~Carter~
I fell asleep eventually then woke up trapped under Jude. I had to free myself and hit the john. Draped over me, lithe and beautiful, he was slow to wake up as I called his name. Limbs moving aimlessly, he grimaced with pain but refused to open his eyes.
His eyes opened with a soft, unfocused look like he was still dreaming. His head finally rising off my chest, he blinked at me uncomprehendingly. Who was I? What was I doing there? Why the hell was I waking him? His version of good morning was a "Fuck you" and a raised middle finger.
Sliding out from under him, I rolled off the bed and landed on my feet with a grunt. Standing naked next to the bed, I watched Jude rub his hands through his hair roughly then wince.
"Don't forget you're hurt," I told him before I went off to shower.
After I was done, for a while I stared at the steamed up mirror. I didn't know if I wanted to see what it would show me. Wiping the mirror, I returned the gloomy stare my reflection was giving me. Nothing new there.
I let my eyes roam my face—drops of water, in need of a shave. But what I was really looking for was some sign of the change Jude caused in me. There was nothing. All I could see were my own questioning eyes asking me, "Who are you?"
"Get out or I'll piss in you duffel bag," Jude threatened as his fist slammed the bathroom door.
I got out wrapped only in a towel, and Jude brushed past me. "You took all fucking day in there."
Except for a little bit of lingering in front of the mirror, I thought I was pretty fast.
While I waited for Jude to get out of the bathroom, I paced and tried to avert my eyes from the bed like a guilt-ridden criminal avoiding the scene of the crime. I couldn't avoid it for long. If I wanted to get any sleep tonight, I would have to snuggle up to Jude's scent, both our scents combined, remember the heat of him, the first guttural cry then all those others. I fucked him too hard with no thought in my head other than I want this.
He seemed Ok though, or so I thought as he came out of the bathroom. Noticing that I was staring, he stopped in the middle of the room. Swinging the towel to drape over his shoulder, he just stood there and let me look at him for a minute.
Bruises and all, he looked kind of amazing. As he went to get his boxers off the chair where I threw them, his movements across the motel room were not smooth. His injuries showed and I worried that I made them worse.
"Want breakfast?" I asked him.
"I think I could eat some scrambled eggs," he said after thinking about it.
We went to breakfast at the diner and Jude spent most of the time ignoring me in favor of texting. I tried not to be offended. He was preoccupied with his missing friend and he had to touch base with his mom too.
I had a few things on my mind as well. Once he set aside his phone, I decided that Jude might be able to help me with what I needed to do.
"You said you talked to our old maid, Mrs. Beal. Where does she live?" I asked him.
"One of those little houses on Elwood Lane. I don't remember the number, but I can show you," he volunteered.
"You should go home and get off your feet," I told him.
"I'm off my feet now," he said.
At the moment he was sitting in a booth carefully forking eggs into his mouth, but I had a feeling that any second I was going to let him come with me to Elwood Lane. I could just as easily ask the neighbors to point out her house for me, but I didn't trust Jude out there on his own. If this Rooster guy came after him again, I wanted to be right there to kick the shit out of him.
As we drove to Mrs. Beal's house, Jude eyed me suspiciously. "Is this going to be a social call?"
"What else?" I said. I was hoping I wouldn't have to get into my real reason for going.
"You look too grim for a casual visit," Jude pointed out.
"I might want to know a thing or two about what happened between my parents. I think Mrs. Beal probably understood more of it than a nine-year-old kid. And don't tell me you think I should let it go. I don't want to hear it," I warned him as I turned onto Elwood Lane.
"I'm not going to say that. This is your family. I just don't want you tying yourself into knots over it," Jude said.
On Elwood Lane, tiny houses were packed so close together with no room for anything green to grow except in flowerpots crammed here and there. Boxy air conditioning units stuck out of windows. A microwave with its door broken off had been left by the curb. As we drove down the street, Jude had an odd look on his face.
"It's down at the end of the street," he told me in a matter of fact way. Then his tone changed and became more introspective. "This neighborhood doesn't look like much, but this was our holy grail. My dad once told me that we were supposed to buy a house here, but then it all fell through when my mom got herself pregnant before she was supposed to. She got pregnant all by herself, I guess." Jude sounded bitter now. "But that wasn't a swipe only at my mom. He was saying that it was all my fault, that he wished I had never been born."
