Conundrum (47 page)

“Well, that was downright nice of him. I guess a lot of people repent on their deathbed.
Doesn’t really balance out all the years of abuse and neglect, though.
”

“She felt he was sincere. I’m glad he did it. She
’s
obviously been carrying around a lot of resentment. He’s leaving her his house and all his stuff. She said there were some boxes of photos he’d stashed away. Wants me to come over sometime and go through them with her.”

“I think that would be nice. Neal, I like Julie. I’m glad you have another sister. And I’m glad she has you. I think you’re all that’s left of family for her in the world. So be sure to make up for some lost time and get to know her, spend some time with her. It’ll be good for both of you, I think.”

“I think so too.
Although, I wouldn’t wish this insane
,
dysfunctional family on her.”

“Right. Just isolate her from the rest of us.
You’ve got enough baggage of your own to dump on her.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.”

Neal laughed. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

We spent two hours talking, catching up on little life details, avoiding the topic of our mother. I realized I hadn’t sat and
chatted
like this with Neal in years. We essentially had to get to know each other all over again, but by the time he left, I knew we were closer than ever.
T
he resentment I had been harboring for him as of late had been flamed by our mother, in those delightful private jabs she loved to make behind backs. Neal wasn’t half as bad as I’d conjured him in my head. My heart bloomed with affection for him, my little lost brother, still a bit lost but now finding his way.
Now, i
f only my other brother could follow suit.

As I packed the remaining odds and ends, I thought of Raff facing
our
father in that hospital room, the air rife with tension and pain. And
Dad trying to control his anger and hurt toward our mother as he made an attempt to reach out one last agonizing moment to his son, trying to fit all his love into a few difficult words.
How guilt-ridden he must have been! Having walked out on Raff months earlier, perhaps
he realized
how Raff
many times
must have stood at the window, looking out expectantly, searching for his daddy’s car—exactly how young Nathan Sitteroff had watched for his errant father through those filthy windows of the foster homes in New York.

The parallel of the two scenes, juxtaposed and overlapping, struck me with sadness. Therapists say we repeat our childhood, pass on behaviors to the next generation. Parents who abuse their kids often become abusive themselves. Parents who were abandoned walk out on their kids. Patterns, so engrained and hard to break, repeat themselves. Just as Nathan’s father
had
walk
ed away from his young son, so too
Nathan
had walked out on Raff. Perhaps it was subconscious; perhaps he
had been
driven to replay the only script he ever knew—a father making
empty
promises
and
never coming home.

Raff had hidden our father’s words deep in his heart, in a horrible secret place that festered in pain.
“
I don’t want anything to do with him
.
”
Our dad had meant Neal, but Raff hadn’t known that. He only knew his father was storming out the front door, leaving him behind. I can’t even imagine what an eight-year-old boy would have felt, believing his father was leaving because he couldn’t stand the sight of him
.
He thought his father had loved him! Raff
could only come to one
conclusion—a
conclusion
our mother
never
tried to denounce—that he was unlovable and unworthy.
This, then, was his Jabberwock—the beast that faced him down with the words emblazoned on his chest:
Unlovable
.
Unworthy
.
Bad
. No wonder Raff wanted to die.

But maybe now, understanding those words hadn’t been meant for him, understanding Nathan Sitteroff’s anger wasn’t directed at his son but at his wife, Raff might find a door to
freedom
. The guard
had
put up a strong fight, and the lock
had been
tricky to open, but there was no denying that Raff’s door to enlightenment had swung free. Whether or not the truth would set him free, ultimately, only time would tell.
Raff had tasted the albatross and now knew he was irreprehensible. He was not to blame. He had done no wrong.

Hopefully, this truth would work its way into Raff’s very soul and lead him to healing.

I looked around at my empty house, at the shambles of my life that, unexpectedly, had also led
in
some
ways
to healing. No one said the truth would be painless. But I was beginning to believe the axiom after all. Truth did set you free—if you were brave enough to face it down
and pay the price
.

Chapter 29

Even after a week of sleeping in our new
bed
room in our new house, I still felt as if I were on vacation, in some hotel far away. My mattress and blankets should have anchored me in familiarity, but the night sounds were different. The animals in the pasture were farther away
,
so I couldn’t hear the quiet night noises they made. Crows instead of songbirds lighted in the trees
,
and the raucous cawing jarred me
each
dawn, like an annoying alarm clock. Still, a peace permeated every room, the way a wind dies down over the surface of a lake and allows the reflections of clouds and birds to mirror back in perfection, without distortion. Being in th
at
house, with Jeremy lying cuddled up next to me,
felt just like that. I could see the objects of my life reflected in the mirror. Undistorted, Simple. Smooth as glass.

“You awake?”
I asked.

