped down and avoided over the years roared out of him. Mark became his brother, his father, and Pete opened up a can of good old-fashioned Whoop-Ass on him, despite the fact that Mark outweighed him by a good thirty-five pounds.

  They rolled back and forth on the floor, through scattered utensils and shards of plates and slices of roast.

  Mark grabbed Pete by the hair and crushed his face into a mound of onions.

  Pete managed to get an arm under Mark and flipped him, then sat on him and rained down punches indiscriminately.

  Mark grabbed Pete’s nuts and sent him flying into a wall.

  Kendra threw a bowl of cold water on them both, which did absolutely no good.

  When they finally came to a screeching halt, it wasn’t out of fatigue or common sense. It was because Jocelyn had brandished a huge serving fork in their faces and Kendra was threatening, at the top of her lungs, to call 911.

  * * *

  MELINDA CLUTCHED MAMI to her chest as her father drove her back to her townhome in Coconut Grove. She held on to her anger at her mother just as tightly, because if she even gave one thought to Pete right now she’d come apart…and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Richard couldn’t pick her up and bandage a skinned knee, or kiss an injured funny bone to make it better.

  There was something desolate inside her, a dark fissure that had opened at Pete’s betrayal, scorched along the edges and bottomless in depth. That he was the man she’d trusted enough to bare her soul and her body to…the pain was unbearable.

  “Your mother,” Richard said quietly, “isn’t a bad person.”

  “She’s a witch.”

  “No, she’s not. She’s…obsessive about some things.”

  “That, Dad, is the understatement of the year. She’s crazy.”

  Her father sighed, and dragged a hand through his thinning hair. “Melinda, your mother wasn’t always like this. When you and Mark were kids, she ate birthday cake and cookies right along with you. Do you remember?”

  “No.” But in the far recesses of her consciousness, Mel did have blurry images of Jocelyn licking the chocolate frosting off of the bottom of a big wax candle shaped like the number six. And eating something gooey that Melinda had made in her Easy-Bake Oven in third grade…

  Her father tightened his hands on the leather steering-wheel of his Jaguar. “I’m going to tell you something that I never thought I’d share with you, because you won’t see me the same way. And I always wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my little girl.” He shot her a wry, sad smile.

  She couldn’t imagine anything that would tarnish his image in her eyes, or explain her mother’s personality. But she waited for him to share whatever it was.

  “Melinda, this isn’t easy for me to say. But when you were about nine, I had an affair. I cheated on your mother with a young woman in my office.”

  Mel gaped at him.

  He nodded. “She was…stunning. To this day I don’t know what she saw in me—maybe a man of authority, a man with some money. But she made it very hard to say no, and I was weak. Your mother and I had had the typical marriage problems—fatigue, fights over money, giving up our identities and hobbies to raise you kids. Your mother wanted me to take out the garbage and mow the lawn, and this other young woman treated me like a god, like a superhero.”

  Mel closed her eyes. This was really just too much in one night. She didn’t want to know any more.

  “Your mother found out about the affair, of course. And she took it very hard. I gave up the girl and we saw a marriage counselor, but your mother stopped eating and dyed her hair blond. She underwent some cosmetic procedures that to this day I don’t think she needed. And she changed—her whole personality changed.”

  “Oh, God. She became the cucumber queen.”

  Richard nodded. “Melinda, she was very, very angry with me, but she refused to show it—I think she was afraid that it would do more damage to the marriage. Instead, she took to blaming herself. If only she hadn’t gained weight with her pregnancies. If only she’d kept her nails done. It was crazy and
I told her that, but…of course I was the last person she was going to believe. I’m so sorry to this day, honey. I am the reason that your mother is the way she is. I’ve tried to make it up to her over the years, and she’s forgiven me, but she’ll never forget.”

  “That’s why she got so angry with me at the wedding, Dad. I understand more, now. She was harping about my weight, and I lashed out at her. I asked if she was afraid to gain an ounce because you might not love her if she did…I guess I didn’t even realize how close to the bone I cut that night.”

  “Honey, she loves you.”

  “Dad, I don’t want to hear it. How could she do what she did? How could any mother do that to her child? It was cruel. It was thoughtless. It was borderline insane.”

