The Second Son (40 page)

I ignored him, too. “It was Gail,” I said softly as I rose from the table and moved to the window where I could see the MacDonald’s old house across the street. I stared at it for a while, I don’t know how long, before I noticed someone had painted the front door purple. I hated that.

I sat down in the chair by the door and looked up at Jean. “It was Gail. I never let her go, all the time I was in there. The days weren’t so bad, they kept you busy. But at night when I was alone I would think about Gail, hanging on to the picture I had of her in my mind. Every night I’d think about her, and home, and the stuff we used to do. Going to the park, walking home from school, hanging around her pool . . . I’d dream up my own little world, where we’d be safe and happy. Just us.” I raised my head slowly to look her in the eye. “Dumb, eh?”

She didn’t say anything, but seeing her sitting there, looking kindly at me, this fine-looking woman, separated now from my brother and mother, emboldened me. I smiled and went on, “Often I pictured her in that crazy outfit, the one she wore in the parade that day — the big white Stetson with a silver ribbon sewed around the brim, and a white satin shirt with two pockets and a row of red tassels across her chest. I remember thinking how sexy she looked, those tassels swinging when she moved. She had on a new pair of blue jeans, still crisp from the starch, with a wide white belt and a big silver buckle in the shape of a horse’s head. And her jeans were tucked inside her new riding boots — white, like her belt.”

That made me stop and smile again before continuing, “I remember her asking me about the belt, afraid that people would notice it wasn’t looped through her jeans. She was mad at her mom for not finding jeans with wide enough loops. And there were red buttons on the shirt — I almost forgot — and a red string tie threaded through a silver horseshoe.”

I don’t know what Jean saw in my eyes that made her put a hand out, like she would have touched me if she was closer. She finally let it drop, slowly, and said, “It’s nice, that you could remember her like that.”

“Uh-huh. But over the years it got harder and harder to conjure up her face. Eventually I lost that part of the image. It bothered me a lot. I had made this promise to her, you see, that I would keep her memory alive. Well, you know about that.” I patted my chest and continued, “Here it was, just a few years later and I was having trouble remembering what she looked like. I knew I was letting her down. It even crossed my mind once to write her mother and ask for a picture, that’s how desperate I was. Of course I knew I could never do that. Her mom was the one I worried about most. She was always so nice to me. And now she thought . . . well, you can imagine what she must have thought.”

“You see, Jean,” my mother moaned, “he worried more about that woman than he did his own mother.”

I looked at Jean and shook my head in despair. “Another failure to communicate,” I groaned.

She didn’t seem interested. Instead, she said softly, “Maybe you took too much on yourself. Did you ever wonder about that?”

“Sure,” I shrugged, “every day. I mean, what the hell, I couldn’t bring her back. Maybe I should have just accepted it. Maybe it was inevitable, all along. A woman has two sons. One is good, the other one is not so good. One makes her proud, the other one makes her . . . well, not so proud. And then one day her two boys get into trouble and she has to make a choice. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Most people never have to make a choice like that. But if they do, well, you can see why — ”

She shook her head at me. “I don’t believe that for one second. And neither do you. A mother has to make choices every day and she just tries to do what is best for each child, as an individual. In fact, I’ve seen many mothers protect the not-so-good child, the one with problems. The weaker one.”

“There you have it, then.” I looked over at my mother. “Was that the problem, Mother? I wasn’t weak enough?”

“I don’t understand any of this, Mike. Why are you dredging all this up? I’m sorry if — ”

Andrew couldn’t stand it any more. “You two don’t actually believe this crap, do you? That’s all he had to do in there, dream up these wild stories. Cowgirl outfits, tattoos, belt loops, what kind of bullshit is that?”

Jean looked at him. “Does it really matter, Andrew? How someone copes with being locked up? The point is, he was locked up.” She turned back to me. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Mike, but it seems to me you’re like an animal caught in a trap, trying to chew off its own leg.”

I managed a sad smile. She was probably right, I was thinking as I studied my mother and brother. I had been circling these two all my life, waiting for my chance to make them pay. What good had it done me? “You may be right,” I said, “maybe I shot myself in the foot, after all. But it’s not over. The son of a bitch has yet to pay for what he did.”