"Even if he didn't want you, your mom did," I told him. I had witnessed for myself how caring she was. "Remember that you're her son first. She would have been all alone without you." Having met her, I was thinking that Jude was a lot like her. He had inherited some of her fragility and apparently none of his father's meanness. A little of that wouldn't have hurt him. Jude just needed a pinch or two, so he had the will to strike back when he was hurt, not to be so eager to lie down on the tracks when he saw a train barreling down on him.
"It's that one," Jude said and pointed at a house up ahead on the left.
I immediately noticed how the yellow house with its red door stood out among the other, drab houses on this street. "You could have just told me to look for a yellow house with the red door."
"Where is the fun in that?" Jude asked me.
"You're unbelievable," I told him, but who was I to talk. I always seemed to have an excuse to keep me next to Jude, a reason to study him, to remember the heat and smoothness of his skin, the tension in his muscles, and let his moans ring in my ears over and over again.
I forced myself to stop thinking about him as I got out of the car. Jude was going to wait for me out here. As I went up the front steps of Mrs. Beal's tiny, yellow house, I wondered if I would find her home. Either way, I might be wasting my time coming here.
I raised my hand to knock, but the door opened right under my hand.
"As I live and breathe, it is you. You're little Carter, aren't you?" Mrs. Beal said.
I was surprised that she recognized me. I confirmed to her who I was, and she shook her head like she still couldn't believe her eyes.
"I saw you step out of that car, and I couldn't wait to get a closer look at you. You've really grown." Noticing Jude sitting in my car, she asked, "Does your friend want to come in?"
"He's fine out there," I told her as she showed me inside. I was afraid that I would be too inhibited if Jude's eyes were on me during this visit, and I wanted Mrs. Beal to be able to speak freely too.
Mrs. Beal looked more grandmotherly than I remembered. I had the urge to give her a hug, then she beat me to it. The hug was brief but warm, and she looked a little teary eyed.
"It's so good to see your handsome face. You grew up nicely, young man," she said and visibly got herself under control with a small show of formality. I remember how she used to do that if anything upset her.
"I heard about your father. How is he doing?" she asked while I tried to get my bearings, always stuck between the past and the present.
"Not well," I said, not trusting myself to talk about him.
"I heard about your mother's passing," she said and bowed her head solemnly. "I was so sorry. I can't even tell you how sorry I was."
Hearing the sincere sorrow in her voice, I only nodded. That wasn't something I could talk about and keep my cool. I moved on to another subject. "How long did you work for my father after my mom and I left?"
"I didn't last long, I'm afraid. All the joy left that house once you and your mother were gone. And it made me so sad to go into work and just wait and hope that he would go and get you, bring you home."
Not able to breathe for a minute, I turned away from her and stared out the front window. That's exactly what I had been dreaming about in those days and for a long time after. Dad would show up, make everything better, take us in his arms and take us home. It never happened, but to hear her echo those same hopes... I blinked back tears and turned back with a forced smile. "Sorry," I told her.
"No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be going on and on like that," she said seeing that I was upset.
"So you stopped working for him," I said to keep the conversation going while I got a hold of myself.
"I did. After I had to quit, your father had help off and on, not like he used to. You must have seen how he let that place go. I would have never thought him capable of it. But I hear he has a nice woman and her son to help him now."
"You heard about them?" I was a little surprised.
"My friends who work in the other houses over there tell me bits and pieces. Everything they've said about the new people working for your father has been good. I hope you approve of them," she said solemnly.
"It's not up to me to approve," I said. I could hardly get into telling her exactly what I thought of Jude. "Actually I came here to find out more about what happened to make my mom leave. I overheard things, but I'd like you to tell me what you know about it."
Growing up, I started to hear whispers and insinuations I didn't understand. My mother heard much worse, and from her own husband no less. The whole time she protected me from it until she couldn't, until my father said it right to my face.
Mrs. Beal obviously didn't want to throw it in my face. She shook her head like she was getting ready to refuse me, but I needed to know the truth.
"Please. With my mom gone and my father sick, there's no one I can talk to. I need to know why this happened."
She sighed then motioned toward the couch so we could sit down. "It was that terrible man, Rick Conway. It was his doing. I just wish your father could have seen through his schemes."
I had no idea who this Rick Conway was. "Who was he? What did he do?"
