Fatherless: A Novel (12 page)

“Good evening,
Congressman.” It was Franklin’s aide, the woman Kevin had intentionally avoided thinking about since their brief encounter
in the senator’s office. “I’m Kari Samson. Josh Franklin asked me to stop by with a confidential memo. Is this a good time?”

It wasn’t. With Angie away, he disliked the idea of an attractive woman entering the house. “Is it urgent?” he asked.

Of course it’s urgent!
Why else would the senator make her stop by my home on a Friday night?

 Kevin corrected himself. “Please, step in from the cold.”

She noticed Tommy’s forehead and eyes peering around the corner. “Hello there!”

Tommy fled the scene, eager to finish his ice cream before Dad’s “fifteen more minutes” extension expired.

“When the cat’s away?” she asked.

How would she know the cat’s away
? he wondered. “Cat?”

“I assume your wife is out of town,” Kari replied. “Little boys don’t usually have a chocolate ice cream-mustache this late
at night.”

A single, nervous chuckle confirmed her suspicion. “Oh, right. My wife went to dinner with a friend.” Kevin didn’t mention
Angie’s plans to stay at the hotel. “In fact, we were just talking.” It felt right mentioning the call. “I should call back.
Will this take long?”

Before he could finish the question Kevin noticed Kari removing her coat. She appeared to have come from some sort of party,
her short skirt and heels more suitable for after-hours flirting than congressional business. He took the jacket, walking
it to the living room, where he placed it on the recliner. He turned back and was surprised to see she had followed closely
behind. Kevin took a step backward.

She said nothing and handed Kevin a folder marked
CONFIDENTIAL
.

He broke the seal, curious to discover what was urgent enough to interrupt an aide’s weekend plans and so important it couldn’t
be sent digitally.

Key subcommittee
? Apparently someone was taking his ideas seriously enough to dislike them. He continued reading to the bottom of the page.

Who would talk
? Kevin wondered, consulting a mental checklist of the people on his subcommittee. None fit. But whoever it was knew enough
to leak the bright spots label.

He instinctively moved toward his desk to alert Troy to the development. Before he could take a step, however, he felt Kari’s
hand gently restrain his forearm. She took the page from his hand and turned it over to reveal a brief postscript.

Kevin looked up from the page. The woman stood a few inches closer, a single finger lingering on his arm.

The phone sounded a familiar ringtone.

Seconds later Kevin heard his son’s voice. “Hi, Mommy!”

Tommy walked into the living room toward Kevin, who was grateful for the interruption. As his son approached, Kevin heard
the faint echo of Angie’s interrogation. “Why are you still out of bed? What’s your daddy doing?”

Tommy replied before Kevin could grab the phone. “Daddy’s talking to a pretty lady.”

Three minutes later Kevin was explaining the situation to his wife on the other end of the line, describing Franklin’s note
after apologizing for Tommy’s broken curfew. He mentioned nothing about Kari’s appearance or advance, content to say one of
the senator’s staff had dropped off the urgent document on the way home from the office.

“She just left,” he said dismissively before quickly changing the subject. “So, how’s the reunion going?”

There was silence on the line, followed by the sound of futilely suppressed crying.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” He recognized the sound distressingly similar to that of the flood unleashed during their appointment
with the pediatrician. “Did something happen?”

The sound of a tissue muffling sniffles. “Not really.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

A brief pause. “Am I wasting my life?”

“What?” he said much more loudly than intended. “You can’t be serious. You have the most non-wasteful life of any person I
know!”

The last bit of Angie’s sniffle submitted to a rising laughter of relief. For reasons Kevin did not understand, she needed
his assurances every bit as much as he needed hers.

“Is this about Julia?” he asked.

“She seems so together. So successful and connected. Did you know she has nine million readers?”

“And you have a husband and three kids. I call that pretty successful!”

The doorbell rang. Kevin noticed Kari’s jacket still draped across the living room chair.

“Don’t hang up, Angie. I’ll be right back.” He wanted his wife on the line.
Take no chances
.

Placing the phone down on the end table, Kevin turned the handle to make a quick handoff. But Kari stood three feet away from
the door. As soon as she saw Kevin, she spun around in an unspoken invitation for him to place the coat over her shivering
shoulders.

