All the Good Parts (15 page)

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

I could only nod my head. There was a fierceness to Paul’s tone, almost like he longed for me to disagree. Was he spoiling for a fight? I wouldn’t give him one. If he wanted to grapple with me, it would be over my goodbye visit with his father.

I flipped through the years of Jerry and Anna’s marriage. They were a social couple, lots of backyard barbecues and basement disco parties. Later, in the ’80s and ’90s, they hosted card nights and dinner parties. Anna liked to laugh. And drink. I could sense that she was the center of those parties, the one who made everything tick.

“People liked her,” I finally said, twisting my neck so I could look up at Paul. He stared at a photo of his mother balancing a martini glass on her head.

“Everyone liked her,” he said softly, “and she liked everyone. A classic extrovert. My mom felt most alive during a party.”

“Was she an alcoholic?” The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. “I’m sorry. That’s not my business.”

Paul settled across from me again. “No, it wasn’t like that.” He ran one large finger over the photo of his mother. “My dad once said most people are built for work, but there are some who are built for pleasure. That was my mom. She thought life should be fun and easy.”

“But life isn’t always fun and easy.”

Paul nodded. “Especially when there’s a child in it. Everyday tasks, mundane-type things, bored her.” His eyes met mine. “I bored her. She couldn’t handle the day-to-day. My dad helped me with my homework and came to my chess matches and knew my teachers’ names. He taught me to ride a bike and ironed my dress shirts when I joined the Math Olympiad.

“I always suspected she liked the idea of having a child but disliked the actual raising of one. It took too much time. Too much busywork.”

The second half of the album featured Paul. He’d been a stout, big-boned child, and by his teenage years he’d surpassed his father in height, looming over his parents, serious and grim. Photo after photo detailed the life of a boy who consistently looked like he’d rather be elsewhere.

But one photo series showed the three of them forming a pyramid on the beach. Paul’s mother balanced atop her husband and son, grinning at the camera. In the next photo they tumbled to the sand, laughing. “You had some good times,” I said.

Paul closed the album. “I didn’t say she didn’t love me. She did, in her way. She made it her mission to get me to enjoy life. I had great birthday parties, but they embarrassed me because I had so few friends. She pressed me to make more, while I simply wished she’d ask me what I wanted. I would have been happy going to see
Star Wars
with my math-geek buddies. Hell, I would have been happy seeing
Star Wars
with
her
.”

Had Paul’s unhappiness always lay so close to the surface? “Jerry seems pretty intuitive,” I said. “How could he have not noticed?”

“There wasn’t much to notice. I internalized everything, making it easy to pretend everything was fine. They were a happy couple, always holding hands and planning activities. I was different from them, and I did seem like a stick in the mud most of the time.” He paused, swiping a hand over his face. “My father did his best, I understand that. He was just so in love with her, he couldn’t see why she didn’t make me happy. He couldn’t see ways that
he
could be happier. She hurt him because she put herself first, but he refused to interpret it like that.”

“Isn’t that love? When you forgive someone for their deficiencies?”

Paul stiffened. “I think it shows a decided lack of judgment.”

“Is that why you’re so overprotective of him? You think he has bad judgment?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I’m being a responsible son. It’s important to me.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to understand why I won’t let you come back again after you say goodbye.”

“Because I have bad judgment?”

“Because you remind me of her.”

I passed the photo album across the table. “You don’t know me at all,” I said coldly.

“I know what I see,” he replied, studying my face. “I don’t think you want a child, I think you want a different life, something more exciting. Having a kid is not going to change who you are, Leona.”

I wanted his words to bounce off me, but instead, they burrowed in, searching for my heart. Trembling, I pushed my chair back with a loud, satisfying scrape and stood tall. I needed to feel bigger than him for a moment, needed to shift the power, even in such a superficial way. “I’m coming on Saturday morning,” I announced. “I’ll spend
ten
uninterrupted minutes with your father and then I’ll leave. You don’t need to worry. Your father is safe with me, no matter how unreliable you think I am, and I would never take advantage of him, or hurt him in any way.”

