Читать книгу The Jealous Son - Michele Chynoweth - Страница 17

BABY CAMERON WAS BEAUTIFUL, his skin flawless from the C-section delivery that hot August night.

Eliza and Alex had said prayers of gratitude every night for weeks that their baby boy had made it through. That gratitude sustained them for a few months, even when Cameron developed colic, but soon started to fade into sleepless nights and long days with Alex working constantly, many times on jobs throughout the weekends, to get overtime to pay their bills while Eliza healed from her surgery, nursed the baby, and fought postpartum blues.

Eliza had to eventually go back to work at the diner so they wouldn’t lose the apartment and resentfully placed nine-month-old Cameron into a day care. She hated leaving him but knew the alternative would be that they would be living in a shelter or on the streets.

Some light finally shed on the little family when Alex received a well-deserved promotion to team leader of his roofing crew. Eliza had discovered that his hopes for getting the leadership position based on stellar reviews from his superiors had been the good news her husband had never managed to share the day she told him she was pregnant.

Managing a bunch of roofers was tough work, and he often came home even more surly than he used to be, but the pay was nearly double what he had been making.

Eliza could finally quit her waitress job and work from home part-time doing data entry, which meant she could spend a little more time with baby Cameron. But it turned out that the accounting job started taking up so much of her time that she had to put her one-year-old son back into day care.

When Cameron was almost three, Alex and Eliza had finally saved up enough money to move from their dingy two-bedroom apartment into a little ranch house in the suburbs of Glendale just outside of Phoenix.

And one month later, Eliza announced she was pregnant again.

AUSTIN TRELLIS WAS BORN on Father’s Day, a fact that, in years to come, would delight Alex who would always fondly say it was his best Fathers’ Day gift ever.

Eliza thought since Cameron’s birth was difficult, and since she was also fortunate to have a shorter stint of morning sickness during her pregnancy with her second son, she was sure that Austin’s birth would be easier.

But she was wrong.

Eliza still had narrow hips for child birthing, but she was determined to have a natural delivery after her C-section. She ended up experiencing twenty-four hours of excruciating labor pains, the last half in agony when the epidural didn’t take. Eliza felt like her bottom was being ripped open when the doctor pulled ten-pound baby Austin from her, and it took her weeks to heal from the episiotomy, and months for the postpartum blues to slip away.

Cameron was a big help to her with the baby. Too tired and depressed to get up off the couch most mornings, she would ask him to fetch a bottle from the fridge or the baby’s pacifier when he cried or sometimes some cereal or crackers for himself when he wanted a snack.

She knew she relied too heavily on her older son when he was practically still a baby himself, but Eliza couldn’t help the overwhelming depression and anxiety that flooded her.

Eliza usually waited until both Cameron and Austin were napping to go to her little desk set up in a spare nook of the house, which doubled as the laundry room. She had to make sure the washer and dryer weren’t on when she was talking to clients, though inevitably sometimes, she’d be on an important call and she’d hear the baby cry on the monitor, or Cameron would get up early from his nap and forget what she had warned him not to do and come bounding into her makeshift office yelling “Mommy!”

Sometimes she lost her temper then asked the client if she could call him or her back and yelled at Cameron. “Don’t you remember Mommy told you never to come in here talking or yelling, to always walk into Mommy’s office quietly and to wait until I was off the phone to speak?”

Cameron always told her he was sorry, then she felt exasperated and guilty.

Alex typically didn’t get home in time for dinner, and some nights he rolled right into bed around ten p.m., too exhausted to do much more than say goodnight if she was even awake.

When they did manage to talk for a few minutes, she often lied to him about her day, cheerfully telling him as he started falling asleep that she and Cameron had played for hours.

BUT THE NIGHT he walked in after she had discovered his gambling debt, all of the lies both of them had harbored were revealed in all of their ugly truth.

Eliza was in the living room, bank statement in hand, ready to confront him as soon as he laid down his briefcase and loosened his tie.

“I’ve found out where you’ve been going, and that you’ve charged more than five thousand dollars gambling,” she said, her voice and hands trembling. “I cannot believe you’ve not only been spending time away from me and the kids for who knows how long each week, but you’ve been wasting our money. Making payments on a gambling debt, money I could have spent on clothes and shoes for the kids, or even maybe going out with you once in a while.”

