by Robyn Carr
Noel sat up straight. Shock registered on his face.
“I guess you haven’t been thinking that way too much,” Bob said. “I’m not surprised. When someone feels that way about you, one of the first things you do is get used to it, expect it to always be there because it always was. You can depend on it. But every so often something will come up to make you just a little afraid that person might stop loving you that way, accepting you that way, and it’s a reminder about how good it is. You know what I mean.”
“You mean my dad,” he said.
“It’s not an easy thing, Noel. To love someone without any selfishness, without a personal agenda. It takes thought and heart. Sacrifice and courage, sometimes. People can get mixed up about what’s the most important thing—their own personal needs or the needs of the person they love. I think that must be what happened to your dad. He’s mixed up. We’re not perfect, you know. Human beings—so fallible.”
“Yeah, right,” Noel snorted. “Mixed up, my ass.”
“Well, maybe I give the man too much credit,” Bob admitted. “I don’t know him, after all. And I never had kids so I could be talking out of turn, but my grandmother used to say, ‘Your kids don’t belong to you—they’re only on loan for you to raise. They have their own lives, their own destinies. So you better get out of the way.’ She was a real hot chick, my grandma.”
“You shocked?” he asked. “About my rough patch, as you call it?” Noel asked, a note of challenge in his voice.
“When I said rough patch, I didn’t mean you being gay. I meant having a standoff with your dad, who I’m sure you love a lot. That’s tough. I’m real sorry you’re going through that. And I can’t think what you can do about it. You can’t change him any more than he can change you.”
“But me being gay? That doesn’t bother you?”
Bob shrugged. “It’s no different than if you showed up blond, or black or Chinese. Listen, you’re not like everyone else, all right? Me, either. And so the fuck what?” Noel’s eyes grew large at the curse. “Life—it’s a kaleidoscope. Your mom might’ve contributed the green, your dad the red, but you’ve got colors in there that come from just anywhere—even from old second cousins twice removed. You’re not sick, you’re gay. With black curly hair. Every turn of the wheel is its own creation.”
“And you get along with gay guys?” Noel asked.
“Just fine,” Bob said.
“You bi or something?”
He laughed. “No, whenever I felt an attraction, it was always to a female. I didn’t have a choice. You’re not going to change that about me and I’m not going to change that about you.”
Noel laughed and shook his head. “Most guys your age aren’t like that,” he said. “Most guys your age hate anything that doesn’t fit into their idea of what’s okay.”
“Yeah? I learned a little patience. Sad truth is, you get to learn that by the hard times. It’s too bad. If I was in charge, we’d get insight from the fun stuff.”
Noel took a sip from his cup. “My coffee went cold.”
“Go pitch it and pour some fresh. There’s plenty of coffee in the house.”
“So—you learned a little patience. Got any advice?”
“I might,” Bob said. “Doesn’t usually appeal to men under forty, though.”
“Try me.”
“Well,” Bob said, leaning forward. “I’d say, you stay as true to yourself as you can, try to be a good man, and go easy on the people who just can’t seem to make it in the world without being mad about something. I figure, they have it a lot tougher. Being angry—that’s hard work. Hard on the heart.”
Noel relaxed in his chair. He scratched Beau’s ears. It made Bob smile. A good old dog who appreciated a little stroking was so good for a mood, a perspective.
“My mom’s worried about me being gay,” Noel said.
“Nah,” Bob said.
“Yeah, she is. She told me some of her worries.”
“I shouldn’t speak for Andy, but if I heard her right, she’s worried about it being hard on you to be just who you are. And she’s worried about people filled with hate, hoping that doesn’t get turned on you in any way. Anyone would worry about that. I have a sister with a son in the army. He went to Afghanistan. Her worries are pretty much the same. Of course, it won’t help to worry—but sometimes when it’s your boy, your pride and joy, you just can’t help it—you want only good things for him. You hate to think he’d ever have to suffer in any way.”
Noel looked at Bob and grinned. “So,” he said. “You love my mother, huh?”
“Oh, kid.” Bob laughed. “I do. I think she’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. I love listening to her talk, laugh. She tells great stories. Brings great stories out of me. And you know what? I look in the mirror or get down on my knees to do tile or heft up some big heavy shelf, I know I’m getting old—full of creaks, all gray and bald, a little more flesh than I need...but when I’m with Andy, just out to dinner or sitting right here in this beautiful weather, talking, laughing—I swear to God I feel twenty-one.”
Noel laughed. “Well, you’re not.”
“But isn’t it terrific when you’re with someone who can bring out your best self? I think that’s the sign of a true friend, when they make you feel better when you’re with them than you ever had a chance of feeling without them.”
“Think she loves you back?” Noel asked, grinning.
“We haven’t said those words yet—you got it first. I might get in trouble for that. I’m not good at this stuff. I’m very inexperienced. But the way she is with me, if it isn’t love, it’s damn sure close enough for me. Your mom, she’s one of the best people in the world. But you already know that.”
Noel dropped his chin. “She always put me first,” he said without looking up. “Even when it meant she was alone, stuck with some little kid, she really always put me first....”