“Not on purpose, anyway.”

“That’s unfair.”

“I know,” Paul said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“Haven’t you ever made a mistake?” I asked, anger taking hold. “Have you said something you shouldn’t have? Worn your heart on your sleeve?”

Paul shoved some hummus into his mouth, making speech impossible. If he did it in a lawyerly move to force me to talk, it worked.

“I don’t feel guilty about talking to him about my problems. He’s starved for conversation, for life! I brought life inside the door and dropped it on his lap.”

“Mrs. Lim brought him outside. Right now he’s farther away from the house than he’s been in months. He’s no longer living vicariously.”

I frowned. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“If that’s how you want to explain it to yourself.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Maybe I am,” Paul admitted, though it didn’t seem to bother him much. He began clearing the table, shaking his head once when I tried to help him.

“I would never hurt Jerry,” I insisted. “Do you really think I would?”

Paul shrugged. “If I’m such an asshole, why do you care what I think?”

When I got outside, Donal had finished painting the railings. He sat on the front stoop smoking a cigarette, though he’d promised to give them up more times than I could count. I dismissed his guilty expression with a wave of my hand. “Let’s go. I don’t care if you smoke in the car.”

“Naw.” He stubbed out the cigarette with the toe of his work boot, picked it up, and cupped it in his palm. “So, did you rough him up, girly?”

“Not yet, but he’s got it coming.”

Donal winked at me. “Then he should be afraid. Very, very afraid.”

Maybe it’s me who should be afraid,
I thought as we climbed into the van. But my fears had turned nameless and slippery, and for once I couldn’t gather them to me, not even for comfort.

CHAPTER 17

Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K

Leona A:
You up?

Darryl K:
Why wouldn’t I be up? At dawn. On a Saturday. Yeah . . . can’t sleep lately. So, what’s going on with you, Miss Leona?

Leona A:
Project update—I won’t have the section about vaccinations done until late tonight. Probably the wee hours. Is that okay?

Darryl K:
Don’t worry about it—it’s Saturday (It is Saturday, right? The gods didn’t mercifully hand out another Friday, did they?). Go out and have some fun later. I’m going to see what kind of trouble I can get into myself, but Rockford isn’t exactly a den of iniquity. There must be secret places I don’t know about. Do you ever feel that way? That there are all kinds of things going on that you would love to participate in, if someone would only point them out?

Leona A:
You’ve just summed up my entire existence.

Darryl K:
Let’s find one of them tonight. Both of us. Report back your findings, like a nightclub anthropologist.

Leona A:
I actually do have plans today.

Darryl K:
A date?

Leona A:
With my sister. We’re going to a couples baby shower for some rich woman Carly knows from church. My brother-in-law, Donal, isn’t feeling well, so she’s dragging me along.

Darryl K:
A couples baby shower? What fresh hell is this?

Leona A:
It’s the way The Real Housewives of Willow Falls, Illinois, get back at men for decades of not having to sit through three hours of watching someone squeal while unwrapping a never-ending pile of presents.

Darryl K:
Well, as far as revenge goes, that actually sounds reasonable.

Leona A:
Carly, my sister, says they “do things” to men at these parties.

Darryl K:
Ominous . . .

Leona A:
Uh-huh. But now I’m curious enough to not question her motives for taking me.

Darryl K:
Motives? Oh, wait, I get it. Single woman of a certain age. Is she pressuring you to get married? Trying to show you what you’re missing? That doesn’t sound like the kind of place to meet men. Unless she’s got someone lying in wait.

Leona A:
I think she’s leaving that to me. At least I hope she is. My (albeit unreliable) instincts don’t sense ambush. This is probably more of a reminder. Let’s hope it’s a gentle one, though “gentle” is not a word usually associated with my sister.

