Together

by Julie Cohen

  ‘Don’t take it out on Adam. All he wants to do is be your brother.’

  ‘He isn’t my brother. Because you’re not my father.’ William slammed the cabinet door shut. ‘I don’t want your fucking charity. All I want is a fucking drink. Give me some money.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You owe me it.’

  ‘Not for this.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking sanctimonious bastard. Get the stick out of your ass and loosen up, will you? Give me money for some goddamn beer, I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Too bad. Because you’re just like me.’

  William grabbed his cigarettes off the table and stormed out of the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Adam was little, Emily could rarely take the day off work when he was sick. Even if she could reshuffle her appointments, women didn’t choose when they had babies, and it was almost impossible in a small hospital to find someone to cover. Robbie mostly did sick-day duty.

  But sometimes she was able to manage it. On those days she would open tins of Campbell’s Chicken and Stars soup, and make sandwiches of Saltines and butter. She would make a nest of blankets and pillows on the sofa in the living room and she would put on Scooby Doo or Muppets videos and they would curl up together all day, ignoring the yellow bus trundling by on the way to school in the morning and on its way back in the afternoon. Robbie would find them there when he came home from work and he would climb in with them. ‘Are you so sick that you can’t be tickled?’ he would ask Adam, gravely, and the answer was always a shriek which meant ‘no’.

  This time Robbie carried the television up the stairs to put in Adam’s room, just for the day. Adam had blue shadows under his eyes and he was penitent.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mom and Dad,’ he kept on saying. ‘It was my own fault. Don’t blame William. It was me.’

  Robbie had his own opinion about that, and Emily did too, which was not exactly the same as Robbie’s. When she’d come home with Adam late yesterday afternoon and settled him into his room, she’d found Robbie in his workshop out in the garage, and William on the porch, smoking cigarette after cigarette and tossing the butts outside on to the snow. She’d introduced herself to William. He’d hardly said anything, but she was still shocked at his physical resemblance to the Robbie she’d met in 1962. His denim jacket was even battered in the same places. But although William was even younger than Robbie had been then – just into his twenties, hardly more than a child, really – he had an anger worn into his face that she’d never seen in Robbie in all the time she’d known him.

  She wondered why he didn’t leave. In hushed tones, in the hospital café, Robbie had had told her about their argument. But she didn’t ask William about it; instead she offered him coffee and a sandwich and when he refused, she told him to help himself to anything in the kitchen, and if he didn’t mind excusing her, she’d go straight to bed because she hadn’t slept very well in the armchair in Adam’s room last night.

  He’d grunted and lit another cigarette.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ said Robbie when he came up to bed. She knew he hadn’t meant to wake her up but she had spent too many nights without him and as soon as he crept into their bedroom she woke up and put her hand on his side of the bed, the cool side, and waited for him to join her.

  ‘Adam’s old enough to make his own decisions about what he does,’ she said. ‘And William’s old enough to know better.’

  ‘I told him that he should have known better. I got angry with him. But it’s still my fault.’

  ‘Like it’s my fault that my mother died, and my father won’t talk to me, and my sister hates me?’

  ‘None of that is your fault.’

  ‘And since when did we have double standards in our relationship?’

  ‘It’s different.’

  ‘It’s not different at all. If we think about it too much we’ll go mad, Robbie.’

  He moved over to her side of the bed and took her in his arms. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’

  ‘I’ll never go away again. Not without you.’

  This morning, Adam was too old for Scooby Doo but they watched stupid game shows together. He was propped up on pillows in his single bed and Emily curled up at the end under his quilt. She made microwave popcorn.

  ‘This afternoon you can go down to the yard and help your father,’ she said. ‘You might not be able to do much but the fresh air will do you good.’

  ‘All right.’ It was clear that Adam didn’t fancy it much, but he wasn’t going to argue with whatever she suggested for penitence.

  ‘We have a lot to talk about. But let’s leave it for another time.’

  ‘I missed you, Mom. Was it good to see your family?’

  ‘It . . . was good, in a way. I’ll tell you about it later.’ She reached over and ruffled his hair. ‘My sweet boy.’

  ‘Don’t blame William,’ he said for at least the dozenth time. ‘Dad does, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Dad and William will sort it out.’ She wasn’t as sure as she sounded. She kissed him on the forehead and went downstairs.

  It wasn’t so cold today; the snow was melting off the roof of the house and dripping down the eaves. William was sitting outside on the front porch steps smoking. She had no idea where he got all of the cigarettes; maybe Adam had given him enough money for a carton, or maybe he had a stash in his truck. She sat down beside him on the step, in a place where she wouldn’t be caught by the drips.

  ‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ she said, though she wasn’t entirely certain that she was. Robbie was tense and had barely said anything at breakfast, and William had done little more than glower over his coffee.

  ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

  ‘Robbie told me you’d lost your apartment,’ she said. ‘And I know he’s angry at you right now for what happened with you and Adam, but he meant what he said about you staying here as long as you like.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I mean my truck is running on fumes and I can’t afford to fill it up.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I don’t much feel like driving. How about after lunch you give Adam a ride to the boatyard and we can fill up your truck on the way?’

