Ellen pulls over fast and then hears a crunch beneath her car. She opens her door and sees a crumpled folding chair pinned under her tire. A man bursts out of the house along side her.
“What the fuck is your problem?! Get the fuck outta that spot! I shoveled it now get the fuck out.”
Ellen hadn’t even seen the traditional winter parking space marker until it was too late. She thinks to apologize, but sees the veins now bulging from the guy’s neck and decides to get out of there. She backs over the chair again, accompanied by the howl of the guy and then takes off again, turning down the first one way in her favor. She’s looking to take a second right, when she sees it: Mac’s house. She has turned down his street. Ellen slows at his address, and does not ask herself why. When there are no parking spaces in front, she pulls down the small side driveway. She’s out of the car door and running up the back stairs. She is banging on Mac’s back door and then banging on it again.
He appears in the window, looking white as a ghost, a shirt hastily buttoned. Mac swings open the door.
“What?” he says breathlessly.
It is the first time she realizes she is dizzy. “I can’t breathe,” Ellen whispers.
Mac pulls her towards him and walks her swiftly to his front room with a very strong arm holding her up. He guides her to a couch.
“I –“ she stammers. But he tells her, “Hold on.”
Mac goes into the kitchen and comes back with a brown paper bag. “Breath into it slowly” he says, holding it up to her mouth. Ellen takes it and does as she is told. Mac leaves her side and them comes back with a glass of water. It takes a while for her breathing to get more normal, but it comes. Ellen puts the bag down and drinks back the water.
“Okay?” he asks, “Better?”
She nods.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
She nods again. “Charlie,” is what comes out of her mouth.
Mac’s eyes widen. “Yeah…”
She doesn’t want to say it out loud, so she looks at Mac instead. His white button down shirt hangs crooked because of the first missed button and she can see the edge of a white bandage on his right shoulder. It makes a shot of pain go through her own right shoulder.
“He’s having an affair,” she whispers.
Mac’s mouth opens in surprise.
“How –”
“He just told me. Bing made him.”
“Ellen,” Mac says softly, touching her arm. It is the first time she notices she still has her coat on. Ellen unzips and riggles free from it. Then bows her head forward as huge hot tears start falling from her eyes.
“Holy Shit,” he whispers and rubs her shoulder a little. “Did you know…I mean did you think Charlie had a thing for guys?”
She pulls from him quickly. “Guys?”
Mac looks stunned. “You said Bing, right? Bing made him tell…”
Ellen finally gets it and lets out a crazy kind of laugh. “No! Bing found out! It wasn’t with him. It’s Stephanie.”
Mac raises an eyebrow, requesting more information.
“You know, Stephanie,” Ellen rushes on, still wiping tears and now sniffing at a running nose. “She was at the Christmas party. Skinny. Big printed silk scarf around her neck.”
A look of recognition comes over Mac’s face. “Pointy face?” he asks scowling.
Ellen laughs again, even though she is a mess of tears and snot now. “I need a tissue!” she exclaims.
Mac leans behind him and gets a box of tissues. “Here,” he offers, smiling a little.
Ellen blows her nose, wipes her cheeks, and laughs again. “Could you call her Pointy-Face or something worse from now on. I have the feeling it might help.”
Mac nods and then adjusts so that he is kneeling in front of her.
Suddenly, the rest is on her – the affair, her girls – and the tears are back again.
Mac moves a little closer and puts his arms out to her gently. Ellen is careful to lean her head on his unhurt shoulder and sobs. She can smell Ivory soap on his skin and the scratch of his unshaven cheek. It sends electricity through her body. Although it is pleasure coursing through her, Ellen pulls away as if receiving a shock. “Wait a minute,” she says.
Mac looks at her, concerned and sad, but Ellen doesn’t have anything else to say. She keeps looking at him and his eyes shine golden beneath the green. Ellen closes her eyes and puts her hands over her face. “Oh fuck,” she whispers to herself.
Mac puts his hand on her bare arm and she loves it too much. Her skin prickles with goosebumps and Ellen gently pulls it away.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “What can…I want to help.”
