by Juliette Fay
Heidi grinned an abnormally wide grin. “Under the circumstances, that sounds delicious.”
The boys had finished sticking “earrings” of gold contact paper onto the unfortunate pirate, who had become perilously overaccessorized. They were especially pleased with the one that Dylan had unwittingly placed on the pirate’s butt.
Barb held the baby, who was chewing on the camera strap as Barb snapped picture after picture, some seemingly aimed at random objects like the side of the house or someone’s leg. Noreen and Aunt Brigid brought out the sandwiches, and Aunt Jude fussed with the paper plates and napkins, all festooned with a “Yo-ho-ho!” theme.
“What are we drinking?” Cormac murmured to Janie as they stood at the end of the table, handing out sandwiches. “Rum?”
“Not like I couldn’t use it,” she whispered, glancing at the three older women sitting together, united in their watchfulness. “The pity factor is extra huge today.”
“True,” sighed Cormac. “They’re feeling pretty bad for me, chickie.”
Janie hip-checked him. “Yeah, well, we all feel sorry for you, muffin man.”
Cormac laughed and bumped her back. “You haven’t heard about my newest hire. Big Bad Charlie McGrath.”
“Uncle Charlie? What about the dump?”
“He’s taking early retirement. He came to me and said: ‘My ass hurts and my goddamned bursitis flares in the cold and I wanna work somewhere that doesn’t smell putrid before I die.’” Cormac wagged his finger at her. “Now that’s the attitude I’m looking for in an employee.”
Janie burst out laughing, the sound rising above the murmur of the women and the snapping of the camera and the open-mouth chewing of the boys. They all looked at her, which made her laugh harder, eyes watering at the absurdity of Cormac and Charlie trapped together amid the cookies and pies. Through her blurred vision, she saw Dylan grinning at her. “It’s a really fun party, Mom,” he said, and she heard the relief in his voice, as if he’d been waiting for just that very sound.
FATHER JAKE ARRIVED AS they were singing “Happy Birthday” around the candlelit cake. He stood by the gate as Heidi had done, not wanting to intrude on the ritual, waiting to be invited in. The brightly colored paper on the gift he carried had creases at odd angles. He’d evidently bought a small, flat package of wrapping paper, not a whole roll.
Janie noticed her heart rate quicken when she saw him, something that had been happening for the last several weeks, but she had purposely ignored. I’m just happy to have reinforcements, she rationalized. He understands what I’m dealing with here. He gets me. And when he caught her eye and smiled, absorbing the sight of her like rain into dry soil, she inhaled quickly, an unbidden, barely perceptible gasp. That was harder to ignore.
“Hello, Father.” Noreen was in front of him, flanked by Aunt Brigid and Aunt Jude. “It’s wonderful that you could join our little celebration. Have you had lunch? There are plenty of sandwiches and Jude made a lovely Jell-O mold. Brigie, why don’t you get him a plate?”
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he said.
Vanishing cream, thought Janie. He slides back behind that false front in the blink of an eye.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your collar, Father,” said Aunt Jude. “You look so different! Of course, some priests do it all the time. Father Stone over at Saint Bart’s almost never has his. I’ve heard he wears moccasins on the altar, too!” She laughed and then coughed. “Well, you’re nothing like that. I’m always saying you’re a good, traditional priest. Haven’t I said that, Noreen?”
“Yes, you have,” said Noreen, quietly.
Jake dug into the Jell-O mold as the women watched. “This is delicious. The fruit is a nice touch.”
“You’ve never had it like this before?” asked Aunt Jude. “Didn’t your mother ever make it?”
“No,” Jake glanced quickly at Janie. “She never did.”
Now you see him, she thought, now you don’t. Wish I could learn that trick. These days people see more of the real me than they ever wanted to.
