A Kingsbury Collection

  When Megan was in eighth grade Ellen gave her a handwritten book with personal advice on how to survive high school. Megan read the book hungrily, fascinated at the advice Ellen had written for her. She wanted to be everything Ellen had been and more.

  Then, unexplainably, she dropped out of cheerleading in her junior year and began dating loner types. When she was twenty she met Mohammed, a Goliath of a man with Middle Eastern roots and a forest of dark hair that covered his body. The few times Mohammed visited Megan at the Barrett home he never wore shoes or spoke directly to John or Diane. His eyelids remained half closed and there was something condescending in his attitude toward everyone in the Barrett family. Especially Megan.

  Mike remembered the first time Mohammed visited the Barrett family. It had been a big family get-together.

  “So, what is it you do for a living, Mohammed?” John had asked, spreading a thick layer of butter on his bread and helping himself to an extra serving of gravy.

  “Things.” It had bothered Mike, the way Mohammed refused to make eye contact with John. Several others at the table had exchanged curious glances.

  It made sense now, but at that time none of them—except Megan, of course—knew that Mohammed was a pusher. Everywhere he went he carried a briefcase packed with marijuana, cocaine, and two loaded pistols.

  Mike learned later how Mohammed had taught Megan to listen to blank cassette tapes for subliminal messages from “helping-demons,” and when Megan didn’t cooperate, he’d beat her or put his fist through the windshield of her car.

  “If you leave me I’ll kill your parents,” Mohammed would threaten her. He was five years older than Megan and she believed him completely. The relationship continued.

  For years, Mike had watched as Ellen tried unsuccessfully to bring Megan to her senses.

  “Don’t preach at me, Ellen!” Megan would scream. “Not everyone is perfect like you. Besides, I don’t do drugs and I’ll date whomever I want, so don’t try to run my life. At least Mo isn’t some plastic phony like Mike!”

  Long after Mike and Ellen moved to Miami, Megan was still caught up in the destructive relationship. By the time she finally broke it off with Mohammed, so many years had passed that the chasm between Megan and her sisters was almost too vast to cross. Mike had seen firsthand at family get-togethers how the tensions remained. This week would be no exception.

  Then there was Aaron, the only son. His father’s pride and joy. Aaron was strikingly handsome and had always boasted a string of girlfriends. But he was lazy and utterly dependent on his parents for survival. By the time he was twenty-two he had been fired from seven construction jobs. He was six-foot-four, built like a professional linebacker with the strength of five men his size. Once his temper flared in the workplace most employers found it simpler to let him go than to deal with his outbursts.

  Mike remembered once when he and Ellen had flown back to Petoskey for a family reunion. A dozen or so family members had gathered at the Barretts’ house for a barbecue and spirits were high. They were seated around the dining room table when Aaron waltzed in after work and helped himself to two hamburgers and a full plate of fixings.

  “It’s a potluck, Aaron. Did you bring anything?” John Barrett had asked when Aaron pulled up a chair and sat down.

  Aaron slammed his fork down and threw his plate across the room. Diane gasped as the burgers fell apart and landed on the carpet, splattering ketchup on the dining room wall. Aaron glared at his father, stood up, and went into the kitchen where he slammed the dishwasher shut breaking dozens of dishes.

  “Aaron!” Diane had gasped.

  Unrepentant, Aaron glared at his father and stormed down the hallway toward his bedroom. Mike remembered John Barrett’s expression as he looked at the others, clearly shocked and embarrassed by Aaron’s actions. Then he excused himself and went back toward Aaron’s room to deal with the situation.

  The exchange could easily be heard by everyone at the dinner table.

  “We cannot tolerate that behavior, son,” John had said, his own voice trembling with controlled rage. Aaron was two inches taller than his father and fifty muscled pounds heavier.

  Aaron responded with a string of profanity, telling his father to mind his own business. Then, as was too often the case, he blamed his parents for treating the girls better than him over the years.

