Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela (17 page)

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Nick laughed, ―No, as much as I love playing basketball,

Carnegie-Mellon didn‘t recruit me for that. It was a special scholarship

for kids who—‖
Who had jailbird dads.
―Who were poor,‖ Nick

nimbly inserted, while shrugging off the white lie with the thought,

Well, that’s true for most kids with a parent in prison.

A genuine smile broke across Cheryl‘s face. ―Okay, poor, I got

that covered!‖

―Great.‖ Nick, seeing her emergent spirit, couldn‘t help but smile

back. ―Are you saying you want to look into it?‖

―Yeah, let‘s do that.‖

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Felicia Watson

Chapter 8:

To Hang a Question Mark

In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark

on the things you have long taken for granted.

—Bertrand Russell

SATURDAY, when Nick‘s mom hadn‘t appeared by ten in the morning,

he went up to check on her. After knocking softly and getting a feeble

―Come in,‖ Nick opened the door to find his mother still in bed. ―You

okay, Mom?‖

She rolled to face him, saying, ―Just tired, son.‖

―What‘s wrong? Didn‘t you sleep well?‖

Plucking fretfully at her blanket, Agnes answered, ―Not really.

These hospitals are so noisy at night.‖

―Mom.‖ Nick shook his head at her. ―You‘re not in the hospital.‖

With a listless shrug, she amended, ―Nursing home or whatever

you call this place, then.‖

Internally, Nick sighed, realizing his mom was lost in a nearly

twenty-year-old memory, thinking herself back at the South Fayette

Nursing Center. Since becoming his mom‘s primary caregiver, Nick

had always strongly insisted on reorienting her and wrenching her back

to reality as much as possible, even though his efforts had never

seemed to have much effect beyond upsetting her. Today he had neither

the heart nor the energy, so he decided to simply play along. ―Well, it‘s

quiet now. How ‘bout I bring you up some tea and toast, and then you

could try to catch a nap. How does that sound?‖

―Why don‘t you let one of those lazy nurses do it?‖

―They‘re all busy. I‘ll do it.‖

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Ten minutes later, Nick sat in the chair between the window and

the bed, watching Agnes idly munching her toast and sipping the tea;

he noticed that she really did look more worn out than usual. ―I think

we should get you to the doctor for a check-up.‖

―Why? So he can tell me that bonk on the head left me crazy? I

don‘t need to hear that again.‖

―You‘re not crazy, Mom, you‘re just—‖

―Confused, Nicky. I‘m so confused.‖ She wearily pushed the

graying strands of hair back from her face and sipped more tea before

turning watery hazel eyes on him, saying, ―I wish I could see your

father. Do you think they‘ll let him visit me?‖

The last thing Nick wanted was to relive that awful period when

his mom finally woke from her coma and kept asking for the bastard

who was the cause of all her ills. ―Mom, don‘t—‖

―He‘s still my husband.‖ A bony hand reached out and clutched

Nick‘s arm as Agnes stubbornly continued, ―And he‘s still your father.‖

―The hell he is!‖

Agnes shook her head, insisting, ―You think you can just wish

him away like that? Well, you can‘t. Hetty said he‘s been askin‘ to see

you. You should go.‖

―You think I‘m going up to Fayette County
for him
?‖ Nick felt

himself slipping into the fantasy with Agnes and fought the regression

to his agonizing twelfth summer—but the pull was too strong. ―No

way, let him rot in prison. It‘s where he belongs.‖

―Son, he‘s not all bad.‖

―How can you say that? He‘s the one who did this to you.‖ Nick‘s

tone grew louder as his unbearable memories grew stronger. ―Over a

stupid hammer! Just ‘cause I left it out in the rain.‖

―It‘s not all his fault. I left and—‖

Nick jumped to his feet and paced beside the bed, ranting, ―Not

until he was in prison, you didn‘t! No matter how bad it got, you stayed

and stayed. Until the son of a bitch tried to cave your skull in, and you

wound up here—‖ Nick caught himself, suddenly realizing that he

sounded every bit as crazy as Agnes. ―You wound up like this,‖ he

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added more calmly as he shook off the delusion and dropped back into

the rocking chair.