Ellen clamps her eyes shut tighter. Why is this happening now? she begs to know. Why do I feel like this now? Ellen opens her eyes again as if awaiting a new vision of Mac, one that does not turn her on so completely. One that makes her feel like something other than a nineteen-year-old virgin. But there he is again, goddamn it, and all she can think to do is to kiss that mouth.
“Have you ever wanted to be with me Mac?” she hears herself say, and it makes her start to tremble.
Mac’s eyes widen and he sits back on his heels.
“I haven’t done anything about it because of my marriage,” she stumbles. Her mouth feels out of her control. She’s frantic to stop the words and for a moment bites her bottom lip so hard that she can feel her pulse against her tongue. It doesn’t stop her. “But I just found out I don’t have a marriage anymore.”
Mac’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out.
Ellen shifts in her chair with no plan but to get closer to him. She can’t help but keep looking at his lips. Her heart is pounding painfully against the base of her throat. She puts a hand out to his arm. She touches his wrist, then grips it more firmly.
“Ellen don’t,” he finally whispers, putting his hand up in the space between them. “Don’t talk like this now. You’ll regret it.”
It stings of rejection and Ellen pulls back. It sends humiliation crashing over her like a wave. Charlie is cheating on her. Stephanie is after her children. Mac does not want her. The walls are pulling so much closer and she is starting to doubt which way is up.
“I regret what a fucking idiot I’ve been,” she says. “Charlie’s been sleeping with her for months Mac! And I didn’t know! I feel like some stupid fucking housewife. And now…this.”
She watches as he closes his eyes and swallows. She wants to smell the Ivory soap again, touch that unshaven cheek.
“What’s this?” he asks. It is the first time Ellen hears his voice go thin, as if there isn’t enough breath to support it. She moves forward again, slowly and as she draws closer, only a few inches between them now, Ellen can feel his tension like an electric fence around them.
“Please,” she whispers and it makes her insides come alive. The unmistakable feeling of sexual thrill rushes through her.
Mac shakes his head. “It’s a mistake,” he says but she can hear his own racing heart in the unevenness of his breath.
“I don’t care.”
Monday, October 1, 2007
Flash #20
Ellen has already crossed the Longfellow bridge before she looks in the rear view mirror and sees the car seats still in the back, the car seats Charlie will need if he is going to pick the girls up from day care. With a string of curses she is acknowledges she is closer to Charlie's studio than the daycare center so she heads towards A street.
Busy wrestling the car seats up the old factory steps, she is leaning against his studio door catching her breath before she hears yelling coming from inside. Goosebumps instantly rise up on her arms and neck. Inexplicably, she is sure Charlie is in danger and pulls the door open without knocking. Her appearance in the doorway makes Bing and Charlie fall silent, but everything about their posture, how close they are standing, make it clear that they are in the middle of an argument.
“Is everything alright?” she asks.
The two men stare at her for a moment in disbelief, but then Bing breaks the silence. “What’s the answer, Charlie?” he demands.
She notices that the color is leaving her husbands face and that he might even be in physical pain. It makes a flash of panic fly through her
“What happened?” Ellen whispers.
“If you don’t tell her,” Bing suddenly yells,“I will! You call my bluff and see what happens.”
“Fuck you Bing,” Charlie yells back. “Get out of here!”
“No!” Bing spits back, leaning forward hard. “I’m staying until I hear you say it.”
There is a silence in which the only sound Ellen can hear is a voice, perhaps her own and in her head, pleading, Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t.
Charlie turns away from Bing and faces her. “Bing wants me to tell you…that I’m involved with someone.”
Air escapes her lungs. “What did he just say?” Ellen asks Bing.
“He’s having an affair, Ellen,” Bing reports, his voice suddenly thin.
Ellen notices that the feeling is leaving her fingertips.
“And you knew?” she stumbles. In her head she has an image of flipping puzzle pieces to their picture side. She has to see all the picture sides before she can assemble them.
He nods, looking close to tears.
“How long?” she asks Bing.
