Chapter 3
THE sun parlor where they had their therapy sessions was empty when Zach went in, but the French doors to the patio stood open, the gauzy drapes fluttering gently in the breeze. He crossed the room and looked outside to see his mother drinking coffee at one of the little white wrought-iron tables that circled the pool. She wasn’t reading, although a book was open on the table in front of her; she was just sitting, drinking her coffee and looking out over the pool and the gardens beyond. Stray tendrils of fading blonde hair had escaped her neat chignon; she batted at them absently, tucking one strand behind her ear. She was so beautiful, Zach thought, his heart aching, and so sad. Even when she smiled, she never lost that little bit of sadness in the back of her eyes. He wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how.
He didn’t move, or speak, but suddenly she knew he was there in the sunroom, and turned, a smile on her face. This was her first smile of the day, the one that reached her eyes and made them shine; the one that said that for a moment she’d forgotten to be sad, forgotten what he was, forgotten everything except here was her beloved son, and she was glad to see him. He smiled back, kept the smile when hers faded to just lips, that ache back in her eyes. “Morning, sweetheart,” she said cheerfully.
He nodded.
“Did you want some coffee? I think there’s still some in the carafe.”
He shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said carefully.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
He nodded again.
“Annie’s calling in a grocery order today; did you need anything?”
He thought a moment, then said, “Milk.”
“Okay, I’ll have her order some for you. Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
They gazed at each other across an unbridgeable gulf, then Zach heard the door open behind him and turned in relief. His father and the therapist came in together. Zach waited and saw the same smile curl his father’s lips, brighten his eyes a moment. “Hey, Zach, morning.”
Zach nodded at him in response. “Good morning, Dr. Barrett,” he said politely to the therapist.
“Good morning, Zach.”
Jane came into the sunroom at Zach’s back, saving him from having to say anything about her whereabouts. “I’m here,” she said gaily, and Zach flinched. She used to talk that way all the time, and he had loved it; now, it was so patently artificial it scraped his nerves. “Shall we get started?”
They sat in their usual spots: his parents on the wicker loveseat, the therapist in one armchair, Zach in the other. Zach folded his hands in his lap and waited.
After a moment of silence, Jane said, “There’s something we need to tell Zach.”
Zach’s head came up and he stared at them expressionlessly. Inside, his guts had gone tense. She looked so solemn, so worried; he ran over in his head everything he’d done since yesterday, everything that could have possibly pushed them over the edge, made it too difficult to keep him. Were they going to send him away, maybe back to the nursing home; or worse—was he on the verge of getting committed? That’s what they did with wackos, locked them up so they couldn’t hurt anyone else…. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on his upper lip. He didn’t think he could tolerate being locked up again….
“It’s about… it’s about David.”
Zach went blank. Then fear roared through him and he grabbed the arms of his chair to steady himself. “What about him?” he asked, his voice shaking. Was he hurt—was he dead?
“He’s home,” Jane went on, and Zach realized he hadn’t said the last few thoughts out loud. “Annie told me yesterday he’s staying a few days here—well, at the gatehouse—until he gets an apartment. Apparently he’s got a job teaching art at Wesley Community College. But she says he’ll stay away. Zach won’t have to see him—he’ll stay away from us.” She gave Zach a bright, fake smile; she’d seen the fear on his face. “So there’s nothing to worry about, honey.”
Of course he’d stay away. Just as he’d stayed away for the past two years. He had no reason to want to see Zach. Not if he figured Zach would freak out like the madman he was, just like he had when he’d been in the hospital, still thinking he was dreaming.
Sometimes he still thought he was dreaming.
“How do you feel about David being so close, Zach?” Dr. Barrett’s voice was calm and soothing.
He shrugged.
“Does it frighten you to know he’s here?”
Zach thought a moment. “No,” he said. Broke his heart, yeah, to know that David was so close, just up the road at the gatehouse that had been his own second home throughout his childhood. Home in that warm little place with the fieldstone fireplaces, the polished wood floors, the cheerful curtains and overstuffed furniture. Was he even now sleeping late in that twin bed under the hand-pieced quilt his mother had made him years ago? No, David had always been an early riser. He was probably out on his mountain bike right now, or running, those long tanned legs flashing as he sprinted uphill, laughing back at the child Zach, who’d tried so hard to keep up with him…. Zach swallowed hard and turned away. “No,” he said again. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then how do you feel?”
