The Second Son (36 page)

The fridge was still on the north wall to my left as I came in the door. The long counter with the sink under the window was on the same wall, then the stove and now a dishwasher lined up on the east wall, with the door into what had become the TV room dividing them from the washing corner — evoking flashes of a happy kid feeding clothes through a wringer hyphenated with warnings of lost fingers. Of course the happy kid and the concerned mother were long gone, just as the old wringer and the grey washtubs had been replaced by two new machines turning the corner onto the south wall. On that wall was the door to the dining room, and beside it the door to the cellar where the old stubborn cat would sleep, ready to be kicked down the steep narrow steps before he would move.

Like me, I was thinking as my eyes landed back on the table that my mother always claimed had four equal places. Only there was Andrew sitting in my father’s place and Jean in his. My mother, of course, was in her traditional place, the serving seat. And my old chair, facing Andrew, was empty. I took the guest chair by the door, just in case I felt the need to spit.

“Don’t you want something to eat?” my mother asked.

“I ate already,” I lied.

“Coffee, then.”

“Maybe later.”

She frowned. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

No, I didn’t want to be there. Same as always. No sooner was I back in the door than I was wishing I hadn’t come at all. But goddammit, why couldn’t I come home? Why was the goddamn monkey still on my back? “I’m here,” I finally answered, reminding her of yesterday.

“Yes, well,” she said through determined lips, “there is something I want to clear up. Yesterday you said some things I did not appreciate. I didn’t deserve that from you, not on the day I buried your father.” She paused, then, and seemed to be marshalling her thoughts. “I am very much aware that you have always felt misunderstood by this family. Lord knows I tried my best over the years to be fair towards you. You’re not the easiest person to love, you know.”

Keep your love, I almost said, I’ll settle for justice. Instead I bit my tongue. One more try, I told myself, for the love of Ed Landry. “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I was wrong to say that. Maybe you do understand me.”

She took that as a concession. “You know, your father only thought of one thing during his last few months. That this family would heal.”

Jean chimed in, “That’s true, Mike. He was worried about you.”

All very nice, but I had my eye on Andrew. He was studying his coffee cup. “I know,” I answered. “The old man talked to me about that. I think I eased his mind. When I told him I was coming home.”

Andrew gave a little start and straightened up in his chair. Jean put a hand over his. “Yes,” my mother forced a smile, “he often talked about your coming home.”

I leaned forward in my chair, watching her closely. “What about you, Mom? Do you want me to come home?”

She looked at Andrew and I wondered how many hours of rationalization were encapsulated in that look. “If that’s what you really want . . . you know I’m — ”

Andrew was getting restless. “You don’t think he’s serious about getting your permission, do you? He’s just playing cat and mouse with us.”

I laughed. “And who would be the mouse, brother dear?”

He surged halfway out of his chair. “You — ”

“Now stop it,” my mother commanded. “Right now, I mean it. I won’t have this quarrelling in my home. For God’s sake, we just buried your poor father. In his name at least we’ll have a polite discussion about this.”

My God, I thought, is she that deep in denial?

Andrew was sitting back again, in his managerial mode. “We talked about this, mother. You know the implications.”

She did, and her anger seemed to dissipate, as though putting me in my place took on a whole new meaning. Her head was on a swivel between Andrew and me, wanting to keep us moving forward, yet clearly fearful of the uncharted waters I was drawing her into. “Well, of course,” she finally ventured in my direction, “you’ve every right. Only . . . are you sure you want to live in Alexandria?”

“What do you mean?” Like I didn’t know.

“Well, couldn’t you get a place in Cornwall, maybe? It’s very close and there would be more jobs, there. There aren’t that many jobs in Alexandria.” She looked to Andrew. “Are there?”

“Ah, Cornwall,” I said, smiling the un-smile of the unwanted, “I never thought of that, Mom.” I pretended to consider it for another moment, before continuing, “You know, I really had my heart set on Alexandria. Just driving around, taking in the sights, seeing the family all together again, I realized how much I missed the old home town.”

“Mother, don’t you see — ” Andrew droned.

