He walked around the neighborhood three times, trying to find Lewis. The streets were all quiet and when he called Lewis’s name, it felt like it was echoing back to him. Where the hell was everyone? Weren’t the suburbs supposed to be filled with people? When he got back to Ava’s house, he rang the bell, just in case Lewis had come back or Ava was there. No one answered. His head throbbed. He wanted another beer. He searched his pockets for a scrap of paper, for a pen, so he could write a note. But what would he say? Sorry? Call me? He didn’t have any paper. He had no pen. And the only place anyone could call him was in Cleveland, and by then it would be too late. He looked down the street one last time, but it was empty. He couldn’t go to a house and ring the bell and ask for a pen, could he? He tried to remember where Ava had said she worked, but had she ever told him? His mind stretched out, blank as a sheet.
He put his hand against the wood of the door. Then he turned and went back to his car and got in it. He rested his head on the steering wheel, trying to think what to do.
His son had bitten him and run. When Ava found out, she’d be furious with him. Any possibility of tender feelings would be ground into glass. He thought of all the things he should have done. He should have called first, set up a time to see them. What did he think, a surprise was a good idea? Who was he kidding? He had fucked it up all over again.
It took him hours to drive home and the whole time he couldn’t stop thinking about Lewis running away from him. He reached back around and grabbed up a bottle of beer and slugged it down, and then, because he still felt like crap, he had another. He had to keep stopping himself from turning around and going back, from finding a pay phone and calling until he got someone so he could explain. He kept replaying it all in his mind. The way Lewis had bolted and struggled against him. That wasn’t forgiveness. That was not wanting to have anything to do with you. He ran one hand over his eyes.
What did it matter? What would have happened anyway if Lewis had gone with him? He would have taken his son out for a treat and maybe they would have had a good time. But then what? He’d return him to Ava, where he belonged. Ava would make small talk with him, but he knew suddenly how much of a fool he had been. Ava never called him to talk. She hadn’t asked him to come back, not once. Not ever. She didn’t miss him. And even if she and Lewis were willing to pack up and move with him, did he even want that? Would he return to Massachusetts, where he had been a failure? How long could he keep beating himself up for mistakes he had made? “When you keep hitting something and nothing changes, then maybe it’s time to get rid of the whip,” he had read once. Brian hadn’t known what it meant until now.
He reached for another beer, and then a car zoomed into his line of vision, the horn blaring, driving him off the road. He wrenched the wheel, pumping the brakes frantically. The car slammed up on the shoulder and onto the grass, banging into a tree so hard, his neck whiplashed. But the car had stopped and he was unhurt.
Brian knew people sometimes could pinpoint the moment when their lives changed for the better, and that day, when he was drunk, by the side of the road, surprised to find himself alive, was Brian’s. He managed to get the car back on the road and stopped at the first diner he saw. His hands were shaking so badly, he spilled black coffee all over the counter. “Never mind, honey,” the waitress said, mopping it up for him, and she was so kind, so concerned, that he wanted to cry. He got a hotel room and slept it off. When he returned to Cleveland, he found an AA meeting. To his surprise, he actually liked AA. He had never really been religious, but he found he liked when everyone talked about surrendering to a higher power outside of yourself. You could find support, acceptance, and help. Even though he had been a drunk and a cheater who had left his wife and son, even though he’d had a father who had dismissed him, God understood and offered second chances and all he had to do was ask for them. It was a remarkable comfort.
Gradually, Brian stopped drinking. He had chips for three weeks of sobriety and then two months and then six. He displayed them on his dresser so it was the first thing he saw every morning. AA told him to surround himself only with people who supported him and when Becky made a crack about all his sobriety chips junking up the decor, he broke up with her. “Fine,” she said. “Who cares? I was about to do it myself.” When he stopped seeing Becky, things got a little less friendly at the paper company, but it didn’t matter because he had decided he was getting out, going back to what he loved to do. He got a lead through one of the guys at AA and began managing a new car lot, and the first week he was on the job, Glory walked in, a tall gorgeous blonde, and his life changed again.
