1929 (58 page)

“Mon chere. Il s'agit de votre papa.”

The little boy, no more than five, stepped
hesitantly but curiously toward Jonathan, still slumped with his
head in his hands.

“Is nice to meet you,” the little boy
squeaked with a heavy accent of his own, holding out his hand in
trained politeness. Jonathan ever so slowly raised his head and
took a sharp, jagged breath when he saw his own eyes staring back
at him. His black hair was straight with the slightest curl at the
ends, perfectly groomed, and he smiled slowly and cautiously at
Jonathan. “My name is Jean.”

“Hello,” Jonathan whispered and touched the
child’s chubby, dimpled hand.

“Excuse me,” Ava said and rushed into the
kitchen. Margaret was there, stunned but not nearly affected to the
degree that Ava was. She held her hair while Ava vomited in the
garbage bin.

“Elyse, I don’t know what you expect.”

“I told you. To do what I cannot; to save him
from a horrendous life in an orphanage. Take him, please?”

Jonathan’s eyes flickered back to Jean’s wide
eyes, and his heart lurched despite his shock. He knew of the
orphanages. He had made donations frequently, although he doubted
any of the money benefited the poor children who survived there.
How could he condemn this child, his child, to that life? He looked
toward the kitchen and heard Ava wretch again. How could he not?
This was killing Ava. It would take months to get back to the place
they were, if it was possible at all. And what of the baby, if it
holds, he thought grimly. Such a huge upset. He prayed the shock
wouldn’t cause her to lose it. He felt torn over the most painful
decision of his life.

“Jonathan, I do not have much time. I want to
be in Paris when I–”

He nodded numbly and silently to Elyse and
then to Jean, having made his decision.

“Thank you. I will leave right away,” she
whispered, glancing in the direction Ava had run.

She spoke with Jean quietly as Jonathan rose
and walked blindly past his parents and pulled Ava from her
stooping position over the garbage. He held her close, cradling her
head and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Her nausea passed and she didn’t cry but held
him as he fought quiet tears full of fear and regret. He held her
so tightly she could scarcely breathe.

“Everything will work out, everything will be
fine,” he said quietly a few moments later. He wiped his eyes. “I
swear, Ava. Everything will be just like it was, please believe me,
please don’t hate me.” She tried to muster compassion over the
shock. The deafening silence in the house told her the unwelcome
guests had gone, and she felt relief it was over.

“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly. “But I
do need to lie down.”

Jean was standing in the front doorway, his
little hand held up mid-air as he watched the car pull away with
his mother in it. He turned slowly to Jonathan. His round face was
pained, making a great effort to be a strong, little man like his
mother requested. He held out an envelope to Jonathan. “My mother
asked me to give this to you,” he said, trying desperately not to
cry. He turned; head slightly bowed and sat on the couch, staring
into his lap.

The letter contained lists of his favorite
foods, sports, radio shows, his birth date, and other tidbits of
knowledge Elyse thought it necessary for his father to know.
Tutored since the age of two, he was fluent in three languages. Ava
stared at the boy, realizing Jonathan had made the decision to keep
him without her. It was a done deal and the abomination was now
theirs to care for. Her face was blank and her eyes were cold as
she eyed them both.

“How could you?” she whispered.

He reached for her, begging, “Ava, I just
couldn’t . . . you don’t know what those places are like. Ava,
please.”

“How could you do this…decide this…without
me?” If she weren’t numb from shock and angry from betrayal, she
would have been sobbing. “A living, breathing tribute. A bond
stronger than those of wedding vows.”

His words were thrown back at him like a
knife, and they tore through his chest, ripping a gaping hole in
his heart. She turned to the stairs and left him to bleed.

After a few stunned and aching moments,
Jonathan retreated to the kitchen and sank into a chair. His father
joined him silently. His mother stood behind him, her hands on her
son’s shoulders. He felt like he should apologize, explain, beg
forgiveness, anything. But when he opened his mouth, he asked for
what he needed the most.

“Please go get Aryl.”

Aryl walked through the darkened living room
and into the kitchen. Jonathan sat, head resting on folded arms.
Aryl spun a chair around and rested his arms on the ridge of the
back.

