Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (11 page)

Let’s just agree to leave out this piece of the puzzle until we know for sure what we’re dealing with. Maybe she’s not pregnant, or maybe it’s not even Aaron’s.”

“Agreed. But you’re not gonna wimp out about telling him about Davida?”

“I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him . . . maybe at the next port I’ll get lucky and find a baseball game and someone selling hot dogs.”

Eight

It drove Mindy crazy whenever Artie insisted on asking his father’s advice. Not that she didn’t understand his desire to have someone older and wiser helping to solve his major life crises, it’s just that Stan wasn’t that guy. He may have been a solo practitio-ner in medicine, but at home he had a full-time partner, and she was hardly the silent type.

In fact, Mindy had laughed when she once took a message from a local playhouse inviting Stan for a callback. Though he had never mentioned a desire to act, she suspected he had tried out just to see what it was like to have a speaking role.

So when Artie decided that he would ask his father’s input on handling this very delicate matter with Aaron, Mindy knew that it would be Rhoda and not Stan who dictated the terms, right down to the choice of words to break the bad news.

Mindy objected to her in-laws’ involvement, though this was an old fight and the results were always the same. Artie, a forty-five-year-old husband and father would run to his dad for counsel, and Rhoda would call them a bunch of spineless sissies who should thank God she was there to advise them.

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Sure enough, at the mention that Artie had an important matter to discuss, Stan and Rhoda beckoned their son to the royal suite, listened to the long, sad tale, and immediately took charge of damage control. Well Rhoda did, lest the displaced little pauper think he would have control over his kingdom.

“She wants to do what?” Mindy yelled when Artie returned from his little summit.

“Don’t say it like that. I think it’s a good idea.”

“No. I’m sorry. You don’t break the news into small bites like he’s an infant.”

“Why not? First we tell him we got word that his mom was pretty sick, give him a chance to get used to the idea, then tomorrow or the next day we tell him everything.”

“Artie, haven’t you realized he’s a very smart boy? He’ll call your bluff in a heartbeat.”

“But he’s only a kid. If we have a chance to ease him into this, I think we should.”

“No, your mother thinks we should.”

“That’s not fair. I have my own opinion. It just so happens it’s the same as hers.”

“Really? And who would win if you disagreed?”

“Why are you getting so bent out of shape? I don’t think it’s wrong to want advice.”

“I agree. I just think the person you should be asking is me because whatever gets decided, it’s going to affect our family.

“Fine. Then what’s your opinion? How should we tell him?”

“Well, first before we do anything, let’s get more information.”

“What else do you need to know? Davida is dead and next year Aaron and I could get the same Father’s Day card.”

“Very funny. But maybe let’s call Wayne back and ask him the best way to tell Aaron, since he knows him better. In fact, maybe he should be the one to tell him, since it’s a loss for him, too.”

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“Not a bad idea.”

“Thank you.”

“All right. I’ll go back and talk to my folks. See what they think.”

In the end, the match was a draw. Artie did call Wayne, only he was so wasted, Artie couldn’t put much stock in his suggestion to break the news after letting the boy get drunk and laid.

And Rhoda, in her infinite wisdom, bought Aaron a five-hundred-dollar, TAG Heuer watch at one of the ship’s boutiques, certain the gift would distract him from his pain. Though from experience, Mindy knew that the watch had less to do with paci-fying him than trying to make the one Helene gave him look chintzy by comparison.

But alcohol, sex, and fine jewelry would hardly be antidotes for learning that your already vulnerable, disappointing life was taking yet another gut-wrenching turn. In fact, with Aaron’s intuition already on high alert when summoned to the suite and given the watch and a generous slice of banana cream pie, his dessert of choice every night, he studied the choppy waters from the balcony as if he was considering his exit strategy.

The fixed stare freaked Artie. Suddenly he couldn’t recall the words his mother had suggested. All that came to mind was Mindy’s original question. What did all of this mean for them?

