How Evan Broke His Head and Other Secrets (24 page)

A
REAL FATHER probably wouldn’t take this moment to try to get laid, but Evan calls Mica in Jamaica. She has checked out. He tries her in Seattle. She’s there.

“I’m tired, ” she says.

“Sorry to bother you.”

“No, no.”

He unravels the Dean dilemma for her, but she doesn’t have anything to offer. He can hear her steady yawns; it’s torture to keep her awake.

“You should go to sleep.”

“I’ll come out tomorrow morning, okay? I got Dean this really cool diver’s watch. It was a little expensive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s really cool. He’ll like it, won’t he?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you miss me?”

“I miss you a lot.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Really. What should I do about Dean?”

“He’ll be okay. He’s a kid. He needs to do that kind of stuff. I wouldn’t worry about it. You guys are tighter than that. People fight. It’s part of growing up.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Don’t sweat it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

EVAN SITS IN the kitchen reading the Saturday morning paper and drinking coffee. He’s rather hungover from the verbal abuse he received from Dean the previous evening. He was supposed to be the one doing the yelling; instead, he let Dean curse him out. Wimpy father material. He hears Dean in the foyer strapping on his skates.
Click, click, click.
Then the other boot.
Click, click, click.

“Where are you going?” Evan asks from the threshold.

“Out, ” Dean responds without looking up.

Evan knows where Dean’s going. He’s going to play hockey between the cones that Matthew’s father puts out.

“Out where?”

Dean glances at Evan as he stands in his skates. He picks up his hockey stick.

“Out.”

“Mica’s coming over this morning. Don’t you want to be here when she arrives?”

“No.”

“Why not? She said she brought you a present from Jamaica.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not?”

“Where’s she staying?” Dean asks sharply. “Not in my mom’s room.”

“I—”

“She’s not staying in my mom’s room. So where’s she staying?”

“I’ll find a place for her, ” Evan says.

“I bet you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He gathers his bag of equipment and reaches for the door.

“When are you coming home?” Evan asks.

“None of your fucking business,
Dad
.”

Evan feels a flash of rage. His face flushes. He understands that Dean is deliberately challenging him, but this is out of control. Things have moved out of the rational realm and into the emotional. Before he can stop himself—indeed, before he even knows what he’s doing—he rushes Dean and grabs him by the collar. He pushes Dean backward, pinning him against the wall.

“It
is
my business, ” Evan yells at Dean, whose eyes are wide. “You may not like it, but I’m your father and you’re stuck with me. So learn to show me a little respect.”

Dean is taken momentarily by surprise. He’s afraid of Evan and this sudden anger. But then, when Evan doesn’t follow through, when there’s nothing after the initial burst, Dean regains his composure. He’s not intimidated. He correctly assesses Evan’s attack as bluster. Then, taking Evan quite by surprise, Dean spits in Evan’s face.

Spit? Can Evan believe what’s going on? Did Dean just spit in his face? Suddenly, Evan isn’t in control of his own body, his arm is a club attached to his shoulder, a spring-powered catapult that’s been cocked, and someone looses the firing pin, someone cuts the string, and his arm leaps forward in an instant and the heel of his hand careens into Dean’s jaw, his palm into Dean’s cheek, his fingers the side of Dean’s head, and the sound it makes is so loud, like someone clacking two-by-fours together as hard as he can, a crack. Dean loses his footing, his skates go out from underneath him. With a mad scramble he goes down.

He sits, stunned for a moment, looking up at Evan. The left side of his face blushes a deep scarlet. Tears well on the edges of his eyelids, but they are not tears of pain; they are tears of shame, of frustration, of anger, of humiliation.

“Take off your skates and go to your room, ” Evan says. “Don’t come out until I tell you to.”

Evan doesn’t know who’s doing the talking. It certainly isn’t him. He would never say something like that. He would never act like that. What has happened to him? What has he become?

“Now!” he shouts at Dean.

Dean angrily complies. He skates down the hall and kicks open his door; he slams it. Once safe behind the closed door, he shouts: “I hate you! I wish you were dead!”

