Remember the Time (34 page)

But then Kate’s hoarse voice pierced her. “I thought you were my friend. How could you do this to me?”

Sheryl moved quickly, walking around the table. She tried to take Kate’s arm—to lead her out of the room—but Kate wrenched her arm away and screamed, “I know about Matt! I know about you and Paul!”

The day Sheryl had dreaded—the day she prayed would never come—had arrived and she steeled herself. Voice low, as if soothing a hurt child, she said, “Kate? Come on with me. We can talk somewhere else.”

Kate seemed to notice the woman lying on the massage table for the first time, and Sheryl took the opportunity to look over her shoulder at her shocked client. “Judy, I’m sorry. I have an emergency here. We’ll have to reschedule.” Then she turned back to Kate. “Please, Kate. Let’s go. Let me get you something.”

Kate looked her square in the eyes and said, “I don’t want anything from you again.”

Sheryl could feel the pain radiating from Kate, and she drew her friend to her in a tight hug, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry … Please let me talk to you.”

But Kate pulled away from her. “No! I’m through being shit on. Stupid, naïve Kate is
through
.” She pushed past Matt, who had come to the doorway.

Sheryl flinched at the slamming of the front door. She looked up into her son’s somber eyes and her heart contracted. “You know,” she quietly stated.

“Yeah. What I don’t know is why I had to wait so long to find out.”

She reached up and tentatively touched Matt’s cheek. “Then we have a lot to talk about.”

Matt stonily listened to his mother. Time seemed to stand still. In the end, after everything she’d told him, he only seemed to remember one thing, and he said, “He didn’t want me. He was my father and he didn’t give a shit about me.”

His mother put her arms around him. “Oh, honey, don’t you understand? Dan is your father. He raised you and took care of you. He loves you.”

Matt pulled away from her. “Paul Armstrong was my father. He knew he was my father and he didn’t care!” His voice grew thick with emotion and irony. “My idol was my father and he never did anything for me except send me six lousy letters. And you all lied to me.”

Sheryl’s composure deserted her when she saw her son’s tears. “Sweetie, we just did the best we knew how. Think how much Dan loves you. He knew you were Paul’s, but he couldn’t have cared for you any more if you’d been his own.”

Matt’s voice rose, and he sobbed, “But Paul didn’t care about me!”

“He
did
care, Matt. But so many people would’ve been hurt if the truth came out. We thought we were doing the right thing. We were all very young. And very stupid. Paul didn’t love me and I didn’t love him.” She reached for his hand and held it to her cheek. “But I wanted you and loved you from the second I knew you were growing inside me. Everyone did. Dan and Mike and even Paul, after he knew. But there were too many things to consider. Paul loved Kate. His career was taking off. I was in love with Dan. It just seemed like the right thing to do, Matt.” Sheryl took his other hand and
looked up at her tall, handsome son. “I’m going to let you go in a minute, but I want you to think about everything I’ve told you. People make mistakes when they’re scared. Try to remember that. And remember how much you’re loved. Your dad and I. Your grandparents. Mike. We all love you so much.”

“Mike doesn’t know?”

“He’ll know soon enough. And it won’t make any difference to him.” Sheryl released his hands and stepped back. “I love you with all my heart, Matt. That’s all you need to remember. Now go. I know you want to be alone.”

Matt started for the door, then stopped and turned. He saw the tears on his mother’s cheeks—the look of pain and fear on her face—and realized he’d never seen her cry before. The sight disconcerted him, and yet he said, “What do you think would have happened if you’d told the truth back then?”

Sheryl lifted her chin a little higher. “I think you would’ve spent your life trying to live up to being Paul Armstrong’s son, and you wouldn’t be half the man you are today.”

It wasn’t the answer he expected. In a voice that quavered only slightly, he said, “I love you, Mom.”

The tenuous hold she had on her emotions drifted away like a piece of flotsam as soon as Matt left the room. Sheryl collapsed into a nearby chair and put her face in her hands. She wept with such force that her body shook.

