Chapter Eleven
Peter held my hand as we drove to his parents’ home. I held tighter than I normally would. It was never fun to face someone who thought you could be selling drugs or your body. Okay, so I may have given her some fuel for the latter. Again, not my proudest moment, even if I got some pleasure out of it. Tonight was a test. Did Joseph have real influence over Sarah? And did having a relationship with her children mean more to her than being right? I was leaning toward no to both questions, but I hoped for Peter’s sake I was wrong.
To fill the nervous silence in the truck, Peter decided to share his day with me. He was always a bit hesitant to talk about church. “Today’s homily about grace was excellent. Father McKinley’s insights always inspire me to want to be a better person. He can take any scripture and relate it to the here and now. Maybe I should ask him to lunch. I’d love to talk to him about some of my own studies.”
I swallowed down my fears. “Do you miss it?”
Peter turned my way with a furrowed brow. “Miss what?”
“Your former occupation.”
He raised our clasped hands and kissed mine. “There are some aspects of it I will always miss, but the perks of my new gig make up for it.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Yes, and I’ve booked you for life.”
I squeezed his hand a little harder, hoping he always felt the tradeoff was worth it, trying not to worry that he missed his former calling. He tended to be more reflective on Sunday mornings before he left for Mass. His bible was his constant companion and he wrote page after page in a journal he kept while studying. I never read what he wrote, but I had a feeling he had several entries that would have made for beautiful homilies. I had seen him in action, having sneaked into Mass a few times while he was still a priest. I had no idea what he was talking about half the time, but he spoke with such eloquence and passion that it made me want to believe what he said was true.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I tried to be supportive.
“You know you’re always welcome to come with me.” He gave me a hopeful grin. He hadn’t asked me in a while. I was grateful for that. I hated disappointing him when I said no.
“Chad is having heartburn and breathing down my neck right now, but when I’m done with this first draft . . . I will.” I had worked all day, staring a lot at my screen. I knew what I wanted to happen, but some days I couldn’t get it out of my brain. I barely got a page in.
Peter’s eyes grew wide. “You will?”
I had promised Father Alan I would give Mass another shot, but this time I would go into it with a better attitude. In a rare moment of being open, I happened to privately mention to him that attending Mass exacerbated my fears and guilt about Peter’s choice. He counseled that I look at it as an opportunity to grow with my husband, not as something that would tear us apart. There was some wisdom there, but religion was so foreign to me. And the concept of an all-powerful being was honestly frightening. But how would I ever really know unless I gave it my all?
I nodded reluctantly.
Peter’s smile filled his truck. “I would love that.”
I gave him an uneasy smile in return.
Before I knew it, we had arrived at what I liked to refer to as the yellow house of perpetual torment. Normally I was expected to bring a dish to share, but Peter always ended up eating most of it so I didn’t feel bad, which made me feel worse because I knew how awful it was. Avery and Sam always had some too because they were good people, but that made me feel horrible. So, this week I decided to stop the cycle of torture and show up empty-handed. I wondered what Sarah would have to say about that.
Sam, Reed, and Cody pulled up the same time we did. They looked about as tentative as us. But Reed was going the brown-nosing route with an extra-large bouquet of pale pink roses he held in one hand. He held Sam tight with the other. Cody was a smart kid and yelled, “Good luck,” while laughing before he ran in ahead of all of us. His cousins waited inside. Avery and James were always the first to arrive. Maybe that’s why Sarah loved Avery. Avery was eager to please and help in any way she could. I wasn’t unwilling to help in the kitchen; my help would be a hindrance. And I avoided Sarah like pop music.
Reed and Sam gave us commiserating smiles once we all landed on the sidewalk.
For a moment, I saw Hunter and Laine in Reed and Sam. After all, I did base Hunter’s physical characteristics on Reed, and Sam had the tenacity of Laine. I imagined a tense scene where Hunter and Laine visited Mrs. Black after finally figuring out how to be together. I could see Hunter bringing flowers to his mother and Laine wearing a grin of dread with a hint of I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks-I’m-happy-dammit. Sam did look thoroughly happy in Reed’s grasp.
“After you,” Reed ungraciously offered.
“Oh, no, please, we’ll follow you.” Peter waved his arm toward the house.
Sam and I both laughed, yet we all remained firmly planted as if our shoes had melted into the concrete.
From the house we heard Sarah yell, “Samantha Marie are you here?”
Peter smirked at his sister. “We’re right behind you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Reed didn’t look too sure, but he led the way, flowers out in front as if he were storming a castle and the roses were his shield. Peter and I did follow, but at a leisurely, almost non-existent pace. The August sun that would burn my fair skin in a matter of minutes had nothing on the heat I was sure we would experience once we entered Dante’s Inferno. A line from the poem came to mind. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” which meant, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” It was much more accurate than the welcome mat that greeted us at the door.
We stopped at the gate of hell where Peter kissed my nose ring and ran his hand down the length of my tattoo, as if he were reminding me how much he loved those aspects of me and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about them. I grabbed his butt because I loved that aspect of him and we both needed a reason to smile before we entered. It did the trick.