Would Aaron come live with them or insist on staying in Portland? If he lived with them, would they have to add an extension? They were struggling to pay the mortgage and taxes as it was. What if he wanted his girlfriend and the baby to move in, too? And what about college? They had barely put away for Stacie, let alone handling even bigger financial obligations.

Mindy nudged him. Everyone was waiting. He looked at her and she knew.

“Aaron, honey,” she went over and rubbed his back. “Very un-94

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expectedly, we got a telegram from your uncle Wayne today . . .

your mom . . . we have such sad news . . . she died this morning. . . .

They think it was a heart attack. We are so sorry. But at least now her struggle is over. She’s not in pain anymore.”

Aaron blinked like a computer shutting down, then collapsed in a heap. The words had been slow to register but their meaning clear.

“ ‘Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see I’m just a poor boy, I
need no sympathy because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low

. . . Mama, don’t want to die. Sometimes I wished I’ d never been born
at all. . . .’ ”

“What’s he doing?” Stan scratched his head.

“He sings when he’s upset,” Artie whispered. “He loves music.”

“I love music, too, but I wouldn’t be hummin’ a few bars if my mother just died.”

“Dad, it’s famous,” Mindy tried. “‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?

Queen?”

“A song about Queens? Which part? Flushing? Fresh Mead-ows?”

“No!” Even Artie was annoyed. “You never heard of Freddie Mercury?”

“
Uch.
You kids with all your crazy music. Now Sinatra and Bennett, that was singing.”

“Shut up!” Aaron trembled. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Aaron,” Artie started. “We’re so sorry. We feel your pain.

We’ll do anything for you.”

But sympathy was a useless commodity. He bolted for the door, screaming that he was glad his mother was dead because she was a terrible person.

They looked at one another until Artie asked if he should follow him.

“Go.” Mindy pushed him. “You don’t need anyone’s permis-Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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sion to be a good father. Just . . . you know, don’t do all the talking.

Try to get him to open up.”

Artie looked at his dad for approval, who looked at Rhoda for approval.

“Oh my God! I can’t take this anymore.” Mindy raced to the door. “I’ll go after him!”

“What’s with her?” Rhoda asked.

“Believe me, you don’t know how crazy she gets,” Stan grunted.

“With her, it’s always that time of the month. Last week she practically held me up at gunpoint.”

A twenty-five-hundred passenger ship that ran the length of three football fields was a terrible place to lose someone, especially someone who didn’t want to be found. If only Mindy could ask her kids to join the search, as there was no one better at hide and seek. But best to leave them in the pool with their cousins and Ira so they wouldn’t have to witness a young man’s meltdown.

Question was, where to begin? The bars, in case he was able to convince a sympathizer to buy him drinks? A family that Dana knew from home suggested she try the fitness center. Maybe pumping iron would be a stress reliever, but no sign of him there.

If it had been Mindy, she would have run to Johnny Rockets and the ice-cream parlor for their super deluxe anything, but as she well knew, Aaron wasn’t an eater.

Fueled by fear that he might be so enraged as to try something reckless, she picked up steam and tore through the casino, the theater, the cafés . . . up to the rock-climbing wall, the pool, the gift shops, and even over to the golf simulator. No luck. And by now, even with the cool breezes coming off the ocean, the sun and a wicked hot f lash had turned her into a sweaty mess.

Not the best time to run into her mother and Aunt Toby, who were chatting with two gentlemen over coffee. From a distance, 96

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they resembled her father and Uncle Sidney, until she got closer and wondered if Artie had put the wrong prescription lenses in her glasses. Unlike her dad and uncle, these men had hair on their heads, fit bodies, and cruise wear from L.L.Bean.

Mindy also wondered if her mom and aunt were wearing glasses at all. Didn’t they notice the men’s wedding bands? Of course it would be great if they met someone on board, but this was no time to be laughing it up with other women’s husbands.

Normally this thought would never have crossed her mind.

But after the whole Beth fiasco, she was starting to think that maybe cheating was a hobby, like bridge or skydiving. And then there was that story Nadine told her about her across-the-street neighbors who took a cruise to celebrate their fortieth anniversary. The husband met a woman while waiting for a spa treatment, ended up leaving his wife, then married spa lady, figuring if she looked good in a bathrobe, she’d look good in anything.