The presents came next, and with Keane’s help, Dylan tore through them with ecstatic speed. A toy backhoe with levers to work the digger (“just like we use at the dump”) from Uncle Charlie and Aunt Brigid; a blue polo shirt with matching blue and green plaid pants (“for church”) from Aunt Jude; a set of muffin pans with holes shaped like dinosaurs (“I’ve got a great spinach muffin recipe we can try…just kidding”) from Cormac and Barb; a pirate costume with a plastic sword (“Mom got me a sword, too, so we can fight”) from Keane; and a quilt of Europe with appliqués for all the countries (“your first geography lesson”) from his grandmother. From his mother and sister, Dylan got a new bike, green with black racing stripes. Most surprising of all, it had no training wheels. (“I don’t know…” said Dylan, after the initial excitement. “I’ll help you,” said Janie.)
Janie was standing next to Jake as Dylan opened his present, a paperback book of children’s stories from the Bible.
“Oh,” said Dylan, his eyes wandering back to the pirate sword. “Thanks.”
Janie felt her face go hot. “Dylan,” she said. “Say a real thank-you to Father Jake. That’s a very nice book.”
Dylan flicked his glance to Jake and said, “Thanks. It’s nice.” Then he saw Keane and Heidi spreading out the Twister mat, and he ran over.
“Sorry,” said Janie.
“Don’t apologize,” Jake replied, leaning his shoulder toward hers until they almost touched. “He just got some really exciting presents. I never expected a big reaction.”
“Still, he needs to learn…”
“He’s fine. The question is, how are you?”
Janie sighed and looked up into his face. “Okay. I was sad this morning, and I was sure I would be a wreck for the party. But I’m not. I think it’s beginning to sink in that he’s not here.”
Jake studied her face for a moment. It felt as if he were taking inventory of every pore of her skin, every speckle in her pale eyes. “You’ve managed to handle such a difficult situation,” he murmured. “You’ve held up under such grief.”
A blush rose from her neck into her cheeks, and she had to glance away. “You’ve helped me,” she said finally. “Nobody gets it but you.”
Dylan called from across the yard. “Mom, look! We’re Twistered!” The intrusion was both a relief and a disappointment. She glanced toward the boys, who had collapsed in a giggling heap on the Twister mat, then back at Jake.
He nodded. “I should be getting back.”
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I mean it.” He smiled at her, then turned to say his good-byes. Janie headed toward the Twister game, sorry to have the thin thread of connection severed. “I think you must be the silliest two boys I ever met,” she called as she strode toward them.
After Twister, the boys were ready to bob for apples. “Couldn’t I take a special picture first, before you get wet?” asked Barb. “Come over here for just a minute, Dylan, here next to your mom.” Janie was sitting on the grass with Carly bouncing between her upturned knees. “Kneel right there behind her,” instructed Barb. Then she started snapping. The others gathered to watch.
“Your hair smells like fruit,” Dylan whispered into Janie’s ear. “What does mine smell like?”
Janie turned her head and sniffed. “Well, I don’t know what your hair smells like, but your neck smells like peanut butter. Did you try to eat your sandwich with your neck?”
Dylan giggled and squeezed her. “It was a neckwich!” Snap, snap, snap went the camera.
“Da!” yelled Carly. “Da-da!”
“Yeah,” said Dylan. “Where’s Dad? He should be in the picture, he…” He stopped.
Everyone stopped. No one moved, save to glance at each other for moral support.
“He’s not…” Janie inhaled, prayed to keep her voice calm. “He’s in heaven, Dylan. Remember?”
Dylan nodded. He remembered. And yet he still
said, “But it’s my birthday.”
A sniffle escaped from one of the older women.
“Daddy knows it’s your birthday,” said Janie. “And he’d be here if he could. But you’re not allowed to leave heaven, remember? Otherwise he’d be here. He would definitely…” her voice went breathy and tears stung the corners of her eyes. “…be here.”
“Why are they crying?” Keane whispered loudly to his mother. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s just sad, Keane.”
“It’s a birthday. It’s not supposed to be sad.”
“You’re right, honey,” said Heidi, hugging him against her hip. “It’s not.”
Barb’s camera was silent. Noreen clutched Jude’s hand in one of her own and covered her face with the other. Cormac and Uncle Charlie stood shoulder to shoulder like mute giants, staring into the grass at their feet.
“Hey, Dylan,” came a new voice from behind them. “Happy Birthday, buddy.”
