by Julia Kent
Long, fat tears roll openly down Pam's face as Amanda continues to nurse Charlie while she takes a bite of her gyro. Eyes averted, she's trying not to watch James. Maybe this is too much emotion for her.
Or maybe she's just that hungry.
“Welcome to our shared grandson, James,” Pam says, her hand going to Dad's shoulder. “Can you imagine? We're connected now on a different level.”
Extraordinary waves of feeling ripple across Dad's face, finally settling on something close to happiness as he replies, “I can't think of a better way to be connected to you, Pamela, than through these little boys. Our kids have done well, haven't they?”
She beams. “They have. I already have one more grandchild than I do children!”
Dad thinks for a second. “My kids have made it dead even. Three sons, three grandchildren.”
“I'm sure Shannon and Declan are working on changing that ratio,” she says softly.
Dad startles. “Really? Is there something I should know?”
Alarmed, Pam looks at Amanda, who shakes her head imperceptibly.
Recovering quickly, Pam simply says, “Oh, no. I just assume they want more.” She rummages in the takeout bag and finds forks. “I brought plenty for everyone. Andrew? James? I'm sure you can find something you like.”
For the next ten minutes, I stuff myself on spanakopita and kebab, Dad eating one handed as he watches Will with rapt attention. Other than Ellie, I've never seen a baby in my dad's arms.
And now he has my own child in his grasp.
Pride has a funny way of showing itself. Nothing I did was ever good enough for my father. Even being named CEO of Anterdec came with its own new set of expectations that I never quite meet.
But have a rousing night of unprotected sex, get my swimmers to produce two sons, and bam–instant approval.
A knock at the door makes us all turn. Dad's face lights up.
“Ah, yes! That must be Grace.”
“Grace?” Amanda and I say her name in unison.
“She asked if she could come see the babies,” Dad explains with uncharacteristic sheepishness. “I–I couldn't tell her no. She and her wife are leaving for a month-long cruise tomorrow. I should have told you.”
Grace stepped in to fill the role of mother when our mom died. She's the closest person in my twins' life to a grandmother on the McCormick side. Until now, it hadn't occurred to me to ask her to be here.
I stand, cross the room, and let her hug me, her embrace big and warm.
“Little Andrew has two little babies now,” she whispers in my ear. “Congratulations!” She smells of lavender, the same as always, and while I've grown taller and stronger over time, she's shrunk.
At seventy-one, not so surprising.
We walk into the living room, where Amanda's eating, her shirt and bra in place, and Dad and Pam each have a baby in their arms.
“One of you is going to have to surrender to me, because I need to huff a baby's head,” Grace says pleasantly. “Oh. Right. Hi, Amanda. Now that you've had babies, you're just the backdrop, aren't you?”
“I practically blend into the couch,” Amanda replies as Grace laughs and leans down for a hug. Poor Amanda makes a face as she tries to stretch. Well practiced in reading people, Grace pulls back fast.
“How was the surgery?”
“Fine.”
“You had major abdominal surgery! Nothing about that is fine.”
“They are.” Amanda nods at our babies.
Grace softens. “Of course. But are you okay?”
“Time will tell.” Her answers worry me. Dark circles under her eyes suddenly reveal themselves, and her mouth seems slack, turned down with exhaustion. I feel like an ass.
Today was too soon for people to come over.
Placing my hand on her shoulder, I lean down and whisper, “You want me to get rid of everyone? You look like you need some rest.”
“I'm fine. Really. But if they're all here an hour from now, how about we reassess?”
I kiss her cheek, my protective streak intact. “An hour.”
She nods, then looks longingly at the baklava. “Could you..?”
“Of course.” I put two pieces on a plate and set it on her knees.
“Two pieces! I can't eat that much.”
“You can,” I answer simply.
Her gaze darts to my dad, as if she's worried about his opinion.
“Someone hand me a baby,” Grace says, hovering next to Dad, who points to Pam.
The three of them laugh and figure it out, the handwashing ritual one that Grace performs without being asked. I suddenly feel young and old, all at once.
