The Distance Between Us (12 page)

I roll my eyes. “As I said to Arthur, it was an accident. How many times must I apologize for that?”

“A few thousand, I should imagine,” he says dryly. “But never mind. In retrospect, that’s the least of your transgressions.”

“Oh? And what else have I done?”

He sucks on his front teeth. “You started a ridiculous rumor about me at the Conservatory.”

I cross my legs and drum my fingers on my kneecap. “I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did. And you owe me an apology for it.”

“Now who’s being childish?”

He picks something invisible from the sleeve of his bulky sweater. “You told the dean the reason I was late to one of my students’ lessons this semester was because I was hungover.”

“Oh, dear.” I sigh again. “Well, you
were
hungover, son. I saw you that morning, remember? Your breath smelled like the punchbowl at a frat party.” I settle back in my chair. “Or possibly the toilet bowl. Take your pick.”

Alex stirs, and when I glance up at him he’s covering his mouth in a fake cough, trying not to laugh.

Paul shakes a warning finger at him. “You shut up.” He faces me again after a moment. “Control your pet poodle, Mother, or I’ll toss him out on the street.”

The threat is real. I know my son, and I know what he’s capable of. I clear my throat. “You’ll do no such thing, Paul. And by the way, I didn’t speak to the dean of my own volition. She came to me.”

He snorts. “You don’t play the innocent very well, Mother. You couldn’t wait to tell her, could you? You probably scampered down the hall to her office immediately after speaking to me.”

“I’m getting bored with this, darling. The only reason I knew you’d been drinking was because you’ve always been indifferent to proper oral hygiene, and that’s hardly my fault. If you’d bothered to brush your teeth before coming to work, I might never have known.” I straighten the striped arm covering on my chair. “Now do you have anything else to call me on the carpet for, or may I go take a nap?”

His breathing gets louder. “How about the juvenile things you’ve been saying at the Conservatory about Dad and Martha?”

“What things, dear? Why would I waste my time talking about those two overfed lovebirds?”

He tugs at his tangled beard. “I heard two of your students laughing uproariously in the hallway last week.” His voice goes flat. “One of them said you’d told her that Martha had gone in for emergency liposuction, but the doctor slipped during surgery and accidentally removed Dad’s penis instead.”

Alex makes a choking sound.

Paul’s head snaps up and his face turns a frightening shade of red. “So you think this is funny, punk?” He lurches forward and Alex backs away from him in a panic.

I throw up a warning hand. “Paul!”

He ignores me and keeps moving toward Alex.

I slam my fist down on the coffee table beside my chair and both of them jump. Alex uses the opportunity to slip behind me, and Paul’s eyes flick back and forth between us.

“How predictable,” I murmur into the charged stillness.

Paul focuses on me and some of the color leaves his puffy cheeks and forehead. “What are you talking about?” he grates.

“You’ve always been a coward, my love. Even as a child, you only dared to bully the people who posed no threat to you.”

He rears back, stung, which is what I intended. I want his rage directed where it belongs.

I look over my shoulder at Alex. “I apologize for my son, dear. You’d better go upstairs before he loses control and proves himself to be a barbarian.”

I expect him to bolt for the stairs, but he surprises me by hesitating. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

“Get out of here,” Paul rasps. “Right now.”

Alex doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even look at Paul.

Well, well. It seems as if my sweet young tenant has more of a spine than I gave him credit for.

“I’ll be fine, Alex,” I murmur. “Jabba the Hutt will be leaving shortly.”

“Charming, Mother,” Paul spits.

Alex waits another moment, then nods. “Okay. But give a yell if you need me.”

Paul sniggers, but Alex ignores him. I turn to face Paul again and Alex exits the room. A second later I hear him running lightly up the stairs to his apartment.

Paul sneers and steps back to the fire. “How nice. You’ve made a friend. Too bad he’ll be moving out so soon.”

I refuse to let him rile me further. “I think it’s time for you to go home, Paul. I have nothing else to say to you.”

His face freezes. “That’s strange, because I have so much more to say to you.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait.” The flames in the fireplace behind him are beginning to die. “There’s a limit to how many ugly confrontations I’ll have with a family member in this room, this month. By the way, is Caitlin planning an assault, too? If she is, tell her to call ahead, would you? I’m booked solid until next August.”