  “I don’t know. She worries about you. She worries about your self-esteem.”

  “And she thought that she’d improve it if she bribed a guy to take me out?!”

  “I didn’t say she was right. I can’t defend what she did. But I think in some warped way, she was trying to make up for…things. The negative relationship between you two upsets her.”

  “Sure—about as much as breaking a nail does.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I can’t believe you’re defending her!”

  “Sweetie, my defense of her doesn’t mean a lack of support for you, okay? This isn’t a war.”

  Melinda snorted.

  “It really does upset her. She doesn’t know how to talk to you, or be with you, without antagonizing you.”

  “Really? Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”

  “There’s no need to be snotty to me.”

  Mel leaned her head back against the seat. “I’m sorry.”

  Her father just squeezed her hand again.

  “Are you leaving her?” Melinda got right to the point, as he pulled the car into her driveway.

  He sat silently, with his head bowed. “No. I’m furious at her, sweetheart. But she stuck by me when I screwed up. And I’ll stick by her.”

  “Do you love her?”

  He nodded. “I do. There are times when I don’t want to love her, but people don’t come perfectly assembled in a box, Melinda. They have flaws. They have warts and personality streaks that their partners may not always like. The bottom line is that we are a family, honey. And we love each other.”

  “Dad, I’m sorry but I can’t love her right now. She’s crossed a line.”

  Richard nodded. He reached out and touched her cheek. “That’s okay. You try to love her again next month.”

  “I don’t know, Dad.” But she hugged him, feeling fresh tears form under her stinging eyelids. “I don’t know.”

  He squeezed her tightly. “Just try. If not for her sake, then for yours.”

  23

  PETE DRAGGED HIMSELF to a sitting position against Jocelyn Edgeworth’s dining room wainscoting, while Mark did the same at the perpendicular wall.

  Jocelyn sat in the middle of the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, mascara running in twin rivers down her cheeks and the toasting fork in her lap. One of her expensive shoes dragged in a puddle of gravy, but she didn’t appear to notice or care.

  Kendra, utterly silent now, handed her a cloth napkin for her face. Then she began to tackle the mess with a dustpan and broom. She was clearly upset with her husband, and didn’t offer him so much as an old washcloth for his bruises.

  Mark watched her sheepishly. “Uh. I’m sorry, Ken. I just lost it.”

  “Apologize to him, not me.”

  “We’re guys. We don’t do that.”

  Kendra looked at Pete.

  Pete shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Then apologize to your mother,” she said sternly, “for trashing her house.”

  “I’ll get to that. But first, I have to say that was one spectacular meal, Ma.” He winced as he fingered his swelling eye. “What do you have planned for dessert?”

  Jocelyn’s broken sobbing continued unabated.

  “Though I gotta tell you, that scene is a tough act to follow.” He gingerly fingered his split lower lip and prodded a couple of teeth to see if they were in any danger of falling out.

  Pete tried to muster the energy to do the same, but failed.

  “Hey, just checking—you didn’t bribe Kendra to marry me, did you?”

  Jocelyn collapsed onto the floor, her shoulders shaking.

  “Mark!” Kendra rebuked him sharply. “Is that necessary?”

  He sighed and crawled through the mess to get to his mother. He rubbed her back as she lay there, then eased an arm under her and pulled her upright, into his embrace. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still weeping.

  “Look, I’m an ass sometimes. But Ma, what were you thinking?”

  Her response was indecipherable; not recognizable as human. She just keened like a wounded animal.

  “Okay, okay,” Mark said soothingly. “Shh. Shh, Mom. It’s going to be all right.”

  She blubbered something incomprehensible into his shirt.

  Pete supposed he should have felt satisfaction, but all he felt was pity for the woman. He was embarrassed by her raw emotion—he felt superfluous, to say the least. He searched for the motivation to get himself up and then out the door to his car. But every part of his body throbbed in agony. And that didn’t even begin to describe his psyche.

  He’d lost Melinda. For good. There was no coming back from something like this. No forgiveness.

  Get up. Get out. Slowly he obeyed his brain’s commands and hauled himself upright. “Mrs. E, I won’t say it’s been a pleasure, exactly, but thank you for having me. Kendra, take care. Mark—”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” his friend said.

