12
Chris
Jack doesn’t leave the next day. Or the next.
“I told you,” says Jody, standing in front of the cracked mirror of the living room, tying a bandana over his hair. “He’s like ants. Once he gets wind that he can find what he’s looking for, you’ll never get him out of the house.”
“Is it really that bad?” I say. “I mean, he hasn’t…you know…done anything.”
He smoothes down his hair and tries again with the bandana. I don’t know why he’s bothering. He already has plaster dust in his hair. It’s more or less permanent at this point, for both of us. “Yet,” he says. “He hasn’t done anything yet. When Grandma died he literally tore her place to pieces looking for her money. Just because he's quiet now, that doesn’t mean he’s not drawing up plans to strip every last inch of copper piping from the house.”
“And what if he isn’t?”
Jody turns from the mirror and sighs. “Chris, please don’t make this about my daddy issues, because otherwise I’m gonna get earwormed with Cat’s In The Cradle and I hate that song like burning.”
But I think that ship has already sailed. The angles of his jaw seem to get sharper when he’s upset, and right now I could cut myself on the place where cheek meets chin. I cup his face with infinite care. “I’m not. I’m just saying: have you talked to him?”
“And how am I supposed to do that? Jack talks at people, not to them.”
It’s profoundly messed up that I’ve taken to looking at Jack Ohanian like he’s a medical specimen. I catch myself scanning the liverish whites of his eyes and peering into the hollows of his throat, looking for a telltale tattoo like the one Becky had – one of those dots they use for targeting radiation treatment. I hate that I do it, but Jody hasn’t gotten around to that question yet. And while I understand why he hasn’t asked, I’m aware that this is a far more complicated father/son relationship than most.
“What if he’s not?” I say.
“Not what?”
“Dying. What if he’s just genuinely serious about reconnecting with his kids?”
“Then we should probably alert the Vatican,” he says.
“Jody, come on.”
He raises his eyebrows. The bandana is so tight that it squishes the flesh of his forehead. It’s ugly. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says.
“I don’t know. Just talk to him.”
“Right. Like it’s that easy. Do you talk to your father?” He sees the look on my face and turns triumphant. “See? It’s not that easy, is it?”
“No. It’s not. Why do we raise boys to be such awful communicators?”
“Because tears are girly, yo,” he says, and reaches for a claw hammer. “Come on. Less talky, more smashy.”
“No, you can’t just walk away from this conversation and go back to demolishing the staircase.”
“Can too,” he says, striding off to the kitchen, the claw hammer swinging at his side. I catch it by the handle before he takes a chunk out of his leg. He stops, turns and glares at me. “Chris, stop it. I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re never in the mood,” I say. “And you’re gonna have to be at some point, because he’s not going away. Just accept that much, would you?”
He gives a long sigh, stirring the dust on the edge of the stair treads. “Fine. I admit that the problem isn’t going to just go away. Okay?”
“Good. The first step is admitting you have a problem.”
“That’s for drug and alcohol problems.”
“What? And your dad isn’t a drug and alcohol problem?”
Jody stifles a laugh. “Shh. He’s probably right below us. Lurking.”
He’s so cute that I have to kiss him. The bandana is coarse nylon under my hand. “God, take that thing off. You’re giving me Grey Gardens flashbacks.”
“The what now?”
“Grey Gardens. You don’t want to know, trust me. It’s a dark place, where you wind up half naked and warbling Tea For Two in a cracked vibrato, while a cat takes a dump behind your debutante portrait.”
I can see he’s about to ask what in the world I’m talking about, but then Jack’s voice floats up between the floorboards. “Hey, you guys up there? You wanna come take a look at this?”
“Jesus Christ,” says Jody. “Knowing him he’s found human remains in our basement.”
But downstairs, Jack is all business. He’s got tape measures and spectacles and a tablet glowing under his nose. “Check this out,” he says, tapping on the timber. “Yellow pine.”
“Okay. And what does that mean?”
