“Well, smarty-pants, she was in and we had quite a productive session.”
“I’m excited, Dad,” Florence said. “I can’t wait. Tell me again how warm the water is.”
“So warm. And it’s totally clear. You can always see your feet.”
“At Rockaway, once,” Florence went on, “I saw a hamburger wrapper floating by.”
“Gross,” Isobel said.
“It touched my leg and I kind of liked it.”
“You’re sick,” Isobel said. “I hate this family.”
“I have to talk to your mother.”
“Is everything okay?” Florence asked.
“Your grandpa’s in the hospital.”
Florence put her book down and sat up on the couch like she hadn’t heard him until then.
Josef took note, as he often did, of how much she looked like him. She had his nose, his cheeks, his full, dark hair. Isobel had her mother’s wavy locks. Her hair shimmered even through the gloomy half-light and the incandescent tumbling skies, viewed in panorama across the multiple large windows showcasing the Hudson River and the lower Palisades. It was not lost on Josef that Isobel chose Natalie’s side, while Florence forgave him for being a shitty father. What did surprise him, what he wasn’t at all prepared for, was how much Isobel’s emotional distancing hurt. It stung like the worst kind of rejection. As a child she had been so open with her love. He had taken her affection for granted. He’d bathed in her precocious adoration. Now she withheld that same love with what he deemed a calculated assuredness.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t keep showing up here!” Natalie was in the hallway, wrapped in a terry-cloth robe, fresh from the shower.
“Mom, don’t curse,” Florence reminded.
“What?” Josef asked.
“I’m serious. It’s not funny.”
“If you don’t want him coming,” Isobel said, “just change the stupid locks. It’s so ridiculous. He comes. And you yell at him. But you don’t do anything.”
“Seriously, dude, we’re busy,” Natalie said. “Andrew’s on his way.”
“Dude?” Josef said.
“We’re having a storm party!” Florence said. “Popcorn and movies on the laptop and gummy worms. We’re going to watch Children of the Night.”
“They’re obsessed,” Isobel huffed.
“Sounds like a blast,” Josef said. “Listen, I need to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Natalie said. “Then go.”
She leaned her head forward and began to towel off her hair. Josef felt a quick hot burning in his chest, the desire to grab her and take her back into her (his old) bedroom and fuck her senseless. She was as beautiful as the day they met. He was filled with regret. It happened often when he saw Natalie in person. Why had he fucked it all up? Why had he cheated on her so flagrantly? He needed to remind himself that he had felt (as he had while in the midst of all his relationships) suffocated by the confines of the whole thing. It hadn’t been till he’d gotten out of the marriage that he’d begun to desire Natalie again.
“Can we talk in private?”
“Is this some weird ploy to get me into the bedroom with nothing but a bathrobe on?”
“This is a serious matter,” Josef said.
The clouds writhed. He saw a large swath of lower Manhattan out the windows. Buildings draped in darkness. The half-built Freedom Tower grim and empty.
“Grandpa’s in the hospital,” Isobel said.
He hadn’t forgotten that his father was in the hospital, he just hadn’t shown up to talk about it. He’d come there to discuss taking the girls on vacation. But when he saw Natalie’s face soften and her eyes go wide, he knew milking the trauma was the best approach. He mustered a distraught look. “He’s not well.”
She led him down the hall.
“Wait here.” She went into the bedroom and closed the door. “What hospital?”
He leaned in to hear her through the door. “You know,” he said, “whatever hospital is near the house.”
She opened the door again, now wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her wet hair pulled over one shoulder. “Well, honestly,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
“He’s been having heart issues. Apparently last night was bad.”
“He’s been sick for so long, you know?”
“This is true.”
Now she leaned against the jamb. “Have you spoken to your brother or sister?”
“Armie and I don’t talk much. Or at all. Charlie’s got her own stuff going on. With the spaz and all that.”
“You should call her. I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing from someone other than your mother. It can’t be easy for her, so far away.”
