Here Lies Daniel Tate

Which was a blatant lie. I’d see more than one video of Danny clowning around on the boat Robert used to own. But at that moment I didn’t give a good goddamn. I took her hand and let her soothe me and speak to me in that soft voice and closed my eyes against the unexpected stinging I felt at the back of them.

“Thank you, everyone,” Jessica said after we had returned to dry land and were on our way back to the car. “That was a wonderful day.”

“It’s not over yet. We have a surprise for you,” Lex said.

“Another one?” Jessica asked.

In the parking lot there was a town car waiting.

“That’s for you,” Lex said. “You have reservations at Mélisse.”

“Oh! My favorite,” Jessica said.

“You and Danny will go to dinner,” Lex continued, “and the rest of us will meet you at home.”

Jessica’s flash of panic was palpable. “We’re not all going?”

“No,” Lex said. “This is a special trip just for you and Danny.”

“We thought it would be nice for you two to have some time alone together,” Nicholas added.

I actually saw Jessica swallow. Could see the calculations happening behind her eyes as she tried to think of a way out of this that wouldn’t make a scene. I almost felt a little sorry for her.

But then the mask was in place again, and, knowing she had no choice, she smiled. “Great.”

We all said good-bye. Lex pulled her mother into a hug, and I heard her whisper, “Be nice. He’s your son.”

Nicholas and I exchanged a look, and then Jessica and I climbed—alone—into the town car.

? ? ?

Mélisse was dark and refined, filled with the soft tinkle of crystal and silver, the kind of place where Jessica’s fa?ade was at home. As soon as we sat down, she asked for the sommelier and ordered a glass of wine.

“I’m so happy to get to spend this time with you,” I said as Jessica downed almost half of her glass at once. “I wish we were able to do more things together.”

“Mmm,” was her only response.

I resisted the urge to shake her. “When was the last time you came here?”

“Oh.” She sighed. “I’m not sure. Years ago.”

It was going to be a long evening. Ever since we’d gotten in the car, conversation had been stilted at best. No matter what I said, Jessica answered with the shortest words and sentences possible. I’d anticipated this, but what I hadn’t expected was how difficult I would find it to play the role of the loving son. For one thing, it was a role I had little experience with. And more than that, Jessica had never figured much into my thoughts about the Tate family since she was little more than a ghost that haunted the household. But now that I was in such close quarters with her, I realized how angry I was at her, for ignoring her children, maybe even hurting one of them. I just wanted to hurt her back.

“I don’t remember this place,” I said. The doting son act was exhausting and wasn’t getting through to her. Maybe needling her about this charade we were both playing would. “Did you ever bring me here?”

She was reading the menu carefully. “Once or twice, I think.”

“Well, I don’t remember,” I said. “My memories of that time are so spotty. I guess tonight will be like I’m eating here for the first time.”

She didn’t look up, but her jaw tightened. “I suppose it will.”

She finished her glass of wine before we’d even ordered. The waiter asked her if she’d like another, and she turned him down. Wanted to keep her head about her, probably, which was the last thing I wanted. When she excused herself to go to the restroom to freshen up, I flagged the guy down and told him she’d changed her mind and to keep them coming. If she was surprised to find the full glass waiting for her when she returned, she didn’t mention it.

She picked at her food and mostly managed not to talk to me outside of the occasional comment about the meal or monosyllabic answer to one of my questions. The evening was going to be over soon, and I was going to have nothing to show for it. Nicholas would not be happy, and more than anything, I needed to keep Nicholas happy.

At least she was still drinking.

“So, where do you go?” I asked after a particularly lengthy pause in the conversation. Might as well just get down to it.

“I’m sorry?”

“When you’re gone from the house,” I said. “I just realized I don’t actually know what you do when I’m at school. Where is it that you go?”

“I have commitments,” she said, pressing her fork down hard into the plate beneath it, trying to spear a salad leaf. “I’m on several boards.”

“You’re gone awfully late sometimes,” I said.

“I . . . I like to go for long drives,” she said. “It relaxes me.”

Yeah, “relaxed” was definitely the first word that came to mind when I thought of Jessica. “Where do you drive?”

She blinked a little too fast and I knew that whatever she said next would be a lie.

“The beach, mostly.”

There’s no orange dust at the beach.

I ate as slowly as I could while Jessica got drunker and drunker. I was hoping the wine would loosen her tongue, but it only made her slower and quieter. Once our entrées were finished, I insisted on ordering dessert. The waiter brought a list of cocktails along with the dessert menu. There was a notation under the tangerine soufflé that it required twenty-five minutes to bake, so I ordered that.

“And you, madam?” the waiter asked Jessica.

She hesitated.

“Go ahead,” I said. “It’s a special occasion. Mom.”

It was all the push she needed.

“I shouldn’t, but . . . ,” she said, “double bourbon, neat.”

When the waiter was gone, I leaned closer to her over the table.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t tell Lex.”

Her lips curled into a bitter smile. “Ah yes, she’d be very ashamed of me.”

“Like she has room to talk,” I said, hating myself for even saying it, but . . .

Jessica actually laughed. It was a soft and mean-spirited laugh, but it was real.

This was a tack I hadn’t tried. The common enemy strategy.

“Sometimes I think Lex wishes she could just put me in a little box,” I said, “so she could control everything I do.”

“I know the feeling.”

“If you knew how many times a day she tries to feed me,” I continued. “Like she thinks I can’t take care of myself, that I would starve if she wasn’t there force-feeding me peanut butter sandwiches.”

Jessica twisted her wine glass by the stem. “She’s always been like that, ever since she was young.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “We used to have this dog. Sweet creature but very stupid. She thought she could train it, and you should have seen her trying to—”

Jessica froze. She’d fucked up, and she knew it.

“Trying to what?” I asked.

She pushed her chair back from the table and tried to get to her feet, but she knocked a glass of ice water over with her elbow. It rolled across the table and crashed to the floor, soaking the tablecloth and carpet. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look. Our waiter rushed toward us.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica stammered as he mopped at the mess with a napkin. “I-it was an accident . . .”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said.

“It’s nothing, madam,” the waiter said.

People were still staring. Jessica swayed on her feet.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, and turned to flee the scene.

Cristin Terrill's books