She held a hand up, switching into full conciliation mode. “What about Lancaster? You used to love fishing. Your father talked about getting a nice little place there, on the river. He thought you would like that. With a boat.”

“Well,” I smiled, “with a boat. That’s a possibility, I suppose. At least I’d be in Glengarry.” I smiled again. “Let’s see what Johnny comes up with in the way of listings.”

I guess Andrew had enough of my coy charm. “Dammit, how can you sit there and pretend you don’t know what you’re doing? I’ll never be able to run for mayor, if you move back here. The gossip will start up and — ”

“You’re not afraid of a little gossip, are you?”

My mother picked up on that angle, “Are you sure this is the right time, dear?” When I remained silent, she continued, “It won’t be easy, you know, coming back. People will talk. All that ugly business will pop up again.”

I leaned forward, my hands on my knees. “Look, I know this might create a problem for Andrew. But what about me? Just a little fairness, that’s all I’m asking for.”

“I know, but — ”

“Maybe the family will have to put me first, this time.”

“But what will you do?” she persisted. “How will you support yourself?”

I grinned at the two of them. “I’m surprised the old man didn’t tell you. He left me his share of the fuel oil business. I mean, you knew he still owned it — he was getting regular dividends from Barry Watson’s boys, wasn’t he?”

“Of course,” Andrew snorted, “but I doubt very much he would give it to you.”

“Well he did. He wanted me to have it. Haven’t you read the will?”

He cast a worried look at my mother. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Not really. Maybe he mentioned the possibility, a couple of years ago. Although I never thought — ”

“I don’t understand how — ”

Their discomfort was getting to me. “Get over it,” I snapped. “He did it — told me again the other night. Besides, it was my money in the first place that bought him the partnership.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Andrew,” Jean cautioned.

“Well, he is. Uncle Angus left Dad that money. It was common knowledge.”

I grinned at him. “Andrew, my boy, you should be more wary of common knowledge — sometimes it can come right up behind you and bite you in the ass. It was me who gave him that money when he came out to Edmonton to see Angus. We had a long talk that time, about a lot of different things.” I laughed to myself as I watched the panic rise in his eyes, like he’d driven his car off a wharf and the water was rising toward his nose.

“You’re lying. He never said anything to me. I would have known.”

“He never wanted to hurt your feelings. It’s those Gervais genes. Too fucking bad you didn’t get any.”

“Mike,” my mother ordered, “stop this rough talk. I don’t see how your father — ”

Andrew was all out of patience. “Mother. You have to face it. If he comes back here, it’s all over. Everything we’ve worked for is gone. Our good name, the mayoralty, it’s all gone.”

She took that in and turned to me, determined it seemed to remain the calm, rational one. “Michel,” she intoned, “you haven’t told me yet. Why do you want to come home, so badly?”

I shook my head. “Why can’t I have the same dream as everyone else? Why can’t I belong somewhere?”

“You know why, dear. There are people in this town who still remember the MacDonalds. They won’t let you forget what happened. Your father and I worked so hard over the years to get back in the town’s good graces. And your brother, he loves Alexandria as much as your father did, if not more. He’s worked all his life to earn people’s trust and respect, to redeem this family. You have to ask yourself if you’re ready to — ”

“For God’s sake, woman, he’s not the baby Jesus.”

Andrew sprang to her defence. “Don’t talk to her like that. You’ve got nothing to brag about. What the hell have you been doing all these years?”

I gave him a long, slow smile, before I murmured, “Waiting.”

“You bastard,” he snarled and started to rise from the chair again, “I’ll show you — ”

“Please. Stop this, dear.” My mother put a hand on his arm and calmed him. He sat, and she turned to me. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re quarrelling already. All these bad feelings and you haven’t even moved back yet. I know you’ve had a hard time, but this family has to heal. That’s what your father wanted. You know that.”

“Goddammit, the bad feelings never left. Don’t you understand that?”

She bristled. “Don’t you swear at me. I won’t have it.”

