Stranger, Father, Beloved (7 page)

Before his eyes he saw the door open and a stream of yelling with flashes of a woman in a slip and his father in his undershorts, his mother stamping into the house and back onto the porch, yelling as if she had gone mad. His normally dignified father had looked beaten that day, when at some point Michael had looked up and seen him sitting on the porch in a rocking chair beside his mother, who was crying steadily into her hands. The front door to the little gray house was shut, and the woman was not in sight. Michael's father sat beside his mother, stealing worried glances at her profile and at the car in the driveway where the children sat. Michael was careful to look away at those moments, pretending to be admiring the scenery, a gesture of kindness and discretion out of respect for his father.

After that day, his father came home at the same time every day, made more of an effort to comment on his mother's cooking, and took his children out on a Saturday twice a month to a preplanned outing: boating on a lake, a baseball game, the candy store in town. His mother had won after swallowing the heartbreak, and she retained a steady control over him for the rest of his life. His father had admired her after that; it was subtle to see, but it was there. She had not let him get away with his offense, and she had restored him to his proper allegiances. At first the outings had delighted Michael, until he learned
that they were staged and planned by his mother. His father was there only part of the time; the rest of the time his mind was elsewhere and his presence was uneasy around his kids. He knew his father had made a mistake by cheating on his mother; everyone knew it.

He and Nancy were not the same as his parents, though. He wasn't sure why, but he knew they weren't. The rules they played by were not the same.

Two numbers were listed beside John Randolph's name, one for work and one for home. Upon calling the work number, an answering machine picked up for John Randolph's carpentry and landscaping business: “Hello,” the uncertain voice ventured. “You've reached John Randolph and the Randolph Landscaping Company. I'm sorry I missed your phone call, but please leave your name and number and I'll call you right back. Thanks.” Michael imagined Nancy with a carpenter. They would sit down together after he came home from work. She would wipe the sweat from his brow, and they would enjoy the meal she had prepared, knowing they would have the comfort of each other's arms later on that night. He was the type of man who would fall asleep with his arms wrapped around his mate and sleep through the night, untroubled by dreams. A simple man, one who worked with his hands—that was what she needed. He would be content with her, incapable of cruelty. He wouldn't have paranoia, anxiety, or insomnia.

He would be a better husband, one who could deliver the vows as promised, and in his simplicity bring peace. John would not question his life, would only feel grateful to have a wife and children and a roof over his head. Such a man would be seriously mourned at his funeral, for he was of the earth, a genuinely physical creature who proved his worth daily in the little things. Michael hungered to have
him close to his family, to protect them from something sinister that he felt had a hold on them, or release them from a secret spell they were all living under. There was no other way he could explain it.

Two days later, Michael paced around his study and watched from his window as the man named John opened his car door and unceremoniously stood to his full height of at least six feet. He was thin and looked as though he could be anyone living anywhere doing anything. He was of average looks, with scruffy brown hair and unremarkable clothing. He drove a green truck that was neither new nor old. It was the man from the party, all right. It was Saturday, late in the morning, and Michael had instructed John to come by at a time he knew his wife and kids would be out and had given the reason of interest in landscaping and carpentry for their backyard. He wanted to get a feel for what the man was like, and he wanted to do it alone.

Michael opened the door, and when he made eye contact with John, right away he got the impression of timidity, a kind of beaten-down aspect. Nevertheless, he had an appeal.

The dazzling grin from the party was absent from the man's face, but Michael knew he had seen it there and it could be elicited again. John had said over the phone that he was from a less prosperous local county nearby, which could mean only one thing—a small house, a small income. Michael knew immediately that their house must have impressed him the night of the party, and when John walked through their door again, his prediction was realized.

“This is a great house,” John said in his simple way. “I can tell a lot of work has already been done on it. It's in great shape.”

“Have you lived in the area long?” Michael asked, as they sat on the living room couches.

“All my life.” A picture of his trajectory from childhood through high school flashed behind Michael's eyes—cheap secondhand toys, public school, a working-class family.

“Are you married?”

“No. I was, but I got divorced a few years ago.”

There's that defeated quality again, as if life has taken a few hard swings at him, Michael thought as he watched John sit, hands folded in his lap.

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. It was hard at first, but now I've gotten used to it.”