It wasn’t that he didn’t miss drinking—he did, sometimes so much he could taste it at the back of his throat. But he liked being able to master that need and walk away from the one thing he wanted the most, the same way he’d had to do with his family. And every time he turned away from drinking, there was someone to cheer him on. When it was his turn to stand up at AA meetings, he talked about everything except his ex-wife and son. You were supposed to make amends to the people you had hurt, to ask forgiveness, and Brian did, every night, in his mind. The only reason he didn’t call or go back to Waltham again was because he needed to keep feeling that he had turned his life around, that he was a good man. Ava and Lewis were reminders that that hadn’t always been true.
WHEN BRIAN FINISHED speaking, Lewis felt as if the world had unraveled. He stared at his father. “Lewis,” Brian said. He unlinked his hands, opening them as if he were praying. “I’m so sorry. For everything, son. Can you forgive me?”
“You came to see me?” Lewis said. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as if it were made of fabric. He thought of all the times he had jumped when the phone rang, sure it was his dad. He remembered the many weekends he had sat out on his front porch, watching the cars, imagining that one of them might be driven by his father coming to see him. “You wanted us to be a family again?”
“I did. Don’t you remember?”
“When was this? When did it happen? Why didn’t you call first?”
“I told you, I didn’t think your mother would allow it—”
“Don’t blame her.”
“Well, she must have told you all sorts of horrible things about me, considering how you ran away from me. Maybe I deserved that, the way you ran. I wasn’t such a great father, I know that. And then I didn’t call. I didn’t visit. I screwed everything up so royally and I don’t know why, but can’t people change? Didn’t I deserve a chance from you?”
“I don’t remember any of this.”
“Well, it was a long time ago.”
“I wouldn’t have forgotten. How old was I?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been living here ten years. It was probably ten years ago. Spring. It was a nice day.”
“Oh, my God,” said Rose quietly, sitting up straighter. “It was spring?” she asked.
“Sure, it was spring, but really hot out.”
“Was it April?” Rose said.
“Yeah, probably. That sounds about right.”
Lewis looked at Rose, but she was leaning toward Brian now, staring at him.
Brian went on. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why’d you run away? Why’d you bite me? Did you really hate me that much?”
Lewis’s head was spinning. “I never would have bitten you. I really don’t remember any of this.”
“Don’t give me that. You came out of the house. I remember you had on this red shirt, these plaid shorts. These sneakers that looked like you wrote all over them. Bet your mother loved that.”
Rose started to cry, little chuffing noises. She dipped her head toward her lap, but her hands stayed tightly folded. Brian reached for her gently. “What? Are you okay?” He tried to put one hand on her shoulder, but she moved away from him. “You need a tissue? Glory—” Glory got up and came back with a box and handed it to Rose. She patted Rose on the shoulder.
There was a metallic taste in Lewis’s mouth,
like he had bitten down on tin. The sneakers. He remembered the sneakers. He could smell the Magic Marker.
“It wasn’t me,” Lewis said.
“What are you talking about?” Brian said. “What wasn’t you?”
“You ran after Jimmy,” Lewis said. “My best friend. He was always at our house.”
“Who?”
“Jimmy. Jimmy Rearson, my brother,” Rose said. She brushed at her tears and then took another tissue from the box. “He vanished that day.”
“What are you kids saying to me? You think I wouldn’t know my own son? Don’t give me that.” He moved closer to Glory on the couch.
“My brother had those sneakers,” Rose said. “With words he wrote all over them. My mother kept throwing them out, but he would dig them out of the trash and write on them some more.”
“Anyone could have those—”
“I didn’t,” Lewis said. “No one else did, either.”
Rose took another tissue, balling it in her hands.
“They found him?” Brian said.
Tears began sliding across Rose’s cheeks, but she didn’t move to stop them.