He did.

“Thank you, Mr. Congressman,” she said, turning back with a wink. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else tonight?”

Kevin closed the door without a word, grabbed the phone, and peered out the front window to confirm Kari’s departure.

“I’m back,” he said, clutching the phone-shaped life preserver. “Where were we?”

“You were talking about my non-wasteful life.”

“Right,” he said with a sigh of relief.

Julia flipped
through a never-ending menu of options, hoping to find something that might distract her from feelings she was trying unsuccessfully
to ignore. Despite her having the entire history of film and television production available at the tap of a remote, nothing
held her attention. She muted the sound and kept the screen on for company. A jaded-looking professor appeared to be presenting
a drowsy lecture. He was speaking to an unseen universe of college students enduring a Who Cares 101 course from the comfort
of their living rooms or digital tablets. The icon on the bottom of the screen told Julia she had landed on IQTV, the network
of choice for trade school and junior college students on the bottom rung of the tuition budget ladder.

She feared she might be experiencing a mild panic attack. The trembling in her hands and pounding in her heart began the moment
she stepped off the elevator. Maybe she had too successfully contained her anger, forcing her body to express its rage by
other means. Or maybe she was just tired from a long day of travel. Regardless, Julia wanted to get her mind off two mutually
exclusive thoughts the past few hours had spawned.

1. Angie embodied everything Julia scorned. 
   
2. Angie had everything Julia wanted. 
   

Stupid insecurities
! she rebuked herself while tapping a digit on her phone.

“Hi, Sis.” Maria’s voice was missing its usual chirp, but still offered Julia a lifeline.

“Just checking in.” A lie. She needed someone to talk to. “You OK? You don’t sound yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Maria said. “Just another fight with Jared.”

“Anything to do with you dating Fin?”

“No. Well, not exactly.”

Julia waited, knowing more would come.

“I told him I don’t think I’ll be seeing Mr. Finelson socially again.”

Seeing him socially
? Julia admired the description of their one-night romp.

“Too young?”

“No!” Offense taken. “Well, sort of.”

Maria seemed more evasive than her usual tell-all self. “Spill it, Maria. It’s me you’re talking to,” Julia prodded.

“Sorry. I guess I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

Julia waited again.

“We had fun. You know. But I think I’m ready for a change.”

“Ready for a change? One date and you want to move on?”

“I don’t mean a change from Fin, per se. More like a change to someone more…” Maria paused to find the right words.

“Mature?”

“No!” Offense taken again. “Well, maybe. Someone Jared might, like, admire. Or at least accept.”

Julia was speechless. In the two decades she’d served as her kid sister’s love-life confidante she had never sensed anything
remotely resembling remorse.

“He’s pretty upset?” Julia guessed.

“Livid,” Maria confirmed. “He called me some pretty awful names.”

“Hmm.”

“Actually, they are the names his friends call me,” Maria explained. “Jared said he had been taking the jokes in stride until
today. One of the boys sent a message labeled
MR. FIN’S FAVORITE PARENT CONFERENCE
. It included a doctored picture. My face on a nude woman’s body. Fin’s face on a flounder fish. You can probably guess their
posture.”

“I’m sorry,” Julia offered while recalling a similar incident after Maria’s prom. They never had figured out who sent the
image. She would never forget the humiliation on her sister’s face.

“Anyway, he was pretty upset. I apologized. Note to self, ‘Don’t date Jared’s teachers.’ ”

“Probably a good idea,” Julia said, knowing Jared wished for more than a teacher moratorium.

“Hey, I thought you were going out with Angie Tolbert tonight. Why the call?”

“Just back from dinner. Got a second?”

“Of course. The only thing on my agenda is fishing popcorn and M&M’s out of the sofa.”

“What?”

“Jared threw the bowl across the room,” Maria explained. “He lost interest in the movie we were watching.”

A momentary pause.

“How well do you remember Kevin Tolbert?” Julia asked.

“We never dated, if that’s what you’re wondering. He was cute. But he was a senior when I was a freshman. A different universe.
Besides, he and Angie were already an item. Did you see him?”

