The Good Life (24 page)

“Ready to roll,” said Sam. “Where are we going?”

“That,” said Nate, backing the car out of the garage, “is a very good question.”

Nate chose Route 10, which quickly took them out of town and into the country. Nate drove out there occasionally with Jenny, who loved animals. The more cows and chickens she saw, the more likely she would consent to a make-out session on an old dirt access road. They drove past farm after farm in silence until Sam urgently beckoned Nate to pull over and stop the car. “Back up,” he said.

Nate put the car in
REVERSE
and backed slowly along the deep irrigation ditch at the side of the road. A hundred yards back, Sam again asked Nate to stop the car as he pointed at a white clapboard farmhouse set back from the road. “That’s my house,” Sam said. ‘I’m sure of it.”

“Gramps,” said Nate, “you grew up in Pennsylvania. This is Michigan.”

“Then somebody moved my house,” said Sam, still pointing. “That’s where I grew up.”

“Okay,” said Nate neutrally.

Sam turned to look at Nate. “Can we go in?” he asked quietly.

Nate looked into his grandfather’s eyes and saw, more than anything else, fear. Was he afraid Nate would say no, or was he afraid of something else, less tangible or inexplicable? “Sure,” said Nate, turning the car around.

“Do you think my mother’s home?”

“No,” Nate said. “But someone else might be there.”

Nate pulled the car into the rutted driveway and stopped next to the worn, warped brick walk that led to the front door. He helped Sam up and out of the seat to a standing position. “Do I look all right?” asked Sam, reaching up but not quite touching his hair.

“You look great, Gramps,” said Nate. “Let’s go.”

Together they walked slowly along the salted path and up three cracked cement steps to the front door. Nate pushed the doorbell button. A middle-aged woman, wearing jeans and a red turtleneck, partially obscured by a brown and white bib apron with little skipping bears along its waistline, opened the door and smiled at them. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” said Nate. “I’m Nate Barons and this is my grandfather, Sam Sanford. He grew up in Pennsylvania, but he thinks he may have grown up in this house.”

“I did grow up in this house,” said Sam.

The woman looked at Nate and then Sam. Her eyes lingered there, as if she were trying to read Sam’s mind. Soon enough, she stepped aside and pushed the door open wider. “Would you like to come in?” she asked. “I’ve got some brownies in the oven that are just about ready.”

“I love brownies,” said Sam, lifting his foot to step up into the house.

“We won’t stay long,” said Nate apologetically.

“It’s no trouble,” said the woman, leading them into the living room, where she took their coats and laid them over the back of a large, overstuffed armchair. “The house was built in the nineteen-twenties by two brothers. One of the brothers lived here for fifty years; the other brother lived in the house next door, which is the one they built just after this one. You can see it through the window over the couch.” Sam took the few steps to the couch, then peered out the window. Across a lawn, maybe seventy yards away, was another house that looked very similar to this one, only it was different. “They’re opposites,” said the woman. “The square footage is the same. The layout is opposite.”

“That’s clever,” said Sam. “They’re the same, but they’re different.”

“Exactly,” said the woman, walking toward a doorway. “You wait here. I’ve got to check those brownies.”

“Who lives there?” called Sam after her.

“The Taylors,” she called back. “They’re actually the ones I’m making the brownies for. It’s my turn for dessert.” A long minute later, she walked back into the living room. “I’ve set them on the counter to cool. Let’s sit a few minutes and then I can give you hungry travelers one for the road.” Nate sat down next to his grandfather on the couch. “What looks familiar to you?” the woman asked Sam. Sam stared at her blankly.

