Below Solomon’s bike that hung on the wall, there was a small chest for the bike accessories and tools. What he saw was just peeking out from under the chest lid. He went to it and opened the lid all the way to look in and confirm that it was what he thought it was.
The thick rope, similar to the rope Solomon had used that fatal Thursday, was coiled like a long, sleeping snake. The noose had already been tied on one end.
“Good God,” Joe muttered. He seized it and rolled it up quickly. He put it in a plastic garbage bag and went outside to put it right in the can, but then thought again. He might need this as evidence after he went to see Mrs. Posner at the agency. He decided to take the bag back and hide it in the garage.
He had almost been too late in deleting those files and in going to the Porters. Perhaps he should show the rope to Martha, he thought. No, he thought. It would be too brutal. And besides, the way she was behaving and defending Jonathan now, she might accuse him of putting the rope there.
He started up the stairs again, but when he reached the landing, he heard voices coming from his bedroom and realized that Jonathan was in there with Martha. He walked softly to the partially opened doorway and peered in. Jonathan was lying beside her in their bed, just the way Solomon used to lie there, and they were talking softly.
He felt himself grow infuriated. He opened the door completely and stepped into the bedroom. They stopped talking, and Martha looked up at him.
“You’d better go back to your room now, Jonathan,” she said.
“Sure. Good night.” He slipped off the bed. Joe stepped aside as he approached. “’Night, Joe,” he said. As he passed, Joe thought he caught an arrogant look in his eyes.
When he turned back to Martha, he saw that she had already closed her eyes and pressed her face to the pillow. He said nothing. He went to the bathroom and then went to bed. He didn’t bother to read. He wanted the darkness.
For a long time, he lay there staring into the darkness. Tonight he would not awaken and hear any computer keys being tapped, he thought. He had put his son back to sleep. He wished he could wake Martha and tell her about this and get her to understand what had been happening and what had to be done.
In a real sense, Solomon had returned to her through the computer and through Jonathan. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to end it. Thinking back to Jonathan’s arrival, he recalled that he himself had had a longing for it all to succeed. It wasn’t only Martha who’d created the environment for this to happen; he had to bear his share of the blame.
The difference was he was able to recognize it and end it. She was too fragile. When he looked over at her now and saw her sleeping so softly, he felt a great pain in his heart for the pain he knew she would soon experience.
You’re going to lose your son a second time, Martha dearest, but he must go back to the dead. He wanted to reach over and kiss her and begin to comfort her now, but he knew that had to wait.
One of the most frightening horror scenes he could ever recall was in a vampire movie he had seen as a teenager. A father was confronted by his now-vampire son, who he’d thought was dead. He didn’t see what he had become. He wanted to welcome him back, and his vampire son took advantage of that love and that pain.
Neither Solomon nor Jonathan will do that to Martha or me now, he thought. When I stripped the computer of those files, I drove a stake through their hearts.
SIXTEEN
Joe must be purged of Solomon’s spirit, Martha thought. The idea seemed so right to her now. She didn’t like being cruel to him, but it was something she believed had to be done, for his own good as well as for hers and also for Jonathan’s good, too.
She loved Joe. There was never a time when she didn’t. It was just that he was so independent, so self-reliant. Right from the start, he could easily lose himself in his own interests and even forget she was in the same room. Before Solomon had been born, she enjoyed looking after Joe, but he didn’t seem to appreciate her loving attention as much as Solomon did, and as much as Jonathan now did. She supposed it was only natural for children to be attached to and dependent upon mothers more than husbands were attached to and dependent upon their wives.
She tried to interest herself in Joe’s work, but whenever he talked to her about the things he was doing, his conversation was filled with so much technical language, she quickly grew bored. He filled the house with these dull trade magazines and papers. One looked just like the other. She had to confess it simply amazed her how someone could get so excited about machines anyway, especially computers. There was nothing attractive about them and nothing dramatic.
But he was a gentle person, and she knew he would do anything to make her happy. He worked hard to give her a nice home and the things she wanted. There was never an argument about the money she spent, whether it was money spent on herself or on Solomon.
After Solomon was born, there were times when she thought she was neglecting Joe, but during Solomon’s early years, he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she loved him more for his understanding and his willingness to sacrifice.
She’d always thought Joe was a handsome man. True, he wasn’t as outgoing and as dynamic as, say, Kevin Baker, but he was attractive in his quiet way, even though being attractive was not a major concern for him. He didn’t worry about fashions. Why, he would wear the same shoes out to dinner that he had worn to work if she didn’t put up a stink about it.
Joe was a kindhearted man, and that made him vulnerable to Solomon when Solomon was alive and even more so now, she thought. What has to be done has to be done. It’s going to be like a surgeon cutting into healthy flesh to get at the sickness. I’m going to have to be cruel to be kind, she concluded.
She began the next morning by not making him his breakfast. She laid out Jonathan’s things but ignored his. He didn’t say anything, but she knew he was hurt. He got his own bowl, found his cereals, made his own coffee, and ate silently. She didn’t say a word to him. He left before Jonathan did, but she didn’t respond when he said good-bye.
