He went to the sink to get a drink of water. Is this how divorce begins? he wondered. A feeling of terrible rage, of betrayal, a sudden discovery that maybe the marriage isn’t as real and honest and strong as you thought it was? Then it builds up and builds up and builds up and then you find yourself living in an apartment somewhere and seeing your kids on weekends.
No, he said to himself. No, I forbid it. I will not let it happen, and neither will she. I’ll just have to work on being the kind of husband she doesn’t think she has to manipulate. Lord, help me to be whatever it is she needs me to be so we can hold this thing together. Just get us through this summer. Through this year. And then we won’t need any more help, we’ll be OK.
He set down the glass and turned around. There she was, in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I knew she was a psychiatrist,” said DeAnne.
“What?”
“I set up that home teaching appointment for you because her name was on Dr. Greenwald’s list, and I thought that if you met her maybe you’d like her and even trust her and then you’d take Stevie to her. I didn’t actually lie to you but I still didn’t tell you the truth.”
The tears spilled over her eyes onto her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away with her shirtsleeve.
“I know you hate me now,” she said. “We don’t trick each other and lie to each other, ever, and now I did it.”
Step walked to her, put his arms around her. “I knew that you knew,” he said.
She leaned away and looked up at him. “You did?”
“Not earlier, but here in the kitchen, I realized it. That you set me up.”
“And you aren’t mad?”
“Yeah, I was mad,” said Step.
“But you didn’t say anything,” she said.
“No,” said Step. “I got a drink of water instead.”
She gave a little laugh that was almost a sob. “That doesn’t make any sense at all,” she said.
“I know,” said Step. “But that’s what I did. And I’m not angry now, because you told me.”
Now she cried in earnest. Clinging to him. Tears of relief, of release. “Step, you can quit your job. You really can. It’s wrong of me to make you stay. You hate it there, and we’ll make it anyway, I know we will. So what if we lose the house in Indiana. It’s just a house. It’s just money. I can’t stand the thought of you going every day to a job you hate just because I’m so scared of things being so out of whack in our lives.”
“That’s OK,” said Step.
“I mean it,” she said. “You can quit. And we don’t have to take Stevie to a psychiatrist, either. I really don’t have to have everything my way, you know.”
“I know,” he said. And he knew that, for the moment at least, she really meant it. But he couldn’t take this capitulation of hers seriously. Her need for him to stay at work till the baby came was real and deep. And as for taking Stevie to a psychiatrist, it was the only solution she had thought of for her sense of helpless frustration with Stevie. He couldn’t deny her that unless he could come up with something better, and he couldn’t.
“I mean it,” she said.
“I know you mean it,” said Step. “But I won’t quit. For now, anyway. But it means a lot to me that if I just can’t take it anymore, you’ll understand.”
“I will, Step, I really will. It’s up to you. I’ll just expect that one of these days you’ll come home and say, It was time, and that’ll be fine with me. I want you to come home! I want you here with me and the kids. Our life was so good in those days.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” said Step.
“And it still is,” she said. “My life is still good because you’re in it. Everything good in my life comes from you.”
Step shook his head. He knew she meant it, but in fact he knew that it wasn’t true. Even the good she found in him was really the goodness she had put into him, the goodness he had put on himself like a disguise in order to get her to marry him. He had known that she could only be happy with a husband who was good in certain distinct ways. Like going to church with absolute faithfulness, and fulfilling his callings, the whole nine yards. And so for her he started going to church again, and she never realized that it was a sacrifice he was making out of love for her, in order to be part of her. She thought it was his own desire, and she loved him for it. But what she was really loving was herself, reflected back to her. And even now, when she clung to him, it was not Step the historian or Step the programmer she was clinging to. It was Step the faithful Mormon, and she had given him that role herself. It was Step the father of her children, and those, too, had been her gift.