I'm the sandwich generation now. There's one above me, and Amanda and I created one below us.
My phone buzzes from across the room. I ignore it.
For the next five minutes, Pam and Grace and Dad roam between living room and kitchen, chatting and looking at the babies in better light, giving me the chance to eat and breathe. Amanda's eyes start to droop, and I prepare myself internally to send them all home soon.
Twenty seconds or so later, the front door code beeps.
“Who could that be?” Amanda asks.
Gerald walks in, stride steady, arms tight, face drawn in deep concern. Adrenaline shoots through me, spiking fast and hard, making me jump up and cross the room to him at the front door before I can think.
He's at my side, face impassive, which makes my gut clench. “We have an issue.”
“A problem? Is Suzanne okay?”
“No, no. This isn't about Suzanne. It's about your family.”
“My family?”
“I'm glad I'm on for Mort, because this is delicate.”
“Get to the point. What's the problem?”
Something in his mask ripples. “More of an issue.”
“Can it wait?”
He leans even closer and whispers, “A man claiming to be Amanda's father is at the gate.”
“He what?”
“Right. Looks like a nicer version of the guy in Nashua. He's wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt and tie. Jeans. Hair's cut short. Not sure it's him, but probably is. Is it a problem? I'll get rid of him.”
“No. Hold on. It's okay. That's Leo.”
“Leo?” Dad's outraged voice comes at me from behind. Gerald and I turn. “Pamela's Leo? Her ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“What is he doing here? He's a felon! A murderer!”
Managing my father's emotional reaction on top of the surprise of Leo being here and the stress and joy of bringing the babies home is the last thing I need to deal with. Thankfully, Grace walks up and says to Dad, “James, can you help me with the baby?”
Dad can't resist his long-time executive assistant, and she knows it. Her gaze cuts to me as if to say, I can hold him off for a moment.
But not forever.
“I need to find Pam first,” I murmur to Gerald, who nods and moves into the living room. I just hope Pam isn't holding one of the twins. This is going to be hard enough.
Peeling a grandson out of her arms would be an added gut punch.
“He has no right to be here, Andrew,” Dad says to me, at my elbow again. Grace's cunning eyes take in the situation, sharpening at the word he.
“Who?” she asks Dad. Smart to defer to him.
“Pamela's ex. Amanda's father. A no-good deadbeat who killed a number of people in a drunk-driving accident years ago.”
Grace's eyebrows shoot up. “He's here?”
“I thought he was in prison,” Dad grouses, looking at me as if I've betrayed him by not keeping him apprised of Leo's whereabouts.
Just then, Pam appears, carrying Spritzy in a handbag, her face tight and closed off as if she’s in pain. “What's going on?”
Dad opens his mouth, ready to blast her with his outrage, when Grace puts her hand on his elbow and he stops. He lets out all the air in his lungs, slowly, like a pinhole has formed.
“Leo's here,” I
say softly.
Pam flinches. “Here?” Her eyes blink rapidly. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Until a few minutes ago, when Amanda had me hide Leo's gift, it hasn't occurred to me that Amanda might not have told Pam about our meeting with Leo. I hadn't assumed either way, but apparently, on some level, I had.
I had taken for granted that Pam knew.
And now I have to be the bearer of bad, bad news.
“He's out of prison,” I begin.
“Obviously,” Dad blusters.
“He served his time,” I add tightly, ignoring him.
“James,” Grace says softly. “Why don't we give them some privacy?”
“We need to give Pam and Amanda protection, not privacy!”
“Gerald's here and can do that. It's why Andrew has him on staff. You made a good choice in hiring him years ago,” she says, massaging Dad's ego like a trainer for an Olympic athlete.
Pam's eyes flit to Dad, the bottom lids pulling up with an expression that says she doesn't appreciate his dominance, either.
“Let Leo in,” she says firmly, until she looks at her daughter and hesitates. “If you want, Mandy.”
“Mom, no. I don't want to upset you.”