“Just for a minute. I met Angie at their house before we went to dinner tonight.”

“How is Angie-Pangie?”

“She always hated when you called her that.”

“That’s why I did it. Why have a big sister if you can’t irritate her best friend?”

“She seems fine. Three kids.” She anticipated Maria’s gasp in reaction to the size of Angie’s brood, forgetting that Maria
was the official household librarian of such details.

“How’s little Leah?”

Julia thought for a moment. She must have seen the baby, but failed to recall anything of note. “How should she be?”

“Please tell me you at least pretended to fawn.”

She hadn’t.

“You’re hopeless!”

“We were in a hurry.”

Maria’s silence sent an invisible scowl. “Why did you ask about Kevin?” she said to end Julia’s banishment.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to connect the dots between what he and Angie have become and what they were.”

“Become?”

“You know,” Julia hesitated. “Breeders.”

Saying the word felt wrong. Julia prided herself on open-minded acceptance of any and every lifestyle choice. So why did Angie’s
choices upset her enough to warrant a belittling label?

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Maria said. “Angie’s family was pretty uptight growing up. Remember the time she invited us to
church?”

Julia recalled many.

“It always felt, I don’t know, weird. Like she was in a bizarre cult or something.”

“I went with her a few times,” Julia said. “But I don’t remember Kevin going to church. In fact, I remember thinking he might
help balance Angie a bit. Her parents were pretty upset when she started dating Kevin in her junior year. They wanted her
to date a nice religious boy, not a good-looking jock.”

“Maybe she balanced him instead.”

Julia ran through a mental checklist.
Three kids. Radical religious views. Mom giving up her career. Anti–Youth Initiative. Probably even opposed to in vitro selection
.

“I wouldn’t use the word
balanced
,” she replied. “I hate to sound judgmental. But they do fit the stereotype.”

Julia had become one of the most popular columnists in America by articulating a philosophy that was the polar opposite of
what breeders valued. No wonder Angie seemed insecure and defensive. No wonder Julia felt irate rather than relaxed after
dinner with her friend.

“It was awkward,” Julia confessed. “We spent the whole evening trying to avoid conversational land mines. I think we both
lost a few limbs in the process.”

“Some friendships work best from a distance,” Maria suggested.

“I guess so.”

I just need to grin through the weekend and get an interview with Kevin
, Julia thought.
Then we can go back to comfortable estrangement
.

“Will you and Jared be OK?”

“We’ll be fine.”

Julia started to say goodbye, but Maria interrupted.

“You’ll never guess who called today.”

“Who?” she asked without interest.

Maria took a second longer to answer than she should. “Jonathan Sowell.”

Julia felt a slight flutter.
Maybe playing hard to get can work after all
. “And?”

Momentary reticence.

“Come on, Maria. What did he say?”

“He asked if I’d like to go out tomorrow night.”

A long silence.

“Sorry, Sis.”

The sound
would have been imperceptible to anyone else. But to Matthew Adams it had become unbearable, drowning out the quiet hum of
an aging refrigerator and the faint rush of water moving through household pipes toward a summoning rinse cycle.

Crunch. Smack.

Crunch. Smack.

He tried to ignore the distraction, concentrating on the spreadsheet displayed on the tablet before him. The numbers, remarkably
similar to those he reviewed on the last Saturday of every month, presented more than enough to occupy his weary mind:

CAMPUS GRINDS INCOME: $6325

MONTHLY EXPENSES TO DATE: $5945

OUTSTANDING BILLS: $1273

Another occasion to rob the Peter of his mother’s dwindling savings to pay the Paul of his mother’s ailing body.

Crunch. Smack.

Crunch. Smack.

Matthew glared at his mom. He said nothing, instead taking his glass of orange juice in one hand and the digital pad in the
other to move toward the other end of the table, out of range.

He returned to his analysis. Which bills would get paid this week? Which could wait until after payday? He remembered his
reduced hours. The next check would fall short. He cursed aloud.

Crunch. Smack.

Crunch. Smack.

“Mom!” Enough was enough. “Would you please stop that?”

She returned his glare with a confused expression.

“Does the whole neighborhood have to hear you chew?” He slid her half-empty cereal bowl toward the middle of the table. “I
need quiet if I’m going to figure out this mess!”