Three months ago, Zach had snuck into the gatehouse when Annie was working up at the main house and crawled into that twin bed, bundled under that quilt. It had been clean and smelled of laundry detergent, and the sheets of bleach, but there was a scent of David there too. It had been so comforting that he’d fallen asleep there and only woke up when he’d heard Annie’s car in the drive. He’d had to sneak out the back way so she didn’t see him there. “I don’t know,” he said dully.
He felt more than saw the exchange of glances between his parents.
“What about you, Jane? How do you feel about David being here?”
Jane glanced nervously at Zach. He gave her his best blank face. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “Richard and I have always been fond of David, so it’s not easy, I mean, it’s not comfortable to have him here and not feel like he’s welcome…. Not that he’s not welcome, their house is part of his mother’s compensation, and she has every right to have whomever she likes there. But Zach is our priority, so we have to accommodate Zach’s feelings….”
Zach was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, you don’t. I’m not the one in charge. I don’t want to be the one in charge.”
“Do you feel like your parents are trying to put the responsibility on you, Zach?”
“No,” Zach said. He shook his head again. “I don’t know. Ta… David can do what he wants. I don’t care. He’s nothing to me. I’m not afraid of him.”
“You wouldn’t mind if your dad and I went to see him while he’s here?” Jane asked cautiously.
His head jerked up, his throat thick with betrayal. They wanted to see David, when he couldn’t? That was unfair. That was so unfair…. “Do whatever the fuck you like,” he said coldly.
“Zachary,” Richard said reprovingly, “don’t swear at your mother.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing in on himself. “That was inappropriate.”
“No, I think that was important,” Dr. Barrett said thoughtfully. “Jane, Richard, one of the things that we’ve discussed in these sessions is that you don’t feel that Zach expresses his emotions in a healthy way. He’s never sworn before in any of these sessions. Does he swear outside them?”
“No, of course not,” Jane said hurriedly. “Zach is always polite. It’s just… just that he’s stressed out because of David. You know, Doctor, you know how he hates and fears David.”
“Do you hate and fear David, Zach?” the therapist asked curiously.
“No,” Zach said.
“What do you feel for him, then?”
So not going there, Zach thought, and just shook his head.
“Would you like to see him again?”
“No.” The answer was quick and sure. A knot of nausea soured his stomach at the thought of seeing David. “I don’t hate him,” he said dully. “I just can’t see him, that’s all. I don’t care if you see him”—he glanced at his parents—“or anything; it’s okay. I mean Annie sees him, right? I don’t, like, freak out over her, do I?”
“Annie is not your mother,” Richard said carefully. “Do you feel like we would be betraying you if we chose to be friends with David?”
“No.” Zach shook his head. “I used to be friends with him myself.”
“Would it hurt you if they did?” the doctor asked.
“No.” That was a lie, but it didn’t matter. He sat through these sessions for his parents, not for him. They thought they did some good, helped him reintegrate or whatever the current catchphrase was for trying to get a crazy person back among the sane. He thought it was rather pointless, but if it made them feel better, put him that much further from the loony bin, he’d play their games. It didn’t mean he had to be honest. Just careful. He’d had a shock when Jane had brought up David, but he was back in control now. He smiled at the therapist. “I don’t expect Mom and Dad to be friends with all of my friends, so why should I object to who they want to be friends with?”
“Do you have friends, Zach?”
He gave the shrink that careful false smile again. “Of course I have friends. I go out. I don’t sit in my room and rock, you know.”
“Where do you go?”
“A couple places in town.” Zach shrugged. “I play pool, have a few drinks, same thing everyone else does when they go out.”
“Do you have a boyfriend, or anyone special you go out with?”
“No. Just a bunch of people.”
“Why don’t you invite them over sometime, honey?” Jane asked with a smile.
He gave her the same smile back. “I don’t think so. They’re not that kind of people.”
