Chapter Twenty
Twenty
Joseph
August 1973
Evelyn and I plan a trip to fly to California together to check on Jane, to end the silence between us, to convince her to come home, despite Evelyn’s fear she would refuse to see her. But the morning of the flight, Violet wakes up clutching her abdomen, writhing in pain, and one of us has to take her to the hospital. The tickets are booked, and we have already dipped into our savings, there is no chance to reschedule. We have to make a quick decision.
“I’ll go, you stay with Violet,” Evelyn says. “Jane’s upset with me. I need to make it right.”
“She may be more willing to talk to me,” I say.
“But it’s my battle, not yours.”
“Trust me, okay? She doesn’t want to see you.”
Evelyn stops, wounded. I don’t invite further discussion, and that’s what hurts her most. But what she doesn’t know would hurt more. I don’t tell her about Jane’s confession in Boston, the real reason she wasn’t speaking to her mother, why she left so angry. Doubt seeped in after Jane told me what she heard. Was there more I didn’t know? It stung that Evelyn never shared what happened, even if she chose to stay. Sam’s clandestine proposal kept secret, why? To protect me, or because a part of her considered leaving? Evelyn could not go to California, could not be the one to bring Jane back, when Jane was still so angry with her, when there was so much she misunderstood. And I couldn’t tell Evelyn, because now her secret was mine, because it created a nesting doll of things we didn’t say.
Evelyn lifts her hands in surrender, turns her attention to Violet and lets me go.
Jane’s old address leads to dead end after dead end, days spent talking to hippies on the street, showing her photo and tracing her steps, until I finally track her down. Unlike in Boston, the door is ajar, and I press it open. My eyes flicker across the shabby apartment. The mattress is on the floor, covered with a single frayed blanket and no sheets. Cartons of half-eaten food litter the counters. A cat with a ripped ear and patchy fur stalks through the debris with the authority of a wild animal that doesn’t belong to them, but lived here first. The haze of smoke in the air gives me déjà vu. Jane in another apartment, angry, defiant, three years earlier. My head spins.
Jane, in the corner, is nodding off beside some drugged out hippie.
My breath is ragged, my heart races, my voice low. “Get away from her.”
“Dad? What the fuck!” Jane snaps awake, hugging herself.
“Listen, man. We’re cool.” He raises his hands, offers a smile, his teeth yellow.
Blood pounds in my ears. I feel like I’m underwater, tumbling in a rip current, panicked for breath. “We’re going home.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not leaving.”
“You don’t have a choice. Let’s go.” My eyes stumble on the tracks on Jane’s arm, her shoulders bony and legs like straws.
“You can’t tell me what to do anymore.” She shakes her head, her hair wild.
I want to grab her, and my body quavers with fury. “I don’t give a damn. You are my daughter, and you’re doing drugs now, Jane?” My voice catches in my throat, saying it, seeing her and knowing, for the very first time, how far from us she has truly been.
“We’re just messing around.”
“You can’t believe that.” I take one step forward, try to steady my anger, try to appear calm, in control. “Come home. Come on, let’s go.”
She laughs. “Why would I?” She turns toward the man and wraps her arm around him, the insides of her elbows red and pockmarked. He resembles the feral cat, mangy, all bones and scraggly hair. He squints at me, resting his head on hers.
I turn to him, my fists clenched by my sides. My leg throbs, my voice a growl, and I’m filled with rage. Rage at the bloodied child’s foot jutting out of the rubble in Sicily, at Tommy’s stomach ripped open, at my mother’s tumor, at shrapnel tearing through my calf, at Jane’s arms scarred and cratered, her eyes hollow. I step toward him with raised fists. “You’re lucky I don’t rip your throat out, you son of a bitch. I don’t know what you’ve done to her—”
Jane screams, “Dad, stop!”
I turn to her, desperate. “I have two plane tickets, Jane. Come home. We miss you. Your mother can’t sleep...she is so worried about you.”
She clambers to her feet, propelled by her fury. “I haven’t talked to her in years. She isn’t even here. How worried could she be?”
I falter. “Violet got appendicitis...she couldn’t leave her.”
Jane cackles. “How convenient. Her precious Violet needs tending.”
“This has to stop, between you and your mother. Don’t you know how much she loves you? How much we both love you?”
“How could you stay with her? How can you trust her after what happened?”
“ Nothing happened, Jane.”
“Did she tell you that?”
I don’t admit I never confronted Evelyn. Don’t admit that in my worst moments, I imagine her kissing him, leaving me, the pain of it nearly driving me mad, bracing myself for the day she might. “There are things in a marriage that are hard to explain...you have to trust the other person. You heard what Sam asked her, but you never heard her answer. Obviously, she didn’t run off with him.”
“He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think he had a shot. It’s so fucking embarrassing and gross. I can’t believe you don’t see it!”
“The choices we make are what matters. What happened with your mother...it’s not a reason to cut her out, to pretend like she doesn’t exist.”
Jane doesn’t appear to listen, as if she couldn’t care less. Behind her, the junkie draws a pen across his forearm, a crude tattoo. I’m nauseous, the whole scene rushes away from me, my vision closes in. “Come home. Jane, please. Come home.” I’m losing her, clawing at the edge of a cliff.
She smiles, and she looks like a skeleton, her face sunken. “This is my home. People here finally understand me.”
“You’re doing heroin...” The word chokes what air I have left; I try to reach for her. “You can’t even see what’s right in front of you.”
“Don’t touch me.” Jane’s face is unreadable, and she backs away. “You need to leave.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“You heard her, man, time to go.” His words don’t register. All I see is Jane. I want to hug her, hold her, pull her out of this place. I want her head heavy on my shoulder as I carry her home and tuck her in, safe and warm.
“I’ll drag you out of here if I have to.” I grab her wrist.
She rips it away from me, screeching, “ I said don’t fucking touch me.” I reach for her again, and she screams like she’s being attacked.
I lift my hands. “Don’t do this...”
“You try to take me anywhere, I’ll bolt. I swear to god. You’ll never find me again.”
“Jane...” Her name, my final plea, out of leverage, out of hope, no way to force her to leave, no way to trap her, to keep her safe from herself. She stares at me, cold. My offering feels meager, pitiful, but it’s the only move I have left. This reminder, an escape hatch, a truth she must have forgotten. “You can always come home. Always.”