15

Tequila

Many weeks after the big holiday, when the pine tree has started to lose needles and Father has finally dragged it outside, Sean arrives one night looking a little more dressed up than usual. His flat cap sits at an extra-jaunty angle. He has on a new pair of boots. Mary and Jimmy let him in.

“Where are you guys going?” Mary asks, her arms folded. My siblings seem very curious about what is going on. They have already had supper, and it has been dark out for a few hours.

Sean says they are going to “Captain Dan’s.” I take it this must be the home of an important person in town, because Jimmy seems impressed.

“They serve fifty kinds of tequila,” Sean says. “Let’s be frank, kids. I’m taking your pops out to get him blasted. Because I think he needs it.”

Mary looks skeptical, cocking an eyebrow. She tells Sean not to get Father sick.

“And after that,” Sean continues, pointing at the two of them, “I’m taking him out to get a tattoo.”

Jimmy’s head jerks back and Mary blanches.

“I’m just kidding,” Sean insists. “Jeeeeeez.”

Jimmy challenges Sean, asking if he can really afford tequila.

“Nah, not really. But I’d do anything for your pops. We’re all going.”

Mary is suspicious. She asks, “Who’s we? Who is going?”

Sean ignores her. “Captain Dan’s is an institution,” Sean says. “All a yiz will go there one day. Even Finn. He’ll be popular with the ladies. You see that blond hair coming in on his little head? He’ll be a looka like your pops.”

I listen very carefully, now that they are discussing Finn. I want to know what is wrong with that baby.

Jimmy puts his hands on his hips. He asks Sean if what he’s implying is that Finn is good-looking and he is not. “What am I, Sasquatch?”

“You already got a lady, Jimmy. You’re off the market.” Sean shakes his hands in front of him, as if to say, Isn’t that obvious?

Jimmy rolls his eyes. He tells Sean he made a “good save.” But, he persists, “In this hypothetical situation, where Finn is twenty-one years old and out at the tequila bar, don’t you think Finn is going to have some, shall we say, communication problems when he talks to the ladies?”

Sean shakes his head. “That’s what I’m saying. He’ll be like your dad. You don’t think your pops has some serious communication problems of his own?” He laughs. “But he did okay, landing your mom. It was just a matter of flashing those blue eyes.” Sean opens his eyes wide and winks dramatically, to demonstrate.

Mary smacks Sean on the arm. She tells Sean, “It’s not a joke. Finn’s problems aren’t a joke.”

Sean shakes his head. “Mare, I ain’t making a joke. That boy’s going to be beating the ladies away with a hockey stick. You wait and see.”

Father comes downstairs in a hurry and grabs his coat. It looks as if he wants to rush past the kids without having to answer too many questions. He sticks his feet in his boots and doesn’t bother to stop and tie the laces. “Don’t wait up,” he says, giving Mary a kiss on the cheek. “If Finn needs anything, call me.”

When they are gone, Mary immediately takes out her little phone and starts punching it with her thumbs. She is very important, and her friends need her advice on many things. She flops down on the living room couch. Mary twists her hair and piles it on top of her head in a bun, securing it there with two pencils, while waiting for her phone to jingle with new messages.

Jimmy sits next to her, watching a movie on the TV. He holds Finn in his arms.

My siblings seem a little apprehensive, glancing at each other once in a while. I think they trust Sean, so I’m not sure what the problem is.

Finn is subdued, chewing absentmindedly on a toy and drooling. Once in a while, Jimmy turns Finn around so he can make exaggerated faces at him, and Finn smiles. But when Mary says something, or Jimmy points at the TV, Finn has no interest and pays no attention.

Now that the baby is older, I think any day now I am going to figure out exactly what is wrong with him.

Jimmy makes some really funny faces at that baby.

Eventually it gets very late. Through the window I see the full moon slowly rising in the sky. My siblings go upstairs, and I follow them.

I am lying on Mother’s bed when I hear a truck engine. I decide to go downstairs to check on Father. I love to feel the cool breeze that swooshes in every time anyone opens the front door. It smells delicious, the smoke from wood fires combined with crisp ice and snow and bark and pine.

I pad down the wooden stairs as quietly as I can, but let’s face it: I am too heavy to be silent. My full weight follows each paw on the way down. When I go down the stairs, it sounds like this: a hollow boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom.