WHAT HAS HE done?

He couldn’t help himself. Dean was pushing him too hard. Dean spit in his face. He
made
Evan hit him. That’s what he did.

And he hit him hard, too. That wasn’t a love tap. That was as close to a full-out hit as it gets. Thank god he didn’t close his fist. That would have been a disaster.

He’s no better than Frank. He and Frank are cut from the same cloth. They are brothers in crime. Abusers. Bullies. He thinks he’s sensitive, he thinks he’d make a good father, but he’s no better than the next thug; when your back is to the wall, come out swinging.

Is this how he deals with discipline problems? Bone-crushing blows for no reason, with no warning? Evan is a bad man. He can’t control himself. At some point he might go crazy and beat Dean to death in the night.
Bam
,
bam
. Open hand.
Bam, bam, bam.
No fist.
Bam
. Until Dean’s face is so swollen he can’t see, can’t talk, his teeth loose, blood trickling from his ear.
Bam, bam.
Like a pile driver. Evan, the pile driver. Relentless.
Bam.
Until Dean is dead.
I didn’t
mean to hurt him
, Evan would say to the judge. And the judge would shake her head sadly, bang her gavel once, and, tears in her eyes from all her pent-up compassion, pull a Nanny-Murder-Trial upset and reverse the jury’s verdict, sentencing Evan to time served—two days—for the bludgeoning death of his own son.

“HEY, LOVER.”

Evan starts. He’s sitting on the patio; she’s standing before him.

She’s radiant. She’s smiling a brilliant smile. Her skin is glowing and her hair is tinged with a salty lightness. She’s alive.

“Welcome back, ” he says.

“Miss me?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Prove it.”

She leans down and lets him kiss her. He tries hard to be passionate with his kiss, but he’s not sure he pulls it off. She lifts her face from his and beams at him; it worked.

“Where’s Dean?” she asks.“I want to give him the watch. Check it out. It’s pretty cool.”

She hands a box to Evan and he opens it. Inside is a sophisticated diver’s watch with a yellow dial and every kind of chronometer one could imagine.

“That’s cool, ” Evan says.“I want one.”

“Oh. You’ll get your present. You be patient. Where is he?”

“In his room. Straight through the kitchen, take a left. Look for a closed door.”

“Be right back.”

She snatches the box and bounds into the house. She comes back too soon.

“He’s not there, ” she says, disappointed.

He’s not there? He was told to stay there until he was released, and he’s not there? Evan fumes.

“He must have gone out, ” he says.

“He’ll be back, ” she replies with a smile.

Evan’s not so sure.

LATER IN THE day, Mica is resting and Dean is mysteriously back in his room, acting like he’d never left.

“You were supposed to stay in your room, ” Evan says.

“I was here, ” Dean replies defensively.

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was!”

“Mica came in to see you and you were gone.”

“Well, I must have been on the toilet,
Dad
. Solitary confinement doesn’t allow for bathroom breaks?”

He’s got Evan there. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Honestly, Evan never checked.

“We’re going out to dinner, ” Evan says. He wants to believe Dean. He really does. “So get ready.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. Mica came to see you. She has a very nice present she bought for you. And you’re going to go to dinner and be nice. You can hate me all you want, but leave her out of it.”

“I’m sick, ” Dean says.

“No, you’re not. Get dressed.”

“I am. The reason she didn’t see me in my room is that I have diarrhea. I’ve been in the bathroom all day. I must still have food poisoning.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, now I need stool samples?”

Damn. Crafty kid. Where did he pick that up? Probably from his mother.

“Let me feel your head.”

Evan presses his sweaty palm to Dean’s forehead and prays for an epiphanic lightning bolt, one that will tell him what a fever feels like. But Dean’s forehead is cool.

“You don’t have a fever.”

“It’s a gastrointestinal disorder.”

Evan takes a step back and stares down at Dean. He considers the situation.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says.“I lost control. I never should have hit you. I’m really sorry.”

Dean doesn’t reply.

“So will you come to dinner?”

