One Last Lie (11 page)

“Angela, I’m sorry.” Her voice fluttered. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just kidding around.” A piece of the beer bottle label peeled off and fell into her lap. She twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. “You never mentioned it before, so I didn’t know how important this was to you. I’m sorry.”

Angela’s face changed like a werewolf turning back into a human being. The air of evil seemed to dissipate and fall between the slats of the wood floor.

“Well, it
is
important, June.” She placed the vial back onto the bookshelf. “Especially because I’m going to be hitting the big 4-0 soon. If I want a child, I really have to do it now.”

June knew this was a perfect time to ingratiate herself; she needed Angela as much as Angela appeared to need her. She grabbed Angela’s hand. “How can I help?”

“Well, since there’s no one special in my life right now, it looks like marriage any time soon is a far-fetched fantasy.” She cut June off with a wave of her hand. “And don’t even
mention
Tommy’s name. The last person in the world I’d marry is
him
.” She pushed the hair from her eyes. “So anyway, I’ve been thinking back to all the boyfriends I had, trying to figure out who might have the best genes. You know, someone I’d want to use as a sperm donor. And really, only one guy stands out.”

June let the label fall into one of the openings of her blanket and gave Angela a “Well… who is it?” look.

“I had this boyfriend in college, Philip. Handsome, smart, sweet, and just an all-around good guy. I did some digging and found out he lives in Connecticut, an hour from here by train.”

“That’s great!” June feigned excitement, Klonopin still at the forefront of her thoughts. “So, do you think he’d do it?”

“Well, that’s only one part of the problem,” Angela gazed out the window behind June. “The other problem is, he’s gay.”

June pulled her head back, confused and waiting for Angela to continue. But she didn’t and June was panicked that she’d say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question. They sat in silence until Angela sighed.

“No, I didn’t turn him gay, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

June pulled the blanket closer. “Of course I wasn’t thinking that! What’s wrong with you?”

“He must have been gay all along and just came out later in life. Cause I have to tell you, the sex we used to have was unfreakin’ believable. He was so…” She stopped herself and patted June’s hand, as though acknowledging June’s obvious lack of sexual experience. “Anyway, he’s living with some guy, like I said, in Connecticut. Westport, I think.”

June smiled, hoping what she was about to say would make Angela happy.

“That’s not such a bad thing, if you think about it, Angie. Two gay guys who can’t have their own kid probably want one, but can’t find the right woman. What could be a better scenario than having a beauty like you come along and ask for a donation? You’d have a child and they’d be daddies. Everyone would be a winner!”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Angela, fingering the remote buttons. “But they’ll have to understand I’m the mother and the baby stays with me. I want to bring her up and take care of her. You know, have her full time. They can visit whenever they want to and take her to the park and stuff, but I want her to be mine.”

This time June patted Angela’s hand. “Wow, you have this all figured out, huh? That’s a good thing. At least they’ll know where you stand before you all agree to something.” June grabbed a handful of popcorn and ate one kernel at a time. “So, let me ask again, how can I help?”

“Really, just for support,” Angela said. “I might need you around when I’m getting the sperm ready for injecting, but I also think it’s good idea for me to have a witness around — someone who sees what we did and how we did it. You know, just in case.”

The last “you know” made June uneasy. Something wasn’t sitting right in the air between them and she wanted to find out what it was before she agreed to anything that could get her into more trouble. It took her awhile to get the words out, trying carefully not to fumble. “What’s going on here, Angie? What do you mean, ‘just in case?’ What aren’t you telling me?” She attempted to keep a smile on her face, though her insides were tighter than harp strings. She awaited Angela’s verbal explosion.

Angela wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Nothing,” she said casually. “There’s absolutely nothing I’m not telling you. I’m just saying there are endless ways this could end up. And I can see possible legal issues, too. So we… I mean, I…need to be a little careful.” She finally looked directly at June. “And of course, being my child’s godmother, you should be involved from the very beginning.”

