So Near

by Liza Gyllenhaal

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked me when I reached an empty space near the service station.

  “Nothing, thanks,” I said, hesitating. “I was just looking for Daniel Brandt?”

  “Haven’t seen him yet. But Gail will know. Hold on, she’ll be picking up her order in a sec.”

  Several minutes passed before a tall brunette waitress approached, and the bartender asked her if she’d seen Daniel, and then nodded at me:

  “This lady’s looking for him.”

  She sized me up, hand on hip.

  “He’s in the city for a couple of days on business. Whom shall I say was asking?”

  “Nobody,” I told her. She continued to stare at me, a half smile playing on her lips. “It’s nothing. I just thought that if he was here, I’d tell him . . .”

  Her smile widened as my words trailed off.

  “I’d be happy to tell him for you,” she said as she picked up a tray and hoisted it to her shoulder. “What’s the message?”

  “Just that Jenny came by to—to say thanks.”

  I drove around aimlessly for another few hours, north, then west. I ended up looping back and picking up Route 206 again at some point. Retracing my steps home. I’d resolved nothing. I didn’t have a plan.

  The downstairs was lit up when I pulled into the driveway. I felt so alone. I sat in the car for a few minutes after I turned off the engine, thinking about Daniel. I tried to imagine what he would have said if I’d been able to talk to him. You can tell me, he’d reassured me that day we’d had lunch. In many ways that was all I really needed to hear. Needed to have. Someone who would listen. Who wouldn’t judge. I could still feel the touch of his lips against my skin.

  “There you are,” Cal said, rising from the sofa when I came into the great room. “I was getting worried. I thought maybe something had happened.”

  “Something has happened, Cal,” I answered. I heard the righteous anger in my voice. Lying was becoming second nature to me now. But I knew I just had to do whatever I could to keep Cal from proceeding with the Gannon suit. I felt that my whole life—our future, really—depended on it. “You’ve stopped listening to me. You’re not hearing a single word that comes out of my mouth. So I’m begging you, please—pay attention! Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us! It’s only going to bring more heartache. It’s just going to drive us further apart.”

  13

  Cal

  When I lifted the grill hood, smoke hit me in the face, making my eyes water. Half-blind, I poked at the turkey breast with my grill fork, and I checked the temperature gauge. Another fifteen minutes or so, I figured. I knew I should head back inside and make nice with Jenny, Jude, and my father-in-law, but I couldn’t stand the atmosphere in the house. In the past I’ve gladly suffered through these Thanksgiving meals with Reverend Honegger, knowing that, having done Thanksgiving with him, we’d be freed up to enjoy Christmas with my side of the family. But this year, the first without Betsy, and with things such a mess between me and Jenny, it’s been torture. Cooking the turkey—my annual holiday contribution—provides me with a built-in excuse to slip outside, check on the bird, and nurse along my coffee mug of Jack on the rocks.

  The reverend doesn’t approve of drinking, so Thanksgiving ends up being a dry meal in just about every sense of the word. And all day long I’ve been feeling Betsy’s absence— like a sharp pain riding under my rib cage. This time last year she helped me rake the leaves in the front yard with a little toy rake we’d gotten her. She loved jumping in the big pile we built, the leaves flying into the air above her. I can see her eyes, wide with joy and excitement.

  I’ve already called Edmund twice this week about where things stand with Gannon. I feel so frustrated. What the fuck can be taking so long?

  I heard the door slide open behind me, followed by the reverend’s tentative, shuffling gait. My dad still tries to stride along like a man in his prime, but Jenny’s father seems eager to play up his frailty and advancing age. He’s got a quaver in his voice now—making what he says often sound testy and uncertain.

  “Well, here you are!” he announced, as if he’d been searching the globe. We’ve never much liked each other. I’ve heard too much about the dictatorial way he raised Jenny and Jude to feel much sympathy for him. We’ve got nothing in common but his daughter and, I suspect, the conviction we both hold of each other—that she deserves a whole lot better. I’ve also been pretty shocked by his fumbling response to our tragedy.

