Double Trouble (17 page)

“They’re in the same circumstance as you, but they’re trying to change.”

She flicked her fingers impatiently at me. I pulled out a stool and sat down, a move that clearly didn’t thrill her. Her nostrils flared, but she set her sights on James, clearly identifying that he was the logjam here.

“I don’t see any reason to change,” she informed him. “It comforts me. It hurts no one but me. It makes it easier to face the day.”

“You’re not facing the day; you’re avoiding it.”

Good shot. That sounded like something I would say. I was impressed.

Beverly was not. “You’ve never spoken to me with such impertinence,” she charged. “You’ve ignored me, that’s for certain, all of you have, but you have never spoken this way to me. I think maybe it’s better to be ignored.”

James didn’t even blink. “Maybe it’s time someone did talk to you this way. Maybe it’s time someone showed you the truth.”

“You want some truth?” Beverly sat up straighter and her eyes snapped. “I’m not surprised that Marcia left you. I didn’t like the girl, she had no class, but you didn’t do her any favors. You lived your life in a perfect echo of your father’s life -”

“He isn’t my father.”

“But he was your model all the same. He might as well have been your father—you two are two peas in a pod and always have been. If I’d ever had any gumption, I would have left him. I would have left all of you, all of you men who could never look me in the eye, all of you men who pretended I wasn’t even there. If I’d been a stronger person, I would have walked out that door and never looked back.”

If she’d thought to shock him, she gambled against the odds.

James returned her challenging glare impassively. “So, the sherry is a crutch then,” he said quietly. “It’s a way to face the bitter reality of your being ignored by your family.”

“Don’t you mock me, James Edward Coxwell.”

“I’m not mocking you.” He hauled out a chair and sat down beside her, his expression intent. “Let’s toss some truth around, since everyone seems to be in the mood for it. I don’t know why the others ignored you then, but I know why I did.”

“Because you were ashamed of me.” Beverly blinked rapidly, as though clearing tears from her vision. “Obviously.”

“No. Because I didn’t know you.”

She bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

James shook his head, and took her hand in his. He spoke quietly, as if chiding her. “You’re forgetting that I’m the oldest.”

“I’m not forgetting anything of the kind. I’m not that much of a lush that I forget the order of my children’s births! Don’t you dare say that I’m losing my memory because of the sherry...”

“You’re forgetting that I’m the only one who remembers you
not
drinking.”

Beverly opened her mouth, then shut it again. She stared at him, shocked to silence.

James’ words were low and soft when he continued and I was amazed at the tenderness in the way he held her hand. “You’re forgetting that I remember having a sober mom. The others probably don’t.”

Beverly blinked. “So, what?”

“So, I remember you reading to me. I remember you teaching me the names of things, of boats and plants and vegetables. I remember you introducing me to new tastes and new wonders, teaching me new skills, helping me get up that first stair. I remember venturing out in the world, which was a big and frightening place, but knowing that everything would be fine because my Mom was holding my hand.” He squeezed her fingertips and Beverly looked away. “I remember all the things you did, and all the ways you loved me. Those memories are helping me learn how to be good parent.”

“But, but...”

“I remember how much it hurt to see you change,” James continued, his voice husky and urgent. Beverly stared at him, one tear easing down her cheek. “I couldn’t look at you then because it hurt too much. It wasn’t just seeing you that way—it was knowing that I couldn’t help you. It was fearing that some part of what happened to you every day might be my fault.”

“Never! It was
never
your fault, nor that of your brothers and sister.”

“But I was the only one you had mothered that way. How could I not imagine that something I had done sometime somewhere, something I didn’t even remember, had made you not want to be that kind of mom any more?”

“That’s not true.”

“I know that now, but I didn’t know that then. I was just a kid, just a kid missing his mom.”

I thought of Johnny, worrying about Marcia finding them if they moved, and the parallel was pretty evident. Guess Johnny didn’t get his sensitivity from his mom.