“It wasn’t a sacrifice for her, Noel,” Bob said earnestly. “I’m sure it came naturally. I think that’s how it is with most mothers, at least my sisters say so. Once you have that child, those children, it would be very hard to do anything else. You don’t have anything to pay back for that.”
“Kind of lets me off the hook.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t tell her you appreciate it. Also, you could let her know that except for this bad spot you have going on with your dad, you’re okay. Happy. You are happy, aren’t you?”
“Most of the time,” he said. “I have some good friends. No one special, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. I’d hate to wait as long as you....”
“You won’t.” Bob laughed. “Hardly anyone is as introverted as me. You know, I was planning to be a teacher once. Professor. That was my goal. Then I started building things and it suited me—I think because I wasn’t intimidated by the wood, the cement, and I was confident there. But you’re not like that. You have all that personality, and guts. Son, it takes guts to face up to things the way you have. Lift your chin and be yourself. People will like you for who you are.”
“You sure don’t seem like an introvert. You’re kind of, I don’t know, up-front.”
“With you,” Bob said. “I’m better one-on-one. And you’re Andy’s boy. You’re good stock. It’s pretty easy for me to feel comfortable with you. Safe.”
Noel was quiet for a second. “I think I’ll pitch this coffee, get some hot.”
“Good idea,” Bob said. “I could use a fresher, too. And I think Beau looks like he’s in the mood for a biscuit. You know where Andy keeps ’em?”
“No.”
“Then I better show you. I think he might start counting on you for a treat.”
“That’d be okay.”
Bob draped an arm around Noel’s shoulders and walked with him into the house. “Beau’s a real good judge of character, you know. Dogs are like that. It doesn’t matter what people say, how they act or look, dogs can see into a person’s soul. They growl at a perfectly civil-lo
oking person and it should serve as a warning—dogs know. But Beau, he took to you immediately. I guess that stands for something.”
“You’re full of so much shit, Bob,” Noel said.
Bob laughed. “But don’t I talk a good game?”
“I just hope you’re telling the truth about how you feel about my mom, because I can’t stand to think of her with some loser.”
“One thing about me, I have a hard time making up lies. You’ll get that after you know me awhile. I’ve always been like that. I just spit it out, the truth about anything. I got arrested that way once—when I was about your age, in college. A cop asked me, ‘Is that marijuana you got there, boy?’ and I answered, ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure sorry, sir.’”
“No shit? You?”
“Unfortunately that’s no shit...” He laughed. “But I really believe that stuff about dogs. Don’t you?”
Noel laughed and headed for the coffeepot. “Whatever you say, Bob.”
* * *
There was one nice thing about summer—Gerri didn’t have to race around, getting kids out of bed, prodding them into the car for school, breaking up fights, trying to block snipes and arguments in the car. She enjoyed having the house quiet first thing in the morning.
And that was where the nice thing about summer ended as far as she was concerned.
Gerri had the kids programmed to check in before leaving the house, reporting their activities and locations. And they had additional reasons to talk to their mother—questions like how much detergent goes in the washer, why isn’t there any lunch meat, where are the extra rolls of toilet paper, can you stop on the way home and get any number of unnecessary items. Her phone rang all day long or bleeped at incoming texts. It was all she could do to keep from losing her temper and demand they stop calling. But when they stopped, it signaled worse trouble.
She left them lists of chores every morning—with kids around the house all day, the place was crumbling in no time. Jed had a summer job at a local restaurant, working evenings, so he slept late and did little or nothing all day long, then ate almost everything in sight before heading off to work.
The phone rang and she glanced at her watch, hoping it was some charity or political tape she could hang up on. When she answered, she heard her mother-in-law’s chipper voice. “Darling! I caught you before work!”
“Minutes before, but for you I’d even be late. How are you, Muriel?”
“Torn, that’s how I am. We’re all packed up in San Miguel, heading for two months in Maui, but I just don’t feel right about it. I think I should come there—help out for the summer.”
Gerri laughed. “That’s very tempting. A live-in drill master sounds like just the thing, but—”
“Settled! I’ll send Stan to Maui and get on the next flight!”
“You can’t, Muriel,” Gerri said. “It wouldn’t work. Please, don’t take this personally—if my own mother was still alive, I wouldn’t let her come now, either. Really, Phil and I need the time—we’re just starting to really talk about things. I have to know where it’s going.” She took a breath. “Although I admit, it would be fun to watch you glare at him for a couple of months.”
“I don’t have to harangue him, darling. I could manage to be civil. At least when the children are present.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were enjoying this....”
“Gerri, dearest, are you and my wayward son making any progress?”
“What has Phil told you?”
She laughed. “You’re kidding! He won’t give me a thing! The last time I asked him why he wouldn’t talk about it, he said he didn’t want me to screw up his lame attempts to get his wife back. As if I would!”
Gerri laughed. The idea of Phil’s mother torturing him with her disapproval was not hurting her mood. “Did you and Stan ever have marital problems?” she asked.
“Of course not!” Then she cackled at her own joke. “Geraldine, everyone has marital problems, of one stripe or another.”