Watching his mom‘s hands shake as she placed the empty cup on

the bedside table, Nick felt a sharp stab of remorse. He reached over

and settled the covers back around her and then relaxed back into the

squeaking rocking chair. Both sat in private contemplation for a few

minutes. Nick‘s mind strayed to Logan, and he spent the time toting up

all the ways Logan wasn‘t really, had never been, couldn‘t be, anything

like Sam Zales.

Softly, and almost against his will, Nick asked, ―What did you

ever see in him, Mom?‖

―Oh, Nick,‖ Agnes breathed, abruptly shedding her lethargy. Her

eyes sparkled as she explained, ―He was like no other boy I‘d ever met.

He had so many dreams and plans… about startin‘ his own contractor

business and makin‘ somethin‘ of himself.‖ She turned a wistful smiled

on him, adding, ―And he could charm a bird right out of the sky.‖

It was impossible for Nick to reconcile Agnes‘s description of

Sam Zales as a charming, ambitious man with the ill-tempered,

erratically employed handyman Nick remembered.

At least he doesn’t sound anything like Logan.
The more cynical

part of his mind briefly took the helm, asking,
You sure about that,

Zales?

Nick noticed that Agnes had dropped off to sleep and quietly left

the room, his mind still on Logan—and his father. As he padded down

the staircase, an impulse wholly foreign to Nick swept over him, a need

to visit Sam Zales at last and see for himself. The idea was discarded as

quickly as a flaming ember, but the smoke from it lingered, swirling

around him all day.

LATER, early in the evening, Logan was heading home from work

when his cell phone rang. Never one to answer the blasted thing when

driving, he let it ring, figuring he‘d check the message when he got

home. As he sat idling at a light, it did occur to him that the call might

have been from Nick.
He has my number now, could’ve been him.

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103

Maybe he’s callin’ it off for tomorrow… or maybe he just wanted to ask

something about the car….
Unable to resist, Logan pulled the phone

out of his pocket and flipped it open to check the number.

What he found on the face of the phone sent a shock wave

through his body. He hadn‘t seen that number in a long time. It was

Linda‘s. The surprise bled away gradually, leaving only dread in its

place. He semi-deliberately stretched out his trip to the grocery store,

all the while feeling the phone like a lead weight in his pocket.

As he loaded his two bags—containing little more than cold cuts,

bread, chips, coffee, and two six-packs of Iron City—into the truck bed,

he considered simply pretending he‘d never noticed the message. The

thought that Linda had some news about his daughters squelched that

idea, and twenty minutes later, after stowing away his groceries and

popping open a beer, he settled onto his worn loveseat and returned the

call without bothering to listen to her message.

She picked up on the third ring and answered, ―Hello, Logan.‖

He was momentarily stunned speechless until he remembered

that, like him, she could recognize her spouse‘s number—after all, she

had bought the damn phone for him as a Christmas present three years

past. Finally he croaked out, ―Hey, Linda.‖ The line crackled with static

before he added, ―I‘m returnin‘ your call.‖

―Yeah, thanks.‖ More static, and then she asked, ―How are you?‖

―I‘m good. The girls okay?‖ Belatedly, he added, ―And you, hope

you‘re doin‘ okay.‖

―Yeah, we‘re all fine. Krista and Meghan, they told me ‘bout…

about what you said yesterday.‖

―Uh, good. I said they could.‖

―I‘m glad you did that; it was good for them to hear.‖ Irritation

honed an edge to her voice as she continued, ―And it was nice
they

finally got a apology.‖

Wearily, Logan answered, ―I said I was sorry, Linda. In court.‖

―You told the judge, not me,‖ Linda shot back. Logan was still

searching for a response when Linda went on in a more conciliatory

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tone. ―I guess that‘s one of the things we‘ll talk about in therapy. That