Beverly was crying openly now, though she didn’t seem to care. She leaned forward and kissed James’ cheek, then wiped away the residue of her lipstick with a fingertip. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know I cheated all of you, but you’re grown up now.”

“People don’t grow out of needing a mom.”

“Well, they do, in many ways.”

“Not the most important ones.” James squeezed her hand and obviously tried to coax her smile. “Come on back to us. We’ll make it worth your while.”

Beverly took a deep breath and her tears welled again. “But it’s so hard.” Her voice broke and she looked away, then shook her head. It was amazing—now she was going to try to make him smile. “You know, these AA people, they actually expect you to quit drinking. Totally.”

Her attempt at a joke fell completely flat. James said nothing, just held fast to her hand, and Beverly rummaged in her purse for a tissue with her free hand.

The realtor bounced into the kitchen, a grim couple in tow. “Now you see the wonderful light in this room. It needs to be completely gutted and renovated, of course, but you could live with it like this for the short term. Imagine, French doors there to a patio, marble counters, new cabinets. The flow into the family room is just fabulous and if you moved this wall...”

It was startlingly offensive to have her talking about the inadequacies of the house that James and Marcia had obviously thought more than adequate. She and her prey continued on to the family room as Beverly sniffled.

“I’ll go with you,” James said with sudden intensity.

His mother seemed as startled as I was by this offer. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll go with you to the AA meetings. I know it won’t be easy for you, so I’ll go along.” He gave her hand a little shake. “Remember when you used to say that I was your pillar of strength?”

She smiled through her tears. “You were
four
!” She turned to me, anxious to let me in on the story, probably because it would give her a chance to think about what he was saying. “Whenever we did something daunting, like crossing the street for the first time, I pretended that I was afraid and told James that he had to be my pillar of strength. He took the responsibility very seriously, that was my boy.” She smiled at him with undisguised pride. “How can you remember that?”

“I remember everything. That’s why I want to help you. We’ll go together, Mom. It will be easier for you.”

“You haven’t called me Mom in years.”

“Maybe it’s time I started again.”

Beverly traced a circle on the kitchen table, uncertain but encouraged. “But you can’t have time. With Marcia gone and the boys, you have so much to do...”

James laughed, then glanced at me, though it was more than the sight of that dimple that made my heart skip. “I’m unemployed, Mom. It’s a matter of record that I’ve got nothing but time.”

The barracuda had a heart. He kept it well hidden, but I was touched that he would do this for Beverly. We were having a certified Disney moment. Bring back Bambi’s mom, let’s have a song and a rainbow over the whole scene.

Then James blew it.

“Any chance you could help us out, Maralys?”

I did my best Jack Frost. “I beg your pardon?”

“The boys aren’t going to be going to any AA meetings with us.”

Just a few words and I saw red. An endless stream of weekday nights camped out with the small adults stretched out before me and I snapped. How many years do people go to AA, anyhow? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to find out.

How
dare
he expect me to take my sister’s place?

How dare he expect me to leap in, as a convenient babysitter?

I hauled out one of my business cards and snapped it on the table. I have them printed on thick stock just so they make a nice crisp sound in moments like this.

“Maybe you don’t have one of my cards,” I said coldly. They both looked at me, Beverly with incomprehension, James with wariness. “Pick it up. What does it say?”

“Maralys O’Reilly. Web-based Solutions,” he read without intonation.

“Does it say Registered Charity?”

“No.”

“Does it say Babysitting Services? Daycare?” My voice rose with each question and I didn’t care. “Chauffeur? Incidental housekeeping services?
Surrogate
?”

“Hmm,” said Beverly and looked at her son.

James was getting red around the back of his neck. “Maralys, I just asked...”

“I know what you asked. I heard what you asked! You asked what you’ve been asking ever since my sister left. Would I pretend to be her for the time being as it would be just so much easier for you. No! NO! How many times do I have to say it? These are not my kids. This is not my life!”

“Look, I just asked...”