Her smile faded. His didn’t. “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.
“They’re just not,” he said dismissively. “They’re club people, not home people. Just because they’re my friends doesn’t mean I want them involved in every aspect of my life. They’re not that important.”
“Friends are important,” Richard said.
“Not these.” Zach shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ve only been home ten months—”
“Nine,” Jane said softly.
“—and I haven’t had time to build any relationships, okay?” Not any that mattered. “It’s okay, really. I’m finding my way. It takes time, okay?”
“Of course it’s okay, honey,” Jane said.
Yeah, of course it was okay. Everything he did and said was okay, wasn’t it? His jaw was starting to ache from the fake smile. He wondered if they’d be okay with what really went on when he went out at night, went to the clubs with the convenient little rooms and the convenient guys that went with them. It would make them sick. Hell, it made him sick. He said again, “I’m just finding my way.”
“I just wish—” Jane started, then stopped.
“Wish what?” Dr. Barrett asked.
“That I would do something constructive,” Zach said. “Like go to school. What about it, Mom? Should I sign up for art lessons at Wesley?”
She flinched, but said only, “If that’s what you want, honey, of course.”
“Or maybe go to work for Dad,” Zach said, still smiling. “I’m a shitty programmer, but hey, if the boss’s kid can’t get a job at the company, who can?”
“You know it’s not just programming,” Richard said carefully. “There are other parts of the company that you’d enjoy working at.”
“Thanks,” Zach said gently. Careful. They were oh, so careful. Like handling a bomb. Not sure if it was armed, not sure if it was going to explode in their faces. So careful.
“But as long as you’re going out and socializing, making friends….” Jane began.
Fuck it. Still in that gentle tone, Zach said, “They aren’t really so much friends, Mom. Just people I fuck.”
There was dead silence in the room. Then Jane said, “You are being safe, though, right?”
He stared at her a long moment, then started to laugh. Somewhere the laughter turned into tears, and he leaned his head down on his arm and cried. Jane went to her knees beside him and stroked his hair; Richard came around behind the wicker armchair and rubbed his T-shirted back. Finally, he raised his head to take the tissue his mother handed him and blow his nose. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to go all stupid. Guess I kind of over-shared.”
“That’s the whole point of these sessions, Zach,” the shrink said. “To share. I think this is a good step, because this is obviously an emotional issue for you.”
“Ya think?” Zach said dryly.
“If this isn’t a comfortable subject to discuss with your parents present, we can talk about it later, if you like.”
Zach said, “It’s not a comfortable subject, period. I’m not….” He shook his head. “It doesn’t…. It isn’t something I want to talk about.”
Richard said, “It’s usually the ones you don’t want to talk about that you need to talk about. Trust me, I know.” He rubbed Zach’s shoulder again. “But if you don’t want to talk about it with your mom and me here, that’s okay. We’re good with that, you know.”
“I know. I appreciate it.”
“We went through a lot of therapy when you were gone; we know the rules.” Richard took Jane’s hand and raised her to her feet, then led them back to the loveseat. Once they were seated, he gave Zach a long, steady look, and then said, “I’m just glad that you’re… I don’t know… exploring your sexuality, after what happened. We’ve been worried about that. It’s an important part of life and relationships, and we were afraid you would end up cutting yourself off from that.”
Zach returned his look with an “I-don’t-believe-you-said-that” one of his own, then said to Dr. Barrett, “Do all your patients have ex-hippie parents that talk like this?”
Barrett laughed. “Some of them do. Does it embarrass you?”
“It’s not comfortable,” he said. “It doesn’t….”
“Doesn’t what?”
“Doesn’t help. Doesn’t make things easier.” He turned and said to his parents, “I appreciate your trying to help. To let me know you care. I know you care. But in the end it doesn’t matter. I mean, not that your caring doesn’t matter, because it does, I know. But this”—he waved his hand—“it’s not real, you know. It’s like I’m still dreaming. Everything is nice and sweet and happy and I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming, Zach,” Richard said fiercely. “This is reality. This isn’t perfect; it’s not, as much as we want to make it so. We’re not trying to cut you off from life or anything. We haven’t locked you up here; you go out, and we don’t even ask you where. We’re trying to let you build your life again, however you want to do it, but we also want to support you. To be here for you. Damn it, Zach, why won’t you ask us for anything? We’re here trying to guess what you want, what will make you happy, but you don’t ask. You don’t give us a clue.”
