The Beloved Son

by Jay Quinn

  As he brooded along with his father in silence, the awful reality of his mother’s condition pierced him. Karl had only been aware of his mother’s condition for twenty-four hours. He wondered how his father and Sven had been dealing with this knowledge for months. He felt a deepening sense of shame for not being the kind of son or brother that his family could easily have called and told what was going on. He wondered why they had waited so long to make him aware of the situation, and he wondered what, if anything, he could have done had he known sooner.

  At last Sven came into the room and stood opposite the table. Karl held up the valet ticket, and Sven nodded and checked his watch. “She’s better,” he said finally. “She’s about to drift off to sleep. Dad, you might want to go on in and sit with her so she doesn’t get scared.”

  Frank nodded miserably. “What am I supposed to say to her if she starts jabbering at me in Swedish?” he asked as he fished in his pocket for Sven’s forgotten car keys.

  Sven took his keys and said, “Just answer her calmly and gently in English. She calms down when you’re sweet to her, even if you speak English. When she’s like this, she usually responds to you no matter what. It’s you she loves and trusts, Dad, just remember that,” Sven told him gently.

  “Can I call you if she gets bad?” Frank asked worriedly.

  “Of course,” Sven said, “but I gave her enough medicine that she should be out the rest of the day. At nine o’clock, give her a Risperdal, a Trazodone, and a Zoloft,” Sven instructed him carefully. “Do you want me to write it down, or give you a call to remind you?”

  “Could you call to remind me, Son?” Frank asked humbly.

  Sven took two steps toward his father and patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Sure thing, Dad. Karl will help me remember. Right, Karl?”

  Karl nodded. In some ways, he was as shaken by the last thirty minutes as his father was.

  “Karl, we better get a move on,” Sven said gently. “You have to meet Caro and Melanie at the airport in just a little over an hour.”

  Karl noted that his father’s eyes had started to droop a little. The shots of scotch he’d thrown back were kicking in. “Will you be alright, Dad?” he asked uneasily.

  Frank nodded and stood up carefully. “I’m a little tired myself. I think I’ll just slip off my shoes and lie down with your mother for a little while. You boys go ahead and take off. We’ll be fine,” he said determinedly.

  “Okay, Dad,” Sven said as he stepped into the kitchen and switched on the fluorescent lights under the cabinets.

  “See ya,” Frank said as he shambled down the hall toward the master bedroom.

  Sven waited and watched until Frank had gone in before nudging Karl toward the front of the house. In the foyer, he turned on a small lamp, then stepped into the living room and did the same. As he joined Karl back m the foyer, he said softly, “It’ll be pitch-dark when he wakes up. I guess he got in the scotch?”

  “Yes,’’ Karl replied as he followed Sven out the front door. “He had a few shots.”

  “Best thing in the world for him,’’ Sven said as he headed down the steps, then he stopped dead in his tracks, and Karl found himself once more almost running into someone. “Shit,” Sven hissed, “we forgot your suitcase.”

  Karl groaned and rolled his eyes, remembering that he, Caro, and Melanie were to stay at Sven’s place for the rest of the visit.

  “C’mon,” Sven said, unlocking the front door and opening it for Karl. “Just make it quick.”

  Karl made his way to the guest room as quietly as he could and retrieved his carry-on bag. It rolled along the carpeted floor noiselessly. When he passed the master bedroom, he paused and looked in on his parents. His father lay on his side, his arm wrapped protectively across his mother’s waist. Both of them appeared deeply asleep. The sun lit their room with a hazy gold glow as it passed through the sheers at the window, bathing them in soft, warm light. After the chaos of the past couple of hours, everything appeared serene and calm. Satisfied that they were alright, Karl grasped the handle of his carry-on and walked through sudden tears toward the front door and his brother.

  That moment felt like the worst time to leave them, alone and helpless in the peaceful afternoon. Karl thought of his father waking with a slight headache in the dark, quiet house and making his solitary way into the kitchen, as Annike lay drugged and drowsy in the bedroom. Karl wondered how many of their days passed this way as he himself sat at his desk or made his way home in the Triangle’s traffic. Before he got to the end of the hallway, he wiped his eyes with the heel of his free hand, hoping his brother wouldn’t notice his guilty tears.

