Zest
Previously published in Down in the Dirt Magazine
“Hello, Deb,” said the tall man softly. He approached the 22-year-old, ironically, she thought, in the produce section at the supermarket.
Deb looked up, her hand poised over the navel oranges, her mother’s favorite. She didn’t recognize him at first; he had changed: more gray, a few additional pounds and the clothing was vastly different. When last she’d seen John Bowen, he had effected a more rustic look: plaid flannel shirts and washed out jeans and coarse work boots. A studied, rugged persona better suited to ensnaring young lovers, she thought testily. But now, he was every bit the young professional: dress slacks, fancy shoes and a blazer that probably cost more than the car she drove. He also sported some exotic cologne.
“How’ve you been?” asked John.
Deb narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s it to you?” she asked frostily. Deb had been one of John’s many sexual conquests, if only for a weekend. But that was the least of it.
John lowered his eyes for a moment, for effect, thought Deb. “You’ve a right to feel that way,” he said.
“You have no idea how I feel,” she said. “How could you? You booked the moment you got my mother pregnant. Off to scale new heights, make a name for yourself; the woman you impregnated–and your child–be damned! You never called–not once!” She seethed.
John looked around uneasily. “Keep it down, will you?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, just as loudly.
“I’m back in the area,” he explained, “on business. I can’t afford a scene. I have a reputation to uphold, you see.”
“Is that supposed to interest me somehow?” Deb asked.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. He’d try a different tack. “How’s Beth–and the baby?”
“They’re doing fine–without you!” said Deb fiercely.
“I’d like to see them.” There, he’d said it.
This drew Deb up short. As much as she detested John Bowen for what he did to her family, who was she to say that he could learn nothing of his own child? She felt torn.
As if sensing her indecision, John said, “Can I see them?”
She reached a decision. “Let me talk to Mom,” she told him.
He smiled. “Great.”
She frowned back at him. “No,” she said. “Not great. I’ll always hate you for what you did to Mom, but I’m big enough to get over myself and see if she wants to talk to you about your child.”
John nodded. “Good enough.”
Reflexively pulling out their respective cell phones, they exchanged numbers and email addresses. That done, Deb turned away, plunked a couple of navel oranges into her cart and wheeled off in the opposite direction without another word. She didn’t look back.
John watched her disappear down the aisle.
– – –
Two nights later, Deb received a call on her cell. She saw the caller ID and frowned.
“Yes?” she said.
“Hi, Deb,” said John. “I wondered if you’d had a chance to speak to Beth.”
“Not yet,” she said tersely, and nothing more.
After a moment, John said, “Well, when will you do it?”
“I’ll do it when I do it,” she snapped, then glanced at Beth, who was cooking dinner. Her mother looked up at Deb’s sharp tone, but said nothing. Deb was always arguing with her boyfriend nowadays. Beth shrugged and stirred the pot.
“I’ll call you,” said Deb. “Yes, tomorrow.” She disconnected.
“More problems with Brian?” asked Beth solicitously.
Deb drew a blank for an instant and then said, “Yeah, same old same old.”
After dinner, and a shower for Deb, mother and daughter sat on the sofa, sipping coffee. Deb continued to struggle with her dilemma.
Suddenly Beth spoke up, “Are you ready to tell me now, Baby?”
Deb looked up in surprise. “Tell you what?” she asked.
“About that mysterious phone call you got before dinner.”
“I told you it was…”
Beth interrupted, “Brian called while you were in the shower. Told me he couldn’t get through on your cell. He was impatient, said he had to speak with you.”
“Oh,” said Deb.
“Baby,” said Beth, “are you seeing another man on the side?”
“What!” exclaimed Deb.
“You were furtive over the phone, and I thought…”
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing anyone behind Brian’s back,” she assured her. “How could you even think that? You know you and Dad didn’t raise me like that.”
At the mention of her late husband, Beth smiled tenderly. She had been feeling awfully lonely lately. She sighed.
“Are you alright, Mom?” Deb asked.
“Never mind me,” said Beth. “Who were you talking to?”
Deb made up her mind to come clean. Honesty had always been the glue that held their family together. “I ran into John,” she said.
Beth froze in place and replaced her cup on the saucer with a little click. “Where?” she asked.
“Kroger,” replied Deb. “In the produce section,” she added.
Catching the irony at once, Beth twisted her lips and said, “You didn’t spill any fruit, did you?” Beth had first met John at the grocery when, shackled to a walker following the automobile accident that had taken her husband, she spilled the oranges and John retrieved them. Later, when John became a student in Deb’s writing group, they became better acquainted.
“No,” replied Deb.
“Did he…” began Beth.
“He asked about you,” said Deb. “And the baby.”
“So he knows…”
“He only knows that you gave birth to a child. I didn’t go into any details. I thought I’d leave that to you.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Beth.
“I told him I’d talk to you and then get back to him tomorrow.”
“Give me his number, Deb, and I’ll call him.”
“Mom…”
“I can handle it, Baby. It should come from me.”
– – –
The next evening, at the tentative knock at the door, Beth, cane in hand, walked cautiously across the living room and opened the door. There stood John, dressed to kill, looking otherwise just as Beth remembered him.
“Hello, John,” she said, her mind irresistibly drawn to the one night of intimacy they’d shared so long ago. She had thought it might lead to something, but it never did.
John stared at her. “Beth, what happened? You’re walking on your own now!” he said happily.
Beth permitted herself a little smile at his apparent joy. “I had surgery, actually two surgeries,” she told him. “Almost a year ago.”