“I found out for sure last week,” he replies, and then dips his head, “but I’ve been suspecting it for a while.”
“Huh,” is all she seems to be able to say in response. She finally turns to Charlie who looks positively grey now.
“So…how long Charlie?” she asks.
“A while,” Charlie answers quietly.
“Oh for chrissake!” Bing explodes. “Don’t make her ask it again! How long?!”
“Bing why the fuck are you still here?” Charlie shouts back.
“I’m not!” Bing yells. “I’m outta here!”
“I hope you don’t think you’ve got a job to come back to,” Charlie hisses as Bing grabs his jacket.
“Oh no!” Bing shrieks in mock horror. “Not work for the great Charlie Marris?” He heads towards the door. “I wouldn’t have pushed this hard if I had wanted to work for you anymore. You fucking cliche,” he mutters. “I’m sorry Ellen,” he says as he walks past her.
Ellen lets out a laugh to everyone’s surprise, including her own.
“Don’t apologize to me, Bing,” she adds.
He looks at her one more time before quickly slipping out the door.
She is acutely aware of being alone with Charlie now. Her hands are completely numb. Ellen knows she should have something in her head to say for such an occasion, but nothing will come. She looks at Charlie for some kind of cue. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and his expression has changed. The color is returning to his cheeks and it is hard to miss the fact that he doesn’t look worried. He doesn’t even look sorry. It occurs to her that he looks as if he could be waiting for a bus.
“How long Charlie,” she finally asks.
“Since October,” he says.
OctoberNovemberDecemberJanuaryFebruary, she thinks. Five months?
“You’re good,” she says.
“What?”
Ellen forces her shoulders to shrug. “Bing found out last week. I didn’t know,” she says. “You’re good at lying.”
Charlie shifts his weight and puffs out a breath.
Ellen honestly doesn’t know what to do and her brain won’t help her. She doesn’t know what to ask next -- although she is sure there is some question she should nail him with. She watches Charlie instead, who continues to shift his weight back and forth. Thank goodness he has the decency to show a little uneasiness.
And then the question finally comes to her. Such an epiphany, she let out a sound of astonishment before asking it. “Oh! Who is it?”
Charlie hesitates, but only for a moment.
“Stephanie,” he answers.
“Stephanie? Stephanie who is married to Jerry?” she asks.
Charlie nods.
Ellen takes a breath and doesn’t seem able to exhale. Her heart is racing, but she realizes it has never slowed since she walked in from the hall.
Stephanie, she thinks. She was in my house at the Christmas party. She ate my food. She sat her ass down on my furniture. Ellen can picture her with Jerry and their little boy, Marco.
“Does Jerry know?” she asks.
“No.”
What does he have against Jerry? He’s such a nice guy. What does he have against me for that matter? This is a bizarre dream.
“So, this is going on?” Ellen says still pushing her brain to limp to life. “I mean, I don’t hear you saying it’s over.”
Charlie sighs again and looks completely inconvenienced by the question.
“I don’t know Ellen,” he answers wearily. “I suppose it’s still going on.”
“What does that mean?” she demands, some fight finally starting to creep through the shock.
“I mean – I’m sure this will change everything. Jerry will need to know too now.”
“Oh Jesus Charlie!” she yells. “Sorry to put a cramp in your sex life. I mean – fuck – it is his wife you’re screwing! It’s the least you owe the guy, don’t you think?”
Charlie runs his hands through his hair and then over his face. He turns his back to her and wraps his arms around his torso.
“I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I didn’t intend to hurt you.”
“You told me in January that you didn’t want to lose me!”
“And I don’t," he says. "I mean, truth be told…this isn’t even about you.”
“Ooo let me guess,” she hisses, “It’s about you.”
“Yes…it is.”
“What a fucking shock! Everything’s about you, you Shit! I didn’t intend to hurt
you? Bing’s right – you’re a fucking cliche!”
“Okay, Okay...take your swings – I expected it.”
“Expected it? How about deserve it Charlie? God don’t fucking patronize me on
top of this! Don’t you dare!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“How about: I’m sorry – forgive me – I’ll never see her again! What do you think,
you Shit?”