“It means you got lucky,” says Jack. “I came down here expecting Douglas fir, which is waaaay more expensive than yellow pine. Usual kind of thing you’d expect with a house of this age, and you know they have those building regulations out the wazoo…”
“We expected that,” I say, and Jody shoots me a warning look. “I knew I’d have to restore the house using original materials.”
“Yep,” says Jack. “And those heritage materials cost the frigging earth. This is what I’m saying.” He thumps the upright support and Jody and I both instinctively look up. We’re so used to bits of the house cascading down on our heads. “Yellow pine? Like this? It’s gonna save you thousands, versus Douglas fir.”
Jody, momentarily satisfied that the floor above him is staying put, peers at the timber. “And you’re sure this is yellow pine?”
“Yes. Look. You can see it in the knots. Pine’s knotty. Douglas fir isn’t. And quit narrowing your eyes like that, Jody. This is good news. It’s cheap, it’s strong and it’s super easy to treat for insects and shit.”
Jody goes right on narrowing his eyes. By the time Jack has made his exit, they’re practically closed. “This is some bullshit,” he says.
I look it up. So far, so true. Yellow pine does have more knots than Douglas fir. And a lower price tag. “Does he know what he’s talking about?”
He makes a vague, grunting noise. “No. Yes. A little.”
“A little?”
“Okay, so he does know a thing or two about carpentry…” Jody says grudgingly. “But don’t get excited. Jack-of-all-trades, master of none – that’s why they call him that. That and he’s a massive jack-off.”
There’s a plan hatching in my head. A test. When Jody is safely sequestered in the back staircase, thumping away with a claw hammer, I seek out Jack and find him in the back yard, wreathed in clouds of smoke.
He startles when he sees me, and the wind catches the smoke – no, steam – and blows it under my nose. It smells like something between candy and cough syrup. “Shit,” he says. “Busted.” He sighs and puts the vape pen back in his pocket. “I told him I’d quit.”
“Smoking,” I say. “Vaping’s different.”
“Meh. I’m still a goddamn slave to nicotine, even if they do figure out a way to make it taste like cherry pie. I know it won’t satisfy Jody. He’s like his mother in that regard – awful hard to please.”
Not in my experience. Jody is an effortless joy to please, and my heart and head are so full of him that my thoughts flash back to the last time I made him purr with pleasure, my fingers searching inside him to find the hard little bump, like a pearl beneath layers of velvet. His breath catching, his fingers tightening in my hair. It was only last night, and I want him again.
“Listen,” I say, forcing my dumb, lovesick brain back to the matter in hand. “There’s a lumberyard about an hour’s drive from here. I was thinking I’d get the timber from there, but I haven’t had the opportunity to go and even get a ballpark figure. It seems like every five minutes something else is falling apart around here, and I don’t know the first damn thing about carpentry, so…”
Jack blinks, obviously flattered. “Are you saying you want me to take a look?”
“You seem to know what you’re talking about.”
There’s a flash of skepticism in his eyes, but he squashes it fast. “I’d be
delighted,” he says. “But I’m kinda…between cars, if you know what I’m saying.”
“You have a license, right?” I say, with a lurch in my stomach. Am I really going to trust him with this? With my car? “You can take mine.”
“Thank you,” he says, and I think he actually means it. “That’s…that’s something. That means a lot.”
“Not at all. I’d really value your input.”
I hand over the keys with my heart in my mouth, and watch him drive away. This is probably a mistake, but then I think of Jody, and how the last seventy-two hours have made me desperate to be alone with him. I hurry back to the kitchen and call him, already crazy with the things I want to do to him. My hands on his hips, his pink-tipped cock caught on the hem of his flannel shirt, his neck arching as he sinks down onto me.
“What?” He emerges from the back staircase. He’s dirty and sweaty and there are cobwebs in his hair, but I’ve fucked him in worse states than this. I’ve had him on the kitchen table, my fingers leaving streaks of dust and grime in the sweat on his thighs. He stumbles when I grab him, his ass against the kitchen side, and my mind races ahead, hungry for that delicious moment when his pants are down and his dick is in my hand again. I want to take him back to the tent, strip him naked and plunge into him again and again, taking time to linger over every last beauty spot on his body.