“What happened?” his voice was serious with
concern, knowing Jonathan would never call for him like this unless
it was a near disaster. Jonathan’s arms moved slightly, his sleeve
shifted and Aryl caught sight of the faint, white scar. “What
happened, Jon?” he demanded.

Jonathan lifted his head. He was still
bearded and his eyes were bloodshot. “My whole world just blew up,”
he spoke quietly with a hint of disbelief, holding up his hands as
if in surrender. “Again.”

They had last seen each other at lunchtime.
He had been downright jovial as they split the money three ways
from their exhaustive excursion and had talked about taking Ava out
on the town the next day.

“Blew up how?”

“Didn’t my father tell you?”

“No. All he said was that it was a . . .
‘humdinger of a situation’. So fill me in.” Jonathan pulled himself
up off the table and slid partially down the back of the chair,
crossing his arms.

“Elyse showed up here. This afternoon.”

“What in hell?” he breathed. Jonathan had no
idea Aryl’s eyes could get so big. Jonathan stared at the tabletop,
giving his friend a moment to absorb. “Why, in God’s name, would
she show up here?”

Jonathan gave him an ominous, sobering
expression.

“To make a delivery.” He stood and Aryl
followed. He turned on a low light to reveal Jean’s tiny form
sleeping; his cheek resting on his two hands on the arm of the
sofa, dark hair falling into his eyes. Jonathan immediately noticed
the dried tear streaks on his plump cheeks. Aryl’s face went white,
and he gawked a few seconds before he remembered how to speak.

“Holy shit. Please, Jonathan, tell me he has
blue eyes.” Jonathan nodded, dismissing his friend’s first concern
being for his own hide.

“He’s mine,” he said, staring at Jean with no
expression.

“Now this qualifies as a mess.”

Jonathan turned to see Caleb; glad his father
had had the sense to fetch him as well. He stood behind them,
staring, just as stunned. Jonathan turned off the light and
returned to the kitchen, his shoulders slumped. Caleb set a bottle
of whiskey in the middle of the table.

“Your father sent this in with me. Said to
drink it up before they get back. Something about your mother not
knowing he had it,” he said as he poured three glasses.

“Where’d they go?” Jonathan asked.

“Didn’t say.” Jonathan quickly threw three
shots and waited a moment with closed eyes.

“Careful there. You haven’t had a drink in a
while,” Aryl warned as he poured a second shot for himself. “Hey,
listen, sorry about my reaction. I just thought maybe you were
easier to find and, since you sent for me . . . .”

Jonathan shook his head. On an empty stomach,
the whiskey wasted no time numbing the edges of his mind and the
dead hole he felt in his chest.

“No, it’s all right. Understandable. But she
was already pregnant with him when you–”

“I remember now,” Aryl interrupted, “but I’m
sorry just the same.” He sat back, rubbed his eyes, and ran his
hands through his hair. Still holding a handful of loose, brown
curls at the back, he leaned an elbow on the table and tried to
measure up the situation.

“You remember that feeling,” Jonathan
started, interrupting himself with a fourth shot, “that we had that
day, sitting there after it all imploded? Bloodshot eyes, numb with
shock, holding onto a shot glass for dear life, scared to
death.”

“Yeah. Not likely a feeling any of us will
ever forget.” Aryl slid the bottle toward Caleb, out of Jonathan’s
reach.

“I certainly won’t. No matter how hard I
tried to hold onto everything that day, it all shattered right in
front of me. Shattered like glass. I was helpless to do anything
but watch. After everything vanished, I couldn’t see the next step
I was about to take. I was only amazed after the fact that I was
able to take it.”

“Is that how you feel now?” Aryl asked with a
wary eye, wondering the current risk Jonathan posed to himself.

“Yes,” he whispered, “and no.”

“How no?” Caleb asked.

“Well, everything is gone again. And I
watched it. Couldn’t do a damn thing, but watch it shatter.”

Aryl did a quick mental inventory of
Jonathan’s life. Best friends - check, parents’ support - check,
boats still floating - check, a roof over his head - check, a small
but precious savings tucked away - check. That left one thing. And
that one thing was everything.

“Ava,” Aryl said quietly. Jonathan leaned
into a reach for the whiskey. Aryl pushed it away. “Whoa. Let’s see
how you feel in five minutes. I’ve only had three and my head is
spinning.”