  ‘Surprised you trust me.’

  ‘Trust has to start somewhere.’

  ‘Your husband doesn’t seem to think so. He won’t even lend me ten bucks.’

  ‘My husband – your father – doesn’t want to give you money to drink. And that’s nothing to do with trust, and everything to do with experience.’

  ‘Because I fucked up with Adam.’

  ‘Because Robbie used to be a drinker and he understands the mentality. And his father used to be a drinker, too. His father didn’t stop. Robbie says it runs in the family.’ She grimaced. ‘I don’t blame him for not wanting to finance your drinking. I want better for you than that.’

  ‘Why should you care?’

  ‘I’d want better than that for anyone. But I care about you in particular because Robbie loves you.’

  ‘Like fuck he does.’

  She sighed. ‘Do you want to give Adam a lift, and fill up your truck? Because I was lying; I really don’t mind driving at all, if you’d rather stay here and sulk.’

  He grunted. She stood and turned to go back into the house, but then she glanced back at him. She remembered Robbie all those years ago, standing near a palm tree on South Beach next to his bicycle, smoking a cigarette and waiting for her as if everything depended on it, because it did. Robbie, more muted and silent than she had known him before, holding within him a silent world of pain.

  ‘I’m going to tell you something,’ she said, ‘because Robbie never will, not if he’s angry. Every month since you were born he’s put money aside for you in an account. He didn’
t stop doing it when he left; he’s put in part of his pay check, or his profit, every single month. He does exactly the same thing, the same amount, for Adam.’

  ‘Fat lot of good it’s done me. I’ve never seen a penny of it.’

  ‘I know. We get the statements. But your mother knows about the account, William. Robbie opened it when he was still with her, and he’s had a duplicate statement sent to your grandparents’ address, or at least the address he knew of.’

  William sucked on his cigarette. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘He does it so that you can have a down payment on a house, or a car, or to start up your business, or to go to college. Something to help you make your life better. So when you’re ready to do any of those things, it’s there for you.’ She opened the screen door, and paused again. ‘He thinks about you every day. He doesn’t talk about you every day, but sometimes we don’t talk about the most important things to us. Sometimes we can’t.’

  She left him there, smoking, on their doorstep, surrounded by melting snow.

  Adam usually bounded down the stairs two or three at a time. He came down slowly, and at the bottom he looked at Emily from under his gold-blond fringe, in the way he’d been doing since he was a toddler and was in trouble for breaking a rule.

  He was fine, thank God. There was no damage done, and no one had reported him to the police for underage drinking – nor William for supplying alcohol to a minor. Adam had a two-day hangover and he was a little pale, but he’d be all right. It was going to take Emily longer to get over the fear she’d felt in the ambulance, holding his hand.

  ‘Ready to go?’ she said, reaching for her car keys in the bowl. The front door opened and William came in.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ he said. ‘Hey, Adam.’

  The two hadn’t seen each other since Adam had left in the back of an ambulance. Adam’s pale face flushed. ‘Hey, William,’ he said. He didn’t quite seem able to look at his brother.

  ‘How you doing?’ William asked.

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘I’m sorry, man.’

  ‘No, I was a lightweight.’ Adam glanced at his mother and blushed a little more.

  ‘No, I was a dick.’ William put out his hand and Adam shook it. The two of them smiled at each other.

  Emily swallowed, hard. She put her car keys back in the bowl. ‘Well, let’s get going, then.’

  William’s truck was battered and the ashtray was full. An exhausted pine-tree air freshener hung from the rear-view mirror. Adam sat in the middle, his long legs crowding Emily’s, and Emily looked out the window while the two of them talked about soccer.

  She knew from experience that this was what healed; this was what made up real life. Not the moments of drama, but all the everyday, boring stuff. The time spent together.

  She thought about all the time she hadn’t spent with her mother and had to bite the inside of her lip.

  When they got to the gas station, she gave her credit card to Adam and he hopped out to swipe it and fill up the truck. The cab was quiet with just the two of them in it. She pressed her luck. ‘Robbie would love it if you gave him a hand at the boatyard, too. I can find something to do there if you want to stay with Adam.’

  William shook his head. Adam climbed back into the truck and Emily scooted to the middle seat, where she kept quiet while Adam started up the conversation he’d interrupted to pump petrol. Sitting next to William, even though she wasn’t touching him, she could feel his tension and how it relaxed when Adam spoke to him. She heard him laugh: he sounded just like Robbie.

  All that time never spent together. She thought of her mother’s coffin and Polly, in the graveyard, smoking cigarettes as if they gave her oxygen. As a little girl, Polly had been so eager to please. She had been like Adam, that way.

  Brandon’s Boatyard had a white wooden sign in front of it, with the name painted in grey-blue letters the same shade as the bay. Emily felt William looking at the new workshop, the dry-docked shrink-wrapped boats, the large hydraulic lift to take boats out of the water, like a giant’s doorway to the sea. He stopped the truck to let Adam out.