Jeremy’s breathing had deepened. He often fell hard asleep after we’d made love at night. No wonder—with hauling things in and out of the feed store all day long, getting up at five most mornings. On occasion, he would even fall asleep midsentence. I’d never known anyone able to drop off to sleep so quickly. It took me an hour or two, always, to unwind my tension, and loosen my thoughts enough to let them
drift
away
on some slack tide
. They clung
stubbornly
to my brain,
like barnacles,
regardless of how trivial.

“Hmm
.
 
.
 
.
what?” He stirred and
slid
an arm across my waist, then lifted a
n
eye
lid and looked at me in the room softly illuminated with moonlight. A piece of full moon clipped the corner of the large window, and I could see the lights on the nearby houses twinkle like stars.
I let out a contented sigh and stroked Jeremy’s hand
. He abruptly rolled over and lay partly across me, his face close to mine. His eyes shone with some inner light as he gazed at me.

“
You can’t fall asleep, can you?” he asked. He began rubbing the side of my head and I moaned in delight. I loved having my head rubbed. A chuckle escaped my mouth as I thought about the goats and how they
’d
dig hard into my hand, their eyes rolling in ecstasy
,
when
ever
I rubbed their heads.
“What’s so funny?”

“I’m just like Sassy, begging for more.”

“Oh, you want more, do you
.
 
.
 
.?
” That was all the invitation Jeremy needed to let his other hand start roaming south. I found his mouth with mine and kissed him, feeling a rush of desire surge through me.
After a moment, though, he pulled back and lessened his advances.

“What is it?” I asked. “Something wrong?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I just don’t want to lose this
.
 
.
 
.
feeling. Lisa, I know things had gotten way complicated with us, and now, with this move, and with things changing
.
 
.
 
.
” He drew in a breath
,
and I la
id
my head on his chest and let him take his time. Unburdening was a slow process for Jeremy. It took just the right moment, the right mood. It was not something he comfortably managed, but when he had something to say, he had to find a way to get it out or it ate him up.

“I knew you were pregnant—” He stopped when his voice choked up. Instantly,
my gut twinged in remembrance.

He started stroking my hair softly, reminding me of how Raff
had done
the same thing just last week, as he held me in his arms and wept. A sudden memory jolted me—of my father.
Was it a memory? I was back in my bedroom with the nursery-rhyme wallpaper, my father singing me a lullaby, and he was stroking my hair, just like this. I pulled my thoughts back to Jeremy and listened.

“
Last month. When I
.
 
.
 
.
moved out. I could tell.”

I took his hand off my head and held it. He turned and moved back so he could look at me. His eyes showed guilt.

“What are you saying?” I had never considered it, but surely Jeremy of all people would have spotted the telltale signs of my pregnancy—my moodiness and irritability from the nausea I’d tried to
keep
from him. I guess I hadn’t been very good about hiding the signs. But after all I’d been through, I
hadn’t
want
ed
him to know, not until—

I stopped my mental rambling. There was a reason Jeremy was admitting this. “Go on.”

“Lisa, I know you were hurting. I know how awful it was for you, and I was being selfish. I know that now. Those other times
.
 
.
 
.
when you lost the baby
.
 
.
 
.
”

Jeremy suddenly started crying
,
and it
jarred
me with
its
unexpectedness. I forced
back
my own
rush of suffering and tried to understand what he was saying.

“
I couldn’t take it. I had to distance myself, so I wouldn’t hurt anymore. Every time you miscarried, I felt such pain
—
and loss. I know you felt alone and misunderstood, but
.
 
.
 
.
they were mine too. I wanted us to have a baby so badly, and wanted to see you happy and fulfilled, hold a child in your arms, our child.” Jeremy gushed out more tears and trembled as I drew hi
m
tighter against me, his heat radiating in the cool of the room.

I was flabbergasted by my own naivety. I’d never thought to consider how Jeremy had felt, and what my pregnancies had meant to him. It
was my body, my baby. I never thought in terms of “ours.”
His tender vulnerability made my heart ache.

“That’s really why I moved out
.
 
.
 
.
because
.
 
.
 
.
I just knew what was coming. I’m sorry, Lis. I couldn’t take it, going through that one more time.” He spoke quick
ly,
in an apologetic tone
. “And it was wrong of me, so wrong. I was only thinking of myself and needing to distance myself. I had to get away. I was selfish. And cowardly. And I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most.”

Before I could sift through the mash of my feelings merging with his, he wiped his eyes and said, “Please forgive me. Will you? I promise I’ll never do that again, walk away when you’re hurting. I’ve done it too often, and I can’t respect myself anymore.”

Without meaning to, I started to cry. “
Of course I forgive you!
I didn’t know. I mean, that you cared so much. I thought you didn’t care, because you never said anything, after I miscarried
.
Y
ou’d just be silent,
morose
. I thought you were glad, that you didn’t want a baby, and that I was pressuring you
—
”