Mindy ran to the table, introduced herself, apologized for springing bad news on them, and explained the tragic predica-ment about Davida. She also had the presence of mind to point out the obvious. “Mom, they’re married,” she whispered.

“I know, darling. We were with them and their wives last night. Don’t worry.”

“Not worried,” she lied.

“They’re here on a family reunion. They’re traveling with cousins who are widowers. They’re going to introduce us at dinner tonight.”

Turns out Max and Mort Alter from the Detroit area were not only matchmakers, but experienced search-and-rescue workers.

Max was a retired police detective who knew all about finding missing persons and Mort used to be a private investigator. First thing they asked was what was Aaron wearing, and had he met any girls on board?

Duh! Of course, Mindy thought. What seventeen-year-old Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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boy wouldn’t want to seek consolation by nestling in the 34D

breasts of Melissa from Manchester? But where to find her?

Normally, Max said he’d divide and conquer, but since there were no reliable methods of communication, they should survey the decks together, each being on the lookout for something different. Teenagers mingling, young people in the pool, a young man leaning over the railings.

Turned out Uncle Wayne had a leg up on the veteran cop as he knew Aaron best. The proof? His advice to get him drunk and laid came close. Aaron was discovered sitting in a dark corner of the Viking Crown lounge enjoying a blow job and a beer.

Mindy spotted him first and let out a cry, but not in time to prevent her mom, Aunt Toby, Max, and Mort from witnessing Melissa from Manchester performing oral sex.

“Go!” Mindy shooed them out before Aaron realized he had an audience.

“What are you going to do?” Helene whispered.

Take her refresher course?
“What do you think I’m going to do?

I’m going to talk to him. . . . Just go. . . . I promise I’ll find you if I need help.”

But first, Mindy needed a moment to regroup. She had no experience interrupting sexually active teens, and if this was a sneak preview of what Stacie and her little friends would be up to in a few years, they were moving to Amish country.

Focus, she thought. This was not about Stacie. It was about helping Aaron deal with his grief, though from the view from behind a plant, he hardly looked like a young man in mourning.

And had he no shame? He was in a public place. And how could he cheat on the mother of his baby? Mindy had a few things to say about that, too. Focus, she thought. You have a job here!

“Aaron?” she took a few steps forward and waved. “Honey?”

He and Melissa looked over, more annoyed than ashamed.

“Go away!” he ordered.

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“I’m sorry. . . . I really think we should talk.”

“Nothin’ to talk about. Just leave me the hell alone.”

“Aaron, you’ve just heard some tragic news. We want to help you.”

But clearly he was already getting the help he wanted, for there was no further acknowledgment of her and she couldn’t decide which was worse. That Aaron didn’t care that he was ex-posing himself in public, or that he had already concluded that sex and booze were his preferred pain relievers?

Emotions stirred further as she realized how you could take the boy out of the gene pool, but never the gene pool out of the boy.

From old family photos, she could now see the stark resemblances between Aaron and Stan as a young man, the tall, lanky build, the dark curls and deep-set eyes, even the strong chin, which she’d thought was Stacie’s exclusive inheritance.

And though he was not from her bloodline, suddenly her maternal engine turned on.

“Aaron. Stop!” she tried again. “Melissa, honey . . . I’m sure your parents are wondering where you are. I heard they fixed the karaoke machine.”

Alas, the beautiful young maiden got up, buttoned her shirt, looked for one of her flip-flops, and waved good-bye as if she’d just stopped over to watch TV.

“Let’s sit over here.” She motioned for Aaron to join her at a distant couch so as not to have to recall the crime scene, then chose her opening remarks. “So where did you get the beer?”

Aaron glared. If Melissa was forced to leave so that they could discuss underage drinking, this did not bode well for meaningful discussion.

“This is hard,” she started over. “We’re really not sure what to say or do for you. We feel awful, of course, and we want to do the right thing, whatever that is. We even wondered if we should wait to tell you until we got back, but we really respect you, Aaron.