Ask Him Why (25 page)

“Fifteen minutes,” he said.

“Fine!” I shouted in hopes of being heard, and Maya put her hands over her ears, which was something she’d taken to doing in imitation of me when I thought she was being too shrieky.

I hung up and called Aubrey.

“What?” he said, in place of “hello.”

“Nice,” I said. “Lovely phone manners. You need to get out here.”

“Why?”

“Mom’s already here.”

“It’s Monday.”

“I know what day it is, Aubrey. There’s some . . . stuff going on. And you need to get here early. Seriously. Like as soon as humanly possible.”

“I have work.”

“Tell them it’s a family emergency.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And you’re not going to tell me.”

“No. Mom said not to. She wants to tell you herself when you get here.”

Long silence.

Then he said, “Okay. Give me a few hours.”

I started to say something—“thank you,” maybe—but then I realized he’d already hung up. Maya was reaching for something, leaning her upper body out away from me, so I kept moving in the direction she was reaching, like a divining rod, and while I walked, I speed-dialed Sean at work.

As the line rang, I figured out Maya wanted her juice bottle from the bottom of the playpen, so I reached in and got it for her and she settled immediately, resting her head on my shoulder. I could hear her suckling apple juice.

“Honey,” Sean said. “Hey. Can it wait? Super busy here.”

For a moment, I couldn’t even form an answer. All I could think was
Doesn’t anybody say hello anymore?
But that didn’t feel like the right one.

“I guess it can. I don’t know. It’s . . .”

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Serious, huh? I can hear it in your voice. Give me just a second.”

While I was waiting, I heard him barking orders at his assistant, Rick. Probably getting him to finish what Sean would—should—have done himself, if I hadn’t called.

“Okay, sorry,” he said. “I’m back.”

“Now I feel guilty. Because you’re busy. But I just kept thinking about the last time I went to see Ham. You asked me why I didn’t call you to talk if I was so upset. So that’s why I did this time.”

“What’s going on, Ruth?”

“Mom’s here.”

“It’s Monday.”

“I really wish people would stop telling me what day it is. I know it’s Monday, Sean. But she’s here. She got some very bad health news.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“Yeah, but . . . honey, can you elaborate a little? How bad?”

“She brought presents. For Thanksgiving. I said, ‘Mom, we’ll get together again at Christmas.’ She said, ‘God willing.’ That bad.”

“Oh, crap,” he said. “That’s pretty bad.”

“She wants Joseph here for Thanksgiving.”

“Joseph
and
Aubrey?”

“Right. And she’s pretty much put me in charge of making it happen.”

“I should come home,” he said.

“No, you have to finish work. Just—”

But before I could say just what, I heard the tone that meant somebody was trying to call through. I held the phone away from my ear. It was the same Colorado area code I’d just used to call Joseph.

“That’s Joseph calling me back. I have to take this.”

“Okay. See you after work.”

I clicked through to the incoming call.

“Joseph,” I said.

“Hey, Duck.”

“I can hear you.”

“I’m in the office in the barn.”

“First of all,” I said, “I have to apologize. Because here I am calling you with something big, and I realize I’ve had your number all this time, and I should’ve called you before.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Duck,” he said, his voice soft.

“I feel like I do, though. And I said we’d come out and visit you . . .”

“You don’t want to come in the winter, anyway. Not so good for California folks. Too snowy. Too cold.”

“But I said that back when it wasn’t.”

“Come in the spring, Duck,” he said, ignoring the subtext of my guilt. “That’s when it’s most beautiful.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, suddenly lost in the imaginary vision of something beautiful, which felt so different from my real life in that moment.

“Now how ’bout you tell me what’s going on?”

“Mom wants you here for Thanksgiving.”

“She’s dying,” he said without missing a beat.

“How did you know that?”

“It’s a pretty damned big change of heart.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Okay,” he said. Like it was easy. Like everything in this world was. “I’ll get on the road. Can I bring a plus one?”

“A what?”

“A plus one. A guest.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay. Can’t say when I’ll get in, but I’ll keep you posted.”

And that was that.

I hung up the phone and sat on the couch with the baby and wondered if Joseph had a girlfriend. I figured he must if he wanted to bring a guest.

Then I ran out of thoughts and came crashing into the moment.

The busywork of those phone calls had been holding me up, I now realized, keeping me together and away from what was happening. And even though I’d never been particularly emotionally close to my mother, even though I’d never been her biggest fan, I broke apart and cried.

That’s the thing about mothers. If you’re close, you don’t want to lose that closeness, though I don’t know from personal experience. If you’re not, you harbor this little thread of hope that you will be someday, and you don’t want to be told you’ve just run out of time. And that I did learn for myself. Right about then.

