Holy Water (13 page)

After the Osbornes leave, the remaining four make a game of trying to remember what topic sent the brothers over the edge. Marcus thinks it was executive bonuses for government bailouts, combined with the more disturbing aspects of Henry
’
s just-told bombshell. Victor thinks it was gay marriage. But Gerard and Marcus eventually determine that the topic that drove the brothers to
violence, the last of their many subjects, was, appropriately, the obscure House Bill 5991, a resolution to prohibit the injection of carbon monoxide in meat products.

“
Whatever that is,
”
says Marcus.

“
I think,
”
Henry offers,
“
that House Bill 5991 has to do with protecting the individual
’
s, or group of individuals
’
, inalienable right to completely fuck up
an otherwise tedious social gathering.
”
The other three almost begin to laugh and then realize they shouldn
’
t.

Gerard lowers his head and wipes his hand on his apron. For a few moments the men on the patio are silent, and it looks like the night might be coming to a close. A ridiculous near fistfight between brothers and an increasingly obnoxious young maverick who can
’
t handle his liquor seem like good enough reasons, but Gerard decides to let Henry
’
s comment pass. Gerard the patient. Gerard the lonely. Screw the housewives, Gerard
’
s the one who
’
s desperate for companionship, likely to remain alone at his house until his family comes home at the end of the summer. If they decide to come back at all. One of Victor
’
s compilation CDs—
”
Chick stuff this hot tech person I work with burned for me
”
—has taken over as the sound track of their lives.

“
So, Henry,
”
Gerard prompts.
“
What
’
s with you tonight? What
’
s on your mind ?
”

Never taking his gaze off Gerard, Henry rises and walks to the cooler. Henry opens them all a fresh beer, whether they are ready or not. When Victor starts to wave him off, he tells him to sit back down, the night is still young, and then he proceeds to tell each of them what he really thinks, what
’
s really on his mind.

~ * ~

I Am the Ghost

“
I think if you apologize everyone will be cool with it.
”

Marcus LeBlanc and Henry are parked in Henry
’
s recently sealed driveway. Marcus is at the wheel of Henry
’
s Audi A4. Behind them, Victor Chan has just gotten out of Marcus
’
s Audi A4 and without a word to the others has begun walking the three blocks to his house with his fortieth-birthday traveling martini kit tucked under his arm. Henry laughs.

“
I called Victor an embarrassment to his race. The anti—Bruce Lee. Whatever I say to him he should absolutely not be cool with.
”

Turning to his surroundings, he stares at the dimming solar lights that line the driveway edges, the curved path to his front door. Two helix-shaped
topiaries at the end of the path twist into the darkness like flawed DNA. Runaway chromosomes. He doesn
’
t know what he hates most, the topiaries, the solar lights, or the new-tar smell of his flawless driveway.

“
This is the problem. An apology should not fix this. Words were said:
Cuckold.
Douchebag
. Beard.
Stepford
Husbands.
Even if I were truly sorry that I said them, which I can
’
t in good faith say I am—and the fact that I
’
ve been drinking is no excuse—they were thought and they were said. The words. Anyone with a backbone would not and should not accept my apology. Which is why I won
’
t do it. It would be embarrassing for all of us. Henry Tuhoe is not an apologist. At least, not anymore. Do you realize how many times I
’
ve said I
’
m sorry to Rachel in the last twelve months? In the last
twelve hours? Sickening. I don
’
t even know what I
’
m saying I
’
m sorry for anymore. I
’
m thinking, basically, if this will shut her up for five minutes, then I am truly, genuinely, forever sorry. For a long time I was one sorry bastard. But no more.
”

Marcus takes the keys out of the ignition.
“
You know, Henry, I had the procedure too. After our second. It
’
s not easy, mentally or physically. And mine was relatively side-effect-free.
”

Henry either doesn
’
t hear Marcus or doesn
’
t want to. Inside, the house is dark, but through the living room window he can see two red dots, from the sound system or the TiVo, or from Satan, he thinks, staring out at him, more of a presence in his house than he himself will ever be.

“
They know,
”
Marcus says.
“
They all know. The Osbornes have even debated it. In case you
’
re wondering, Rachel told Viv, who told everyone.
”

One night just before the procedure date, Rachel had over a bunch of friends whom he
’
d never met. For kicks, they had booked a psychic. To stay out of their way, Henry made plans to work late and have dinner with Warren. Warren ended up canceling, something big had come up in the Eye Care Division that would soon lay him off, leaving Henry with nothing to do. He browsed the aisles of
Posman
Books in Grand Central. He stopped at the Blazer, a road-house near the train stop, and had a cheeseburger at the bar. That killed another hour. It was too dark to take a walk. Too late to drop in unannounced on a neighbor, friend, or relative, not that there were any candidates. So he slowly cruised the streets of his hometown by default, like a stranger, an alien, a
pedophile
on the prowl.