A deep throb pushed through June’s chest and into her throat. She couldn’t believe what Angela had just said. June? A godmother? She was ecstatic and frightened, at that moment, unable to differentiate the two. Her anxiety mounted and she felt her mouth almost water for the Klonopin. She swallowed hard to push down the lump in her throat.

“Oh, Angie. Me? Are you sure?” Her voice quivered.

“Yes,” Angela said, her hand on her shoulder, “I’m sure.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s an honor. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s nothing to say, June. As long as I know you’re always there for me and the baby. That’s all the thanks I need.”

June leaned over and wrapped her arms around Angela’s neck. “I’ll be there for both of you. Always.”

*

Since that night, they’d not spoken about it again, until Angela told June that very afternoon she’d be leaving work early to go to Connecticut. It was time to “put things in motion” Angela had said. “The clock’s ticking!” was all June heard as Angela dashed down the hospital corridor toward the elevators.

June waved at Angela’s back and wished her good luck, though she doubted Angela heard a word. The iPod’s earphones were already in her ears as she pressed the elevator button again and again as though to make it arrive quicker. June waited for the elevators to show, hoping Angela would wave or acknowledge her before entering. But she bolted through the opening, leaving June alone in the middle of the corridor, alone, embarrassed and wondering if she’d be able to handle the requirements of godmotherhood.

And now Angela couldn’t even find the common courtesy to tell her what had happened during the Connecticut excursion.

She took two Vicodin from the vial and placed them on her tongue. The bitterness caused her face to scrunch as she pressed them against the roof of her mouth. She quickly realized they were too big and sour to dissolve without liquid, so she grabbed the open bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator and took a swig. The fruitiness of the wine felt good against the bitterness of the medicine and she took another few gulps until both pills disappeared.

Within a few seconds it was obvious that the fighting within her head - whether or not to bring the bottle back to the living room - was futile. So she shut the lights, slouched back down into the couch, brought the bottle to her lips and closed her eyes. With another swallow, her mind began to wander: back to Mom and the solitude of a country patio, to the hum of the ceiling fan, to the brilliant white, puffy clouds that hung in the summer Georgian sky with promises of a future so different from the one she was living.

9

The window’s glass was cold against Jonathan’s cheek, a sure sign autumn had reached the Northeast and the bitterness of winter was approaching. Sometimes he wished he could stop winter from arriving; raise his hand like a crossing guard and halt its attack; block the arctic air from moving in and baring the trees, graying the skies, and darkening his mood.

Jonathan rubbed the back of his hand against Philip’s leg as the train passed through Greenwich station. “It’s getting cold. I’m not sure I can deal with another winter.”

“You say that every year.” Philip laughed and turned a page of his New York magazine. “You talk about how you love the turning of the leaves and the fresh, chill of the fall air, and then you complain about winter at the same time.” He closed the magazine, rolled it up, and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Why not just enjoy where you are instead of worrying about what’s coming? You know, take advantage of the moment. Otherwise, you’re just living in the future.”

The train hit a bump and Jonathan held onto the seat in front of him as the car swerved to the left. He turned to Philip. “Where did you hear that? Oh, wait, don’t tell me. You just read an article about ‘living in the now. Another Deepak Chopra, special edition.” He gazed out the window again.

“Maybe. What’s the diff? It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“What’s the ‘
diff’
? What the hell is a ‘diff’?” Jonathan felt an anger creeping inside and wasn’t sure where it was coming from. He let his head fall against the window again, hoping to block the advancing wrath.

Philip slapped Jonathan’s thigh. “Jonny, look at me,” he commanded in a loud whisper.

Jonathan obeyed, gazing into Philip’s limpid brown eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been like this since you got up this morning. You’re a freakin’ grouch. What’s going on?”

Jonathan watched the houses fly by, backyards filled with broken leaves waiting to be raked, piled high and jumped on by some spoiled Greenwich kid. Within seconds the landscape turned into the expanse of Long Island Sound, its contents still as glass, except for three or four boaters trying to extend their summer. The sudden glare of the sunlight on the water forced him to turn away and again look at Philip, who was still awaiting an answer.