Pam squares her shoulders. “This isn't about me.”
Dad can't help himself, interrupting. “It's most certainly not about that miscreant, Pamela! He has no right to–”
“You have no right to do this, James,” Pam says to my dad, challenging him with a forcefulness Declan would admire deeply.
I know I sure as hell do.
“Excuse me? I'm trying to protect everyone from him.”
“You're trying to assert your will over people who have wills of their own,” she flatly declares. She looks at Amanda. “Do you want Leo here?”
Uncertainty fills Amanda's face, but she closes her eyes, looks down, and says, “We saw him a few weeks ago.”
Time stops.
Just for a few seconds, but it's enough.
“You did.” Pam says it flatly, sadly. Her reaction to stressful news is the same as Amanda’s: A whoosh of air comes out of her. She’s clearly struggling to control her reaction.
“I did.”
“It's okay, Mandy. It's fine to see your father.” Her Revere accent comes out, blooming under pressure; the end of the word father is cut off, the r consumed by the past.
“I know it is, Mom.” Amanda looks up at Pam, eyes begging for forgiveness, understanding, empathy, compassion. “I had to. He reached out.”
“He did?”
“Yes. Finally.”
“FOR ANDREW'S MONEY!” Dad yells, as if we're all stupid and haven't pieced together some chain of facts he's pre-convinced himself is the truth.
“No,” I say back loudly. “He hasn't asked for a penny.”
“Not yet!”
“Not ever.” Pam's mouth goes firm, set in a grim line. “Leo's not like that.”
“How do you know, Pam?” Dad challenges.
“How did you know your late wife, James? I was with Leo for long enough to know the man. He may be a drunk, and a terrible father, and even an accidental killer, but he's not sniffing around our daughter so he can get money. He's here because he's trying.”
“You don't have to see him, Mom. And we can send him away.”
Gerald watches all of us with keen eyes, his quiet strength always a plus. Unlike in most situations, though, he speaks.
And speaks to Amanda.
“Amanda? It's your call. I can send him away. I can let him in.”
She nods, then looks at Pam. “He brought a present for the boys.”
“He did?” Her mouth softens. “What was it?”
“Red Sox hats and little onesies.”
All of the blood in Pam's face drains out, her hand drifting to the back of a chair for support. “Red Sox?” she whispers faintly.
“I know, Mom. I know!” Amanda starts to cry. “He wants to try to make it right.”
“He gave up that right long ago,” Dad blusters.
“Did you?” I challenge him.
A deadly silence fills the air, my gut twisted in agony but my heart standing firm.
“Excuse me? What does this have to do with me?”
“Nothing, Dad. That's the point. Stay the hell out of it.”
“Someone has to make sure they're protected from him.”
“He made mistakes. He's trying to make amends.”
“Some mistakes are too great to ever fix.”
“Like when you blamed Declan for saving me instead of Mom?”
The front door code beeps at that exact moment, Terry's face popping in, Leo behind him.
“Hey, everyone! I came over to meet the babies and this is Leo. He says he's here to...”
No stranger to family tension, Terry's deep voice fades fast as his eyes ping from me to Dad, finally settling on Amanda with compassion. Quick to cross the room, he inserts himself physically between Dad and me, a wall between us and Amanda and Pam as well.
“What's going on?” Terry asks, voice calm yet firm.
“I was just explaining to Dad that people deserve second chances. Fathers, especially.”
Terry's eyes narrow and he gives me a look that says, Are you sure about that?
“Leo?” Pam gasps, looking like a deer in headlights.
Leo's in the foyer, neck tipped up, eyes taking in the high ceiling, the double staircase, the whole nine yards. Because I grew up here, I don't think about how it looks to others.
But he lets out a long, slow whistle. “Heya, Pammy. Check out these digs.”
My mother-in-law is one for polite laughs, so it's rare to hear her completely let loose, but now is one of those times. Raucous laughter, the nervous kind that bubbles out under tension, comes out of her like Silly String being sprayed by a four-year-old at the family dog.
