Jen does not believe herself to be a drunk or an addict, at least in the traditional sense, but here she is, making her amends list like the good student Mikolaj must believe her to be. She admits she has no clue where these twelve steps are leading her, but she likes the idea of movement. Wait, no, that’s not honest enough. To be honest, which is what people always say when they’re not, she is taking these steps in the joyful hope that the sexy man with the chocolate voice who just phoned her half-an-hour ago will respect her.
Wait, strike that. Respect and fuck her.
No wait, strike that too. Love her. See how easily she turns it all into sex? Sex is easy. Love and Respect, not so much.
Jace left for work this morning, whistling a tune and apparently feeling that all is right in his world. Jen is trying to make it so, and a little sex and sympathy go a long way for Jace. Deep down the most candid part of her knows it might be for the wrong reasons, for safe harbor from the exhilaration she feels. But she will put that energy into the task at hand. Who cares what inspires the deed? Outcomes are the measure.
The reason she has to start with Robert is because he’s a minor character in the drama. A throwaway part. A mutual mind fuck that distracted her from the more seriously dysfunctional relationships that were dying like flies in winter’s attic.
Jen opens Google and begins the great hunt for Robert the Perv. Pictures of Robert as his drama club wins the provincial drama festival. Robert quoted in an article about a former student who now stars in a hot TV program about a Glee club. Robert protesting cuts to the arts during a school board meeting. No glaring evidence of the Perv, but Robert appears to have been having some semblance of a normal life all these years while Jen’s avoided the mere thought of him, made him fester like an anaerobic wound in a private part.
The sunlight streaming into the aptly named sunroom agrees it’s time for sunlight and fresh air to heal the Robert of her nightmares. The breeze off the river today carries the scent of a thousand drowning worms; the birds are wheeling joyfully at the feast, and the scent of soil makes Jen feel somehow sated. Chris is painstakingly transferring every single colored block from the jumble on the floor to the seat of the wicker loveseat beside her, showing off his fledgling ability to hold himself upright by the cushion while bending now to pick up another block with one hand. The feat seems to amuse him enormously, and he doesn’t seem to mind her absorption in the laptop beside him as she scans Facebook to see who all Robert’s friends are.
The phone rings and Jen answers it.
“So how’d it go,” Mikolaj rumbles.
“Jeez, don’t you have anything better to do? I haven’t called him yet. I’m doing a little research,” Jen says, realizing she is busted.
“You mean a little procrastination?” Mikolaj chuckles.
“Yes, a little procrastination by way of Google,” she says.
“So stop it now and phone him. I’ll call you back in a few, and then I’ll pick you up to take you to see him. I have to run into town to pick up a load at the hardware store anyway, so see if he’s free for lunch.”
The line goes dead. This guy is a hard ass. Jen had already found Robert’s number and had it written down on a notepad in front of her. She takes a deep breath and dials the number. He answers on the first ring. Just her luck.
“Hi Robert. It’s Jen Jones, a blast from the past. Was that you wheeling down Front Street yesterday by Marita’s?” she says, trying to sound breezy and light, although she feels faint with anxiety and can hardly breathe.
Silence. Followed by more silence. “Robert?” she says. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just deciding how to tell you off, frankly. I don’t know why you’re calling but I’m not even sure I want to find out,” he says.
“I can understand that,” Jen says, just as Mikolaj coached her. “But I’d like to see you for a few moments today to apologize, and to give you a chance to clear the air if you’d like.”
“Why the fuck would I waste my time helping you feel better about yourself, exactly?” Robert wants to know.
“Good question, Robert. See, we do have a few things to talk about. I’ll have my son in tow, so it will be short, but can I please stop by around noon?” This is way harder than it was in rehearsal. The fact that Jen rehearsed it is not lost on Robert.
“Will you be bringing your therapist?” he mocks.
“No, I’m a big girl. I’ll fly solo,” she says.
“Solo with an innocent child in tow,” Robert points out.
“I can’t get a sitter and I don’t have my own car so…” Jen says as the tears start. She is choking up. It’s not a ploy, she can’t get the words out or pull off breezy and light. Nonetheless, Robert relents. Even he can recognize genuine emotion.
