One Small Thing (28 page)

“Dan!” His mother stared at him and held onto the door, her mouth slack. “My word! What a—surprise.”

He adjusted his tie a bit and put his hands in his pockets. “There was a terrible accident. I was here on business, and I decided to wait. It’s crazy out there.”

Marian nodded, her hand still on the door. “I know it! The news crew has been reporting for an hour. Were you in that?”

From the backyard came the sound of a hedger or a lawn mover, the whirring engine going back and forth over something green. The front yard was just as Jared had said. The camellia bushes under the front windows were perfectly square, tiny green buds on every branch. The thick Bermuda grass fanned out to the road in orderly, mowed lines, and the sycamore was just beginning to yellow, one or two freshly fallen leaves on the lawn like fallen stars.

“Yard looks good, Mom.”

She waved her hand and the door drifted open. “Your father. He’ll be pruning when the world ends.”

Dan looked into the dark house. The local news circled around the living room and poured out on to the porch with the cold, air-conditioned air. He caught “I-80” and “HASMAT teams,” “congestion,” and “possibly talcum powder.” Breathing in, he could smell something on the stove top--browning hamburger, tomato paste, chili powder. She was making goulash.

“I was wondering if I could—“

“Oh, come in. Yes. You don’t want to drive home in that.”

Dan walked in and his mother turned down the television. On the screen was an aerial view of Cordelia. People in white protective suits stood on the freeway next to a pile of whitish powder that had poured out of the back of a trailer. The camera swung left and right, nothing but cars for miles.

“Have you called Avery? She must be worried sick.”

Dan nodded and sat down on the plastic covered couch. His mother almost winced at the sound, and he thought to get up. But Bret said he didn’t have to react. He didn’t have to jump up and move to the recliner or the wooden desk chair. Since he’d left the house, he’d learned that couches were actually for sitting.

“Yeah, I called her. I’m sure she’s been watching the news, too.”

“So how are the treatments going?” his mother asked. “It’s such a same she has to go through all that.”

Dan had hated telling his parents about the infertility treatments, knowing that it wouldn’t really surprise them. He’d never been able to do anything right, and it was only another example of his incompetence.

“Have you tried more on your own?” his father had asked last Thanksgiving as he made a bourbon and Seven-up for Aunt Cleo. “I can’t believe two young people . . .”

Bill had trailed off, stirring the drink, the ice clinking on the glass. “Anyway, it’s a mystery to me why things get so complicated.”

Dan had let out his breath and picked up a Corona, taking a sip and nodding. “I know,” he’d said. “It’s hard to believe.”

Now, Dan tapped his fingers on the plastic arm rest cover. “We’ve actually stopped the treatments for a while.”

“Oh? Why?” She collected herself, smoothing the perfectly flat fabric on her knees. “Well, it’s none of my business. I’m sure there are good reasons. Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got to go and check on the meat.”

“Water’s fine,” he said, starting to stand up.

“Oh, just sit. I’ll be right back.”

On the screen, the white suited men seemed to be vacuuming up the powder, while groups of other officials stood off at the side of the highway watching. Then they switched to a field reporter who stood by the side of a frontage road in Davis, pointing at flashing clump of emergency vehicles and a long line of cars.

“Dan,” his father said as he walked into the living room, drying his hands on a towel.

“Hi, Dad.” Dan stood up and pushed his hair back. “I was in that.”

Bill looked at the television screen. “Some trouble. They need to put more restrictions on truckers. I’ve always said that. Can I get you a drink?”

“Mom’s getting me water.”

Both of the men stood silently in front of the silent television as the reporter interviewed hot people stuck in their cars, until Marian came into the room and handed Dan a glass of ice water, the bottom wrapped in a green paper napkin. “Here you go. I think I can stretch the goulash. Would you like to stay? Or do you have to get back on the road?”

Dan sipped his water and almost coughed, struggling to keep the water in his mouth. “Thanks. I’d like to stay. Avery’s home with—it’ll be fine.”

Bill didn’t look at him, mesmerized by the swirl of screen, the camera in the helicopter panning up, down, side to side, taking in everything. Marian wiped her hands on her apron and went back into the kitchen. The glass was so cold in Dan’s hand, but he couldn’t put it down. Not a coaster in sight.

“So how is Avery?” Bill said, lumping a spoonful of goulash on Dan’s plate and handing it to him.

“Good.” Dan took the bowl of corn from his mother without looking at her. As he spooned kernels next to the goulash, he knew this had been a mistake. He couldn’t tell them about Randi and Daniel. Telling his mother about Avery’s decision to stop trying for the baby hadn’t been wise. He passed the bowl to his father and served himself some iceberg lettuce salad.

“How’s it going with the treatments?” His father chewed and stared at him.

Dan breathed in and looked at his mother. She bent over her plate, moving macaroni noodles around. “Well, we decided—for now—to stop. It’s a very grueling regime. I don’t know how she did it for so long.”

“It’s natural,” Bill said, nodding. “A woman wants a baby. Pure and simple. Can’t blame her though for wanting a break. Doctors don’t think about the patient as a person. Your mother has gone through hell about her sciatica.”

Dan looked at his mother, but she raised her eyebrows and kept eating. Jared had never told him about sciatica. Dan wasn’t even sure what it was.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

Marian nodded and waved her hand, as if she could make her sciatica and everything else disappear. “Oh, yes.”

“So when will you start up the treatments again?” Bill leaned on his elbows. “When will we have that grandchild?”

Randi peeked in from the door to the living room, her hand covering her silent laughter. “I can’t believe you’re sitting there,” she whispered, almost doubled over. “Oh, God! Your mom looks like she’s swallowed shit!”