“Pay!” Andrew exploded. “You idiot, I’ve already paid. And paid and paid and paid. You’re not the one who’s been trapped all these years. You just went to a reform school for a few years. I’m the one with the life sentence.”

I winked at Jean. “Notice how it goes from six years to a few years? Another minute now and it will disappear, like that scratch on his face.”

Andrew must have felt I was trying to steal yet another girl’s affections. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” he barked.

“Oh, no,” I protested with a smile. “I mean, you won all those prizes, in religion, even.”

“Mock me all you want, you son-of-a-bitch. I knew exactly what you were doing, right from that first day you kept your mouth shut. You took all the blame on purpose.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Not for the reason you said. You took the blame because it gave you control, control over this family. You just admitted as much. You don’t want to live in Alexandria. You only come home to torture us. And you know why? Because you’re insanely jealous of me, always have been. That’s why you wanted Gail MacDonald for yourself, the same way you wanted Mother all to yourself. You’re sick, little brother, fucking sick in the head.”

At last, an Andrew my mother didn’t appreciate. “Andrew,” she pleaded, “please don’t use that language. That’s not you. You’re just upset.”

“You don’t understand, Mother. Don’t you remember? What he was like as a child? He’d disappear in the morning and never come home till supper. Meanwhile I’d be stuck with all the chores. I’m the one who’s been trapped here. He’s been free all these years, travelling where he pleases, living with one woman after the other.”

I laughed. “See, Jean? I’m not a fairy, after all.”

That only aggravated him further. “Laugh all you want, brother. You’ve had your say, now I’ll have mine.” He was on such a roll he didn’t even notice his wife crossing her arms. He just ploughed ahead, getting more worked up as he went, “You knew damn well what you were doing. You tied me to Mom and Dad. I’m the one who had to stay here and rebuild our reputation. I look after this house, I get their damn cars fixed when they break down, I shovel the driveways and rake the fucking leaves.”

Once more my mother’s jaw dropped. “Andrew! You haven’t been alone all these years. You’ve had your family’s support.”

He gave her a sideways look I’d never seen before. “Who do you think takes them to all their doctors’ appointments? Who do you think took her to church every goddamn Sunday for the last thirty years? Not you, that’s for goddamn sure.”

Jean finally stepped in. “Andrew, for God’s sake, that’s enough.”

“I know, Jean, I know,” he cajoled. “You’ve been at my side, I know. But you did it out of choice. I had no choice. Don’t you see what he did to me? He turned everything I did into a goddamned, never-ending penance.”

All that got him was a big frown. “It sounds more like self-pity than penance, Andrew. I can’t believe it, all these years and you were just feeling sorry for yourself.”

“For God’s sake, woman, he wants to destroy me. Can’t you see that? Every time I start feeling comfortable in my skin, thinking the worst is behind me, he shows up again. He’s ruined everything. He does it on purpose. Ask him. He’s been having great fun all these years, torturing me. It’s never been about Gail MacDonald — it’s all about him, wanting to be first. Go ahead, ask him.”

He finally had her thinking. “What about it, Mike? You’re big on the truth. Is there any truth to this?”

I smiled at the notion. “Did I want to make them pay for what they did to me? Sure. Did I keep coming back to see if my spell was still on them? Maybe. Or maybe it’s the opposite of hate. Could be it’s more about love than — ”

She seemed to be losing patience with me. “It’s understandable, that you wanted to hurt them. But are you finished yet? Have you got your pound of flesh?”

I smiled some more. “I was about to say, dear Jean, that it might have been love all along, not hate.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, maybe I kept hoping they would love me enough to finally ask me to come home. Don’t I deserve their love, after what I did for them? And why can’t I come home, now that we all know what really happened that day at the dam?”

“Bullshit,” Andrew injected.

I ignored him and pointed at my mother. “Go ahead, Jean, ask her why I can’t come home.”

She frowned at me. “I already know the answer. And so do you. But I’ll ask you another question. Why now?”

“What do you mean?” I answered quickly, feeling a guilty grin coming on.

She smiled at my transparency. “We both know you’ve had the power to hurt your brother for a long time. So, why now? Is it because you found out he wanted to run for mayor? Would that finally make you even? If you destroy that dream?”