Alex had removed his jacket during her rant and then put his hands on his hips defensively. “Well, if you could work more hours at a real job and make a little more money, and wouldn’t spend what we have so carelessly, like ninety-nine dollars on a pantsuit, maybe I wouldn’t have to try to go to desperate measures to try to get more income.”

“That’s just an excuse, and you know it!” Eliza waved the paper statement in front of her husband’s reddening face. “You just don’t want to be with us, you don’t even care about us anymore! Do you think it’s easy raising two boys on my own? Did you ever think maybe I would like to go out and play slot machines or whatever it is you’re throwing money at?”

Alex practically ignored her, walking past her to go into the kitchen and grab a beer from the refrigerator. He popped open the can, stood leaning against the counter, and started to guzzle the contents.

Eliza followed him, her fury mounting. She couldn’t stop the words from slashing out of her mouth, didn’t want to. “You know what, Alex Trellis? You’re a terrible husband and a terrible father!”

“Well, you’re just a hypocrite!” He slammed the half empty beer can onto the countertop, sending beer suds spilling out. “You sit home pretending to work while you practically have our older son babysitting or watching TV all day.”

Eliza felt her face flush with shame. How did he know that?

As if to answer her unspoken question, Alex continued. “I know the truth. I’ve talked to a neighbor or two who say their wives have tried to stop in but you’re always busy, and that they always catch you lying on the couch in front of the television.” He was spying on her! And here he was in the wrong, accusing her! “Me, a terrible father? You’re a worse mother!” he thundered. He guzzled down the remainder of the beer and was opening another when they heard the whispering shush of little feet on the vinyl floor.

Eliza turned around to see Cameron standing there, gazing at both of them with a worried look on his face, his cheeks red, his hair tousled, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

“That’s not true, Daddy, she’s a good mommy,” he whined.

Alex had apparently been drinking before he arrived home, because he staggered toward them, losing his footing for a moment. His voice was soft at first. “Cameron, go to your room, this is none of your business.” But when their son stood, crossing his arms, refusing to budge, his father’s voice rose in anger. “Cameron, do what I say!”

“No!”

Eliza came to her son’s rescue. “Cut it out, Alex, he’s just a little boy defending his mom.” And I’m really proud of him, she thought smugly.

Alex took one stride closing the gap between them and reached out to smack Cameron with his open hand, but Eliza grabbed his wrist, and Cameron ducked fast enough to escape his father’s wrath and ran wailing from the room.

“How dare you…” Eliza couldn’t finish her statement and ran after her little boy. The baby started crying with all the noise and Eliza heard the front door slam, the house shuddering from its impact.

ELIZA BEGGED Alex until he finally agreed to go with her to see Dr. Paulus for couples’ marriage counseling, not letting on her friend Marcia had originally referred her after admitting she had seen the counselor when she had been stuck in an abusive relationship in her thirties.

A tall, slender blonde in her fifties with a PhD in psychology, Dr. Paulus greeted the couple, warmly shaking their hands and motioning them into her office to have a seat on the couch across from her chair.

This lady seemed to have her life right where she wanted it. Eliza couldn’t help but feel a little bit of envy, noticing the framed photo on the desk in the corner. It was a picture of the counselor with a handsome, middle-aged man, obviously her husband, two beautiful, young blonde-haired girls in their teens, and a younger boy who looked like a younger version of the man.

They all looked joyful, sitting on a beach with a sunset sky behind them. Some people had all the luck, she thought. This woman could never understand what she was going through.

Alex and Eliza sat at opposite ends of the couch, not looking at one another as they took turns telling their story to Dr. Paulus. Alex complained his wife was overly protective and soft with the boys and that she tended to drink and shop excessively. He explained that his anger would build up because he worked so hard and had no outlet, so he gave in to his addiction and turned to the casinos to numb his feelings. Tears fell down his cheeks as he admitted his regrets. “I guess I’ve changed since that young man who left the reservation,” he said, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Working so hard has made me really hard.” He turned to look at his wife, regret and sorrow welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I love you, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do to change.”

“I’m sorry too.” Eliza took one of the tissues from the box the doctor handed her, her cheeks wet with grief. “I guess I felt trapped and gave into my own addictions and should have been more supportive.” Dr. Paulus smiled as Alex took Eliza in his arms.

At the end of the session, after their emotions subsided, Dr. Paulus suggested Alex attend Gamblers Anonymous, a gambling addiction recovery twelve-step program, and that Eliza attend Gam-Anon, a recovery program for friends and family members of those addicted to gambling.

