Читать книгу What We Remember - Michael Thomas Ford - Страница 12

1982

The knock at the door was barely audible through the sound of the music. At first James mistook it for some odd drumming pattern. But when it came again, he realized that someone was trying to get his attention. He removed the headphones and called out, “Come in!”

The door opened and his father entered the bedroom. James was surprised to see him. His father seldom came into his room. Now he stood just inside the door, his hands in his pockets, looking around the room as if he’d never been there. James waited for him to speak.

“Dad?” he said after a long silence. “What’s up?”

His father cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about something,” he said.

James groaned. “I know, I need to get my trig grade up,” he said. “I’m working on it. Nancy’s been helping me, and—”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” his father interrupted. “Nancy,” he clarified.

“Nancy?” James said. “What about her?”

His father looked at him. “I think you should spend less time with her,” he said.

James, confused, leaned back in his desk chair. “Less time?” he repeated. “Why? I thought you and Mom liked her.”

“We do like her,” his father said. “We just think things might be getting a little too serious.”

James, turning the words over in his head, suddenly blushed. “Oh, God,” he said. “No. We haven’t…I mean, we aren’t…” He stopped, unable to say the words.

To his surprise, his father chuckled. “Not that kind of serious,” he said. “Although I’m glad to hear that I don’t have to worry about that either, at least not yet.”

“Then I don’t understand,” James told him.

His father gave him a little smile. “You’re young,” he said. “Only fifteen. There’s a lot of time for girlfriends.”

“Okay,” James said slowly. “But I have a girlfriend now.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t see Nancy,” his father explained. “I’m just saying I’d prefer it if you didn’t see her quite so much.”

James shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one. Yet.” His father spoke slowly, as if he were working out in his mind just what he wanted to say. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t become one.”

“Why would it?” James asked. He was starting to get angry. His father was speaking to him as if he were a kid, not a teenager. Christ, he was almost old enough to drive. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend?

“You’re schoolwork hasn’t been great lately,” his father said. “You’ve stopped playing ball.”

“I told you, I’m working on the grades,” James argued. “And I stopped playing baseball because it takes up too much time.”

“Time you’re now spending with Nancy,” said his father. “James, I know how you feel. Believe me, I do. That’s why I know what’s best for you right now. All I’m asking—all your mother and I are asking—is that you and Nancy take a break for a while.”

“A break,” James said. “For how long? A week? A month? What are we talking about here?” His voice had an edge to it, and he saw his father stiffen.

“Don’t speak to me in that tone,” he said.

“You’re treating me like I’m Billy’s age!” James said, his anger growing. “I think I can decide for myself what I should and shouldn’t do.”

His father’s face reddened, and for a moment James was afraid of what might come next. But his father stayed where he was, and after a moment he said, “I’m sure you do think that. I know I did when I was your age. But in this case I’m asking you to do what I think is best for you.”

“It sounds more like you’re telling me,” James replied. “What if I say no?” He was testing his father, and he knew he was dangerously close to going too far. But he was mad, and that made him reckless.

“I hope that you won’t,” his father answered.

The implied threat hung between them. James considered the possible ramifications of refusing. What could his parents do? Ground him? Take away his driving privileges? If they did, he wouldn’t be able to see Nancy anyway, not unless he did it behind their backs. And if he got caught doing that, things would be even worse.

He really didn’t have any option but to agree to his father’s demands. But he wasn’t going to do it happily. “Fine,” he muttered, turning back to the homework on his desk.

“Excuse me?” his father said.

“I said fine,” James repeated. “I’ll tell Nancy I can’t see her so much.”

“You don’t have to tell her,” said his father. “She already knows.”

James whirled around. “What?” he exclaimed.

“A.J. is talking to her,” his father explained.

James could only stare at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was bad enough that his parents were asking him to break things off with Nancy. But her father telling her the same thing made it feel even more like they were being ganged up on.

“Did you guys have, like, some kind of meeting about this?” he asked. He knew he was speaking too loudly, too accusatively, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I mean, what the hell, Dad?”

“Watch your mouth,” his father barked. But he looked away from James’s face for a second, and in that moment James knew that they really had planned everything out. It wasn’t just his parents who were worried about him and Nancy seeing each other; Nancy’s father was too.

“You don’t trust us,” James said, shaking his head. “You say this is all about grades and sports and…and…a bunch of bullshit. But what you’re really afraid of is that we’re fu—”

“That’s enough!” His father’s voice thundered through the room, startling James and stopping his heart. As his father advanced toward him James put up his arms, instinctively shielding his face.

His father stopped barely a foot away. James looked at the big hands, clenched into fists and held waist level. Unable to bring himself to look at his father’s face, he instead listened to the heavy exhalations of breath—like those of an angry bull—that chilled his blood. He closed his eyes, praying that he hadn’t said too much, and knowing that he had.

“I asked you to mind your language, James,” his father said. There was an edge to his voice now, a sharpness that warned of imminent danger. James felt it slice across his skin, and his cheeks burned with fear and shame.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sounding to him like that of a child. He was embarrassed that he couldn’t speak with more assurance, ashamed of how he thought he must look to his father. Daniel McCloud, he thought, would never back down so easily.

