The Perfect Family (10 page)

*

Brian shuffled to the door of Jamie’s room, where an old folk song by Joni Mitchell played low from his computer. “Something’s wrong with Mom and Dad, isn’t it?”

His brother was sitting on the bed, writing in his journal. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like after Grandma Lorenzo comes to visit. Like they got the wind knocked out of them. Did Grandma find out about Teresa calling?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Mom’s been so happy about that.”

“Yeah. I wish Aunt Caroline would get in touch with her, though.” Jamie glanced through the window where rain began to pelt against the panes, then back to Brian. “How’s Heather?”

“Pissed at me.”

“Why?”

Stepping inside, Brian closed the door. He lifted a pile of books off the chair and set them on the desk. “Big Boobs Barbara flirted with me at lunch. Heather was in the guidance office, so I flirted back. Somebody told her. Probably that prick Cummings.”

Jamie asked, “Did Heather ever find out about Mexico?”

“No. Besides I didn’t do anything serious.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He noticed his brother’s shoulders were tense beneath his long-sleeved brown T-shirt. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

“You seem edgy.”

“Nah. Bored maybe.”

“Got plans tonight?”

Again, Jamie glanced at the computer. He could be a real geek sometimes.

“Besides being online?”

“I did. But they fell through. Why?”

“Heather and me are goin’ to the movies. Wanna come?”

“Even though she’s mad at you?”

“Yeah, she’ll be over it by then. Come with us?”

“Maybe.”

That was weird. Jamie usually teased him about his taste for action movies. “You can pick the flick. Heather likes what you do, anyway.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll see whatever you want.” He stood and tossed down the journal. “Maybe I’ll even treat with the money Uncle Jimmy sent me for my birthday.” Neither of them could work because of sports and drama commitments, so cash was scarce.

“Jame, you sure nothing’s wrong?”

For a second, Jamie looked so sad it spooked Brian. Then he joked, “Why, because I’m not a cheapskate like you?”

Brian pulled the trump card. They had some things they used to do when they were little, and though they didn’t need them much as they grew up, he used one now. “You promise? That you’re all right?”

Neither of them could lie if they
promised
they were telling the truth.

Jamie swallowed hard. “I promise. Let me tell Mom and Dad I’m going with you.”

As Jamie headed down the hall to their parents’ bedroom, Brian felt better. Jamie promised, so everything was okay.

*

An hour after the boys left for a movie, Maggie was sitting on the bed in a pink nightshirt, reading Dan Brown’s newest book, when she heard the shower go off. A few minutes later, Mike came into the bedroom. Naked. Though he slept in the buff, he almost always put on pajama bottoms or boxers before bed in deference to the boys, who routinely wandered into their bedroom. She watched her husband. There were lines bracketing his eyes and mouth. His whole body seemed coiled. Without a word, he crossed to the door and locked it. Circling around the bed to her side, he removed the book from her hand and switched off the nightstand light. She could barely see him, but she could smell the soap from his shower and feel his hands on her.

“Mike, what…”

He silenced her with his mouth. It came down on hers hard and demanding. Startled, she grasped his biceps. His hand at the back of her neck kept her close, so she slid her arms around him.

The kiss deepened and his breathing escalated. Usually there was stroking, cuddling, teasing in their foreplay. Without letting go of her mouth, he pushed her to the bed, laying her out flat. His hand groped for her nightshirt. When he released her to yank the garment over her head, she said, “Mike, I—”

“Shh. I want it this way.”

Fast and furious, it seemed. He touched all the spots that after twenty-some years of lovemaking he knew so well. He made her come with his mouth.

Only when he gripped her arms so hard it hurt and thrust inside her without any gentleness, instead with a frenzy which bordered on violence, did she feel a trace of fear. He grunted his release, loud and long. Then he rolled off her, collapsing on the mattress.

He stayed there, sweaty and spent, his wrist draped over his forehead. She switched on a lamp and the light cast his features in hard planes. Instead of relaxed satiation after sex, his body was taut.

“What was that all about?”

For several seconds, he didn’t answer, the branches batting the side of the house the only sound in the room. “I’m feeling a lot now. Truthfully, I don’t want to analyze it.” He glanced over and said, “I needed that. Can you leave it alone?”

“I guess.”

He turned over and in seconds, his breathing evened out. Maggie wasn’t as lucky. She tried to read again but she couldn’t concentrate. So she switched off the light and lay staring into the dark night for a long time, wondering exactly what had happened here.

*

The next morning at seven a.m. a noise woke Maggie. She climbed out of bed—Mike was gone—pulled on a velour sweat suit and slippers, and followed the banging sound, worried because they all slept in on Saturdays. She found Mike stacking paint cans in the garage, with Buck cowering in the corner. The early April morning was milder than most, but the air was still cool and she shivered.

“What are you doing?”

He looked over his shoulder. Little particles of dust floated in the air and dirt smeared his cheek. “It was a mess in here. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

She scanned the shelves at the back of the garage where junk tended to collect. Every item was in place. He’d dragged bikes and old chairs out of the storage area and put them on the front of the driveway. Running her hands over her upper arms to warm herself, Maggie wandered out to the pile he’d made. In it was a red tricycle, a two-wheeler with
The Flyer
painted on the bar, small lawn chairs, and an odd assortment of toys and games. To her, they were memories of their little boys. “What are you going to do with this stuff?”

“Give it to the church garage sale. I’ll take it over this afternoon.”