THE TWO of them hired Patty to watch the boys the next Thursday night and drove mainly in silence to the Gamblers Anonymous meeting in the basement of the Desert View Bible Church. They got lost, even though they followed their new GPS, and argued until Eliza finally rolled down her car window and asked a stranger walking by for directions.

They walked into the church basement hall a few minutes late, feeling embarrassed and conspicuous, and took seats in the back of the meeting room, which was half full of about twenty people of varying ages and ethnicities.

Listening to some of the stories shared that night, Eliza thought for the first time in a long time that maybe she and Alex had a chance. Our problems dim in comparison, she thought, listening to a man named Jimmy T. share his story.

“My wife divorced me after I traded in the last of our welfare stamps for gambling money,” Jimmy said, tearing up. “The only food left in the house was a little bit of pancake mix and a few cans of soup, and we had three kids to feed. I just couldn’t stop. I kept thinking, ‘just one more time and when I win, I can fix everything.’ And then I’d be up a couple hundred bucks, and I’d think ‘that isn’t enough yet,’ and before long, after a few drinks and a few more hours, I’d walk out broke again. She got tired of hearing the same old story. Thank God I found you all. I know that won’t bring her and my kids back, but it helped get me off the streets before I wound up in jail, or worse, dead at the hands of some crime boss I couldn’t pay back.”

She heard muted laughter and realized it was coming from another room off the hall that she couldn’t see. After all of the people took turns talking, except for Alex who passed, they stood and joined hands and said the Lord’s Prayer. Eliza noticed a small group of about a dozen people coming out into a hallway in the distance, chatting and smiling.

The GA meeting had been mostly comprised of men, with only two other women who were much older than Eliza. A few men gathered around Alex to shake his hand and give him their phone numbers. Eliza stood fidgeting idly, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Just as she was saying a prayer to herself that this whole night be over quickly, a middle-aged Native American woman approached her with a broad smile and, without warning, hugged her.

“Hi, honey, you look a little lost. I’m Sunny, short for Sundance, and I just came from Gam-Anon yonder and was wondering if maybe you belong there instead tonight?” Her smile revealed a missing tooth, and her skin was well worn.

Eliza was initially flabbergasted at her effrontery and looked around for Alex, who was nowhere to be seen, but then she looked into the woman’s kind eyes, which reflected her warm smile, and realized she had nothing to fear. “I think I was supposed to be in Gam-Anon according to my counselor,” Eliza meekly replied. “But we were late and I didn’t know where to go. Is that where you were just now?”

“Sure was, honey, and you’re welcome to come back next Thursday night and join us.” The gap-toothed woman grinned again. She fished in her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper on which she wrote her telephone number. “Call me if you need a ride, I’ll be glad to come getcha.”

“Thank you, um, Sunny.”

Just then Alex walked up to her and put his arm protectively around her. “Ready to go, honey?”

ONCE CAMERON and Austin were both in school, Eliza got a part-time job as an assistant clerk with the local Phoenix Public Library, which helped ease their family’s financial burden but kept her too busy to keep seeing Dr. Paulus, whom she had continued to visit for a few sessions on her own when Alex couldn’t make it.

Alex and she had gone to a few more counseling sessions, but then he became embroiled in corporate changes at his job that required more of his time and attention.

They had also attended the weekly GA and Gam-Anon program meetings at night for several months, and then slacked off as the boys got involved with after school and weekend activities like soccer and baseball, and her husband’s job got even more demanding. Eliza had wanted to keep attending regularly, but Alex had told her he was better and suggested she didn’t really need it anymore and really couldn’t afford to spend the extra time.

Eventually, as the years passed, Eliza stopped going to see Dr. Paulus and quit attending the twelve-step program meetings altogether. Although it was more hectic, life seemed to be back to “normal,” and they vowed on the ride home from their last program meeting to stay strong in their marriage and not let anything come between them.

ELIZA WAS busy filing books on the shelves in the library when her cell phone rang. Luckily the head librarian was working the counter and nodded to her to go take a break and answer the call.

The number that showed up on her phone was her sons’ school. She hurriedly answered, fearing something bad had happened.

“Mrs. Trellis, this is John Dunleavy, principal at Phoenix Elementary,” the nasal, monotone, middle-aged man’s voice said. Eliza recognized the principal’s voice immediately, although she had only met the man twice at back-to-school nights.

