Twenty-One

My mother glared at me, asked, “Did you invite somebody here?”

I pictured the piles and piles of papers, the lifeless dolls, the dark, cavelike living room. Disgust flashed across my face as I said, “No!”

“You don’t need to be nasty about it.”

My mother pulled herself to her feet. She opened the bedroom door and stepped into the goat path on the other side. I turned off the TV and the lights and followed her into the path. I locked the door. If I didn’t keep the door locked, my room would be flooded with crap inside of a week.

The doorbell rang again. My mother padded to the front door and said, “Yes?”

A male voice said, “Mrs. Tucker, my name is Lieutenant Lee. I’m with the Boston Police Department. May I have a word with you?”

I said, “Lieutenant Lee?”

My mother said, “Do you know him?”

I tried to answer, but my mind locked as I realized that the story of John Tucker was about to crash down upon me. My mother was going to kill me. I should have been the one to tell her about my father’s affair, but I hadn’t had the guts. Now she would hear it from a stranger. My mind darted and jumped, gnawing at the bars of this problem like a caged rat thrown into a river. The water rose and my inevitable fate became clear.

Lee called through the door, “Mrs. Tucker. May we speak?”

My mother opened the door a crack and said, “What do you want?”

I could hear Lee through the crack. “May I come in?”

“No,” said my mother.

“No?” Lee had pushed his badge up against the opening in the doorway. Now he was peeking around it. I doubted he could see
the dark room. He said, “This is police business.”

I said, “You heard the lady. No.”

Lee said, “Tucker, are you in there?”

My mother looked at me and said, “I thought you didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t invite him.”

“This is ridiculous.” My mother squeezed out through the door into the front yard. Lee backed up to make room. I followed.

We moved into the front yard. The sun was gone. Gloomy light spilled over us from a purple sky. The lawn sloped away, ending at a street without a sidewalk, a sure sign of being in the deepest, darkest suburbs. We followed Lee to the edge of the grass, stood next to his car, and formed an isosceles triangle, my mother and I standing next to each other at the base facing Lee at the apex.

Don’t do it, Lee. Please don’t do it.

Lee said, “I’m investigating the murder of John Tucker.”

My mother said, “You mean the one from the news? What does he have to do with me?”

Here it comes.

Lee looked at me. He said, “You haven’t told her?”

I said, “No.”

“When you said you needed to visit her, I thought you were going to tell her.”

My mother said, “Aloysius, what is he talking about?”

I hate my first name for many reasons. For one, it’s dorky. For another, it’s impossible to spell. But the biggest reason is that whenever my parents used it, I knew that things were about to go very badly for me.

I crossed my arms, said nothing. I wasn’t taking the fall for this.

Lee plunged in. “Mrs. Tucker, your husband was the father of another child.”

My mother gasped.

Lee continued, “The child’s name was John Tucker, apparently named after him. The mother’s name was Cathy Byrd. She had lived with the child in Pittsfield and was mu—”

“The babysitter?” my mother interrupted.

Here it comes.

“Yes, ah, apparently.”

“That bastard was sleeping with the babysitter?” My mother’s voice rose. I was very sorry that we were standing in the street.

“Yes. She lived in a house in Pittsfield and—”

My mother turned to me. “And you. Did you know about this?”

I raised my hands, “No, Ma, I didn’t. I swear. Not until today.”

“You knew about this today?”

I could see no way out. My cage was underwater.

“Yes, but—”

“And you didn’t think to tell me when you came into my house? You let me stand out here in the street like a fool and hear about it from this man?”

I was silent. There was nothing to do but wait for this storm to pass.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? What are you? Retarded? Did my retarded boy think that I wouldn’t find out about his son of a bitch of a father?”

I said, “I’m not retarded.”

Lee interjected, “Mrs. Tucker, I’m sorry you had to learn about your husband this way.”

My mother turned on him and said, “Where is she?”

“Ma’am?”

“Where is the little whore?”

Cathy Byrd is a whore. Sal had said that.

“She’s dead.”

“Dead? How could she be dead? She must only be in her fifties.”

Lee said, “She was murdered this morning. That’s why I’ve come to talk to you.”

“Murdered?” My mother turned to me. “Did you have something to do with this?”

I said, “No, Ma, I—”

Lee said, “Tucker was a witness this morning.”

My mother slapped me, her hand flashing out of nowhere and catching me across the cheek. Her fingers burned across my skin, leaving red trails of maternal hatred.

My mother screeched, “Does the whole world know about this? Do they all know that your father made a fool of me? How long have you known?” The screeching went up an octave as my mother lost control. “How long?”

“I just said—”

Lieutenant Lee said, “Mrs. Tucker, if we could just step inside.”

My mother turned on him and switched to deadly politeness. “I want to thank you, officer, for bringing this to my attention.”

Lee said, “Yes, but I need—”

My mother turned to me. I was cradling my face. She said, “Go home. Go back into your little hole.”

Lee said, “Just a few more—”

My mother said, “Goodbye, Lieutenant Lee.” She turned and stalked up the lawn into her dark house, leaving Lieutenant Lee and me in the street. The suburban night was silent, though I could see curtains rustling in the front windows of the other Campanelli ranches. We had created quite a spectacle.

The crazy we grow up with is like a pair of dirty underwear that lies unnoticed in the bathroom until we realize that a guest has seen them. Then we see our shabby world through their eyes, and feel the shame that we probably should have felt all along. My humiliated blush hid my mother’s red fingermarks on my cheek.

Lee walked me to my car and stood over me as I levered myself into the Volvo. I looked up at him and said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Lee said, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Not from where I sit.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I closed the door, started the engine, and rolled down the window. “Why did you come here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. I must be missing something.”

“I came to see if your mother has an alibi.”