“Make the appointment with Dr. Weeks tomorrow,” said Step. “We’ll start him as soon as school lets out a week from tomorrow. So he never has to leave class to go see his psychiatrist.”
She clung all the tighter to him. “You’re really something, Junk Man,” she said.
Yeah, thought Step. When you get your way.
And then he pushed the nastiness out of his mind and just held her. This is what love is, he thought. Doing what you don’t want to do, because she needs it so much. And it isn’t that bad. And it isn’t that hard.
9
JUNE BUGS
This is what Stevie got for his eighth birthday, on June 3, 1983: his first wristwatch; a large Lego set which could be made into a castle; four pairs of shorts and four tank tops; his first dress slacks, white shirt, and kid-size tie for Sunday; and a computer game called Lode Runner for the Atari. It was a decent number of presents, despite their financial situation, but Step and DeAnne suspected that the present he liked best was that when school was dismissed at noon on his birthday, he was through with second grade, through with that school, through with those kids, and home at last for the summer.
In fact, that was what Step wrote to Stevie on the inside of his birthday card: “You made it, school’s out, you were brave and strong and we’re proud of you.” Stevie read the card silently, looked up at his father without a sign of emotion on his face, and said, “Thanks.”
That Sunday at church Stevie wore his new Sunday clothes for the first time, and when the bishop called him up to the stand to announce that he was going to be baptized that afternoon, it almost broke Step’s heart to see how small he was, and yet how much he had grown; how young and how old their eldest had become.
After sacrament meeting, DeAnne took the kids and led them off to Primary. While Step was still gathering up his notebook and scriptures to head for gospel doctrine class, Lee Weeks came up to him, obviously bursting with excitement about something.
“Your son’s getting baptized!” said Lee.
“That’s right,” said Step.
“Well I’m a priest,” said Lee. “They ordained me a priest right after I was baptized myself.”
“That’s right,” said Step. He knew what was coming next, but he could hardly believe that anyone would have the gall to intrude so badly into someone else’s family.
“Well I can baptize your boy!” said Lee.
Brother Freebody happened to be standing nearby, talking to somebody else, but Step saw that he heard what Lee had said, and Brother Freebody rolled his eyes in sympathy.
“You have the authority to baptize,” said Step. “But we have the custom in the Church that if a father is a worthy priesthood holder, he baptizes his own children.”
“Sure,” said Lee. “But I’ve never baptized anybody. This is my first chance. You’ve baptized a lot of people. On your mission, right?”
“You’re nineteen,” said Step. “Prepare yourself and in a year you can be ordained an elder and go on a mission yourself and baptize everybody who receives the gospel from you.”
“But why should I wait?” asked Lee.
“Because Stevie is my son,” said Step.
“All the more reason,” said Lee. He lowered his voice a little. “I told you, God is with me. I’d give him a real baptism. Like John the Baptist gave Jesus.”
>
“Lee, I have the same priesthood you have, when it comes to baptizing. He’ll be just as baptized when I do it as he would be if anybody else with that same authority did it. And now I have to get to class.”
Lee looked . . . not hurt, really, but . . . what? Angry. Yes, angry, thought Step as he slipped along the space between benches and emerged into the aisle of the chapel. Great, Step, great, you’ve offended a new convert who was given to you as a home teaching companion specifically so you could strengthen him in the gospel.
But no way in hell is anybody but me going to baptize my oldest son.
Later, in priesthood meeting, Lee seemed to have forgotten all about it—he was talking and laughing with the other men and boys, and a few times with Step himself. Things were fine.
That afternoon, though, at the baptism, it became clear that Lee had not understood anything at all. It was a simple service. DeAnne played the piano and Step led the music; the bishop spoke for a minute, and then Sister Cowper gave a talk about the meaning of baptism. At that point Step led Stevie out of the Primary room, heading for the font entrance by way of the dressing room where they had earlier changed into the white baptismal clothes.
