The Perfect Son (23 page)

“A hobbit’s grotto,” Felix said.

“Isn’t it just?” Eudora settled herself on one of the benches. Felix sat opposite.

“I think we’ve avoided the issue long enough,” she said. “Tell me about Harry.”

A squirrel shot through the leaves, and Felix raised his face to a flickering patch of sunlight. Harry was right; Felix always sat in the sun. And yet he’d talked Ella into a house that was tucked away in the shade. He lowered his head slowly and held Eudora’s gaze.

“He left his laptop open with a message to his girlfriend on the screen. A message in which he called me a rather unpleasant name. I doubt he intended for me to find it. Harry is scattered but not malicious.”

Eudora nodded. “I suspect his ADHD means he often leaves things undone.”

“Did I tell you about that?” He frowned at her.

“No need.”

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“At my age, I miss plenty.”

Water babbled down a small waterfall sculpted from mossy boulders.

“We had a pair of red-shouldered hawks in the garden once,” Eudora said. “Very protective of their nest, they were. One morning, we found them attacking a baby owl. Couldn’t adapt, you see. Couldn’t accept that little owl posed no threat, unlike his mama or his daddy.” Eudora raised her eyebrows. Again, he was aware of hidden meaning in her words, a lesson he couldn’t grasp.

Felix leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “My son hates me.”

“That’s not true, hon.”

“I haven’t been much of a father to him.”

“No.” She patted her perfectly pinned hair bun, or french roll, or whatever an updo was called these days. “You haven’t been.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad we had this conversation.”

“Mistakes are human. Learn from them, but leave regret where it belongs—in the past. It’s the future we need to pay heed to.”

Felix glanced at his signet ring with the Fitzwilliam family crest and motto. If only it were that easy—walking away from the past.

“When Dahlia died, I didn’t think I could go on. Son, I was sure I couldn’t. But then I thought about my remaining time on this precious earth. I haven’t visited China yet, or New Zealand.” Eudora paused. “I want my tombstone to read ‘She Lived Out Loud.’ You, hon, need to start living out loud.”

“I’m not an out-loud person, Eudora.”

“Golly bean, you do have some dusty ideas in that brain of yours.”

Golly bean?

“You can be whoever you want to be, Felix. No one is responsible for your happiness but you. What do you do for fun?”

Felix watched two small birds flit in and out of dead undergrowth on the forest floor. Would they be nesting soon, starting a bird family? “I don’t have much free time. What I have is devoted to fixing up the house.”

“Your house doesn’t need fixing up. It’s delightful. You’ve lived there for, what—sixteen, seventeen years? And all that time you’ve been modernizing it, decorating it, changing its very nature?”

Felix raked his fingers through his now permanently ungelled hair. “Trying to bring it up to standard.”

“And will it ever be just the way you want it to be?”

In the forest behind them, the woodpecker hammered away. Rat-a-tat-tat; rat-a-tat-tat.

“No.”

“Well, there you have it. Stop looking around corners, Felix Fitzwilliam. Enjoy the glorious now.”

The sun disappeared behind a cloud; a sudden chill settled on his shoulders and slunk down toward his heart. “What if my wife is dying?”

“If that’s the good Lord’s intention, then even more so.”

Felix stood. Why had he allowed that thought in his head? Why had he allowed it to come out of his mouth? Every day he spun in ever-decreasing circles, trying to eat his tail like the mythical dragon Ouroboros. How could he pick up his life and move on when this fear for Ella gnawed at him constantly? The forest slipped into full shade; the clouds had thickened and re-formed while they’d been talking. It would be dark early tonight.

“My last year with Dahlia was the happiest of my life because I allowed it to be. Did I have days when I wanted to scream and cry at the injustice of it all? I sure did, son. I’m no saint. But I didn’t spend life waiting for death to show up on our doorstep. Her prognosis was very bad, but miracles happen. And those doctors? Heck, they don’t know who’s going to beat the odds and be in that slim percentage of survivors. If you’re too busy worrying about what might be, you forget to enjoy what you have.”