“His remains. They found them recently in a neighbor’s abandoned bomb shelter,” Lewis said quietly.
“A what? Jesus,” Brian said. “But how can you think this has something to do with me?”
“You chased him.”
“Because I thought he was you! Why didn’t he tell me who he was, then? Why didn’t he say his name or tell me he didn’t know who I was?”
“Because he was scared! Because a strange man was yelling at him and running after him!”
Brian sat back. He took Glory’s hand and Lewis saw how tightly he clutched her fingers. “Who knows who else was out there that day,” Brian said sharply. “One moment I saw him and then I didn’t. I’m telling you I didn’t do a thing. There’s no proof of anything. Don’t make me feel wrong when I was trying to do something right, and I was trying to do it for you.” He leaned forward and downed the rest of his drink. “I was being a good father. I was coming for you.”
I was coming for you.
Lewis thought of Jimmy running, how scared he must have felt. Lewis remembered talking to Jimmy about Brian. Lewis made up stories about what kind of person his father was, what he looked like. He had been too ashamed to tell the truth, that he didn’t know anything anymore about his father, that no matter how many letters he wrote, how many stars he wished upon, his father was gone, and his memories of his dad had grown fuzzy and thin.
Lewis knew how hard he had tried to find his father. He remembered how he had found the letter from the lawyer saying his dad would no longer seek custody, how he had been so furious with his mother. “Did you want custody of me?” he asked, and his father lifted up his hands.
“But did you? Did you really want custody? It wasn’t just a threat? Why did you give up?”
“I drove all the way out to see you, didn’t I?” he said.
“Who can remember anything exactly?” Glory said. She looked from Brian to Lewis and Rose and then back to Brian again. “This is a terrible tragedy.”
His father didn’t need to answer. Lewis understood now. Brian said he had come by that day to make amends, but he hadn’t stuck around. There had just been that one moment and then things had gone wrong for him, and he had gotten into the car again and never looked back.
His father hadn’t changed. He had never taken responsibility for Lewis. And he’d never take responsibility for anything that had to do with Jimmy, either. He just wanted to look good.
Brian looked up at Lewis and held out one hand. “Hey, come on, now,” he said. He glanced at Rose. “I’m so sorry about your brother, but why don’t we just talk about something else now?”
Lewis stood, helping Rose up. “We have to go,” Lewis said.
“What, you’re kidding? It’s not that late. You really have to go?” Brian stood up, along with Glory, who put one hand on his shoulder. “What kind of a visit is this? You’re here and then you go? Please. I don’t get to see my son every day.”
“It’s late,” Lewis said.
“You’re welcome to stay over,” Brian said. “We have a guest room.” As soon as his father said that, Lewis wondered what guests Brian ever had. Did Brian ever expect that that room might be for Lewis?
Rose was looking at him, waiting. “No, it’s okay,” Lewis said. “But thank you.”
Glory insisted on giving them a red plaid thermos of coffee for the road. At the door, Brian stared at Lewis, as if he were memorizing him. “What?” Lewis said, and Brian shook his head. “We finally see each other,” Brian said. “Imagine that. After all this time.” He turned to the table and scraped open a drawer, taking out a small white card and handing it to Lewis. LARK MOTORS, the card said. WE SATISFY YOUR DRIVING AMBITIONS!
“My address and phone are on the back. Call me, please, or write. Next time you’re in town, you’ll stay longer,” he said. “We’ll plan it out and I’ll show you the town. We can sit and really talk, finally get to know one another.” Then he waited, and Lewis knew he was supposed to write down his own phone number, his own address for the tiny little efficiency he kept in Madison, but he couldn’t imagine making his fingers work. The world seemed to have shifted upside down and here he was hanging on to its edges. His father was looking at him, so he scribbled down a made-up address and phone number and handed it to him. Then he folded the paper his father gave him and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said.
