Surely there was some guilt inherent in these facts.
The team went on poking their heads through their jerseys and slamming locker doors until finally they started filing out to the field, the clatter of their cleats fading. Robby, who usually led them, remained behind.
Kent turned to look at him down the length of the varnished benches. Robby faced his open locker, his head hanging as he worked his jersey over his pads.
Kent moved toward him ... stopped behind him, his helmet hanging from one hand.
“Hey, Gardner?” Kent said.
At last Robby turned around. They stood grounded in place, dressed in their red-and-white uniforms and stocking feet, holding their cleats and helmets, wondering how the hell to get around the morass of emotions that had been forced upon them in so short a time.
The coach came out of his office, opened his mouth to order them to get a move on, changed his mind, and left them alone. He went away, his cleats tack-tacketing on the concrete floor, leaving the two boys in silence broken only by the drip from some shower head on the other side of a tiled wall.
They stood separated by the low bench and the difference in their birthrights. Kent had expected Robby’s face to hold scorn. Instead, it held only sadness.
“I heard about your mom and dad,” Kent said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Robby dropped his chin and kept his eyes lowered in case any telltale tears should appear. None did, but their threat was as clear to Kent as if his own eyes had stung.
He reached across the bench and for the first time ever, touched his half-brother on the shoulder ... one singular, uncertain touch.
“I mean it. I really am,” he offered kindly.
Robby only stared at the bench, unable to lift his head.
Then Kent dropped his hand and turned to the door to give his half-brother time alone.
Kent went home from practice that night angrier than he ever remembered being with his mother. When he stormed into the house, she was coming up the basement stairs with a stack of folded towels.
“I want to talk to you, Mom!” he bellowed.
“Well, that’s a fine hello.”
“What’s going on between you and Mr. Gardner?”
She froze in mid-step, then continued past on her way to the linen closet with him dogging her. “Are you having an affair with him?”
“I most certainly am not!”
“Then why is everybody at school saying you are? And why has Mr. Gardner left his wife?”
She spun with the towels forgotten in her hand. “He has?”
“Yes, he has! And everybody in school is gossiping about it! Some kid in the locker room said his wife threw him out because he was having an affair.”
“Well, if he is, it’s not with me.”
Kent peered at her more closely. She was telling the truth. He sighed and gave her some space. “Jeez, Mom, is that a relief.”
“Well, I’m glad you believe me. Now maybe you can stop yelling at me.”
“Sorry.”
She stuffed the towels into the closet. “So you think it’s true? Tom’s left his wife?”
“It looks that way. I asked Jeff, and Jeff said it was, and he ought to know. He’s been Robby’s best friend forever.”
She hooked Kent by an elbow and led him back toward the front of the house. “You seem upset about it.”
“Well... yeah ... yeah, I guess I am.”
“Even though I’m not a part of it?”
He shot her a reproving glance.
“Presently a part of it,” she amended.
“I am upset, Mom. You just have to look at Robby Gardner to see that he’s really bummed out. I suppose Chelsea’s the same way. She really loves her dad, Mom. The way she talked about him was ... well, it was different, you know? The way kids hardly ever talk about their parents. And I took one look at Robby in the locker room today and ...” They had reached the kitchen and Kent dropped onto a stool at the counter. “I don’t know. The look on his face was pretty awful. I didn’t know what to say to him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I was sorry.”
She had opened the refrigerator to get out some hamburger and half an onion in a plastic bag. She set them on the counter and went to Kent.
“I’m sorry too,” she said.
They commiserated together, he perched on the edge of the high stool, she standing beside it, affected by the news of one family’s breakup, touched by obscure guilt over it. But they could not change the past. Monica got out a frying pan and started preparing supper.
“Hey, Mom?” Kent said, still sitting glum and gleeless. She looked over. “What?”
“What would you think if I sort of ... well, like ... I don’t know ... tried to become his friend or something.”
Monica had to think about that for a while. She went to the sink and pulled out the breadboard beside it, opened the package of hamburger, and started forming patties. “I guess there’s no way I can stop you.” The pat slap pat of her hands on the meat filled the room.
“So you don’t approve?”
“I didn’t say that.”
But something in the way she slapped that hamburger told him his question threatened her somehow.
“He’s my half-brother. Today when I was looking at him I really thought about that. My half-brother. You’ve got to admit, that’s pretty awesome, Mom.”
She turned her back and switched on a stove burner, opened a lower cabinet door and found a bottle of oil, squirted some in the pan, and made no reply.
“I thought maybe I could help some way. I don’t know how, but it’s because of me they’re breaking up. If it’s not because you’re having an affair with him, then it’s because of me.”
Monica swung around, faintly exasperated. “It’s not your responsibility, and you certainly aren’t guilty of anything, so if you’ve got that idea in your head you can just get it out!”
“Well, then whose responsibility is it?”
“It’s his! Tom’s!”
“So I should just stand by and watch their family break up and not do anything about it?”
“You said it earlier—what can you do?”
“I can be Robby’s friend.”
