Stranger, Father, Beloved (24 page)

Michael tried to turn off the image and felt the itch for it to be over, for them to disconnect and once again be separate, but the dance seemed to go on forever, as if they were postponing returning to their distinct selves for as long as they could. They resembled to him two earnest round beetles, who were harmlessly enjoying the simple pleasures allowed them below the spout of a watering can. Their skin looked coarse over the spread of their backs and arms, but they had a secret center hidden below their movement that was delicate and soft like a wound, a part shown only to each other and with the utmost reverence. The obscene thoughts made his stomach churn.

He awoke a little after midnight, his eyes snapping awake as the wind howled outside his car. A strong desire to go home one last time seized him, but before he left, he went out onto the rocky beach on a jagged edge of the Peninsula and let the wind blast him on all sides. The wind was moist and slapped the side of his face lightly. It was chaotic out here and very alive. Water churned below him, and air raced over the rocks aggressively. After a few moments of standing with his eyes closed and feeling the elements have their way with him, he got back into his car and drove home.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After he returned to his house just before one a.m., the dark hours wouldn't let him sleep. Michael studied the rooms that made up the structure. The living room had acquired a salty smell over the years. Its sterility was giving way to the constant mist and rain that hovered over the land. He could smell the traces of sea air on the pillows, and the wood, originally fresh and light colored, had become darker. It was possible, he thought, that someone entering the house might not immediately know which room was an addition and which was the older, more authentic part of the house.

He called the retreat center to assure them that he had made it back safely and was resting at home. Relief rushed through him upon reaching an answering machine—he wouldn't have to talk to an actual person but could just leave a message.

Michael's plans slowly started to reveal themselves as he found himself imagining living in the empty rooms of his mother's house, without her, and if the phone were to ring now, he anticipated that the call would be an announcement of her death. The thought terrified him and also gave him enormous relief. For nothing was clearer to Michael than the fact that he had failed both as a husband and as a
father. Once he had fully admitted it to himself, he could no longer stand living among them. He had not been cut out for any of this and knew there were others who could have done it better.

The past twenty years of his life seemed to him an illusion or a distant dream, a life someone else had lived, and he could not remember how he had actually done it. The births of each of his children had had an intensity to them that now seemed unreal. His father's death and the months of depression that had followed it, when Nancy had patiently cared for him and put up with his moods and naps, seemed to belong to the realm of dreams. Michael now needed that phone call from his mother's caretakers more than he needed anything else in the world, to be shoved finally into an existence different from this one.

He saw that he should have not abandoned Alex; that had been a mistake. Instead, as painful as it might have been, he could have shared Alex with Meg. Alex would still be a magnificent being if he had been there for him. Michael would have helped preserve it in him. Now he was aware that he had another chance at closeness with John, one that was quickly retreating. He did not have the strength to claim what it was he so desperately wanted. His life had been woven into a tapestry of fear and desire that was finally unraveling, and he was not sure he had the energy to do it in this life. He was too weak, too fractured.

With horrific irony, it became clear that if John married Nancy and became the father of his children, Michael would never again be able to spend time with him as he did now. His new friend would be gone, and he would be truly alone.

How badly he wanted to lie down by himself in his own house, but it was never safe. What if they all returned home? The intruders would come in for him from all angles. There would be nothing more
pleasurable for him than to lie down on the living room carpet with a pint of raspberry sorbet and some vodka, watch the house get dark, and then fall asleep with his head on a soft pillow. But he felt he didn't even have the right to do so, as none of it was truly his. He wanted to lie down with John and say inconsequential things to each other.

Michael realized what he was thinking as he stood examining his house, his desires to lay down with a man here, and he bolted upstairs and got his sleeping pills. He found a dark corner in the basement on a couple of old blankets, a place where he surely would not be discovered, took three pills, and went to sleep.