“Everyone stumbles sometime Ellen.," he says, turning finally to face her. "You’re not perfect yourself.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You and Mac,” he shoots at her. “You think I don’t know about that?”
“You don’t know anything! I haven’t done anything with Mac.”
“Oh come on Ellen. I’ve seen the way you look at him and where the hell have you been the last couple of Saturdays? Fluffing up his pillow?”
Busy wrestling the car seats up the old factory steps, she is leaning against his studio door catching her breath before she hears yelling coming from inside. Goosebumps instantly rise up on her arms and neck. Inexplicably, she is sure Charlie is in danger and pulls the door open without knocking. Her appearance in the doorway makes Bing and Charlie fall silent, but everything about their posture, how close they are standing, make it clear that they are in the middle of an argument.
“Is everything alright?” she asks.
The two men stare at her for a moment in disbelief, but then Bing breaks the silence. “What’s the answer, Charlie?” he demands.
She notices that the color is leaving her husbands face and that he might even be in physical pain. It makes a flash of panic fly through her
“What happened?” Ellen whispers.
“If you don’t tell her,” Bing suddenly yells,“I will! You call my bluff and see what happens.”
“Fuck you Bing,” Charlie yells back. “Get out of here!”
“No!” Bing spits back, leaning forward hard. “I’m staying until I hear you say it.”
There is a silence in which the only sound Ellen can hear is a voice, perhaps her own and in her head, pleading, Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t.
Charlie turns away from Bing and faces her. “Bing wants me to tell you…that I’m involved with someone.”
Air escapes her lungs. “What did he just say?” Ellen asks Bing.
“He’s having an affair, Ellen,” Bing reports, his voice suddenly thin.
Ellen notices that the feeling is leaving her fingertips.
“And you knew?” she stumbles. In her head she has an image of flipping puzzle pieces to their picture side. She has to see all the picture sides before she can assemble them.
He nods, looking close to tears.
“How long?” she asks Bing.
“I found out for sure last week,” he replies, and then dips his head, “but I’ve been suspecting it for a while.”
“Huh,” is all she seems to be able to say in response. She finally turns to Charlie who looks positively grey now.
“So…how long Charlie?” she asks.
“A while,” Charlie answers quietly.
“Oh for chrissake!” Bing explodes. “Don’t make her ask it again! How long?!”
“Bing why the fuck are you still here?” Charlie shouts back.
“I’m not!” Bing yells. “I’m outta here!”
“I hope you don’t think you’ve got a job to come back to,” Charlie hisses as Bing grabs his jacket.
“Oh no!” Bing shrieks in mock horror. “Not work for the great Charlie Marris?” He heads towards the door. “I wouldn’t have pushed this hard if I had wanted to work for you anymore. You fucking cliche,” he mutters. “I’m sorry Ellen,” he says as he walks past her.
Ellen lets out a laugh to everyone’s surprise, including her own.
“Don’t apologize to me, Bing,” she adds.
He looks at her one more time before quickly slipping out the door.
She is acutely aware of being alone with Charlie now. Her hands are completely numb. Ellen knows she should have something in her head to say for such an occasion, but nothing will come. She looks at Charlie for some kind of cue. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and his expression has changed. The color is returning to his cheeks and it is hard to miss the fact that he doesn’t look worried. He doesn’t even look sorry. It occurs to her that he looks as if he could be waiting for a bus.
“How long Charlie,” she finally asks.
“Since October,” he says.
OctoberNovemberDecemberJanuaryFebruary, she thinks. Five months?
“You’re good,” she says.
“What?”
Ellen forces her shoulders to shrug. “Bing found out last week. I didn’t know,” she says. “You’re good at lying.”
Charlie shifts his weight and puffs out a breath.
Ellen honestly doesn’t know what to do and her brain won’t help her. She doesn’t know what to ask next -- although she is sure there is some question she should nail him with. She watches Charlie instead, who continues to shift his weight back and forth. Thank goodness he has the decency to show a little uneasiness.