“Are you sure he wants that?”
Meekly, Kent answered, “No.”
“Then, be careful.”
“Of what?”
“Getting hurt yourself.”
“Mom, I’m already hurt—you don’t seem to understand that. This whole mess hurts me a lot! I want to get to know my father, but if I have to circle wide around his kids every time I want to see him—well, wouldn’t it be much easier just to try to make friends with them?”
She dropped a patty in the pan, sending up sizzle and smoke. It was exceedingly hard for her to give her blessing to his making friends in Tom Gardner’s camp.
“You afraid I’ll change loyalties or something, Mom?” He came over and draped his arm over her shoulder cajolingly. “You should know me better than that. You’re my mom and that’s not going to change if I get to know them. But I’ve got to do this, don’t you see?”
“I do.” She spun and hugged him so hard he couldn’t see the heavy sheen in her eyes. “I do see. It’s why Tom insisted that I tell you he was your father. But I’m scared of losing you.”
“To them? Come on, Mom, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you lose me?”
She sniffed and chuckled at her own foolishness. “I don’t know. It’s such a mix-up, you and them, you and me, me and him, and him and you.” She turned out of his arms to tend the hamburgers, leaving him standing with one wrist still crooked over her shoulder. They watched as she flipped the patties, then sliced wedges of onion against her thumb, dropping them into the pan beside the meat. The aroma intensified and he drew her harder against his side.
“Boy, it’s really hell growing up, isn’t it, Mom?”
She chuckled, poked at the onions with the knife ti
p, and said, “You know it.”
“Tell you what ...” He took the knife and poked at the onions, too. “Just so you won’t feel threatened, I’ll come back and report everything to you. I’ll tell you when I see them and what we talk about. And I’ll tell you how we’re all getting along. That way you won’t think I’m being lured away from you; how’s that?”
“I would have expected you to do that anyway.”
“Well, yeah, but this way you’ll know for sure.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. Now how about buttering some buns?”
“Right.”
“And getting out a couple of plates.”
“Right.”
“And the jar of pickles.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” As he turned around to help her, she turned around to watch him, and while the hamburgers sizzled and the onions cooked and he buttered buns with his back to her, she realized that she had been silly to feel threatened by his wish to get closer to Tom’s children.
She had raised too good a boy to lose him over this. She had done such a good job that he was teaching her that love need not be competitive.
*****
At play practice that night Claire checked her watch, clapped her hands, and shouted above the jabbering onstage. “Okay, everybody, it’s ten o’clock, time to wrap it up. Make sure all the props are locked up! Work on those lines and I’ll see you tomorrow night!”
Beside her John Handelman shouted, “Hey, Sam, you’re going to make a copy of the lighting script and give it to Doug, right?”
“Yo!” the boy called back.
“Good. Paint crew, wear old clothes tomorrow night. The art department’s got the flats sketched and we’ll be filling in the background!”
A syncopated chorus of good nights drifted back to the pair left onstage. The kids’ voices drifted off, leaving the auditorium quiet.
“I’ll get the lights,” John said, heading toward the wings.
A moment later the spots disappeared from between the overhead travelers, leaving Claire in shadows. She made her way to rear stage, where only one dim light threw murky gray bands down between the drops. Some folding chairs stood higgledy-piggledy beside a rough wooden crate, her jacket thrown across the seat of one. She leaned over tiredly to stuff her script and notes into a cloth bag along with some fabric samples and a book on costuming. Straightening with a sigh, she picked up her jacket and drew it on.
“Tired?”
She turned. John stood behind her, putting on his jacket, too.
“Beat.”
“We did lots of work tonight though.”
“Yes, we accomplished a lot.” She reached for her bag and he put a hand on her arm.
“Claire,” he said, “could we talk a minute?”
She left the bag on the chair seat. “Sure.”
“Lots of rumors flying around the school today. Rather than wonder if they’re true, I decided to ask. Are they?”
“Maybe you’d better tell me what you heard, John.”
“That you left Tom.”
“It’s true.”
“For good?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“The gossips are saying he had an affair.”
“He did once. He says it’s over.”
“So what’s your take on that?”
“I’m hurt. I’m mixed up. I’m angry. I don’t know whether to believe him or not.”
He studied her awhile. Their faces looked like masks of Tragedy, eyes mere sockets in the meager light from some distance away.
“You threw the faculty into a major shock, you know.”
“Yes, I suppose we did.”
“Everybody’s saying they never thought it could happen to you and Tom.”
“I never thought so either, but it did.”
“You need a shoulder to cry on?”
She picked up her bag and started walking. He fell into step beside her. “You offering one?”
“Yes, ma’am. I certainly am.”
She had known for years that he was attracted to her, but was nonetheless surprised by how fast he made his move. She had been married for too long to find this situation comfortable.
“John, it just happened day before yesterday. I don’t even know yet if I should scream or cry.”
“Well, hell, you can scream on my shoulder, too, if that’s what you want.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
At the stage door he snapped off the last remaining light and let her go out first. It was a clear autumn night, complete with stars and the smell of dry leaves. Walking across the parking lot, she put plenty of distance between them.
