Shelter Me (16 page)

“Keep your mind open to the possibility that it won’t be horrific. Anticipate sadness, yes. But don’t plan a debacle. That’s never a good idea.”

“I’m glad you’re coming.”

“I’ll be there.”

P
ATHOLOGICALLY EARLY
, U
NCLE
C
HARLIE
, Aunt Brigid, and Aunt Jude arrived for the party at 12:30, bearing macaroni salad and an orange Jell-O mold with blueberries suspended in it like juicy beetles in amber. Cormac arrived twenty minutes later with a black-frosted cake in the shape of a pirate ship. It sat low in the “water” of turquoise tinted confectioner’s sugar and was topped by dismembered masts and sails from one of Dylan’s toy ships that Janie had secretly handed off to Cormac. Tiny plastic pirates stood ready by their canons waving swords and stolen jewels. It was the perfect combination of scary and mouthwatering. Barb documented her boyfriend’s genius by shooting an entire roll of film at it before the party had even started.

Up on the new porch roof Tug Malinowski was nailing down asphalt shingles. He watched this cast of characters parade by him into the backyard and waved when they called for him to come and eat when he had a minute. The midday heat had caused rivulets of sweat to darken the neck of his shirt, making him thankful he’d tossed a clean one into his truck that morning.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” he asked Janie as she climbed the ladder to hand him a glass of chocolate milk. It was yet another of her ploys to avoid the party without retreating to the darkened bathroom to cry.

“His friend’s mother is bringing him home,” she said. “Do you really like this stuff, or would you rather have something more age-appropriate, like iced tea?” She felt bad for Tug, crouched up there in the squishy-wet heat. She had hoped for a cool, dry day for the party, but it was August, after all.

“No, I like this.” He gulped it down and handed her back the empty glass. “You let someone else drive him home?”

“Why? You think I shouldn’t have?”

“No,” he said. “I think it’s good. For both of you. It’s good.”

Janie looked into the calmness of his features for some indication of what the hell that was supposed to mean, but found no
clues.
He watches me,
she realized, a thought that didn’t alarm her as much as she supposed it should.

“Janie!” called Uncle Charlie. “The bucket’s full of water, now where are the damned apples!”

“Don’t forget to come down for some cake,” she said to Tug.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

“H
E’S HERE
! T
HE BIRTHDAY
boy is right here!” yelled Keane, as he and Dylan came galloping through the gate to the backyard. “This is the guy!” He pointed both fingers at Dylan, in case Dylan’s relatives might not recognize him as a five-year-old.

“Look at you!” they called, and “You’ve grown since yesterday!” and, ruffling Keane’s white-blond hair, “Who’s this friend, here?” The boys’ enthusiasm ramped up even further when they saw the cake.

“It’s the wickedest cake ever in the whole universe!” exclaimed Keane, as Aunt Jude steered his fingers away from the icing. They ran to the game of Pin the Earring on the Pirate, which Uncle Charlie was affixing to the side of the house with duct tape. Being blindfolded and spun around was just the thing to keep the boy-energy at peak flow.

“Hi,” said Heidi, catching Janie’s eye. She stood by the gate surveying the party.

Janie walked over to thank her for picking up the boys. “How’d it go?”

“Horrible,” she said. At close range, she looked pale and swollen, like some sort of albino bullfrog. “The anesthesia wore off too soon, and my jaw aches from keeping my mouth open for so long, and I feel like my face is vibrating. Is it? Can you see anything?”

“Oh, the root canal,” said Janie. “No you look…fine,” she lied.

“Don’t lie.”

“Okay, you’re puffy.”

Heidi’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “I’m Alvin the Chipmunk.”

Janie smiled at this—perfect Heidi was making fun of herself—and a sudden momentary sense of okay-ness came over her.
Miraculous, really
, she thought, considering the dread she had barely been keeping at bay. “Stay,” she said to Heidi.

“I don’t want to barge in.”

“Barge,” said Janie. “We’ve got Jell-O, and God knows
I’m
not eating it.”

Heidi grinned an abnormally wide grin. “Under the circumstances, that sounds delicious.”

The boys had finished sticking “earrings” of gold contact paper onto the unfortunate pirate, who had become perilously overaccessorized. They were especially pleased with the one that Dylan had unwittingly placed on the pirate’s butt.

Barb held the baby, who was chewing on the camera strap as Barb snapped picture after picture, some seemingly aimed at random objects like the side of the house or someone’s leg. Noreen and Aunt Brigid brought out the sandwiches, and Aunt Jude fussed with the paper plates and napkins, all festooned with a “Yo-ho-ho!” theme.

