The Summer Son (11 page)

“You know, this doesn’t help.”

“Well, Christ. You think you’re making progress?”

“I’m aware of how stupid it is, OK? I just spent eighty miles rethinking every move I’ve made since I arrived. Don’t need you to do a recap, you know?”

“OK, OK.”

“I’m in deep shit here. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” she said.

“And Wallen is about to lose it. This trip is going to cost me everything.”

“It’s not. We’re right here. We’re on your side.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m here, you’re there, your little boyfriend is there. I’d say you’ve got things set up just right.”

“Mitch…”

A voice broke in on us.

“Hi, Daddy.”

How long had Adia been listening in? We had done little right, but shielding the children from our meltdown had been one thing we agreed on. My mind raced with fear at what Adia might have heard, and what questions she might have.

“Adia,” Cindy said, “hang up the phone.”

“How are you, sweetie?” I cooed.

“Good. When are you coming home?”

“Just as soon as I can. What’s your brother doing?”

“He’s playing.”

“You better go play with him, huh?”

“OK. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.”

The phone hit the cradle.

“Oh no,” Cindy said.

“I think it’s OK.”

“I hope so. Listen, Mitch, you don’t need to worry—”

I cut her off again.

“I know. I’m just lashing out.”

“OK. But it’s getting old, Mitch.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. I had no words to corral the entire mess. The problem between us, so insurmountable before I’d even arrived here, had only grown.

“I’m sorry. Look, what am I going to do, Cindy?”

“Whatever you can. For however long it takes.”

“And if I lose my job?”

“We have money. You have contacts. There will be another job.”

“You sound rather confident.”

“Well, I’m not. But what else can I say?”

“And what if I lose you?”

“You’re doing the right thing. I said I’d wait. I’m waiting.”

Dad stood waiting for me in the living room.

“What’d she say?”

“It’s between me and her, Pop.”

“Are you going home?”

“When we’re done here.”

“When do you figure that’ll be?”

“The outlook is cloudy, old man,” I said.

Before he could stop me, I wrapped him in a hug. For a few seconds, he hung limp in my arms, so I hugged tighter. Finally, he patted my back. So quietly that I barely heard it, he said, “I’m sorry about today, too.”

Goddamn. It was a start.

D
AD STALKED INTO EVERY ROOM
.
He looked around corners and turned off lights as he confirmed that Marie wasn’t there. I stood in the living room with my bag and watched.

“Mitch, put that stuff away,” he said.

I trudged down the hallway to the first door on the left and flipped on a light that Dad had just shut off. Any hint that this space belonged to me had moved out when Jerry moved in the previous year. Now, Farrah Fawcett tossed her hair and smiled winsomely at me. Kiss, The Cars, and Bad Company struck rock-star poses and stared back from magazine clippings. I unpacked and found an empty drawer for my clothes; then I carried my dirties into the utility room.

I heard Dad on the phone.

“Every light in the place was burning.…No, she’s not here.…Did she say anything about where she was going?…Has she been spending much time out here?…I’ve got Mitch with me. Can you come out and sit with him?…I don’t know.…OK, I’ll wait for her.”

“Who was that?” I asked after Dad hung up.

“J.C.”

J.C. Simmons and his wife, LaVerne, owned the next ranch over. When Dad had bought his place, the Simmonses were in danger of going under a sea of debt. Dad saved them by buying a passive interest in their place. Their end of the deal was that they looked after his ranch while he was away. They brought in cattle, spread hay, cut the ice in winter. Good people, J.C. and LaVerne were, and after Dad had saved their place, there was nothing they wouldn’t have done in return.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “Can’t I come?”

Dad stood in the kitchen, rummaging through drawers and papers in search of anything to indicate where Marie had gone.

“No, Mitch, you can’t come. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll be good. I’ll—”

Dad slammed a drawer. The silverware crashed violently.

“Goddammit, no! Somebody in this house, by God, is going to do what I say.”

I ran to my room.

I was still there when LaVerne arrived. I rose from the bed and crept to the door, cracking it just far enough to hear what she and Dad said.

Dad sounded agitated, and I couldn’t blame him. We had come a long way, our nerves were shot, and Marie had left the meter running while she went off to who knows where. Dad told LaVerne to let me watch television until I fell asleep, and he added that she should feel free to send me to bed if I gave her any lip. LaVerne told him that she expected no trouble.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dad said.

“Jim, I’m sure it’s nothing,” LaVerne said. “Marie’s probably just out with some friends and lost the time.”

My father expelled a heavy sigh.

“She knew I was coming. I called her from Pocatello.”

I waited for the close of the door and Dad’s boots thudding across the porch in his short, angry gait, then for the pickup to fire up. When the sound of the engine grew faint, I opened the bedroom door and walked out.

“You’re really growing up,” LaVerne said, admiring the height I had tacked on in the two years since she had last seen me. “You’re nearly as tall as your dad.”

“I guess.”