“Okay, noon. I’m not seeing the point. But if you need it, I will do it,” he says and hangs up. Jen feels a foot tall. She is suddenly not so sure about this coaching plan, this whole amends project. It’s beginning to seem crazy.
Like clockwork, the phone rings again—coach Mikolaj checking in—and Jen confirms her humiliation and reluctance, but agrees to be ready in half an hour.
Chris babbles away in the back seat of the SuperCrew cab, trying out his new words in a Tourette’s-style burst of patter: cat, mommy, tree! Weee! It took Mikolaj mere minutes to anchor the car seat, which seemed wholly uncharacteristic for the hip bachelor persona Jen had fixed in her mind last night.
“Your son is gifted, you know,” he now says as they drive along the river road into town, past the smokestacks and pipeline sprawl and the pungent scent of Monsanto.
“What do you mean?” Jen asks.
“You said he was 11 months old. He can walk using furniture and he’s terrifically articulate for his age. Those are signs of accelerated development,” he says.
“I walked and talked when I was a year old. My mom says it’s genetic with Chris—I teethed early too.”
“Is your mom a child psychologist?” he asks.
“No. I’m just saying it doesn’t make him a genius because he’s an early walker/talker.”
“Most parents would be delighted at the thought their child might be a genius, and would have the flash cards out by now at the mere suggestion of talent,” he says.
“I don’t want that for him! I want him to be normal!” Jen says, betraying more emotion than she meant to. She’s on edge as they draw nearer to Robert’s house.
“Unlike you?” he asks.
“Okay. Unlike me. You happy now?”
“Yes, but the question is, are you?” he says, stealing a glance.
“At this moment in time, space and dimension, no,” she admits.
“Is this Robert’s street up here on the right?” he asks.
“Yup.”
“We’re early. Let’s drive along Lakeshore to kill a few moments,” he offers.
“That would be great,” she sighs.
“So how many grades did you skip,” he asks, unwilling to let the whole gifted topic drop.
“Who says I skipped any?” she says. “As a matter of fact, my mom wouldn’t let me, because I’d already started school a year early. At the first new school after she left my dad, they didn’t know what to do with me so they made me sit in the library for a year in “self-study.” Needless to say, it was not a great social experiment,” Jen says.
“And you would do the same to Chris? If I’m right, that is. You would let your desire for him to “be normal” get in the way of giving him what he needs?” Mikolaj steals another sidelong glance at her.
“Since you put it that way, no, I wouldn’t do that to him. Where is this coming from?”
“My own baggage, I guess. And what I do all day. And the fact that I have a son with Asperger’s Syndrome,” he says, just like that, all matter of fact.
“You have a son?” Jen’s shocked because she never even picked up on the wife part.
“I do,” he says, pulling into the beach access road, the very same scene of the near-drowning with Saint, John and Ger all those years before, the same place Jen sat that day she’d decided to end it all, before heading to Robert’s to distract herself.
It makes Jen wonder what things would look like run through a time lapse camera in the sky trained on this beach. Teenage Jen with boys, booze and a bonfire. Early 20s Jen with Saint and boys, booze and a bonfire. Sad mid-20s Jen feeling sick of her life and ready to check out. Early 30s Jen with a strange new man and another’s child somehow trying to rake the Zen garden of these dunes. If there’s a God, she is giggling.
“Do you want to talk about it,” she asks.
“No need. Charlie lives with his mother, and I do not. But he’s why I go to Toronto so much, and why I hesitated moving here. But I can live well for a lot less and have more to give him in a way, so for now, it’s working.”
“What did you mean about what you do all day?” Jen asks, realizing she had somehow assumed he was in construction since he’s rebuilding Alby’s outbuilding. Things really never are as they seem.
“That’s how I know Alby. I’m the director at The Child’s Place. We do neuropsych and psychometric evaluations of our wee clients and work with the school systems to accommodate them. Gifted kids need as much accommodation as kids with developmental disabilities, in my biased opinion,” he says.
“Hence the “coach Jen” program?” I ask.
“No. The “coach Jen” program is because I like you, and I identify with you, and I’ve known a lot of smart girls who didn’t socialize well as children, and who find themselves a bit adrift later on. So, I have the training, and right now, you seem to have the need,” he smiles.
