As Mister waited for the light to turn green, he noticed his mother’s car parked on the street. She was attending morning mass. She’d taken up the habit when Sam died. It was as if he’d handed her some kind of torch. Grace carried it without complaint, but he knew that the ritual of morning mass was a duty for her in a way that it had never been for Sam. He smiled to himself. He pictured Grace sitting in one of the pews at the cathedral, the light shining through the stained-glass windows and falling on her, half hidden in the shadows of the morning light. He held her image for an instant, then tore himself away from his mental photograph at the sound of a car honking at him from behind. He stepped on the gas, then looked at his watch.
He’d get to the airport just in time.
When their eyes met, Mister laughed, then reached for her. It was such a natural thing to do, reach for her, hold her, smell her. They held on to each other, tight, as if they’d lost each other, then found each other again.
“You should’ve let me go with you,” he whispered.
“Believe me, you didn’t want to be there, Mister.”
They both shrugged, then took each other by the hand. “My mother will never change,” she said.
“Don’t feel so bad. Grace will never change either.”
“It’s not the same, Mister. Grace may be difficult, but she’s not crazy and she’s not a bad person. Not really. But my mom, hell she’s crazy and bad and difficult. And, Mister, she’s just plain mean.” She shook her head. “God, it’s good to be home.”
Liz pushed her empty plate away. “God, you’re a good cook.”
“Sam and Grace—they taught me.”
Liz nodded, kissed Mister on the cheek, then refilled her glass of wine. “Honey, why do you insist on fighting a civil war with your mother?”
“It’s pretty bloodless as wars go.”
“Then why don’t you stop?”
“You knew why, Liz. You know damn well why.”
“The she-doesn’t-like-my-wife reason. That reason? I’m tired of being used as an excuse for what’s wrong between you and Grace.”
Mister emptied what was left of the bottle of wine into his glass. “What are you talking about? Has she ever been nice to you?”
“As a matter of fact, she is nice to me, when we happen to run into each other. She’s always nice, and she’s decent enough to make conversation. She tries, Mister.”
“That’s because she’s not the kind of person to make a scene. She’s civil to people—so what?”
“You know, Mister, I should’ve let you come to Dad’s funeral. I should’ve let you see my mother in action. Maybe you’d get some perspective on—”
“I can’t believe this. Has she ever had us over to her house, Liz?”
“Have we ever invited her to our house, Mister?”
“She knows she’s welcome any time.”
“You’re more like Grace than you think.”
“I’m not the bad guy here, Liz.”
“What makes you so sure it’s Grace that’s the bad guy?”
“Since when are you a member of her fan club?”
“You took me back, Mister, without any questions.”
He nodded, then smirked, then kissed her. “That was my prerogative.”
“I told Grace to go fuck herself—did I ever tell you that?”
“No. But—”
“But what?”
“She was standing up for you. You, Mister. Her son. And I told her to go fuck herself. I had a few choice words for you, too, as I recall.”
“Things are different, now, Liz. And believe me, if Grace was around, we’d have problems again.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t think you believe it, either. You know what I think? I think it’s easier for you to keep Grace mostly out of your life. I think it’s easier for you to tell yourself how difficult she is.” Liz looked away from him. “You wished that she had died instead of Sam. You don’t know what to do with that, do you?”
“What?”
“I think we should try being a family, Mister.”
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“What happened when you were with your family, Liz? What happened?” He shook his head and gulped down his glass of wine.
“You always drink too fast when you get mad.”
“Do I?” He got up, picked another bottle of wine, pretended to read the label, and opened it. He poured himself a glass and stared at it. “Liz, remember when you left me?”
“Yes.”
He took his eyes off the glass of wine and looked at Liz. “She made it very clear to me what she felt about you.”
“You know something, Mister, that woman Grace didn’t like me very much. And that’s exactly how I wanted it. I wanted her to hate me. I made sure she’d hate me.”
“And now you’ve just fucking changed your mind.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Okay, let’s just all be friends again. Just snap your fingers and say, Grace, just kidding, c’mon over.”
“Stop it, Mister.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He poured down his glass of wine. “You’re right, I do drink fast when I get mad.” He stared at the empty glass. “Grace has a long memory.”
“Apparently, we do, too, Mister.”
“I don’t want to fight.”
“We’re not going to fight. Look, Mister, my family—my family is screwed up beyond repair. I mean it. It breaks my fucking heart to say it. You haven’t a clue, Mister. And that’s just it. I see that Grace is crazy about you. I can’t believe you don’t see that. It’s what scared me about her—that I could see how much she loved you. God, that scared me, Mister. Scared me to hell and back again.”
“What makes you think we can just become an instant family?”
“I didn’t say that. I just think we should try.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“Do you love me, Mister?”
“Of course I love you.”
“We’ll be bringing Vicente home with us soon. We’ll have a son. It won’t be easy. He’ll have a lot of special needs. And wouldn’t it be lovely to have Grace around him?”
“What is this fantasy you’re having, Liz?”
“Do you love Grace?”
Mister bit his lip, then turned away.
“Mister?”
“Of course I love her.”
“I think we should have her over to dinner. If you don’t call her, then I will.”