Michael observed that John spoke English well, without a local Rhode Island working-class accent polluting his speech, surprisingly. He seemed uncomfortable, and Michael knew he must hate sitting and talking with people, especially people he didn't know, as Michael himself hated doing so. They had that trait in common.

Michael studied John. Was he attractive in a way that would appeal to Nancy? He was thin but strong and had an appealing face and good teeth. Michael decided that he was indeed attractive, in the sort of way one couldn't quite pinpoint. Michael himself fell in with this grouping, so John was more than likely the type of person who could appeal to Nancy. Michael looked closely at John's face. Would a person want to kiss that mouth or look into those eyes over dinner by the ocean? Yes, they would.

“Do you have children?”

“No.”

Michael realized that he should perhaps get to the point of why he wanted John there instead of making so much chitchat. He couldn't help himself, though. The man interested him.

“I was hoping you could do some work in our backyard, jazz it up a little. It's so boring, and we'd like to have a koi pond, a gazebo,
and a better, more expanded garden. I don't know too much about how much this kind of thing might cost or how long it might take, but I'm prepared to pay you whatever you think is a fair price. Also, if you have any ideas of your own, we'd be totally open to hearing them. Nancy had the idea of putting in a stone walkway leading to the gazebo. Nancy's my wife. I think you met her at the party.”

“Oh, the hostess, Nancy, yes, I remember. She was very nice. It was a great party. Let me take a look at your yard, and then I can give you a better idea of how much it'll cost.”

“Sounds great. Coffee? Tea?”

“A cup of coffee would be great.”

“Cream, sugar?”

“I take it black.”

The two of them walked over the three acres of land that stretched behind the house to the edge of the property. Woods started where the yard ended. Masses of wet leaves blanketed the floor of the forest, and the spinelike trunks of several dead trees were interspersed with younger trees that were still growing. Except for a few scattered birds in the higher branches, the woods were empty of animals. It was a bleak place, not at all spooky and vibrant as a forest should be, but hollow, brittle, and swept clean.

“I bet I can finish the work in less than three months. I have a couple of young guys that help me. You'll meet them. They do work for extra money and help me out when they can. Summer's coming, and I know they need the work.”

“However long it takes is fine with me.”

When they turned back and walked toward the house, Michael saw movement from within. His wife and son were there; he could see them through the glass. Nancy came out onto the grass, her face
startled. Max walked beside her with tentative footsteps, and Michael lifted him into his arms.

“John, this is my son, Max, and you remember Nancy from the party.”

“Of course.” He extended his hand and shook hers as he looked her in the eye. Michael had again the very distinct impression that they were alone together, in a way, even with other people around them. Nancy seemed glad to see him.

“Nancy, this is a surprise for you. I've hired John to spruce up the backyard, make it more like you wanted when we moved in here.”

Nancy looked at Michael and then at John, her face glowing. Michael explained to her what they had planned, and she was clearly happy. Her reaction pleased him; it was evidence that this course of action was leading in an exciting direction. This man excited his wife in a way she could not see in herself. Heck, he himself felt excited by him.

“It was a great party you threw. Your friend Mrs. Keller had been concerned about me since my divorce. I guess she was hoping I would meet someone. Thanks for letting her invite me.” Mrs. Keller lived in a big house down the street. She was a widow, and was in her early sixties. An aging beauty and former tennis star at the country club, she now had more spare time on her hands after her husband's heart attack and death. John explained he had taken care of the landscaping for her property for years, and in her boredom, she must have taken an interest in his romantic life.

“Oh, I was glad to. It's always nice to meet new people, and Linda says such nice things about you and the work you did on her house. Let me make you guys some sandwiches. You must be hungry. I'll let you finish talking.” That was exactly what Michael wanted her to say and do. He looked at John to see if he had noticed what a perfect hostess Nancy could be if she just put her mind to it.

But where was Ryan? Michael wondered.

These days, he rarely got to see his daughter, except to watch her enter and exit their house. She was like a ghost in their home, leaving only traces of her presence behind. How badly he wanted to have the entire family there at once, presented as a unit. The last time he had seen her, he had seen a book he had given her through the mesh of the bag hanging over her shoulder.