Dylan crumpled. “I don’t want it to be my birthday anymore,” he choked at Tug.
“It’s still your birthday, Dylan,” Janie whispered, guiding him around to the front of her, both children now corralled between her legs. “We can still enjoy it.”
“You’re crying, too,” Dylan accused.
“True. Okay, let’s all cry for another minute and then have fun.”
“What about Dad?”
“Dad loves you very much. That’s all we know, Dylan. That’s all we’ll ever know.” And it’s all I get from here on, she thought. The knowledge of love. Not the feel or the sound or the taste of it. Just knowing. And the fit of self-pity she had tethered away from public view broke loose from its chain.
Her weeping was not quite the circus show of humiliation she’d anticipated, however, because she was not the only performer under the big top that day. Everyone cried. Carly cried because she wanted to touch Barb’s shiny silver camera swinging unnoticed from Barb’s neck, but couldn’t get loose from her mother’s grasp. Keane cried because a really fun party had just gone suddenly boring and a little scary. Everyone else was simply overcome with pity for the birthday boy missing his daddy on his big day, and for the baby who would have no daddy memory whatsoever. And for the mother, their Janie, who had been insufferably irritable and sarcastic for seven long months until now.
AFTER A FEW MINUTES, Carly squawked loud enough for Janie to let go, and she crawled over and pulled herself up on Barb’s low-slung capris. Barb picked her up. Keane wiggled away from his mother and wandered toward the picnic table to help himself to more cake. Cormac and Uncle Charlie inhaled their sniffles and turned in unison to rake the sticky pirate plates off the table and into the trash. Aunt Jude pulled tissues from her big white purse and handed them out to Noreen and Aunt Brigid.
“Hi, Tug,” said Dylan, wiping his nose on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “What’s that?”
Tug was holding a box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper, and sliding a handkerchief into the back pocket of his jeans. “A present I brought you,” he said. “But maybe you’d rather open it another time.”
“No,” said Dylan getting up. “Now’s good.”
Janie went into the house to get the bag of apples for bobbing, and took the opportunity to hold a cold wet dishcloth against her cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. She heard someone come in the kitchen door, and then felt hands on her shoulders gently pressing and rubbing.
“There are so many things I could say, right now,” murmured Aunt Jude.
Janie sighed and her arms went loose. “Thanks for not saying any of them.”
“Oh, alright,” said Aunt Jude giving Janie’s shoulders a little shake. Then she went back out. In a moment Janie followed her.
“Whoa, that’s sick!” she heard Keane say, and turned toward a low buzzing sound. Dylan was kneeling in the grass and wearing a set of plastic safety goggles that seemed to envelop his entire head. He was leaning over a small block of wood and holding some sort of tool.
“Hey, what’s that?” she asked walking toward them. Tug watched her approach.
“A screwdrive!” yelled Dylan. “My own screwdrive! To keep! Now I can build stuff, too!”
“You gave him a power tool?” she asked Tug incredulously.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It runs on two double-A batteries. It’s got the torque of a pinwheel. And Dylan knows that he can only use it with a grown-up watching, right, Dylan?”
“Yep.” He chewed his lip and guided the bolts in and out of the predrilled holes in the wood block.
“Tug, he’s five, for godsake.”
“Janie, it’s safe. I ran it past a couple of my buddies’ wives, and they gave it the thumbs-up. Fact, they had me make extras for their kids. You can put it away when you don’t want him to use it.”
“But—”
“Like some cake?” Heidi was suddenly with them, offering Tug a generous slab of ship’s bow.
“Thanks,” said Tug. He smiled politely, taking the cake in his left hand and offering her his right. It was then that Janie noticed he was wearing a clean shirt. “Tug Malinowski. Porch builder.”
“Heidi Mathison. Mother of the friend of the birthday boy.” She passed a self-conscious hand up to her almost normal-looking cheeks. “You’re doing a wonderful job out front. It’s going to add so much to the house. And how did you ever come up with this screwdriver idea? The boys can’t get enough of it.”