And then the question finally comes to her. Such an epiphany, she let out a sound of astonishment before asking it. “Oh! Who is it?”
Charlie hesitates, but only for a moment.
“Stephanie,” he answers.
“Stephanie? Stephanie who is married to Jerry?” she asks.
Charlie nods.
Ellen takes a breath and doesn’t seem able to exhale. Her heart is racing, but she realizes it has never slowed since she walked in from the hall.
Stephanie, she thinks. She was in my house at the Christmas party. She ate my food. She sat her ass down on my furniture. Ellen can picture her with Jerry and their little boy, Marco.
“Does Jerry know?” she asks.
“No.”
What does he have against Jerry? He’s such a nice guy. What does he have against me for that matter? This is a bizarre dream.
“So, this is going on?” Ellen says still pushing her brain to limp to life. “I mean, I don’t hear you saying it’s over.”
Charlie sighs again and looks completely inconvenienced by the question.
“I don’t know Ellen,” he answers wearily. “I suppose it’s still going on.”
“What does that mean?” she demands, some fight finally starting to creep through the shock.
“I mean – I’m sure this will change everything. Jerry will need to know too now.”
“Oh Jesus Charlie!” she yells. “Sorry to put a cramp in your sex life. I mean – fuck – it is his wife you’re screwing! It’s the least you owe the guy, don’t you think?”
Charlie runs his hands through his hair and then over his face. He turns his back to her and wraps his arms around his torso.
“I’m sure you won’t believe me, but I didn’t intend to hurt you.”
“You told me in January that you didn’t want to lose me!”
“And I don’t," he says. "I mean, truth be told…this isn’t even about you.”
“Ooo let me guess,” she hisses, “It’s about you.”
“Yes…it is.”
“What a fucking shock! Everything’s about you, you Shit! I didn’t intend to hurt
you? Bing’s right – you’re a fucking cliche!”
“Okay, Okay...take your swings – I expected it.”
“Expected it? How about deserve it Charlie? God don’t fucking patronize me on
top of this! Don’t you dare!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“How about: I’m sorry – forgive me – I’ll never see her again! What do you think,
you Shit?”
“Everyone stumbles sometime Ellen.," he says, turning finally to face her. "You’re not perfect yourself.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You and Mac,” he shoots at her. “You think I don’t know about that?”
“You don’t know anything! I haven’t done anything with Mac.”
“Oh come on Ellen. I’ve seen the way you look at him and where the hell have you been the last couple of Saturdays? Fluffing up his pillow?”
Flash #19
Jo is paying bills at the kitchen table when there’s a knock at her back door. She looks up in time to see the ring with black onyx on the middle finger retreating from the glass: Mac’s hand, his father’s ring. It makes her chest feel a little tight, but there’s no way she’s giving him any indication of that.
“It’s open,” she calls.
“Jesus Jo,” he says, before he even steps through the doorway. “What the fuck you got your back door unlocked for?” Jo watches as Mac stamps the dirty snow and sand from his feet.
“Easy Killer,” she says as if his comment doesn’t piss her off. What does he think – she’s some kind of moron? “I just took the trash out back and I’m sittin right here.”
Mac shakes his head. He hasn’t even really looked at her yet. “Still…not smart.”
“Yes sir,” she mutters. “What’s your story?”
Mac finally lifts his face to look her way. His eyes seem a little sunken to her. It makes her wonder how much painkiller he’s still on.
“I wanted to talk to ya – if you’ve got a second.”
Jo nods. “What about?” she asks, immediately embarrassed by her stab at nonchalance. Her heart is beating at the base of her throat as if she’s fourteen and he’s asked her to dance. She’s been waiting for him to want to talk, but it is hard to admit, even in the privacy of her own brain, that she wants him to talk about the night before all this happened. The night she thought things might be starting up again.
“About Sheila,” he says, unzipping his jacket. “She around? Coast clear?”
It’s beyond embarrassment now. She takes a deep breath, letting the feeling of rejection really take hold.
You bastard, she thinks, but carefully vacuums the emotion from her face to a neutral expression.
