Authors: Bob Leroux
Tags: #FIC000000 FIC043000 FIC045000 FICTION / General / Coming of Age / Family Life
The Second Son (42 page)
The idea energized me and I stood up again, backing toward the door. I flashed him a devil’s grin. “I could do that, you know. I could go and see her when I get home. We’re practically neighbours.”
Jean seemed to like the idea, too. “Yes, Mike. You should go and see her. I think that would be good for you. And maybe her, if she’ll see you.”
I looked at her for a few seconds, suspicious, then smiled. I was doing it again. Finally I answered, “Yeah. It would do me good, to tell her what really happened. She should know.”
I could see Andrew measuring up his wife from across the table. He had smelled victory and it was being pulled back. He sniffed, “I don’t see what good it will do you. No one is going to believe you, anyway.”
“Aw, shucks, you don’t approve?” I gave him a hard look, wondering if that would really be his last mealy-mouthed word on the subject. When he didn’t add anything, I addressed his wife, “Maybe I’ll do that, Jean. I’ll go and see Mrs. MacDonald. And see what she says about all this. If she wants me to keep my mouth shut, I will. If not? Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
“Now, dear,” my mother put a hand up, “don’t do anything hasty. And get in touch with us before you come to a decision. We deserve that much, at least.”
“No you don’t, Mother, not a goddamn bit of it.”
I suppose Andrew thought he saw an opening. He turned to Jean. “How can you side with this animal? His own mother and he has no feeling for her whatsoever.”
It was a mistake, maybe because he assumed she had the same loyalty to his mother as he did. Her lips went tight and she stuck out her hand. “Give me the keys.”
He was flummoxed. “What?”
“Give me the goddamn keys. I’m going to pick the kids up at the rink.”
Really flustered now, he dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. She got up, grabbed her purse off the counter, and moved past me to the door. I watched with interest as Andrew sort of squeaked, “Wait, I’ll go with you.” He started to rise from the chair.
She turned back and froze him in place with a hard look. “You know what? Why don’t you stay here tonight? I’m sure your mother would love to have you.”
He was halfway to his feet. “But — ”
“I mean it. I want to be alone with the kids. I have a feeling this stuff is going to come out, one way or the other. I don’t want them to hear it from strangers.”
“What . . . what are you going to tell them?”
“I’m not sure. I have to tell them you were up there, I guess. You’ve admitted to that, at least. We can all wonder about the rest of it, can’t we?” She opened the door.
That got him all the way to his feet, suddenly the principal. “Now, Jean, there is no need for precipitous action. My brother is — ” She was already through the door and slamming it behind her. His shoulders sagged and he slumped back into the chair, murmuring, “Well, you know what he’s like.”
I answered for her, “We can all wonder about that, too. Can’t we?” Then I opened the door for myself. “I guess it’s time for the animal to go.”
“Mike,” My mother had risen from her chair and was moving toward me, “you don’t have to go yet.”
I smiled. “Yes I do, Mom. I have to go and talk to Gail’s mother. Besides, I’m not wanted here. Remember?”
She flinched but took another few steps forward and raised a hand, almost touching me. “Are you sure that’s what you really want?” I knew what
she
really wanted. She wanted me to come to her, to cling to her, to forgive her. And by God, for just a moment there, I had the fleeting thought that she might actually ask me to stay, home, in Alexandria. I half-whispered, “If only you had chosen me, just once.”
She was close enough to kiss when she said, “You know I love you, son.”
And then I caught that old familiar look, that subtle relaxation of the face that says trouble is on its way out the door, at last. My mind was jerked back over all those years to that room in the courthouse. I bent over and whispered in her ear, “You know, Mom, I hate you.”
I swear, what I saw in her eyes at that moment was the closest thing to love I ever saw there. And she spoke to me in the kindest voice I can remember, “I know you do. I’ve always known it. Now let it go, and save yourself.”
I let her take my hand then, that’s all, for just a brief fleeting touch. Anyone who wasn’t looking for it might have missed it. Was it my hand she was squeezing, or a child’s hand, from long ago and far away? I’ll never know for sure. I just know that I had to go and find a place for myself.
And so I left them, accepting at last that those two would never be alone and palely loitering, accepting at last that those two would always have each other.
December 1987
I LEFT ALEXANDRIA THAT SAME MORNING
. I haven’t seen or heard from my mother since. I did hear from someone who saw her recently. She said that she appeared frail. I said that she had always appeared frail. As for my brother, I sent him a letter in August, which follows. He never wrote back. I heard last month that he and his wife are apart. I think he’s staying with my mother.
August 15, 1987,
Nanaimo, B.C.
Dear Andrew,
It was nice of Jean to send me that copy of the Glengarry News. I see you still haven’t made an official announcement about the mayor’s race. About Gail’s mother, it took me a couple of weeks after I got back to find the courage to call her. She thought about it for a few days before she agreed to meet with me. I told her the whole story. She wasn’t totally surprised. I guess you forgot, but you approached her at the park that day and asked her where Gail had gotten to. Also, she thought she recognized your voice on the phone later. She told me she always wondered why she never saw you outside for weeks after it happened. I guess my confession saved your ass, after all.
Anyway, she said to tell you she still believes it was an accident, and that she forgives you. She doesn’t want to see you, though. She says I’m free to do what I want, except I shouldn’t do anything on her account. She told me I should think about what’s best for my mother, and Jean and the kids — before I do anything. Ain’t mothers wonderful?
Marjorie loves it out here and says she’s never going back East. She thinks it’s paradise, here on the Island. In fact she just sold her plot at St. Finnan’s and bought one here. I’m not coming home, either. I did buy a little piece of land in Alexandria but I don’t plan on using it for a while yet. So make sure and look after the family “monster” for me. Oh yeah, I managed to get a nice picture of Gail. I’ve enclosed a copy each for you and Mom.
By the way, I met a nice girl out here. She’s a cashier at the Canadian Tire where I work. She’s a widow, with a couple of girls. They’re about the age we were when — well, anyway, I get along pretty good with them. For some reason they seem to think I’m cool. We enjoyed our visit from Johnny. He put us in touch with some of the Gervais cousins who are living on the Island. They’ve all been pretty friendly. Maybe someone told them the whole story. We’ve already been invited to a couple of barbecues. Turns out, there’s a whole community of people from Glengarry out here. They all get together on Canada Day — some of them still call it Dominion Day. Interesting, eh?
About that mayor business. Is there still time now, for you to enter the race? Gail’s mother couldn’t understand why you would feel entitled to be Mayor of Alexandria, after the lie you’ve lived all these years. But she said to tell you she wouldn’t interfere in any way. Said she didn’t care what you did. Imagine that, Andrew, someone who doesn’t care what you do.
My new friend’s name is Chris. We’re thinking we might want to start living together. Be sure and tell young Brian that. And say hello to Joanne for me. And Jean.
Mike
P.S. We get great discounts.
BOB LEROUX
was born in 1945 and raised in Alexandria, Glengarry County. At the age of thirteen, his family moved to Ottawa, where he attended high school and university. Taking a break from his studies, he spent some time working up north on the Mid-Canada Line. After receiving his Bachelor of Arts and his Masters in Education, he taught school for a few years before beginning a twenty-year career in personnel management in the federal government. He took early retirement in the 1990s to finish building his house on the Ottawa River and to try his hand at writing novels. This is his third novel. His first novel,
Murder in the Glen
, was published in 2003, followed by a second Big Charlie Belisle murder mystery in 2006,
Dead in the Water
.
Bob Leroux can be reached at:
[email protected]