Jonathan sensed the change in her relationship with Joe immediately, but wise young man that he was, he said nothing while Joe was still home. After Joe left, he asked her about it.
“Does it have anything to do with me?”
“No,” she said. “It’s husband-wife problems.”
“Oh. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Dear Jonathan,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead. “No, this is something Joe and I have to work out. Don’t you worry yourself about it. You go off to school and do well.”
He nodded, but she saw how disturbed he was and she only wished that Joe could see his concern. Then he would realize that the stories the Porters had created were all false. Then he would realize how necessary it was for him to work harder at resisting the urge to be critical of the boy.
All day she expected Solomon’s spiritual appearance. Eager to avoid it, she showered, dressed quickly, and went out to do her grocery shopping. She met Sally Cirillo and Sandy Miller at the market. She hadn’t seen or heard from either of her two friends for a while, so she was eager to talk with them. But both women seemed aloof and uninterested. She even had the feeling they were afraid of being seen with her. On the way home, she thought it might have something to do with the incident at the school party and the subsequent police investigation. Both women had children in high school. She realized they hadn’t asked one question about Jonathan.
Fools, she thought. Simpleminded, vapid fools. So much for friendship. It occurred to her that she hadn’t even heard from Judy Isaacs or Mindy Baker. Common decency should have dictated their concern for her. How did they think she felt about being dragged down to the police station just because that girl took drugs? She made up her mind that when it was over and the truth was out, she would give them all a piece of her mind.
She put her food away quickly and went upstairs to straighten out the master bedroom. Afterward she made herself a light lunch consi
sting of cottage cheese and fruit and then went into the living room to watch a soap opera. Every once in a while she looked up at the doorway, expecting to see Solomon, but he didn’t appear.
In fact, a strange thing happened. When she tried to envision him, she kept envisioning Jonathan, and when she recalled him speaking, she heard him speaking in Jonathan’s voice. Even when she got up and looked closely at Solomon’s picture on the mantel, she saw Jonathan’s face and not his in the photograph.
Oddly, it didn’t bother her. It seemed so natural that she accepted it. Maybe what she had suspected would happen had happened. Solomon had given up and gone back to his grave. Jonathan was too strong for him. The struggle was over. Perhaps Joe would return to himself, and he would no longer say terrible things about Jonathan. Maybe her anger and her silent treatment had already succeeded, and Joe, more concerned with her love and affection, had already purged himself of Solomon’s influence.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. She half expected it would be Joe calling to apologize, but it was the school nurse calling to tell her that Jonathan had come to her office complaining of headaches.
“I should have kept him home one more day,” Martha said. “But he was so worried about falling behind in his work. I’ll be right there to pick him up.”
During the drive to the school, she experienced déjà vu and recalled that shortly before his suicide, Solomon had complained about headaches. Twice during the two weeks or so before his death, the nurse had called for her to fetch him. Sinus tablets had seemed to help, so they hadn’t taken him to the doctor.
Jonathan did look like he was suffering from similar symptoms. On the way home, she stopped at the drugstore and brought him some of those tablets. She gave him two, and he went up to bed. After he got in under the blanket, she massaged his temples, just the way she had massaged Solomon’s. He said he felt better but wanted to sleep.
All of it helped just the way it had helped Solomon, because two hours later, he was up and around, the headache gone. Joe called to tell her he was going to be delayed on a job in Ellenville. She was polite, but not warm. She told herself she couldn’t be warm until Joe offered some apology or indicated some remorse.
She and Jonathan had a quiet meal together. It reminded her of the many times she and Solomon ate dinner without Joe because Joe was held up on a job. Just like some of those other times, she found herself doing most of the talking. She did take note that Jonathan was quieter than usual. She attributed his melancholy mood to his sinus condition, which returned a little while after dinner. She gave him two more tablets, and he went up to his room.
It was close to seven before Joe got home. She had warmed up his food and expected to serve it to him, saying only the things she had to say. But when she looked at his face, she knew she would be unable to keep quiet. She sensed that something terrible was about to happen.
“What is it?”
“Where’s Jonathan?”
“He’s upstairs. I told you on the phone, he got sick again today. The food’s getting cold.”
“Forget the food. Just sit down.” She didn’t move. “Sit down, Martha,” he commanded. She put the pot back on the stove and took a seat at the table.
“What is it?”
“I didn’t have extra work to do,” he began. He came farther into the kitchen. “I went to see Mrs. Posner.”
She gasped and brought her hand to her mouth.
“I told her about the Porters, and she and I went to see them. She agrees now that the boy needs psychiatric help.”
“No.” Martha shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears.
“The agency has authority here. They have a responsibility to the child and to people serving as foster parents. You’ve got to be strong, Martha. You’ve got to be strong for him as well as for us. You don’t want him to hurt himself, do you?”
She shook her head. He went to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He saw the pain in her eyes, and his heart went out to her.
“I’m tired,” she said. “Very tired.”
“Go upstairs and take a little rest. I’ll eat and clean up.”
She nodded and stood up. He embraced her.