We walked in to hear the normal level of chaos going on in the kitchen, but this time Joseph emerged and met us in the entryway. He patted Peter on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.” Then he turned his sights on me and before I knew it I was dislodged from my husband and wrapped in Joseph’s embrace. This was a new one for me, so much so it took me a minute to respond properly and revel in what my father-in-law was offering. I forced myself to relax and return the hug.
“I’m glad you came, honey.” He had never used that term of endearment when addressing me. I wasn’t sure anyone had in such a way. It sounded fatherly. I felt the genuineness of it in his embrace and in the kiss on the head that followed. This is what it must feel like to have a father. Like a safe harbor.
I wanted to stay docked in that harbor when Sarah appeared, sure to bring a category five storm to beat upon me. She stood stunned in the hall, dark clouds starting to swirl in her blue eyes, but by some miracle they dissipated. I stepped away from Joseph, but father and son flanked me as if they had rehearsed the move in battle preparation. I was no wilting flower, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. I stood tall between my self-appointed protectors, waiting for Sarah to say something about my bare midriff and bohemian skirt her eyes darted toward. Instead, she steadied herself and tiptoed toward us. Very unlike her normal march. It made more sense when I glanced up and noticed the warning in Joseph’s eyes. For half a second, Sarah’s eyes resented the warning, but before we knew it, she began to channel June Cleaver. Well, sort of.
“I’m . . . glad you . . . both,” she choked on her words while squarely focusing on Peter, “made it.” She exhaled dramatically as if that was the toughest performance of her life. Yes, it all came off as an act, but I gave her credit for trying to play the part and gave her a hint of a close-lipped smile.
Peter must have been wary too as he took my hand and nodded.
Joseph broke the tension by clapping his hands together. “Dinner is almost done. Come on back.” He went to his wife’s side and put an arm around her. Sarah at first stiffened but must have decided it was a good offer. She leaned into him as if she was gathering strength. How sad it was that we all needed it to tolerate being in each other’s presence.
The entire Decker clan awaited us in the kitchen, even our nephews, who were trying to help themselves to the overabundant food that filled the counters. Avery was doing her best to smack hands away, but it was a losing battle. The boys had outgrown their mothers and they were quick and moved in a pack, which made them more successful. Avery gave up, knowing it was better to pick her battles. Besides, our entrance into the foray was much more interesting.
James walked in from the back porch with a large tray of steaks. With the amount of red meat this family ate, it was a wonder no one had had a heart attack. I typically only ate salad and fruit during our adventures here, occasionally having a bite of Peter’s steak. That didn’t help engender any fuzzy feelings with my mother-in-law. She took it as a slight that I didn’t partake in the weekly consuming-of-the-fatted-calf ritual. Cat and Ron were vegetarian, but like everything in my life, they left my palate choices up to me. I don’t know if it was nature or nurture, probably the first because nurture was not a strong suit of Cat’s and Ron’s, but I leaned toward a more plant-based diet with fish for protein. And cereal, but I used almond milk instead of cow juice like Peter. Occasionally I would eat a hamburger or something, but nothing to the extent of Peter’s family.
James’s grin said he was ready for the fireworks to ensue. Mimsy stood with a bottle of water, itching to sprinkle it on someone. Reed was poised in front of Samantha, ready to take any direct hits from Mimsy.
Joseph looked around at his pensive clan with a resolve to bring us together if it was the last thing he did. He did linger on Reed for a bit longer with squinted eyes that said you aren’t off the hook yet for stealing my baby girl away. Joseph was about to speak until Mimsy stole the spotlight.
Mimsy looked between James and Avery. “Do you two have any skeletons in your closet or your attic?” She bounced on the balls of her feet, eager. “I promised Giovanni I would return to prison with a juicy story.” She frequently referred to the assisted living home as a prison.
Did James give Avery a guilty look? If he did, it got lost in translation when Sarah asked, “Who is Giovanni?”
“My lover.” Mimsy bared her teeth in an evil grin as if she had been waiting for the perfect moment to spring this latest bit of the soap opera that seemed to always play out at the assisted living home.
“Lover!?” Sarah exclaimed while the rest of us, by the shocked and squeamish faces that erupted around the room, were trying not to imagine what that entailed.
“Don’t look at me like that, young lady, I told him I don’t do the horizontal mambo until he buys the cow. No free milk for him.”
That was it; I lost any appetite I may have had. Though I must say I enjoyed the angst Mimsy was causing her daughter. Sarah spluttered for words.
“It’s your own fault,” Mimsy continued. “You’re the one who imprisoned me there looking like this.” She waved a hand over her tiny body like she was a beauty queen. “They can’t keep their hands off me. You don’t know what a turn on it is that I still have my own teeth and that my tuckus only takes up one cushion of the couch.”
Bursts of laughter erupted first from the boys, spreading to the rest of us, minus Sarah.
“Mom, what about Dad?” Sarah cried.
“What about him? He’d want me to have some fun. And you know what they say about Italians. It’s all true.”
Sarah crossed herself and looked up to heaven.
Joseph let out a defeated breath. “Let’s eat.”