“Did either of you ever have...” She couldn’t go on.
“An affair?” Muriel asked. “Gerri, we never went through a situation like yours—interpret that any way you like. We limped along like every married couple. Some of our troubles seemed insurmountable, some stupid and piddling, but I think in the end I’d have to call it a very satisfactory marriage. Gerri, is there hope? It will be difficult to put him up for adoption at his age.”
“There is,” she said. “But until I know what kind, Phil’s staying right where he is, and I’m staying right here. And we’re not having any friends or relatives in this mix. I hope you understand.”
Muriel sighed. “My other daughters-in-law don’t take as firm a hand with me, you know. Though that doesn’t mean I actually like them better, but that’s irrelevant. Gerri—if you needed my help, would you call?”
“Of course. Muriel, I can’t stop thinking about something my mother always used to say. If the rope gets cut, you can tie it back together, but there will always be a knot in it.”
Muriel didn’t respond immediately. After a long pause she finally spoke. “Darling, when I look at the rope that belongs to Stan and me, so imperfect, so often broken and reconnected, I just assumed all those knots were there to give us something to hang on to.”
* * *
The June sun shone brightly, burning off the morning fog that tended to roll in from the coast and settle in the valley. Sonja had been digging in her yard for hours. The June sun on the fertile California land was like magic—stick something in the ground and it would grow and grow and grow. The air was moist and warm, nurturing the flowers. She’d already lined the border of her backyard with colorful blooms. Though she’d gotten them in the ground a little late, they flourished. She’d made a habit of returning to the nursery almost every afternoon so she’d have fresh plants ready to go in the ground, first thing each morning.
When she started the project, she’d worn gardening gloves, but that hadn’t lasted long. She’d come to love the feel of the rich, dark soil on her hands, caught in the crevices, stuck under her nails. As her flower beds grew deeper, she began placing patio stones in little pathways through the garden so she could get around without trampling her new babies.
While she gardened, she could think. Much of her time was spent remembering Todd, sometimes talking to him just under her breath. It would have been so sweet to grow into adulthood with her brother, see where their lives intertwined, merged. She would likely be Aunt Sonja now if he had lived.
After the group session that everyone referred to as her breakthrough Sonja cried for almost two full days. Panicked that she was retreating into madness again, she had called Dr. Kalay, who asked if anything new or significant had happened right before the crying began. Sonja told her about the upsetting group session.
“Ah, more grieving. Long overdue, it would seem. Will you be all right? Or do you need some extra help getting through this?” Dr. Kalay asked.
“Will I be all right? Tear my hair out of my head?”
“Is anything like that happening, Sonja?” she asked gently.
“No, I’m digging in the garden, planting, crying on the flowers....”
The psychiatrist laughed softly, tenderly. “I can’t think of a better place for your tears to fall. Please, call me in two days and tell me how you’re feeling.”
Two days later, there was less crying. Two more days, she was much better. After another two group sessions she could talk about her family, her brother’s death and her failed marriage without succumbing to wrenching sobs. The tears still popped into her eyes sometimes, unexpectedly, when a particularly sentimental memory came to mind. Good tears, the people in group called them. The kind of tears that got you well.
She left the back patio doors open while she worked and it was just before noon when she heard the doorbell. Since school was out, Andy sometimes popped over in the middle of the day, just for something to do. Sonja sat back on her heels, the
n got to her feet, brushing the dirt off her knees. She kicked off her shoes by the back door. It was a good time to take a break, anyway. When she opened the door, it wasn’t Andy, but George. He was dressed in an impeccable blue-gray pinstriped suit, his steel-gray hair perfectly combed for a day of business. She was thunderstruck for a second. Then she slammed the door in his face.
He knocked. Then he knocked again. “Go away, George,” she yelled at the door. And then she turned her back on the door and under her breath muttered, “Asshole.”
She hadn’t even made it out of the foyer when she heard a key in the lock. She whirled to face the door as it opened.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, aghast.
“Letting myself into my house,” he said. “I am still part owner, you know.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I want to see you, to ask how you are,” he said simply. “You won’t talk to me or return my calls. I hear from your doctor that you’re making great progress and are feeling much better. I’d like to hear from you how much better you’re feeling.”
“She shouldn’t be telling you anything,” Sonja said angrily. “Doctor-patient privilege.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“She has to respond to me, Sonja—I’m the insurer and the one who’s paying the bills. Now, why don’t we just make things simple. Can you tell me how you’re doing without all the profanity?”
She ground her teeth for a moment. “I’m crazy. Now you can go.”
“You’re not crazy,” he said. “But you are muddy. What’s going on?”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve been planting flowers. Really, I’m not ready to talk to you. Especially about how I am.”
“It doesn’t have to be a long conversation,” he said, walking past her into the kitchen. He sat down at the nook table and waited patiently.
She followed him. “Aren’t you just a little afraid you’ll put me right back over the edge?”
He shook his head. “I checked with the doctor. She assures me you’ve become very resilient. You look a lot better than you did the last time I saw you,” he said.