“Yep, coast clear,” Jo says, shoving a kitchen chair his way with her foot. It takes a lot not to send it flying across the room. “Have a seat.”
Mac sits. “She told me last Saturday that she quit basketball.”
I should be happy he gives a shit about his daughter, she thinks, already reprimanding herself. “Yep she did.”
His forehead bunches sourly. “And that doesn’t mean anything to you?” he asks.
Jo doesn’t care for the edge of accusation. She feels like launching into him, telling him the real reason, but she reigns herself in. That would be about her own shit and he really doesn’t look like he’s doing so well.
“It’s only basketball,” she answers.
Mac leans closer to her. “Bullshit Jo. She’s been playin for years. Always loved it. Now you let her just walk away without a reason?”
Her heart isn’t beating like a lovesick girl anymore.
“Just because she didn’t give you a reason,” Jo shoots back, “Doesn’t mean she’s got no reason.”
Mac sits back a little, studies her. His eyes make Jo even more aggravated. The greenness of them is ridiculous. They could be candy for Chrissake. Nobody’s eyes are that color.
“She’s keeping a secret?” he asks, sounding a little wounded whether he means for Jo to hear it or not.
She nods.
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” Jo answers with more heat than she thinks might be fair, but – God, how can he be so dumb?
Mac looks genuinely bewildered now and it makes her feel a little guilty. She makes herself switch gears to a quieter voice.
“It’s because of what happened to you Mac,” she explains.
“What? What about it?”
Jo shakes her head. She knows he honestly hasn’t thought of this and she knows it’s going to hurt to hear it.
“She’s having a hard time with it. That’s easy to understand, right? I mean, you’re her daddy.”
Jo can see his eyes fill with tears immediately. He makes no move to stop them and it makes her anxious. He finally blinks them away.
“I don’t...” he starts, but his voice is heavy with emotion. He stops to clear his throat and tries again. “But what has that got to do with her playing basketball?”
“She says she just doesn’t care about it anymore. That it’s no fun. She wants to stick home some more.”The kitchen takes on their silence; the only sound is the refrigerator buzzing on. Jo lets her mind go to what she thought this conversation was going to be about: the night of the Christmas party. It had been a long time since it had happened, but it hadn’t been the first time since the divorce. Every so often, when neither was seeing anyone very special, it seemed they would end up together for a short while. No plans would be made. No attempts at talking about how they felt for one another. No big explanations about why it happened or went back underground. But at least they had acknowledged it the other times, joked about it a little. That was one of the differences this time: Mac hadn’t called her or said a thing about it after the fact. Then, the stabbing, the hospital. It was if it hadn’t happened at all.
“It’s open,” she calls.
“Jesus Jo,” he says, before he even steps through the doorway. “What the fuck you got your back door unlocked for?” Jo watches as Mac stamps the dirty snow and sand from his feet.
“Easy Killer,” she says as if his comment doesn’t piss her off. What does he think – she’s some kind of moron? “I just took the trash out back and I’m sittin right here.”
Mac shakes his head. He hasn’t even really looked at her yet. “Still…not smart.”
“Yes sir,” she mutters. “What’s your story?”
Mac finally lifts his face to look her way. His eyes seem a little sunken to her. It makes her wonder how much painkiller he’s still on.
“I wanted to talk to ya – if you’ve got a second.”
Jo nods. “What about?” she asks, immediately embarrassed by her stab at nonchalance. Her heart is beating at the base of her throat as if she’s fourteen and he’s asked her to dance. She’s been waiting for him to want to talk, but it is hard to admit, even in the privacy of her own brain, that she wants him to talk about the night before all this happened. The night she thought things might be starting up again.
“About Sheila,” he says, unzipping his jacket. “She around? Coast clear?”
It’s beyond embarrassment now. She takes a deep breath, letting the feeling of rejection really take hold.
You bastard, she thinks, but carefully vacuums the emotion from her face to a neutral expression.
“Yep, coast clear,” Jo says, shoving a kitchen chair his way with her foot. It takes a lot not to send it flying across the room. “Have a seat.”
Mac sits. “She told me last Saturday that she quit basketball.”