I smooth his hair back from his forehead, pulling tight enough to sharpen the corners of his eyes. He looks up at me with the same kind of breathless wonder currently squeezing my heart in two, and I can hardly believe he’s mine. “I love you.”
His clothes and hair smell like frost and decay, but I know when he’s naked he’s not going to smell like anything other than himself. He all but swoons into my kiss, and the look in his fierce black eyes sets off faint alarm bells in my head. I’m not ready. It’s too soon, but oh my God I’m in love. I’m gone. The damage is already done, and the damage is so, so beautiful.
“Let’s make love,” I say, kissing the side of his neck.
“Where’s Jack?” he says, because someone has to be practical around here.
“Not here.” I work my hands under his shirt and he flinches at the chill. He’s furnace hot under his clothes.
“Chris…what did you do with Jack?”
My fingers find his nipple under his clothes, and I pinch, making him hiss and arch. His hips rise to meet mine and I can feel him hard behind his fly. “I beat him to death,” I say, nuzzling at his lips with mine. “I took him out into the woods, smacked him over the head with a shovel and left his body for the bears.” I bite the edge of his ear. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Yeah, I’m deeply disturbed that murder makes you this horny,” he says, thrusting against me.
“You make me this horny.”
He laughs and stifles a moan. “No, but seriously – where’s Jack?”
“I sent him off to get a quote on the yellow pine. Do you want to fuck me?”
“A lot,” he says, but he stiffens, and not in the good way. “Wait, hold the motherfucking phone. You gave Jack your car?”
“Yes.” I carry on kissing his neck, but I have a feeling I’m not going to skate through this one.
“Have you lost your mind?” he says. “You’ve definitely lost your car, just so you know…no…stop it. Not now. You can’t just tell me you handed your car keys over to an incorrigible goddamn kleptomaniac and carry on banging. It doesn’t work like that.”
I step back, frustrated. “Look, if he comes back—”
“—which he absolutely won’t—”
“—then we’ll know he’s for real. Maybe he really has changed.” He sighs and I take the opportunity to steal a kiss. “Come on. You said it yourself. All the laws of the universe said Jack ought to have stolen the keys to the pharmacy cabinet from your brother’s girlfriend…”
“…and gone on a veterinary medicine bender. I know.”
“But he didn’t. Maybe it’s time to accept that the laws of the universe have changed, Jody.” This time I don’t have to steal. His tongue still tastes faintly of coffee. “And maybe it’s time to accept that you need to let me do unbelievably filthy things to your prostate gland.”
He smolders and wraps his arms around my neck. “I’m so fucking crazy in love with you.”
“Bed.”
“Tent.”
“Whatever.”
But we’re not that lucky. I hear a car outside. Jody cocks an ear and starts to giggle.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“That’ll be the cops,” he says.
“What cops?”
“Where Jack goes, cops follow. Law of the universe.”
“Ugh. What the hell? Why is everyone suddenly all up in our business? Can’t a man disappear into the woods and hole up with a super hot stripper in peace these days?”
He’s still laughing as we step out of the front door, but there are no cop cars. No Jack. Instead there’s Josephine’s silver Ford, and – like most things from New York these days – it has the look of a thing that has the power to bring me back to earth with a hell of a bump. Jody stops laughing and stands still, pulling his flannel shirt tight around him. I instinctively head towards the car, knowing she’s going to need a hand with the baby seat.
But there’s no baby. Just her. “Where’s Artemis?” I ask, as I hug her.
“With Mom. I hit the jackpot. My nipples got infected and I dried up. Baby’s sucking down formula now.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
Josephine snorts. “I’m not. It was such a relief to have a legitimate reason to stop. I swear that granola chick doula of mine was trying to make me go on indefinitely. ‘It’s for their immune systems, Josephine.’ And I’m like ‘Yeah – okay, but for that we also have vaccines.’ They get a needle stick and lifetime immunization, and I don’t have to live with a kid attached to my tit for the next three years.”