“What are we drinking?” Cormac murmured to Janie as they stood at the end of the table, handing out sandwiches. “Rum?”

“Not like I couldn’t use it,” she whispered, glancing at the three older women sitting together, united in their watchfulness. “The pity factor is extra huge today.”

“True,” sighed Cormac. “They’re feeling pretty bad for me, chickie.”

Janie hip-checked him. “Yeah, well, we all feel sorry for you, muffin man.”

Cormac laughed and bumped her back. “You haven’t heard about my newest hire. Big Bad Charlie McGrath.”

“Uncle Charlie? What about the dump?”

“He’s taking early retirement. He came to me and said: ‘My ass hurts and my goddamned bursitis flares in the cold and I wanna work somewhere that doesn’t smell putrid before I die.’” Cormac
wagged his finger at her. “Now
that’s
the attitude I’m looking for in an employee.”

Janie burst out laughing, the sound rising above the murmur of the women and the snapping of the camera and the open-mouth chewing of the boys. They all looked at her, which made her laugh harder, eyes watering at the absurdity of Cormac and Charlie trapped together amid the cookies and pies. Through her blurred vision, she saw Dylan grinning at her. “It’s a really fun party, Mom,” he said, and she heard the relief in his voice, as if he’d been waiting for just that very sound.

F
ATHER
J
AKE ARRIVED AS
they were singing “Happy Birthday” around the candlelit cake. He stood by the gate as Heidi had done, not wanting to intrude on the ritual, waiting to be invited in. The brightly colored paper on the gift he carried had creases at odd angles. He’d evidently bought a small, flat package of wrapping paper, not a whole roll.

Janie noticed her heart rate quicken when she saw him, something that had been happening for the last several weeks, but she had purposely ignored.
I’m just happy to have reinforcements,
she rationalized.
He understands what I’m dealing with here. He gets me.
And when he caught her eye and smiled, absorbing the sight of her like rain into dry soil, she inhaled quickly, an unbidden, barely perceptible gasp. That was harder to ignore.

“Hello, Father.” Noreen was in front of him, flanked by Aunt Brigid and Aunt Jude. “It’s wonderful that you could join our little celebration. Have you had lunch? There are plenty of sandwiches and Jude made a lovely Jell-O mold. Brigie, why don’t you get him a plate?”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” he said.

Vanishing cream,
thought Janie.
He slides back behind that false front in the blink of an eye.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your collar, Father,” said Aunt Jude. “You look so different! Of course, some priests do it all the time. Father Stone over at Saint Bart’s almost never has his. I’ve heard he wears moccasins on the altar, too!” She laughed and then coughed. “Well, you’re nothing like that. I’m always saying you’re a good, traditional priest. Haven’t I said that, Noreen?”

“Yes, you have,” said Noreen, quietly.

Jake dug into the Jell-O mold as the women watched. “This is delicious. The fruit is a nice touch.”

“You’ve never had it like this before?” asked Aunt Jude. “Didn’t your mother ever make it?”

“No,” Jake glanced quickly at Janie. “She never did.”

Now you see him,
she thought,
now you don’t. Wish I could learn that trick. These days people see more of the real me than they ever wanted to.

The presents came next, and with Keane’s help, Dylan tore through them with ecstatic speed. A toy backhoe with levers to work the digger (“just like we use at the dump”) from Uncle Charlie and Aunt Brigid; a blue polo shirt with matching blue and green plaid pants (“for church”) from Aunt Jude; a set of muffin pans with holes shaped like dinosaurs (“I’ve got a great spinach muffin recipe we can try…just kidding”) from Cormac and Barb; a pirate costume with a plastic sword (“Mom got me a sword, too, so we can fight”) from Keane; and a quilt of Europe with appliqués for all the countries (“your first geography lesson”) from his grandmother. From his mother and sister, Dylan got a new bike, green with black racing stripes. Most surprising of all, it had no training wheels. (“I don’t know…” said Dylan, after the initial excitement. “I’ll help you,” said Janie.)

Janie was standing next to Jake as Dylan opened his present, a paperback book of children’s stories from the Bible.

“Oh,” said Dylan, his eyes wandering back to the pirate sword. “Thanks.”

Janie felt her face go hot. “Dylan,” she said. “Say a real thank-you to Father Jake. That’s a very nice book.”