I should be happy he gives a shit about his daughter, she thinks, already reprimanding herself. “Yep she did.”
His forehead bunches sourly. “And that doesn’t mean anything to you?” he asks.
Jo doesn’t care for the edge of accusation. She feels like launching into him, telling him the real reason, but she reigns herself in. That would be about her own shit and he really doesn’t look like he’s doing so well.
“It’s only basketball,” she answers.
Mac leans closer to her. “Bullshit Jo. She’s been playin for years. Always loved it. Now you let her just walk away without a reason?”
Her heart isn’t beating like a lovesick girl anymore.
“Just because she didn’t give you a reason,” Jo shoots back, “Doesn’t mean she’s got no reason.”
Mac sits back a little, studies her. His eyes make Jo even more aggravated. The greenness of them is ridiculous. They could be candy for Chrissake. Nobody’s eyes are that color.
“She’s keeping a secret?” he asks, sounding a little wounded whether he means for Jo to hear it or not.
She nods.
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” Jo answers with more heat than she thinks might be fair, but – God, how can he be so dumb?
Mac looks genuinely bewildered now and it makes her feel a little guilty. She makes herself switch gears to a quieter voice.
“It’s because of what happened to you Mac,” she explains.
“What? What about it?”
Jo shakes her head. She knows he honestly hasn’t thought of this and she knows it’s going to hurt to hear it.
“She’s having a hard time with it. That’s easy to understand, right? I mean, you’re her daddy.”
Jo can see his eyes fill with tears immediately. He makes no move to stop them and it makes her anxious. He finally blinks them away.
“I don’t...” he starts, but his voice is heavy with emotion. He stops to clear his throat and tries again. “But what has that got to do with her playing basketball?”
“She says she just doesn’t care about it anymore. That it’s no fun. She wants to stick home some more.”The kitchen takes on their silence; the only sound is the refrigerator buzzing on. Jo lets her mind go to what she thought this conversation was going to be about: the night of the Christmas party. It had been a long time since it had happened, but it hadn’t been the first time since the divorce. Every so often, when neither was seeing anyone very special, it seemed they would end up together for a short while. No plans would be made. No attempts at talking about how they felt for one another. No big explanations about why it happened or went back underground. But at least they had acknowledged it the other times, joked about it a little. That was one of the differences this time: Mac hadn’t called her or said a thing about it after the fact. Then, the stabbing, the hospital. It was if it hadn’t happened at all.
Flash #18
Mac is sitting on the couch in his mother’s living room and the upholstery is the brown corduroy it used to be. He is watching the TV, I Dream of Ginny, and the details of the show are suddenly engrossing. Is Major Healey in the Air Force or just a part of NASA? Why isn’t he in Vietnam? Is it because he’s an astronaut? Then the bang of the back door slamming makes Mac jump. It is followed by a sound of alarm from his mother in the kitchen. “Don’t!” she says, “Sit down first! Don’t touch him!”
Mac's father, a big man looking even bigger, charges into the room forcefully making Mac's heart race; his fingernails raking the corduroy for comfort.
“Did you do it?” his father yells.
Mac finds no air in his lungs with which to make a sound.
“Tell me!” his father demands, taking another stride towards his son.
“Let him answer you!” his mother yells, now standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Did what, Dad?” Mac says, but it comes out as a raspy whisper.
“Joanne’s father just told me! How long were you gonna try and keep it a secret?!”
“Dad…” Mac stumbles breathlessly.
“You disgrace this family,” his father roars, advancing, “and then don’t have the guts to tell me what you’ve done!” He can see the veins bulging from his father’s neck.
Mac opens his mouth to speak but it is immediately shut by a hard blow across his face.
Mac wakes up with his hand touching his cheek. His heart is hammering, the presence of his father is so rich that for a second he swears he can smell him.
He wasn’t even alive when I got Jo pregnant, he tells himself. But tears spring to his eyes and in a second he is crying as if he has just heard that his father is gone. Mac roles over and buries his face in the pillow. He shuts his eyes tight but there is no stopping it. The memory is like a roller coaster ride; he is strapped in and the assent has begun.