“I’ll call. I will. I just. Things are all screwy with this fucking storm!”
“I’m surprised you aren’t holed up with your secretary or something.”
“Ha! Yes! Good one. You think I’d fuck my secretary?”
“I think you’d fuck anything that moved.”
“For your information, my secretary quit.”
“When?”
“Like an hour ago.”
“And what were her reasons, I wonder?”
“Spare me, all right, just cut me some fucking slack. I’m trying to make it up to you. To you and the girls. I don’t want them to hate me.”
“Florence doesn’t hate you.”
“Well, that’s a start. And that’s why I want to take them on this trip! Don’t you think it would be good for them? Just me and my daughters. Real quality time. RQT! Come on! No shenanigans, I swear.”
“You know, instead of some cockamamie trip to Bermuda—”
“Hawaii—”
“Even worse. Instead of that, why don’t you just try being normal? Like a normal dad? For example, you could have returned at least one of my calls and lifted one finger to help us over here. But no, you’ve been incommunicado for days, and you know who helped? Andrew. Andrew stood on line at Whole Foods for an hour to get us groceries in case the world ends. So we can eat. So your daughters can eat. Where were you? How does that fit into your ‘making it up to us’ scheme?”
“I am trying to close this deal. One-PASS is about to take off. It’s what pays for all of this. Your little Whole Foods excursions and your hair and all your boots and stuff.” He pointed into the bedroom at the mountain of shoes in her closet. “I don’t see handy Andy the Poet reaching into his deep coffers for you.”
“He does plenty. And you never miss a chance to shoot him down, do you?”
“The guy’s a poet.”
“You’re stuck in a juvenile stage of life, Josef. You really are. You’re like a boy in high school.”
He rolled his hand at her. “Get it all out.”
“I don’t know why I’m arguing with you about the same old stuff. You’re not in my life. You’re barely in your kids’ lives. I don’t have time for this. Please leave.”
“The power’s out.”
“I’m serious. I’m worried about you. You aren’t focused on what’s important. At all.”
“That’s not true! I am so focused right now. I’m about to make major power moves. Who do you think I’m doing all this for? For them! For you!”
“For a second you had me. You did. I felt bad for you. I thought you came here for some comfort. To talk about your father. He’s dying. And this is what you’re doing with what little time he has. Trying to get me to let you take the girls on some little beach fantasy trip you’ve concocted? And the only reason you want to do that is because you’re still pissed about the custody agreement. Since you didn’t get your way like you always do!”
“That’s not true!”
“You’re oblivious! When was the last time you saw your father? Or your mother? When was last time you did anything meaningful with the girls?”
“I want to take them to Hawaii!”
“I mean, in the real world? Here. Now.”
“Being around my parents is like crawling into a coffin. It’s suff
ocating. Listening to my mother talk? If I hear one more story about Minnie Horwitz. Or Minnie’s kids. Who cares! I’d rather hear Andrew recite E. E. Cummings. Don’t pretend she doesn’t drive you crazy, too. All those weird African robes. Her necklaces, for fuck’s sake. The church talk. The praying. You know where my father is headed? Nowhere. That’s where. Not some special realm or some magical mystical land. Not heaven. His soul is going nowhere. Because he doesn’t have one. None of us do.”
“Stop shouting.” Natalie pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door. “I’ve said this before, but you need to see someone.”
“I just came from my therapist! I literally walked from there”—Josef pointed beyond the wall, then down to his feet—“to here.”
“I don’t want Andrew to see you.”
“So, can I take the girls on this trip or what?”
“Do they even want to go?”
“Who doesn’t want a trip to Hawaii?”
“I don’t know. I hate the beach.”
“Okay. Well, fine. I’ll just have my lawyer continue to call your lawyer.”
“Great plan.”
He went back to the living room.
“Who won?” Isobel asked. She’d given up the iPad for a jar of pickles.
“Well! Back out into the ‘crazy’ weather,” Josef announced with air quotes.
