The Land of Mango Sunsets (12 page)

Where was that precious little boy? How many ball games had I missed? How many afternoons had I left them with sitters so I could go to a meeting to plan a raffle, design a program journal, or listen to
the ladies
argue over ticket prices and who was important enough to get this or that underwritten? So many it was impossible to count them. And those days I could have spent with my boys were gone forever.

But the mind games had been the culprit. Soon after the boys were born, Charles the Elder, the one who’s the horse’s ass, had embarked on a Chinese campaign of death by a thousand cuts. The little barbs of his running commentary were designed to make me feel inferior and worthless. The worse it got, the more I struggled to make myself interesting to him. In his warped mind, it wasn’t enough to be the mother of our two boys. He knew women who had power and fully loaded résumés of elite education, national distinctions, and global experience. And he told me about them. Night after night. Instead of suspecting it was the beginning of his wandering, I signed up for and volunteered for every single job I could find. Not at the boys’ schools—that would have been too pedestrian. No, my volunteer work was squarely rooted in the world-class arena of the arts in New York. Complex and all-consuming. But because he rarely matched my efforts with substantial financial support, I had never risen to any position of importance.

I saw then the miserable truth of all those years. A wasted life. In the process of trying to be someone Charles would admire and respect, I had walked away from my greatest joy, my children. And I did it over and over again until he left me anyway. I must have been insane.

Just as Mother had said, even if now I was twenty years younger, twenty pounds lighter, and I would add that if I held three doctorates in the most fascinating fields of study in the universe, and throw in a Nobel Prize, Charles still would not want me. The greater question was, Why did I ever so desperately want a man who made me feel like dirt to the point that I sacrificed a minute of time with my children? I swore to my
self that if God ever granted me a chance to repair my own heart and to be a worthy mother, I would grab it.

My thoughts must have traveled the ethers because I was deep in those exact thoughts when the phone rang. It was my son Charlie.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” I said.

“Why’s that? Are you okay? You’re not crying, are you?”

“No! No!” I lied, and sniffed. “There’s a lot of dust in this house! Allergies, you know.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Well, you won’t believe this, but I was just cleaning out the closets in your room and it occurred to me that you might like to see all these things I found before I call Goodwill. I was just going to call
you
!”

“I don’t want anything, Mom. You can just dump it all.”

“Oh, come on. There are swim-team trophies and ribbons, year-books—all sorts of mementos you might like to have for your own children someday. Don’t you think?”

“Use your own judgment, Mom. You know more about that kind of thing than I ever would.”

“I just ran across pictures of you on a Halloween. I guess you were about ten? Dan was dressed up like Spider-Man and you were—”

“Frankenstein?”

“Yep! Frankenstein.”

“I remember that year, too.” He was quiet for a moment and then said, “I don’t know where Dad was, but I remember it was cold and raining. You took us out around the block, like you always did. You made us wear big down jackets and you held this giant doorman’s umbrella over us…”

“And all I wanted…”

“Was a
Fifth Avenue
candy bar! God! Do you remember how you used to send us out to get a
Fifth Avenue
? Those were the days, weren’t they?”

Was I actually hearing a sentimental chord echo from the depths of my son’s previously frozen chest cavity? I grabbed the straw.

“Yes. They were wonderful days, Charlie. I miss them a lot. Especially now, today, going through all your things. There are just so many memories.”

“Yeah.” He paused and added, “You gave us a good childhood, Mom.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” I did? “I know I screwed up lots of things, but I did my best.”

“All parents do. Or at least they think they do.”

“Yes. But if I had it to do all over again, I would have done a lot of things differently.”

There was yet another awkward silence for a few seconds and then he cleared his throat.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Mom. So don’t torture yourself.”

“Well, you’re very sweet to say that, Charlie.”

“Actually, I called to tell you something, Mom.”

I was holding his New York Yankee sweatshirt from ages ago and had no idea then that years later I would remember that detail.