“I miss her—the real Ella. She shuffles around the hospital as if she’s little more than a ghost.”

“She’s still Ella, hon, but she’s been through a life-changing event. Well now, so have you and Harry. Y’all need time to heal. I can help out with Ella when she comes home, but it’s you and Harry I worry about. You need to be looking after each other.”

“And how do you propose I do that if he hates me?”

“Dang. For a smart guy, you don’t listen as well as you should. Just because something’s always been one way doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. As I see it, some adapting needs to be going on, and I’m guessing that’s not your thing. But life just handed you an opportunity. You’ve been given a second chance to be a daddy.”

Felix stared at layers of decaying leaves piled on top of each other. Spring had become a distant fantasy. “Suppose I was never meant to be a father?”

“Bit late to decide that, don’t you think?”

Felix smiled; he couldn’t help it. “Is this your ‘suck it up’ speech?”

“Fatherhood doesn’t come with an expiration date, and that delightful boy of yours will need his daddy until the day you die. This time next year, he’ll be a young man thinking about graduating from high school. An exciting time, but terrifying, I’m sure, for such a homebody. And when he does finally fly the coop, he’s got to know his daddy will have his back. Wherever life takes him.”

“That’s typically been his mother’s role.”

“No reason he can’t turn to both of you. This isn’t an either/or situation. And while I’m being so candid, you need to ease up on yourself. Life isn’t perfect, and people sure as heck aren’t. We’re broken and messy and a hornet’s nest of contradictions. And yes, that includes you, son. I think if your own daddy were alive, he’d congratulate you for being a true family man this last month.”

“My father was a bastard,” Felix said.

“But you, Felix, are not.” Eudora gave him a withering stare. “You’re a good man.”

“I’d like to believe you, I really would.”

“It’s the gospel truth.” Eudora stood slowly. “I don’t lie.”

They began walking again and emerged back on the sandy path that ran straight like a Roman road.

“Why are you helping us?” Felix said. “And please don’t insult me with talk of southern hospitality.”

“Does kindness need a reason?”

“In my world, yes.”

Eudora raised an eyebrow, looking like an aged version of Samantha in
Bewitched
. (Tom had loved that show. One of the few American imports on the BBC in those days.) “Then we need to expand your world.” She paused for a shallow sigh. “It was obvious to any person with half a brain that your family needed help and you were stubborn as a mule and bound to say no. Depositing myself in your garden to take care of things I was pretty sure didn’t interest you seemed the best way to start. After that, it became apparent.”

“What became apparent?”

“That you need more help than your wife and son.”

Felix stood still as anger prickled through his muscles and up into his jaw. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know where your demons come from, hon, and it’s none of my business. But I sure do wish you’d figure out how to enjoy that boy of yours. His heart, well, it’s big enough to feed the world, the way I see it.”

“My son is a disorganized mess.”

“Powdered sugar on a doughnut. It’s what’s inside that counts. First time I met your son, I was carrying in groceries. He came rushing over to help.” Eudora smiled the smile that took its time to unfold. “I’ll never forget him leaping over my flower bed, arms outstretched, shouting, ‘Wait! Let me!’”

“I hope he didn’t crush any of the flowers on the way over.”

“See. There’s my point. That’s why you need my help.”

“What?” Good grief, his voice had become a parody of Mother’s imperial tone.

“Seems to me you always have a mind to focus on finding fault, not celebration.”

A young man in a bomber jacket trotted by and raised his chin in greeting. “Hey, Eudora.”

“Hi, hon.” She waited until he was out of earshot before continuing. “Now. What about taking a trip—just you and Harry? A weekend in Boone, maybe?”

“I don’t have time for a jaunt to the mountains. But spring break is around the corner. I’m planning a college tour.”

“With Harry’s input, of course.”

Felix tugged up the collar of his coat. Yes, there was definitely snow in those clouds. “Every time I raise the issue, he refuses to engage.”