Dylan flicked his glance to Jake and said, “Thanks. It’s nice.” Then he saw Keane and Heidi spreading out the Twister mat, and he ran over.

“Sorry,” said Janie.

“Don’t apologize,” Jake replied, leaning his shoulder toward hers until they almost touched. “He just got some really exciting presents. I never expected a big reaction.”

“Still, he needs to learn…”

“He’s fine. The question is, how are
you
?”

Janie sighed and looked up into his face. “Okay. I was sad this morning, and I was sure I would be a wreck for the party. But I’m not. I think it’s beginning to sink in that he’s not here.”

Jake studied her face for a moment. It felt as if he were taking inventory of every pore of her skin, every speckle in her pale eyes. “You’ve managed to handle such a difficult situation,” he murmured. “You’ve held up under such grief.”

A blush rose from her neck into her cheeks, and she had to glance away. “You’ve helped me,” she said finally. “Nobody gets it but you.”

Dylan called from across the yard. “Mom, look! We’re Twistered!” The intrusion was both a relief and a disappointment. She glanced toward the boys, who had collapsed in a giggling heap on the Twister mat, then back at Jake.

He nodded. “I should be getting back.”

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I mean it.” He smiled at her, then turned to say his good-byes. Janie headed toward the Twister game, sorry to have the thin thread of connection severed. “I think you must be the silliest two boys I ever met,” she called as she strode toward them.

After Twister, the boys were ready to bob for apples. “Couldn’t I take a special picture first, before you get wet?” asked Barb. “Come over here for just a minute, Dylan, here next to your mom.” Janie was sitting on the grass with Carly bouncing between her upturned knees. “Kneel right there behind her,” instructed Barb. Then she started snapping. The others gathered to watch.

“Your hair smells like fruit,” Dylan whispered into Janie’s ear. “What does mine smell like?”

Janie turned her head and sniffed. “Well, I don’t know what your hair smells like, but your neck smells like peanut butter. Did you try to eat your sandwich with your neck?”

Dylan giggled and squeezed her. “It was a neckwich!”
Snap, snap, snap
went the camera.

“Da!” yelled Carly. “Da-da!”

“Yeah,” said Dylan. “Where’s Dad? He should be in the picture, he…” He stopped.

Everyone stopped. No one moved, save to glance at each other for moral support.

“He’s not…” Janie inhaled, prayed to keep her voice calm. “He’s in heaven, Dylan. Remember?”

Dylan nodded. He remembered. And yet he still said, “But it’s my birthday.”

A sniffle escaped from one of the older women.

“Daddy knows it’s your birthday,” said Janie. “And he’d be here if he could. But you’re not allowed to leave heaven, remember? Otherwise he’d be here. He would definitely…” her voice went breathy and tears stung the corners of her eyes. “…be here.”

“Why are they crying?” Keane whispered loudly to his mother. “Why are
you
crying?”

“It’s just sad, Keane.”

“It’s a birthday. It’s not supposed to be sad.”

“You’re right, honey,” said Heidi, hugging him against her hip. “It’s not.”

Barb’s camera was silent. Noreen clutched Jude’s hand in one of her own and covered her face with the other. Cormac and Uncle Charlie stood shoulder to shoulder like mute giants, staring into the grass at their feet.

“Hey, Dylan,” came a new voice from behind them. “Happy Birthday, buddy.”

Dylan crumpled. “I don’t want it to be my birthday anymore,” he choked at Tug.

“It’s still your birthday, Dylan,” Janie whispered, guiding him around to the front of her, both children now corralled between her legs. “We can still enjoy it.”

“You’re crying, too,” Dylan accused.

“True. Okay, let’s all cry for another minute and then have fun.”

“What about Dad?”

“Dad loves you very much. That’s all we know, Dylan. That’s all we’ll ever know.”
And it’s all I get from here on,
she thought.
The knowledge of love. Not the feel or the sound or the taste of it. Just knowing.
And the fit of self-pity she had tethered away from public view broke loose from its chain.

Her weeping was not quite the circus show of humiliation she’d anticipated, however, because she was not the only performer under the big top that day. Everyone cried. Carly cried because she wanted to touch Barb’s shiny silver camera swinging unnoticed from Barb’s neck, but couldn’t get loose from her mother’s grasp. Keane cried because a really fun party had just gone suddenly boring and a little scary. Everyone else was simply overcome with pity for the birthday boy missing his daddy on his big day, and for the baby who would have no daddy memory whatsoever. And for the mother, their Janie, who had been insufferably irritable and sarcastic for seven long months until now.