  “I always got in trouble for things they did!” Aaron’s voice echoed through the house. Mike pushed his plate aside. Another meal spoiled by Aaron’s tantrums. “Do you know what it was like growing up in this family and being the only son?” Aaron shouted. “I bet you didn’t ask them to bring anything to the meal. They do whatever they want, and I’m the one who gets the shaft!”

  There were more profanities then and finally Mike walked purposefully down the hallway and put himself between John and Aaron.

  “Come on, Aaron, let’s take a drive and talk this through,” Mike said.

  Aaron glared at Mike and swore at him, accusing him of being a meddler and reminding him that he was not part of the Barrett family. Then in a sudden burst of intense anger he lifted his fist and held it inches from his father’s face. Diane, who had come to see if she could help, screamed. “Someone call the police!”

  Aaron swung his fist furiously, but at the last moment he turned his body so that his hand slammed completely through his bedroom door instead of hitting his father. Pulling it free from the splintered wood, he continued to swear at his parents, punching a series of holes in the door.

  “Aaron, stop it!” John tried to wrestle him away from the door, but Aaron was out of control. He jerked away from his father’s touch.

  “John!” It was Diane’s voice. “Leave him alone. You’ll have a heart attack!”

  “That’s all right!” Sweat dripped from his face as he struggled to stop Aaron’s destructive temper tantrum. “He’s my son and he’s not going to behave this way in my house.”

  Mike had watched, ready to step in if necessary, amazed at Aaron’s strength as he ripped his bedroom door completely off the hinges.

  “I hate all of you!” he screamed.

  He pushed his father out of the way, shoved past the others, and stormed out of the house. The Barrett family stood motionless, stunned, as they heard Aaron screech away from the curb in his pickup truck.

  It was neither the first nor the last example of Aaron’s explosive behavior.

  Mike remembered a time when Amy, then eighteen, had told Aaron he was a loser. “When are you going to get a real life?” she had asked.

  In response, Aaron had walked out to her brand-new car and kicked his work boot deep into the passenger door. As far as Mike knew, the damage had never been repaired.

  Mike had leveled with John Barrett one day. “He’s making your life miserable. Maybe it’s time he found his own place.”

  “Well, Mike, I’ll tell you. There are times I wonder what I did wrong with Aaron. Sometimes I think he’s still a little boy trapped in a man’s body. But we have our good days, the times when we go golfing and get along.” John took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Besides, we have no throwaway kids. Aaron can stay here as long as he needs to. That’s what family is all about.”

  Mike had his own opinion about what Aaron needed, but since the conversation with John had proven fruitless, he’d decided to keep his thoughts to himself. With John. With Diane. Even, most of the time, with Ellen. Shaking off the sour memories, Mike stood up slowly and headed into the kitchen for something to eat. The more he thought about the Barretts and their assorted conflicts the more he was thankful he hadn’t gone to Petoskey.

  I love her, Lord. You know I do, with my very soul. He passed a hand wearily over his eyes. But I can’t spend a week with her family. Not even for this.

  He took a hot dog from the refrigerator, heated it in the microwave, and placed it in a cold bun. Then he looked at the telephone. He should call Ellen. He sighed and stuffed one end of the hot dog into his mouth.
br />   No, it would be better to wait a few days—give her time to forgive him for not going with her.

  He walked past the phone, past the portrait of him and Ellen, past the bookcase and the unopened Bible, and found a comfortable spot on the sofa. Then he kicked up his feet, grabbed the remote, and ran his finger deftly over the power button. Before flicking on the evening news he wondered once more whether Ellen was still mad at him. He thought again of Jane and Megan, Amy and Aaron, and he shuddered.

  He was glad he had stayed home. Ellen would simply have to understand.