“I’m sick.”

Evan throws his hands up.

“Look! I’m a horrible father. I did the worst thing a father could do. I hit you. It was stupid. It was bad. I’ll beg your forgiveness forever. Just come to dinner.”

Dean takes a moment to size Evan up.

“I’m sick, ” he says.

Evan groans, realizes he can’t win, walks toward the door. Then stops.

“Listen, Dean. Your grandmother stopped by the other day. She’s divorcing Frank.”

Dean is surprised by this information; he sits up.

“So Frank’s out of the picture, ” Evan says.“You have to decide. Who are you going to live with? Maybe you’d really rather be with your grandmother.”

Dean seems to change before Evan’s eyes. Evan has seen both his faces: wise young man and lost child. Evan’s gotten to know Dean’s faces and recognize them for what they are. But now Dean is like a strange Star Trek creature; his face changes by the second: wise, lost, wise, lost . . .

“Is that what you want?” Dean asks. He can’t answer the question by himself. He’s just a kid.

“It’s not my decision, Dean. It’s yours. But you obviously don’t like me. And I have to go back to Seattle, and you don’t want to go. And I have to live in Seattle, and you don’t want that. So, you know . . .”

Dean thinks about it a minute. It’s a lot for a fourteen-year-old to think about. A lot for anyone.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Dean, ” Evan says, exasperated.“I mean, we’re not happy together, are we? You give me a real hard time, and I guess I probably ride you pretty hard, too. If there were no other options, I guess we could get through it. But I’m not Butch and you’re not Sundance. We’re not standing on a cliff, and a posse isn’t chasing us down. We don’t have to jump.”

“What are you talking about?”

Evan has just made himself a permanent old man by dating himself with an old-man movie.

“I don’t know, ” Evan says, “maybe a cooling off period would be right. I
have
to go to Seattle next week.”

Dean nods.“A break, ” he says.

“Just a breather, ” Evan says.“We can clear our heads and then get together again later and try it again, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. A cooling-off period.”

“I’m just thinking. It’s been really intense. And you haven’t seen your grandmother for a long time, really. Frank’s not a threat. Maybe you could spend some time with her before school starts in the fall, then you can make a decision where you want to live, you know? Maybe you’d like to be in Walla Walla—”

“Doubtful.”

“Or here. She said something about moving here. You could live in this house, stay in your old school. I’d come visit all the time. You’d come to Seattle for vacations. Maybe that’s the way to play it.”

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying.”

“I mean, we’re feeling pressure right now, and there’s no need for pressure. Both of us. I’m doing it, too. We’re pushing. We should take a minute. Go with the right decision, not what we
think
is the right decision.”

Dean nods considerately. “A cooling-off period, ” he says.

“Yeah. Maybe. What do you think? We don’t have to do it.”

“Just for a while.”

“Yeah. A few days. A week. A couple of weeks. Whatever.”

A year. A decade. A lifetime . . .

“Is that what
you
want?” Dean asks.

Evan is on the spot again. How come really important decisions always come back to him? It doesn’t seem fair.

“Yeah, I guess. For a little while. Not long.”

“A cooling-off period, ” Dean says again.

“That’s all, ” Evan agrees. “A cooling-off period.”

And that’s it. Agreed upon right there in Dean’s room, both of them together. They look at each other and nod; they mentally shake hands. They agree: a cooling-off period.

But they both know, deep down, that it isn’t a cooling-off period at all. It’s the end. The experiment is over. They tried and failed. When Dean goes to stay with Ellen, he will stay with her forever. Evan will make his visits. Many at first. More seldom as Dean grows older. Until they are few and far between.

They agree, right here in this room: Dean isn’t feeling well, Evan is taking Mica to dinner, and their brief flirtation with a serious and lasting relationship is over.

S
HE’S LIKE A supercharger. That’s what Evan likes about her. Wherever she goes, everything speeds up. Everyone pays attention to her. Her beauty, her exotic looks. She must be someone famous, people think. She needs extra attention.

