I could see her through the glass slat in the door. She was curled up in the corner of the couch. She wore a pair of faded pink cotton pajamas. With her short dark hair and sweet face, she could have been a college girl. The TV was on but the sound was off, and she wasn’t watching it anyway. Screen colors flicked across the living room.
I knocked again. This time she looked up. I walked over to the window and waved. She got up off the couch, buttoning the top of her pajama shirt, and came to the door.
She let me in but said nothing. She went back to the couch and sat down. “You could’ve told me. Then this wouldn’t have come as such a shock tonight.”
I sat down in an armchair across from her. “It would’ve been just as much of a shock if I’d warned you.”
She raised her head, closed her eyes, as if invisible rain was spattering her face. “This is so unreal.” She opened her eyes, lowered her head, looked at me. “In case you don’t think I got hysterical, I did. There’s broken glass all over the kitchen floor. The kids are at my sister’s house. I didn’t trust myself enough to keep them here tonight.”
“Don’t do anything nuts.”
She shrugged. “I never do anything nuts, Chet. You know that. I’m not dramatic in any way. Or exciting. That’s what he said she was. Exciting.” Then: “Damn, I wish I had a cigarette.”
“No, you don’t. You quit five years ago. Keep it that way.”
She paused. “What I hate most is my self-pity.”
“You’re entitled.”
“I just keep thinking about all the people who have it worse than me. And here I am feeling sorry for myself.”
“That never works. Believe me, I’ve been trying it all my life. Just because somebody’s crippled or blind or has cancer doesn’t help me at all.”
She made a face. “We could always have sex.”
“You frowned when you said that. Meaning that you know better than that.”
“I have these fantasies that he walks in on me when I’m having sex with somebody and it makes him jealous and then he realizes what a good thing he’s lost.”
“You’re in shock right now.”
“That’s funny you should say that. That’s sort of how I feel. So shocked I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t even get drunk. Two drinks and I throw up.”
“You have any tranquilizers?”
“I’ve taken two already. This is the best they can do for me, I guess.” Something changed, then. I wasn’t sure what. The eyes were no longer vulnerable or sad. They reflected anger.
“I’m probably just lashing out here, Chet. But I need to say something to you, something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
“Lash away. You’ll feel better.”
She took a deep breath and said, “This’ll probably make you mad.”
I was thinking she was going to tear into me for keeping the truth from her.
Instead, she said, “You didn’t help my marriage any by constantly being on Michael’s back.”
My anger was swift, sure. I guess I’d been told too often in too short a time how I was doing badly by my little brother.
“I don’t think that’s fair, Laura.”
“I just had to say it.”
“Did it make you feel better?”
“Maybe. But it made you mad.”
“No, it didn’t.”
She smiled. “You’re grinding your jaw muscles and your hands are fists. I’d say those are signs you’re pretty pissed off.”
“Irked, irritated, maybe. But not pissed off.” Then: “I was just trying to help you kids.”
“That’s just it. We’re not kids, Chet. We’re grownups. But you’d never acknowledge that. You were always checking on him at the precinct and giving him advice on handling his money and telling him who to hang out with and who not to hang out with and — God, I remember the time when your aunt died and you told him right in front of everybody at the funeral that he shouldn’t have worn a tan suit to the wake. But that was the only suit he owned, Chet. And the time you saw our girls playing Wiffle ball and you told him you thought they should be playing more feminine games. And when you got on his case about where we went to church, that it was better to go to St. Joe’s because that’s where the shift commander went. It just never ended, Chet.”
I suppose, looking back, that’s when it started, this black feeling. And that’s the only way I can describe it. It was anger in such volume that I could barely breathe holding it back.
I said, “You ever hear the expression ‘No good deed goes unpunished’? I used to think that was just a funny line. But it isn’t. It’s the truth.”
“Now who’s feeling sorry for himself? We’re just talking here, having a conversation.”
“Is that what this is, Laura, just a conversation?”
“All I meant was that you need to let him go. I hate that bitch he’s in love with but even with them, Chet — you have to let them have their own lives. You can’t be his father anymore.” She hesitated. “He told me they’re going to move away. He said he’s giving notice to the commander tomorrow that he’ll be leaving.”
“Oh,” I said, “just great.” And the anger made my breathing short again. Gave me a sudden stabbing headache just above my left eye. Made every taut muscle in my body scream for release. “You know how hard I had to work to get him on the force? All the trouble he’d been in, and I had to promise that he’d straightened out and really wanted to be a cop. And now he’s throwing it all away.”
“It’s his choice, Chet. His choice. He’s a grown man. Right now I’d like to get that gun of his and empty it into his heart. And then I’d do the same to her. I hurt so much right now I don’t know what to do. But it’s his choice and you’ve got to let him make it.”
“Oh, right. I get him through high school, studying with him every night so he’ll get good grades. And then I get him through a couple of years of college until he starts hanging out with punks. And then I get him on the road to recovery and introduce him to you. And you’re everything a man would want in a wife. And he throws it all over for some slut. And I’m supposed to like it.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Chet. But you’ve got to let go now. He’s in love with her and he’s moving away and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
I stood up.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I didn’t mean to chase you off.”
“Oh, no, of course you didn’t. All the things I’ve done for you two over the years and this is what you say to me.” I went to the front door, opened it. “You aren’t chasing me away, Laura. I’m chasing me away.”
6.
I didn’t count the beers. I was careful to stay under what I considered my own legal limit, but that didn’t mean I was sober.
A little bar near the old stadium. Dark, anonymous. I found myself salting my beer the way the old man had. He used to take me to the neighborhood tavern with him. Those were my favorite times, the few occasions when I got to be alone with my old man. He took Michael more places than he’d take me. But in the tavern I’d sit on the stool next to him and he’d pop peanuts in his mouth and sprinkle salt in his beer. I always wanted people to know he was a cop because I was so proud of him. But he never wore his uniform when he went drinking. He said it just caused trouble. I’d always wondered what he meant by that. If somebody gave him trouble, couldn’t he just shoot him? That was how my eight-year-old mind worked. Nobody could insult cops.
But I made the mistake he’d avoided. Early on I wore my uniform into a few non-cop bars and paid for it. No fights or anything, but a couple hours of vague insults grinding into my ear canal. Everybody, especially drunks, has a good stock of anti-police stories.