“You must believe that what I’ve done, I’ve done to help everyone. It’s not out of any kind of jealousy, believe me. Please, believe me,” he said.
She nodded. She looked defeated, exhausted.
“I’m tired,” she repeated, and then she started out of the kitchen. “I’ll just check on Jonathan and then go lay down.”
“Don’t say anything to him about tomorrow. Mrs. Posner is going to come early in the morning. She’ll handle it. It’s better that way,” he added. She bit down gently on her lower lip and nodded. He watched her leave the kitchen, and then he served himself the food.
Afterward he tried to relax alone in the living room but found that the tension and strain had taken their toll on him as well. He decided he would go up and read in bed until he felt sleepy enough to fall asleep.
Jonathan’s room light was on, and the door was closed. He stood by it, listening, for a few moments. There were no sounds. The boy was probably reading, he thought. At least, he wasn’t reading Solomon’s computer files.
Joe had half expected Jonathan would come out and seek his help to resurrect those files. Surely he didn’t suspect that Joe had erased them. He didn’t know Joe had found the password to make entry in the first place. Of course, Jonathan wouldn’t want Joe to know he had broken into Solomon’s files, but he thought the boy might ask him some general questions to see if he could figure out what was wrong with the computer.
When he entered his bedroom, Joe found Martha fast asleep. He saw from the open pill bottle beside her that she had taken a sedative. She didn’t even hear him enter the room. He washed up and dressed for bed. Then he put on his small lamp light and read for nearly two hours.
Every once in a while he would stop reading and think about what had happened and what he had done. He went over and over the recent events, confirming in his own mind that he had done the right things. He felt confident, at least, that he had forestalled what could be a most tragic ending—Jonathan’s committing suicide. He told himself he had prevented the horror of that possibility when he’d wiped out the computer files.
Maybe it didn’t matter that he had removed the files; he hadn’t removed them from Jonathan’s memory, too, had he? Maybe the boy was lying there in the next room, remembering.
Joe thought his own constant rehashing of all this would drive him mad. He kept returning to his reading in hope that it would give him relief. Make yourself tired, he thought. Get so you can’t think anymore. Stop this worrying. Shut off the echo chamber. You dumped the files. The computer lost its hold on the boy. You’ve done the right things. Everything’s going to be all right.
The chanting in his own mind had become like an evening prayer: you’ve done the right things. Relax. You’ve shut down that computer. Solomon’s words are gone.
He forced himself to concentrate on his reading, and when he didn’t absorb a line, he went back and reread until he did. This was the only way to prevent himself from thinking. Martha barely stirred, and he heard no sounds coming from Jonathan’s room.
Finally tired enough, he put out his light and went to sleep himself. Sometime during the middle of the night, he thought he heard the sound of the computer keyboard, but when he opened his eyes and listened, he heard nothing.
Just a dream, he thought. Soon even those dreams will end. I ended them when I cleared the computer of Solomon’s words. That realization comforted him, and he fell asleep again rather quickly.
He awoke abruptly at sunrise. The rays threaded through the venetian blinds and merged on the foot of his bed. Martha was still in a deep sleep. When he saw how early it was, he thought he would just try to sleep some more, but for some reason he couldn’t keep his eyes closed.
All the events of the day before seemed like a dream now. He s
eized on them like someone who didn’t want to lose the dream, however. After all, he had taken the right steps. He had ended the hold that computer had on the boy. It was all right to wake up and face the day. It wasn’t going to be as bad as it could have been. Thank God he had been decisive about what had to be done. Thank God that computer didn’t mesmerize him the way it had mesmerized Jonathan.
He got out of bed and took a shower, expecting the noise would wake Martha. He was surprised that she was sleeping this long anyway. She was usually an early riser, especially when she had something on her mind. Surely she would want to be up early to prepare what in her mind would be Jonathan’s last breakfast, he thought.
He went to the bed to check her. She was breathing regularly, but she was in an extraordinarily deep sleep. He looked at the bottle of pills. A hot flash came over him. How many of these pills had she taken last night? She could easily have been on the verge of an overdose. Why hadn’t he checked it out last night?
He decided to wake her. He shook her shoulders.
“Martha. Martha, wake up. Martha.”
She groaned, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Martha.” He shook her harder. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them. “Damn. Martha.” He got up quickly and went to the bathroom to get a cold, wet washcloth, which he then placed on her forehead. He shook her again. This time her eyes fluttered and opened slightly.
“Martha, you’ve got to get up. I think you’ve taken too many of those sedatives. Martha.”
She groaned and turned over in bed. He was going to have to physically lift her out of it and carry her to the shower, he thought. He went into the bathroom and started the shower, adjusting the water first so it would be easy to just bring her to it. Then he started back to the bed.
Something made him hesitate before he crossed to it. Why hadn’t he realized what was going on with her last night? How could he be so oblivious of it? If he overlooked that . . . no, he thought, I’ve done all the right things. Everything’s going to be all right; we’re all going to be all right. I stopped it; I ended it. This is just a little thing, her taking too many pills. It doesn’t mean anything.
Surrogate Child Page 27