“Stay here with us,” Florence said. “It’s going to be a Thornglow extravaganza!”
There was a knock on the door.
“Great!” Natalie said. “Just fucking great! Don’t you dare be an asshole.”
“Mom, with the swearing!” Florence said.
“I’m sorry, honey, I know”—she clenched her fists—“but he . . .”
Josef stood in the kitchen looking out the windows. The rain was pelting, but he wasn’t about to admit that it had gotten any worse. Isobel flipped on the battery-powered radio on the counter. Reports said a crane had collapsed on the seventieth floor of a midtown high-rise and pieces of it were falling onto the street. All the residents had evacuated. The power had gone out at the NYU Langone Medical Center and patients were to be relocated.
“Josef?”
He turned to face his ex-wife. “Huh?”
“It’s time for you to leave.”
She had her hand on the door and then she opened it and Andrew stepped in as Josef was putting on his wet coat. He raised a hand in salutation. “What up, Andy!”
“You know he doesn’t like to be called Andy,” Natalie said. She had her hands on her hips.
“It’s cool,” Andrew said.
Josef balanced himself on one leg to put on a boot, using Andrew’s shoulder as support. “These are super squeaky,” he said, toe-maneuvering on the floor in such a way as to produce a truly annoying sound.
“That sound hurts my soul,” Isobel said.
“Okay, I’m off! We should do this again soon!”
Florence popped up on the couch. “We love you!”
Josef looked at Andrew. “You heard her, pal.”
* * *
They split up. Armie wrapped poor Shadow in a towel and loaded him into his father’s BMW and drove off, rattling in the severe wind, to see Dr. Ashworth. Ana, simultaneously, piloted George—struggling to breathe and whimpering, “I’m dying!”—in the family Subaru.
Armie drove past stores. They were all closed and dark. Houses shut tight. Windows taped with giant Xs. He was reminded again that he hadn’t helped his mother board up the windows at the shop.
Even the Rustic Grape Wine Bar was shuttered, its boastful If We Have Power, We WILL Be Open sign flapping by a last tenuous strand.
The lights at the Hudson Veterinary Clinic were soft beacons glowing in the chaotic murk. Dr. Ashworth met Armie at the front door. Their shoes squeaking, they transported the dog down the hall and hoisted him onto an examination table. Armie caressed Shadow’s paw while Dr. Ashworth made his examinations and drew blood.
Armie’s phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stepped into the hall. His mother.
“Please tell me George is okay!”
“Shadow is okay.”
“What did I say?”
“You said George.”
“Did I? My goodness.”
“He’s in with Dr. Ashworth. I’m not sure what’s happening. How’s Dad?”
“His blood pressure is low. Dr. Karnam is doing some tests. He says not to worry! In the meantime, I’m trying to get him to behave civilly in front of the nurses.”
“Are they concerned the power might go out?”
“Oh. I’m not sure. They just left the room. I can ask one of the nurses maybe, but they can’t be happy with the way your father keeps talking to them—”
He heard the phone go down, some muffled noises, and his mother yelling for a nurse.
“It’s okay, Mom, you don’t have to—”
She was back on the line. “What was that, dear?”
“Never mind. I should be home soon. Call me if anything changes with Dad.”
Armie hung up. Dr. Ashworth came out with Shadow in tow.
“Well,” Dr. Ashworth said, “the good news is I think what we’ve got here is just an unfortunately timed case of worms. Nothing too serious.”
“Okay, so what do we do?”
“I’m going to give you some pills. Crush them up into Shadow’s food twice a day. Or put them in some applesauce if he isn’t up to eating. Give him plenty of water and keep an eye on him. If anything changes or he seems to get worse, call me.”
Shadow looked at them with miserable eyes. Armie patted his head. Dr. Ashworth locked up and Armie drove home again through the tumult. Shadow lay across the backseat crying softly.
