Look How You Turned Out

by Diane Munier

  "Don't over-complicate this Bedilia," Artie says tiredly, seated in his recliner, the usual bed-hair as I've pretty much bombarded him as soon as he's up. "You've got a new Jeep. Allow your family to enjoy it."

  I want to. Juney is so excited. But I'm not getting the satisfaction from speaking with Dad that I'd hoped.

  I'm surprised he gave Ranita permission to do this, actually worked with her on it from Artie Central, room three-twenty-nine.

  "She has an opinion," I say. One he's not aware of. When I spoke to her at the restaurant, I hit the nail on the head. She thought I was repeating her mistakes. I made it clear I was not. I didn't allow her to walk away without having my say. I stated our differences. I knew them. Now she did.

  So what…she rewarded me? Pities me?

  "She wanted to do something," Artie says. "If you don't let someone give sometimes, Bedilia, they can't get better."

  "Why should I care if she gets better, Dad? Better than what? What do I owe her?"

  "Technically nothing. Nothing at all," he says. "All the cards are in your hand. She's got nothing."

  "I hate when you do this."

  "Do what?"

  "Just…present the evidence and leave it on me. I hate it."

  "It's up to you, kiddo. I've said my piece. You decide. You want to give it back, I'll call the dealership and have someone pick it up."

  "I need to speak with her. I know she gave you her number."

  He picks up his cell and gives me the number. I punch it in mine. She answers on the second ring.

  "It's me," I say, "Bedilia."

  "Yes," she says. There's eagerness in her voice, but she's not sure.

  "The car…you shouldn't have. I mean, you really shouldn't have." I'm saying this in front of Artie, as much for his benefit as for hers. I have her on speaker.

  "I knew you might take it this way," she says quietly. "I meant it in the best way, Bedilia. There's been so much…I wanted to make a gesture…please. You're such a wonderful young woman, Bedilia. I'm…I'm so grateful to have had some…small part in your existence."

  I'm quiet, and tears are coming, and not from sentiment or because I believe or don't believe anything she's saying. Tears are coming because she's hurt me. There's a wound way back there, and I've reconciled all that, I have, but she wants this joy that she's denied herself, this joy of sharing something that means so much to her, this money that represents a life she loved. And she's killing two birds here, that's all. She wants to lay this on me, this gift, this money. Like she's judged, I'm worthy of it now that she's been here, and I've defended my position, and she's seen my family. Like that's how she sees it. The two best things coming together…her Tennessee man and the daughter she abandoned. It's a tied Christmas bow in her mind.

  Why is it my job to go along? I just want her to leave me alone.

  But as surely as I say that I know I don't mean it.

  I don't mean any of it. It doesn't make sense. But I'm not mad enough to pull this off…outrage or something. I just want to not have this problem.

  "Just take it Bedilia. Please. If not for yourself, take it for that darling son. Let it bless your family. Please."

  "And when the darling son asks why we don't see his grandmother? The cool grandmother that gave us a car?"

  "Tell him the truth," she says.

  "He knows the truth. His mother left him as well. He knows the sad truth. What do I do…help create a new fairy tale for him…that maybe there's a shiny new car in his future someday? That taking it makes everything great? That mothers who run away are really heroes, in the end, that they come back bearing gifts? Do you know how important it is that he knows the difference between love and manipulation? Do you know his mother?"

  Now I have the outrage. Now it's clear. Juney. The overjoyed one. The one who wants to ride that Jeep to glory. My impressionable son. There is a fierceness in me. A ridiculous fire.

  "It's not just me," I say. "What can I possibly teach 'my darling son,' by accepting this that's going to help him?"

  There is a pause, poignant, loudly silent, my hammering heart barely slowing, breathing, me struggling between two parents for the first time in my life. Me struggling as a mother. "What can I possibly teach him…?"

  "Forgiveness," Dad says.

  Ranita breaks down then. She is sobbing. I hand my phone to Dad. I've been sitting on the floor so I lay back, and listen to her…she speaks unintelligible words. She is releasing the deepest crying.