  ‘Wanna come and look around?’ said Adam before he opened the door. ‘Dad picked up a fourteen-foot sailing dinghy and he’s helping me. She needs a lot of work but she’s going to be mine when we’re finished. We’ll probably be done by the time I’m thirty. It seems like everything needs to be sanded a hundred times before Dad’s happy with it.’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘OK. See you later. Later, Mom.’

  ‘Don’t forget to drink water while you work,’ Emily told him. ‘Don’t let your father give you coffee. It’s dehydrating.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Back to school tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Adam kissed her on the cheek and then he was gone, loping around the puddles of melted snow to the workshop. William put the truck in gear and Emily slid over to the passenger seat. He turned the truck around.

  ‘What will you do?’ Emily asked him quietly.

  ‘I’ll pick up my stuff. I’ve got some friends in Portsmouth.’

  ‘You don’t have to go.’

  ‘I’ll send my address when I’ve got one so you can have those statements sent out.’

  ‘You’ll stay to say goodbye to Adam, though, won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t much like goodbyes.’

  He turned on the radio. Emily sighed and gazed out the window. It was beautiful in Maine when it snowed; everything white and fresh and new. But when the snow melted, it showed up the layers of dirt and sand underneath and made everything grey. The snowbanks lining the road were sad lumps of spatter. Maine didn’t have a proper spring; it went straight from winter to mud to summer. Sometimes she missed English spring days: bluebells and apple blossom and crocuses poking out their tender purple and white heads from the earth. The first daisies made into bracelets and necklaces and crowns.

  She’d just left an English spring, though, and been happy to be here instead.

  A woman walked along the side of the road in the dirt and muddy snow. She had slim shoulders, a cloud of curly dark hair. They passed her and Emily glimpsed a profile.

  ‘Polly?’ she said.

  ‘What?’ William was pulling a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt with one hand.

  ‘Stop the truck,’ she told him. ‘Stop.’

  He pulled over and Emily opened the door and got out. The woman was wearing winter boots and an oversized winter coat that flapped over her wrists. She had stopped walking. Her hair was the same colour and texture as Polly’s, her face was the same shape, but she wasn’t Polly. She looked familiar to Emily, somehow.

  There weren’t any houses around here, and no pavements to walk on: only a muddy, sandy verge by the side of the road. ‘Are you OK?’ Emily called to her.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ The woman wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat.

  Emily walked closer to her and she saw that she was crying. She also saw the baby, strapped underneath the oversized coat, wearing a yellow bobble hat and resting against its mother’s chest. At the sight she realised how she knew this woman: she wasn’t her sister, but her patient.

  ‘Sarah?’ she said.

  ‘Oh. Oh, Dr Brandon. Oh, hello, I didn’t know it was you.’ Sarah wiped her face more hurriedly. Her nose was red and chapped.

  ‘I didn’t know you lived in Clyde Bay.’

  ‘Yeah, just . . . on Eagle Point Road.’

  ‘That’s a couple of miles from here. Do you need a lift?’

  ‘No, I’m walking. It’s . . . it’s the only way that she sleeps.’

  Sarah’s eyes were rimmed with red. Her lips were cracked and her hands were unsteady.

  ‘She’s asleep now?’ asked Emily. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your baby’s name.’

  ‘Dolores. I c
all her Dottie.’

  The baby was snug under the coat, in its yellow knitted hat. Emily stood next to Sarah and looked down at the child. ‘That’s a pretty name.’

  ‘It was my mom’s.’

  ‘You’ve been walking to get her to sleep? All this way, by the side of the road?’

  ‘It’s OK. I do it all the time.’ Her voice cracked, and Emily put her hand on her shoulder. It was thin and bony beneath the stuffing of the coat. She tried to remember when she’d last seen Sarah. It was the day after she’d got the letter from her father, the day she’d decided to go to England immediately. Only a few days ago. Had Sarah looked this bad then, this worn out?

  How had Emily not noticed?

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘she’s asleep now. Let us give you a lift home.’

  Tears were leaking from Sarah’s eyes now. A drip clung to the end of her nose. She nodded and walked with Emily to the truck. The door was still open.

  ‘This is my stepson, William,’ Emily told her. ‘William, can you put out that cigarette, please? Sarah’s got a baby. We’re going to take them home.’

  William, evidently surprised, rolled down his window and dropped his cigarette out of it.

  ‘I don’t have a baby seat,’ said Sarah.

  ‘William will drive carefully.’ Emily got into the truck so she would sit in the middle and put out her hand to help Sarah climb up. William waited until they’d both buckled up before he put the truck into gear.

  Emily gave William directions to Eagle Point Road, all the time going through Sarah’s records in her mind. First baby; single mother; father out of the picture; she’d said her mother had died. She was twenty-one. She’d needed several stitches. She’d said that Dottie cried a lot. Dottie had grizzled all through their appointment and Sarah had rocked her with an air of desperation.

  How hadn’t Emily noticed it? The computer system had been playing up, her mind had been on her father’s letter . . . but she should have noticed. She should have seen this young woman’s distress.

  The house was a small one, painted white, with a porch that sagged on one side. Pine trees bent over it from all sides. The drive hadn’t been shovelled since the last snowfall and the car was covered with melting lumps of snow. William pulled up.