Chapter 15
Strawberry Fields Forever
After the incident with the bees, things change between Mark and Mom.
The two of them are always aware of where the other is in a room. Closing in, then pulling away.
I hear how the tone of Mom’s voice changes when she speaks to Mark. With Vincent, her old friend, Mom’s voice is bright and confident. With Mark, her tone is still friendly, but more playful by a notch. I would say there is a more suggestive quality to it. She is very interested in his replies. And she is starting to smile at him—with her mouth, and her eyes, and in the way she slightly tips her head.
It makes me realize that it has been a while since I’ve seen her smile.
She has been so weary. I almost forgot what her smile looked like.
Mark must hear the change in her voice too. He stops whatever he is doing to listen when she talks. He turns his body toward her when he answers her questions, squaring his shoulders and standing still.
Mark has also started to bring over food every time he is here. He brings things that everyone likes to eat: scones, muffins, or a loaf of bread.
One day, there is a knock on the front door in the middle of the afternoon. Victoria goes to answer the door, and Mark is standing there.
“Hey,” Victoria says. “Are you working here this afternoon? I don’t think we were expecting you.”
“No,” Mark says, “Is your mom home?” He squints, as the sun is in his eyes.
“No.”
Victoria shifts her weight from foot to foot. She’s wearing fuzzy purple socks. I look from one to the other. It seems to be one of those unusual moments when Mark is at a loss for words.
Mark finally nods. “I just had an extra cake I made at the restaurant this morning, and I didn’t know what to do with it. It’s carrot cake.” He hands Victoria a white bag, which she takes.
“Okay.” Victoria holds the bag with one hand a little bit away from her body. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Give it to your mom,” Mark finally says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “Maybe it will cheer her up.”
“Cheer her up?” Victoria looks confused.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ve gotta go.” He heads back down the path toward his truck. Victoria and I watch him for a moment before she shuts the door.
It reminds me of when I hunt down a mouse and deposit it on the doorstep. It is instinctive to me, to take care of my loved ones by awarding them my spoils, sharing my bounty. It is a possessive gesture and a protective one.
So I see how Mark’s behavior reflects how he feels about Mom. He often comes into the kitchen to check on her, stalking back and forth to make sure he knows exactly where she is. It reminds me of the way Gretel paces around Dad when she is keeping an eye on him.
It’s almost as if . . .
Well, I’ll have to see how it plays out.
* * *
Vincent starts bringing his own dog with him sometimes when he comes over to work, to “get him some fresh air.” I don’t know why Vincent thinks the air in our damp old cottage is any fresher than the air at his own home.
Vincent’s dog is squat, with a smashed in face that I think looks very smug. His fur is black, and his round eyes are too. His name is George. George is a wobbly thing who walks around with his nose in the air.
I think he’s a bit ridiculous. I’m not sure Gretel knows what to make of him. When Gretel sniffs him all over, her long nose prodding his belly, George just stands there with a superior look on his face.
But Vincent loves George, so he can’t be all bad. Mark seems fond of George too. When George can’t climb up on the couch because his legs are too short, Mark lifts his heavy body up and plops him down on a cushion.
The men are funny together when they are both here. Even though Vincent is the one who has known Mom for years, he and Mark both tease Mom in equal measure. She especially likes to complain about them tracking in sawdust on their work boots and jeans.
“It just clings to us, Kate,” Vincent says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “What can we do about it? I’m sorry. We’ll vacuum when we’re done. We promise.”
“Maybe she expects us to strip off our boots and pants and leave them in the garage every time we come in here,” Mark suggests, as he carries in a piece of wood, which he has hoisted up on his shoulder.
“Me, building in my underwear. Oh, sure.” Vincent laughs heartily. “That’s the last thing anyone wants to see. Trust me.” It’s nice to hear Vincent laugh, after seeing him so upset about his wife. I can see why he likes working with Mark. Mark entertains him.
Mom smiles at both of them. But her gaze gravitates toward Mark.
Vincent heads back out to the garage and Mark starts to follow, but then stops to linger in the doorway. He places his hands on either side of the doorframe, leaning in toward Mom. He fills the space so that Mom and I can’t help but stare at him. “Katie, do you think Vincent wears boxers or briefs?”
This is another thing Mark has started doing: calling Mom “Katie.”
I don’t get it. Katie is not her name. No one calls her that.
She rolls her eyes and sighs loudly for his benefit, her arms wrapped around herself. “Honestly, I don’t want to know.”
Mark says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. I think he has other things he could say, perhaps a joke he could tell, but he is being careful. He keeps his mouth shut.
Vincent appears back in the kitchen, holding his hammer. “What are you doing? I thought you were right behind me.”
“I was,” Mark says. “But then I stopped to ask Katie if she thinks you wear boxers or briefs. I’m going to guess you probably wear boxer shorts with little black pug dogs on them. You know, that look like George.”
George looks up, tongue hanging out stupidly, when he hears his name.
“Little pug dogs on them?” Vincent laughs again. “Uh, yeah, I love pugs. But on my boxer shorts? I guess that would be cute. I suppose.” His face has turned pink, and he adjusts his glasses.
It’s clear to me why Vincent hired Mark. What Mark lacks in carpentry skills, he makes up for in amusing chatter. For Vincent, Mark brings a lightness to work at a time when everything is serious and awful at home.