“Hi, Mr. Dunleavy, is everything okay with my boys?” she asked, getting quickly to the point.

“Yes, everything is fine, I hope I’m not interrupting you at work?”

“Well, yes, but that’s okay, I can talk for a minute or two.”

“I just wanted to ask if I could set up an appointment for you to come into the office and speak with myself and the guidance counselor about your son Austin.”

Eliza’s heart beat hard in her chest. “Austin?” She was surprised to hear the principal call about her younger son, expecting that perhaps he was calling about misbehavior of some sort on Cameron’s part.

Cameron was ten years old, almost midway through fifth grade, and was starting to come home from school now and then with stories of some of his mischievous antics on the playground, in gym class, or at lunchtime.

Eliza thought her older son was still a good boy, but she could see he had a streak in him that sometimes crossed the fine line between ornery and bad. On the other hand, Austin was sweet, shy, studious, definitely not the kind who got into trouble. He was only in second grade. How could he be in trouble?

“Yes, Mrs. Trellis, Austin,” Mr. Dunleavy interrupted Eliza’s thoughts. “The guidance counselor would like you and Mr. Trellis to come in to discuss the possibility of placing Austin in a magnet or charter school for the gifted and talented.” Eliza could hear a faint trace of pride in the principal’s voice, as if his elementary school were promoting one of its own and were thus being recognized for the achievement. “I know the Christmas break is around the corner, but we were hoping to place Austin before the next school semester. If you can possibly come in next week sometime, that would be great.”

Eliza sighed with relief. “Well, Mr. Trellis works long hours, but I can ask him. If we can, we would be happy to come in and meet with you.” She felt proud herself. She had heard of students who were labeled “gifted and talented,” which she believed meant they were unusually smart.

“Great, please hold, and I’ll have my secretary make an appointment.”

ELIZA HAD to go alone to the school meeting in the principal’s office the Monday after Thanksgiving, promising her husband she would fill him in on all of the details. Alex couldn’t take off an hour, much less a half day, in his new job. It was too intense.

She wore her best skirt and sweater, which she had gone out and purchased on Black Friday off the clearance rack at the local department store.

Still, she felt out of place, like she was too young and dumb to be a mom, especially of a gifted and talented boy.

While she was sitting in the principal’s office waiting for Mr. Dunleavy to go get the guidance counselor, she was absentmindedly staring through the open office door when she saw Cameron and two other boys, perhaps classmates or friends, walking down the hallway, talking and laughing. Cameron looked up and caught his mother’s eye.

Eliza waved to her son, grinning. Not only did he not acknowledge her, Cameron glared at her for a moment with obvious shock and embarrassment, turned without pause in his step or his banter, and ignored her.

Before her hurt could sink in, Mr. Dunleavy was back in the office introducing her to the school’s head guidance counselor, Miss Posey, who walked in with Austin in tow. Austin skipped into the office, saw his mom, and gave her a big hug. Tears came to her eyes, but she didn’t want to make a scene. She blinked them back before they fell down her cheeks.

Mr. Dunleavy closed the door to the office and sat down behind his desk, the three of them sitting in chairs across from him, Austin between his mom and Miss Posey, who ended up doing most of the talking.

The petite, spritely young redhead explained how Austin had been observed by all of his teachers to be increasingly restless in his classes the past semester. They eventually recommended that Austin go for special testing by the school district’s psychologist. The results had come in.

Mr. Dunleavy opened up a manila folder, cleared his throat and shared the psychologist’s findings. Eliza shook her head, still a bit confused by the principal’s report.

“It’s our opinion that Austin is acting out of boredom and needs to be further challenged in school,” Miss Posey said confidently. “I am recommending he be transferred to the Paradise Valley School for the gifted as soon as possible, as long as you and your husband authorize the transfer, of course.”

“Of course.” Eliza sat uncomfortably in her chair, nervously clasping and unclasping her fingers. How had Austin gotten so smart?

“Mommy, I don’t want to go to a different school than Cameron.” Austin broke her reverie, looking up at her with his soft brown eyes.

Eliza could feel Miss Posey and Mr. Dunleavy staring at her, waiting for her to answer.

“Well, honey, Cameron will be going to middle school, which is a different school, next year anyway.” She could see the young counselor and principal nod in approval out of her peripheral vision, encouraging her to go on. “And this school will be much more fun for you, plus if you go now, you can make new friends right away instead of waiting over the summer.”