When he woke up, he looked at his watch and saw that it was after five p.m. Had they come back? He went quietly up the basement stairs. He heard no signs of life in the house and saw they had not returned—no bags, no car in the driveway. Relieved, he packed two suitcases of his things, took a box of important papers and documents from his study, and loaded them into his trunk. He had a sense that he would not be returning to his job in Providence. At dusk he walked into the woods behind his house, sat behind a large rock out of view, and watched the darkness begin to overtake everything. He did not want to be home when they all drove back in John's car. They had probably had breakfast and lunch at the retreat center's mess hall. He imagined Max, Nancy, and John sitting at a round table and three other families scattered around them, eating solemnly and occasionally raising their heads and talking.

He remembered the green plastic tables and orange plastic chairs, and the terrible glare of the overhead fluorescent lights, beating their ugliness down on the hunched-over families. Michael's heart began to race once again with the realization that they were all more than
aware of how faulty he was, how unfit and unsound. How badly he wanted to join them, and how ridiculous he suddenly felt. When he got hungry, he ate some nuts he had brought in a bag, and when it was dark, his mind began to race. Had they stayed there or had they come home? What would home look like now?

When the night was truly in bloom, he walked around the side of the rock and beheld his house, two hundred feet away. The house was shockingly pretty in the moonlight, so large, such an impressive accomplishment, being able to afford a house like this. He walked up to it, cautiously, a new knowledge taking hold. It was not his house anymore. He got to his knees, crawled into the underside of one of the larger hydrangea bushes by his house, and found he could be completely concealed if he lay in a ball. He would stay here because it was safe. His heart would flutter with panic, and twice he took a pill out and put it in his mouth to calm him, and so he lay, half awake and half not. Suddenly he heard tires on the gravel driveway, car doors slamming, and Max's sweet voice calling out to his mother in the dusky night. John said something to Nancy. The two girls laughed as their feet drummed up the steps and into the house. Through the branches of the bush, Michael saw the lights inside go on one at a time, as outside the light poked little holes into the darkness and illuminated the bugs dancing in the air around the bush.

He heard a click at the back door and went around and crouched to the left of the back patio, just out of view, and listened, his heart pounding. It was Nancy and John coming outside, Michael could hear from their voices. The screen door shut behind them.

“Yeah, he called the retreat center office and said he made it home okay, but I called home several times and he didn't answer. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but he has a paranoid condition and a lot of
anxiety. They call it neurotic paranoia. We've dealt with it our whole marriage. It's nothing new. He would not want me to tell you this, but I have to have someone to talk to, and I know I can trust you. You and Michael are quite close, anyway. Did he ever mention any of this to you? John, I am really worried.”

“I had no idea. I mean, he is an eccentric guy, but I didn't know he had troubles like that.”

“Please be discreet about it.”

“I will, of course. Why do you think he wanted to come to that retreat place?”

“I think he may be going through one of his fits, and I think he really values you and what you suggest. I know you recommended this place, and I think he trusts that.”

She paused for a moment. “Do you know that when I first met him at Yale I thought he didn't like women? I thought maybe he was above all of that, someone who couldn't be bothered, who is too intellectual to bother with any of it. I was surprised when he asked me out. But now I know that it's not that, it's just the mental issues. But he's worth it.”

“I can tell that you love him very much.”

“I do. He can be quite cold and closed off, but he has a heart of gold. Geniuses are always troubled, I think. My bet is he is sleeping at his office or a hotel. I know he'll call me in the morning. Right, he'll call? He'll come back?” Her voice sounded panicky, and it took on the tone it had when the tears began. He knew that poor tone all too well after years of marriage.

“Oh, Nancy, I'm so sorry,” John responded, his voice genuinely sympathetic. Michael hoped he might comfort her with a hug, but he couldn't see anything. They lowered their voices, and Michael could make out a muffled mention of Ryan. He heard Nancy's tearful voice.
“Oh, just normal teenage rebellion stuff, I think. They used to be quite close—she adored him when she was little, and they just drifted apart. It's a mystery to me, I guess.”

He heard Nancy pour wine into a glass and then silence for a minute.

“Did you know that I was planning on moving sometime this year?” John asked.

“Really, to where?”

“Colorado. My brother lives there, and there's so much contracting work to be done in the area he lives in. Plus it's so beautiful out there, and it'd be nice to get a change of scene from all the memories of my marriage and my divorce. Now I'll be staying here though. I decided not to leave.”