  I have my arms over my eyes, her sounds are going into me. Into me like sand rapidly filling a deep hole.

  It lasts for a long time, or a couple of minutes, the three of us, there.

  Ranita asks me to forgive her.

  I tell her I do.

  I thank her for the car.

  She thanks me…I don't know why.

  We promise to touch base now and then…an email.

  Will we do it? No idea.

  Forgiveness, the very act, can be a soul-crunching piece of dirty work.

  I end up draped over the arm of the recliner, my head on Artie's heart, his arm around me. Teresa has stayed out of the way. I'm glad she's still with Dad when I leave and walk across the street.

  Once I'm in the house, in the living room, I hear Marcus and Juney's voices from the back of the house where they play the X-box. I listen for a few minutes, to the sounds they make while they play, happy, unguarded sounds. My music.

  I find the keys to the new Jeep on the kitchen counter, put there by some masculine hand while the fate of the new red beast has been decided.

  I take those keys, and they jingle, and that's when they notice me. Marcus can see me looking like hell, but Juney just sees the keys in my hand. "Anyone want to go for a ride?" I ask, my nose clogged, my voice raspy.

  "Yeah," Juney yells. He's telling Marcus they can pause the game. He's saying he has to find his boots.

  Marcus stands slowly. "You sure baby?" he says.

  "Yeah. But you're driving. I just have to go to the bathroom, but hey, will you pour me some coffee in my new mug?"

  Marcus gets close to me, smooths my hair back from my face, looks me over. "I can do that," he says.

  I smile at him. "Good. That's…good."

  "Okay," he says, "my Bedilia."

  "And the Jeep," I whisper just before I kiss his lips, "I'm naming it Smaug."

  "Why's that?" he asks, kissing me again.

  "The past is like an anchor, holding us back," I quote the scaly beast.

  "And he's red."

  Chapter 65

  "Look at me," Juney says carving a circle on the ice with the blades of his skates. They were his dads a million years ago. Elaine gave them to him, and his arms are open, and he's wearing a crazy knit hat with monkey ears, also from his grandmother, and he's not self-conscious yet, and he's so funny and full of life. Our faces are frozen, but we're not even thinking of going home yet, even though I can't feel my feet.

  We go around the pond a few more times playing crack the whip, I whip him forward then once I catch him he has to crack the whip and give me a head start. But he catches me eventually then I crack him again.

  We have forward races and backward races, we work on our twirls. I've fallen on my butt a couple of times, once I saw stars, but after four hours I make the adult decision that the sun is getting ready to drop, and we need to call it a day or a night.

  We ride home with not much to say but a few smiles now and then. The heater is blasting and the radio. We get hot chocolate at a drive through because I don't even want to try and walk on these dead feet of mine. He tells me when he grows up he's going to be sheriff. Fancy that. I tell him he'll be a fantastic one, third generation and all. His dad has already taken him to the range, not the official one, but the one on Billy's property. Well, of course, he has. I was his age Artie took me. With guns in the house, I had to learn a healthy respect. The sooner, the better. He's learned the same.

  The last couple of miles he is anxious
to be home. He visits Artie, does things for him. Artie says he'll make it with a partner like Juney. Best deputy he ever had bar none and Juney likes to tell his dad that. Marcus rolls his eyes.

  By New Year's Day, it has been officially decided that Artie will take an early retirement due to his injuries. He is healing well, but retiring was always the plan. Folks want Marcus to run in the spring. He is unopposed.

  Marcus likes being sheriff more than he ever imagined he would. It's a lot of desk time, but in our small county, it's also a fair amount of travel and variety. The money is better than what he was making as a deputy. The hours can suck. But something has changed, he tells me. He has a renewed interest in the work and where he is.

  Of course, he does.

  He already knows I support him. I know that job. If that's what he wants, that's what I want too. And Juney is over the moon.