  In the foyer, he pulled his suitcase out the front door. Sven had already opened the back door of his SUV and was pulling a torn grocery bag from the passenger seat as Karl made his way down the walk. Before Sven crumpled the bag into a ball, Karl noticed it held the damp impression of his mother’s butt and thighs.

  “The seat’s dry,” Sven said. “Throw your bag in the back, and I’ll get rid of this and lock the front door.”

  “No problem,” Karl said. As he lifted the suitcase into the back of the Excursion, he saw Sven disappear into the house. Karl closed the back door and got into the SUV. Glancing toward the house, he ran his hand over the seat to make sure of Sven’s claim. The seat was dry, but as he settled into the Excursion he could smell the lingering scent of urine. The car had been locked up tight in the sunshine for too long.

  Fortunately, Sven reappeared at the front door, locked it, and bounded down the path to the Excursion. He opened his door and swung into the big vehicle easily. Without comment, he started the car and immediately rolled down all the windows with the control on his armrest, then turned on the air-conditioning.

  “Will they be alright?” Karl asked as Sven backed into the street.

  “They’ll be fine,” Sven answered confidently. “There’s some yogurt, cheese, and crackers if they get hungry later on. They don’t eat much dinner as a rule.”

  Karl nodded and watched as the streets began to slip by. Sven was quiet as well. For a while, they rode in silence before Karl gathered the courage to ask, “Do things like this happen often?”

  “No so much,” Sven told him. “But now I think it’s time to take Mom’s car keys away. Up until now, she’s never gotten disoriented so badly—at least not away from home. At least not that I know about,” he admitted warily.

  “You’d know if it happened, wouldn’t you?” Karl asked, hoping for reassurance.

  “Dad isn’t always honest with me,” Sven answered carefully. “He tends to cover for her, or underplay how bad it gets sometimes.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing they’re getting into Palladian Gardens sooner rather than later, then, right?”

  Sven laughed without cheer. “Well, it’ll be easier on me, that’s for sure.”

  “Just how often are you over here?” Karl asked him.

  Sven shrugged. “Every day for the past few months. It’s become routine. I’ve started bringing Gretchen to work with me so she won’t be locked in the house alone for so long.”

  “And Gretchen is… ?” Karl asked.

  “My dog,” Sven said.

  “Oh, yeah, Dad said something about you having a dog. When did that happen?”

  “About a year ago, a friend of mine and Rob’s had AIDS. When he went into a hospice before he died, I said we’d keep her. She’s sweet and good company.”

  “What kind of dog is she?” Karl pressed. He’d never thought of Sven as a pet person, as much as he traveled.

  “She’s a vizsla,” Sven responded happily. “Do you have any idea what one looks like?”

  “No,” Karl admitted honestly. He’d never been a pet person himself.

  “She’s a kind of hunting dog. Not as slender as a greyhound but definitely more elegant than a Lab,” Sven explained. “She has a short tail and hound-type ears, solid orangey-brown coat. She’s actually a very pretty dog,” he conclud
ed with a smile. “Mom loves her.”

  “And Dad doesn’t, I take it,” Karl replied.

  “Dad doesn’t get dogs,” Sven said and sighed. “For him it’s just an unwanted responsibility. He has no empathy to spare.”

  “I don’t know,” Karl replied defensively. “You should have heard him talking about his orange trees. He seemed really sad that their best years are over. He won’t let the landscaper take them out. He told me they were like old friends.”

  “He actually said that?” Sven seemed honestly surprised.

  “Yes,” Karl said emphatically. “We were out in the backyard yesterday, and he was talking about them. He also seemed to be particularly proud of his new tangerine bush—or tree, or whatever.”

  “Wow,” Sven said and shook his head. “He must finally be mellowing. He sure confides more in you than he does in me. I don’t get that side of him at all.”

  “He really doesn’t like you taking care of Mom, or him, does he?” Karl asked, curious as to how Sven would respond.