“Bona fide lightweights. That’s what we’ve
become.” Caleb laughed then turned to Jonathan more seriously. “How
did she take the news?” Jonathan rolled his eyes, then his head and
began recounting.

A moment later, Aryl interrupted him. “Wait.
She’s–”

“Told me minutes before Elyse showed up,”
Jonathan said, nodding slowly.

Aryl leaned back with his hands on his head.
“Shit,” he muttered at the ceiling and thought that this time there
may be nothing he could say or do to help his friend.

Jonathan finished recounting every detail.
His face was like stone, emotionless until the end, when he
suddenly looked like he would break in half. “She used the same
words I had said when she agreed to have a baby.”

Silence reigned for a long time as all three
men felt unsure of what to say and wondered whether there was
anything to say that would have made a difference.

Finally Jonathan looked up at Caleb. “What
would you do? With this dropped in your lap, what in the hell would
you do?”

“Well, if it were me sitting over there, I
wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Huh? How the hell could you not worry about
it?” He leaned forward, pouring yet another drink.

“I wouldn’t because I’d be dead.”

Aryl cast Caleb an incredulous look. Knowing
about Jonathan’s past attempt, it was a damned stupid thing to say,
in his opinion.

Much to his surprise, though, Jonathan
started laughing, lightly at first and then harder. “You’re right,”
he said, wiping his eyes and still laughing. “Arianna would claw
your eyes out and hang them around her neck.”

“No,” Aryl said straight-faced. “Those aren't
what she’d hang around her neck.” Jonathan doubled over,
desperately trying to smother his howls. Caleb laughed but
instinctively crossed his legs.

“And no worries of it happening again, you’d
be, ah, what’s the word? Barren?” Jonathan slurred slightly as he
finished his drink.

“No, that's women,” Aryl said. “Sterile–or is
that with bulls?” He tapped his fingers, concentrating.

“Same difference,” Caleb said.

“No, that’s castrated,” Jonathan corrected
“That’s what they do to bulls. Caleb would–”

“Caleb would like to talk about something
else,” Caleb said, shifting in his seat, feeling the joke had run
its course.

“Regardless, I take it you’re still intact?”
Aryl’s deep brown eyes drooped with a whiskey induced haze.

“Yeah, not that it matters anymore.” Jonathan
shrugged loosely.

“What’s your plan?” Aryl asked, joking aside.
The air was again heavy with reality.

Jonathan let out a deep sigh. “Damned if I
know, Aryl.” He glanced toward the living room. “I have no idea how
I am going to raise him when I’m gone all day. And I don’t know
anything about kids. You usually get to start sort of slow. Get to
know them from birth and make mistakes before it counts. This one
is–”

“Potty trained. At least there’s that.” Caleb
interrupted with a raised glass as if to celebrate the continence
of Jonathan’s illegitimate child. Jonathan smiled lightly.

“I’m glad you came, Caleb.” He squinted
across the table at his friend. “I’d say you’re fairly lit over
there.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “I do believe so.” He
was still nodding when Aryl asked Jonathan again.

“What’s your plan?” He wouldn’t leave until
he knew Jonathan could at least see the next step he was about to
take.

“I’ll try to talk to Ava, although I don’t
think she’ll listen tonight. I think I’ll ask my mother to help
with Jean while I’m gone. I won’t ask anything of Ava regarding
him. Not just yet.”

“You have the same name. That’s gotta be
awkward.” Caleb raised his eyebrows.

“Spelled differently. The French version, of
course.”

“I think you’re right to ask your mom to
help. Let Ava warm up to him on her own.”

“What if she never does?” Jonathan feared out
loud.

“I don’t know. But I would concentrate on
getting her to warm up to you first.”

“That, my friend, will take nothing short of
a miracle.”

“Miracles happen,” Aryl reminded.

Jonathan instantly thought of St. Brigid’s,
Maura, and all of the unexpected turns his life had taken. With
words now exhausted, they swayed slightly around the table,
comforted by each other’s presence.

“One more for the road,” Caleb said, smiling
and, upon hearing a car pull into the drive, hastily split the
remaining whiskey between the three glasses and tucked the empty
bottle under his shirt. Just before drinking, Aryl’s head jerked
toward Jonathan.