He smiled. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Sorry, but you’re wrong there,” she said, her smile looking more sparkly than Janie had ever seen. “I’m in marketing and we have several toy manufacturers on our client list. There’s nothing with this kind of realism. If you ever wanted to take it to the next level I could put you in touch with some people who…”
Janie took one more wary glance at the mini cordless screwdriver, now in the hands of a begoggled Keane. Her problem now, she thought and went to the picnic table to help straighten up.
“Janie?” said Barb, the rims of her eyes still shiny and pink. “I’m so sorry,” she exhaled. “I never thought…it never occurred to me the pictures would remind Dylan about…”
“It’s okay,” said Janie.
“I’m really sorry. I can just throw that roll right in the trash.”
“What?” said Cormac, tuning in. “Don’t throw them out, they were terrific.”
“But they’ll remind her of…”
“So? It’s not like without the pictures we’ll all just forget about Robby and never have another sad thought.” He turned to Janie. “You’ve got to see them. It was so perfect. Promise me you’ll just take a look at them.” Cormac’s arm slid around Barb’s shoulder, a gesture of support, or perhaps protection from his ice-eyed cousin. He’s belonged to us for so long, Aunt Jude had said. Not for much longer, thought Janie.
By 2:30 the heat had climbed another couple of degrees, and the boys were clamoring to get wet. By turns they plunged their heads into the tub of water, their small pink mouths rooting for the apples that slipped away as if self-propelled. Urged on by Cormac, Barb documented the activity from every angle. After three or four tries apiece, both frustrated boys were beginning to show signs of impending party-induced meltdown. Uncle Charlie surreptitiously slid his huge hand into the bucket and held an apple from below for each to bite.
“I did it!” screamed Keane. “I did it and I don’t even LIKE apples!”
And then it was time to go. Janie was hugged mercilessly by all the grown-ups except Tug. Even Heidi, the last to leave, hazarded a quick squeeze, saying, “Thanks for letting me stay. The Jell-O was delicious.” She shot a furtive glance toward Tug, and told Janie, “I’ll call you later.”
Tug followed Janie into the house, carrying the bag of trash. “You okay with that little screwdriver?”
Carly was slumped on her hip, and Dylan had already relegated himself to lying on the couch with Nubby Bunny, rubbing a soft worn rabbit ear over his nose. She nodded wearily. �
��Sorry I freaked out. You know how I get.”
“Yeah.” He smiled at her. His lips parted as if to add something, but then he closed them again.
“It really is a pretty cool gift.” She shifted the heavy-lidded baby to the other hip. “And it came at just the right time.”
He nodded. Then he went back outside and climbed the ladder to the roof. As Janie laid the sleeping baby in her crib, she heard the rhythmic tapping of his hammer against the new shingles. She went downstairs and curled herself around Dylan on the couch, and they dozed on dreams of black cake and spinning bolts.
12
NOREEN KNEW THAT HER daughter had been attacked ten days before. Jude and Charlie and Brigid had talked of nothing else when Janie was out of hearing distance: how Jude had procured the self-defense course for the fund-raiser, and then won the prize herself and given it to Janie. (This point had been detailed by Jude more than once.) How the intruder had broken into several homes in the area. How Jude’s friend’s son, the owner of Walking on Sunshine Carpet Cleaners, got the hideous bloodstain out of Janie’s living room rug. How that Dougie Shaw (“Remember him, can you believe he’s all grown up and carrying a firearm now?”) responded to Janie’s 911 call. How the attacker’s guilty plea meant that Janie would not have to testify, and how that awful man (“goddamned evil bastard” Charlie invariably muttered) had gone straight to prison.
Noreen now knew everything her brother and sister knew, and yet some things still seemed unexplained. It was clear that Janie did not want to talk about it, and Noreen wouldn’t press. But when the weekly Pelham Town Crier arrived on Tuesday morning, the questions it answered provoked even further uncertainty.
“There’s an article in the paper about you,” Noreen called from the kitchen when Janie returned from dropping Dylan off at camp. “About the attack.”
“I don’t want to see it,” said Janie. She took Carly into the living room and set her up with a brightly colored toy piano, her current obsession. “Wait a minute,” said Janie. “Who’s it by?”