“I’ve stepped in to help, but that’s
enough
! This is not going to become some cozy convenient little habit: “oh, we can just call Maralys. It’s not as if she has a life.”” I cast my hands skyward, something I’ve always wanted to do. “I will
not
be convenient! I will not be
useful
! I will not be
needed
, especially not by you.”

“Especially?” James asked, catching the one word of importance in my tirade.

You have to know that I covered my slip as best as I could. I stepped forward and shook my finger under his nose. My voice was lower now and shaking. “All these years, I’ve been
persona non grata
in this household. How’s that for some Latin, my friend? I’ve been insulted, by you, I’ve been disparaged, by you, I’ve been judged, by you, and I’ve been shunned, by you.”

“Maralys, I’m sorry...”

“How timely of an apology is that?” I snapped. It didn’t help that James looked genuinely contrite. He probably got that mail order—in his former job, he’d need a lot of it. “You apologize right when you need a regular sitter. Well, guess what, this isn’t going to follow your script.”

“If you’d just give me a chance to explain...”

“No, I won’t. I’ve done what I’ve done so far for the boys and for my dad, but that’s it. I made a resolution years ago that I wouldn’t be taken for granted ever again.” I shook my head. “If you think I’m going to back down on that for you, you’ve got another think coming.”

I scooped up my keys and turned to leave.

“Maralys!”

“Sorry, this offer has expired. Look—best before last Tuesday. I’m fresh out of family obligation.”

“How about
listening
for a change?” James shouted. “How about finding out the truth?”

I glanced back, big mistake. He was really, really angry with me. I very nearly went back and listened, but the timing was too opportune for him.

His mother was watching the exchange avidly and I felt myself begin to blush. Just what I needed.

And I was really, really angry with
him
anyhow. “You don’t know what the truth is.” I said. “and you wouldn’t believe it if you heard it.”

“Try me.” His eyes were bright with challenge as he began to walk toward me. He was goading me and we both knew it. The air crackled between us but I held my ground, waiting to him to get to me. He stared down at me and we were definitely thinking the same thing.

“Don’t go,” he whispered with urgency.

“I don’t play the rebounds,” I whispered back just as urgently, then I pivoted before I lost my nerve.

“It’s not over, Maralys.”

“It never started. There’s nothing here to
be
over.” I spun and glared at him through the storm door, tears unexpectedly blurring my vision. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be left alone. All I’ve ever expected of people is that they solve their own problems. All I’ve ever wanted was to live my own life and pursue my own dreams. Is that so much to ask? Is that so impossible for anyone to allow?”

James shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his expression inscrutable. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

I hadn’t expected him to agree, or least to do so as readily as that. I floundered for a moment for my footing, then came up fighting. “Good. Good! Then you can drive my father home. I’ll leave his car where I found it.”

I marched back to the K, a splendid chariot if ever there was, feeling like an ass every step of the way.

“Oh my,” said the chirpy realtor and I didn’t even look to see who she had in tow this time. “It looks as if I might be able to get you two a very good deal on this house. You know, you can often make a good deal in the instance of a d-i-v-o-r-c-e.”

I squealed the tires, delighting in how many neighbors came to look and was back at my dad’s in half the time. I felt sick, but I really didn’t know whether it was because I had lost my temper, because I had said too much or because I had just done the wrong thing.

I told myself that I didn’t care.

Okay, it was a lie, but we’re going to live with that one. Get over it now. I’m going to.

* * *

I had my dream that night.

Well, in the wee hours of the morning actually, since I didn’t crash until around four. Four A.M. that is.

The dream always starts the same way. I’ve had it for years, over and over and over again, and I still can’t explain it. I’m in an airline terminal. It could be Logan or just about anywhere else. They all look so similar although there’s something not quite right about this one. It’s a dream thing.

When it starts, I’m at the baggage claim where the conveyor or carousel or whatever brings the luggage from the plane. This one’s a conveyor and it’s not moving yet. There are no bags. There’s a crowd of people though, standing all around me, and it’s a crowd that keeps getting bigger.