Only three people had known the circumstances of Matt’s birth, and one of those people was dead. She had held the secret for nineteen years. Now the world of three other people would fall apart because of it. She thought of Kate, and pulling her head up, wiped her wet cheeks. She’d never be able to make her understand. Kate had always been insufferably stubborn.

• • •

As parties go, this one is unexpectedly good. Sheryl has been enlisted to buy the beer and she fully understands why she has been invited in the first place. She’s the only twenty-one-year-old around. But she doesn’t let that bother her. A party is a party, and she is lonely without Dan
.

He’d begun his job as a sales rep for a tire company that was headquartered in Vienna, Virginia, six months before. They’d both managed to save enough money so that when they were married next month, they could move to Vienna with the first and last month’s rent on a small apartment and still live on his salary
.

Sheryl has been waitressing since she graduated from high school—nearly three years now. All her tips have gone into a special savings account that has grown weekly to the sum of almost five thousand dollars. She plans to keep working after they’re married and envisions the money as the down payment on a house someday
.

Her father was laid off seven months earlier, and even though it looks as if he’ll be rehired soon, there just isn’t much money coming in. Because of the situation, Sheryl has insisted on a small wedding and has even paid for the wedding dress herself. She has brought up the subject of a civil ceremony, but her mother won’t hear of it. Sheryl knows it’ll be nothing like the wedding Kate’s been planning. And she doesn’t care
.

Sheryl sits back a little deeper in the wing chair and downs her third rum and Coke, the rum unknowingly provided by Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. Paul’s parents are out of town for the weekend. They have given the okay for a party, but Sheryl’s pretty sure they don’t have a clue that their baby boy has sprung for a kegger
.

The festivities to celebrate Paul’s being drafted by the Giants started at eight o’clock. By eight-thirty approximately thirty teenagers had converged on the house on Frazier Street and the party is now in its third hour, louder than ever. The second keg has been tapped, the music has shifted gears from the Stones and Led Zeppelin to Eric Clapton and Pink Floyd. The air in the living room hangs heavy with cigarette smoke and if you’re
looking for a cheap high, all you have to do is walk into the small bathroom downstairs and inhale deeply. Somebody’s been growing their own
.

The only room in the house that’s off-limits is the master bedroom. Every other available space is being put to good use, as couples press themselves into corners and improbable angles on pieces of furniture that were never meant for such activity. If Paul’s mother knew what was going on in her dining room, she’d never eat there again
.

Sheryl has danced with a couple of the guys that have come stag, but has had enough when the last one—Larry? Lonnie?—sticks his tongue in her ear. The only male worth looking at is Paul Armstrong, and not only does he know it, but he has Kate there as a reinforcement in case he somehow forgets. He may be only eighteen years old, but Sheryl doesn’t remember any boy that remotely resembled him when she was that age
.

She stares at her empty glass and decides it’s time for another drink, and since it doesn’t look as if anyone is going to offer to fix it for her, she stands unsteadily and makes her way to the kitchen. Sheryl passes Mike in the hallway. He’s been cornered by Rosemary Donovan who seems to be whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The pained expression on his face tells the whole story, and Sheryl winks at him as she walks by
.

She’ll never understand why he tortures himself at these parties. The only girl he has eyes for is Kate, and her eyes are always glued to Paul. Sheryl secretly thinks Kate is either a fool or very naive about Paul, but the one time she’s voiced her opinion to Mike he’s cut her off. She remembers ending that conversation with, “She doesn’t know what she’s missing, passing you up for him.”

The kitchen is, unbelievably, empty and Sheryl opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can of Coke. The ice trays have recently been filled, so she bends to open the ice chest. She hears voices raised above the slide guitar Clapton is playing, and she stops to listen. Sheryl recognizes Paul and Kate arguing on the back porch. The window is open and it’s hard to ignore them
.

She seems to have come in on the tail end of their discussion
,
but Sheryl gets the gist of it when Kate says, “You’re the one who wanted to wait to get married. And you knew that meant waiting to have sex.”

“Shit, Kate, you can’t expect me to wait another two years!”

“If I can wait, so can you.”