  “Yeah, here I am,” I said, not really caring if he picked up on the irritation in my voice.

  “I wanted to come out and see these new gardens I’ve been hearing so much about,” he said, grunting under his breath as he made his way down the steps to the terrace, where I’d set up the grill.

  “Not much to see now. Except the stonework.” But even in late November, with all the leaves gone, I liked looking out over what I’ve come to think of as Daniel’s landscape: the way the stone steps lead from one level to the next, the neat ledges of shrubs and trees, how the pathways snake through the beds in an almost mazelike way. Whenever I start off on one of the artfully designed paths, I’m never quite sure where I’m going to end up.

  “My goodness,” Jenny’s father said, stopping beside me and taking in the scene below. He crossed his arms. “Pretty fancy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, not liking his tone. It was typical of him to sound both judgmental and aw-shucks.

  “Oh, well now, you know Jenny’s the gardener in the family. I’m really not equipped to weigh in on the pros and cons of something this—this elaborate. My tastes are pretty uncomplicated.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “I think I preferred the old garden,” he said, taking off his rimless glasses and polishing them on his scarf. It’s something he tends to do right before he starts to pontificate. I braced myself.

  “But, now, you know me,” he went on, slowly putting his glasses back on. “I’m of the old school. Keep it simple. Stick to the straight and narrow and you won’t end up where you don’t belong.”

  “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” I asked him.

  “I heard Jennifer and Judith discussing this lawsuit you’re planning. I think it’s ill-advised. It’s not going to bring Betsy back.”

  “I’m already aware of that,” I said. His know-it-all, holier-than-thou tone really pissed me off.

  “You think you’re justified, I’m sure,” he went on, not picking up on my anger. “But I’m aware how much this is upsetting Jennifer. Your first obligation is to her, Cal. And to your marriage. Both of you need to heal—and then start to move ahead together with your lives. It looks to me like this suit is starting to come between you. And that’s not right. You might lose a great deal more than you’re going to gain.”

  “It’s not the money. I don’t give a damn about the money,” I said. I usually try not to swear in front of Jenny’s dad, but I was beyond thinking about his feelings. He’d been of zero help to us after Betsy’s death. What prompted him to want to throw in his two cents now? I wondered if Jenny had enlisted his support in her efforts to stop the suit. I had a hard time believing that she would turn to her father for this—or for anything else—but, then, I’m beginning to feel I understand my wife a little bit less every day.

  “I believe you mean that,” he said. “I imagine you’re pursuing this with the idea that you’re going to right a grievous wrong. You’re hoping to punish the manufacturer. But lawsuits of this kind can take years to settle. It could take over your life, Cal. In the meantime, you’ll be neglecting your own salvation and your precious marriage—the most important work you’ve been given to do on this earth.”

  “I don’t think I need a lecture from you on marriage,” I snapped. Even as I said the words, I realized that I’d stepped over the line—but, then, I felt he’d done the same with me. We’ve never discussed the matter—we’ve never gone into depth about much o
f anything, frankly—but I’ve often wondered how he squared counseling his congregants on matrimonial issues when his own marriage ended in such a public fiasco. Karl Honegger didn’t flinch. If anything he grew more still. Stolid. We stood there together in silence. Then he said:

  “Do as I say, not as I do. In the end, that’s really all any parent can advise a child. Think about it, Cal. That’s all I’m asking.”

  I waited until the meal was over. I had the requisite second slice of pumpkin pie. I even helped clear the dishes. Then I said, “I’m heading over to see the game. Anyone want to come with me?”

  For Dad’s seventieth, we all pitched in and bought him a fifty-four-inch, wall-mounted flat-screen Panasonic for his “den” in the refinished basement, a pine-paneled expanse where he keeps his guns and fishing gear and a lifetime accumulation of medals, ribbons, and framed citations. It’s where our family and friends congregate to watch “the game,” baseball or football, depending on the season. Thanksgiving is wall-to-wall college ball, which, because no one really gives a damn about the outcome, means most of us only glance at the set. We’re there to party. Last year, someone brought out a hula hoop and everyone took turns. Jenny lasted the longest, her hips barely moving as the hoop circled around and around. I remembered her heart-stopping crooked smile and how sexy she looked.