“Leo,” is all Pam can say in between giggles.
“Hey.” Leo's gaze settles on Amanda. “Hi, Mandy. I hope you don't mind. You gave me your address and I know I shoulda texted or called but I was afraid you'd say no, and I didn't want to bug you. I didn't know if the babies had come yet, but I wanted to see you either way. A buddy lent me his car, but today was the only day I could use it and maybe it was wrong and man, I'm feeling like a jerk right now, so...” He takes a deep breath after all those words, unnerved by Amanda's silence.
All she can do is stare.
His eyes cast down, and his head dips into a submissive posture. Shoulders dropping, he turns back to the door. “I'll–I'll go now. I shouldn't've come.”
“NO!” Amanda stands up, then bends over, clutching her pillow with one arm, Charlie with the other. In an instant, I'm next to her, the searing pain of this moment something I can practically taste.
“No,” she says softly as I ease her down, taking Charlie out of her arms. “No, Dad. Please stay.” Raised eyebrows and a sad smile are all she can manage as she looks at Pam.
Who nods.
Then walks out of the room toward the kitchen.
“Hello,” poor Leo says to Dad. He shuffles closer to Amanda, his gaze on Will as he walks past.
Dad says nothing, eyes deadly.
Terry walks over to me and whispers, “Leo is Leo Leo? Amanda's dad?”
“Yes.”
“Holy smokes.”
“Uh huh.”
“Want some whisky?”
I look at our father, who is watching us with the narrow-eyed expression of a man trying to figure out how to dominate. “Nope. Later. Need all my wits right now.”
“How about I offer Dad a whisky?”
“Perfect.”
Always able to work a room, Terry gives me an aggravated look that says he isn't a fan of Dad's, but he loves me enough as a brother to help out–but man, is this a pain.
All in one glance.
My quick nod says back, I acknowledge your sacrifice, and thanks for saving me from doing it.
“You okay, Mandy? I can go.”
“Stay,” she says, looking up at the baby. “Stay and meet Charlie and Will.”
“Those are the names you gave them?”
Her cheeks go pink as she nods.
“Fine names. Good, solid ones. No one ever picks on a Charlie or a Will.” Tentative, Leo puts his hand on Amanda's shoulder. She gives him an apologetic smile.
“I'd stand up again, but that hurt.”
“Hurt?” He pauses. “Oh. Right.”
“I had a c-section. My incision is still really raw.”
“Had to cut the babies out? That's tough.”
“Want to meet him?” I ask as Leo looks at his watch.
“I–maybe I should go. My buddy really does need his car back soon.”
“Not before holding your grandsons,” I say firmly.
The juxtaposition of my own dad in the room with Amanda's dad, and the fury my father has for a guy he's never met, makes me realize their abandonment wasn't all that different. Dad parented from an extreme distance when it came to the emotional and day-to-day stuff, but up close when it came to high expectations and peak performance.
Which drove us away emotionally.
Leo tried, but like my father, he has limitations.
Don't we all?
What will mine be when it comes to being a good parent?
Handing Charlie off to Leo makes Amanda's eyes fill with tears, Leo's mouth quivering just as Charlie wiggles in his arms, the baby's head in the crook of his arm, Leo's shirt sleeve pulling up over his shoulder.
“Haven't held one of these since you,” he says in a thick voice, talking to Amanda but not looking at her.
Just then, Pam comes back into the room, holding a sleeping Will. She comes to a dead halt as she spots Leo, as if she still can't believe he's here. Spritzy dances at her feet, doing the pee performance pet owners know all too well.
“I've got the dog,” Gerald says, scooping him up and taking him unceremoniously out to the kitchen. A door slams and Pam opens her mouth.
Then shuts it, like closing a time capsule.
“Thank you, Pammy,” Leo says, humble and hard-won, his arms dark with a tan, the shoulder cap white as a newborn's butt. The farmer's tan speaks to long, hard labor, and I wonder how much of that took place in prison.