“Oh, wow. Well, I'm glad you're staying. Michael will also be glad. He's gotten very attached to you.” With that Nancy's voice wavered with emotion. “I'm so glad you're here now. I don't know what I would do—”

“Definitely. I'm glad to be here, Nancy. It has been a long day. Should I drive back home or stay?”

“It might be nice to have you in the house until we locate Michael. I really am a bit worried; I'm trying to stay calm. I'm going to attempt to go to bed, though I might not be able to sleep. Good night. Do you need anything?”

“No thanks. I know where everything is. Thank you. Everything is going to be okay, Nancy. Good night.” Michael thought that he detected hints of love in John's voice; he had used a loving tone.

“I will poke my head in on Max to make sure he's fallen asleep—would you like that, Nancy?”

“Oh yes, thank you. Thank you so much.” Nancy sat out there alone, and Michael carefully went back to his bush, plugging his ears
to stop hearing the simple sobbing of a woman alone on a porch. She eventually sighed and went in.

The lights in the house switched off one by one as Michael sat in the grass by the house. In the large hydrangea bush, he startled a rabbit that poked its nose in to hide there. It darted into the middle of the lawn, waiting to see if it would be pursued, and when it was not, it shot into the forest. He sat looking into the tangling matrix of roots and stems that created the foundation of those colorful round blossoms.

No doubt everyone had settled into his or her own room. He let what felt like enough time pass for one person to get restless and find the other. The right person would find the right person. Order had to be restored. His hands shaking, Michael inserted his key into the back lock and went inside. He stood there once he had shut the door, waiting for someone to be startled by him. Nothing moved. The house was bathed in silence and shadows. He took his shoes off and slid across the clean wood floor. Seeing the house as if for the first time, it looked beautiful to him, as though it were out of a catalog. His heart ached as he knew he would never stay here again.
It was not his house. It had never been his house
. It was time for him to see what it looked like with a real man of the house.

He went up the staircase and stood outside his former bedroom with Nancy. He just had to see, a final confirmation that his plan had been appropriate. He flung the door open and turned on the light, bracing himself for what he was about to witness. Nancy sat up aghast in her blue silk nightgown, alone in the bed. He stood there, and she looked around in terror. He realized she was concerned for her safety.
Where was John? Where was he?

“Michael,” she said in fear and with that ever-present concern that was rightly placed on him but that he could not bear to hear one more time. An inner part of him broke to see the empty bed. His plan had not yet worked, but it would work. It would work. He slammed the door to his old bedroom shut, stormed down the hall and flung open Ryan's door, to say good-bye or to apologize, he wasn't sure which. He saw her in bed, but she was not alone. He saw she was in a tangle with the girl Dari. He saw their tan limbs, so carefree, wrapped around each other, and they were midkiss. Alarm flashed over both of their faces, identical looks to Nancy's, concern for their safety, it seemed. His mind felt as though it would explode from sight after sight in a now foreign and incomprehensible environment.
Was she drunk?
Did they know what they were doing?
Before the girls could speak words of concern, words he certainly could not bear to hear, Michael stalked down the hall again and down the stairs, rapid-fire, and out of the house, leaving his shoes behind by the glass doorway.

The hours and hours of time spent creating the perfect features of a house, perfect glass doors, perfectly decorated rooms, and all the effort, the trying, faded behind him as he ran to his car.

He ran past houses with TVs on, sedate adults lounging in front of the flashing sets, past empty basketball hoops waiting for young men to stand below them and give it a try, give the game a chance. Crickets churned their endless song around him, grinding their melody into the night. Just before he reached his car, Michael heard a rustling in the bushes and knew an animal was in there. He had a feeling it was the skinny fox with the bright eyes that haunted their neighborhood. Was it hunting something? Did it know Michael was leaving, and had
it come to say good-bye? Would it skulk around his property once he was gone, or would it lose interest and wander off to another place? Maybe it would starve in the winter months. He didn't know.

In his car, he passed the turnoff to Jill's house, a turn he had made a thousand times when he dropped his daughter off to play when she was young. He passed Sammy's
and the video store where they had gotten all their rental tapes for years and years, then sped off of the Peninsula and onto the mainland.