"He went to college with your mother, just another one of those spoiled rich boys who think the world is theirs for the taking. You remember how your mother had a scholarship. Because she wasn't rich, Rick Conway thought she should just fall at his feet. She spurned him. Later on she married your father, though he was quite a bit older. Mr. Conway wasn't around for a good long while after that, and your parents were happy. When Mr. Conway came back to Lindsberg, he started spreading vile stories about your mother. The worst of it was that he claimed your father wasn't, well, your father. Or maybe the worst of it was that your father took it to heart. He should have known better. Your mother was a good woman."
"Why did this Rick Conway do this? Was it just jealousy?"
"I couldn't say for certain. His family and your father were rivals in business. On top of that, your mother had rejected him and chosen your father. It hardly seemed like a good enough reason, but I can't account for how some people think. It shocks me to this day how things turned out. It really is a tragedy," she said then looked over at me. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. There I go again. Don't mind me."
"It's Ok. Thank you for telling me," I told her.
"Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed and her hand went to her chest.
"Are you alright?"
"I almost forgot. I would never forgive myself," she said.
"What is it?" I asked thinking she was going to tell me more, but she stood up and excused herself. I heard drawers banging open then shut and things being shifter while she exclaimed. A few minutes later, she came back a little out of breath and clutching a photo.
"I found this one day while I was cleaning. By then, your father had gotten rid of all the pictures of you and your mother. I don't know what he did with them. They were just gone. I didn't dare give this one to your father. I didn't know what he might do with it. I had no right to, but I kept it." She handed it over reverently, knowing she was giving me back a piece of my past.
Though I took it, I didn't look at it right away. Once again I didn't trust myself to deal with my past and stay in control of myself in front of Mrs. Beal. The old lady herself was a piece of my past, so kind and familiar.
Getting ready to finish things before I lost it, I asked her about Conway and where I might find him.
"Why would you want to see that awful man?" she asked.
"I just have to," I said simply.
"I wish you wouldn't. But if you must know, he's just down the street from your house. He's on Fowler Street number 557. But I really do wish you wouldn't go there," she said to me gravely.
I thanked her but I didn't take her advice. She wished me the best and I left.
I was sitting in my car next to Jude when I finally looked at the photo Mrs. Beal had saved for me. The picture was taken in the golden, afternoon sunshine. It was the three of us—me, my mother and my father. Our shadows stretched out behind us while the sun shone on our faces. At five, my expression showed no trace of what was to come. I was looking forward to the 4th of July picnic and the fireworks show being held at the country club. My father looked handsome in a light suit, my mother heartbreakingly pretty, young and happy. My five-year-old self wore an excited smile and clutched my mother's and my father's hands tightly, raring to go.
While I was staring at the photo, Jude had glanced over but he didn't try to look. Done with it, I handed the picture to him.
"Wow, your mom was a beauty," Jude said.
He was seeing her at her best. She was wearing a pretty, white dress with light blue, silk ribbon woven through at the hem. Her dark blond hair was long and flowing, glowing in the sun. She was beautiful, painfully so.
I could still hear my father's deep voice as he called her his gray-eyed beauty. On her, those gray eyes were beautiful. On my face they just seemed empty. But then her eyes had emptied out toward the end too. By the time I lost her, I could find hardly any trace of the woman I saw in this picture. The spirit and the smile were gone, and some of her beauty too.
This photo was my mother as she had been, but what happened to the others? What did my father do with all the other pictures of us? Did he burn them?
Whatever he did, it was clear that he wanted to erase us. No wonder I used to have those dreams where my father passed me on the street but couldn't see me or hear me no matter how loudly I called out, "Dad, Dad, Dad, it's me. It's your son, Carter. Why can't you see me?"
As I turned the car on and put it in gear, Jude still stared at the picture, like he was trying to unravel old secrets from just that one meaningless image.
"So what do you see in there?" I asked him as I drove up Elwood Lane.
"Your dad looks good here, but he's already middle-aged and your mom is so young. An older guy with money marrying a beautiful, much younger woman—it might be an ego boost or it might bring up all sorts of insecurities. Maybe he had self-esteem issues when it came to competing with younger men," Jude theorized.
"You sure are working hard to come up with excuses for that man, and there he was sitting right in front of me after all this time and he couldn't..." My chest felt too tight and I couldn't say any more. I was thinking about that one word that I wanted to hear—son.
There were times I ached for that one word so much. I felt like I would kill to hear him call me son just once. Without that word leaving my father's mouth, I was an orphan.