Stranger, Father, Beloved

by Taylor Larsen

  The dazzling grin from the party was absent from the man’s face, but Michael knew he had seen it there and it could be elicited again. John had said over the phone that he was from a less prosperous local county nearby, which could mean only one thing—a small house, a small income. Michael knew immediately that their house must have impressed him the night of the party, and when John walked through their door again, his prediction was realized.

  “This is a great house,” John said in his simple way. “I can tell a lot of work has already been done on it. It’s in great shape.”

  “Have you lived in the area long?” Michael asked, as they sat on the living room couches.

  “All my life.” A picture of his trajectory from childhood through high school flashed behind Michael’s eyes—cheap secondhand toys, public school, a working-class family.

  “Are you married?”

  “No. I was, but I got divorced a few years ago.”

  There’s that defeated quality again, as if life has taken a few hard swings at him, Michael thought as he watched John sit, hands folded in his lap.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It was hard at first, but now I’ve gotten used to it.”

  Michael observed that John spoke English well, without a local Rhode Island working-class accent polluting his speech, surprisingly. He seemed uncomfortable, and Michael knew he must hate sitting and talking with people, especially people he didn’t know, as Michael himself hated doing so. They had that trait in common.

  Michael studied John. Was he attractive in a way that would appeal to Nancy? He was thin but strong and had an appealing face and good teeth. Michael decided that he was indeed attractive, in the sort of way one couldn’t quite pinpoint. Michael himself fell in with this grouping, so John was more than likely the type of person who could appeal to Nancy. Michael looked closely at John’s face. Would a person want to kiss that mouth or look into those eyes over dinner by the ocean? Yes, they would.

  “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  Michael realized that he should perhaps get to the point of why he wanted John there instead of making so much chitchat. He couldn’t help himself, though. The man interested him.

  “I was hoping you could do some work in our backyard, jazz it up a little. It’s so boring, and we’d like to have a koi pond, a gazebo, and a better, more expanded garden. I don’t know too much about how much this kind of thing might cost or how long it might take, but I’m prepared to pay you whatever you think is a fair price. Also, if you have any ideas of your own, we’d be totally open to hearing them. Nancy had the idea of putting in a stone walkway leading to the gazebo. Nancy’s my wife. I think you met her at the party.”

  “Oh, the hostess, Nancy, yes, I remember. She was very nice. It was a great party. Let me take a look at your yard, and then I can give you a better idea of how much it’ll cost.”

  “Sounds great. Coffee? Tea?”

  “A cup of coffee would be great.”

  “Cream, sugar?”

  “I take it black.”

  The two of them walked over the three acres of land that stretched behind the house to the edge of the property. Woods started where the yard ended. Masses of wet leaves blanketed the floor of the forest, and the spinelike trunks of several dead trees were interspersed with younger trees that were still growing. Except for a few scattered birds in the higher branches, the woods were empty of animals. It was a bleak place, not at all spooky and vibrant as a forest should be, but hollow, brittle, and swept clean.

  “I bet I can finish the work in less than three months. I have a couple of young guys that help me. You’ll meet them. They do work for extra money and help me out when they can. Summer’s coming, and I know they need the work.”

  “However long it takes is fine with me.”

  When they turned back and walked toward the house, Michael saw movement from within. His wife and son were there; he could see them through the glass. Nancy came out onto the grass, her face startled. Max walked beside her with tentative footsteps, and Michael lifted him into his arms.

  “John, this is my son, Max, and you remember Nancy from the party.”

  “Of course.” He extended his hand and shook hers as he looked her in the eye. Michael had again the very distinct impression that they were alone together, in a way, even with other people around them. Nancy seemed glad to see him.

  “Nancy, this is a surprise for you. I’ve hired John to spruce up the backyard, make it more like you wanted when we moved in here.”

  Nancy looked at Michael and then at John, her face glowing. Michael explained to her what they had planned, and she was clearly happy. Her reaction pleased him; it was evidence that this course of action was leading in an exciting direction. This man excited his wife in a way she could not see in herself. Heck, he himself felt excited by him.

  “It was a great party you threw. Your friend Mrs. Keller had been concerned about me since my divorce. I guess she was hoping I would meet someone. Thanks for letting her invite me.” Mrs. Keller lived in a big house down the street. She was a widow, and was in her early sixties. An aging beauty and former tennis star at the country club, she now had more spare time on her hands after her husband’s heart attack and death. John explained he had taken care of the landscaping for her property for years, and in her boredom, she must have taken an interest in his romantic life.

  “Oh, I was glad to. It’s always nice to meet new people, and Linda says such nice things about you and the work you did on her house. Let me make you guys some sandwiches. You must be hungry. I’ll let you finish talking.” That was exactly what Michael wanted her to say and do. He looked at John to see if he had noticed what a perfect hostess Nancy could be if she just put her mind to it.

  But where was Ryan? Michael wondered.