I was shaking my head as I smiled at Jean. “Know the biggest difference between the French and the English? Simple, the English hide their skeletons in the closet and whisper about them in bed at night. The French, they hang them on the dining room wall and argue about them over dinner.”

“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Andrew complained as he turned to my mother. “It’s not about coming home. He just wants to stir up trouble, the same as always.” He caught me smiling at him and launched some more charges. “He’s always been jealous. He hated me long before the accident with Gail MacDonald. Everyone knows that. Don’t you remember how he used to break all my toys? Or the time he went around the house turning all my pictures to the wall?”

I shook my head and smiled at him some more. “You know, Andrew, I loved you once — my big brother who could do no wrong. I even fought your battles for you, with these two fists.” I held up my clenched hands. “But you just took it as your due, Prince Andrew the Inheritor.”

“Hah,” he recoiled from my logic, “the inheritor? Are you crazy? I — ”

“The inheritor of everything,” I barked back.

He shook his head, feigning sadness at my ignorance. “You could never understand what was expected of me. You didn’t get up at six every morning to serve Mass, you didn’t work at the store every day after school, you didn’t stay in every night to do homework, you didn’t — ”

“Aw, bullshit,” I snarled at him as I stood up and started pacing beside the table. They twisted in their chairs trying to watch me. “Look, mother,” I finally added between turns, “number one son is not interested in all this family healing crap. He just wants to get on with his big plans for Alexandria. So get it over with. Tell him you’re still on his side. That’s all he wants from you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Andrew blurted, “you’re the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”

I turned in his direction and grinned at him. “And I’ve got the biggest teeth you’ve ever seen, Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Yeah?” he glared at me. “Well you can quit trying to push your weight around here. Nobody’s afraid of you and your jailhouse tattoos. And you can forget about trying to go into business in Alexandria. No one will buy anything from you.” He paused then and added with a sly grin, “Except maybe the Watson brothers. You can be damn sure they’ll want to buy those shares back — when they hear who wants to go into business with them.”

It wasn’t so much the truth in what he said, as the look he gave my mother after he said it. That confident nod of a person who has taken charge, a person who has just put someone in his place, an old familiar place. That and the fact that she accepted the statement in silence, like he had every right to say it. Well, it worked. He had put me in my place. It just wasn’t a place that was good for him and all his dreams.

Two steps and I had him by the collar, twisting it tight around his neck, pushing him over the chair and into the stove. “You self-righteous prick,” I snarled at him, “you’ve gone too fucking far this time.” He outweighed me by fifty pounds but he never could fight. He stared up at me with bulging eyes as I cut his air off. Then I heard the women screaming behind me and I felt the pounding on my back.

I’m not sure why that morning turned out differently from every other argument we’d had. It might have been just that — the time of day. Andrew hadn’t had his usual drinks and was more on edge. Likely my father being gone had a lot to do with it, too. Or perhaps it was me, and the simple fact that I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

When his face got to purple I let him go and backed away, while the women ministered to him. There was no discussion for the next minute or so, just a lot of heavy breathing as his two apostles assured themselves he was going to live. They got him in a chair and gave him a glass of water, looking sideways at me as they did. Wondering what I would do next, I suppose. Mike Landry, wacko brother, gone crazy, that was me. They needn’t have worried. A funny kind of calm had come over me.

I got myself a cup, poured some coffee, and slid into the empty chair at the table. My hand went up to my smokes and I thought about stepping outside for one. Later, I thought, as I watched the two women fussing over him, and began to wonder what the point was of all this wrangling. I was looking at a tired old woman, trying to hold her world together, one more time. No different from that day in the Alexandria jail. And there was my brother, the golden boy I loved to hate, still the centre of that world. Had anything really changed?

Who are we, I thought, but older, tired versions of the same people we always were? We like to think that age and experience change us. They don’t, not really. We go out into the world with all that hope and promise, intending to control our destinies, to do something memorable, to make something special of our lives. But do we, really? Do we act out the new scripts we write in our mind, or do we fall back on the time-worn versions we grew up with? I looked at my aging mother and my balding brother and realized these two weren’t capable of giving me any more of themselves than they ever had.