It had happened in that beautiful summer twilight. He had just gotten stoned with some friends and was shooting hoops. His little brother had come running down the block full speed, arms windmilling as he tried to slow down at the court. Mac was so high he laughed out loud at the sight of it, but when he looked again he could see that Neil was as white as a sheet.
“What the hell?” Mac had said, trying to pull some toughness and authority into his 15-year-old tone. Truth was the look on Neil’s face had scared the shit out of him.
“You gotta come now!” his brother had gasped. “A cop is at the house and he just told Ma that Dad’s dead!”
Shot. Cops said it was a mugging – that maybe his father had refused to give up his wallet. Who knows why some crack head might do it? Mac didn’t spend a long time trying to figure that part out. All he knew was that his father had been killed on his way home from work – that he was gone, not coming back. His father hadn’t been there to catch on that girls were being taken up to the empty second floor apartment, or to straighten out Neil who was fucking up in school every five minutes, or to get the news that Mac, golden boy next to his screw-up brother, got Jo pregnant – a girl who was the daughter of his father and mother’s friends – but for whom Mac had had no real feelings.
It was not his own father, but Jo’s who had jacked his 17-year-old ass up against the living room wall.
“In memory of your father,” he had said, two inches from Mac’s face, “and because your mother has been through enough…I won’t kill you with my bare hands. But you’ll marry her, MacNamara. Do you hear me?”
And marry her he did.
Mac's father, a big man looking even bigger, charges into the room forcefully making Mac's heart race; his fingernails raking the corduroy for comfort.
“Did you do it?” his father yells.
Mac finds no air in his lungs with which to make a sound.
“Tell me!” his father demands, taking another stride towards his son.
“Let him answer you!” his mother yells, now standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Did what, Dad?” Mac says, but it comes out as a raspy whisper.
“Joanne’s father just told me! How long were you gonna try and keep it a secret?!”
“Dad…” Mac stumbles breathlessly.
“You disgrace this family,” his father roars, advancing, “and then don’t have the guts to tell me what you’ve done!” He can see the veins bulging from his father’s neck.
Mac opens his mouth to speak but it is immediately shut by a hard blow across his face.
Mac wakes up with his hand touching his cheek. His heart is hammering, the presence of his father is so rich that for a second he swears he can smell him.
He wasn’t even alive when I got Jo pregnant, he tells himself. But tears spring to his eyes and in a second he is crying as if he has just heard that his father is gone. Mac roles over and buries his face in the pillow. He shuts his eyes tight but there is no stopping it. The memory is like a roller coaster ride; he is strapped in and the assent has begun.
It had happened in that beautiful summer twilight. He had just gotten stoned with some friends and was shooting hoops. His little brother had come running down the block full speed, arms windmilling as he tried to slow down at the court. Mac was so high he laughed out loud at the sight of it, but when he looked again he could see that Neil was as white as a sheet.
“What the hell?” Mac had said, trying to pull some toughness and authority into his 15-year-old tone. Truth was the look on Neil’s face had scared the shit out of him.
“You gotta come now!” his brother had gasped. “A cop is at the house and he just told Ma that Dad’s dead!”
Shot. Cops said it was a mugging – that maybe his father had refused to give up his wallet. Who knows why some crack head might do it? Mac didn’t spend a long time trying to figure that part out. All he knew was that his father had been killed on his way home from work – that he was gone, not coming back. His father hadn’t been there to catch on that girls were being taken up to the empty second floor apartment, or to straighten out Neil who was fucking up in school every five minutes, or to get the news that Mac, golden boy next to his screw-up brother, got Jo pregnant – a girl who was the daughter of his father and mother’s friends – but for whom Mac had had no real feelings.
It was not his own father, but Jo’s who had jacked his 17-year-old ass up against the living room wall.
“In memory of your father,” he had said, two inches from Mac’s face, “and because your mother has been through enough…I won’t kill you with my bare hands. But you’ll marry her, MacNamara. Do you hear me?”
And marry her he did.
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