“Sorry,” he said, “I really don’t know what it is. It’s like hormonal or something. Maybe I have a chemical imbalance and it’s coming out today. It should be in full force by the time we get to Angela’s, and she’ll then know I’m a nut.”

Philip combed his hair away from his eyes with his fingers and laughed. “You’ve got an imbalance alright. I’m just not sure it’s chemical.”

“Ha.” Jonathan wasn’t biting.

“Is it Angela? Did you not want to see her today? We’ve been having a great time with her the last few months, haven’t we?”

Jonathan picked a piece of lint off Philip’s pea coat. He twirled it in his fingers. “No, it’s not her at all. And we
have
had a great time. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the cold weather or something. Maybe it’s just that it’s so dreary outside and it’s ruining our Saturday. Hopefully this will pass when we get to Grand Central and out of this shithole they call a train.”

Philip smiled, sliding on his sunglasses and leaning his head back. “It’s not ruining
my
Saturday. It’s the same Saturday it was this morning, just a little rainier.”

Jonathan snorted. “Okay, Deepak.”

“Relax, Jonny. You’re probably just a little nervous. You know, going to Angela’s place for the first time, seeing where she lives and stuff. Realizing it could be where your son grows up.”

Jonathan flinched and felt a flutter in his chest. He fell hard against the train wall.

“Holy shit, Philip. When you say it like
that
, it scares the shit out of me.”

Philip looked around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned forward and gave Jonathan a quick peck on the cheek. He gazed around again: all clear.

“Jonny, you’re not obligated in any way. I hope you know that. If you don’t want to do this, then we don’t do it. Period. You don’t owe it to me and you definitely don’t owe it to Angela. You have to do what feels right.”

Jonathan sat up in his seat. He felt perspiration on the back of his neck when only moments before he was cursing the cold.

“Most of the time it feels right, especially when I think about it at night or when we’re in the kitchen and I imagine a little kid asking us stupid questions about your cooking utensils or why a stove gets hot. It feels right when we’re watching television and I see a small ‘me’ sitting between the two of us, or you throwing a football to him outside in the yard, like he’s your own son. I’d love that for you… and for me.” He gazed out the window. “But at times like this daylight knocks out fantasy and reality hits like a ton of bricks. I know it’s something I have to get over. Otherwise, like you said, I’m living in the future.”

Philip leaned back again, his eyes covered by his sunglasses, his pursed lips signaling an “I told you so” without saying a word.

“You’re a shit,” Jonathan said.

“Quiet,” he replied, “Deepak would like to take a little nap now.”

*

Walking up 5th Avenue, Jonathan felt his energy start to refresh; the chilly New York City air breathing life into him he hadn’t felt all day. The walk felt good too, the first exercise both he and Philip had had all week, thanks to JSB’s major accounting software glitch and three additional articles thrown on Jonathan by his largest client. He could have turned them down, and almost did, until he thought about their upcoming visit with Angela and the realization that if they did have a child, additional income would definitely help.

“We make a right here, on sixteenth,” Philip said, gesturing with his hand.

After turning right, they slowed their pace, attempting to take in the entire area. They’d been in Chelsea many times, but this was different. Today they’d try to see it in a new light — deciding if it was a decent place for a child to grow up healthy and well-balanced. Jonathan observed the street with enthusiasm, like a judge gathering all the evidence before handing down his ruling. Everything looked different today: the people, buildings, the sidewalks marred with cracks branching in countless directions. Plastic garbage bags lined the sidewalks. Jonathan bit his bottom lip — so different from the garbage containers he and Philip placed neatly by their curb every Thursday. Half way up the block, they passed St. Francis Xavier High School where a group of teenage boys stood under the red canopy, huddled together telling secrets, the book bags strapped across their backs helping to create a fortress from the passersby.