Darryl K:
If it isn’t, I’ll be home later if you need me. I bet the nightclubs in Rockford close in time for curfew. Actually, they probably close in time for the dinner rush at Denny’s. The curtains come down early in this town. The average age here is three-quarters of the way to oblivion.

Leona A:
Oh, come on. Old doesn’t have to equal boring.

Darryl K:
Maybe not, but at a certain age, people become closely acquainted with the things that will eventually kill them—the spikes in blood sugar, the roller-coastering blood pressure, the thing they think might be a lump that turns out to actually be a lump—and to combat the anxiety, they make all kinds of choices that make their lives a little less, and then a little less, and then they’re simply moving about and breathing, not really living at all.

Leona A:
Depressing, but, yes, I have seen that firsthand. It’s only lately that I’ve convinced myself I’m still young enough to make decisions that will hopefully make my life a little bit more. I figure if I keep making it more, by the time I have to make it less it’ll be so full and rich and overabundant I won’t notice anything is missing until I’m 90.

Darryl K:
You are a romantic, Leona.

Leona A:
Maybe I am.

Darryl K:
Enjoy your night. I might go hang out at Denny’s. A Moons Over My Hammy is sounding pretty good right now.

Leona A:
Nothing beats a fried egg. Maybe we can hang out together sometime? I like greasy food and sludgy coffee. Rockford isn’t that far.

Leona A:
Darryl?

Leona A:
Darryl?????

CHAPTER 18

I pushed. I pushed and I shouldn’t have, and now I’d freaked Darryl so far out he’d probably block my private messages and dissolve our partnership and report me to Professor Larmon for sexual harassment and . . .

Deep breath.

Maybe he got another leg cramp and couldn’t find the baseball bat. Maybe his Internet service kicked out. Contrary to my general life philosophy, not every scenario eventually became the worst case.

I took another breath and refreshed my student e-mail.

Nothing.

I couldn’t take it back. I wanted to, but it was out there, my invitation taunting Darryl, who probably didn’t know how to reply without hurting my feelings. The eye twitch I always got when I was nervous started fluttering. What if I’d ruined a perfectly good friendship?

I would worry about that in the car ride over to Jerry’s. I didn’t want to ruin two perfectly good friendships in a day, so I got ready quickly, choosing a nice purple corduroy miniskirt and my silky teal sweater, and putting on more makeup than my usual swipe of mascara and lip balm. There are all kinds of ways to tell someone you love them, my father often said, and one of them was to not look like you were pulled up from the gutter to shake his hand. If this was the last time I saw Jerry, I wanted to leave him feeling nice about the time we spent together. I didn’t want him to only remember waking up to find me gone.

Mrs. Lim answered Jerry’s door.

“Some girl is here!” she bellowed, and gestured for me to come inside.

I followed the diminutive woman into the kitchen. Her iron-gray hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she wore a pink velvet tracksuit with “Grandma” embroidered across her tiny butt in shiny silver thread. Orthopedic running shoes completed the look. They squeaked as she walked.

Jerry wasn’t in the kitchen, but Paul was, looking characteristically dour. He stood at the sink, towering comically over Mrs. Lim. Her dark eyes moved from me to Paul and back again.

“This is Leona,” Paul said, more an announcement than an introduction. He gave no indication he’d poured his heart out to me the last time I saw him, his mannerisms stiff and formal.

“Sit,” Mrs. Lim demanded. “I’ll make you tea.”

“That’s really not—”

“Sit.”

I sat. There was a sound from somewhere else in the house, more than a sigh, more like a groan.

“He’s wearing it,” Mrs. Lim said to Paul. “Be prepared for some old-man attitude.” She glanced my way again, and her head twitched dismissively. “That fake arm is going to require a lot of care at first, so when I’m not around, no hanky-panky with your girlfriend here—you pay attention if he starts bitching about dry skin or swelling.” Moving toward the mugs, she nudged Paul to the side with her bony hip. It should have been like a feather pushing up against granite, but he jumped as if electroshocked. His face was crimson.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said quickly.