And then they all looked around the room. The walls were covered with paper that featured what might have been tiny pink roses, but it was hard to tell, as whatever was there had faded into tan dots. Sheer curtains, lifeless without a summer breeze, hung at the windows, just like those from Sam’s childhood. The navy blue couch they sat on had worn arms and cushions and a number of visible stains, in spite of its dark color. Sam wondered if over the years people had gathered for Saturday night dinner parties and eaten as they sat upon it. He could picture them, awkwardly holding china plates on their laps, gasping when they dropped a chunk of lasagna, a dribble of coffee, or a bite of cheesecake. After school, the children, with small bowls of buttered popcorn on blue-jeaned laps, had watched cartoons, absentmindedly eating their snack. Sometimes the popped kernel had gone into their mouths, and sometimes it had gone into the couch. Sam shook his head. While he had grown up sitting on a similar couch, it had been, most definitely, light brown.

Nate saw the stains on the couch, too. They matched the stains on the chair across the room that held their coats. And that was all that matched. It was as if the furniture had been purchased separately, one garage sale at a time. It was inviting furniture, not like the arranged pieces in a showroom window, and certainly nothing like what filled the living room in his parents’ house. That furniture, while attractive to the eye, was not welcoming to the body. And no one with a piece of chocolate cake or a mug of tomato soup would dream of sitting on his mother’s white living room furniture. Nate had trouble just breathing in that room. He went in there only when summoned by his parents in an attempt to impress a visiting dignitary with the domestic tranquility of the Barons family. Nate sank deeper into the couch, resisting the temptation to close his eyes. He was suddenly very tired in this stranger’s house. He wondered what she’d think if he announced his intention to nap, and quickly decided she wouldn’t think anything. She’d probably get him a pillow and blanket from the scarred wood hutch in the corner and tell him to rest as long as he needed. She’d encourage him to put his feet up on the couch because the wet salt on the bottom of his shoes wouldn’t matter to her. And this was not because she was a slob and didn’t care about her house; of course she cared. She would never apologize for its appearance because it wouldn’t occur to her to do so. “Let me get those brownies,” she said, standing. “Would you like a glass of milk?”

“Yes, please,” said Sam like a child practicing his manners. Nate watched the woman walk into the kitchen. He looked over at Sam, who gave him a wink. “I can’t believe we stumbled across my childhood house,” he said. “I haven’t been here in sixty years.”

“It’s a nice house,” said Nate.

“And my daughter,” said Sam, smiling. “Didn’t I tell you you’d like her?” The woman walked back into the room carrying a tray, with two glasses of milk and two plates with brownies. She set the tray on the table in front of Sam and Nate, then handed each of them a plate. Sam took a huge bite, then immediately began to talk. “Who are the Taylors?” he asked, his mouth full.

“Our neighbors,” said the woman. “Karen, the mother, slipped on some ice and broke her leg. She’s having trouble getting around, so all of us neighbors are helping with meals for a while.”

“All of you?” asked Nate.

The woman laughed. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “We live on a straight road out in the country—where’s the neighborhood, right? But we do have a neighborhood, of sorts. We all look out for each other.”

“Like people used to,” said Sam, chewing. “Nobody looks out for neighbors anymore. They all keep to themselves.”

“Not around here,” said the woman. “We get together once a month for dinner, and twice every summer for picnics and games. And, of course, we see each other when we’re out working in the yard or shoveling show.”

Nate never saw his neighbors; he didn’t even know who some of them were. It was not that the houses were all far apart. It was simply because nobody worked in their yards. The landscaping companies raked the leaves in the fall, weeded the gardens and mowed the lawns in the spring and summer, and plowed the long driveways in the winter. Two guys, in their red pickup truck, washed the windows, outside and inside, twice a year. Cleaning crews arrived on Friday mornings, just in time for weekend entertaining. (Since Emma cleaned the Baronses’ house daily, the cleaning agency came just twice a month to do what his mother called “deep cleaning.”) And AquaMan, in his blue van, maintained all the neighborhood pools, including the Baronses’ kidney bean. Nate and Lauren had been excited about the pool at first. Their parents had even thrown a couple of pool parties the summer after they moved in. But then everyone got too busy or lost interest or something. Occasionally now, his mother would have a party around the pool, floating candles on the surface of the clear, still water, but never in July or August. Because even though Pete’s Pest Control had thoroughly sprayed the yard that afternoon, the mosquitoes would inevitably drive everyone inside at dusk.