He shrugs, impatient. “As you well know, I have no idea what Caitlin’s doing. We never speak.” He pauses, and his voice changes ever so slightly. “But if I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably out looking for a leper to chastise.”

When he was younger, a running joke between us was Caitlin’s legendary impatience with other people’s problems.

I nod, unable to stop myself from participating. “Indeed. The last time I saw her, she’d just finished browbeating a quadriplegic about the evils of a sedentary lifestyle.”

He nearly smiles, and for the briefest instance, our eyes meet without animosity. I can’t even remember the last time that happened. But as soon as he realizes we’re not being hateful to each other any longer, his face ices over.

He bends to snatch up his coat from the other chair. “Fine, I’ll go,” he rumbles. “But before I do, I’m giving you fair warning that you’d better get that kid out of here.” He shakes his head. “Jesus. I’m surprised you haven’t already got him wearing Jeremy’s old clothes.”

I blink. “I beg your pardon?”

He glowers. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

In truth, I don’t have any idea what he means. Is he comparing Alex to Jeremy? The two of them are nothing alike.

“Hush, now. You’re giving me a headache.” I point over my shoulder. “Do show yourself out, will you, dear?” I lift my head. “And don’t bother coming back anytime soon.”

We gaze at each other with mutual belligerence for a minute, then he barrels out of the room without saying another word. The door slams behind him a few seconds later, and I close my eyes until I hear his car roar out of the driveway.

I get to the landing on the third floor, and after catching my breath I call up to the attic apartment. “Alex? It’s safe to come out of hiding.”

I hear a chair scrape on the floor in his kitchen, then a few seconds later he appears at the top of the stairs, looking a bit flustered. “Are you all right?”

I shrug. “More or less. May I come up?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Uh, yeah. Just give me a second to straighten up, okay?”

I frown. “There’s no need for that. Not unless you’ve been making blood sacrifices to Satan on my clean linoleum, or something along those lines.”

I start up the stairs and panic flares across his face. “Wait, Hester. Please? It’s a mess up here and I don’t want you to see it like this.”

I’m halfway up the steps by now and I catch a distinctive whiff of something I haven’t smelled in a long time. I stop still and put my hands on my hips. “Oh, my. Are you smoking marijuana, Alex?”

His cheeks and forehead turn crimson to match his hair. He begins to stutter. “No, I’m … it’s not, I mean, it is, but it’s just something I … oh, shit.” He looks like he wants to cry, and he hangs his head.

I continue climbing the stairs. When I get to the top I stand in front of him and wait for him to look up. After he finally meets my eyes, I reach up and pat him on the shoulder. “It’s hardly the first time I’ve encountered pot, dear.” I pause. “Or that it’s been smoked in this house, for that matter. I’ve been a musician my entire life, remember?”

He blinks behind his glasses. “You’re not mad?”

I shrug. “That depends. Are you willing to share?”

His face goes blank. “Holy shit, Hester. You smoke weed?”

“Well, no, not really. It’s been at least thirty years since the last time.” I shrug. “But then again, no one’s offered me any since then, either.” I gesture for him to lead the way. “Shall we?”

He laughs. “Sweet. Come on in.”

He spins around on his bare heels and I follow him into the kitchen. I’m surprised at how clean things are; there are dishes drying in the rack next to the sink, and the white-and gold-flecked counter is sparkling in the sunlight coming through the windows. Aside from a plastic sandwich bag and a cheap red ashtray on the table (and a pungent wisp of smoke still hanging in the air like a shredded phantom), the entire room is spotless.

“I’m impressed.” I sit kitty-corner to him at the table. The window next to me is open an inch, but the cold air blowing through it is more than offset by the warmth in the rest of the room. “You’re a much better housekeeper than I thought you’d be.”

He takes a pinch of marijuana from the plastic bag before looking up. “Yeah, I like to keep it neat. I get depressed when things are messy.”

He builds a small green mound in the ashtray, then he takes a
brass pipe about the size of a cigarette and mashes the end of it into his pile, tamping the pot in tightly. He examines his handiwork with a critical eye, then offers me the pipe, along with a lighter he digs out of his front pants pocket.