“What’s that?”

“Well, Priscilla and I have decided to make it official.”

“Do you mean, get married?”

“Yes. We’re getting married and I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Well, Charlie? Are you sure? I mean, marriage is forever, you know. Or it’s supposed to be forever.”

“I know that.” I heard a trace of annoyance in his voice and realized it was time to treat him like an adult.

But here it was. My son was going to marry a woman for whom I felt no affection and a decision had to be made right then and there. Here was my second chance. Either I was going to fully support him and hopefully regain some spot in his life that had a future. Or I could be my usual
chilly, distant, noncommittal self on the whole thing and see where things went. But that would have given him one more piece of ammunition to justify distancing himself from me.

I needed Charlie and some symbol of love in my life so desperately that I leaped to support him. Maybe that wasn’t exactly altruistic, but there it was. This was the moment the second phase of my parenting arrived. Besides, and I’d admit it to everyone, my heart couldn’t stand any more loss. We would sail or sink together on the same ship.

I took a deep breath.

“Well, then, congratulations! Charlie? I know you will be a great husband, son. And Priscilla will be a good wife. A great wife. I am thrilled. Have you told your father?” Good job, I told myself. The first step is always the most wobbly.

“Thanks! Really, Mom. I thought you would go nuts or something.”

“Why? Oh, Charlie! Honestly! Sweetheart! You’re a grown man! If you don’t know what and who you want in your life, who would I be to tell you?”

“I guess so.”

“Priscilla is a perfectly lovely and brilliant woman and I think—no, I am certain that y’all are a great match! Seriously. I do…”

“Thank you, Mom. Really. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“Um, you do realize that if we have children they will be of mixed race.”

“I think I do know that. That is your business, Charlie. Not mine. I will love any child you have. Count on it.”

An unbelieving silence followed from his end of the phone. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Charlie, just lately I have come to realize certain things. One is that I have lost too much over pride. I am not going to lose you. Or your family. So there you have it. Now, why don’t we make a dinner date to celebrate? Did you give her a ring?”

“Not yet. But I suppose I should, right?”

It was the first time in six years that my son had sought my advice. By taking the high ground, I was gaining a little territory. I knew Charlie and we both placed great store in the truth. He knew I was laying the facts right on the line.

“Oh, yes, I think absolutely, you must give her a ring. Why don’t I go through my jewelry box and see what I can find that might help? Then we can go down to Corey Friedman on Forty-seventh Street and see what he can put together for you?”

There was an audible gulp from his end.

“Corey Friedman?”

“I. Friedman, son. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my grandmother’s diamond.”

“Your grandmother’s? Your grandmother, my great-grandmother’s diamond?”

“Why not? It’s not like something from Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry box, but it’s quite nice. A smidgen over a carat, I think.”

“Mom, you realize this is like a one-eighty from your former position on this.”

“Not really, sweetheart. I’ve been useless to you for too long. Look. These have been some difficult years. I was just so unsure of everything myself that no matter what I said, it always came out wrong. Really. That’s the truth.”

He was quiet for a minute and then he said, “I believe you.”

“Thanks. I want to put the past where it belongs from now on.” More silence followed and I said, “Listen! Go call your father and tell him and then call your brother…”

“I’m gonna ask him to be my best man, even though I never hear from him…”

“Who does? That’s a good idea. We have to do something to pull this family together—you and me, I mean.”

“Why not?”

“Anyway, ask Priscilla for a free date for dinner and then call me back.”

“Okay. Okay! I’ll do that right now.”

“And, Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, Charlie. Please. Tell Priscilla that I want to love her, too.”

We hung up. I stood there and I felt a glow as if I was feeling real happiness for the first time in so long, I couldn’t remember the last occasion. My little boy was all grown up and getting married. My eyes welled with tears and I went to my bathroom for a tissue. I looked in the mirror. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the wrinkles and lines I saw, I smiled for a change and felt a little bit proud. And relieved.