Dr. Gerard you been seeing wants to start that next month.‖

―Yeah, I know,‖ Logan sighed, though the September timeframe

was news to him. ―Is that why you‘re callin‘, to tell me that you‘re

gonna do the counseling?‖

―Yeah… but I also wanted to tell you…. The girls told me about

what you said, about not wanting to leave Elco. And I thought you

should know, I ain‘t goin‘ back.‖

―I‘m not so keen on the idea, myself. I just wish we hadn‘t…

well, you know.‖

―No, I don‘t know. You never told me. Anything. But that ain‘t

all of what I meant; it‘s not just Elco I‘m not goin‘ back to.‖

Rolling his eyes as he slurped his beer, Logan finally said, ―Well,

ya lost me now.‖

―I‘m not goin‘ back to the way things were in Elco—ever. I‘m not

goin‘ back to you hiding out in some garage twelve hours a day, seven

days a week—‖

―Is that what you call me tryin‘ to make a livin‘?‖

―Don‘t act like you don‘t know what I‘m talking about. I‘m not

stupid. I figured out a long time ago that you were usually happier in

your shop than you were at home. Just like I figured out that you‘re still

blamin‘ me for ruinin‘ your life.‖

―I never blamed—‖

―The hell you didn‘t,‖ Linda interrupted firmly. ―You blamed me

for gettin‘ pregnant when you was the one didn‘t wanta wear rubbers.‖

―Just like your big sister put all the blame
on me
!‖ Logan

suddenly wondered if their counseling sessions were going to consist of

re-fighting every disagreement of the past twelve years. Suspiciously,

he asked, ―Why the hell are we even talkin‘ about this now? Where‘s

all this comin‘ from?‖

―I‘ve been in therapy, too, you know. If we get back together, it‘s

gotta be different this time, Logan. You gotta start tellin‘ me what‘s

going on inside your head so I don‘t have to guess all the time. I don‘t

wanta go back to bein‘ two strangers who live in the same house.‖

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105

―Just ‘cause I wasn‘t runnin‘ off at the mouth all the time doesn‘t

mean I treated you like a stranger.‖

―Say what you want, but you gotta know before we even start

counseling that I‘m aimin‘ for something different this time.‖

―Okay.‖ Logan was too busy dealing with warring emotions to

develop any better response. He saw some hope that their joint sessions

wouldn‘t be dominated by recrimination, but he was unnerved by

Linda‘s new demands.

Hesitancy and hope bloomed in her voice as Linda asked, ―Does

that mean… you want that too?‖

Cornered by her directness, he felt compelled to say, ―Yeah… I

guess I do.‖

Later, as he chewed their conversation over, Logan was surprised

by the thought that maybe he hadn‘t been simply fobbing her off.

Maybe he, too, wanted a change in their status quo. The

unacknowledged truth Logan could barely face was that, as ever, he

and Linda wanted very different things.

LOGAN looked around for Nick‘s Jeep as he pulled onto Arlington

Avenue that Sunday, knowing that they both always parked on the

street to leave the entire shop floor open for working on the

Thunderbird. He was slightly irked that the black vehicle was not in

evidence, since it was already after nine. As he loped up the steps,

Logan set aside any disappointment, figuring the time could be put to

good use grabbing a smoke and settling the nerves he was trying hard

to ignore. When he got to the landing and found one bay door wide

open, Logan stopped short in mild surprise.
Must’a missed his Jeep.

Upon entering the garage he was greeted not by Nick Zales but by

a rotund stranger who had his feet propped up on the corner desk and

his face hidden behind the Sunday
Post-Gazette
. Logan cleared his

throat loudly in an attempt to get the oblivious man‘s attention. It must

have worked, since the paper was slowly lowered to reveal a round,

creased face topped by a shock of white hair.