Nate did know one neighbor, Katie from next door. She was in his math class, and that was the only time he saw her. He knew she was inside the black Suburban that pulled out of their driveway every morning as he was driving out of his, but they never talked about it. He had once thought about offering her a ride to school, mostly because she was gorgeous, but had never done anything about it. Jenny probably wouldn’t have liked the idea anyway. Nate finished his second brownie and swigged the last of his milk before returning the glass to the tray. “We should get going,” he said, standing.

“I guess you’re right,” said Sam.

“Thank you for stopping by,” said the woman. “It’s nice to have company.”

“Where is your family?” asked Sam.

“At church. There’s a father/child Bible study twice a month. I just send all four kids with Bob,” she said, smiling.

Sam leaned forward, grabbed the edge of the heavy oak coffee table, and then pulled himself up. His agility was like a light switch, thought Nate, on or off. “Good for you,” Sam said to the woman. She took their coats from the back of the chair and handed them to Sam and Nate. Nate helped Sam with his coat. “I’m glad we came,” he said, allowing Nate to zip him in. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” said the woman, giving Sam a quick hug.

Nate led Sam to the front door. He thanked the woman, and then took his grandfather outside and helped him into the car. Nate backed the car out onto the road and headed for home. They rode for several minutes in silence. “I don’t know why we don’t go there more often,” said Sam. “It’s so close and we’re family.” Nate said nothing. “I don’t even know if my mother knows about this,” said Sam. “It’s uncanny.”

“What is?” asked Nate.

“The fact that we’ve had these people living in our backyard and hadn’t the slightest idea.”

Nate yawned. The events of the day coupled with his alcohol abuse the night before were catching up with him. All he could think about was his bed and a nap. Nate saw that Sam, too, was tired. Before Nate turned onto the main road, Sam, with his head against the window, was asleep. Ten minutes later, Nate pulled into the driveway and directly into the garage. He gently nudged Sam before helping him out of the car and along the path to the guesthouse. It was an extra slow journey; Sam was still sleepy. When they reached the door, Nate led Sam inside to the couch, where he was eager to lie down. Nate covered him with a blanket. Selma, who was in the kitchen cooking, waved at him. “Thank you,” said Sam softly.

“My pleasure,” said Nate. “Get some rest, Gramps.”

“That won’t be a problem,” he said, closing his eyes.

Nate nodded at Selma on his way out the front door. He walked quickly up the path to the main house. In his mother’s kitchen, Eileen was making oatmeal raisin cookies. “Well, how did everything go?” she asked.

“Fine, Gran,” said Nate. “Gramps is sleeping on the couch at your house.”

“Good,” said Eileen, looking at her watch. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” said Nate. “Tired.”

“Head upstairs then. You’ve earned your nap today.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m going up.”

“Thank
you,
” said Eileen, taking a tray of cookies out of the oven. “I’ll wake you when your parents get home, and then we can all eat together.”

Nate walked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hallway. His hand on the doorknob, Nate turned his head when his sister called him. She was standing just outside her room. “Josh called,” she said.

“How would you know?”

“Because I talked to him.”

“You answered my phone?” asked Nate, patting his empty pockets.

“No,” said Lauren. “He called on my phone.”

“Why would he do that?”

Lauren wondered how much, if anything, Nate remembered from the night before. She shrugged. “I guess he couldn’t get in touch with you.”

“What did he want?”

“To talk to you, I guess,” said Lauren.

Nate walked into his room and closed his door behind him. He looked for and found his cell phone, sitting on his desk. It was off. Too exhausted to check his messages, Nate took off his jeans and slid into his bed, where he pulled his down comforter up to his chin. Within seconds, he was warm. If someone offered him a million dollars, in cash, he wouldn’t have moved from that bed.