“I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that again,” his father said. He turned and moved away from James. But only when his father was once again standing near the door did the fear that choked James’s voice release its grip and his heart resume its usual steady beat.

“Nancy will understand that this is what’s best for both of you,” his father said. His voice was flat, emotionless, and this frightened James almost as much as had the previous harshness. This was the voice of the town sheriff laying down the law. Usually it was reserved for strangers or those who had in some way offended Daniel McCloud’s strict code of conduct. When it was turned on one of his own, it meant that he had ceased any attempt at negotiation. Whatever edict came next, James knew that he would accept it without question.

“You’ll get your grades back up,” his father continued. “And you’ll rejoin the team. I’ll speak to Coach Baker about that.” He paused for a moment. “If your next report card is better, we’ll see about letting you and Nancy spend more time together.”

“Can I at least call her sometimes?” James asked.

His father nodded. “Occasionally. And you’ll see her at school, of course. Church. Whenever the families get together. None of that will change. You just won’t be spending so much time with her alone. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay, not at all. But James knew enough not to say as much. He’d come very close to trouble, and there would be no second chances. He merely said, “Okay.”

“Good boy,” his father said. “And you’ll see—you’ll be a better man for this. One day you’ll thank me.”

“Sure, Dad,” James replied. “Sorry I got so angry.”

His father waved one hand at him, and James understood that whatever had threatened the peace between them had now passed. His father, having won, could afford to be generous with his forgiveness. James accepted it with relief.

“I’ve got to go into town for a while,” his father said. “Want to come along?”

James very much wanted to go, to sit beside his father in the sheriff’s department pickup and be seen by any of his buddies who might be hanging around downtown. But he sensed that his father was testing him, and so he chose the path of safety. “Thanks, but I have a lot of homework to do,” he said. “Next time.”

“Next time,” his father agreed, nodding. He left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving James alone with his resentment.

James picked up the headphones and fitted them over his ears. Hitting the Play button on his tape deck, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, Journey’s “Stone in Love” filling his head and driving away the anger he felt toward his father. He silently mouthed the words, and when the guitar solo kicked in he turned the volume up as high as it would go.

The song was a favorite of his, and the album from which it came played almost continuously on his stereo. Nancy, too, loved the band. James had even bought tickets to their upcoming concert in Syracuse. He’d been planning on surprising her with them. Now, he thought, he might as well give them to one of his friends. But the concert wasn’t for another two months. Maybe by then his father and Nancy’s father would have calmed down about the whole thing. And even if they haven’t… he told himself. He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. He knew what would happen if he defied his father that way.

Still, it would almost be worth it to stand next to Nancy while Steve Perry sang “Open Arms.” He’d first kissed her while slow dancing to that song, at one of the Friday night school dances. Normally he hated those things. They seemed so babyish. But one night Nancy had persuaded him to go, and he’d agreed to make her happy. When she’d asked him to slow dance with her, he had almost been afraid to. But he’d done it, and in the middle of the song he had leaned down and kissed her. He still didn’t know why he’d done it. Maybe it was the song. Maybe it was the way it felt to have his arms around Nancy, smelling her perfume and feeling her head on his shoulder. Maybe he’d just been crazy. But he’d done it, and Nancy had let him.

That was three months earlier. Since then, they’d spent more and more time together, nearly every afternoon and sometimes the evenings too. Mostly they worked on homework and talked. James liked talking to Nancy. She made him feel good. He’d even told her about how he wanted to go into politics when he was older. He hadn’t told anyone else that. And Nancy didn’t think it was silly at all. She told him she thought he would make a great congressman, or even a senator.

Why couldn’t his father understand that Nancy was good for him? Sure, his grades had slipped a little, but he could fix that. And baseball wasn’t the most important thing in the world. Honestly, he didn’t even really like playing all that much. But his father had this idea—this image—of how his son was supposed to be. James had always known that he was expected to be what his father wanted him to be, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

But someone had to be the son his father wanted, and Billy wasn’t going to do it. It was pretty clear the kid was hopeless when it came to things like sports. He was a good kid, and most of the time he didn’t bother James too much, but sometimes James wondered how they could have come from the same parents. Celeste could be a pain in the ass, but at least he understood her. Billy he just didn’t get. It was as if he were an alien or something. He just didn’t fit.

Anyway, he had resigned himself to the fact that he was the one who had to fulfill his father’s expectations. And it wasn’t such a bad job, really. But sometimes he wasn’t sure which part of him was real and which part was him being what his father wanted him to be. He thought he ought to know, but it wasn’t always totally clear in his head. Sometimes he looked in the bathroom mirror and saw someone he didn’t recognize at all.

When he was with Nancy, though, he felt like himself. She didn’t care what his grades were, or how he’d played in a game, or anything like that. When he was with her they talked about other things—music, and movies, and what they wanted to do when they were old enough to get out of Cold Falls. And they both agreed that they would get out. Maybe to Albany, or even New York. Nancy made him feel like he could do anything he wanted.

But now she was gone, or might as well be. Now all he had was homework and baseball practice and trying to make his father happy. It wasn’t much to look forward to. I’ll do it, though, he promised himself as he opened his history book to the chapter on the Reconstruction. If it means I get her back, I’ll do it.