“I suspect he’s scared.”

A hawk cried and Felix tensed. “Of me?”

“Of his future. The threat of change can be a fearsome enemy. Would you like me to talk with him?”

“No, thank you. I’ll give him one more chance, and then I’m moving ahead with my plans. Time is running out.”

“Well, I’m sure you know best.” Again with the smile. Underestimate it at your own cost.

I do; I’m the father here. And no offense, but you’ve never had children.
The conversation had begun to annoy him, and he didn’t want to appear rude.

“I should return to the office. Thank you for the”—he hesitated—“advice.”

“My pleasure,” she said, and walked back the way they’d come.

Felix marched in the opposite direction. He had wasted enough time. He needed to focus on Harry’s future; more specifically, he needed to arrange a trip to Harvard. Harvard was the key to Harry’s future, just as Oxford had been the key to his.

TWENTY-FOUR

Would Dad be up for a driving lesson this weekend, or was he still pissed?
Duh.
Turned with a knife in his hand and snarled no when Harry offered to help with dinner. ’Course, he shouldn’t have suggested that it would be easier to chop the onion in the food processor. Dad 101: never make helpful suggestions.

As Max had said so eloquently at lunchtime, “You, my friend, are in some deep shit.”

Dad hadn’t spoken to him since last night. Questions about school, like “Do you have your lunch box?” didn’t count. Did he now have the Dad Situation as well as the Mom Situation?

Going to Sammie’s had probably been a mistake, but removing himself from the house had seemed the best plan. If he’d stayed, he might have thrown out something far worse than
Nazi neat freak
. Thing is, he wasn’t angry anymore. Dumping on Dad had been surprisingly liberating. But worth it? Hell, no. The tension in the house was now heavier than southern humidity in August. With anyone else, he would have fallen on his sword. Apologized and been done. But this was Dad. The guy who’d taken to smashing heirloom glass. (Yeah, he’d uncovered the evidence in the garbage.)

Harry picked up a piece of graph paper from his desk, folded it into a paper plane, aimed it at the trash can.
Yes!

If only he were outside shooting hoops, burning up megawatts of energy, but that meant walking through the dining room—the new Dad Work Zone. This Life Plan shit seemed to be a do-or-die deal, but weren’t they all? And now that Dad’s work had crept into the house, started taking over, everything felt prickly again. What had his psychologist said?
“Behavioral contagion, Harry. Remember the mantra: this is not my stress.”

Harry bounced up. Valentine’s Day in two weeks, and he actually had someone to spend it with! If only he could get his license, he and Sammie could go on proper dates. He’d hated that her mom had to taxi them last night. Totally not fair on Mrs. Owen.

What could Eudora teach him to cook next? Mac and cheese, so he and Sammie could have a romantic dinner! For Mom’s welcome-home dinner, he was going to make french toast. Mom’s favorite! Their lives were so topsy-turvy—why not have breakfast for dinner? Dad had already given his approval—when he had actually been talking as opposed to grunting.

Harry grabbed his phone and texted Sammie:
whatcha doing

English essay.

i <3 you

Me too.

bored

Work
.

can’t

Go bother your dad, not me.
☺

His stomach twisted. Was he bothering her? Did he text too much? Some of her replies were kinda short. But he did text her a lot. Like, all the time. Like, every few minutes when she didn’t answer him. Like, nonstop.
Text less, Harry.
But his fingers started magically typing again.

haha right we’re still only exchanging guy grunts

Apologize.

him first

Aren’t you always telling Max to apologize and move on when he’s ranting about his mom?

Then she sent him a heart emoticon, and he sighed his biggest love sigh and everything from his toes up tingled. Also: instant hard-on.

How many hours till he could kiss Sammie? Harry counted. Too many. Ms. Lillian was on lunch duty tomorrow. She was cool, a great human being, but she had zero PDA tolerance. Would have to wait till pickup. Shit.

