The Real Mother Read online

  “We’ll help you,” she said. “We’re glad you’re here. But you need to go to school, Mack; you don’t have an education or a profession; you don’t really know anything—”

  “I don’t know anything? What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for three-plus years?” He drained his glass, his face as tight as it had been open. “I’ve been fucking earning my living, that’s what, and I could fucking well do it tomorrow if I didn’t have to—” He stopped abruptly and took a long breath. The muscles in his neck relaxed, his shoulders dropped. He gave a wide smile. “Too much time on the road, too much time alone; I need some civilizing, is what I need.” He crossed the room and kissed Sara on the top of her head. “The thing is, you sure know how to push my buttons. I really—”

  “If you didn’t have to… what?”

  “—really didn’t mean to yell at you. Mea culpa. Mea very culpa. Mea exceedingly abjectly culpa. Here I am, all I want to do is make a good impression and I keep saying stupid things.” He drained his glass. “Hey, you must be totally exhausted. I know I am. Your kids wear a guy out. Let’s talk some more tomorrow.”

  “My kids?”

  “Oh, shit, you know what I meant. The kids. The offspring. The siblings. Those little people who live here with us. Jesus, sis, lighten up. I’m trying to be nice.”

  “If you didn’t have to… what?”

  “Get settled before I can get started. I thought I said that. Hey, I am really and truly zonked; can’t keep my eyes open. I don’t know how you stay up so late.” He put down his glass. “I’m for bed. Don’t forget to turn out the lights when you come up.”

  “What?”

  “It was a joke. Christ, can’t say anything around here. Mea even more than last time culpa. Am I in the doghouse?”

  “You’re not at the right hand of God.” She stood up. “Listen carefully, Mack. I’ll tell you where you are. You are in my house, with my family, and you’re here as long as I tolerate you. I don’t know what you’re after, other than free meals and a bed and a place to keep dry, but you’re not going to tell me how to run this house, or how to take care of my brother and sisters, or how to think about you. No one tells me those things: I am in charge around here, and I’m not about to let an outsider elbow his way in and take over. I’m here because I have to be. I had a life, a plan for a life, that got cut off in the middle and I have to live with that, but I don’t have to live with you. If you think you can move in and talk as you want, and smoke pot in your room, and contradict the ways I’m trying to bring up these three children, you’d better leave now. I am indeed going to bed and if you’re still here in the morning it will be because you’ve decided to live by my rules and my decisions, not your self-centered whims. Good night.”

  He was watching her, mouth tight. And then, as she turned to go, his bright smile switched on and he leaped toward her. “Thank you, thank you! God, I needed that. You’re wonderful, sis, not only gorgeous but smart. And wise! You are truly a wise woman! I get fucking carried away, I admit it, I go too far, it’s always been a problem with me and I hate myself for it—hate, hate, hate—and I always swear I’ll behave better next time, but then I just lose it, lose control and let go and say things that offend people or hurt them… God, I can’t tell you how I hate it when I do that—and to you of all people!—but you are so right, there’s no way I could tell you how to run this house—what do I know about running a house?—or bring up the kids—shit, you’ve done such a great job with them, how could I even come close? But I’ll try, sis, I promise. Just don’t call me an outsider again, please don’t do that. I’ll help, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you say, let me stay, please don’t make me leave, let me stay, I promise I’ll be the best damned brother …well, not better than Doug, who could be better than Doug? But as good as Doug, and I can help you in ways he can’t, drive, you know, and—”

  “Earn a living?”

  “Yes! Absolutely! Let me get on my feet and I swear I will ease your burden, do what I can, all I can, Sara, please please let me stay, I need you, all of you. And I love you!”

  “You can stay as long as you follow the rules,” Sara said shortly. She turned again to leave the library. Behind her, she heard, “Are you going out again tomorrow night?”

  “No,” she said over her shoulder. “Please bank the fire. And don’t forget to turn out the lights.” She walked toward the stairs and paused there. She heard the glass fireplace doors opening, and Mack striking a log with the poker. He was humming, too softly for her to make out the tune. The poker struck another log; then repeatedly struck the coals to break them up and push them to the sides. The glass doors were pushed into place and latched, the reading lamp above the wing-backed chair was clicked off.