The house: empty and quiet. He loved it like this. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet and the windows appeared to bow against the strain of the wind. He closed his eyes and stood in the foyer. Rainwater puddled at his feet. His sneakers were drenched and dirty and grass clung to their sides. He brushed his hands against his damp shorts. The leash was in his hands. The dog teetered beside him.
He put fresh water in a bowl and tried to get Shadow to drink, then led him to his bed. The dog collapsed. Armie smashed one of the pills with the back of a spoon and put it in a bowl of applesauce and knelt at Shadow’s side and managed with much coaxing to get him to eat the mixture.
* * *
She took the turn too tightly. George was red-faced and coughing. “I can’t breathe!”
She hopped the curb and clipped a mailbox and sent a bloom of papers exploding into the air. Some of the mail plastered itself across the windshield. Letters blew everywhere and scattered behind the car. “My goodness!”
“Don’t forget the painting,” George said.
“What painting?”
At the hospital they put their hands on him. They told him to remain calm. Dr. Karnam examined. They admitted him to the ICU. Strategies were proposed and abandoned. No one seemed sure what the best course of action was. Chemo after the blood pressure normalized? Dialysis? A waiting period to see if he stabilized on his own? He moaned and berated nurses. He swatted at doctors. He spoke about things that were not happening. He addressed his father who was not there, who had died twenty years ago.
* * *
Armie heard Shadow having night terrors, whining in his sleep.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. Nothing from his mother. He started to call her but then hung up. His father hadn’t looked good. That was for sure. What was happening? He should call his mother. He called her. “How’s it going over there?”
“I’m with him now. Waiting for Karnam to tell me what’s next.”
“He’s awake?” She didn’t answer. “I’m coming over there.”
He hadn’t taken the boots off or the slicker and so he just went back out onto Warren Street, now full in the face of it. Did he really want to go to the hospital? To see his father, who was maybe dying? What if it was the last chance he got to say goodbye? He couldn’t
do it. A rough idea formed in his head, and it was: keep walking until he no longer felt the way he felt, which was alone and bottomed out and angry. Keep walking until he could face whatever was awaiting him. However long that took.
He walked in the direction of the water, then after a block spun and headed the other way. He passed the new restaurant people had been talking about called Rod & Tackle. He passed the Good Vibes Coffee Shop. He passed the Rustic Grape Wine Bar. The If We Have Power, We WILL Be Open sign was down on the pavement. He stepped over it. The Rustic Grape Wine Bar was not open. Nothing was.
He crossed North Second and the shadows got somehow darker, the street eerier. He thought he heard an Amtrak train pulling into the station, but that was impossible. Nothing was open or running in this. A car drove past with its headlights on and the beams lit him up and sent his shadow in a long, exaggerated stretch across the sidewalk and then up the side of a building. The car honked. A crest of water lapped from the street to the curb and broke like a tiny wave.
He turned right on North Third. He saw an auto body shop whose sign read, Auto Parts for Sale. The sign was rusted so that the lettering appeared to be bleeding. In the window was a handwritten poster: Exp Mechnic Seeking. An abandoned building to his left looked like a library but was not a library. The windows were boarded up. He kept going. He’d worked at a library once, right after college. He’d stayed in Connecticut and gotten a job at the Middletown Public Library. He’d made $22,412 a year. A sum he was embarrassed to tell Josef when he asked.
“That’s a fine salary for your first job out of school,” Ana had said.
Was that the beginning of it? he asked himself. Or had it started sometime long before?
He didn’t see much of his family that year, except over Christmas, when he went back to Hudson. He loved spending time with his nieces. Particularly Isobel. Even at six she had been amazingly precocious, and though he wasn’t sure what she said or did that made him think this, he was convinced she saw through Josef’s colossal bullshit. Something in the way she looked at her father with a skeptical arched eyebrow.
A wood house at the next corner had large gold letters on its side that read WAGG. Someone had parked a backhoe half on the sidewalk and half in the street and he had to maneuver around some orange-and-white construction barriers that had blown over in the wind.
The Antiques Page 8