At Julep, a downtown-Yakima steakhouse, the help is all in a tizzy. They don’t have two pound-and-a-half lobsters. Unfortunately, three pounds is the smallest they have.

“That’s okay, ” Mica laughs at their fawning waiter. She has a hearty laugh, a deep, full-bodied laugh.“We’ll take two of the big boys, then,
fra diavolo
. You do
diavolo
?”

A confirming nod.

“Salads and whatever sides you can think of, and a bottle of Cristal.”

The waiter bows himself away from the table.

“Don’t worry about how much it costs, ” Mica says, leaning in to Evan.“My treat.”

The waiter pours the champagne. Evan takes a sip, no more. Mica takes a long draft.

“I want to go with you to The Castle in Jamaica, ” Mica says excitedly. “You and Dean. When can we go? He has school soon, doesn’t he?”

He does. In a few weeks. The summer is winding down already.

“Maybe at Christmas we can go. I’m sure they’re already booked for Christmas, but I can probably call in a favor. It’s expensive, but it’s amazingly beautiful, and secluded. You don’t have to worry about how much it costs, though. I can pay for it and write it off on my taxes. We’ll get a two-bedroom suite, and as long as I check in at the studio a few times, it’ll be a business expense. If you have any solo material, we can lay that down, too. I bet Dean would get a kick out of that. Are you teaching him the guitar? When he grows up, I bet he’ll be a sexy musician, like you. You both have sexy hands. It’ll be fun. We’ll have a blast.”

“I have money, ” Evan blurts out, blowing a hole in the good mood at the table and wiping the smile off of Mica’s face.

“Sure, ”Mica says hopefully.“Okay. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I have plenty of money. I can pay. My treat.”

“Sure, Evan, sure thing.”

Mica looks down at her salad, the life crushed out of her by Evan’s tone. She silently picks at the greens on her plate.

“I’m really sorry, Evan, ” Mica says after a minute. “I’m used to musicians being poor, that’s all. I’m just so happy to see you and all. I wanted us to have a good time without worrying about how we’re going to pay for it. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Evan gives her a half smile. Mica half-smiles back. All is forgiven.

“You’re upset about Dean?” Mica asks.

Dean. Yes. He’s upset about Dean.

Dean brightened for Mica. Accepted her gift with proper gratitude. Actually seemed happy to see her. He even suggested that she stay in his mother’s room. But then he quickly pinched out the flame, declared himself ill for the night, and hid from sight. And then, while Mica got herself ready for dinner, Evan changed his life with two short phone calls: he told Ellen she could pick up Dean on Sunday, and he told Lars he would be back in Seattle on Monday. The canyon growing wider, both Evan and Dean knowing it, both of them helping it along.

“Where are you?”Mica asks.

Evan smiles at her.“Just thinking.”

“He’s a good kid, ” she says.“He’s probably just a little confused right now. He needs a little time to find his place.”

“Yeah, ” Evan agrees.“That’s probably it.”

Or, more likely, he needs a little time to pack his bags and get the hell out of town.

They fall silent again for a few minutes until the lobsters arrive; then they eat.

AFTER DINNER THEY drive through downtown, up First Street, which has come alive with light. Neon signs above every hotel and restaurant glow in plasticky colors, illuminating the strip for as far as the eye can see, until it vanishes into the flat landscape, leaving only the heat of summer in its wake. Neon and glitter. Desert heat. Yakima. The Palm Springs of Washington.

“Let’s get an ice cream, ”Mica says dreamily, her head resting on Evan’s shoulder and her eyes closed. She’s pretty drunk: they’d finished the bottle of champagne and he’d only had one glass, and that left the other nine gallons for her.

“You must be tired, ” he says.

“I am.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“No, ” she moans.“Ice cream.”

He parks across from the Yakima Mall and they go inside. Mica comes alert at the TCBY, and orders herself a large cup with toppings. Evan doesn’t order anything. They sit under the fluorescent lights, the crowded mall echoing with conversation and footsteps and the rustle of countless plastic shopping bags.

