The Lazy Lemon Sun Ch. 04

"But that was Pat's people," Dad said. "I didn't do-- "

"I don't want to hear your fucking excuses, Dad," I said. "I wanna hear what you're going to do about it. And I want to hear it right now."

He looked at me, a look of resolution coming over his face. He stood, gulped down the rest of his coffee, and said "I'm going to go take a leak, and then you're going to take me to her, okay?"

* * * * *

Clarice Talbott wasn't home when we got there. At Dad's insistence, we waited in the car for her to get back. After two hours, I suggested lunch, but he'd hear none of it. By one thirty, I needed to take a leak. He told me to get out and go piss behind a tree; he wasn't going anywhere.

At ten to two, she pulled into her driveway and got out of her car.

Before she could get to her front door, Dad was out of the car and calling out, "Clarice, wait a moment."

She froze, then slowly turned to face him. I raced up behind my Dad as he strode across the street, across her lawn, and up to the base of the front porch, looking up at her.

"Senator," she said, visibly shaken.

"Clarice, settle down. I don't know what they told you, but you're not in any kind of trouble, okay?"

Her nod said she didn't believe him.

Dad looked the house over, then back up at Clarice and said, "You mind if we come in for a moment? I think Mark here needs to use the bathroom."

She looked at me, back to Dad, and stuttered, "S-s-sure. Uh, come in."

We followed her in to a neat, cozy little living room with a small, ten-years-out-of-date television sitting on a stand opposite a worn loveseat and a secondhand rocking chair.

"Bathroom's down the hall," she mumbled, avoiding our eyes. "First door on the left."

I went, took a leak, washed my hands, and got back in as quickly as nature's call would allow. Clarice was on the love seat, her hands folded in her lap and her head down. Dad was in the rocking chair pulled up in front of her, speaking in a soft voice.

"I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am," he said. "Why didn't you tell me."

"We're doing fine."

"You're not doing fine, Clarice. I told you I'd make this right by you, but you've got to let me."

"I did tell you, though," she said, looking up at him with a small blazing in her eyes. "Last year I sent a letter to you. At your house, so no one at the office would get it and find out. I told you then I was having troubles."

"I never got it, Clarice. I swear."

I knew where it went, though. Mom, sure as hell.

"Well I did," she insisted. "I'm trying, Senator. But you have no idea what it's like. How hard it is."

"What're you paying her?" I interrupted. "How much are you getting to help out with Schuyler and everything else?"

"Fifteen hundred a month," Dad said.

"Four hundred a month," Clarice said at the same time.

Dad stared at her. "It's fifteen hundred."

"No, Dad," I said. "It's four hundred. That's how I found out about her. I saw the financial records showing all the payments. It's always been four hundred."

I thought he was going to have a heart attack. "But . . . what . . . it was supposed to be . . . ."

"Who was in charge of setting it all up?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I mean, Jim Parker, I suppose. But I didn't really tell him. It was supposed to be . . . I just thought. . . ."

"You left Mom in charge of it, didn't you?"

He nodded, his face blank with the shock.

"And you," I said, turning to Clarice. "You've probably sent other letters to the house, too, right?"

She looked at Dad and said, "Yes. For five years. Fifteen, twenty letters."

"And when the man showed up at the door, he wanted to know what I'd learned, right?"

"Yes," she whispered, tensing at the memories.

"And he said if you lied, they'd cut you off totally, right?"

"Right."

I looked from her to Dad. "I think I hit the nail on the head yesterday, Dad. She's a monster. Mom's a monster, and Stevie got her genes in more ways than one."

He could only stare at me, whatever little bit of good still left in him so utterly shocked and repulsed at Mom's actions and the continuing rape of Clarice Talbott."

"But you're going to make good on this, aren't you, Dad?"

He nodded.

"You're gonna make good on it right now, right?"

He nodded again, a little faster.

"Then get out your checkbook. Now."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it out.

"Well?" I said. "What're you waiting for? Start writing."

He reached for a pen, and I turned to leave.

* * * * *

I was four blocks away when I heard her calling out behind me.

I turned and saw Clarice Talbott running after me, waving for me to stop. I did, then started walking back toward her before she collapsed. Seeing me coming back, she waited with her hands on her knees, gulping for air.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know."

"It's why you showed up, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"It's why you went to his games and cheered for him, too."