“Then what is she doing here? In a sick man’s home? I thought I said no visitors. They steal energy.”

I cleared my throat, reminding her that I was indeed a person. “Jerry’s not sick.”

She turned off the kettle. “He’s trouble today. You shouldn’t see him.”

“I told her she could have ten minutes,” Paul interjected.

She assessed me with narrowed eyes, head to toe. “Are you a relative?”

“I’m Jerry’s girlfriend,” I said, watching her eyes grow wide. “Well, ex-girlfriend. He dumped me for someone younger. I’m just here to say goodbye. I just miss him so much.”

She choked, a seize ending in great hacking coughs. Paul glared at me while he produced a napkin into which she spit something wet.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Jerry stood in the doorway. He cradled the prosthesis with his good hand. It almost looked real—the flesh the right color but wrong texture, the fingers rested at a slightly odd angle. Its offness matched the rest of him. Jerry looked like a sick man. Why hadn’t I noticed before? The skin under his eyes was sagging and discolored, and his shoulders appeared more rounded, almost stooped. Then I saw his eyes, and a shred of humor remained, enough to lift some of my worry.

That was him. Jerry.

“Ms. Accorsi has to leave soon, Dad,” Paul said. “She wanted a few minutes to speak with you.”

“Lee can have hours!” Jerry exclaimed. I stood as he took my hand, not wanting him to have to pull me up. “Let’s go in the living room.” He shot dirty looks at Paul and Mrs. Lim. “It’s too crowded in here.”

“You need to take your medicine,” Mrs. Lim insisted.

“Ten minutes,” Paul warned, his voice tight.

Jerry sat in his Barcalounger and I in my usual spot at his side on the sofa. “Would you get a load of this piece of shit?” Jerry said, hitting the remote against his prosthesis. “It chafes like hell.”

“Should it?” I didn’t want to tell him I was nervous of infection, too.

“The doc said it would for a while. As long as the skin doesn’t break, I should be fine.”

Silence. I had too much to say—the ten-minute time limit overwhelmed me. I knew Paul would stick with it, and he’d probably send Mrs. Lim in to bounce me from the premises. I had no doubt she could throw my ass to the curb.

I edged up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and examined the prosthesis more closely. The hand and lower arm had some give, not exactly fleshy, but close enough, with steel running underneath like strong bones. Just above his elbow, the plastic turned hard, the color Barbie-doll unnatural. I could see the edge of the plate crossing his upper chest, and the red and white wires controlling his very limited movement.

“I’m battery operated,” Jerry said with a snort.

“You’re more able,” I countered, unwilling to let him dismiss the enormity of the change. “Steadier. This will change your life.”

“I’ve had enough change,” he said sadly. “This is window dressing, nothing more.” He drew his sleeve back down quickly and took my hand with his good, warm one. “When I woke up and you weren’t here, I felt like I did when Anna was first gone. I wasn’t sure where I was. This house means nothing to me, the furniture can burn for all I care. I need faces, smiles, to show me I’m still here. I got used to yours, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t want to go,” I said, deciding not to shield Paul. “I would have been there if it were up to me.”

“I think my son means well. That doesn’t mean he’s right. I’ll work on him, Leona. You’ll have your job back soon enough.”

I wanted it back, but I didn’t want to cause more of a rift between father and son. My ego wanted Paul to recognize my value and to actually want me to return. “Do you like Mrs. Lim?”

Jerry’s eyes clouded over. “You don’t want to come back.”

“I want to,” I said quietly. “Of course I do.”

“She’s brutal. Not a soft bone in her body. If you peeled her skin away, you’d see stone.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She doesn’t talk to me unless it’s to bark an order. She’s worse than my drill sergeant ever was.”