I saw no similarly transformative change in LaVerne. She had to have been in her mid-forties, and she had a deep, natural beauty that didn’t need burnishing. There’s a saying about ranch women: when they’re thirty, they look fifty, and when they’re eighty, they look fifty. That was true of LaVerne. She wore no makeup. Her long, brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. Ranch work in all sorts of weather had carved deep lines into her face, giving her an appearance that wasn’t haggard so much as experienced. Her deeply tanned arms rippled with muscle and sinew. There was no ranch job LaVerne couldn’t do. I couldn’t help but contrast her with Marie, who was so meticulous in primping herself. I was one of the few who had seen Marie before she’d had a chance to put on her face and do her hair, and the difference could take your breath away. LaVerne, I suspected, rolled out of bed looking like this.

“Where’s J.C.?” I asked. LaVerne’s husband had a good twenty years on her and was a jolly soul.

“He’s got matters at home demanding his attention. It’s you and me, kiddo. What would you like to do?”

“Can I call my mom?”

LaVerne glanced at the clock. It was coming up on nine. “It’s getting a little late,” she said.

“Not in Washington. It’s an hour earlier.”

“So it is. Well, go ahead then.”

Mom seemed happier than usual to hear from me.

“My prince! Where are you now?”

“We got to the ranch tonight.”

“A week off, huh?”

“Yeah. I get to ride my motorcycle tomorrow.”

“Mitch, be careful on that thing. I don’t like them.”

“I will.”

Because she insisted, I always wore a helmet. It had saved my hide a time or two. Dad’s ranch was full of ruts and uneven patches of ground, all capable of setting my bike down or sending me over the handlebars. What Mom didn’t know about this, like so many other things when it came to time spent with Dad, didn’t hurt her.

“I heard from Jerry yesterday,” she said.

“Really?”

“He called at dinnertime. You’re not going to believe this. He joined the Marines.”

“The Marines? Really?” I wondered what Dad, the strident Navy man, would think of that.

“That’s exactly what I said. He enlisted in Salt Lake, and he’s down in San Diego for boot camp.”

“Why the Marines?”

“He said the job there with your dad toughened him up and he was ready for it.”

“Did he say anything about why he left?” I knew the answer to this, of course, but I wanted test her knowledge. That she hadn’t screamed bloody murder and demanded that Dad send me home posthaste was a good sign that she had no idea about what took place in Milford.

“He just said it was time to get serious about something. He said drilling with your Dad isn’t a good career. Having lived that life, I agree with him.”

“You sound glad.”

“I’ll worry about Jerry. That’s what I do. But I think he made a good decision. He’s smart. He’ll do well.”

“OK.”

“What’s your Dad up to?”

“He went to get Marie.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re there all alone?”

“LaVerne is here.”

“Who is LaVerne?”

“She’s a neighbor. Do you want to talk to her?”

I looked over at LaVerne, who raised an eyebrow.

“No, that’s OK.…Mitch, one other thing. Your baseball team won their last two games. I was there for the last one. They gave out trophies. Yours is here waiting.”

“Neat. Did you put it in my room with the others?”

“Of course. Your coach said they loved having you on the team and to say hello.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You bet, sweetie. Be good. Call me next week, OK? I love you.”

“Bye, Mom. I love you too.”

Mom’s nonchalance about Jerry’s decision to join the Marines confused me. On one hand, I was happy that she seemed OK with it; that would certainly make it easier for me to tuck away the details about why he left. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but wonder how she might feel if she knew about that night. This was clear: I wouldn’t have been in Split Rail had she known. That being the case, discretion seemed the only sensible play.

I pulled out my wallet and thumbed the three twenty-dollar bills Jerry left me. They had become a security blanket. When I was sure Dad wasn’t around, I would open my wallet and touch Jerry’s money. It was my connection to him.

I hoped like hell I’d never have to use it for the purpose he intended.

L
A
V
ERNE AND
I
SETTLED
into the den to watch TV. Isolated as Dad’s ranch was from the big stations in Billings and Great Falls, the reception was poor. Dad eased that a bit by installing a monstrous antenna, but still we watched through the electronic snow drifting across the screen.

I stayed alert through
Alice
and
The Jeffersons
. After that, my eyelids grew heavy. I slumped against LaVerne, who wrapped me in an arm as sleep and dreams washed over me.

We stood in a semicircle, the five of us: me, Jerry, Mom, Dad, Marie. We were in the middle of a dry lakebed that stretched in all directions to the horizon. Our bare feet sank into the parched white sand.

Each could see the faces of the other four. Everybody else stood perfectly still, but I didn’t. I craned my neck around at each of them, and my mouth formed words—“What’s going on?”—but no sounds.

Mom said, “I have to go,” and she peeled away from the group. She looked beautiful—luminous and sunny, wearing her favorite blue spring dress. Finally, my mouth worked. “Mom, where are you going?” She continued a few paces, then turned and waved at me, as if urging me to join her. She looked as though she were saying something, but I couldn’t hear it.

“Mom!” I yelled.

She turned and kept walking. Soon, she was a dot in the distance.

Then Jerry said, “I’m gone too.”