C
HAPTER
13

M
ike pulled his Jaguar out of the executive parking garage and circled around to pick up Ann and their bags at the curb. The lightly falling snow pleased him, even though he knew it would depress Ann. He liked winter in Michigan, where the ground was covered from early November to late March, and his car seat heaters and vents were the only source of outside warmth. It was scientifically proven that humans were more effective, more alert in cooler temperatures—perhaps an ancient survival technique. Mike’s office thermostat was set at sixty-seven degrees all year; frequent visitors knew to keep their suit jackets on. On the other end of the spectrum was Ann, who craved sunshine and warm weather, a bad match for half of the year. They had a condominium in the Florida Keys, but managed to get there only a few times a year. Occasionally, Ann flew down with a few of her friends. But her parents moving in had put an end to that. Then again, her parents moving in had put an end to a number of things. The changes were real, but hard to name, like a lost thought.

Ann had told him it would be easy, that having her parents live with them would change very little. And in some ways, she was right. Sam and Eileen did, in fact, spend most of their time in the guesthouse. And Selma, for the most part, took care of them by attending to the grocery shopping, cooking (with Eileen, Mike guessed, usually by her side), cleaning, and watching over Sam (again, with Eileen’s conscientious guidance and assistance). Ann’s parents didn’t go out much, which didn’t affect Mike one way or the other. At work most of the time, Mike saw very little of them. And Lauren and Nate had stopped complaining about them.

It was Ann who was different and, even though Mike couldn’t describe how, he knew she wasn’t the same. For example, she didn’t want to go out to dinner several times a week anymore, and yet she hated eating at home night after night. She didn’t take off with her friends for days at a time, and yet she resented not going. She loved it when people complimented her on inviting her parents to stay, and yet she found their presence burdensome. Sam and Eileen brought hardship with them, which no one in the Barons family had felt for years, his wife in particular.

Mike pulled up to the curb and got out. As he loaded their bags into the trunk, Ann sat down in the car and turned up the heat. She shivered, though she was wrapped in fur from her neck to her ankles. Mike got back in the car and drove out of the airport and onto the expressway. “Let’s go to Café Annette,” said Ann, reapplying lipstick in the visor mirror.

Mike looked at the car clock. “Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Really,” said Ann, taking her phone out of her purse. “I’ll call and see if they’ve got a table.”

“I thought your mother was expecting us for dinner.”

“She is,” said Ann, holding the phone to her ear. “That will be my next call.”

Ann booked the reservation for six o’clock, which was early, but available and perfect, really, since they were only five minutes from the restaurant. She pushed the buttons for her home number and Lauren answered the phone. “Hi, Mom,” she said. “How was your trip?”

“Great, honey,” said Ann.

“Are you on your way home?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Ann, “but we’re going to take a little detour. Will you put Gran on the phone?”

“Hello, dear,” said Eileen, her voice full of cheer and warmth. “Did you have a good time?”

“Fabulous,” said Ann. “I couldn’t be more refreshed. How was everything here?”

“Just fine,” said Eileen. “We can talk about it at dinner.”

“That’s why I’m calling,” said Ann. “Mike and I won’t be home for dinner. We’ve made other plans.”

“I thought you were going to be home,” said Eileen. “I’ve got a ham in the oven.”

“You’re sweet to make dinner, Mom,” said Ann. “I’ll be happy to have ham tomorrow night.”

“What kind of plans have you made?” asked Eileen, her vocal thermometer dropping.

“We’re just looking for another couple of hours alone,” said Ann.

“Haven’t you been alone all
weekend?
”

“Yes and no,” said Ann. “You always spend a good amount of time away with new friends.”

“Well, that’s your choice, isn’t it?” said Eileen, opening the oven door and sticking a fork into the ham.

“Yes, it is, Mom,” said Ann. “And it’s also my choice to do what I want when I want. I’m a grown-up now.”

“Yes,” said Eileen. “I’ve come to learn how very grown up you are.”

“We’ll be home by eight thirty or so,” said Ann. “I’m sure you can manage until then. It’s not like the children are toddlers.”

“I can manage just about anything,” said Eileen, turning off the oven, “just about anything.”

