Where Yesterday Lives

  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.

  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.

  Twelve

  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 C
lub. 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 sports writing, 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.

  “I won’t tell you I’m not disappointed.” He paused. “But son, you need to do the right thing and stand by the girl. She’s going to have the baby, right?”

  “Right. She doesn’t want an abortion.”

  “Well, let her know that we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

  Three months later they were on that golf course again when John asked about the girl, and Aaron broke down.

  “She lost the baby, Dad.” Aaron had swiped at his tears, embarrassed at the show of emotion.

  “I’m sorry son.” His father had faced him and put an arm on his shoulder.

  “I know it wasn’t right what we did.” They were far out on the seventh tee where no one could see them at that early hour of the morning. “But I was ready to love that child. I don’t know, Dad. It’s like I miss him. Even though I never knew him. Do you think I’m crazy to feel that way?”

  Aaron would
always remember the compassion in his father’s eyes at that moment. “Son, an unborn child is a child nevertheless. I understand your pain.”

  No one but he and his father knew about the lost child. And that morning his dad shared something with Aaron that he said he hadn’t shared with his other children.

  “Your mother had a miscarriage once, too,” he said softly. “It was two years after Megan was born and your mother was already five months pregnant. The baby was a boy.”

  There were tears in his father’s eyes. The two hugged and Aaron felt like a little boy again, safe in his daddy’s arms.

  When they pulled apart, his father smiled sadly. “Believe me, I understand how you feel. A week doesn’t go by when I don’t think about your brother, how old he would be, what he’d be doing now.”

  Aaron thought of a hundred other such moments he and his dad had shared on the golf course. Even when he began having bouts of rage and punching holes in his bedroom door, his father would forgive him and in a few days the two would be back out playing golf.

  On the course, Aaron would apologize and his dad would shrug. “Forget about it, son,” he would say. “I love you. I always will.”

  Then he and Aaron would spend another morning talking and teeing off.

  But there was something Aaron never said to his father, and the knowledge of that omission burned at Aaron’s soul. He had run out of time. His father was gone, and in all their years together, through all the feelings Aaron had shared with no one else, he never once had the courage to tell his father the most important thing of all.

  It was growing dark and the course was becoming more difficult to see. Finally, knowing that he would explode if he didn’t give in to his desperate grief, Aaron grabbed the steering wheel and laid his head on his forearm.