“Isn’t that like a bus man’s holiday,” Jen asks, a little embarrassed to learn there’s a professional angle to all this “help” she’s receiving. It’s irrational, because who cares why? She should be grateful for the friendship.
“As a matter of fact, I am on holiday, which is why I’m building you a new studio, and as I heard Alby mention it, you already know I’m a big fan of your art. And since you’re not five years old, no, it’s not like work for me. So, it’s almost noon. Are you ready for your first assignment?” he asks, restarting the engine.
“Yes I am,” she says, suddenly determined to put on a brave face while sweat rolls down her sides.
Robert’s house remains almost exactly as Jen recalls it, just a bit more worn, a bit less manicured. He still has the Corvette but has swapped the BMW for an Audi A6 sedan. Mikolaj comes around to help ease her down from the truck. She turns to open the second door to retrieve Chris and he stops her.
“No way. Chris is coming to the hardware store with me. You don’t get to make nice and hide behind your kid,” Mikolaj smiles and touches her nose with his index finger.
Jen starts to protest but realizes it is futile to resist and not exactly logical to argue that Chris shouldn’t be off with a stranger when said stranger is the director of the agency designed to protect and serve children. So she just lets it go and tells Chris that he’s going to have fun with Mikolaj for a spell while Mommy makes a quick visit. Chris, who has taken to Mikolaj almost as quickly as Jen has, doesn’t even reach out for her or cry. Instead, he just waves: “Bye bye, mommy! Bye bye!”
Jen closes the truck door and turns to Mikolaj.
“You promise not to sell him on the black market or to Russian eugenicists while you’re gone?” she quips.
“Scouts honor,” he says, hopping into the truck and backing slowly out of the laneway.
Robert is at the door watching them, standing upright and leaning on a cane. Jen is shocked at first because as she walks closer to the door, she can see how much he’s aged, his grey dominating his hair and beard. He could almost pass for her father. Then she realizes he’s likely old enough to be her father.
He opens the door and stands aside for her to enter. It’s awkward, but less so, as if time is erasing with each step she takes toward the couch. She sits down and decides to wait for him to sit down too before she speaks.
But he doesn’t; he just stands there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He’s successful in making her feel even stupider and more vulnerable for sitting, if that was his intent. Jen takes a deep breath. “So, I’m here to make amends, not excuses. I don’t mean about the accident, although I’m truly sorry it happened. I mean about the way I just let you rot in the hospital all alone because I was too fucked up to deal with it. And how I’ve just avoided you ever since.” she pauses, because in a nutshell, she actually thinks that’s all there is to say.
He just stares at her for a minute and seems to flush a little. He hobbles slowly back and forth across the room, just like when he used to pace when he’d work up to a lecture in drama class, but slower, and more careful because of the cane and the pain. Jen sort of feels like it’s all acting now too, but she waits.
“So that’s it? You feel better now? You think I’m mad at you because you didn’t visit me in the hospital? You don’t think I have friends or anyone else who cares about me? You are so fucking self-absorbed!” he sputters. “How did you think I felt, to find out that YOU were in the hospital, that YOU had tried to kill yourself? That somehow my meager romantic overtures and your fucking pity about my situation were enough to send you off the deep end! What kind of shit do you think I’VE been grappling with all these years, you fucking moron? I was your goddamned TEACHER. And then your FRIEND. And yes, for a brief spell, maybe almost your LOVER…but I’m 20 fucking years older than you and supposed to be in a position of trust. So how do you think your little Sylvia Plath act landed over here, exactly?”
Jen is speechless. Oh my god, she thinks. It’s Robert who feels guilty.
“It wasn’t your fault!” she says, standing up to cross the room. “God, how could you think that? It was so many other things! I was pregnant; I think I was clinically depressed,” she reaches out to hug him, but he keeps his free arm straight by his side while the other rests on the cane. She keeps hugging him anyway. She feels so sorry that he’s been walking around thinking these things. Finally, he relents, and hugs her back with his free arm, and says, sotto, “I think it’s safe to say a suicide indicates depression.”
Jen chuckles because for once, it’s funny.