She looked to Michael, being the most educated in the family, for direction as to which books to read. A month or two before Christmas, Michael would take particular delight in going to the local bookstore and buying three brand-new copies of some of his favorite books, most of which were classics. Her reverent, almost sacred treatment of the books he gave her touched him profoundly. She read them earnestly, and then the two of them would have a little talk about the book, its themes, and whether or not it had moved her. Michael was careful to avoid getting books her school's English class would cover, such as
Lord of the Flies
or
1984
. That day, it was the cover of
Clock Without Hands
by Carson McCullers that he saw through the mesh bag. That was one of the three books he had given her last Christmas. Although they rarely talked anymore, he was relieved to see that Ryan was still counting on his knowledge of literature to educate her. On some level, he felt, she must still love or respect him.

There was still hope for regaining a connection with his daughter and for Nancy's future happiness. His fear began to evaporate in the bright sunshine, and he wanted to reach out and embrace John as they stood there. He felt lighter, more available to the world. The family had been stagnant too long, he felt. What was needed was a new presence to breathe life back into them. He had arrived.

CHAPTER FIVE

There was something about giving birth to a baby with a disability that changed things. The crippling effect of Max's asthma along with his tiny body and stunted growth always caused Nancy to question whether or not Max was indeed damaged for life. He seemed an ethereal kind of child who was not fully here living a little-kid life. He had his own intangible interests and sat and played on the floor for hours with objects that only he could see.

Nancy and Max had lunch outside at a little glass table as they watched Michael and the new landscaper, John, walk around the yard discussing plans. In a few days it would be June, and the air was brightening up in preparation for summer. John had already removed a dead tree sitting in the far corner of the lawn, and he had readied the ground below him for construction of an ornate gazebo, removing some rocks and making a rudimentary platform. Nancy had grapefruit for Max, which was his favorite, and had sliced around the edges of each tiny section so he would be able to spoon it easily into his mouth. Secretly making tasks easier for her son without his or anyone else knowing took up many hours of Nancy's day. Being a behind-the-scenes person came naturally to her. There were countless things
that she did for everyone in her family that no one was aware of or, if they were, they rarely acknowledged.

The summer before Nancy had left her hometown to become a nanny for a professor at Yale University, a woman she knew had given birth to a baby with Down syndrome. Nancy remembered Gwen's initial shock at seeing the misshapen forehead and the pinched eyes of her newborn baby. As a friend, Nancy had gone to visit the family a couple of days after the mother and baby had returned home from the hospital. Having neither money nor a husband of her own, Gwen was living at her parents' house. To see her friend lying in the bed in which she'd slept as a child, her stomach flabby and deflated under her folded arms, and now in such a difficult situation, Nancy had felt a wave of pity.

She watched her friend's face and saw the bitterness etched into every expression her facial muscles made. Seeing this painful conclusion to a sordid situation, Nancy could not help but feel that God was sending a message to her. She felt not only shame for her friend, who was stuck with such a burden, but also relief for herself that she had not gotten into such a mess. Yes, Nancy had had premarital sex with one man, but she had not run wild like Gwen had. Gwen's body had been the source of pleasure for almost every boy in their tiny, miserable town. Gwen would leave a bar with whomever was available and get into his car, her piercing laugh dying off as the car door shut her safely inside. Nancy was drawn to Gwen's fun-loving nature, but she also felt Gwen was dirty, used, and headed for some kind of disaster. Involuntarily, to some degree she felt her friend deserved the negative consequences of such reckless actions.

Now, after giving birth to Max, she wondered whether God was punishing her for thinking such things about Gwen's baby. Maybe the lesson was being presented to her so that she'd learn the compassion she needed. With that suspicion always at the back of her mind,
Nancy tried to convey to Max with every gesture of every day that she accepted him completely and would never avoid him or his needy ways. She didn't refrain from touching him as everyone else in the family did. He was her special assignment from God, and she knew she should not fail Him. She had been given every tool she would need, every resource to tackle the job of being an effective mother, and she really could not complain about the other things. The missing passion would return after Michael went through one of his spells—he needed her most during his recovery, and they were closest when he was the most vulnerable. He waxed and waned and would bloom for her again.

She considered it a hopeful sign that her husband had chosen to build her a majestic garden with a gazebo, a lovely stone walkway, and roses climbing up a trellis in the garden. She had long since resigned herself to the fact that such things were his way of showing affection, through gestures rather than through words.