“Well, good,” said Ann. “We’ll see you when we get home.”

Ann pushed the E
ND
C
ALL
button before her mother had a chance to respond. “She makes me feel like a teenager again,” said Ann, putting the phone back in her purse.

Mike said nothing. “I’m serious,” said Ann. “I didn’t have to call her at all.”

“You were good to call,” said Mike, putting his hand on his wife’s thigh.

“Not in her eyes,” said Ann. “I get absolutely nothing but grief for checking in. Next time, I won’t bother.”

Mike pulled his car into the lot behind Café Annette, a restored farmhouse fifteen miles outside of town. He opened Ann’s door, then held out his arm to escort her into the restaurant. “We’ve got a few minutes,” she said, looking at her watch. “Let’s get a drink in the bar.”

 

As soon as Selma and Sam came through the kitchen door, Eileen pulled the scalloped potatoes and buttered rolls from the oven and set them down on the dining room sideboard. Nate got up from the kitchen table, where he had been looking at
Sports Illustrated
and enjoying the savory smell of an imminent dinner, strode to the island, and picked up the electric knife. Lauren stood at the stove and spooned buttered green beans and slivered almonds out of a saucepan and into a china serving dish. When it was full, she covered it and then took it into the dining room and set it down on the hot pad next to the potatoes. Eileen stood next to Nate, watching him carve. “You are good at this, Nate,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Nate, glancing at his grandmother.

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” said Nate. “Go sit with Selma and Gramps. I’ll bring the platter in.”

Eileen hesitated. “Go,” Nate said gently. Reluctantly, Eileen left the kitchen. Lauren returned from the dining room and stood next to Nate. She had never watched anyone carve before, except the chef at the club, and she was mesmerized by the pink folds of meat falling away from the whole and onto the warmed oval platter. Nate stopped carving and told his sister to join the others. “I’ll bring it in,” he said.

Eileen sat at the head of the table, where Ann usually sat. Only then did Lauren remember her parents were supposed to be home. “Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked as Nate walked in from the kitchen.

“They’ve been delayed,” said Eileen evenly.

“Now there’s a surprise,” said Nate, setting the platter down in front of his father’s chair and then sitting. “Late plane or early dinner reservations at Tony’s?”

“They did go out to dinner,” said Eileen, not making eye contact with anyone as she unfolded her napkin in her lap.

“Because what we have here certainly isn’t good enough,” said Nate. “My mother needs salmon poached in a parchment bag and a carafe of wine to get her through a Sunday night.”

“Nate,” said Eileen. “Will you say the blessing?”

Nate made a face. “I don’t want to do that, Gran.”

“It’s not hard,” she replied. “Just tell us what you’re thankful for and then we can eat.”

Nate looked at his sister. “I’m thankful,” he began, “for this weekend. I’m thankful for Gran taking care of us. And I’m thankful Gramps is feeling better.”

“Amen,” said Eileen. “Thank you, Nate.”

“Did you say anything to my mom about, uh, the events of the weekend?” asked Lauren, looking at her grandmother.

“No,” said Eileen. “And the more I think about it, the more I think we should just keep it to ourselves.”

“Keep what to ourselves?” asked Sam. “If you’re going to have secrets, you might as well let me in on them.”

“It’s nothing, really,” said Eileen. “We can all talk about it later. Let’s eat.” They all ate hungrily, especially Sam. Eileen cut his ham into bite-sized pieces, which he shoved into his mouth. And while watching him eat could be disgusting at times, Nate also found it fascinating. His grandfather was like a caveman with no concept of table manners. He ate because he was hungry. And the faster he could get the food into his body, the faster his hunger would be sated. It was a very honest way to eat. People could make such a big deal out of a meal. They employed tricks like putting the fork down on the plate after each bite, or taking a sip of water after each swallow, all in an effort to slow themselves down. It was a game, really, like the rest of life. Nate was beginning to understand the time involved in making a meal, since his grandmother seemed to be in the kitchen all day long doing whatever was required to produce one awesome dinner after another, so he could also understand why the cook didn’t want the meal rushed. But why not eat quickly, like Sam, then sit back at the table, digest, and talk about how good the food tasted? Wouldn’t a cook appreciate that as much as watching people pick at their food so slowly that half of it would be cold before it passed through their lips? Nate looked back at his grandfather, who had finished his meal and was holding his plate out for more. He had a lot of problems, but showing his true feelings wasn’t among them. And for that, Nate thought, he was better off than most.