“Everything’s all right then, isn’t it?” his father said. He looked at Rose. “I’m so sorry about your brother,” Brian said, again. Rose stepped silently back from him. Brian reached to hug Lewis, and Lewis instinctively stiffened. His father held him so close, Lewis could see the pomade in his hair, something no one really used anymore, and when Lewis looked up, Glory was standing there, beaming as if something wonderful had just happened.
“Don’t forget your old dad,” Brian said, a catch in his voice. “No matter what, we’re still family here.”
His father and Glory stood in the middle of the driveway when Lewis and Rose pulled away in the car. His father waved, his mouth half-open, as if, any moment, he would say something important to Lewis. Lewis watched him from the rearview mirror, his father growing smaller and smaller, and then he saw Glory rest her head on Brian’s shoulder. He saw Glory trying to pull Brian back inside the house, but Brian wouldn’t move. It was as if Brian couldn’t believe that this time Lewis was the one leaving.
Chapter Twenty-one
Lewis pulled the car onto the main road, his head swimming. He thought of his mother, arguing with him about his father, and how he had refused to listen. He hadn’t wanted to believe her. He rolled down his window and tossed his father’s card out, watching the wind whip it out onto the road. Then he reached over for the thermos and he flung it out of the car as hard as he could, so it smashed. He felt Rose flinch in the seat beside him. He rolled the windows up again, breathing hard.
“Well,” Rose said quietly. “Now you know your father.”
He and Rose didn’t speak the whole way back to the motel. They rode the elevator up to their room with the two twin beds and the green-printed bedspreads, the photo of the geese staring at them. Lewis sank down on one of the beds.
“I never want to see him again,” Lewis said.
Rose sat on the bed opposite him, her hands in her lap. She couldn’t meet his eyes and she was silent. “Rose,” he said. He moved to sit beside her, but she leaned forward and then she kissed him hard on the mouth, moving closer to him, as if she wanted to put her whole self inside of him. He knew what this was, and it wasn’t love or need or desire. It was panic sex, when you needed something—anything—to take you away. You didn’t even have to like the person you were fucking, but that person was alive, there was a pulse beating up against yours and making you remember you were alive, too. Rose unbuttoned his shirt and he felt his own breathing quicken, and he sh
ut his eyes, and when she kissed his neck, he began to tug away her clothing. He kissed her hair. He kissed the base of her throat, the creamy pearl of her shoulders, and then they were on the hotel bed, naked. “Open your eyes,” he whispered, but she kept them closed.
It felt different making love to her now. His body felt on alert, with all his senses so switched on, he wouldn’t have been surprised if her eyes or her hair changed color, if he suddenly noticed her skin was blue. His mouth was breathing against hers, and when he finally entered her, he felt a shock of recognition, as if he had been waiting for this all along and just now realized it. “Rose,” he said, and then she opened her eyes and looked at him, but her eyes were wet, and all he could think was, Come back. Please, come back.
“ARE WE ALL right?” he said. “Rose, are we all right?” He tried to keep awake, to keep watching her, but she was curled into a comma. He wrapped himself like a blanket around her. He took her hand in his, her fingers limp with sleep, and he held on fast.
SHORTLY BEFORE MORNING, Rose dreamed Jimmy was a kid and she was an adult. She was in their old house, watching him through her bedroom window, as if he were on a TV screen. He was walking lazily outside in the neighborhood, which was empty and silent, until Brian Lark appeared. She tried to open the windows, but they were bolted shut. She banged her hands on the glass, shrieking his name, but Jimmy couldn’t see or hear her. She ran to her front door and sped out into the street and Jimmy flashed past her, running and terrified. She heard footsteps thundering in the distance and saw Brian. Then Jimmy ran across the street into Mr. Gallagher’s yard. She heard his sneakers stamping on the ground, his heart beating so loudly she wanted to clap her hands to her ears. She saw him crouch and tug open the door. “That’s no place to hide!” she screamed. “Keep going, run!” she shrieked. “Keep running!”
Is This Tomorrow Page 33