  “No, thanks,” Jenny said, not even looking up as she loaded the dishwasher.

  “You know, I think I’ll tag along,” Jude replied, surprising the hell out of me. We’ve been avoiding each other since her return. But I should have known. We weren’t even out of the driveway before she turned to me in the front seat and said, “I’m really worried, Cal. I’ve never seen Jenny like this. You know I wouldn’t be talking to you about it unless I thought it was really, really important. But someone has to tell you: I think you’re making a huge mistake with this Gannon thing.”

  “Someone already has told me. Your dad. So all you Honeggers are lining up against me, huh? Honestly, Jude, I don’t understand your reasoning. My daughter died because of these people’s carelessness. And other kids are liable to end up the same way—unless we stop them. That’s what this is about. Where’s the problem?”

  “My sister. Your wife. There’s the problem,” Jude said. “She’s always been the rock of my existence. There for me when everybody else walked away. There for me when I didn’t deserve it, when she should never have spoken to me again. All I’m saying is: I can’t believe you don’t feel the same way. That you don’t want to protect her. I think just the idea of this lawsuit is tearing her apart.”

  “You never knew Betsy,” I said. “You don’t have any idea what I’m fighting for. What we lost.”

  “Well, I do know what you could lose,” Jude replied. “And she’s very much alive and hurting.”

  There were cars lining both sides of my parents’ drive when we pulled in. Jude and I walked into the house side by side, not speaking. She disappeared into the crowd upstairs, mostly women and younger kids, headquartered in the kitchen. I assume that someone gave her a ride home at some point, because I didn’t see her again that night. And I didn’t want to. What she’d said had ticked me off. I hated the idea of Jenny confiding our personal problems to someone as unpredictable as Jude. Or as preachy and unbending as Reverend Honegger. Edmund and I had agreed to hold off telling our family about Gannon until Stephens, Stokes actually filed the complaint, but here was Jenny—already out there, sounding the alarm. And I wasn’t exactly in a position to tell her not to talk about it.

  “Hey there, Cal,” Tessa said, coming over to me. Jamie was following his mom in a red plastic truck—one of the toys my dad keeps around for the grandkids—beeping the little toy horn with glee. He’ll have been too young when Betsy was alive to remember her when he gets older. He’s probably already forgotten her now. “Is Jenny upstairs?”

  “No, she didn’t come. I think she was feeling kind of wiped out. We had her dad and Jude over for the big meal.”

  “Oh, lucky you,” Tessa said. She knows how Jenny feels about her dad and is fully aware of the fireworks surrounding Jude. They used to be close, Tessa and Jenny. Tessa used to be in and out of our house just about every day. It makes me sad to see them drifting apart. Tessa’s so smart and tough-minded; a good person to have in your corner. Is Jenny closing her out because of Jamie? I wonder. Watching him talking and walking now—and knowing that Betsy will forever remain only two years old?

  “We’re off again!” she said as Jamie pedaled away. “New worlds to conquer.”

  We had a big crowd that year. It looked like Dad had invited the entire office staff. I know Edmund wouldn’t have been so generous; he tries to make the case that Dad shouldn’t fraternize with his employees so much.

  “It’s hard to discipline people you party with,” Edmund has pointed out.

  “It’s harder to motivate people who don’t feel appreciated” is Dad’s position. But, the truth is, the old man just loves his business and takes a real interest in everyone who works for him. In another couple of weeks, this whole group—along with suppliers and clients—will be invited to reassemble in the showroom for the annual Horigan Lumber and Hardware Christmas bash.

  I got talking to a couple of the salesmen, Nicky Odhner and Joel Price, both old friends from high school. Kurt joined us, along with Lori Swinson, who handles phone orders at the store. I couldn’t remember if she was in high school with us, or if she settled here from out of the area. She’s pretty in a kind of moon-faced way, with bottle-blond, shoulder-length hair. She’s one of these types who seems to take her personal style cues from the Marilyn Monroe school of fashion: fuzzy pink sweater, low-riding jeans that accentuate heavy thighs, lots of lipstick.