 

After dinner, they had vanilla ice cream topped with Eileen’s homemade fudge sauce. Then they all helped in the kitchen, with Sam drying the unbreakable things with a dish towel, then setting them on the island. When the work was done, Selma and Sam put on their coats and walked out the back door. Eileen, who was wrapping up leftovers, promised she’d join them after Ann and Mike got home. Lauren gathered her homework from the kitchen table, stacking her books against her chest. “So, do you not want us to talk about what happened with Gramps?” she asked. Nate, who had just picked his backpack up off the floor and hoisted it onto his shoulder, stood still and listened.

Eileen brushed a curl from her forehead. “It’s not that I don’t want you to say anything,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t want to worry your mother and father. It’s over and I’d just as soon forget about it. We’ll all be more careful. And, of course, if anything like this happens again, I’ll tell your parents everything. Does that sound okay to you two?”

Nate shrugged. “What about the locking system?” asked Lauren.

“I will have to talk to your father about that,” said Eileen. “But I will do it in a vague way, something about Sam fiddling with it or being able to unlock it. What do you think?”

“Sure,” said Nate.

“Lauren?”

“I’m okay with that, Gran,” she said. “You’re probably right.” Lauren walked over to Eileen and kissed her on the cheek. “Aside from what happened to Gramps, this has been an incredible weekend,” she said. “You’re a great babysitter.”

“And you,” Eileen said to Lauren, “are a great kid.”

Lauren looked at Nate. “See?”

“Clearly, she doesn’t know you too well,” said Nate. His headache was finally gone, his stomach was full of delicious homemade food, and his parents were elsewhere. He hadn’t felt this good since Josh picked him up for the party the night before. He, too, kissed his grandmother’s cheek, and then followed Lauren into the hallway. “Tell me again why Josh was here last night,” he said when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Lauren’s heart thumped. Josh had told her to keep his visit a secret. “He just stopped by,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“Why?”

“I guess someone drank all his beer at the party,” said Lauren, walking up the stairs, “so he left.”

“I know that,” said Nate. “I’m wondering why he came here.”

“Maybe he wanted to make sure you got home all right.” Leaving her brother standing at the top of the stairs, Lauren walked down the hallway to her room. She shut the door behind her. Nate lingered a moment, then walked into his room, flopped down on his bed, and called Jenny. She picked up, as she always did, on the third ring. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better,” said Nate. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I don’t know what happened to me.”

“I do,” said Jenny. “You drank too much.”

“You are a genius,” said Nate, smiling. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” said Jenny, “but cleaning up your vomit was absolutely disgusting.”

“You cleaned it up?”

“Did you think I was going to leave it all to your grandmother?”

“Thank you,” said Nate.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

“From what I remember, I guess I did. Did you?”

“I guess so,” said Jenny. “It was kind of weird, though. A lot of people were messed up. I don’t like that.”

“I know you don’t,” said Nate. “Let’s do something different next weekend—just you and me.”

“Like what?” asked Jenny.

“I’ll think about it and you think about it and we’ll come up with something,” said Nate. “Do you still love me?”

“Of course, I love you,” said Jenny, meaning it.

“I love you, too,” said Nate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Jenny. “Good night.”

Nate called Josh next. “Hey,” said Josh. “How’s the Spew King?”

“Very funny,” said Nate. “What were you up to last night?”

“Other than cleaning up your barf, not much,” said Josh.

“Why did you leave the party?”

“Someone drank my beer,” said Josh. “I guess it put me in a bad mood, so I just wanted out.”