I stare at the things on my palm. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to talk me through this. I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do.”

He grins again. “It’s easy. You just put it in your mouth, then you light up and hold the smoke in as long as you can.” He leans forward as I put the pipe between my lips and flick the lighter. “Yep, just like that. Don’t take too big a drag, though, since you’re not used to it. This stuff is great, but it’s pretty harsh.”

I fill my lungs and immediately wish I hadn’t. I only manage to keep the smoke in for a few seconds, then my throat ignites and I begin to cough in spasms.

Alex’s face fills with concern when I can’t seem to stop. “Are you okay?”

I can’t answer because I’m too busy hacking.

“Oh, God!” Alex hops to his feet and hovers over me. “Should I call an ambulance?”

I shake my head, still coughing, and wave my hand at the sink. “No, I’m fine,” I gasp. “Just get me some water, please.”

He flies to the counter and fumbles a glass out of the cabinet, almost dropping it before he manages to get it under the tap. He hurries over to me and I trade him his pipe and lighter for the water. He remains standing as I take a few sips, and he doesn’t step back until he’s convinced I’m not going to die. I slowly straighten in my seat and he drops into his chair with a relieved sigh.

A few more coughs shake my body. “God,” I croak, wiping my face with my wrist. “Those horrid fundamentalists are absolutely right. That stuff
should
be illegal.”

He checks out the end of the pipe. “Jesus.” He shakes his head. “No wonder you had a fit like that. You cashed it all out in one toke.” He begins to laugh. “That’s awesome, Hester. You’re gonna be so fucking stoned in a minute, you won’t believe it. This shit is hardcore.”

I settle back in my chair with a growl. “Good, because otherwise
I just reenacted the Marlboro Man’s last few moments on earth for nothing.”

He refills the pipe for himself and lights it. The green grass stuffed in its tip becomes a glowing red ember as he inhales, then fades away to ash soon after he removes his thumb from the lighter. His shoulders twitch as he suppresses a cough, but other than that he seems unaffected.

My scalp is starting to itch, and my eyelids are trying to come together. I giggle. “Oops. I believe something out of the ordinary is happening.”

He aims his chin at the ceiling and releases a plume of smoke from his lips. He looks like a steam whistle on a train engine. I giggle again.

He laughs. “You’re already getting wasted, aren’t you?”

I draw myself up. “Nonsense. I’m only pretending.”

He snorts. “Uh huh.” He extends the pipe toward me again but I shake my head and he sets it back in the ashtray. He rubs his neck. “So is your son always like that?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s expecting an answer. “Like what, dear?”

He shrugs. “You know. Pissed off. And kind of, I don’t know, kind of … well, mean, I guess.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I’m afraid so. But what Paul lacks in charm, he more than makes up for in malice and aggression.” I tug at my lip. “Do you still have my brandy? I’d very much like a glass.”

He flushes and hops up again. “Sorry. I stuck it in the cabinet after breakfast this morning, just to get it out of the way, then I forgot about it again. I was going to bring it back to you later.” He pulls the bottle out from under the sink.

“That’s fine,” I murmur. “I’m glad it’s still up here. We should make it a point to squirrel away at least one container of liquor in every room in the house.” I smile at him. “Did you know that when you’re embarrassed your face turns the same shade as your hair?”

My ears feel heavy. My head tips first toward my left shoulder, then back toward my right. I watch Alex dig out two more glasses from his stash above the counter, but it seems to take him forever to return to the table.

He sits down again and fills the glasses. The brandy comes out of the bottle in slow motion, like runny gold ketchup.

“So how come he’s like that?” Alex asks.

“Who?”

“You know. Paul.” He pushes my drink toward me. “Why’s he such a prick?”

I raise my glass and stare through the liquor at him. “Well, between us, I blame his parents. Especially his unstable mother.” I down the brandy in a single gulp, and instant heat spreads from my throat to my belly. “The wicked old witch should be burned at the stake.”

I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t. He sips his drink and studies me.

I point at the bottle. “May I have another shot, dear?” I look out the window, down at St. Booger. From this angle, the snow on the statue’s head looks like a white football helmet. “Paul wasn’t always like this,” I say. “Twenty years ago he really wasn’t all that different from you.”