  “Well, I think it’ll do just great,” Lori interjected at one point when Kurt and Joel were debating the prospects of a new movie complex that was opening that month in Harringdale. The centerpiece of an urban renewal project that had been in the works for years, the theater was months overdue and nearly a million over budget. “I hate having to go to the mall at night.”

  “Yeah, but at least you don’t take your life in your hands there,” Joel pointed out. “Harringdale is like the crime capital of the county.”

  “What do you think, Cal?” Lori asked, nudging me with her elbow. “Don’t you want to try it?” I’d only been half listening to what the others were saying. What had I been thinking? Once again, I felt myself emerging from a mental fog.

  “I guess time will tell,” I said. “In the meantime I think we could all use another round.”

  Kurt moved away after a while. My dad came by and wrapped his arms around Nicky and Joel.

  “Glad you two could make it,” he said, giving them both a squeeze. “The beating heart of the best sales team in the whole damned county.”

  “Yeah, if only we could round up a couple of customers to sell to,” Nicky said in that sheepish tone so many of us are using these days.

  “Oh, they’ll come back,” Dad said. “They’ll be back.”

  At some point, Nicky and Joel drifted away, too. People were starting to leave now. I was stuck listening to Lori go on about her mother, who lives in a retirement community out in Arizona, and how she’s just barely scraping along, importing her prescription drugs from Canada. It was all blah, blah, blah, as far as I was concerned. I nodded and smiled just to be nice, but I was thinking back on what Jenny’s dad and Jude had said. How determined Jenny seemed to be to fight me. But why? There’s only one conclusion I can draw, the same one I keep coming back to again and again: she blames me for Betsy’s death. Blames me and is going to do everything in her power to keep me from getting the satisfaction I need from Gannon. In fact, she seems intent on making me pay for everything.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” I suddenly heard Lori asking. “I’m afraid I’m really kind of out of your way. But my ride here had to leave early. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “No, it’s fine,” I told h
er. The party was breaking up, but I was in no hurry to get home to a dark house and Jenny asleep upstairs in Betsy’s room. We stayed and helped clean up first. Lori seemed delighted to be collecting bottles and carrying trash bags upstairs.

  “I just dote on your dad,” she said as we walked out to the Olds at the end of the drive. We were the last to leave. The temperature had dropped. Tiny snowflakes drifted in the headlights. She wasn’t kidding that she was out of the way. She lived in a double-wide near Amesville in something called, according to the beat-up sign at the entrance to the place, Meadowbrook Village. Her trailer was dark, snow already icing the front steps.

  “I better see you in,” I said.

  I followed her across the frozen little yard. A bucket filled with plastic flowers and snow sat at the bottom of the steps. She fiddled around with her keys, got the door open, flipped on a light.

  “Thank you, Cal,” she said, stepping inside but holding the door open. “You’re the best. And I just want you to know that I think you’re being so brave. I know how sad you must be. How hard losing your little girl has to be for you, especially this time of the year.”

  “Thanks,” I said, looking down so that she wouldn’t see my expression. Her little-girly voice had always irritated me. But it didn’t now. She’d blindsided me with the very words I longed to hear from Jenny. If I’d been looking at her it might not have happened. I might have seen what was coming and done something to avoid it. Instead, the next thing I knew her arms were around my neck, and that pillowy body was pushed up against mine. Before I could catch my breath, her tongue was halfway down my throat. She smelled spicy and sweet. But her mouth tasted salty and a little sour. It’s been such a long time for me. But that’s not why I started to kiss her back. Why I began to fondle those heavy breasts. I wanted what her body could give me, of course, but it was more that I needed what her kiss said, what her touch implied. That I am brave. I’m still carrying a burden that is almost too heavy to bear. And I’ve been going it alone for too damned many months now.