Harry fell facedown on his bed. That morning, Ms. Lillian had let him sleep on the couch in the staff room because Dad had done drop-off ridiculously early. Some important breakfast meeting with Robert. Before-school care was depressing. Not that Harry cared about being with little kids—so many degrees of adorableness—but it was a big, flashing statement about how much life had changed with the Mom Situation. He’d overheard Ms. Lillian arguing with the school director. They were trying to keep it down, but his hearing was freaky good. All his senses worked in overdrive. Never had figured out why. “Yes, I’m making an exception for this kid because his mother is critically ill,” Ms. Lillian had said. The words
critically ill
rocketed back to hijack his brain waves.

Harry bounced back up. Bounced on the balls of his feet.

If only Sammie were here, snuggling and filling his world with supernova fireworks. Taking him outside the Mom Situation. For Sammie, he might have to start writing poetry. Love sonnets! When they were apart, it was like he was being stretched on a rack, bones snapping. Harry cracked his knuckles, tried not to imagine his fingers twisted through her hair, tried not to imagine inhaling Sammie. She smelled like summer.

off to apologize to dad but only for you

He sent a row of heart emoticons—one, two, three, four, five, six! In assorted colors.

Harry pulled out a chair and flopped down at the dining room table. Messed with his hair, cleared his throat. The outside security light came on and flood-lit the patio. The deer must be out. If Mom were here, she’d be banging on the doors, yelling.

Dad looked up over his glasses, those blue eyes chilling. The Dad Vader death stare. Sammie was right. One of them needed to man up and apologize. Apparently, it was not going to be the parent. And people thought teenagers were immature.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Harry chewed the skin around his thumb. “I didn’t mean all those things I said when we got back from the Nasher. I was just lashing out.”

“My experience is that people normally speak the truth when they’re angry.”

Harry sighed. “Since things are heating up with this deal, how about we put off talking about the college shi—stuff until Mom’s settled back home and your life’s less manic? We could mark off a whole afternoon for a college summit.” Okay, that was one huge olive branch. Even Dad had to accept it. And it would buy some time. When Mom came home, he would go to the source, consult the oracle on all things Dad. Mom would know how to fix this.

“Will you promise to give me your undivided attention?”

Harry raised his right hand. “My attention, my whole attention, and nothing but my attention.”

“A week from Saturday.”

“Done.”

Dad pulled out his phone, typed in their date. “Noon.”

Harry leaped up and pushed the chair back into place.
Look, Dad, I’m putting it in exactly the right spot. Happy?
“Are we good?”

“Yes, Harry.” Now it was Dad’s turn to sigh.

“Come on, Dad. Can’t we just kiss and make up?”

Dad put both palms on the table. The tips of his fingers turned white, with half moons of jagged, angry red underneath. Which was ghoulishly freaky. Harry swallowed. Was Dad going to start smashing glass again?

“I gather you want to live with your girlfriend’s family.”

“What?”
What the fuck?

“You left your laptop open after you ran off to Sammie’s. I was attempting to shut it down when it sprang to life, and there on the screen was a message that declared your wish to go live with your girlfriend.”

“You read my private messages?” His head snapped into that sideways tic again, the one that had started at the airport. Shooting pain filled his head, pain almost as hot as the anger boiling over in his brain.

“It wouldn’t have been an issue if you’d turned your computer off. You need to learn to conserve energy.”

“Conserve energy? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? You invade my privacy, and you want to lecture me about the battery power of my laptop?” Right before she’d gone to Florida, Mom had joked, “When you go to college, you’ll escape. I’ll still have to deal with him.” Why couldn’t it be Dad in the hospital?

“So we’re not
good
, then?”

“No. We’re not,” Harry said. “We’re far from good. Intergalactic far. And I think it’s your turn to apologize for once. I’m going outside to shoot hoops. And then I’m going to change all my passwords. Stay out of my room. In fact, just stay out of my life.”

Dad muttered something, but at least two words were crystal clear: “With pleasure.”