"Right again," I said. "I thought he was my brother at first. I thought you and Dad . . . you get the picture."

"How much do you know?"

"I'm pretty sure all of it. Dad told me this morning. He told me that Schuyler was my nephew, and he told me . . . ."

She stood up, still getting her breath back. "He told you that Steven raped me. That that's how it happened."

I nodded, then said, "And he told me they were supporting you and Schuyler, too. But I'd seen your house, and I was pretty sure they could do better. Also, I remember that look on your face when you slammed the door on me. I heard you on the phone with someone."

"So you made him come here and tell me that . . . well, set everything right, is that it?"

"I didn't think you should be living in fear or looking over your shoulder for something that I caused."

"How did you cause it?"

"I ran away. Up here to find you and my little brother. That's what I thought, and that's why I came here."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"Long story."

"I'd like to hear it sometime," she said, her eyes piercing me with an intense gaze. "Because whatever they did, it has to be more than just this. I've never seen anyone--and I mean anyone--talk to your father like that. Ever."

"You wouldn't believe it."

"I'm afraid I would. If it involves your mother, I'm thinking now that I'd definitely believe it."

"Yeah, well, maybe sometime I'll tell you all about it."

I just looked at her for a minute, then turned to resume walking.

"Hey Mark?" she said.

I stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"I know he's not your brother and all, but he is still your nephew, y'know?"

"I know."

"Well, I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to meet him sometime."

I smiled. "I'd like that a lot. More than you'd ever believe." I hesitated, then said, "But it won't be too hard on you? Knowing I'm the brother of the guy that . . . you know."

She shook her head. "You're nothing like him. Nothing. And Schuyler needs someone else in his life. So any time you can give . . . well, I think it would help. Anything."

I nodded. "Beware what you wish for. If I have my way, he'll be playing drums in a little band I'm thinking about getting together."

She laughed. "Thanks. That's just what I need. A mini Dave Grohl pounding away day and night."

"We'll work something out at his game on Sunday, if that's okay."

"That's perfect," she said. "And Mark? Thanks. Really."

I waved her off, then turned back and started walking into the brisk wind blowing into my face.

Sandy was right. It was cold up here.

I decided to get some warmer clothes, because there was no way I was leaving now.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It had been a long afternoon spent walking from Clarice's back out to the diner to get my car. Then I'd phoned Whitney and set up an appointment for both her and Rebecca. After driving around and thinking about everything for almost two hours, I made the appointment and told them everything. My folks showing up, Sandy the night before, my scumbag brother, and my nephew and Clarice. The whole mess.

When it was done, they both looked as tired and worn down as I felt. They said no to a meal, so I wandered back to my dumpy little apartment.

It was dark, and I flipped on a switch in the kitchen. I hadn't eaten all day, and my stomach was growling. I was still chilled to the bone, too, but decided against soup on the side. Thus, seven thirty saw me sitting alone at my table with an Italian Beef with sweet peppers and a salad on the side. I didn't taste the food, though the beer chaser calmed my nerves.

One last look at the clock, ten to eight, and I scraped my half-eaten meal into the garbage and made for the bedroom.

Opening the door, I heard movement on the bed and flipped on the lights.

Sandy was laying atop the comforter, curled up on her side, sound asleep. I smiled, not caring how she'd gotten in.

I got undressed, pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and got onto the bed next to her. She mumbled and squirmed, then settled back down to a steady rhythm of light snores.

I laid there, content with just watching her sleep for the first time in months. Then the thought struck me: I had my answer if she had hers.

* * * * *

"I thought it was a dream," she whispered when the sunlight woke me up.

I turned to her with a smile. "How'd you get in?"

"Patio door was unlocked. You must've forgot to lock it last night when you went in."

"When did you get here?"

"Late afternoon. I tried that place you work, but they said you'd taken the day off. I decided to wait, but I must've fallen asleep."

"Pretty early, too. I went to bed just before eight, and you were already snoring away."

"I don't snore."

"I'll record you next time."

"You're serious?" she said, mulling it over for a moment. "I snore?"

"Yep."

"What kind of snore?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"You know. Is it a big rumbling snore, or a dainty little snore? Like a cute snore you can just barely hear."

"The big rumbling number."

"Do not," she protested, then shrieked a giggle and pushed me away.