Father walks in red-faced and a little unsteady. I guess Sean dropped him off. I watch from the bottom stair. There is a woman with him, and I recognize her because she has been here a few times for parties and barbeques over the years. Her name is Jenny. She has wavy blond hair and a wide, pleasant face. She’s shorter than Father and a little heavy, like me. Despite the cold, she is wearing a short black dress with just a light jacket thrown on top.

They both stand in the foyer, frozen, listening. It is dark and they don’t turn the lights on. Mary is asleep upstairs, and Jimmy is in his room with the light on but the door closed.

They exhale. “Okay,” Father says. He quietly takes off his coat and helps Jenny out of her jacket. He throws their coats on the stair railing, and they make their way to the living room.

I silently follow them. They don’t even seem to see me.

Jenny has several demands as she sits on the couch. I watch Father go into the kitchen to first retrieve her a glass of water and then bring her a glass with ice. She pours the water from the first glass over the ice. Then she requests an aspirin. I’m exhausted just watching Father fetch these things, one after the other. They talk a little as he’s doing these things, but they are whispering, so I don’t catch what they’re saying.

When he finally sits next to her on the couch, Jenny puts her water down on the coffee table. The table is so covered with newspapers and magazines and notebooks and homework that she has to push a few things aside to make room for her glass.

I jump up to sit on an armchair just opposite, for a better view.

Jenny inches toward Father and puts a hand on his knee. She bursts out in a loud whisper, “Tommy. I am so sorry to hear about Carrie.”

I see he is caught off guard by her words. As am I.

Father just stares at her, his face suddenly sad. “I—” A reply catches in his throat. I realize he does not know what to say.

How could anyone from outside our family ever understand?

It would be impossible to explain.

Knowing Father, he probably hasn’t tried to explain it to anyone. But I bet Sean has started to tell people that Mother has left. Sean is Father’s friend, and he must want the best for him. He might feel it’s better to get things out in the open.

As I’ve heard Mother say in the past, we live in a small town, and people like to talk. Perhaps Father is foolish if he thinks he can keep Mother’s absence a secret. And the way Mother is, we all know she can’t keep a secret, even if she wanted to.

Jenny scoots forward so that she is very close to Father, her face just inches away from his. She puts her hand on Father’s chest and starts rubbing up and down. At first she rubs gently, and then more insistently. He is still red in the face, and his head is tipped as he studies her, impassive.

“You’re so cute,” Jenny gushes, her words slurring together. “I mean, seriously, Tommy. You are really, really cute. What is Carrie thinking?”

Father is confused, and frowns. Jenny is missing the point. I don’t know how much Sean told her, but she must not have the whole story.

Could she? How could anyone?

Jenny stands up and smooths down her black dress. She offers Father her hand, which he takes as he stands also. “C’mon, Tommy. I’ll make you feel better.” She is smiling and seems very lovely, but then I see where she is leading him.

Father stops short at the foot of the stairs. Jenny takes two steps up, but Father doesn’t follow. He just looks up the stairs, wary.

I know exactly what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking the same thing: That leads to Mother’s bedroom.

And this: The kids are up there.

And maybe also: This wouldn’t be the first time a woman got him into trouble by going too far too fast, and this is probably the wrong way to go about things.

I run right over to Father.

Father is still wobbly on his feet, and he leans on the banister. He sees me standing right next to him.

He and I look at each other. For a good long minute.

“I don’t think I . . . I don’t think I can . . .” Father cannot get out the right words. “You know. I’m not quite . . . You know, Jen, I don’t think I can. . . .”

Father has never been very good with words.

Father doesn’t seem nervous that Jenny will be angry, but I am. Sometimes humans surprise me with their anger. I feel my ears pull back in anticipation.

But Father obviously knows her better than I do, because she is not mad at all.

“Awwwwww, poor baby,” she moans, as if this is the cutest thing she’s ever heard. As if he’s a little kitten that’s turned up on her doorstep. She hurries down the two stairs to stand right in front of him, and she starts rubbing his chest again. Up and down. “Awwwwww.”

The funny sound she is making causes Father to smile. For the first time tonight, I see a flicker of interest cross his face.

I think: Really? After all of the mating behavior she has displayed—leaning in, holding his knee, smiling wide, rubbing his chest, none of which he responded to—this strange noise that you would make to a kitten is what interests him?

I will never completely understand humans.

He doesn’t push her away. In fact, he puts his hands on her arms and holds her elbows, which surprises me. His eyes glance down and take in her entire body before coming back up to meet her gaze again.

I think: Good for you. Because Father isn’t much for reaching out.

