“And you forgave him?”
“The first time, yes. I did completely. The second time, I went through the motions, but never felt the same about him. I never really trusted him again. I always had a sick feeling in my stomach as I searched for lipstick on his collar or looked for phone numbers in his wallet. I felt cheapened because of it. Because of him . . . I think I always knew he would do it again . . .” Her voice trails off, a faraway look in her eye.
I feel the urge to reach out and hug her, but instead ask another hard question. “Do you think it’s made you . . . distrust all men?”
“Maybe,” she says, glancing nervously toward the stairs as if worried that Nick or Dex will catch her bad-mouthing their gender. She drops her voice to a whisper. “And maybe that’s also why I was so upset with your brother . . . when he broke his first engagement.”
It is another first, as I had no idea my mother suspected any infidelity—or that she was ever upset with Dex about anything. “At least he wasn’t married,” I say.
“Right. That’s what I told myself. And I couldn’t stand that Darcy,” she says, referring to Dex’s old girlfriend. “So the result was good.”
I start to say something else, but then stop myself.
“Go ahead,” my mother says.
I hesitate again and then say, “Do you trust Nick?”
“Do you trust Nick?” she shoots back. “That is the more important question.”
“I do, Mom,” I say, putting my fist over my heart. “I know he’s not perfect.”
“Nobody is,” she says, the way gospel preachers say amen.
“And I know our marriage isn’t perfect,” I say, thinking of our rocky start last night.
“No marriage is,” she says, shaking her head.
Amen.
“But he would never cheat on me.”
My mother gives me a look, one that I would ordinarily construe as overbearing, but in the gauzy, golden light of dawn, I take only as maternal concern.
She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. “Nick’s a good man,” she says. “He really is ... But the one thing I’ve learned in life is that you can never say never.”
I wait for her to say more as I hear Frank call my name from the top of the stairs, breaking our intimate spell.
“And in the end,” she says, ignoring her grandson’s escalating calls, sitting so peacefully that it is as if she doesn’t hear him, “all you really have is yourself.”
10
Valerie
Just after dark on Saturday, Jason shows up at the hospital with microwave popcorn, two boxes of Jujubes, and several PG-rated movies.
“I love Jujubes!” Valerie says, a preemptive strike against what her brother has been threatening for days.
Jason shakes his head and says, “It’s boys’ night.”
Valerie grips the arms of her rocker, reminded of the frantic way she used to feel playing musical chairs. “You always say I’m one of the boys,” she says.
“Not tonight. Charlie and I are having a sleepover. No girls allowed. Right, Charlie?”
“Right,” Charlie says, grinning at his uncle as they touch fists, a left-handed, knuckle-bump handshake.
Valerie, who was stir-crazy just moments before, wondering what she and Charlie would do all evening, now feels a rising panic at the prospect of their separating. She has left the hospital for a few hours here and there, to pick up takeout or run a quick errand. One afternoon, she even returned home to do a few loads of laundry and sort through her mail. But she has not yet left Charlie at night, and certainly not overnight. He might be ready; she is not.
“Go ahead. Eat your candy and watch your movies,” she says as casually as she can so as not to give away her panic and further entrench Jason’s position. She glances at her watch and mumbles that she’ll be back in a couple of hours.
“Nope,” Jason says. “You’ll be back tomorrow. Now go.”
Valerie gives her brother a blank stare, prompting him to literally push her off the chair. “Skedaddle. Scoot. Begone, woman.”
“Okay, okay,” Valerie finally says, slowly gathering her purse and BlackBerry, charging in the corner of the room. She knows her feelings are not rational—that she should be relieved to have a good night’s sleep in her own bed and a little privacy. More important, she knows Charlie’s in good hands with Jason. He is safe and stable, and for the most part, perfectly comfortable—at least until his surgery on Monday. But there it is anyway—a feeling of deep reluctance in her gut. She takes a breath and slowly exhales, wishing she had a Xanax left in her prescription, something to smooth out her ragged, worried edges.
“C’mon, now,” Jason whispers to her as he helps her with her coat. “Call a friend. Go get a few drinks. Have a little fun.”