“I’m sorry, Son.” She formed a tear, a child shaken by sudden discipline for an obscure offense.

Matthew slid the bowl back to his mother while placing a hand on her arm. “Never mind.”

She resumed her breakfast.

Crunch. Smack.

“I’ll be in my room,” he said on his way out of the kitchen.

Matthew disliked his shortening fuse. He and his mother had had a very close relationship, especially when he was young. But
the woman who had once provided the wind beneath his wings now felt like an exasperating anchor.

He halted, suddenly turning back toward the table. “Did you remember your pre-breakfast pills?”

Her eyes darted back and forth as they searched an inner file cabinet. Matthew knew immediately that she could not recall,
sentencing him to a scavenger hunt across her bathroom counter, where he would find and then count the remaining pills. It
was their usual routine to prevent missing or doubling her daily dose.

Thirty minutes later Matthew situated his now-dressed mother in her favorite reading chair in a cramped living room containing
one too many pieces of furniture for comfortable navigation. Handing her a digital book device, he tapped the start button.
An actor’s voice commenced reading as she attempted to follow the text scrolling on the screen.

“You good?” he asked.

“Fine.” She patted his hand gratefully. “You go ahead.”

He retreated to the sanctuary of a bedroom with walls displaying relics of a life he had intended to live.

A framed acceptance letter from the university he still hoped to attend.

A poster of the virtual game he still planned to beat.

A high school graduation cap converted into a picture frame holding his favorite snapshot, Matthew seated beside Maria Davidson
in her cheerleader outfit. He had clipped the image from their high school annual. A yearbook photographer had snapped it
during one of the three opportunities Matthew had taken to sit with Maria at lunch. Discovering the image had been the highlight
of his senior year, a reminder of what might have been had she accepted his invitation to the prom.

Plopping himself on the bed, Matthew grabbed the remote sitting on his nightstand to wake a giant screen that filled the opposite
wall. His portable tablet instantly became a steering wheel from which he could navigate a range of media options. The conversation
with Dr. Vincent fresh on his mind, he searched and found two related documentaries.

Spirit good. Body bad
, Matthew recalled, choosing the second program. The screen refused his command, instead displaying text that reminded him
of his financial inferiority.

Matthew decided against the additional expense, choosing instead to navigate to his default entertainment option, viewing
the latest posts from fellow 2027 graduates of Littleton High. There were four updates since his last view.

Roberto Ortega announced his recent promotion to district sales manager for a line of specialty foods. The picture showed
him and his girlfriend celebrating with margaritas and a plate of onion rings.

Cynthia Beal boasted about another published article in
The New England Journal of Medicine
. There was no picture, only a link that Matthew could not access due to his peasant subscription status.

Colin Smith said one of his songs was climbing the charts, breaking into the rare air of the top 200 downloads. A picture
showed Colin sitting in a studio beside Bret Reese, a rising new country star. Colin had always been a gifted musician, voted
most likely to live in Nashville by his fellow graduates. Matthew remembered Colin’s goal of becoming a recording artist performing
his own material. Apparently writing for top artists paid better than the wedding-and-bar-mitzvah circuit.

Kanisha Wood had posted a picture next to her ten-year-old daughter holding up a ribbon won during a recent swim meet. The
daughter resembled his former classmate more than a now-plump Kanisha resembled her former self. Both had the same sparkling
smile.

Matthew reviewed the most recent date on his own profile. It had been months since his last post, since anything had happened
worth sharing.

He had included a picture of himself standing in front of the UC Department of Philosophy building to make the lie seem more
authentic. Did anyone believe the post? Had anyone even read it?

“Matthew!” The shout seemed a cry for help.

“Mom?” Matthew leaped out of the bed toward the door. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

Rushing to the living room he noticed the empty reading chair. He quickly peered around the corner to scan the kitchen floor,
half expecting to see her holding a sprained ankle or bleeding head.

“Matthew!” she yelled from behind a closed door, this time more urgently than before. “I’m in here.”

Matthew turned the doorknob to reveal an all-too-familiar scene.

“Not again!” he groaned.

Another bathroom mishap.