Paul’s answer is muffled by the starting riff of “Layla,” but Kate’s reply comes through loud and clear. “You’re pretty disgusting when you’re drunk. I’m going home.”

“What are you gonna do? Walk?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re not gonna walk,” Paul relents. “I’ll ask Mike to drive you.”

When she realizes they’re coming into the kitchen, Sheryl quickly pours three fingers of rum into her glass, gives it a quick stir, and hurriedly leaves the room. From her vantage point on the staircase, Sheryl listens to the dating woes of Frank Trumbull with one ear, while she watches the minidrama unfolding in the hallway below
.

A defiant Kate and a sullen Paul have approached Mike, who is still in the clutches of Rosemary Donovan. Paul says something to Mike and Kate turns away. Rosemary steps aside. Mike nods, says something in return, then steals a glance at Kate’s intractable face. Shoving a hand in his jeans pocket, Mike comes up with his car keys, and together, he and Kate leave the house
. Another notch on the torture rack,
Sheryl thinks
.

Frank is asking her something she doesn’t quite hear. It sounds like, “Do you think I should mask the fairy?”

Sheryl turns to him and her head swims. “Huh?”

“Do you think I should ask Rosemary?”

Sheryl’s words come out at half-speed. “Ask her what?” Then, not really caring “what,” she slowly stands and grabs the newel post for support. “Excuse me, Frank. I need some air.”

She is sitting on the glider on the front porch, but the swaying movement makes her dizzy and she moves to a wicker armchair around the corner. She sighs deeply and lets the darkness surround her. The sweet smell of pot drifts on the cool night air and
she thinks that it’s probably a good thing Paul’s parents aren’t coming home till Sunday night. It will take that long to deodorize the house
.

“Want a hit?”

Paul’s voice gives her a start and she turns in the chair. He is sitting on the porch railing, but she doesn’t see him until he takes a drag from the joint and the ragged tip glows orange-red. He extends his arm
.

Pulling the chair around, she takes it from him. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do …”

Inhaling deeply, she hands the joint back to him. They pass it back and forth a few more times, not speaking. The stuff is good and it’s making her incredibly horny. She can only guess what it’s doing to Paul’s eighteen-year-old libido. When he stands up to pull a clip out of his pocket, her eyes have adjusted to the dim moonlight enough for her to admire the way his jeans fit his body. He catches her looking and slowly smiles. An understanding passes between them and Sheryl smiles back
.

He has been her brother’s friend forever and is a permanent fixture at their house. She recalls the night of her sixteenth birthday. Sheryl had caught Paul peeking in her bedroom window as she and four of her friends danced around the room to Creedence Clearwater Revival. The screams could be heard down the block as the girls raced to put on robes to cover their nighties. All the girls but Sheryl, that is. She had pulled up the window shade and confronted Paul’s wide-eyed stare. Hands on hips, she’d said, “Take a picture. It lasts longer, you little weasel.”

Now, too much liquor and a little dope loosens her tongue. “Don’t need to look in windows anymore, do ya, Paul.”

“Not for a long time.” He moves closer to her and hands her the roach
.

“When the hell did you grow up?” she says with grudging admiration
.

Sitting back down on the porch rail, he brings one foot up against the wicker table in front of her and watches her finish the joint. “Where’s Dan these days?”

“Working,” she answers, trying to keep her eyes above his waist
.

“Lonely?” he asks
.

She leans back in the chair and it creaks softly. Looking him square in the eyes, she says, “I feel like a cat in heat.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to hesitate when he says, “Can I be of assistance?”

She can’t believe she is actually considering this. “What about Kate?”

His calf brushes her knee and he grins. “What about Dan?”

He has a point
.

Paul now leans over her and traces the scoop of her neckline with his fingers. His touch electrifies her nerve endings, and she knows she wants to see this through to the end. One final fling before she gets married. What could it hurt?

“Could be fun,” he says. “Nobody needs to know.”

“You’re a very bad boy,” she says, letting him run a finger along her collarbone
.

“Actually,” he chuckles. “I’ve been told I’m a very good boy.”