When Mica is finished, they stroll through the mall, ending up in a bookstore, where they split up and browse on their own. After a few minutes, Evan has nothing, but Mica has a couple of books.

“I’ll meet you outside, ” she says, getting in line.

“Okay.”

He steps out into the mall to wait. It’s nine-thirty, and the place is full. Where America goes to socialize. People of all ages, families, older folks, groups of teens. Evan glances over at a gang of young men gathered around a palm tree, which is the centerpiece of a bench arrangement. They’re hanging out, chilling, as it were, drinking Dr. Peppers and howling at young girls who walk by. What a life. Evan’s glad he didn’t grow up in the Age of Malls.

But then he notices something very disturbing. The kid sitting on the bench under the palm tree eating a hotdog. That’s Dean.

Evan’s heart drops. Dean. Not so sick after all. Evan can’t believe it’s happened again.

Evan stares at his son. Maybe he’s wrong. He glances over his shoulder into the bookstore and sees Mica stepping up to the register. Then he looks back at the kid who resembles Dean. The kid looks up. Their eyes meet.

The mall freezes in place. Time stops. No sound, no movement. It’s Dean. Evan’s sure of it. It’s Dean and they’re staring at each other. They both know.

“Hey!”

Evan turns. Mica is tugging on his arm.

“I got you something, ” she says. She takes a book out of her bag and hands it to Evan.“A present. Surprise!”

Evan looks at the book.
The Ten-Minute Garden
.

“A gardening book?” he asks.

“You said you found gardening restorative, ” she says, flipping open the book as Evan holds it for her. She finds a page. It’s a bright, colorful photograph of a million little yellow flowers.

“I thought it was so pretty when I saw it. I wanted you to have it.”

Evan looks at the page distractedly. “It’s nice, ” he says.

He looks over to Dean. The kids are leaving. Dean stands up, glances at Evan one last time, and then loses himself in the crowd and is gone. Evan looks down at the page again.

“Very pretty. That was so nice of you, ” he says. He gives her a peck on the cheek. She looks at him strangely.

“I don’t know where you are sometimes, ” she says.

• • •

“TAKE ME HOME.”

“It’s too early, ” Evan says.

He pulls the car out into traffic and they head down First Street again. Another cruise down the strip. He can’t bear getting home and not finding Dean in his room. He won’t do it.

“But Evan, ” Mica leans in to him and nibbles on his ear.“I need to screw your brains out, ” she whispers.

That sounds great, but not at Tracy’s house. There’s too much going on there, too much baggage. And the issue of Dean. And the issue of the use of Tracy’s room for sex. No. Too much.

“Dean might not be asleep yet, ” Evan says, hedging. “And I don’t want to act inappropriately in front of him.”

“Oh, I see, ” Mica laughs.“We’re back to that again, are we? Well, what do you have in mind? I’m not doing it in the car, you know.”

“Not in the car.”

“Where, then? Remember, it’s three hours later for me than it is for you. I can’t wait much longer. I’m pretty tired.”

Where, then? Evan has no idea, so he keeps driving.

Then he sees it. Neon and glitter. Perfect. Evan quickly turns across traffic and swerves into the parking lot of the Bali Hai Motel. The perfect place to screw your neighbor’s wife.

“What’s this?” Mica asks.

Evan jumps out of the car and runs into the office. He comes back with a room key.

“Oh, Evan, ” Mica coos. “You’re so sexy. You’re gonna fuck me in a motel? That’s so spontaneous. I’m all hot.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Poor, insecure baby.”

They drive to the room and park. They go inside. As soon as the door closes, Mica jumps on Evan, grabbing his face and shoving her tongue into his mouth. After a furious kiss, she breaks off.

“I’m drunk, ” she says.

“That’s okay.”

“So you’d take advantage of a drunk girl?”

“If she kissed me like you just did, I would.”

Mica makes her way to the bed, kicking off her shoes. She slips out of her dress, leaving herself in only black lace lingerie and stockings. She lays back on the bed.

“I’m so tired, ” she says, closing her eyes.

“We don’t have to do it now. We can wait.”