Maya said the word “mommy” over and over, worried about me, and that didn’t help stem the tears at all.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Aubrey

I sat out on Ruth and Sean’s back patio with my mom. It was mid-afternoon. We were both staring at the chiminea. This freestanding pottery fireplace that shared the brick space with us. There was no fire in it, of course. It was broad daylight. And too warm.

Mom was smoking a cigarette. Which I pretty much couldn’t get over. I just kept staring at it. Watching her flick the ashes into a saucer. Ruth and Sean didn’t keep ashtrays. It felt like an openmouthed stare, but I could feel that my mouth was closed. In my mind, though. In my mind, my jaw was dropped. Had been since the beginning of the conversation.

“You’re not saying anything,” she said.

I jumped. Neither one of us had said anything for a long time. I guess I’d been expecting the trend to last.

“It’s kind of hard to know what to say.”

She patted my knee, and I saw a couple of tears slip out. Hers. Not mine. I would find out later that I actually did have some. Hiding in there somewhere. In that moment, though, I just felt like a block of concrete. I had all the emotion of a rock.

“So, I hate to even bring it up, Mom. But . . .”

“What?”

“You could stop sucking on those things that got you into this mess in the first place.”

“People get lung cancer even when they don’t smoke.”

“Rarely. Mostly they get it when they do.”

“And when you’ve been a smoker,” she said, “even after you quit, you still have a higher risk.”

“But not as high as if you don’t quit,” I said.

“Well, risks don’t really apply to me anymore,” she said. “My numbers are all in.”

“Still . . . ,” I began. Though I swear I had no idea how I would have finished.

“Aubrey,” she said. “Honey. It’s too late.”

I said nothing. Not accepting, exactly. Just accepting that the conversation about it was over. It
was
that way. That’s what Luanne always said. “It
is
that way. Now the only question is: What are you going to do about it?”

My mom startled me again by speaking.

“So why am I still writing you checks every month if you’re working?”

“I’m not working,” I said, relieved that the statement had recently become technically true.

“Ruth said you were working again.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Silence while I waited to see if she would ask more questions. Pursue me. She didn’t.

“I’m going to go see what Ruth has in mind for lunch,” I said. “You hungry?”

“Not really. But you’re a growing boy. So go eat.”

“Mom. I’m twenty-three. I’m not still growing.”

“To me, you’ll always be a boy,” she said.

Then we both got stuck for a moment on the sad truth of that statement. She’d never watch me turn thirty. Or see my hairline recede. If I ever became a father, she wouldn’t know about it. There would be moments in the future, moments that would provide irrefutable proof that I was a grown man. She wouldn’t be there for any of them.

I found Ruth in the kitchen without further comment. She had the baby on her hip and was making a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off.

“Hey,” I said.

“This sucks,” she said. “Huh?”

“I . . . don’t think I’ve really absorbed it yet.”

“No, me neither. So, are you staying? Or do you have to get back to work?”

“There’s no work to get back to,” I said. “I don’t have that job anymore.”

“Since when?”

“This morning.”

“I didn’t tell you to quit, Aubrey. You could’ve just called in a family emergency.”

“I tried that. They said if I took more than three days off they’d have to replace me. So I told them to go ahead and do that then.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I just shrugged. “It was a crappy job, anyway. Waiting tables is much worse than I thought it would be. Especially in a cheap place like that. So, listen. I’m thinking about food. I skipped breakfast to get here.”

“I’m not exactly prepared,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting company until Thursday, but if you want to get takeout, I’ll pay.”

“Fair enough.”

She handed the sandwich to the baby. Well . . . toddler. Then she carried Maya and the sandwich over to her purse.

“So, did she tell you everything?” she asked me.

I heard it in her voice. Something. I wasn’t quite sure what.

“She told me it’s just a matter of months.”

“Oh,” Ruth said. “She didn’t, then.”

I felt myself go steely inside. A strange feeling, to turn from stone to steel. Sounds like there’d be no difference. There was. Stone just exists, without feeling. Steel is defensive. Deliberate. It actively stands guard. Keeps everything out.

“Oh, crap,” I said, cleaning up my language on the fly for Maya. “What?”

“It’s her last Thanksgiving with us. You know? It’s kind of a big deal. So she gets to say how she wants it to go. She gets to make a wish.”

“You invited Joseph,” I said through lips that felt numb. Dead.

“It wasn’t my idea. She insisted. But, Aubrey . . . I’m sorry, but you have to stay. She wants us all together. We’re not even sure we’ll all be together again at Christmas.”

“Just give me the money for the food,” I said. “Okay?”

She paused. Shook her head. Then she dug for her wallet. Which she knew how to open one-handed. I guess motherhood teaches you that.

She handed me two twenties.

“Thank you,” I said.

I went out the back way. On purpose.

Our mom had just lit a fresh cigarette. She looked over her shoulder at me. With no guilt. Defiantly.

“Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’ll stay. Just because it’s your wish and you get to make one.” I didn’t say “your last wish.” I couldn’t. But I guess it went without saying. “But I’m not saying a word to him. And he’s not to say a word to me. You tell him that. Got it? I won’t pick fights. I won’t say anything mean. I just won’t say anything at all.”

I waited while she took another deep drag. Watched her tip her head back to blow the smoke toward the sky. Why, I had no idea.

“That’s not good enough,” she said.

This time my mouth really did drop open. In real time. Not just in my head.

“That’s a lot!” I said. Shouted, nearly. “That’s huge for me.”

“But it’s not enough. I want you to be civil. You don’t have to forgive everything. You don’t have to like him again. But if he says hello, you say hello back. If he asks you a direct question, you answer. Same as you would with anybody. Whether you know them or not.”

“Strangers are easy,” I said. “This is Joseph.”

“Nonetheless,” she said, “that’s what I want.”

I waited, expecting a reaction from myself. For years it had always been the same. All my life, so far as I knew. Rage would well up. I would lash out somehow. Protect what was mine. So I waited for it. Instead everything just sagged inside. I was utterly defeated. I could feel it.

“I’m going to get some takeout for lunch,” I said.

I tore down the street at about twice the speed limit. Enjoying the roar of the bike’s engine in my ears. The vibration coming up through the seat. Now and then, I glanced at my watch. Just a few blocks short of that Thai place I liked, I entered the time window I’d been waiting for. Ten minutes to the hour.

I pulled over. Balanced the bike with my boots on the tarmac. Near the curb. Dug my cell phone out of my pocket.

I texted Luanne,
So. My mom’s dying.

I waited. For maybe a minute. Maybe two.

Then I got a text back. It said,
When did you find this out?

I texted,
Just a few minutes ago.

She said,
How do you feel?

I said,
I don’t.

Right. Still the denial phase. That’s normal.

There’s more.

I waited. But then I realized she was waiting, too. For me to go on.

I typed,
Joseph is coming to Thanksgiving.

How do you feel about that?

How do you think I feel? But it doesn’t matter. Mom holds the cards. I have to do it.

A pause. During which I didn’t hear back.

So I added,
Don’t I?

She texted,
You don’t *have* to do anything. What do I always say?

That I can do whatever I want if I’m willing to pay the bill when it comes in.

Right. But I think this one would be too expensive. Don’t you?

So I have to,
I repeated.

Why not think of it more like: you will?

I stuck my phone back into my pocket. Rode the rest of the way to the Thai place in silence. Even on the inside. I’d been planning to ask her if she could fit me in for a session. But I changed my mind. Right in that moment, I decided she wasn’t helping at all.

Nobody could help me now.

Most of the rest of the day was far too tedious to relate. It involved a lot of staring. At the walls. Out the window. At the chiminea if we were sitting outside. We looked at the baby and fussed over the baby. Because it was something we all still knew how to do.

But even the baby mostly stared. Under normal circumstances, she bounced endlessly. Insisted on climbing down from her mom’s lap. Toddled around using chair arms and coffee tables for supplemental balance. Ran and got toys and showed them to everyone.

That day she mostly just sat.

After a few dreadful hours, Sean came home. I thought he might unlock us somehow. Instead he caught the fever. Sat and stared with us.

Dinnertime came and Mom and Ruth weren’t hungry. So Sean and I ate leftover Thai takeout in the kitchen.

“How are you going to be with Joseph here?” he asked me, halfway through the meal.

I waited again. For the rage. Still nothing. What came up was more like a profound depression. The battle was over. I had lost.

“I’m going to be just how Mom says I have to be. If he says hello, I have to say hello back. If he asks a question, I have to answer it. It’s a last wish. You can’t deny your own mother her last wish. And she knows it.”

“I think that’s a good decision,” Sean said. “I think you’ll look back later, after . . . you know. I think you’ll be glad you did. And God knows Ruth’ll be relieved to hear it. Janet pretty much put her in charge of making this work out. So the pressure is really on at her end.”

“So I’m pinned twice,” I said.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” he said. Half-jokingly. Like a doctor who says, “This won’t hurt a bit.” When you both know it will.

We finished eating in silence.

I purposely didn’t ask when Joseph was coming.

In time, we wandered back out into the living room. Everyone was gone. We found them out on the back patio. Ruth was stoking a little wood fire in the chiminea.

We sat and stared until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’m going to bed,” I said. Jumping up suddenly.

“Aubrey,” my mom said. “It’s seven.”

“Well, yeah. I know.” I hadn’t known, actually. “I’ll go to bed and read,” I said.

“You brought a book?” Ruth asked. The subtext being that I wasn’t big on books and she knew it.

“I’ll read one of yours,” I said.