  Sara climbed the stairs. Are you going out again tomorrow night?

  What an odd question, she thought.

  THREE

  We practically never see him,” Doug complained. He pushed his spoon around his cereal bowl. “He’s asleep when we leave in the morning, and he’s gone right after dinner. Where does he go all the time? It’s like he doesn’t like us anymore.”

  “Of course he likes us,” Carrie said. “He said he did. He said he loved us. He has people to see, that’s all. He’s only been here three weeks; maybe he’s looking for a job.”

  “Like Dad?” Doug said, suddenly anxious. “But then he’d be gone forever, and he isn’t; he sleeps here and eats dinner—”

  “Gobbles it.”

  “Right, and then he’s outta here. So he isn’t really gone, like Dad, or… like he was, too, before he came back. He could do that again, you know. Just go away. Anyway, what difference does it make if we never see him?”

  Carrie put her arm around him. “He was with us all day Sunday, and he brought a movie home for all of us to watch, and that was fun, wasn’t it? We had a good time. He really does like us, Doug. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Worry about what?” Sara asked, coming from her office upstairs.

  “Mack,” Doug said mournfully. “It’s like he hardly lives here anymore.”

  “I told Doug he’s probably looking for a job,” said Carrie.

  “Wouldn’t that be a fine thing.” Sara pulled on her suit jacket. “I have to go. You have everything for school?”

  “We’re fine,” Carrie said. “I’m taking my story—the one about the happiest dog in the world? That I’m going to read in class?—and I fixed cereal for Abby.”

  “She’ll be right down; she’s finishing some elaborate bit of makeup. And I loved that story; your friends will, too. Good-bye, my loves, I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day in school.” She kissed them and went out, through the backyard to the garage.

  “I don’t think she likes Mack so much,” said Doug when they were alone.

  “Sure she does. She’d just like him better if he got a job.”

  They heard the front doorbell, and then impatient knocking.

  “I’ll get it!” Abby called, running down the stairs. “Yes?” she said to the woman standing there. She was short and round, and wore a fur coat. Standing nearby, Carrie whispered to Doug, “She must be hot; it’s almost summer.”

  “I have to see Sara,” the woman said. “Sara Elliott?”

  “She’s not here, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Where is she? I have to see her. Why is she always so hard to find?”

  “She’s not hard to find,” Abby said coldly. “She’s on her way to work. If you want, I can give you—”

  “This early? I don’t believe it. She’s hiding in there; she doesn’t want to see me. She never wants to see me. She doesn’t return my calls, either. I demand to see her! I’m a client. Tell her Pussy Corcoran has an emergency.”

  “She’s not here,” Abby snapped. “She doesn’t hide from people, what are you talking about? Corcoran? Oh.”

  “What?”

  “I think Sara mentioned your name the other day. I can give you her cell-phone number, if you’d li
ke.”

  “Well, obviously. What have you been waiting for? God, all these incompetent people I have to deal with.”

  Doug and Carrie watched Abby debate slamming the door in Pussy Corcoran’s face. Instead, in a level voice, she recited the number.

  “Honey, can you write it down?” Pussy asked wheedlingly. “I guess I shouted, didn’t I? If Lew heard me, he’d get so mad he’d throw things. At me,” she added with a high trill of laughter. “Right at me.” She squeezed her eyes briefly. “Write it down?”

  Abby took a pad of paper from the hall table and wrote the number. “She won’t be home all day.” There was a small note of warning in her voice. Don’t come back. She closed the door. “Never in a million years could I do Sara’s job,” she said to Carrie and Doug. “She has to be a saint. She ought to be a doctor, the way she wanted.”

  “Then she could get Pussy Corcoran when she’s sick and even meaner,” Carrie said wisely.

  “Pussy Corcoran?” asked Mack, coming downstairs. “She was here? I mean, was that her screaming? Shit, she woke me up. Probably woke up the whole neighborhood.”