Lee was in the hall with his mother, waiting. Already behind them the bishop and Brother Cowper were opening the folding doors between the Primary room and the corridor, and people were coming out, and there was Lee, dressed in white clothes, right down to white athletic shoes. “Are sneakers OK?” asked Lee. “We couldn’t find any white dress shoes.”
“Lee,” said Step, trying not to embarrass him too much in front of his mother, “only the person getting baptized and the person doing the baptizing wear white clothes. I’m so sorry that you misunderstood.” He turned to Dr. Weeks. “I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble, coming up with all these white clothes.”
“But isn’t Lee performing the baptism?” asked Dr. Weeks.
Lee was smiling as if nothing at all was wrong. He clearly intended Step to stand aside and let him perform the baptism. But that was not going to happen unless Step dropped dead in the next few minutes. “No, Dr. Weeks. I told Lee this morning when he offered to do it that in the Mormon Church, whenever it’s possible a father baptizes his own children.”
Dr. Weeks’s expression hardened. “Then this is an inappropriate behavior?” she asked.
“I don’t know how Lee could have misunderstood,” said Step.
“But you said I could do it,” said Lee. His voice was quite loud, to get the maximum sympathy from the onlookers. Step could sense DeAnne coming up beside him, standing with him.
“No, Lee,” said Step, also loudly. “I clearly told you that you would have chances to baptize if you serve a mission, but that I would baptize my firstborn child today. I’m sure you realize that there is no chance that I would ever have said otherwise under any circumstances.”
“Come along, Lee,” said Dr. Weeks icily. Step couldn’t guess whether she was angry at him or at Lee or—worst of all—at the Church.
DeAnne touched Dr. Weeks on the arm. “I hope you understand,” she said softly. “No one meant to embarrass your son. It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, I’m sure Lee understood perfectly all along,” said Dr. Weeks, also softly, and with a slightly pained smile. “He simply has a way of adjusting reality to fit his desires and then expecting others to go along. I hope you will overlook this.”
“Of course,” said Step. He was relieved—she knew where the blame for this belonged.
“You’ve embarrassed me, Mother,” said Lee.
“It’s time to go home,” said Dr. Weeks.
“Why not stay and see the baptism?” said DeAnne.
“I saw Lee’s baptism,” said Dr. Weeks. “I imagine this will be much the same.”
“I want to stay,” said Lee.
“Come home now, Lee,” said Dr. Weeks.
There was a moment’s silence between them, and then Lee turned to Step and, with a cheerful smile, said, “You really should have let me baptize him. That would have been the best thing.” Then he turned and walked with his mother down the corridor toward the southeast door of the meetinghouse.
DeAnne squeezed his arm. “They’re leaving, and everybody else is waiting,” she said.
“Yes,” said Step. “Sorry.” He looked down at Stevie and smiled. “What do you say we go through with this?”
Stevie nodded.
Inside the dressing room, where their Sunday clothes were hanging up on hooks, Step paused for just a moment, feeling a need to explain. “Lee Weeks is just excited about being a priesthood holder,” he said. “He misunderstood, that’s all.”
Stevie looked up into Step’s eyes and said, “I think he’s crazy as a loon, Dad.”
And I think you’re as sane as I am, thought Step. But you’ve got to go to a psychiatrist, while Lee only goes home teaching.
“I love you, Stevie,” said Step.
“I love you too, Dad,” said Stevie. But it was perfunctory, the obligatory answer.
They went to the door that led from the dressing room into the font itself. The water was just above the second step from the top. The water bent the light to make the font seem no deeper than a child’s wading pool, but as Stevie stepped down into it, it seemed to swallow him up, bending him at the legs and then at the hips until he was so short that this shallow water came up to his shoulders. Step followed him. The water was cold, but he got used to it quickly. It came up only to his hips. Stevie is so small, he thought. He’s too young to take on himself the consequences of all his future choices.
