Something was off. It wasn’t just the pizza. It wasn’t just that he was home early. He wasn’t himself. Had he gotten fired? Had he gotten stopped for drunk driving? The worst thing was that neither of those things would have surprised me.
Claire started to tell him about her friend in Toronto who’d just won a major environmental award for a rooftop garden she’d designed, but he wasn’t really listening to her either.
All of a sudden, and with a great war cry, Dad grabbed Corbin and flipped him, pinning him to the floor.
“Gotcha!”
Corbin’s expression went from shock to glee, until he was squealing with laughter and pummeling Dad with his cast.
They were still wrestling when Owen appeared at the door, with Mr. Heidelman behind him.
“Billy, we have a guest,” Claire said. “Meet our new neighbor. Mr. Heidelman.”
Dad shoved Corbin off him and leapt up.
“Hi!” He thrust out a hand. “Billy Glover.”
“He was in the Railway Kings,” Claire said. “Remember them? ‘O’Ryan’s Train.’?”
“Not my genre, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t blame you, Mr. Heidelman,” Dad said, tossing Claire a withering look.
“Oscar, please.” His eyes drifted to the art on the walls. “Patrons of the arts, I see. As am I.”
“We try.” Dad ushered Mr. Heidelman in to show him the enormous painting of the horse and ogre that hung in the stairwell. It was hideous and awful, and at first glance it looked hundreds of years old, done in dark oils and grim colors, with highlights placed exactly where they should be. It looked like the horse was just about to rear up and gallop right out of the canvas, except that it had one rotten leg, red and oozing and chewed to the bone. The ogre was large and scowling, dressed in a business suit, its eyes glistening. I hated that painting.
“This one is by a good friend of mine,” Dad said. “It was a wedding gift. We do lots of trades. Barters. That sort of thing.”
“Billy is an artist too.” Claire pointed out the painting hung over the dinner table. “That’s one of his.” It was my favorite: an alpine meadow, with me and Dad asleep on a patchwork quilt in the corner. Dad was curled around me, his arm curved protectively above my head. I was about two years old, with chubby legs and rosy cheeks. My parents were already living apart by then.
He was doing it again.
Drinking.
Not coming home.
And now he was acting high.
It was only a matter of time, even though Claire had said he would never go back. She’d said he would not be a statistic. She’d said she believed in him. As if that was all it took, when the fact was that over 50—and up to 90!—percent of addicts relapsed. The numbers didn’t lie.
He was pushing Claire away, just like he had done before. Just like he’d done with my mom, using the woman at the coffee shop to ruin it permanently.
Maybe he was hardwired to fuck up his family. His families. Every time a new baby—or two—came along, he fell apart. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a part of a family at all. My heart constricted at the idea. He couldn’t do this to us. He wouldn’t.
“It’s a very good painting.” Mr. Heidelman peered at it, hands locked behind his back. “Beautiful detail. Skillful brushstrokes.” He glanced at the date in the corner. “Fourteen years ago. Your new work must be very, very good.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
“He’s being modest,” Claire said. “If he was willing to sign with a gallery, he’d be very successful.”
“No galleries.” My dad shook his head. “I like doing my own thing.” He sniffed. “So, can I help get you settled at all? Need anything? Pictures hung? Furniture arranged?”
“No, but thank you.” Mr. Heidelman laughed. “I am very tired. I am going to make a cup of tea and then take myself straight to bed. Everything else can wait.”
—
Once Mr. Heidelman was gone, Claire ordered the pizza. While we waited, Corbin and Owen staged a battle between the kings, but Corbin wasn’t really into it. He kept glancing up at Dad. Corbin let King Percival win too soon, and then he got up and took a running leap at Dad, tackling him. Dad rolled onto the floor and they started wrestling again. At first Corbin was laughing, but then he was yelping in pain.
“Ouch, Daddy!” He scuttled away.
“Aw, it wasn’t that hard.” Dad yanked him back by his good arm, and his cast clunked against the table leg. He was being too harsh. Too rough. Even for Corbin.
“It was so.” He pulled away again, back up to Claire, who folded her arms around him.
“Are you okay, baby?”
Breathless and sweaty, Corbin nodded.
Owen and I sat on the couch. All of us stared at Dad.
“Billy?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I hope so.”
“Lighten up, people.” Dad rolled his eyes. “Come on, Corbin. I’ll go easy on you.”
“Mom?” Corbin said quietly.
“He’s had enough.” Claire pressed her head to Owen’s, her eyes on Dad.
“Corbin can speak for himself,” Dad said.
But Corbin didn’t say anything.
“We were just playing.” Dad sat back on his knees. He was panting too. His cheeks were red. He pushed his hair off his forehead. “What?” He met Claire’s gaze and held it.
“That was too rough,” Claire said.
“We’re talking about Corbin, here, right? I had the right twin. It’s not that hard to tell them apart.”
Owen made a little noise. I put my arm across his shoulder.
“That was uncalled for, Billy.”
Owen trembled for a moment, trying not to cry, but then he couldn’t help it and he started to sob. I hugged him while Claire glared at Dad.
“So I’m the bad guy. Okay. Sure.” Instead of apologizing, Dad jumped up and headed for the door. “I can be the bad guy.” He spun his keys on a finger, and they flew right off, hitting the wall. “Someone has to. And it’s never going to be you, Claire. Right? You’re the good one. The perfect parent.” He picked up his keys, smashed a baseball cap onto his head, and opened the door, where the pizza delivery guy was just about to knock. “Great. Pizza’s here!” He took the two boxes and threw some money at the man, and then he tossed the boxes behind him like Frisbees. One of the boxes opened, and a pizza slid onto the living-room carpet. He slammed out the door, leaving the four of us staring at the mess.
The marriage between Claire and Billy Glover died today under suspicious circumstances. Not much is known at this time, but resuscitation is unlikely. The marriage leaves behind a confused wife, three bewildered children, and a fourth blessedly oblivious one on the way. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that Billy get himself some goddamn help.