Just the opposite. He usually has his arms crossed, as if he’s sending the message: Don’t bother me.

He studies her for a long moment. But he’s already made up his mind. Jenny is not going to be his mate. At least, not tonight.

“Let me drive you home,” he offers. And soon they’re on the way back out. In my opinion, they’re both too tired and off-kilter to drive the truck. But there they go.

When Father gets back, I am happy to have him safe in our bed and not out in the ice and snow in the middle of the night. We sleep well.

I dream wonderful thoughts about Mother. Of the days when she and I had the greatest bond a human and a cat could possibly experience.

I understand that Mother has a new mate now. I am still very angry with her, and I don’t want Father to be lonely. At the same time, I am greatly relieved that Jenny has left the house. It somehow felt wrong to have Jenny here. And I don’t want to share Father with anyone just now.

In the morning, I follow Father into Finn’s room. Finn is crying, and Father brings him down to his high chair in the kitchen. Father makes coffee and takes aspirin. He puts ice in a baggie, which he then applies to his forehead as he sits down in a kitchen chair.

Jimmy walks in, sleepy eyed and hair askew. “Have fun last night?” he asks as he pours himself an orange juice.

“Yup,” Father says, still holding the ice to his head.

“I heard a girl talking,” Jimmy says as he sits down. Jimmy was never one for beating around the bush.

Father snorts. “Yeah. Jenny Fitzgerald. You know. From Borough Hall.”

Jimmy says something to acknowledge that he does know her, as he sits in a chair across from Father. Again, he mentions that he heard her voice.

Father pauses. “She was here for, like, ten minutes. Tops.”

Jimmy drums his fingertips on the kitchen table. He is dressed just like his dad, in a T-shirt that is too small and flannel, plaid pajama pants. “Ten minutes, huh?” He picks up his glass of juice and swirls it around. “Ten minutes seems like enough time to . . . you know . . .”

“What?” Father slams the bag of ice down on the table, harder than he meant to, and looks at Jimmy.

“I just didn’t know if Sean was taking you out to get you drunk or get you something else.” Jimmy gives him a knowing look.

Father stares at Jimmy. And then he laughs in disbelief. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you just said that. Don’t go there. Please. My head hurts.”

“Well, Pops. I’m just saying.”

“Uhhh, okay.” Father thinks about it. He blinks hard as he tries to focus on the table. “Listen. I don’t want you to think that going out to a bar and getting drunk is a good way to—”

“Pops. Don’t worry about it.” Jimmy gets back up to take a loaf of bread out of the cabinet. He insists that he was just kidding. That he doesn’t need a lecture. He moves over to the old toaster and puts a slice of bread in the top. The toaster creates a burning smell when Jimmy presses down the button.

Everything in this kitchen is old, but it works.

Jimmy takes a jar of jam out of the refrigerator and sets it on the counter. The toast pops up and Jimmy turns, accidentally knocking the glass jar onto the floor. It lands with a sharp smash!

I am spooked, and I scamper safely back to the living room rug. Despite being fat, I am very agile when I need to be. When I turn, I see that Father has jumped up, quick as a cat, and Jimmy is frozen where he stands. They both have bare feet.

Father grabs Finn up out of his high chair and climbs on top of kitchen chairs to get him out of the room and away from the mess. Once Finn is safely upstairs in his crib, he and Jimmy put their sneakers on. They get a broom, paper towels, and the vacuum. It takes them a long while to clean up the bright red jam that has splashed everywhere, and I watch them.

But I’m thinking about Finn. I noticed something powerfully strange.

When that glass hit the floor, Finn didn’t burst out crying with fear or surprise. He didn’t even turn his head.

I suddenly realize I know something I did not before. That baby cannot hear anything.

Something in my heart flips over hard and fast, like the fish Jimmy used to bring home in his orange bucket.

It is so curious. I wonder how long a human whose ears do not work can survive. Perhaps Finn will be confined to our home, just like I am.

It must scare Father to death to realize that Finn would not be able to hear a predator sneaking up on him.

I remember how Father and Mother talked about Finn when she came to visit. Mother offered to take the baby for a while, and Father at first said okay, before they decided together that he should stay here. It hits me all at once that in the future, Mother might not just ask Father if she can take me with her—she might want the baby too. And that Father, in one of his dark moods, might think that it would be best if this happened, perhaps out of fear of being unable to care for us all.

But I want to help Father take care of Finn, to show him that we can do it together. Even if the baby cannot hear. I’ll figure out a way.