“Well, you look wonderful,” he went on, smiling broadly.
“Come in,” she invited, remembering her manners. Beth had thought about John all night, the good memories as well as the bleak, and hadn’t decided yet how to receive him. Now she thought she would play it by ear, see where his head was at. “Sit down,” she told him, leading the way to the sofa. Where John had first kissed her, nearly three years before. It seemed a lifetime ago now.
“Can I get you anything, John?” she asked, always the genial host.
“I’m good.”
They sat awkwardly, John staring at his shoes and Beth gazing about the living room. At length, John said, “You had a child.”
Beth stared into his blue eyes; eyes she’d fallen in love with. “Yes,” she said, “I named him Kevin, after my father.” Why had he come? she wondered. He had moved on, as had she. Or had she? John was still handsome, she thought.
“It’s a good name,” remarked John agreeably. “Is he here? Could I see him?” he asked.
“Kevin is away,” she said hesitantly. “With my parents.”
John nodded. “Where do they live, Beth?”
“They’re in Michigan,” she replied.
“Is that where you’re from?” John asked.
“Yes.”
“When will he return home, Beth? I’d really like to finally meet him.”
“Why did it take years to kindle your interest, John?” she asked, bristling with suspicion at his sudden interest.
“I…I don’t know, I was in school, you know, and then I had to get my license and find a job.”
“And did you accomplish all that?” she asked archly.
“Yes,” he said slowly, mindful of her bantering tone. “I work for Boeing, in Seattle, and it looks like my career is set.”
“Good for you, John,” said Beth neutrally.
“Look, Beth,” said John, “I know you must have mixed feelings about our relationship, about what went down 3 years ago and how it ended…”
“You’re right about that, John,” agreed Beth. “It did end.”
John stopped talking.
“Why are you here, John?” she asked. “I know it has nothing to do with me. And I have a hard time believing you woke up one day to find yourself teeming with parental concern. Why are you here?” she repeated.
“Alright,” he said, “I’ll tell you. I’m married now. To a wonderful girl.” He regarded Beth, but she seemed strangely indifferent. He knew she’d fallen hard for him, but now she seemed so detached. He shook his head to clear it. “We have a perfect marriage, but for one thing: she can’t have children. And she wants kids.”
He looked into Beth’s eyes again, but saw nothing.
“So you thought,” said Beth, “that you had the perfect solution. You had a ready-made family waiting for her here in Chicago. Given your MO, it’s possibly you have many such children sprinkled throughout Illinois,” she went on sarcastically.
“Suzanne,” said John, referencing his wife, “is a well-regarded attorney. She has political connections, too. She can make things happen.”
“Things like the rapid, no-questions-asked adoption of a child?” suggested Beth.
“That’s right. I’ll put it to you, Beth: even with a cane, you can barely get around; nothing’s changed, really. Raising a child has to be a monumental burden for you. We’ll give you $1 million to agree to the adoption and to permanently waive all custody rights.”
“I love both my children!” said Beth vehemently. “I always will.”
“I know that,” said John. “But, let’s be reasonable, Beth. You’ve spent your whole life raising children and financially living on the edge. Take the money…”
“And run?” she asked sardonically.
“Would you at least think about it and consider what this could mean for you and Deb? Kevin would want for nothing: the best schools, the…”
“I don’t need to think about it, John,” she told him, interrupting.
“Then your answer is no?” he asked, frowning ominously.
“My answer,” she said, “is yes.”
“What?” he asked, “Just like that?”
“Just like that. But, you’ll have to go to Michigan to pick him up.”
“Give me the address,” he said, pulling out his cell. ‘You’ll need to call your folks and clear it.”
“That won’t be possible,” said Beth.
When he looked up, she said, “No service.”
Before John could ask any additional questions or make any more demands, Beth came clean. “Kevin suffered Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, John, SIDS, at 5 months. No reason for it, really. Sometimes it just happens. That’s what they told me, the social workers and the doctors.”
John stared at her, aghast. “But, you said Kevin was with your parents in Michigan.” he protested.
“My parents passed away years ago. Our family vault is in Michigan, in Millwood Cemetery. Google it,” she suggested coldly.
– – –
Hours later, when Deb had returned from her date, Beth was sitting on the sofa, a glass of sangria on the coffee table before her. Deb approached her cautiously and said quietly, “Did you tell him?”
Beth looked up sadly and nodded. “I told him that your brother Kevin died at 5 months of crib death. That he’s buried in Michigan in the family vault alongside your grandparents.”
“Mom,” said Deb gently.
Beth looked up.
“Who the hell is Kevin?”
Beth smiled.
“And grandma and grandpa aren’t dead! Ooh!” she said. “You did a number on him.”
“Who knows,” said Beth, “there’s apt to be a Kevin interred in a crypt somewhere in Michigan. But I don’t think that John will hang around the Midwest long enough to find out. He’ll be making other plans.”
“Won’t he be able to check the web to see the names aren’t the same?” asked Deb.
“Your sister’s middle initial is K, remember; close enough. And I’m thinking that the shock will knock him for a loop. Besides, you can’t trust the internet on anything. And so what if they do find out the truth? Screw ’em. They want a young child. Annie will be too old for them by the time we’re through with the courts. Besides, your grandma is a pretty damn good lawyer herself.”
Deb decided to change the subject. “When are grandma and grandpa bringing Annie back from L.A.?” she asked.
“Saturday,” replied Beth. “Their plane is landing at Midway Airport at 9am. I can hardly wait to hold your sister again!”
“Now,” said Deb, taking a seat, “tell me the whole story.”
Beth did.