I smiled, reminded of the Sandy of old, the one that was always like that great gust of constant wind.

"I came here to tell you something," she said after a moment.

"What's that."

"That I'll go wherever you want and do whatever you want on whatever terms you want," she said, firmly and convincingly. Then her voice dropped and she said, "Assuming you decide to give us a second chance, that is. Give me a second chance."

"Even if it means staying here?"

"Here as in this town, or here as in this dumpy little apartment?"

"Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "We can afford a nicer place, you know. But if you want to stay here, then fine. I'll stay here with you."

I smiled. "You sure?"

"There's just one condition, though."

"What's that?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

"This new you? The one that's gonna start doing what he wants to do and stuff? He's still got to stay the old you, too."

"Meaning?"

"I fell in love with the Mark Roberts that loved me back and that wanted to spend time with me. You wanna play in a band and do something else for a living--even tend bar, for that matter--that's fine. But I still want the Mark who sings to me on the patio and holds my hand and usually lets me pick the movies, too. Or is that Mark gone?"

"So I've got to keep watching that sappy crap you're always dragging me off to?"

She nodded, but didn't smile. She bit her lip and said, "Sorry. We can see more of yours, but I still wanna see some of mine, too."

"So what you're saying is--assuming we decide to give this another shot, of course--you're saying it still has to be a partnership. I can't turn into some sort of petty tyrant, right?"

"Something like that."

"Even if it gets kinky and involves light spankings and blatant exhibitionism."

"Get out," she said, pushing me again with that playful giggle. "Exhibitionism in this goddamned tundra? You kidding me or something?"

"So the light spankings are in?"

She gave a playful shrug. "Sure, why not? Your ass is like steel. Shouldn't hurt you too much."

I laughed, then replayed what she'd just said and got silent. Rebecca had said that about what I considered my somewhat average bottom.

"What?"

"I may've had a girlfriend up here."

"May have?"

"Did."

She slowly got a scared look on her face. "Do you love her?"

"Never got that far."

"But you're still seeing her?"

"Only saw her a few times, Sandy. Then we sorta just settled into a friendship."

"But you . . . ."

"Yes."

She closed her eyes and laid back on the bed.

"I really thought we were over," I explained. "That it was all a joke from the git go."

She opened her eyes, still looking at the ceiling, and said, "Can we talk about this some other time?"

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"Positive. I just need to get my head around it."

"How so?"

She rolled to her side and looked at me. "You sleeping with her, that was me three years ago. You felt like I did then, like it wasn't really a marriage so what's the big deal, right?"

"Pretty much."

"So how can I hate you or yell at you or blame you or anything? Especially where I did the same thing back then."

"I guess so, but still."

She shook her head. "And you did it after running off after I'd spent three years trying to prove I loved you as much as you loved me, so it's pretty . . . well, it hurts that way, too. But then again, that's pretty much when I did it to you, too. After you spent the first years showing me how much you really loved me."

"I didn't do it to get even," I said. "We only did it-- "

"It doesn't matter if you only did it once," she said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. "What matters it that I just have to deal with it, okay? And I will. I promise."

"If you need some more time to think about this," I started, but was stopped when she leaned in and kissed me.

"I don't need more time, Mark. I know what I want, and I know we've both got some things to get over, okay? I just didn't expect to have to get over this one. Caught me a bit by surprise, though I don't know why."

"What're you saying? I'm a skirt chaser?"

"No," she said, reaching under my shirt to stroke my chest. "That you're hot, and I'm surprised I didn't show up here to find you with a whole flock of chicks all over you."

"Did I forget to mention them?"

She laughed, then pushed me away. "Go brush your teeth."

* * * * *

"Sure got a bounce to your step today," Ferlin observed as I cleaned up after the lunchtime crowd.

"Things are looking up, my portly pal."

"Portly pal?"

I smiled. "Things are definitely looking up."

He looked at me for a moment, then smiled and said, "Good for you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"No, I mean for everything. Thanks."

"I know what you meant," he grumbled. "And you're still welcome. This mean you're quitting?"

"Not now, but soon."

"Try to give me a week's notice, huh?"

"I'll give you three."

"Fair enough."

* * * * *

Rebecca and Whitney dropped by after work for a drink.

"You're getting back together, aren't you?" Whitney said, her face as happy as I'd ever seen it.