Fishing out a baseball glove, she held it up to him. “Wasn’t this Brian’s first mitt?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can’t give it away.” She ran her hand over the cold metal of the bike. “And this is Jamie’s first two-wheeler.”

“So? They’re all grown up. They make their own decisions now. This baby stuff has to go.”

“Mike, please, what are you
doing
?”

He whirled around. “Don’t start on me.”

Stung, she stepped back. After a moment, she picked the mitt up and ran her fingers over the worn leather, picturing Brian’s little hand fitting inside it for the first time. Then she walked back into the house and stowed the glove in a drawer in the kitchen. As she made coffee, she pushed up the sleeves of her shirt and noticed a bruise on her arm. Add last night to Mike’s manic behavior this morning and Maggie felt like she was standing in the ocean in Cancun again, the sand shifting under her feet.

Unfortunately, her husband’s uncharacteristic actions didn’t end in the garage. On Sunday morning, he rose early again. The boys got up for church at ten. Mike was showered and ready twenty minutes before they had to leave. “Get a move on,” he yelled up the steps as he paced the foyer.

Maggie heard Jamie and Brian grumble amidst the sounds of running water and an electric shaver; some curses filtered down the hall to her, where she was dressing in her bedroom. Hurrying, she was downstairs in minutes. Five more and Brian joined them in the kitchen.

Jamie was the last to finish dressing. He sauntered into the room wearing a striped shirt…and jeans.

“What’s this?” Mike asked.

“What’s what?” Even Jamie’s stance was belligerent. Defiant. Despite how basically easygoing the boys were, Mike and Maggie had had their share of rebellion from them. When Jamie was in middle school, he dyed his hair green for fun and Brian got an earring, both of which irked Mike. Each of the boys went to places they weren’t supposed to go and fibbed about their whereabouts, like normal teenagers.

But they’d already fought this
no-jeans-to-church
battle. Mike had won.

“You know the rule, Jamie.”

“Yeah, but I don’t agree with it.”

“You’re entitled to disagree.” Mike glared at him. “Not disobey.”

Jamie flopped down onto a stool. “What? Are we living in the Dark Ages?”

“Go upstairs, young man, and put on some nice pants.”

“No. I just won’t go to church.” He stood and tried to brush past Mike.

Grabbing Jamie’s arm, Mike yanked him back. “Yes, you will. Now go change!”

Brian said, “Jeez, Jame, just do it, it’s no big deal.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying here?” Mike asked.

His eyes simmering with emotion, Jamie stared at his father. “Yeah, Dad, I understand. Loud and clear.”

*

It was too much for Maggie to handle alone. All week, she’d avoided Gretta, who she told her secrets to, because Jamie had made her promise to keep his disclosure to herself for a while. And Gretta would sense instantly something big had happened. But because her emotions were in a whirlwind, Maggie made an appointment to see Melissa Fairchild, her intermittent counselor for the past twenty years.

The therapist’s office had always been a haven. Up a flight of stairs, on the second floor of a building in a restored part of downtown Rochester, the three rooms housed teak bookcases and bright airy windows and were painted a soothing peach. On the walls hung two Monet prints and a Renoir drawing. Short couches were opposite each other with a stuffed chair at one end, between the sofas.

Melissa was an attractive woman with brown curly hair, now beginning to gray, wise eyes, and a sympathetic smile. Maggie valued her intelligence, her insight, and her wit.

“Hi, Maggie. Good to see you.”

“Same here.”

Melissa studied her. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Maggie dropped down on the couch where she always sat and Melissa took her usual chair. “I don’t know where to start.”

Settling in, Melissa picked up her leather-bound notebook. Inside held notes on Maggie. Melissa scanned the top page. “Is this about your mother?”

“No, but there is a looming issue on the horizon there.” She inched forward on the seat. “Caroline’s daughter called me, Melissa.”

“Your
sister
Caroline?”

“Yes.”

When Maggie had first come to see Melissa, she’d spent six months dealing with her mother and how Maggie’s personality had been formed early on. A huge part of that discussion was the loss of Caroline at such a young age. It had been the most traumatic event of her life. Until now?

“This is good news, isn’t it?”

“It is. Of course it is. But no one else in my family knows. I won’t tell them until I talk to Caroline, at least.”

“That’s a lot to take in. You should be going slowly and you have to consider Caroline’s wishes, too.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make this work for everybody.”

Melissa sighed. “It’s not your responsibility to make Caroline’s coming back into your lives work.”

“Then who will?”

“People are responsible for their own actions, their own happiness.”

“But Caroline just lost her husband. I have to help, to protect her.”

Melissa shook her head. “We’ve been over this before. You can’t protect everyone in your life. Sometimes the course of events just have to unfold naturally.”

Resting her head back on the couch, Maggie tried to clear her mind. “There’s more, Melissa. It’s why I’m not thinking straight. Not internalizing what I’ve already worked out here.”

“What is it?”

“Jamie just told us he’s gay.”

Melissa waited for moment, then said, “And that’s a problem for you?”

“It is for Mike. Brian doesn’t even know yet. The jury’s still out on the rest of our family and friends.”

In halting sentences, she told Melissa about Mike’s issues with the church and how she was feeling cut off from him. She recounted her worry over how Brian would react. “I just don’t know how to help them through this.”

“They’ve got to help themselves, Maggie.” Melissa waited a beat. “Don’t you see the connection? You couldn’t fix everything when you were growing up, and you can’t now.”

“Is that what I’m trying to do?”

“You tell me.”

“Maybe. I feel bad, though.”

“About Jamie?”

“Yes, of course. His life is going to be hard now.”