“No, I want to do it now. What are you doing by the door? Come here and look at my tan lines.”

She absently reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, exposing her breasts, a shade or two lighter than the surrounding, nut-brown flesh.

“Look, ” she says. Her eyes are still closed.“Your beautiful presents.”

“Very beautiful, ” Evan agrees.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No.”

“I’ve been saving them for you.”

Evan smiles at his poor naked girlfriend who can barely keep herself awake. Too much champagne, too much jet lag.

“Let me just wash my hands, ” Evan says. “I smell like lobster.”

He heads toward the bathroom.

“Your father’s a doctor, right?” Mica mumbles.

“Right. Why?”

“Obsessive hand-washing.”

He turns on the water and scrubs up to his elbows, like he imagines his father would do it.

“You’re very clean, ” Mica says from the bed. Her words are slurred and thick. “That’s what I first noticed about you. Even when you were smoking pot in the closet, you seemed very clean. I think personal hygiene is good.”

Evan turns off the water and dries his hands with a towel.

“You’ve dated a lot of guys lacking in that department?” he asks, stepping back into the room.

But he gets no answer. He looks across the room. Mica is asleep.

Evan lifts the bedspread over her warm body and tucks her in. He grabs his wallet and steps out of the motel room.

There’s barely a touch of color in the sky. It’s almost ten. The sun has set behind the mountains and the valley has fallen into a strange twilight, the cobalt sky stretching broadly over the hot pavement. It’s still hot, the warmth coming from below now, not above, the earth giving back the heat it has absorbed. He walks down the breezeway to the soda machine to get himself a club soda.

After the machine dispenses the sweating blue can, Evan looks up at the sky again. It’s an unusual color. Black, mostly, but energized with purple and blue, like transparent layers of sky material draped over the world. Light, wispy clouds high above the earth add depth and contrast. It’s shocking, in a way. It’s one of those moments when you see Nature at her absolute best.

“What are you looking at?”

Evan is startled. There’s someone else at the Bali Hai? A middle-aged businessman, hair thinning, wearing a white shirt and a loosened tie, holding a can of Coke, stands looking up at the sky.

“Do you see something?” he asks.

Evan looks up again.

“I was just looking at the sky. The color.”

They stand there for a minute, the two of them, gazing at the sky.

“Yakima Blue, ” the man says.

Yakima Blue? Evan looks at the man. The man looks back and smiles. Evan shakes his head, an indication of confusion.

“Pretty, ” the man says.

Evan nods, looks back at the sky.

After a moment, the man says, “If they made a crayon that color, they would call it ‘Yakima Blue.’”

Evan laughs to himself.“They would, ” he agrees.

Another moment, then Evan turns to go.

“Good night, ” he says as he walks back to his room.

“They
should
make a crayon that color, ” he hears the man say behind him.“My kids would love it.”

They would, Evan thinks. They would.

AT ELEVEN, EVAN shuts off the TV in the motel room, dresses Mica, and carries her to the car. He drives her back to the house and puts her to bed in Tracy’s room.

He walks silently through the house, down the hall. He opens Dean’s door a crack. It is dark. Warm. It smells of someone sleeping, the humid breathiness of sleep. He opens the door wider and looks toward Dean’s bed. In the darkness he sees little, but he detects movement, a tensing of muscles, if only slight. He knows that Dean is awake. He feels it.

“Are you awake?” he asks.

No response.

“Dean?”

Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Dean is asleep.

He pauses in the doorway for several moments, as long as he can stand it, waiting for Dean to sit up or say something, move, interact with him in some way so that he could say,
Stop, stop it all, let’s
stop it all.
He holds his breath and waits and waits until he’s all out of air; he exhales silently.

He steps back into the hall, and as he closes the door he hears something, a slight movement, and he thinks about opening the door again, but it is already pulled shut, so that all that is left for him to do is release the knob and allow the latch to set. Was Dean actually awake? Should Evan have spoken? Would Dean have said something if Evan had stayed a moment longer?

He releases the knob; he hears a soft click; he turns and walks away down the dark hall.