We had not found the resolution to everything in one phone call, but I certainly had managed to remove a chunk of the wall between us. And maybe everything I said to him wasn’t quite true, but over time I would make it true. I would learn to love Priscilla and I would give her the biggest welcome into my heart that I could manage.

Gee, that old saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar appeared to be legitimate.

Then the noises above me started. First, there was a loud thud, like someone falling, and then I heard Liz scream
no!
Next it sounded like a small piece of furniture was knocked over and then Liz screamed
stop!
My heart started racing and I broke into a sweat because I knew
exactly
what was happening. Truman Willis was there and he was assaulting Liz.

I ran for the phone and called Kevin. Thankfully he picked up on the first ring because I was already almost hyperventilating.

“
Where
are you?”

“What’s wrong?” he said, sensing the panic in my voice. When I told him, he said, “Miriam! Listen to me! Do
not
go up there! Call 911! It might
not
be Truman. It could be an intruder! I’ll be home in two minutes!”

“Okay! Please hurry!”

We hung up and I dialed 911.

“There’s a man in my house beating up my tenant upstairs! Please hurry!”

I gave them my address, my name, and hung up to begin pacing the floor. It seemed like an eternity before anyone came to the rescue. Kevin got home first. I was watching through my peephole and saw him going up the stairs, two steps at a time. I went out into the hall and saw him up there standing in front of the door. Suddenly things got very quiet.

“Liz? Are you all right?” I saw him banging on the door and calling out. “Liz? We called the police and they’ll be here any minute! Liz? Answer me! Liz?”

I hurried up the stairs right behind him but he shooed me away before I could reach him.

“Go open the front door and wait for the police,” he said.

“No! This is my house!”

“Don’t be a fool, Miriam! There’s no point in both of us getting hurt! Now go!”

I did as he said and thankfully I could see the blue lights spinning from the patrol car outside. I opened the door as quickly as I could and stood aside. Two cautious-looking police officers stepped in, looked at me, and said, “We got a call about a domestic disturbance?”

“Second floor,” I said. “Please! Hurry!”

But it was quiet and whatever was going on up there had ended in a dead silence that frightened me more than Liz’s screaming and the sounds of furniture being thrown around. Shaking from head to toe, I crept up the stairs and heard one of the officers talking into his two-way radio.

“Yeah, two ambulances. We’ve got an apparent heart-attack victim with a low pulse and a young woman who’s pretty banged up.”

Heart attack? Oh dear, heavenly Father! Truman? I looked through the open door. Truman Willis was unconscious on the floor. His complexion was gray, like the color of wet cement. He looked dead. I rushed
inside Liz’s bedroom. Through the open door I could see that she was lying on the floor of her bathroom, a puddle of blood under her head.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Oh my God.”

Kevin was standing next to me. “Oh, no!” He knelt, and just as he was reaching out to feel her pulse, one of the officers put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder with a firm jerk.

“Don’t touch her,” an officer said. “I have to ask you two to leave. This is a crime scene.”

“She’s my…my niece,” I said, lying through my teeth. She bore no family resemblance. “And this is my house. I’m not going anywhere.”

There were some suspicious looks between the cops, but given the assessment that Truman’s life was in more serious danger, they ignored me. The emergency medical team arrived in minutes and immediately lifted Truman onto the stretcher, starting an IV.

“His pulse is very weak. Pressure’s eighty over twenty. We gotta get this guy outta here…”

They were asking Truman questions but he gave no response. He was unconscious. The police asked me if I knew him. I said that I did and hurried downstairs to retrieve Agnes’s number. I gave the number to one of the police officers.

“Friend of yours?” the officer asked, referring to Truman.

“Sort of.”

“Do you want to make the call?”

“Absolutely not.”

With a crisp understanding that this old coot Truman Willis had the dreadful luck to nearly succumb in his young lover’s apartment, he stepped outside to make the call himself. He had probably done that sort of thing hundreds of times.