She watched her son grasp all that she told him, a frown on his face. Then he smiled slowly. “Will it have cool music and art classes?” he asked.

Eliza looked to Miss Posey. “The best!” the young counselor answered enthusiastically.

“Good, because I think music and art are kind of boring here.” Mr. Dunleavy looked disgruntled at the little boy’s comment, but Miss Posey interjected. “Well, that’s why we want you to go to this new school, Austin. What is good for some students your age is probably boring to you because you have special talents and skills many of them don’t have, and…” Miss Posey’s confidence waned a bit, so Eliza finished her sentence.

“That’s just the way God made you, honey.” Careful what you say. You don’t want him thinking he’s better than everybody else. You still have another son who’s not as gifted and talented. “It’s not that you’re any better than the other kids, just maybe a little smarter in one area or another. But each of us has special talents to offer. Mr. Dunleavy, Miss Posey and your teachers just think you’ll be able to grow your special talents better in this new school.”

“Okay, Mommy. Can I get back to class now? I think I’m missing gym and we’re learning how to play basketball today!”

“You have a great kid there, Mrs. Trellis,” Miss Posey said, smiling appreciatively at Eliza, who warmed with pride and smiled back as she hugged her son and watched him scamper off.

“I don’t know where he gets it all from,” Eliza said half-jokingly.

“Like you said, God,” Miss Posey said.

Mr. Dunleavy cleared his throat, signaling the end of the meeting and his displeasure at Miss Posey’s last statement. It was a public school, and teachers were not supposed to be voicing any religious commentary. “We will make the transfer beginning next year then, if you and your husband agree.”

IT WAS the family tradition that the youngest go first in unwrapping their Christmas presents. Austin beamed with delight, standing in the middle of their small living room in his plaid flannel pajamas as he unwrapped his last gift under the tree. He opened the large cardboard box, pulling out a child-sized acoustic guitar.

“Wow, a guitar!” he exclaimed, pulling it out and strumming the still out-of-tune instrument.

“Santa must have figured you’re going to need it for music lessons in your new school,” Alex said, winking at his wife.

Eliza turned to Cameron, catching him rolling his eyes at his father’s comment. He had announced just days before Christmas that he no longer believed in Santa, that according to his friends it was just a thing parents made up to make sure their kids were good, especially around the hectic holidays. Eliza had made her older son swear to secrecy involving Santa so Austin wouldn’t find out.

Cameron had also reached the bottom of his pile of gifts, and he opened his big box, pulling out a huge Matchbox race set with double looped tracks and at least two dozen race cars. He had often watched the Nascar races on TV with his dad, and Eliza had thought it would be the perfect gift for him. But she watched in dismay as her son, looking downcast, sadly put the set back in the box, not bothering to even pretend he wasn’t disappointed.

“What’s wrong, Cameron? I thought…I mean, I’m sure Santa knew you loved race cars,” Eliza said.

“I kind of wanted a drum set,” he replied softly. Eliza looked hopelessly at her husband.

“Ah…that’s right, you did mention it once a while back.” Alex sat his spiked eggnog down on the end table and leaned forward in his chair. “Well, son, maybe you’ll get one next year for your birthday or Christmas. Santa probably didn’t have enough money to give a whole drum set out to all the kids who wanted one.”

Cameron hunched over cross-legged on the floor by the tree, his elbows resting on his knees, and put his face in his hands, pouting and sullen, not looking at any of them. Eliza realized he was trying not to cry.

Austin walked over and tapped his older brother on the shoulder, extending the guitar toward him. “Hey, Cameron, I’ll let you play my guitar,” he said cheerfully.

Cameron swatted at the guitar, sending it banging to the floor. “I don’t want your stinking guitar, stupid.” He uncrossed his legs, stood up, and started to stomp out of the room.

“Cameron, get back here.” Alex rose from his chair and grabbed his son by the arm, spinning him around. He looked down at his son and shook him angrily. “You need to apologize to your brother, and to your mother and me. You’re being an ungrateful brat, and you should know better than that.”

Cameron flinched and looked down, unable to meet his father’s gaze. “Sorry, Austin,” he mumbled, his voice trembling. “Sorry, Mom and Dad. Can I go now?” His lower lip quivered.

“Sure, honey,” she said, noticing with agitation that her husband still looked angry. But she held back from saying anymore, wanting to protect her son from further humiliation.

Alex let go of his arm, and Cameron fled from the room.