“I don’t want a fucking thing!” Zach shouted. “I live in your house, you feed me, clothe me, practically wipe my ass for me, and you want me to ask for more? Jesus, Dick, I’m enough of a fucking parasite!”
“You are not a fucking parasite, you’re our son, God damn it!” Richard yelled back.
Zach barked at him.
Richard nearly hit him, but froze with his fist an inch away from Zach’s face. “Go ahead!” Zach yelled. “Hit me! You know you want to! You want to, go ahead!”
His father lowered his hand, flexing the fingers. “God damn you, Zach,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know what the hell you want.”
“Sometimes,” Zach said, “I want the cage.” With that admission, he got up and walked out onto the patio, staring down into the pool. He heard the shrink talking in an undertone, and his mother crying. Good job, asshole, he told himself viciously. Good way to alienate the only people in the world who give a shit about you. How the hell had this gone so quickly downhill? Their therapy sessions had never exploded like this one before.
He knew what it was. He’d let David in.
Dropping to his knees, he dipped his hand in the pool and rubbed the water over his face, trying to cool himself down. He was still kneeling when he felt someone behind him and knew it was his father. “Yeah, I know,” he said dully. “I upset Mom. I’ll apologize.” He sat back on his heels, still gazing down at the water. His father’s silhouette quivered in the little wavelets from Zach’s hand.
“I’m the one apologizing,” Richard said wearily. “To you. I’m sorry, Zach. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. I’m just….”
“Yeah,” Zach said. “I know. Frustrated. I don’t blame you.”
“You’ve got a lot of anger bottled up inside you, Zach. Well, so do I. I know you think we’re being all patient and crap, but I’m not patient. I’ve never been patient.” He sat down cross-legged on the edge of the pool beside Zach. “I hate this crap,” he said savagely. “I hate that you lost so much of your life. I hate that I lost so much of your life. I hate the therapy. I hate not being able to talk to you the way we used to. I hate what happened to you and knowing that I probably don’t know the half of it. I hate that you’ve shut us out. I hate that you can even say what you just said and mean it, because I know you do. It breaks my fucking heart, Zach. And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”
“I think, sometimes,” Zach said, sighing, “that maybe I need to be gone. That maybe I shouldn’t have come back. Not that I mean I should have stayed in Venezuela, but maybe instead of coming home from the rehab center I should have just gone into, like, an institution or something.” He waited, his heart pounding.
His father’s response was instantaneous and violent. “No fucking way, Zach! You aren’t crazy, you don’t belong in an institution. Jesus Christ, Zach, why the hell would you say that? You belong here!”
Zach didn’t answer. Finally, Richard asked, “Do you want to go away?”
“No,” Zach muttered. “No.”
Richard’s hand closed around Zach’s forearm, his fingers digging into the taut muscle. “I don’t want you to go away. Neither does your mother. Yeah, it’s hard on all of us, and I know you feel guilty as hell for that. Well, we feel guilty as hell for what happened. That’s why we’re in therapy, remember?”
He ducked his head in a nod. “Yeah. I remember.”
Richard released his arm, but not before giving it a good solid rub. “Forest service says the last of the snowpack’s melting and they’re opening the trails around the Peak. You want to go hiking this weekend?”
Zach was quiet a moment, then said, “Maybe a short one. It’s been a long time.”
“You need to add some aerobic exercise to your weights program. You should start using the gym at the office instead of just the one here—it’s got a track….”
“No, I can’t,” Zach said. “I can’t work out in public yet.” He rubbed the base of his throat, where the scar tissue circled his neck. “Not yet. It’s not like we don’t have a pool, you know.”
“You should use it more.” Richard stood, and ruffled Zach’s hair—or rubbed his head, since it was cropped way too short to ruffle. “That’s what it’s there for.”
“Sure, Dad,” Zach said.