“Three years?”
“She fed her eldest until he was six.” She glances over to the porch. Jody has vanished.
“Oh,” I say. “He was…never mind. Come on in. Six, you say?”
“Yeah, I think the kid was part remora or something. I don’t know what to tell…” She trails off as soon as she sees what’s happened to the living room. We managed to tidy up a bit – disassemble the bed and get it out of the way – but the room is still missing a ceiling and has a bunch of large holes gouged in the walls.
“Isn’t that just opening the door for a whole bunch of social issues?” I say. “I mean, six…that’s school age, right?”
Josephine holds up a hand. “Nooope. We have officially moved on from unusual titty feeding, brother-mine. Where the fuck is your ceiling?”
The look in her eyes is not encouraging. I was hoping for understanding, but her expression says it’s not normal to live like this, and she’s not wrong. It’s not. “Well, I don’t think the floorboards were sound anyway,” I say. “One day Jody tossed a pair of balled up socks on the bed and…I guess everything just reached its weight limit.”
She does that slow, non-judgmental blink that’s all Dad’s. “Socks?”
“I think they were a heavy knit. Chunky.”
Josephine takes a breath and peers into the parlor. “Um…why is there a tent in there?”
“We sleep there.”
“In a tent?”
“Yes.”
“In the middle of a New Hampshire winter?”
“It’s a mountaineering tent,” I say. “Super warm.”
But it’s no use. She’s spotted the dining room now, empty of furniture, because everything kept sliding sideways. She clocks the Titanic angle of the floor and her blink rate moves from simply psychiatric to straight-up reptilian.
“There are some…joist issues,” I say. “Look, it’s okay. It’s not your problem. You didn’t inherit this mess, remember?”
“Chris, that is not the point. You are living in a goddamn ruin. In subzero temperatures.
” Here it comes, as I knew it would. “You flake on Thanksgiving, on Christmas, on New Year…I mean, what the fuck is going on? You’re sleeping in a tent with a…” Her eyes widen. Oh dear. “Oh God. Tell me you’re not.”
“What?” I say, although I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“It’s not like—”
Josephine groans. “Like what? So you are?”
“Look, we’ve been through a lot together, Jody and I.”
The worst part is I recognize the look she’s giving me right now. It was the exact same mixture of pity and despair that crossed her face when our sixtysomething father explained that the twenty-five year old he was banging was ‘really an old soul, and very mature for her age.’
“It’s not just sexual,” I say, digging myself in deeper.
“Oh Christ. So you are fucking him.”
“It’s not like that. We have a…a connection. Actually, we’re in love.”
Josephine’s breath leaves her lungs in a soft ‘huuuh’ sound.
“No, please don’t make a noise like a Hawaiian goose,” I say.
“Well, what am I supposed to say? Congratulations?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
She takes a deep breath. “Christopher, do I have to explain to you why falling in love right now would be a very bad idea?”
“Will you keep your voice down? This place is kind of short on walls.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she says. “I know you said Fight Club, but it makes Tyler Durden’s crib look like Monticello. Jesus, Chris – you’re in no shape to take this on, either the house or a new love affair. You got your heart broken, you cancelled your wedding…”
“I know. And Jody was there for me.”
Josephine looks hurt. “I was there. Mom was there. Dad was…well, Dad was Dad, but what the hell were we?”
Oh God. That was possibly the worst answer I could have given. “I know that,” I say, choosing my words very carefully. “I know you were there for me, and it wasn’t you, I swear. I just…I just couldn’t stand to be in New York. And you had your hands full with the baby…no, don’t go off on me, Jo. She needs you far more than I do, because she’s a baby. That’s how it has to be, now that you’re a mother. I know we always had one another’s backs as kids, and I know you still do.” My throat starts to ache and I hope I don’t cry. It’s far too cold for tears. “I know we will always look out for each other, but come on – you have a daughter now. She has to come first. That’s why I didn’t want to burden you with all this shit.”
The Other Half Page 18