He headed up Route 9 as far as the quaint river town of Cold Spring, but all the quaint river town shops were closed. He parked at the gazebo and looked across at the Hudson Highlands, the lights of West Point. For ten minutes. Then he went home. The driveway was still full and cars were lined up at the curb, so he pulled in behind the last car on the road and dimmed the lights. For a while he stared at the house as if it were a trig problem. A
metaphysical equation. The only light that he could see was the flickering of a candle in the great room.

Finally he got out and walked across the lawn, eschewing the
path. Rather than going inside, he continued on to the edge of the great room window and, leaning over the boxwoods, peeked in on the gathering. There were more than a dozen of them sitting around the candlelit table, women holding hands with their eyes closed, some talking, some smiling, every face fixed with an expression that said, even though they couldn
’
t see him, that he was not welcome here.

Rachel had given him an ultimatum: Do it or we
’
re through. He didn
’
t want them to be through, but he didn
’
t want to be neutered and married to the unfamiliar woman chanting in his living room either. When he suggested that if she was uncomfortable going to an office, he could arrange to have a psychologist come to the house, she said that if he did, she would have both of them arrested.

The next day he asked her about the gathering.

“
We had a ladies
’
night.
”

“
What was that smell? What was burning?
”

Rachel laughed.
“
Alicia, who did the readings . . . sometimes she burns some things—sage, myrrh—beforehand to sort of cleanse the house.
”

“
I never heard of psychics burning things for readings.
”

“
She
’
s a witch, actually. And it wasn
’
t just readings. It was a
séance
.
”

“
Sounds like fun. Was it a hoot?
”

“
No, it was not a hoot, Henry. It was fascinating.
”

“
Really? Did you . . . I mean, did she . . .
”

Rachel put her hands up.
“
Sorry. We promised not to discuss it outside the group.
”

~ * ~

“
After a while,
”
he finally says, as much to himself as to Marcus,
“
it
’
s accompanied by a certain loss of dignity, the apologizing. A diminishing self-respect.
”

“
You got that right,
”
Marcus replies.
“
After I had it, I did lose some of that. Some dignity. A little respect. Eventually I could get it up just fine and all, but there
’
s that ego thing that your boys—your swimmers—they
’
re no longer a part of the event. Disqualified before
the medal round. So I
’
d get wistful. But none-of that mattered, because within two months of the procedure, which was her idea, she took her little adventure, which you were kind enough to allude to during your diatribe.
”

“
Do you know,
”
Henry says, half out the window, half to Marcus,
“
how some people who are troubled, in a certain kind of emotional turmoil, how they claim to see ghosts? To be visited by the ghosts of dead family members or famous people?
”

No, Marcus does not know, but he nods anyway.

“
Well, lately in my dreams, waking visions, hallucinations, whatever you want to call them, I am the ghost. The one visiting these people, these now-dead people back when
they
were alive, before I knew them, sometimes before I was born. And get this: I
’
m the one scaring the shit out
of them,
haunting them, and ultimately I
’
m the one pissing them off, because you know, after I do my thing, they realize that unlike most visitors from the great or not-so-great beyond, I
’
ve got absolutely zero wisdom for them. Nothing. They know that I
’
m talking to them from
Tomorrowland
, a place from where I should be able to tell them all sorts of helpful things. Key dates. Critical events. Potentially life-saving things to avoid. Other things or people to seek out. To embrace. But I have zilch. I have nothing to give them except that which makes the dead absolutely terrified of the living.
”

Marcus has no comment. He has to get home, for no reason, really. And even though this talk is making him feel uncomfortable, it is compelling. But the pull of the habitual is stronger. Certain digitally recorded shows. Certain slippers. Haifa pint of Cherry Garcia still in the freezer, if he
’
s not mistaken.
“
I
’
ve really got to get going, dude.
”

Henry ignores him. Takes a deep breath. Even this late at night, the air smells of just-mowed grass. Some nut whose house hasn
’
t been foreclosed came home from work and got on the John Deere in the dark. Before lawn care became a competitive sport, a neighborhood obsession, before he lived here, he used to like that smell too.
“
Do you have any friends, Marcus?
”

Marcus shifts in his seat. Where to put the keys? He doesn
’
t
want to insult Henry, but he doesn
’
t want him to go out for a joy ride in the condition he
’
s in either. Plus there
’
s the liability issue.
“
Sure, H. I
’
ve got friends.
”