  “He does and he doesn’t. I’m just an easy whipping boy for his frustration about how bad things have gotten. But he’s never been particularly fond of me to begin with. I’m sort of the mistake that came along and fucked up his midlife plans,” Sven said and laughed.

  “You really think that?” Karl asked.

  “Oh, hell, yes. He thinks I’m a lightweight mama’s boy. He’s never missed an opportunity to let me know that,” Sven told his brother without any bitterness. “He loves Mom very much, and he doesn’t like me for taking her attention away from him. He’s always been like that.” Sven stole a glance at his brother. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

  “Well, I’ve never said anything, but I’ve suspected. Even when you were small, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about you,” Karl admitted gently. “Does it ever get to you?”

  “No,” Sven answered. “Why would I let it? Fuck him.”

  “You say that, yet you go out of your way to look after Mom and Dad both,” Karl noted.

  “Well, he’s my dad,” Sven countered. “You make do with the hand you’re dealt. No big deal.”

  “I know he’s always given you a hard time about the gay thing,” Karl admitted. “How do you deal with that?”

  Sven sighed. “I used to hate him for making me miserable about it, but then, one day, I just decided it was counterproductive and wasn’t making me any less miserable. I’m as stubborn as he is, so I figured the best way to make him miserable was to just be myself.” Sven snorted. “Rob thinks we’re all passive-aggressive as hell. He stopped taking Dad’s bullshit about two years ago and told him exactly what he thought of him. That was a Sunday dinner to remember.”

  “I bet,” Karl conceded. “What did Dad have to say to that?”

  “Not a lot,” Sven told him and laughed. “Dad’s a bully. He backed right down when Rob reared up on his hind legs and showed him his teeth.”

  “Good for Rob,” Karl said, and laughed as well.

  Sven cast him a long sideways look. “Rob doesn’t understand why I can’t just tell him to back the fuck off. He knows I have Mom to consider, but he still resents it.”

  “Exactly what does he resent?” Karl asked in earnest.

  “Rob has a very distant relationship with his parents and siblings. I’m his whole family, really.” Sven sighed. “All my looking after Mom and Dad takes its toll on our relationship. Rob would prefer I be all about him. In an odd way, it’s like I’ve married my father, the way they’re both so possessive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Karl told him. “I had no idea.” As Sven pushed the hair back out of his eyes, Karl caught the unmistakable flash of gray mixed in with the darker blond at his temples. “Is there any chance you and Rob will get all this straightened out, now that Mom and Dad are going to a place where you won’t have so much responsibility for them?”

  Sven smiled slightly and shrugged. “These things have a way of working themselves out. But the wrangling back and forth takes something special out of the relationship.”

  “But you still love Rob, don’t you?” Karl asked gently.

  “Yes,” Sven admitted easily. “But right now, I’m really tired of being the one responsible for making everything right for everybody, and trying to live up to everybody’s expectations. I have a business and a payroll to make, clients to keep happy, a partner with very grand ideas, and parents who are becoming more and more like children. I’m just really, really tired.”

  Karl noticed that the bluish circles under Sven’s eyes had grown darker since the day before. He did look tired, and there was a spark missing, a deadness in his eyes that Karl had never seen in his brother before. “You didn’t have to carry this all on your own, Sven,” Karl chided him gently. “Why didn’t you call sooner and let me know what was going on? Your life is really a pile of shit right now, I can see that.”

  “What could you have done, Karl?” Sven replied without rancor.

  “I don’t know,” Karl admitted. “I could have at least listened.”

  Sven turned to look at him, and Karl caught a glimpse of the loveliness that his mother possessed. Sven looked a lot like her. Both had an air of something that set them apart. It was a Nordic remoteness, a kind of self-possession. Though Karl also was self-possessed, he identified more strongly with his father. Karl had always somewhat casually lumped Sven in with his mother, and had given him the same sort of condescending affection he gave his mother. Karl realized it was an attitude people reserved for those blessed with good looks. It assumed they had no real depth or dimension beyond their surface attractiveness.