  12

  By the time Ellen and Megan came back inside, forty minutes had passed and two half-eaten pizzas were laid out on the dining room table. Their mother was on the telephone, talking in hushed tones, and Jane was in the den reading a book to her children. Amy and Frank had gone home for the night. Only Aaron remained in the living room, positioned in the chair as he had been when they left.

  “How’s it going?” Ellen sat down near him and leaned over her knees, studying him. Megan took the cue and left the room for a slice of pizza.

  Aaron turned and stared at the wall.

  “Aaron, you’ll feel better if you talk about it. We’re all going through the same thing.”

  Aaron smothered a sob and wiped a tear as it fell from beneath his dark glasses. He stuck his chest out and crossed his arms more tightly around his body. He had always absolutely refused to cry. He wasn’t going to give in now, Ellen guessed, especially not in front of her.

  “He-llo?” She held out the last syllable, aggravated. “Aaron? I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “Don’t want to talk.” Aaron rose to his full, towering height and hitched up his jeans. Then in one movement he grabbed his keys from the ledge near the front door and left without saying a word.

  “Who’s here?” her mother called from the kitchen as the door slammed shut.

  “No one. Aaron just left.” Ellen wandered into the kitchen and took some pizza. Her mother was still on the phone and she raised her hands, silently asking Ellen where Aaron had gone.

  “I don’t know. He’s not talking to me.”

  With a sigh, her mother returned to her conversation. Ellen moved in beside her and began helping with the few dishes from dinner.

  Aaron climbed into his full-size, silver-and-black pickup truck and headed down Mitchell. In a matter of minutes he reached Spring Street and turned right toward the water. He slipped a Garth Brooks CD into his car stereo and blasted the music—as if that could take away the pain in his heart.

  He drove, unsure of where he was headed until he pulled off Highway 31 and turned right on Country Club Road. Suddenly he knew where he had to go. He headed the same way he had a hundred times, making the necessary turns and stops until the street came to a dead end on a hill overlooking the Bay View Country Club. He turned the music off and stared over the golf course, across the eighteenth hole, out toward the bay.

  The clubhouse was just to his right and although it was after eight, there were still people leaving, heading for their cars. During July, Petoskey stayed light until nearly ten. He shifted his foot to the gas pedal and drove through the parking lot toward the roadway that divided the course’s front and back nine. He passed what was probably the last cart of the day heading back to the clubhouse, then he pulled into a gravel area just off the road so that he faced the golf course. Trees on either side made the spot private, and Aaron killed his engine.

  The only sounds were the gentle rustling of trees and the distant traffic on the highway. Over the tops of the trees that lined the ninth fairway, the bay was still visible, and Aaron saw that the sun was moving slowly toward the water. The course would be closed in a few minutes. He could be alone here.

  He took a deep breath and then, surrounded by the silence of the empty golf course, he gave himself permission to feel.

  Bitterness and anger flooded him. How could his father have done this? How could he have left him?

  His anger swelled as he unleashed it and memories ran rampant … memories of times he had been mad at his father, times when he had been punished more severely than his sisters, times when he had hated his father for being so hard on him.

  “Son, don’t tell me they hit you first,” he could hear his dad say. “You’re a boy and no matter what happens you don’t hit girls.”

  As far back as Aaron could recall, his sisters had ganged up against him. They had teased him and threatened him and once they even put eye shadow on twelve-year-old Megan’s cheek so that their father would believe Aaron, three years younger, had hit her.

  Aaron closed his eyes and remembered the hard spanking he’d gotten for that.

  “Dad, I swear I didn’t do it,” he had yelled throughout the punishment.

  But John Barrett was not a man interested in excuses. He punished Aaron and let him know in specific terms the extent of the punishment he would receive if he ever hurt the girls again.

  Even after he had received the unfair punishment, the girls did not let up. He remembered a little miniature wind-up robot he’d bought with his own money when he was seven. The girls found it and placed it in the ice-cube tray so that it froze under water. Aaron searched the entire house before finding it in the freezer. The girls had thought it was the funniest thing ever.

