When they finally left, Arthur closed the door and leaned on it. “The first to arrive and the last to leave,” he said.
Rose laughed loudly. “What a pair of characters.” Then she said, “Hmmmmn,” as if she’d overheard herself and found it puzzling.
I sat on the sofa eating a piece of ham that I’d placed on an apricot sweet roll and drinking a gin and tonic. I felt blurry but not tired enough to sleep.
“Well, how did you like it?” said Rose as she began her rounds, collecting glasses and emptying ashtrays.
Arthur stood at the window and gazed out at the rain. I wondered if he wanted to look quite that dramatic. “It wasn’t much of a party for you, was it?” he said.
“It was fine,” I said.
“Everyone was so glad to see you,” Rose said.
Arthur paddled across the room and lowered himself into what we still called Arthur’s Chair. He heaved a glutinous sigh and placed his smallish feet on the battered oxblood ottoman. “It could have been a lot worse,” he said.
“No, it was good,” I said, injecting some conviction into my voice.
“You know,” said Rose, in her “family secret” voice, “your dad and I have been shopping around for a welcome home present for you.” She sat really quite close to me on the sofa. “Would you like to know what it is?”
“You don’t have to buy me anything,” I said. “You’ve already spent a goddamned fortune on me.”
“On this party?” asked Arthur.
“No. On the new lawyer. On Rockville.”
“Well, money has to be spent on something, doesn’t it, Arthur?” Rose said.
“Not necessarily, but I know what you mean,” Arthur said.
“Are you interested in what we’re getting for you?” Rose asked me.
“Sure.”
“A little car.”
“A little car?” I said, holding up my thumb and forefinger.
“Not quite that small,” Arthur said, smiling—I was never more his son than when I made a simple joke, especially if it was at my mother’s expense.
“If you’re not interested…” said Rose.
“I’m interested. It would be great. But I don’t even have a license. Mine expired.”
“What does that matter?” said Rose. “You’ll bone up and take the test. You were a wonderful driver.”
“Yes,” I said, “like driving you crazy.”
“Or driving me to drink,” said Arthur.
“Are you happy about the car?” asked Rose.
“Yes. But I don’t want you to get it. I don’t need presents.”
“It’s Millicent Bell’s car, you know,” my mother said. “A green Plymouth sedan. As soon as her new car’s delivered, we get to pick up yours.”
“So it’s a slight case of hurry-up-and-wait,” said Arthur.
“That’s not the worst thing that ever happened in this world,” said Rose, with a brave, incongruous smile. “But how about this? In the meanwhile we’ll get you something else, another welcome home present. What would you say to that?”
“Fieldmouse,” I said.
“What?” Rose said.
“Nothing, no, that would be great.”
“What would you like?” Arthur asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t need anything.”
“Some clothes?” said Rose. “For when you start school, or whatever.”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Clothes aren’t a present,” said Arthur. “He’d get clothes no matter. How about something special, David? Something a little off the beaten path?”
I wondered if he were tempting me deliberately. “Like what?” I said.
“Name it,” said Arthur.
“Well,” I said, leaning back and preparing my insides for the worst, “there is one thing.”
“What?” said Rose.
“And it wouldn’t cost a penny,” I said. “It’s something of mine. I’ve been looking around for it and I can’t find it.”
My parents exchanged glances; it seemed they knew what was next.
“Anyhow,” I said, “I’d like you to give it to me. It means more to me than any old Plymouth, I can tell you that.”
“What are you talking about?” said Rose.
“A bunch of letters. The letters from Jade. The ones you showed to the judge.” My voice was suddenly unstable, feathery, and overheated—not a voice that could command attention. “And I think there were some letters I sent to her. I’d like to have them, all of them.” I took a deep, notched breath and added, “They’re mine,” because they were, they were completely and irrevocably mine, and it tore at my tenderest parts to have to ask for them.
Rose and Arthur explained as simply and calmly as they could that the letters were gone and I, to prevent making a fool of myself, tried to look as if I believed them and, at the same time, to prevent myself from losing all hope, told myself they were clearly lying.
Later that evening we sat in the kitchen over a light supper. Rose and Arthur yawned frequently from exhaustion and tension. No one was hungry and with the topic of the letters having been instantly elevated to a taboo, there was nothing anyone cared to talk about.
Rose was the first to leave the table. Then I went into the living room and turned on the TV. Arthur followed and sat at a respectful distance from me on the sofa.
“Did you talk to What’s His Face about a job?” Arthur asked.
I nodded. A White Sox game was on, tied 6 to 6 in the fifteenth inning.
“You know there’s no rush,” said Arthur. “You don’t have to get a job. I hope you know that.”
“I’ve got to get a job. That’s what they told me. It has to look like I’m getting adjusted.”
“You’ll adjust. It doesn’t have to happen right away. I told you what it was like for me when I came home from the Army.”
I nodded, but Arthur went on.
“I was of course glad to be back. The war was over and I was alive. I had people I wanted to see and places to go. The whole country was celebrating. But I couldn’t do it. Everyone thought your mother and I were having a little second honeymoon but the truth was I couldn’t leave the house. It was the damndest thing. I was just stuck here as if I was paralyzed.”
“I know, I know,” I said. And then, looking away from the TV but not quite at my father, I said, “But there’s a big difference between coming home from World War II and coming home from a fucking insane asylum where you’ve been sent because you burned your girlfriend’s house down. No one wants to see me.”
Arthur shook his head. “Stop it. With an attitude like that you can’t expect very much.”
“That’s fine. I don’t expect anything.”
“Don’t you understand? Everyone is willing to grant that what’s behind you is behind you. Look at all the people here today. I know you don’t care very much about them but that’s not the point. They were all happy to see you again. It was almost like you’ve never been gone.”
“Right. I noticed.”
“Now it’s your turn, David. It’s time for you to realize to yourself that what’s in the past is in the past.”
“I don’t think I know what the past is. I don’t think there’s any such thing.”
“You want to know what the past is?” said Arthur. “It’s what’s already happened. It’s what can’t be brought back.”
“The future can’t be brought back, either. Neither can the present.”
“I’ll show you what the past is,” said Arthur. He clapped his hands together once, waited a moment, and then clapped them again—the sound was hollow, forlorn. “The first clap was the past,” he said with a subdued yet triumphant smile. If we had shared the sort of life that Arthur had wanted for us it would have contained hundreds of conversations just like this one.