The walk home from school was quiet along Lakeview Blvd., and the spring air was cool and bright. Railroad tracks to the left that ran parallel to the road, were mostly blocked from view by the thick trees and untrimmed underbrush. On the right, sturdy high-end homes hugged the lake’s edge. Further up ahead, I could see the entrance to our driveway, and as I approached I saw something unusual. Dad\u2019s Buick Riviera was parked in the carport, half-hidden behind a line of shrubbery. This was curious, to say the least, maybe even worse than curious. He was never home from work this early. Something must be wrong. My first thought, of course, was that he\u2019d found out about Gloria and me. If that was the case, I was dead meat. My heartbeat began to accelerate as I considered the possible punishments a fifteen-year-old boy might incur if convicted of having an illicit love affair with his married, ninth-grade art teacher. Jail? Prison? Banishment of some kind?
But how could they have found out? We\u2019d been so careful. Maybe I was being overly dramatic. Maybe there was some other explanation. Maybe Dad had had a fight with his new wife, Pat. Maybe they\u2019d had an argument of some sort that required immediate attention. Yes, that was a more probable speculation. Plus, it warmed my heart to think it might be true. Pat hated my guts, that was obvious from the very first day she and her seven-year-old son had moved in with us two months earlier.
So, I hoped it was a domestic dust-up that brought my father home early from work, not the discovery of my clandestine affair. I strode across the carport and descended the switchback stone steps down through the trees and bushes to the front door. Once there, I hesitated for a moment in the shade. It was very quiet.
Reaching out I grasped the doorknob, turned it quietly, and gently pushed open the front door. On the far side of the living room, Dad and Pat stood together looking at me, silent and serious. Closing the door behind me, I stepped in a bit. I could see Dad\u2019s eyes were bloodshot. Nobody said anything for a moment and I, of course, assumed the worst. They knew.
Then Dad said, \u201cSon, I need to talk to you.\u201d He turned and indicated the master bedroom, a room I never entered. I crossed the room, passing close by Pat, who hadn\u2019t said a word. Once inside, Dad gently closed the door behind us, turned to me, and said, \u201cI think you should sit down.\u201d
Still having no idea what this was about, I did what he asked and sat down on the edge of the bed. Then, sitting down beside me, Dad put his arm around my shoulder. \u201cI have some bad news\u201d, he said, and I could feel him begin to tremble.
\u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.
He began to quietly sob. \u201cYour mother is dead.\u201d
I was suddenly numb and in utter disbelief asked again, \u201cwhat?\u201d
Dad repeated, \u201cYour mother is dead. They found her in her bed today and Bob said he thought she was just taking a nap, but when he tried to wake her she wouldn\u2019t wake up.\u201d And saying this, Dad let go of all restraint and his sobbing became loud bellows of pain. He rolled me back onto the bed, clutching me in a desperation I had never witnessed before.
I began to feel a paralyzing panic because I felt nothing for my dead mother. Nothing. Yet, here was my father, who never cried, wracked with shocking anguish. I felt I should match his pain and do something to protect him, but I didn\u2019t know what to say or do. I just let him hold me until it was over. Several minutes went by and Dad\u2019s cries began to even-out and his arms began to release their hold on me. I still hadn’t spoken a word. It was like I was trapped at the bottom of a well so deep below the surface, suffocating darkness choked off my ability to speak. After a few more moments, we sat up, Dad wiping his eyes with his shirt cuff. He gave me one last embrace, and then I went downstairs to my room.
Sitting on my bed, I stayed quiet for a long time. Six months had passed since I\u2019d last seen my mother. She\u2019d swooped in for a few hours to visit and say \u201cMerry Christmas.\u201d Before she left that day she gave me a gift. It was a black and white portrait of herself, in a simple wooden frame. The photo conveyed her beauty and a deep sadness both at once. It took me many years to pry open the mystery behind this gift, and many years to cry so deeply because of what I found.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The walk home from school was quiet along Lakeview Blvd., and the spring air was cool and bright. Railroad tracks to the left that ran parallel to the road, were mostly blocked from view by the thick trees and untrimmed underbrush. On the right, sturdy high-end homes hugged the lake’s edge. Further up … <\/p>\n