Then he thought, Stevie’s been making his own choices, taking responsibility for himself ever since he was old enough to walk. For Stevie, baptism is probably years overdue. The Lord just picked eight years old as a convenient middle ground, that’s all. Some children are ready for it as toddlers, and some aren’t ready until well past their teens. Stevie was born with wisdom and goodness in him, like the high priest Samuel, like Solomon, like Joseph who was sold into Egypt, like Jesus.
Step took Stevie’s right wrist in his left hand. “Hold on to my arm,” he whispered. “Just like we practiced.”
Stevie reached up his left hand and took hold of Step’s left wrist. His hand was so small, his grip so tight and yet so feeble.
Stevie tried to move his right hand up to plug his nose.
“Not yet,” Step whispered. “After the words.”
Stevie waited as Step raised his right hand to the square and spoke loudly, so the official witnesses could hear and make sure he said it right: “Stephen Bolivar Fletcher, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Amen,” murmured the crowd.
“Amen,” whispered Stevie.
Step lifted Stevie’s right hand toward his face, and Stevie took hold of his nose to pinch it closed. “Bend at the knees,” Step whispered. Stevie closed his eyes and Step pushed him backward into the water, then shoved him down. The water resisted as it always did, but Step pushed Stevie downward, downward, burying him under the water until he was completely immersed. Only then did he let the water have its way, float him back up; and when Stevie reached the surface, gripping tightly to Step’s arm, Step pulled him back up to a standing position. Stevie gasped, let go of Step’s arm, wiped at his eyes.
Some of the onlookers chuckled affectionately. They had all been through this. They knew how it felt to come out of the water. The disorientation. The hunger for breath. Like being born, gasping for air. The body’s instinct for survival in control of you, so all you can think about is, live. Breathe. Then you think, I’m cold. Can they see through the white clothes? Did I look stupid? Did everything go right? Did some part of me stick up out of the water so they’ll have to dunk me again?
Step looked from the bishop to Brother Cowper, who were serving as the official witnesses. They both nodded.
“We’re OK,” said Step. “Go
t it right the first time.”
Stevie nodded gravely.
The bishop and Brother Cowper closed the sliding doors between the font and the corridor. Everybody else went back into the Primary room to wait. Step and Stevie climbed up out of the water, their clothes heavy, dripping, cold.
In the dressing room they dried off and changed back into their street clothes. Stevie was very shy about his body, asking Step not to look and making sure that his back was always turned to his father while he dressed. A far cry from the days when he used to run stark naked into the living room with company there, shouting “Teebee go toe-let now! Hurry-up Daddy!”
Step wrung out the wet clothes and then they returned to the Primary room, where some of the younger children—all Cowpers, by Step’s rough census—were running around hooting and screeching. They soon got things quieted down, Brother Cowper gave a short talk about the meaning of confirmation and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and then Stevie came forward, sat in a chair facing the small congregation, and Step laid his hands on his son’s head. The other priesthood holders there—the bishop, Brother Cowper, and the Primary president’s husband—then laid their hands lightly on his, with perhaps a finger also touching Stevie’s head. And Step began the confirmation as he had done so many times on his mission in São Paulo—except in English, not in Portuguese. He confirmed Stevie a member of the Church, and then commanded him to receive the Holy Ghost.
Technically that was all that was needed, and Step could have stopped there—but that would have caused talk, a lot of gossip, because the custom was to add a few minutes of blessing and admonition, and the omission of that blessing would have been shocking.
Yet as Step stood there, ready to speak the words of blessing, nothing came to mind. It was not that he had given it no thought. In fact, for days he had been replaying in his mind the ways he might obliquely address the problems Stevie had been having. He couldn’t say, I bless you that your imaginary friends will go away without your having to bother going to a psychiatrist, but there were ways of phrasing the same idea, such as, I promise you healing, and that all your visions will be true ones—things like that, which would sound ordinary enough to people who knew nothing about Stevie’s problems, but whose true meaning DeAnne and Step and God would understand.
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