She knew that as the days passed, her happiness would deepen as she watched new growth become established in the backyard. Years ago, when the kids had been much younger, she had suggested that they expand their backyard. With so much space, why not use it? But he had refused, saying how much he hated those cluttered, fancy yards that were cropping up in suburban homes left and right. And now, after years of battling over it, he was giving her what she wanted.

Max finished slurping down his grapefruit wedges and then scooped up his orange juice glass. A little bit of juice flew over the edge and landed on his shirt. He immediately looked up to see if she had noticed, his face wary with fear. Hadn't it sunk in by now that she never punished him? She smiled at him.

“It's okay, Max.”

She studied his features while he drank. He resembled neither her husband nor herself. He had a tiny nose, and his jaw was also shaped more delicately than those of the rest of the family. But, as she had learned with Ryan, he would no doubt change several times in appearance as he formed and reformed himself. Ryan had resembled her father as a baby and then Nancy all through girlhood. Now, with Ryan a teenager, Nancy felt shame to behold how unalike they were. Ryan's good looks were startling, and they constantly highlighted the gap between herself and her daughter. She could not help but feel that her daughter had come out on top, resembling a female version of Michael at a younger age, athletic and sculpted. Still, Ryan also had that personality that was slightly on edge, which could be seen as a handicap.

She could remember many times when she had watched Ryan as a girl. A sudden view of her daughter streaking across the yard would cause her to catch her breath. She remembered one evening in particular sitting on a chair in the yard watching Ryan and her friend Carol play. It was dusk, and Nancy was pregnant with Max. As they had moved to this house only a month before, the excitement of a new place brought out the best in all of them. Michael, up in his study organizing his files and books, would occasionally gaze down and wave from the window. Lights from inside the house shone eerily in odd squares stretched over the grass.

At least he's trying, she thought with relief. To see Michael's hopeful face looking down at her was all she needed. When he took his medication, he was calmer and she could relax. Over the years, she would know when he had not taken it because his hands would shake. She found her own tension easing when she observed him swallow a pill—the night would be calmer, his face would relax, he might smile at her or suggest they watch a movie. She made sure to keep his pills stocked and always on hand. She would be lost without them and did
not know what kind of man she would sleep beside if they did not have those pills. They both knew he needed them, and he was fairly regular in taking them. On the rare occasion when he did not, his eyes had a fierce unpredictability that frightened her. Michael's best features by far were his large brown eyes and long eyelashes. They were beautiful, but their gaze was often cold and unemotional on good days, and on bad ones they flickered with secret, unkind thoughts.

When they had moved in, Nancy could not believe that she lived in this house. It was so beautiful—looking up at the large gray face of the back of the house was intimidating. She felt like an imposter claiming to own it, yet they did. Ryan, then ten years old, darted onto a lit square in the grass and halted in a strange pose, standing with her legs stretched apart, her arms out with fingers splayed, frozen in the light. She laughed, the moment was over, and then she sprinted away to the opposite end of the yard, where she tackled her friend Carol.

For that split second Nancy was mesmerized that someone could be that beautiful naturally, that a person's movements could be so effortless and playful. Watching her daughter was painful—to witness such beauty and then to have it retreat from sight.

That night in the yard, Nancy felt deeply honored to have created such a gorgeous child. All those tense and emotional years with Michael at the college had not been a waste after all. Here she was sitting in the yard of her beautiful new house watching her breathtaking daughter enjoy all the fine things that life had to offer. No one in her family could accuse her of not making anything of herself. Look where she was now.

Now, years later, it seemed that the atmosphere of excitement and hope that had been present during their first months in the house had returned to restore them to some higher place from which they had slipped. She
admired her husband as he stood by a stretch of grass, sweeping his arms in front of him to show where he wanted John to dig the koi pond. He was still handsome, gallant in stature, and a myriad of happy memories suddenly claimed her mind. The way he used to need her had touched her deeply. She remembered the nights before they were married when he couldn't sleep and she had gone over to hold him in his big lonely bed so he wouldn't have to be by himself. When he was relaxed, he could be warm and loving. He would often lie in her arms if his mind was troubling him and talk free-form, and she would listen with alert attention in the darkness. Sometimes they rubbed each other's backs absentmindedly before going to sleep. Back when Michael's sleeping pills had actually worked, he had loved nothing more than to talk to her while he began to drift off, pulled under by the pill, while her hand loosened the muscles in his lower back. It had been a while since they had had those nights of intimacy in bed, bonded as husband and wife.