“Listen,” he said, “you’re going to need a friend. I’m just offering my services, nothing more, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, relieved. He walked her to her car and waited while she unlocked the door and got in.
“Good night, and thanks.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said, and slammed the door with a two-handed push.
She left him standing there watching as she drove away. Her heart was thumping with a response resembling fear. John Handelman wouldn’t hurt her. Why was she reacting this way? Because she hadn’t expected that the announcement of her separation would make her into immediate date bait. She didn’t want to date, for heaven’s sake! She wanted to heal! How dare John move in on her that way?
At home Robby’s and Chelsea’s rooms were empty and dark. She clunked around her bedroom, angry that they hadn’t even left a note. They came in together at 10:30.
“All right, you two, where have you been?”
“At Erin’s,” she answered.
“At Jeff’s.”
“Your curfew is ten o’clock! Or have you forgotten?”
“So it’s ten-thirty. Big deal,” Chelsea said, walking away.
“You get back here, young lady!”
She returned with an air of long-suffering. “What?”
“Nothing is changed because your dad isn’t here anymore. You’re in the house by ten and in bed by eleven on school nights, is that clear?”
“Why should we be here when nobody else is?”
“Because we have rules in this house, that’s why.”
“I hate it here without Dad.”
“It’s no different than when he lived here and stayed at school for meetings.”
“Yes, it is. It’s morbid. And you’re gone to play practice every night, so I’m going to go to Erin’s.”
“You blame me for all of it, don’t you?”
“Well, you’re the one who threw him out.”
Robby had stood by saying nothing.
“Robby?” Claire invited.
He shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t see why you couldn’t have let him stay here while you two worked it out. I mean, heck, he’s pretty miserable. You could tell just by looking at him today.”
She subdued the urge to yell out her impatience, and made a sudden decision. “Come here, you two.” She took them into her bedroom and made them sit on the edge of her bed while she perched on a cedar chest beneath the window. “Robby, you said you don’t see why I couldn’t just let him stay here. Well, I’ll tell you, and I’ll tell you as honestly as I can, because I think you’re old enough to hear it. Your dad and I are still very sexual beings, and it was a part of our marriage that I—we—enjoyed very much. When I found out that he’d had sex with another woman a week before I married him, I felt betrayed. I still feel betrayed by that. Then some other things came to light that led me to believe there’s still something between him and this other woman. I’m not going to elaborate because I don’t want to pit you against your dad. But for me there’s still some doubt about his faithfulness, and as long as I feel that, I can’t live with him. You may think that’s old-fashioned by today’s standards, but I don’t care. A vow is a vow and I cannot and will not live as an alternate wife.
“Then there’s the very real living proof of his betrayal.
Kent Arens. I see him every day in class, and what do you think it does to me when he walks in? Do you think it doesn’t hurt all over again? Do you think I can just simply forgive your dad for putting you two in the embarrassing position of having to attend school in the same building with your illegitimate half-brother? If it weren’t so tragic it would almost be ludicrous, the five of us all in that school building, bumping into each other, pretending we’re just one big happy family.
“Your father is Kent’s father, and that fact—pardon me—is a little hard for me to swallow. And I’m sure you found out that everybody in the school building thought it was some pretty juicy news. It spread through the place like wildfire today. I hate that you two have to be subjected to it. That all three of us have to be subjected to it.
“Now I know you miss your dad. You may not believe it, but I do too. You don’t stay married to a man for eighteen years without missing him when he’s gone. But I hurt.” Claire put a hand over her heart and leaned toward them earnestly. “I hurt very badly, and if I need some time to get over that hurt I expect you to understand me, not blame me for being the one to cause our breakup.”
She sat back on the cedar chest and took a deep breath. The children sat on the edge of the bed looking chastised. The room held a sadness so profound it seemed to press them in place. Claire saw she was the only one who could dispel it. “Now come here ...” She opened her arms wide. “Come and give me a hug. I need one really badly right now. We all do.”
They came. They hugged. They lingered in their parting, smitten with the realization that there were two sides to this argument, and that their mother deserved her share of understanding.
“I love you,” Claire said with her cheeks sandwiched between theirs.
They both said, “I love you too.”
“And your dad loves you. Don’t ever forget that. No matter what, he loves you, and he never meant to hurt you.”
“We know,” Robby said.
“Okay then ...” She gave them a gentle nudge away. “It’s been an awful day and we’re all tired. I think it’s time we got some sleep.”
Fifteen minutes later, with her face scrubbed and her nightgown on, Claire lay beneath the covers of her and Tom’s bed with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She missed him. Oh God, she missed him so horribly. And she damned him for making her into this stubborn, defensive woman who had to show him she could live without him and would! He said there was nothing between him and Monica Arens anymore, but then why had Ruth seen them together? Why had his voice been so emotional when he talked to her on the phone? It hurt so badly being unable to believe him after all the years of implicit trust. And it hurt even worse imagining sexual images of him with another woman.