  “Home.”

  “Sit your ass down,” said Mark.

  “No, keep it standing,” his wife ordered. “And you get yours up, dear. One of you can get me a contractor bag. The other one can bring a mop and a bucket so I can teach you how to use them. Nobody is leaving this house until this mess is cleaned up and we have a list of china and crystal that we need to replace for Jocelyn. You morons.”

  Mark’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Welcome back,” Pete said wryly, “from your honeymoon.”

  Kendra dumped another dustpan load into the trash, as if to say, “Damn straight.”

  “I’m guessing the garage is still this way?” Pete asked, jerking a thumb toward the back of the house.

  “Yeah.” Mark groaned as he detached himself from his mother and the floor. “Damn, dude. Where’d you get that right hook?”

  “My brother. Let’s just say I had plenty of opportunity to study it.”

  “Huh.”

  “You ever grab my nuts again, Mark, I will bury you so deep that you’ll float up in a Chinese sewer.”

  “Yeah? You ever straddle mine again, and I’ll kick your ass to Baghdad.”

  “Will the both of you shut up and get poor Jocelyn off the floor? And then get me a contractor bag?” Kendra snapped.

  “Sure thing, honey,” Mark said. To his credit, he only moaned once as he lifted Mommie Dearest off the parquet and deposited her into a wing chair in the living room.

  “And bring me the Ghirardelli bar out of my purse, too. This is no time to be on a diet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then get your mother a Xanax and wipe the gravy off her shoes.”

  Kendra and Pete ended up using a rake in the dining room. He righted the table, then lifted armfuls of gooey mess and plate shards while she held the contractor bag.

  “We have to figure out how to fix this,” she said quietly.

  “Fix it?” Pete repeated. “Fix what? My life? Melinda’s?”

  “Yes. Not to mention my in-laws’ marriage.”

  “How? I don’t think any of it’s fixable.”

  Mark had come back into the room to help. “Do you really love my sister?” he asked Pete gruffly, as he picked up a fallen chair and set it upright.

  “How many
times do I have to say it?”

  “For real. You. And Bug-Eyes.” Mark was evidently still having a hard time with the concept.

  “Yes. Not that she’ll ever talk to me again. And don’t call her that.”

  “How do we get her to talk to Pete again?” Mark asked his wife.

  “I don’t know,” she said wearily. She looked at Pete. “Did you really take a bribe from Jocelyn to call her?”

  “No! That’s what I keep trying to tell you people. I told Mrs. E. NO. I told her that I was planning on calling Mel anyway. I was really pissed. I even talked to Dev about it.”

  “Aha! You have a witness,” Mark said.

  “Well, no. But Dev can testify that I was really hot under the collar about it.”

  “Dev,” Mark said thoughtfully. “You know, if anyone can sweet-talk a woman, it’s him.”

  “But I don’t want her to talk to Dev. I want her to talk to me.”

  “True. Here’s the thing, though—Dev is dating Kylie, you know, my aunt? Who’s our age?”

  “Kylie? The hot blonde who shot him down at the rehearsal dinner?”

  “Seems she didn’t actually shoot him down. And Kylie is Melinda’s best friend. Maybe she can set her straight.”

  “Set her straight how?”

  “Tell her your version of things.”

  “My version of things is still bad—I did let your mother book her charity events at Playa Bella, instead of telling her to go straight to hell.”

  “Wouldn’t have done any good,” Mark said philosophically. “The devil? He wouldn’t have let Mom stay. She’d have been trying to redecorate hell, put all the imps and minions on a diet, make him donate to charities.”

  Pete choked.

  Mark winked at him, from his good eye. The other was swollen closed. “Yeah. The devil woulda kicked her out for sure.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Dude. Just trying to lighten the atmosphere around this place. It’s like the world has come to an end. Mom’s on Xanax, Kendra’s on Ghirardelli, and we’re on cleanup duty.”

  “How’s your mother doing?”

  “Tried to dial my dad ten times and is hysterical that he won’t pick up. I finally took the phone away from her and gave her a killer vodka martini. Now she’s somewhere in outer space, heading for a black hole. I’ll deal with her when she wakes up.”