He set a hand on Dad’s shoulder as he left, and I watched with incredulity as Dad’s shirt and muscle crumbled, leaving a gouged-out crater.

“Where are you going?” I called to Jerry. My brother never turned around, disappearing into the haze just as Mom had done only moments earlier.

Marie stepped through the distance toward Dad and stood before him. She pushed her sunglasses atop her forehead and dug into him with her brown eyes.

“Good-bye, Jim,” she said, and she slapped his face, shattering it. I shielded my head as pieces of my father rained down.

My father, whole and beside me just moments earlier, was now just a stump of sand, no more than a foot high. And then he wasn’t even that. Marie kicked away what remained of him as she headed for the horizon, like Mom and Jerry before her.

I tried to scream, but my lungs expelled no air. I tried to move, but the sand swallowed my legs, rendering them useless.

Tears running down my face, I saw with dread the coming darkness and the desert’s yielding to the chill of night…

The slam of the front door pulled me from sleep. Beside me, I felt LaVerne jump too.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of where I was. The TV signal, now a test pattern, broke a hazy trail of electrons through the dark. My heart thumped in relief that I was in the ranch house, not mired on a dry lakebed in God knows where.

Marie’s voice clacked like a typewriter, but I couldn’t make out her words. Dad shushed her.

LaVerne and I climbed to our feet and made our way to the front room.

The tension was palpable, something LaVerne picked up on right away.

“Well, I see you folks are here in one piece, so I’ll be saying good night,” she said, and she scooted for the door.

“Thank you, LaVerne,” Dad said.

He turned his attention to me.

“It’s one in the morning. Why are you up?”

“I fell asleep in front of the TV.”

“Hi, Mitch,” Marie said.

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t start making nice,” Dad said.

“Screw you, Jim. I can say hello to my stepson.”

Dad wheeled on her.

“Screw me? What do you know about it, whore?”

Marie dashed away, cutting across the room. I watched this unfold as if on the fifty-yard line at a football game. The whole sickening scene played out in front of me.

Dad pivoted in the direction she had skittered and kept moving toward her.

“Don’t touch me, Jim.” At the back wall, Marie grabbed a figurine from the mantel and flung it at Dad. The piece shattered against the floor at my feet. I watched the pieces of it skitter across the wood. Out the window, I saw LaVerne’s pickup disappear down the lane.

I screamed. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

For the first time, the adults in my life did as I demanded.

“You’re being stupid,” I said. The totality of the day—the long ride, the cowering at Dad’s scoldings, the dream—sent tears down my face. I was angrier than I was scared, and I was plenty scared. Time apart had done nothing to mend the fray between Dad and Marie.

Marie stared daggers at Dad and then walked back across the room and knelt in front of me. She tried to hug me, but I pushed her away.

“No.”

“Mitch, I’m sorry,” she said.

“I don’t care.”

Dad came over, and he set a hand on Marie’s shoulder. She bristled.

“Settle down, sport.”

My chest heaved as I fought with my breath. My tears, which I hated, fell in open defiance of my desire that they hold back.

“I’m sick of it,” I said.

He reached for me, and I slapped at his hand.

“Leave me alone.”

An edge crept into his voice. “Now, Mitch.”

“I’m sick of it!”

Marie clasped me by the shoulders. I grew tense at her touch, but I didn’t resist.

“We’re done,” she said. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“You’re right. It’s done. It’s over.”

I slowly gained control of my tears and sniffling. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

“I just want everybody to get along.”

Dad said softly, “OK, sport. We’re working on it.”

We played nice for a few minutes, and then Dad suggested that I go to bed so I could get an early start.

“No chores tomorrow,” Dad said. “You can ride all day.”

I plodded down the hall. I wanted to cry but couldn’t find the energy for it. Dad and Marie could tap a limitless well of conflict, but I could take only so much. I’d had my fill.

I kicked off my shoes and set them by the closet. Off too came my socks and my T-shirt, and I shimmied out of my pants. A few minutes after my head hit the pillow, just as my eyes grew heavy, I heard Dad and Marie turn their guns on each other again, this time in the bedroom opposite mine.

The words were quieter now, delivered in low tones so as not to rouse me. It was a senseless consideration. I lay in the dark, my eyes open, and took in every syllable.

“I hate it here,” she said. “I hate being with you out there. I deserve better.”

“This is the deal,” Dad said. “You knew it when you married me.”

“I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“That makes two of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t keep up. You’re bleeding us dry, gallivanting around. I come home and find you in Billings—”

“I was just having fun.”

“It looked fun, you and that guy.”

“He’s just a friend. Not that you’d know—”

“He was friendly, that much was clear. He can be friendly with a busted nose.”

“Oh yeah, big man Jim. You can’t understand it, so you’ve got to hurt it.”

“Whore.”

“I didn’t do anything that you didn’t do first.”

“Lying whore.”

I turned over, wrapped the pillow around my head, and said a silent prayer that it would end soon. It seemed to me, as I lay there in the dark, that Jerry had made the only sensible decision.

He had gotten out.