  “The neighborhood is awake,” Abby said. “You’re the only one who sleeps late around here.”

  “Hey!” Mack put his hands up in self-defense. “What did I do?”

  “You’re never here anymore,” said Doug.

  “Sorry, guys, I’ve busily been busy at busyness. Did you think I was ignoring you?”

  “Yes,” Doug said boldly.

  “Oh, fuck it, Doug, you know I wouldn’t do that. I’d much rather stay home with you, but I’ve had business. Let’s have breakfast, now that that bitch woke me up.”

  “You shouldn’t talk that way,” Abby said uncomfortably. “Sara doesn’t like it, and it’s not really nice.”

  “Nice?” Mack demanded. “Nice? What the fuck does that mean?”

  Abby shrank into herself. “The way nice people talk. People who aren’t…ignorant and crude.”

  “Is that what our sweet sis says?”

  “Yes,” Carrie said loudly. “She made us feel awful, but it sounded right. She’s usually right,” she added mournfully.

  “There’s lots of other words,” Doug said. “Like, jillions.”

  “As good as shit?” Mack asked. “Really and truly as good?” He grinned at them as the noise of the coffee grinder filled the kitchen,then, as he emptied the grounds into the coffeemaker and poured in water, he said, “Well, so what are they?” The others frowned, thinking. “Jillions,” Mack snorted.

  “Uncouth,” Abby said. “And gross …and…uh… mean, and… uh… coarse—” She stopped. “I can’t remember!” she wailed. “There were so many, a whole string of them, and they sounded really good— oh, hateful, that’s another one—but I can’t remember all of them, if Sara was here she’d rattle them off, they’re all in her head.”

  “Shit is a perfectly good word,” said Mack firmly. “A wordy, word-worth wordwonderful word, colorful and vocabulary expanding. And it communicates. Right? What else do we want from words? Shit communicates. Right?”

  Abby nodded. “Right, I know, but—”

  “And I’ll bet everybody uses it at your school, right?”

  “Yes, but Sara says that just shows that they don’t have creative vocabularies.”

  “Shit is part of their vocabulary. They’ve enriched their vocabulary. I think our sis, sweet as she is, is a bit of a prig when it comes to language. Slightly over-the-top rigid. Right?”

  Abby frowned in confusion. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

  Mack put bread in the toaster. “Another not-nice thing? It isn’t a criticism, sweetheart, just a statement of fact. She’s as nice as can be, nobody knows that better than me, it’s just the saddest thing that she’s so uptight. She can’t let go and enjoy life with all its diversity and variety and highs and lows, the way the four of us can. She’s not like us, right?”

  Doug was watching Mack with fascination. “Sara runs the house,” he said. “We don’t …I mean—” He stopped, unable to express an idea as huge as challenging a king.

  “I think she’s a lot like me,” Abby said. “Or I’m like her.”

  “We love her,” Carrie cried.

  Mack struck his forehead. “Stuck my foot in it again. Shit, guys, I never meant we don’t love her. She can be totally absolutely different from us and we can still love her. We do love her. She’s terrific. The very best—”

  “And it’s not nice to talk about her when she isn’t here,” Abby said.

  “And can’t defend herself,” said Carrie.

  “Hey, hey, hey, stop ganging up on your poor defenseless bro! I’ll shut up, not a peep will you get from me. Sara’s great. She’s gorgeous and she’s smart, a lot smarter than me—more gorgeous, too, I must admit—” Carrie giggled and he grinned at her. “She’s the very best sis anybody could ask for, and I daringly dare any daredevil to say anything different.”

  “And she’s not different from us,” said Abby.

  “Well, she seems different to me, sweetie; the four of us seem a lot more together, more—but, hey, listen, that’s enough of that; you want to hear about the African wedding geese I ate?”

  Doug looked up. “What?”

  “Well, the thing is, some people buy African wedding geese for watchdogs—they’re huge, you know, waist-high, about forty pounds, fast on their webbed feet, pure white—and they honk loud enough to wake a whole fucking army, and, even better, they eat grass. Acres of it. No lawn mower needed. They’re terrific; you’d love ’em.”