  As it turns out, I'm the one who seems to enjoy being a part of bringing Billy's back to glory. Months of unofficial planning have gone on while I was in Chicago. Now things are being set in motion for real and finalized. So when not goofing off with Juney I've spent the sketchy holiday week meeting over at Dad's with architects and carpenters, a kitchen designer and listening to the results of his search for new and used kitchen equipment.

  One evening as we’re laying in bed, Marcus asks if I'm happy.

  "I am!" I say with conviction. "Dad's the new Billy, and you're the new Artie."

  He groans when I say that.

  "Guess I'll get going on the seventies push-broom," he says making fun of Dad's mustache. "Anyway," he concludes, "I want a shot at the four years."

  "Well, four guaranteed years of seeing you in that new black uniform…I'm all in."

  He loves that, but I'm telling the truth. He looked good in khaki, but the new black shirt and pants…ei-yi-yi.

  My appreciation earns me a back rub.

  While he rubs he expresses his frustrations concerning the monster Artie has created in the department by catering to too many old cronies, his lack of appreciation for technology and his lack of interest in utilizing the budget to upgrade the department.

  “Not so…,” I say, and he apologizes and eases up right away.

  But I figure if he wants to talk, I'll address the elephant in the room.

  I say, "You going to tell me why you and Don got into it last night?"

  Just the previous evening, New Year's Eve to be exact, at his parent's home and during their party, Marcus had a fight with Don. We'd gone to bed without discussing this.

  Juney had asked why we were leaving when we'd planned to spend the night, and Marcus had shut down discussion saying, "Because I said so."

  Now he says, "There's a difference between a fight and an intense discussion, Bedilia. What you heard was an intense discussion."

  "Don't use the Juney voice on me," I say, and his stroking hand falters just a little. "You don't have to tell me what I heard last night. I've got ears, and a brain and I know a fight when I hear one. Sheriff's daughter here." The side of my face rests on my folded arms.

  His hand stops and he rolls onto his back. I immediately get on top of him, straddle him and hold his wrists. "No blowing me off," I say.

  His face is kind of pouty, bu that was a fight he had with his dad, an embarrassing screaming match.

  Our plan last night had been to sneak into his old room at Elaine's and make out at midnight. For old times sake.

  Well, turns out the bed was full of coats, and I was standing, he was practically on his knees. I just wasn't comfortable. I thought I heard something. I was afraid Juney had followed us or something, but Juney was playing like a maniac in the basement with the rest of the sweaty brats who weren't being watched closely enough even though Elaine had hired a teenager to oversee things.

  And it struck midnight, and we kissed then, and we heard someone on the landing.

  Marcus said it was Don. I said, how do you know? And he said trust me.

  Don had an office up there, couple doors down and Marcus told me to chill out he'd never look in this room, so I spied through a crack in the door like a guilty teenager and just like Marcus said, Don went into his office.

  Marcus held his hand toward me and said, "C'mere."

  He'd had a couple of drinks, and he wasn't drunk, but a little loose for sure. We made out there in the dark for a while. He asked if I was having a good time, if I was happy, and I said yes and yes. I told him Elaine was great, and he agreed. Then I said we should go back down before we were missed. He got his clothes presentable, and next I knew he was telling me to wait for a minute he needed to speak with his dad.

  So I used the bathroom off his room to fix up, and when I came out I could hear an intense voice, and in the hall, I heard it more clearly. Marcus.

  I stopped next to the office door, and Marcus was saying, "Our definitions of success have never been the same," and that got my attention.

  There was the word 'underachieving,' thrown around. Don was of the opinion Marcus could do more, and Marcus was of the opinion that Don didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

  And oh man, "I'm not your son," came out. That was a low blow. And, "Don't tell me how to take care of my family." And a variation on that, "You're a great one to tell me how to take care of my family."

  Wow.

  Intense discussion? I could smell the smoke on Marcus when he came barreling out of Don's office. He was shocked to see me standing there, but he put his arm around me and swept me downstairs.