There are other days when Mark comes over by himself, and on these days Mom does not limit herself to the kitchen. She goes right into the living room and curls up with a cookbook on the couch. I can see that she likes to look at Mark, and watch him work. Although, frankly, he never seems to get much work done.
The two of them chat, about everything and nothing. Mark plays music while he works, something Mom never does, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
One day, something out of the ordinary happens. It starts as Mark stands by the window. He seems to have made some progress on the bookshelves at this point, but I am not sure exactly how much, because I don’t know what the plans look like. Mark stops what he’s doing to listen. Music is playing softly from speakers that I cannot locate. “I love this song,” he says. The music almost seems to come out of nowhere. “Living is easy with eyes closed.”
Mom turns her head. “What?”
“It’s the Beatles. You a fan? ‘Strawberry Fields Forever.’ ”
“Oh.” Mom seems disconcerted. I’m not sure she knows much about music. “Is this one of their psychedelic songs? One you’re supposed to listen to while you’re taking drugs?”
Mark smirks. “I guess we could, if you want,” he jokes, but when he sees the serious look on her face, he stops smiling. “Maybe you’re thinking of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.’ ”
She looks Mark over. “Are you one of those people who wishes he lived in the 1960s? You know, a hippie at heart?”
He snorts. “No. I’m happy to live now. With modern appliances and civil rights and all that. I have no interest in going back in time.” The tempo of the song seems to change, and Mark tips his head. “This is a classic.” He nods his head, as if his mind is made up about something. “Hey, do you dance? Felicia had this idea we’d learn to ballroom dance for our wedding.”
Before she can object, Mark has stepped up to Mom, and reaches toward her. She lets him pull her up to a standing position, right in front of him. He holds one of her hands in his, and tucks his other hand around to rest on the small of her back.
Well! This is new.
“I can’t—” She tries to move her feet with him. “Mark, I don’t know—”
“Sure, it’s easy.” He doesn’t stop smiling at her. Again, I note his perfect posture. Hips forward, shoulders straight, head up. So different from Charlie and Kevin, who stumble and slouch through the day.
“Why do I get the feeling you’d rather do anything else than build my bookshelf?” Mom says with a sigh.
“On the contrary.” He turns her with an easy move. “I love this project. Getting my hands dirty and all that.”
“You do?”
He stops moving for a moment, but doesn’t take his hand off her back. “Sure. First, I nearly cut my fingers off with the saw. And then I almost went into anaphylactic shock from the bee attack. It’s been awesome. Plus, Vincent is teaching me a lot. I can’t wait to see how we frame out the windows. I’ll probably lose an eye at some point. But it’ll be worth it.”
Mom smiles, at first tentatively, but then completely.
I suppose it is their eye contact that interests me the most. Mom often glares at Dad when she talks to him, but he averts his eyes. As if he is trying to make himself invisible. Or as if the sound of Mom’s voice is painful to him. I think everything about their relationship affects Dad deeply, and sometimes it hurts. It hurts more than he can bear.
But when Mom and Mark are together, neither one looks away. She smiles, and then tries to quiet her face, but ends up smiling again even wider. I think it must be nice for Mom to have someone look and listen so attentively.
I watch them from under the kitchen table, but now turn to make my escape. Music hurts my ears sometimes, and people moving unpredictably spooks me.
Kevin is just entering the kitchen, and I almost bump into his feet. I was so distracted by the music that I didn’t hear him coming.
Through the half-closed glass door, Kevin sees Mark showing Mom how to dance in the study. He freezes in shock, as if he’s just seen a raccoon in the house. So many emotions cross his face at the same time it’s impossible for me to guess what he’s thinking.
His hand goes to his stomach, and he turns to leave the kitchen as fast as he can. I follow him.
He pads up the stairs, and ends up in the bathroom. At first, I’m not sure what he’s doing when he falls to his knees on the cold tile floor. But then he starts retching into the toilet.
It sounds terrible. I wince, but I don’t leave. I sit and watch. I’m worried about him.
I think all of the changes around here have caught up to Kevin. They are making him physically sick. He heaves again and again, and my whiskers twitch with the awful sound of it.
When he’s done, Kevin stands by the sink. He splashes water on his face and peers into the looking glass. His eyes are red and his face is pale.
I’m not sure what he sees there that upsets him, but Kevin goes into his bedroom and ends up facedown on his bed, weeping quietly. It reminds me so much of the time Dad cried that my little heart melts.
He is usually such a good, strong boy. It’s hard for me to see him like this. I settle down at his side and give him the most comforting purr I can muster.
I wish I had a way to tell Kevin that I think Mark is okay. Mark is making Mom happy even though he is not very skilled at building. But this may not be what Kevin wants to hear. I realize that Kevin wants things to stay the same. He wants Mark to leave and Dad to come back.
But the fact is, in life, this is one thing we can all count on: Things will not stay the same. No matter how much we might want them to. I settle in with my back up against Kevin’s side until he tires himself out and falls asleep.
I agree with Kevin on one thing: Mark being here is forcing another change upon us. And I don’t know yet if it will be a development that works in Charlie’s favor.
I soon discover that Mark might be of more help than I realized.