She looked over and saw the silver-framed wedding photo of the two of them from so many years ago. In it she looked up at Michael with a huge smile, while he looked kindly down upon her. It was a nice moment captured on film. Nancy then thought of their wedding, which had taken place in the largest church in Greenwich, Connecticut, where his parents had lived. The church had been decorated with an elaborate display of white flowers, and each pew had a glass frame around a single lit candle adorning its entry. She had never seen such an awe-inspiring arrangement of light and shadow in all her life. Outside, in the fall air, she could hear the wind gently knocking against the windows as she walked down the aisle. That evening, she was able to forget their differences in class and the disapproval of his family. They seemed to look at her differently as she walked toward the altar and danced at the reception, for she felt she had never looked lovelier. Their glances toward her were reconsidering, innocent, pure, and she
felt that the slate had been wiped clean. Ultimately, it had not, but on that night she had felt free of their judgment.

Nancy missed the elation of that evening.

Something had been lost over the years, yet there was hope. Maybe Ryan would remain at home more often now that the yard would be so pretty. She felt helpless at her inability to stop her daughter from spending so many evenings at Carol's house, sensed that something awful would happen if she put her foot down and prevented it. Michael, too, was strangely passive toward Ryan and would not discipline her in an outright way. Nancy knew she would have to stay strong and continue to try to connect with her daughter. Michael had enough on his plate, and it was up to her to try to keep Ryan safe and on track. As Ryan advanced into the teenage realm and showed signs of being a woman, she continually wielded more power. A strong will lurked beneath her surface, one that could exert itself at any moment. She was the kind of girl, Nancy felt, who would run away from home and not be heard from again, living in musky lofts with degenerate rock band boyfriends. But now, with Michael looking so animated, maybe the two would rekindle their earlier bond over books and ideas. Ryan could read in the gazebo and would invite her friends over to their house instead of leaving it to go elsewhere. She made a mental note to encourage Ryan to bring her friends here when she saw her next.

Nancy heard Michael quietly open their bedroom door and tiptoe over to the bed well after eleven. She knew he was most likely drowsy and hoping to fall asleep right away if he lay down before his mind started its turning. She should let him be, but she couldn't help herself. She waited for him to get under the sheets, then turned to face him, grinning into the darkness.

“Can't sleep?”

“No, I can,” she responded. “But I wanted to stay up to see you.”

They both paused. The large room around them seemed to grow more still with each passing second.

“Your birthday is coming up. Anything special you want to do?” he asked.

“Nope. We can do whatever we feel like, I guess.” Nancy secretly had grown to hate the arrival of her birthday every year. Michael always made a fuss over it, several times throughout the day insisting that it was “her day” and asking what “the birthday girl” wanted to do. During the first couple of years of their marriage she had become giddy with the respect she commanded and the attention she received on that day, yet the fifth time around, she had a sinking feeling each time she was complimented or doted upon. To know that this was how she always wanted to feel and that on the day after her birthday it would all disappear was awful. For those twenty-four hours she had the husband she wanted, and then, after the celebration, with several new presents on their bedroom sofa, she would lay her head down and it would all end.

“We can just go to dinner,” she suggested.

“Okay, but maybe I can think of something better.” He rolled over onto his side, his back facing her.

There was the back she knew so well. She reached out her hand and began rubbing along the creases of his shoulder blades. A bony man, he always ached along his joints and ridges. Little knots of pain would lodge themselves in his back, always at these same places. He said nothing, but she could tell he was relaxing, softening into his pillow. This was her introductory maneuver to foreplay, but she didn't overuse it. Half of the time she would rub the back of his shoulder blades, and then, as he began to fall asleep, she would curl herself around him, and force herself to doze off as well. The other half of the
time she would start to play with his hair and see if he would let the cycle begin. Tonight, like many nights, he was unresponsive as she stroked the back of his neck. She found it hard to let it go. She felt bold, excited. He was the sexiest man she had ever met—his coldness, his troubled nature hidden behind a calm exterior elicited a painful desire in her, one that only seemed to grow stronger as the years passed. She loved tall men with deep voices. She loved men who didn't chatter on and on. She secretly knew that Michael was too smart for her, but she wanted to keep learning from him, to analyze the world and see the deeper layers underneath ordinary living. Michael had such depth. He was unlike any other man she had ever met.