“Are you taking your medicine?”

“Do I have a choice? I hate it, Lee. It makes me feel like I live underwater.”

“Are you eating?”

“She spoons it into my mouth. Like I’m an invalid. Or an infant.”

“Has she taken you to the YMCA?”

“Once, I—”

I started crying.

“Oh, Lee, she tricked me. I thought we were going to the grocery store.”

“She’s good for you. Better than I was.”

“I’m doing these things, but I feel nothing. I’m the Dead Sea inside. Don’t you understand?”

“I understand that I can’t come back. Paul’s right. She’s doing a better job. She’s the more qualified person for the job. I can be a big enough person to admit that.”

“All that stuff doesn’t matter. I thought you understood.”

“I do, but I have your best interests at heart.
That’s
my job.”

“You sound like Paul,” he scoffed.

“Maybe he’s not entirely an asshole. Just half.” I checked my phone. Nine minutes had passed. I stood up and kissed Jerry’s forehead. “Give him a little time, but maybe, instead of trying to talk him into rehiring me, you could convince him to let me visit? I’d like to walk around the block with you.”

Jerry sighed. “I’ll try, sweetheart.”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but saying the words almost seemed cruel if Paul barred me from returning. I smiled at him instead, but Jerry looked far away, as if I’d left already and he was trying to remember me. “Thanks for everything,” I choked out.

I got into my car and pulled over a few houses down from the Pietrowskis’ because I could never mix crying with driving. The cry was ugly, snotty, breathless, and oddly satisfying, and I was so into it I didn’t respond to the sharp rap at my window.

“Leona!”

Paul bent at the waist and squinted into my car. “I would have gotten him a better one,” he said as I lowered the window. “They’ve got electric arms that move solely on brain impulses. I would have paid for it. He didn’t want it.”

The wind picked up, and I shivered. “Get in the car.”

“What?”

“If you want to talk, get in the
fucking
car.”

Watching Paul squeeze himself into my car confirmed my belief that if there was ever a sign I wasn’t meant to share my life with a man, my choice of a Honda Civic was it. He tugged on the bar beneath the seat, sending it all the way back, but still I worried his knees would punch through to the engine.

“Comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d be able to buy a new car if I hadn’t just had my work hours cut.”

“Funny,” he said dully.

We sat for a moment, listening to the howl of the wind and the leaves scratching against the car. “Why didn’t he want the nice one?” I finally said.

Paul managed a small shrug.

“You could have forced him, but you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. I guess I wanted to give him control of something.”

“Admirable.”

“You’re being facetious.”

“Why do you always need to point out the obvious?”

“I have a hard time reading people sometimes,” he admitted. “Another reason why I’m not in a courtroom. I say things like that because I want to be sure I’m not making a mistake.”

“You made one when you judged my character. You can trust me. I want to come back to visit Jerry. Will you let me do that?”

Paul shook his head. “You’ll undermine Mrs. Lim’s authority. She’s better for him. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I think you probably picked up on that. Like I said, he wanted to stay in that house with you because you made him feel safe. He can’t stand being around her, so he does what she says. You tell me which one is better.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be his aide again. I want to spend time with him.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Then why did you come out here? If I’m not part of his care, why did you want me to know he could have had a better prosthesis? Are you looking for some kind of approval? Do you feel guilty? If I’m the only one who can tell you you’re being a good person, then you need to rethink your social sphere.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve sought approval from anyone. That wasn’t what I meant. I suppose I wanted an opinion.” He placed his hand on the door handle. “I didn’t have the right to ask you.”

“No,” I retorted. “You didn’t.”

Paul opened the door and dislodged one massive leg from where it was wedged against the dash. The car groaned as he shifted his weight, leaning into the cold afternoon. “When you walked into the kitchen, I was surprised,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d show. I wasn’t sorry to be wrong.”

And then he was gone.