  These days, he rarely got to see his daughter, except to watch her enter and exit their house. She was like a ghost in their home, leaving only traces of her presence behind. How badly he wanted to have the entire family there at once, presented as a unit. The last time he had seen her, he had seen a book he had given her through the mesh of the bag hanging over her shoulder.

  She looked to Michael, being the most educated in the family, for direction as to which books to read. A month or two before Christmas, Michael would take particular delight in going to the local bookstore and buying three brand-new copies of some of his favorite books, most of which were classics. Her reverent, almost sacred treatment of the books he gave her touched him profoundly. She read them earnestly, and then the two of them would have a little talk about the book, its themes, and whether or not it had moved her. Michael was careful to avoid getting books her school’s English class would cover, such as Lord of the Flies or 1984. That day, it was the cover of Clock Without Hands by Carson McCullers that he saw through the mesh bag. That was one of the three books he had given her last Christmas. Although they rarely talked anymore, he was relieved to see that Ryan was still counting on his knowledge of literature to educate her. On some level, he felt, she must still love or respect him.

  There was still hope for regaining a connection with his daughter and for Nancy’s future happiness. His fear began to evaporate in the bright sunshine, and he wanted to reach out and embrace John as they stood there. He felt lighter, more available to the world. The family had been stagnant too long, he felt. What was needed was a new presence to breathe life back into them. He had arrived.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There was something about giving birth to a baby with a disability that changed things. The crippling effect of Max’s asthma along with his tiny body and stunted growth always caused Nancy to question whether or not Max was indeed damaged for life. He seemed an ethereal kind of child who was not fully here living a little-kid life. He had his own intangible interests and sat and played on the floor for hours with objects that only
he could see.

  Nancy and Max had lunch outside at a little glass table as they watched Michael and the new landscaper, John, walk around the yard discussing plans. In a few days it would be June, and the air was brightening up in preparation for summer. John had already removed a dead tree sitting in the far corner of the lawn, and he had readied the ground below him for construction of an ornate gazebo, removing some rocks and making a rudimentary platform. Nancy had grapefruit for Max, which was his favorite, and had sliced around the edges of each tiny section so he would be able to spoon it easily into his mouth. Secretly making tasks easier for her son without his or anyone else knowing took up many hours of Nancy’s day. Being a behind-the-scenes person came naturally to her. There were countless things that she did for everyone in her family that no one was aware of or, if they were, they rarely acknowledged.

  The summer before Nancy had left her hometown to become a nanny for a professor at Yale University, a woman she knew had given birth to a baby with Down syndrome. Nancy remembered Gwen’s initial shock at seeing the misshapen forehead and the pinched eyes of her newborn baby. As a friend, Nancy had gone to visit the family a couple of days after the mother and baby had returned home from the hospital. Having neither money nor a husband of her own, Gwen was living at her parents’ house. To see her friend lying in the bed in which she’d slept as a child, her stomach flabby and deflated under her folded arms, and now in such a difficult situation, Nancy had felt a wave of pity.

  She watched her friend’s face and saw the bitterness etched into every expression her facial muscles made. Seeing this painful conclusion to a sordid situation, Nancy could not help but feel that God was sending a message to her. She felt not only shame for her friend, who was stuck with such a burden, but also relief for herself that she had not gotten into such a mess. Yes, Nancy had had premarital sex with one man, but she had not run wild like Gwen had. Gwen’s body had been the source of pleasure for almost every boy in their tiny, miserable town. Gwen would leave a bar with whomever was available and get into his car, her piercing laugh dying off as the car door shut her safely inside. Nancy was drawn to Gwen’s fun-loving nature, but she also felt Gwen was dirty, used, and headed for some kind of disaster. Involuntarily, to some degree she felt her friend deserved the negative consequences of such reckless actions.

  Now, after giving birth to Max, she wondered whether God was punishing her for thinking such things about Gwen’s baby. Maybe the lesson was being presented to her so that she’d learn the compassion she needed. With that suspicion always at the back of her mind, Nancy tried to convey to Max with every gesture of every day that she accepted him completely and would never avoid him or his needy ways. She didn’t refrain from touching him as everyone else in the family did. He was her special assignment from God, and she knew she should not fail Him. She had been given every tool she would need, every resource to tackle the job of being an effective mother, and she really could not complain about the other things. The missing passion would return after Michael went through one of his spells—he needed her most during his recovery, and they were closest when he was the most vulnerable. He waxed and waned and would bloom for her again.

  She considered it a hopeful sign that her husband had chosen to build her a majestic garden with a gazebo, a lovely stone walkway, and roses climbing up a trellis in the garden. She had long since resigned herself to the fact that such things were his way of showing affection, through gestures rather than through words.

  She knew that as the days passed, her happiness would deepen as she watched new growth become established in the backyard. Years ago, when the kids had been much younger, she had suggested that they expand their backyard. With so much space, why not use it? But he had refused, saying how much he hated those cluttered, fancy yards that were cropping up in suburban homes left and right. And now, after years of battling over it, he was giving her what she wanted.