  "Are you alright?" I asked him.

  "Great," he said. "I'm great." He gave me a quick kiss. That's when he told me to get our coats he was going to find Juney.

  But we were supposed to spend the night, I said, but he just repeated, get our coats.

  So now it's New Year's Day, the next morning, and he has to go in at four, and it's around ten, and we're still in bed. We know Juney is up and playing the X-Box, probably hoping we don't show so he can have more unclocked screen time, but we're clocking him anyway.

  So now he's holding me beside him, and we're staring at the ceiling, and he is rubbing the backs of his fingers against my cheek, and I don't even think he's aware.

  "Hey," I say, looking at him. "Happy New Year."

  He plays with a strand of my hair.

  "Are you happy?" I ask him since he's asked me twice now.

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  I can't answer that. "You tell me."

  "Bedilia," we adjust some so we're facing one another under the sheet. "You on the Don thing again? That's how it is with him and me. That's how it is."

  "Why?" I can't imagine being so at odds with your dad. Living with it that way.

  "I'm very different from him."

  "But you said things…."

  "I've said before."

  "You sounded so angry at him."

  "I'm not. I don't think about him."

  That doesn't feel genuine. I know what I heard.

  "It must be tough for Elaine," I say, and he turns away from me again, onto his back.

  "Why?"

  "Really?" Now I'm up on my elbow. "If you guys don't get along…."

  "We get along."

  "Really?"

  "Bedilia we just had some words."

  I slowly lay back down. Our clock is making a humming noise. Our clean air machine is pretty loud, and Marcus's fan. It's like an airport in here. Marcus says we can make more noise this way. He means I can make more noise.

  "I don't want you to worry about it," he says.

  "Elaine and Don…I'm trying to figure it out, you know? What's going on?"

  "Nothing. He's an arrogant…. He doesn't respect any profession but the one he's in."

  "Is that why you're so angry?"

  "I don't want to…turn you against him."

  "Tell me, Marcus."

  I wait. He sighs. "When I was in high school…I figured some stuff out. I confronted him, and he was…livid. Threw it all in my face…what he'd
done for Mom and me and if I told her she'd be hurt. He promised to end it…his extracurriculars, but he didn't.

  "So one night I followed him, waited for him to come out of the motel. I confronted him in front of the woman, and it got physical. It was bad. The manager called the cops. Don talked them out of arresting us.

  "He made more promises. That he never kept. I played a lot of sports in school, and grades were good. But I got into trouble…a fight…and Mom and Don were called in. He went ballistic. The first time I screw up, you know? We got into it at home. After that, I finally talked to Mom, but she defended him. She um…didn't want to hear what I had to say.

  "Once he saw she was going to 'stand by her man' he laid the law down. I went off to college and under-achieved my way through. Cemented my reputation with Don. I had a partial scholarship for basketball but I lost it in my sophomore year, and Don had to pay. By senior year, I was digging my way out. I graduated pretty well considering and things were better.

  "So law school was my big turn-around. I guess somewhere in there Mom had enough, and he supposedly saw the light and changed. Part of his change was getting me on the one, and only career path and part of my turnaround was letting him.

  "But I met Angela. She was spiraling down, and I was the white knight, trying to straighten her out. When she got pregnant, it was inconceivable that I wouldn't marry the mother of my child. To me, not to him. He was so pissed. During school, I interned at the firm where he's a partner so he felt a right to be balls deep in my business.

  But working there, I got to see him for who he is. I didn't want to be around him. I also had my ever-increasing problems with Angela. He was a judgmental asshole, and I was an easy target.

  "I met Artie during my internship, and he was a lot of help…everything Don wasn't. I saw the difference, believe me. I didn't take the bar I went to the academy."

  We're silent for a minute.

  "Marcus…does Don have a problem with our marriage?"

  "He has a problem with me, Bedilia. Everything I do. Not with you." He kisses my temple. "How could anyone have a problem with you?"

  Love is blind. "When I came home…you were going to study and take the bar."