“Why not?” I snapped. “You don’t think I’m entitled?”

Andrew crowed, “See! I told you.”

She ignored him, intent now on pressing me for the whole story. “So? All that talk about real estate listings was more about hate than homesickness?”

I was beginning to wonder how much truth sweet Jean could really handle. And how much I really cared. “Well,” I ventured, “it’s my hate and I’ve got every right to it. I paid the price, didn’t I? Cash on the barrel.”

“I’m not disputing that. I’m just wondering what it’s getting you. I’ve been watching you the last couple of days. I think there’s part of you that really does want to come home.”

“So?”

She smiled at my rising belligerence. “So, do you really think you can destroy your brother without destroying everything good you hope to find here? I wonder if you’ve figured that out yet. Attack Andrew and this story is big news all over again.”

I took a deep breath before I answered, “Don’t try to read my mind, Jeannie dear. I’m too fucked up for that.”

She actually laughed. “I don’t think so. I think your mind is very clear about this. If you want to come home, you’ll have to let this lie. That’s why you’re so angry. He’s got you trapped.”

“You think so?” I didn’t appreciate how sure she sounded.

This time she frowned. “Yes, I do. I think you love this town a lot more than you let on. And I think that’s the
real
reason you’ve never blown the whistle on him. If what you say is true, you screwed yourself, that first night in the courthouse. Let’s face it, Mike. Destroy Andrew and you destroy your own dream of coming home. You know that, don’t you?”

I DON
’
T KNOW HOW LONG
I sat there without answering. I finally looked down and realized I was driving my nails into my palms. I opened my hands and watched the blood flow back and the marks begin to disappear. If only it was that simple, I thought.

She was right. There was no happy ending for me. And forgiveness? Forget that shit. I could never give up that sense of loss, that alienation that had become part of who I was. I had been too angry at being second for too long. It was the fuel for my fire, this hunger for fairness, this hunger that would never be satisfied. “No matter,” I finally said aloud. “You can talk all you want about my problems. The person with the real problem is your husband. He killed someone, I didn’t.”

“You bastard,” Andrew bellowed, “repeat it all you want, twist the truth till we’re all dizzy with your lies. The facts are there for everyone to see. You started it all. You burned the store down and left us penniless. You stole Gail from me when she was all I had left. You couldn’t wait, you sneaky bastard. You destroyed your own family.”

I laughed and turned to my mother. “Mom, tell him that’s not true. I couldn’t have been a bastard. I was the
second
son.” When she refused to look at me I piled on more, “Or maybe I
was
someone’s bastard, after all. You know, I used to think I was Aunt Sissy’s unwanted child, the way you used to — ”

“Aunt Sissy’s?” she looked at me in disgust. “My God, Mike Landry, how could you even think such a thing? To think I carried you for . . .” When she couldn’t finish the thought she looked to Jean. “For God’s sake, Jean, make him stop.”

Maybe I had gone too far. Jean gave me the same look my mother had. “How can you hate so hard for so long?”

That one gave me pause, as I wondered if she really wanted to know. I studied their faces as they each had their own thoughts on what motivated a creature like me. I decided Jean deserved an answer. “Hate comes in handy,” I said, “it fills in the cracks that love leaves behind.”

I stopped and thought about it for a moment, before continuing, “I could give lessons, you know. The trick is, never give in to the urge to forgive, least of all those little slips and slights that fill our days. Mark the smallest disrespect, savour the slightest disappointment, hang on to each and every grievance. Hold them close to your heart, nourish them even in the darkness of your room at night.

“And always, always resist the temptation to give in to the good stuff. You know, those warm memories that sneak up on you, those recollections of a tender moment, a hand on your arm, a quick hug, a kiss — those random exceptions to the rule that keep you hooked, hoping in vain she might turn to you, and just once choose you, her second son.”

My mother made a soft mewing noise and raised a shaky hand from her lap. For just a flash of a second I thought she was going to extend it toward me and I froze in panic. When she let it drop back down, I took a deep breath and continued glibly on, “That’s the key, you see, to keeping the hate alive. Never, ever let them touch you.” I tried to close with one of my insane grins, “You know, Mother, just reject, reject, reject.”