  “But…you ate one?” Doug asked.

  “Well, part of one. A bunch of us were really hungry, no money, no place to sleep, you know, one of those bad weeks, or maybe months, I don’t remember, so we got together with the neighbors who were sick of the honking and poached a couple for Christmas dinner. A tasty taste of tastefully carved almost-turkey.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Abby said flatly. “If they’re that fast, you couldn’t catch them.”

  “I don’t believe it, either,” Carrie declared.

  Mack covered his face with his hands. “You’re mad at me for criticizing Sara. I wasn’t, you know, I was just explaining that everybody in the world is different—good thing, too, or we’d be bored to death—and that Sara—” He peered out between two fingers, and sighed. “Can’t even say her name. Okay, my sweets, not another word. I deeply, humbly, abjectly, and groveling grovelingly apologize.” Holding out his hands, he grinned at Abby. “Forgiven? What I really want is to hear about your play. Tell me all about it. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “I’m going to see it before everybody else,” said Doug, his face brightening with the change in subject. “They invited the fifth grade to come tonight to the dress rehearsal.”

  “Well, then, I’m coming, too,” Mack declared. “I like to get in on things early.”

  “You can’t,” Abby said. “Only the fifth grade. We open on Saturday night, and you can come then. That’s when Sara and Carrie are coming.”

  “Shit, I’m busy Saturday night.” He saw Carrie and Abby scowl at him. “Christ, you’re as uptight as your sis. Oops, sorry. But, no shit, you guys really ought to loosen up; there’s room for everything if you make space for it and welcome it welcomingly with welcomeness and not have a narrow mind like…some people.”

  “We have to go,” Abby said to Carrie and Doug. “Oliver’s mother will be here in a minute.”

  “Oliver’s mother?” Mack asked.

  “Mrs. Nevins. They live down the street.”

  “Oliver Nevins. He’s still your friend?” Mack asked Doug.

  “Right,” Doug said defensively. “We’re friends.”

  “Well, that’s terrific. Good for you; it’s great the two of you are friends. Abby, can’t I come tonight? I really am busy Saturday night.”

  She shook her head. “Nobody but the fifth grade.”

  Doug was staring at Mack. “You didn’t used to like him.
You made fun of him.”

  “Oliver? I always liked him.”

  “No, you used to say they were all losers, his whole family.”

  “Did I? Well, I must have been crazy. After all, if you like him, he must be terrific, ’cause you’re terrific.”

  Doug’s face brightened. “Really? Thanks. I mean… thanks a lot.”

  The telephone rang and Abby picked it up. “Abby,” Sara said, “something’s come up and I have to work late tonight; I tried to change it, but I can’t. Will you take Carrie and Doug with you to rehearsal? I can’t think of anything else; you can all go together, and I’ll be back in time to pick you up.”

  “I can’t, Sara! You can’t work tonight! I have to be there an hour early, and what will they do all that time …and Carrie can’t go, eighth grade wasn’t invited.”

  “I’ll call your teacher; he’ll arrange it. They’ll take books and read for an hour, or Doug will make a carving, or both or neither …They’ll figure it out, they’re not babies. Please, Abby, I don’t want them coming home this afternoon to an empty house and Doug has to get to the play somehow, and then Carrie would be alone until ten o’clock or whenever I can get home.”

  “Mack will be here.”

  There was a silence. “Abby, please do this for me.”

  “But Mack—”

  “We don’t know where Mack will be. Please, Abby.”

  “Problems, problems,” said Mack. “Let me talk to her.” He took the telephone. “Sis, listen, whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing. It’s under control.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. Come on, you need help and I can give it. I’ll take Carrie and Doug to the play if you make it legit with whatever muckety-muck is in charge. It’s not a big deal, you know. In fact, I was just telling Abby I really want to go tonight.” He waited, and when Sara was silent, he said, “Okay, it’s all set. I’ll make dinner for us, and then we’re off. A perfect solution; you don’t have to worry about a thing.”