  Seventeen years later he could still hear their cruel laughter. The afternoon breeze had stilled and the trees barely rustled. Aaron kept his eyes on the golf course, his anger building with each memory. There was another incident, when Aaron was eight. He had been given his own pack of gum and did not want to share it. Led by Ellen and Jane, his sisters had taken out each piece, chewed it, and rewrapped it. Then they placed it back in the package with a handwritten label across the front: ABC Gum. Give it a try.

  Aaron’s eyes narrowed angrily and his grip grew tighter on the steering wheel. Already Been Chewed. Ellen probably wrote that. Ellen, who pretended to care about him these past years, but who had treated him miserably when he was little. Ellen, who had stolen John Barrett’s attention away from him.

  There had been a time when he didn’t care about Ellen and her relationship with their father. No matter how much Ellen did right, she couldn’t play football. When Aaron was a young teenager, football had been his surefire way of winning his father’s attention.

  Aaron played offensive lineman for Petoskey, and John Barrett was at every game. He cheered louder than any parent and was quick to compliment his son’s burst of speed off the line of scrimmage. But after two years on the varsity squad Aaron could no longer fool himself. He had the size and speed to be a college player but he had one very big problem. He didn’t like the game. He was only playing for his father’s approval and after his sophomore year, he could no longer pretend.

  “Son, is it true?” Aaron could still hear the disappointment ringing in his father’s words. “You quit the team?”

  Aaron remembered hanging his head. “Yeah, Dad, it’s true. I’m really not into football.” He had looked up then, expectantly. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “Son, of course I’m not mad. I’m disappointed. Not for what I’ve lost, but for what you’ve lost. You were really something out there. You can quit the team and it won’t change how I think about you. But maybe you should give it some more thought. You could play college ball with your size, son.”

  “Dad, I’m done with football. That’s the end of it. All right?” Aaron spent the rest of the evening in his room certain that his father would never again view him the same way.

  That was 1990, when Aaron was sixteen and Ellen had just graduated from college with her journalism degree. She was hired to work for the Detroit Gazette sports section and cover high school football games. That season instead of watching Aaron play, John helped Ellen. He gave her pointers and helped her understand football so that she could write better stories.

  With Ellen and their father spending so much time together talking about football, both in person and on the
telephone, Aaron felt as if he had ceased to exist in his father’s eyes. As long as there wasn’t a blizzard, Ellen would come home each Saturday and watch football with their father. They talked about first downs and reception averages and kickoff returns while Ellen hung on every word the great John Barrett said.

  The whole thing made Aaron sick. There had been a time when he cherished taking in a football game with his father. After Ellen’s indoctrination into sportswriting, Aaron no longer wanted anything to do with the game.

  “Aaron, come on out here and see this.” His dad would wave to him from his easy chair. “It’s the big game. Michigan and Ohio State. We’re about to score.”

  “I’m busy,” Aaron would shout from the next room. “Maybe later.”

  Why bother? He’d figured there was no point. Ellen so monopolized their father’s attention that Aaron no longer had any interest in watching sports with his father. In fact, he had no interest in doing anything with his father, and for years there seemed to be a distance between them no bridge could span.

  Then Ellen moved to Miami, and the relationship between Aaron and his father improved dramatically. Overnight the two men discovered they had something in common: golf.

  Until his father’s triple-bypass surgery the year before, the two of them had spent four or five mornings a week shooting nine holes before work. They would be at the course by six and finish before eight. They golfed in Harbor Springs and Charlevoix, and sometimes even Traverse City. But their favorite course was the grassy, tree-covered spread at Bay View Country Club.

  Aaron allowed his eyes to scan the greens. They sloped gently downhill from the road in a velvet carpet that seemed to extend all the way to the bay beyond. How many memories had he and his father made here? It had been on the neatly mowed grass below that he had told his father his girlfriend was pregnant. Aaron would never forget the pain in his father’s face that morning.