"Looks that way."

Rebecca seemed put off at first, then just smiled and shrugged. "Oh well, maybe next time."

I leaned over and said to both of them, "This doesn't change anything so far as I'm concerned. Other than Ferlin and Teddy Cooper and Nick Harlan and the girls around here, you're the only folks I know up here."

"So you're staying here?" Rebecca said. "Not going back to that high paying job in Memphis?"

"Staying here."

"With her?"

"With Sandy. Yes."

She gave a real smile at that. "Cool."

"Hey, babe," a guy said as he approached.

Whitney's face lit up and she said, "Hey to you, too, babe."

He leaned over and kissed her, then looked at me and said, "Bottle of Bud?"

"Aaron," Whitney said to him, "this is Mark Roberts, the one I've been telling you about."

He gave me a lazy smile, but his eyes narrowed as he eyed me up. "Hey, Mark," he said, extending his arm.

"You're a cop, right?" I said as we shook hands.

"She tell you?"

"Nah. Just a lucky guess."

When they all left a half hour later, Rebecca made eye contact, then looked down to her hand on the bar. I looked down as well and watched as she slid a small piece of folded paper toward the bar rail. When she lifted her hand, I looked back to her face. With a wide smile and flirty bounce of her eyebrows, she left.

I followed that magnificent ass all the way out the door before picking up the note and reading.

"Loyola Law School has three openings for associate professor starting Fall next year," the note read. "Just thought you might be interested."

I thought about it, then slid the note in my pocket.

Hell yes I was interested.

* * * * *

Sandy met me for a drink after work, and we were sitting off in a corner when her daddy walked in with my dad.

"Mark," he called, giving a fake smile from ear to ear.

"Pat," I replied, not bothering to stand or stick out my hand.

He hesitated, the smile faltering, then got it all back together in full force and plodded on. "So we've found you, boy. Mind if I sit?"

"Yes, Daddy, we do mind," Sandy said, a sickly sweet smile on her face.

His features clouded, and this time the smile was gone for good. He stood taller then, trying to use his natural advantages to their fullest.

"I just want to know that you're all right," he said.

"We're out, Daddy," Sandy said. "Got it? Out. We're gonna be living up here now, and we don't want anything to do with any of you. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. You, Mom, the Senator and Debra, you're all out of the picture now, got it?"

"Who do you-- "

"Let's go, Mark," she said, pushing off the barstool and grabbing my hand.

I let her lead me past them toward the door. Halfway there, though, she stopped and spun around.

"And let's get this straight, Daddy," she said, snarling out the Daddy part. "You leave us alone and you make sure everyone else leaves us alone, too. If the press shows up at our front door, I'm gonna give it to 'em straight. All of it. Then you can explain to the poor voters of Tennessee how you used your own daughter to play them all for fools."

His face masked into fury, and his massive fists clenched at his side.

"Say you understand," she said through clenched teeth.

He only stared.

"Say it," she demanded.

"I understand."

With that, she spun around again and led me out the door in a huff.

* * * * *

She followed me back to my dumpy little apartment. Before Sandy had arrived--and before I'd decided to give it another shot--I'd been okay with the place. Hell, it suited my needs. Now, though, I was a bit embarrassed. Rebecca had been right: It was more a dorm room than a home.

"I'm starving," Sandy said as she unwrapped her layers of jacket, sweater, hat, and scarf, shaking out her hair as she did so. "You got anything to eat?"

"Sandwich?" I said.

She gave me her famous quizzical look, the one that's half what-the-hell and half you-can't-be-serious. "That's all?"

"Yep."

"Is that what you've been living on for the past two months?"

"Yep."

She started smiling. "What kind of sandwich?"

I went to the freezer and opened it. "Tonight's Thursday, so it's Tex Mex sloppy joes made with ground bison."

"Bison? As in buffalo meat?"

"As in buffalo meat."

"Is it any good?"

"Not a clue. I haven't tried it yet."

She closed the gap between us and put her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. "You've already changed, Mark. And I'm thinking for the better."

"How so?"

"I don't know. You just have."

"So you ready for some sloppy joes?"

"Sure."

She helped me thaw and then gently reheat the sandwich filling. Twenty minutes later, we were seated opposite each other at the tiny table, unable to take our eyes off each other as we ate, but also unable to really say anything.