  Now, looking at Sven, Karl realized his own self-absorption and family preconceptions had been seriously eroded, and very suddenly. Karl had wept for his mother’s growing isolation, and her increasing inability to express her most basic needs in a way that could be understood. It struck him now that Sven was isolated in much the same way, though his mind was steady. Karl was newly aware of how far his own shortcomings had distanced him from his brother.

  “Here’s Publix,” Sven declared. “We need to get you on your way to the airport.” With that, he leaned across the center console and opened the glove box in front of Karl. Reaching inside, he picked out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to his brother. “Directions to my house,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be there waiting for you guys once you leave the airport, okay?”

  “Thanks,” Karl said as he unfolded the sheet and looked at the typed instructions on how to get from the airport to Sven’s home in Singer Island’s tiny town of Palm Beach Shores. Sven had obviously taken some care in preparing the directions for him. “Thanks for looking after me, too,” he added awkwardly.

  “Oh, you’re easy,” Sven said lightly as he pulled into a parking space and switched off the car.

  “You don’t need to go with me to the valet,” Karl told him.

  “No,” Sven said and smiled. “I need to go in and pick up some stuff for our dinner. Is there anything special you or Caro or Mel need while I’m here?”

  “No,” Karl started, then said, “Wait—Caro is craving chocolate these days. She says it’s a menopausal thing.”

  Sven laughed, and then unexpectedly reached across the console to grasp his brother’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said earnestly.

  “At long last,” Karl said guiltily. “I feel badly about not being more help.”

  “Don’t,” Sven said and squeezed his shoulder firmly. “Don’t beat yourself up that way. Everything’s going to be just fine, okay?”

  Karl nodded and smiled in reply, though he couldn’t help but feel that he’d found his family irrevocably broken, and that nothing was ever going to be quite fine ever again.

  9

  SVEN LEFT HIM as they reached the generous portico at the front of the grocery store, and Karl easily found the valet’s stand and prepared himself for an uncomfortable explanation of why he was claiming his mother’s car. But the
valet simply took his ticket, located Annike’s keys, and took off at a trot to retrieve the car. As he reached into his pocket for a small bill to tip the valet, Karl tried to remember exactly what his mother drove. In the past, she had always driven the best car of the two his parents owned, while his father satisfied himself with the older vehicle. These days, his father drove a newer Buick, of which he seemed inordinately proud, evidenced by his boasts about its economy and stylishness during their drive to Palladian Gardens.

  Karl watched as the valet finally backed out the champagne-colored Toyota Camry that Karl remembered his parents purchasing several years before. He had been surprised then that his father had bought a Japanese car, and had been amused when it had been replaced with a solid, American-made model. The valet pulled the Camry to the curb and accepted Karl’s tip with a pleasant thanks. Karl got in awkwardly and adjusted the seat to accommodate his much longer legs, which reminded him how much his parents appeared to have shrunk in height.

  Pondering this, Karl made his way out of the parking lot. He was relieved by the need to concentrate on where he was going. While the route was clear, the streetscape had changed so much that he had to read the street signs suspended over the intersections. Distances between once-familiar landmarks seemed to have either abruptly shortened or improbably lengthened in his mind during his fourteen-month absence from Boca Raton.

  The congested traffic on the way to I-95 distracted him from an unwelcome, jarring image that kept returning unbidden to his mind. Over and over again he recalled the fleeting glimpse he’d had of his mother as she rose from her bath earlier in the afternoon. The sight of her sagging breasts, thickened waist, and gray blur of pubic hair at once repulsed and fascinated him. It was something he wished he’d never seen. He recalled averting his eyes as quickly as he could, yet the sight was burned into his brain.

  Karl replaced that image with the sight of his father’s aged body swimming in the pool that morning. Like his mother’s thickened and humbled form, his father’s had been a curt reminder of Karl’s own aging. The inevitability of physical decline and aging were things he never gave much thought to. While he had never been vain, Karl was aware of his good looks and proud of keeping himself in shape even as he’d passed his fifty-second birthday. Caro’s menopause was a constant reminder that he and his wife both were headed for the bodies of his parents, but before the sights and events of that day, it had been an abstract reality.