  Max finished slurping down his grapefruit wedges and then scooped up his orange juice glass. A little bit of juice flew over the edge and landed on his shirt. He immediately looked up to see if she had noticed, his face wary with fear. Hadn’t it sunk in by now that she never punished him? She smiled at him.

  “It’s okay, Max.”

  She studied his features while he drank. He resembled neither her husband nor herself. He had a tiny nose, and his jaw was also shaped more delicately than those of the rest of the family. But, as she had learned with Ryan, he would no doubt change several times in appearance as he formed and reformed himself. Ryan had resembled her father as a baby and then Nancy all through girlhood. Now, with Ryan a teenager, Nancy felt shame to behold how unalike they were. Ryan’s good looks were startling, and they constantly highlighted the gap between herself and her daughter. She could not help but feel that her daughter had come out on top, resembling a female version of Michael at a younger age, athletic and sculpted. Still, Ryan also had that personality that was slightly on edge, which could be seen as a handicap.

  She could remember many times when she had watched Ryan as a girl. A sudden view of her daughter streaking across the yard would cause her to catch her breath. She remembered one evening in particular sitting on a chair in the yard watching Ryan and her friend Carol play. It was dusk, and Nancy was pregnant with Max. As they had moved to this house only a month before, the excitement of a new place brought out the best in all of them. Michael, up in his study organizing his files and books, would occasionally gaze down and wave from the window. Lights from inside the house shone eerily in odd squares stretched over the grass.

  At least he’s trying, she thought with relief. To see Michael’s hopeful face looking down at her was all she needed. When he took his medication, he was calmer and she could relax. Over the years, she would know when he had not taken it because his hands would shake. She found her own tension easing when she observed him swallow a pill—the night would be calmer, his face would relax, he might smile at her or suggest they watch a movie. She made sure to keep his pills stocked and always on hand. She would be lost without them and did not know what kind of man she would sleep beside if they did not have those pills. They both knew he needed them, and he was fairly regular in taking them. On the rare occasion when he did not, his eyes had a fierce unpredictability that frightened her. Michael’s best features by far were his large brown eyes and long eyelashes. They were beautiful, but their gaze was often cold and unemotional on good days, and on bad ones they flickered with secret, unkind thoughts.

  When they had moved in, Nancy could not believe that she lived in this house. It was so beautiful—looking up at the large gray face of the back of the house was intimidating. She felt like an imposter claiming to own it, yet they did. Ryan, then ten years old, darted onto a lit square in the grass and halted in a strange pose, standing with her legs stretched apart, her arms out with fingers splayed, frozen in the light. She laughed, the moment was over, and then she sprinted away to the opposite end of the yard, where she tackled her friend Carol.

  For that split second Nancy was mesmerized that someone could be that beautiful naturally, that a person’s movements could be so effortless and playful. Watching her daughter was painful—to witness such beauty and then to have it retreat from sight.

  That night in the yard, Nancy felt deeply honored to have created such a gorgeous child. All those tense and emotional years with Michael at the college had not been a waste after all. Here she was sitting in the yard of her beautiful new house watching her breathtaking daughter enjoy all the fine things that life had to offer. No one in her family could accuse her of not making anything of herself. Look where she was now.

  * * *

  Now, years later, it seemed that the atmosphere of excitement and hope that had been present during their first months in the house had returned to restore them to some higher place from which they had slipped. She admired her husband as he stood by a stretch of grass, sweeping his arms in front of
him to show where he wanted John to dig the koi pond. He was still handsome, gallant in stature, and a myriad of happy memories suddenly claimed her mind. The way he used to need her had touched her deeply. She remembered the nights before they were married when he couldn’t sleep and she had gone over to hold him in his big lonely bed so he wouldn’t have to be by himself. When he was relaxed, he could be warm and loving. He would often lie in her arms if his mind was troubling him and talk free-form, and she would listen with alert attention in the darkness. Sometimes they rubbed each other’s backs absentmindedly before going to sleep. Back when Michael’s sleeping pills had actually worked, he had loved nothing more than to talk to her while he began to drift off, pulled under by the pill, while her hand loosened the muscles in his lower back. It had been a while since they had had those nights of intimacy in bed, bonded as husband and wife.

  She looked over and saw the silver-framed wedding photo of the two of them from so many years ago. In it she looked up at Michael with a huge smile, while he looked kindly down upon her. It was a nice moment captured on film. Nancy then thought of their wedding, which had taken place in the largest church in Greenwich, Connecticut, where his parents had lived. The church had been decorated with an elaborate display of white flowers, and each pew had a glass frame around a single lit candle adorning its entry. She had never seen such an awe-inspiring arrangement of light and shadow in all her life. Outside, in the fall air, she could hear the wind gently knocking against the windows as she walked down the aisle. That evening, she was able to forget their differences in class and the disapproval of his family. They seemed to look at her differently as she walked toward the altar and danced at the reception, for she felt she had never looked lovelier. Their glances toward her were reconsidering, innocent, pure, and she felt that the slate had been wiped clean. Ultimately, it had not, but on that night she had felt free of their judgment.