Dan looked at his mother, and she was pale, her hair flat against her head as if she’d been nervously smoothing it as she cooked. What did she know? What did Midori Nolan say to her when she called looking for him? Maybe all of his worry was for nothing. They knew but didn’t want to talk about it, like always.

“I don’t know,” Dan said. “Maybe not for a long time. We’ve—we’ve been a bit preoccupied lately.”

“You work hard, don’t you, Dan?” His mother held the corn hopefully. He shook his head.

“I was on leave for a while. Six weeks.”

Bill looked up and stopped chewing. “Leave? You weren’t at work? For what?”

“Paternity. Paternity leave.”

Now, both of his parents stared at him, unchewed food clenched in their mouths. The antique clock on the wall click, clicked, and outside, Dan could hear the spurt and flume of the sprinkler system turning on. He turned to Jared’s usual seat, but his brother and his slight nod and support weren’t there. Just Randi at the doorway, howling. “I’m sorry, Dan. I can’t help it. Can you see them? They’re going down for the count. You better get out of here before you kill them.”

Bill put down his fork. “I don’t understand. I thought you said Avery gave up the treatments?”

“She did.”

Marian shook her head, her hands on the table. “Oh, no. It was a miscarriage. Oh, how awful. What a tragedy.”

“You know what they say,” his father said, reaching a hand out toward Dan and then pulling it back. “That kind of thing can be a mercy. Nature’s way and all that. Avery’s time will come, mark my words.”

The clock clicked through another minute, and his parents went back to eating. Dan stared at them. They’d already packed up the tragedy they’d imagined. Avery’s miscarriage was already over, processed, put in storage. No one need talk about it any more.

“That’s not what happened. There wasn’t a miscarriage.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Randi said. “Now it’s all over.”

“So what is it, Dan?” His father wiped his mouth. “This is getting tiresome.”

“Someone called you on the 4
^th
of July, right Mom?” Dan asked.

Marian looked up and sighed. She folded her hands in her lap. “A social worker. From Modesto or somewhere. She just wanted your address. It was about Randi, wasn’t it?”

Over by the door, Randi listened, her face still.

“Yeah. It was about Randi. She died.”

Bill shook his head, and Dan wanted to jump on him, pounding away his father’s smug, sanctimonious turn of neck.
You asshole
, he wanted to scream.
Leave her alone, she’s dead. She’s dead. Can’t you let it go?
He was bigger and stronger than Bill now, younger, faster, and he could imagine how quickly it would all be over. How good it would feel to see the old man there on the hardwood floor, his hands covering his face, pleading, “Stop. Enough. You win.” How wonderful to stand over him and see himself in the position he’d dreamed of being in all through childhood—dominant, powerful, able to give or deny mercy. And then, he could leave. For good. Dan could feel the outside air on his face as he slammed out the door, the hot sting of his car door handle in his hand as he got in and took off. He’d never come back. Never. But as he watched Bill, his heart pounding in his temples, he breathed in sharply. Randi grabbed him by the shoulder, digging in with her purple nails.

“Can’t say I’m surprised by that news. Randi lived a hard life. Her parents." Bill paused. “That father. But, better to let it go and forget. She was bad news from day one.”

“It’s going to be hard to forget, Dad. She had a child. He’s ten-years-old now.”

From her start and the quiver in her throat, Dan could see that his mother already understood, putting together Midori’s phone call, the paternity leave, the ten-year span. But his father pushed his chair back and crossed his legs. “What a mess.”

The food on Dan’s plate began to swirl, his head filling with light and air. Randi squeezed him again, and he breathed in slowly and then exhaled. His mother held the table edge and looked down at her lap.

“It is a mess. But it’s my mess. The boy is mine. His name is Daniel.”

At first, Bill seemed not to hear the words, taking another bite of goulash. But then he slowed, looked up, stared. Swallowing his lump of food, he grabbed his iced tea and pressed tight, his fingers squeaking on the wet glass.

No one said a word. Dan nodded to himself and looked over at Randi, who shrugged and waved. Her eyes were full of tears, her face finally serious, her body quiet. He wanted to push away from the table and hold her, press her to him as he hadn’t ten years ago when he went to Cal. He wanted to stroke her dark, curly hair, whisper in her ear, and drive her to rehab. He wanted her to get better and live. If she’d loved herself more, she might have called him and told him about the baby. She would have wanted more for herself.

And he knew if he could go back and save her from her addiction, he would stay with her. Give up Avery and Cal and the house and his job. Stay with her and be a father from the start of Daniel’s life. Live in the apartment and work at Macy’s or in construction or for the telephone company.

Randi shook her head, turned, and walked out the front door, her thin legs flicking white, shadow, white, shadow in the afternoon sun. Then she was gone.

Dan didn’t wait for his father or mother to say anything. “Daniel’s living with us now. He’s in school. He has some problems, but we’ve got it under control.”

Marian looked at Bill and crossed her arms across her chest. “How is Avery taking all this?”

His old, hiding habit grabbed him under the jaw and almost forced out the words, “Great. She’s fine. She loves Daniel. It’s working out better than I could have ever imagined.” But instead, he said, “Not well. It was a huge shock. I never told her about Randi. About that time.”

Bill breathed out his nose. “I’m not surprised about that. What a terrible load of news.”

“Bill!” Marian said.

“Well, it’s true. What woman is going to want to be with a man who stole from his own parents, lived with a drug addict, and fathered an illegitimate child? And then stay and raise him? My, God!”

“He didn’t know about the child, Bill.”

“But I did all the rest,” Dan said. “And you’ve never let me forget it. Or redeem myself. Or even apologize. All these years, Dad, I’ve been waiting for you to forgive me. To trust me. I’m your son. I made some really stupid mistakes. But haven’t I paid enough?”