Prospect Street (20 page)

“I'll see what I can do for you.”

 

David knew he might cause more trouble for himself and his children by showing up on their doorstep. But he had just completed a job interview nearby, and the longing to see both Alex and Remy had propelled him to their front steps. The house was locked tight, and he guessed that Faith had gone to pick them up from school. Gingerly, in his best suit, he settled himself on the stoop to wait.

David had spent the first forty-odd years of his life convinced that he knew what to do about everything. His father had never encouraged doubts. There was one way, the Lord Jesus Christ's, and nothing else was worth discussion. As an adult, of course, David had seen through Arnold Bronson's prejudices and convictions. He had formed his own instead, borrowing
some from his father, some from other mentors, some from hours spent on his knees.

Now he was rudderless. Particularly where his children were concerned. He was establishing a new and tentative rapport with Alex, which gave him hope. The stilted conversations were gradually warming into old-fashioned father and son dialogues. He realized he had never really appreciated his son quite the way he should have. Alex had been Faith's child, and Remy had been David's. He had loved them both. He would have laid down his life for Alex without a second thought. But he had never really tried to understand him.

For the first time he saw what a unique and interesting child he had fathered. The time they spent together was doubly precious. He was making up both for the days he spent away from Alex now and the years when he had been too preoccupied to see his son for the boy he really was.

This new closeness to Alex made him miss Remy more.

He remembered so clearly the day he and Faith had brought their daughter home from the hospital. She was a small baby, so breakable and vulnerable. One look at his baby daughter and he had been transformed from just any man into Remy's dad.

In the years since, little had changed. He remembered every milestone, every recital, every soccer game. He treasured the hours they had spent together on school projects, the discussions of history, religion, morality.

He missed Faith's friendship, and he missed coming home to Alex every night. But he missed Remy the way he would miss an arm or a leg.

David shifted so he was sitting against the post. The railing was old and rusty, and he was careful not to put much weight against it. The house needed so much work. Their
lives
needed so much work. Like the railing, under any new stress their family might be destroyed beyond repair. He needed to reestablish ties with his daughter, and he needed to do it now. If he didn't, the rust could eat away everything that was left.

More minutes passed before he spotted Remy and Alex
coming toward him from Wisconsin. He hadn't realized they walked to school, and he was annoyed with Faith for allowing it. He wondered what they found to talk about. Did they discuss the changes in their lives? Did Alex try to convince his sister to give David a chance?

In his wildest imaginings he had never considered that his son might someday be forced to plead his cause.

David knew the precise moment when Remy saw him. She and Alex were half a block away and in the midst of an animated conversation. Not a happy one, by the expressions on their faces, definitely an argument of some kind. Alex was taller than his sister now, despite the difference in their ages. Where once Remy could treat him like a pesky little brother, now she was forced to look up at him when they spoke. Just before she spotted David, her chin was stubbornly tilted, her fingers curled into fists. Her voice was raised—he could hear that much.

Then she saw her father.

David watched annoyance turn into something darker. His daughter's eyes narrowed, and even from that distance he knew they flashed dangerously. She stopped midstep, rocking back on her heels. Suddenly, with a twist of her body and another change in posture, she was poised for flight.

David's first impulse was to go after her if she ran. His second and saner was to do nothing. He had to consider Alex. He had to consider Remy's humiliation if he chased her like a rebellious two-year-old.

He held his breath, praying silently that she would approach. His prayer was answered. Alex said something to her, something so low that David could barely hear the murmur of his son's voice. Remy tossed her head, her bright blond hair spilling over the shoulders of a wrinkled green shirt. She looked tired, upset and bedraggled, as if she no longer cared what she wore to school or what anyone thought of her.

She said something to Alex, again too low for David to hear. Then, as if she'd made up her mind, she marched toward him.

“Hello, Daddy.” The words were an epithet. He had been
called a number of things since emerging from the closet. None of them had been said with more venom.

David got to his feet. “I was hoping you and Alex would go out for ice cream with me.”

“Like we used to do in McLean, right? Like the good old days?”

“I miss you, Remy. I know you're angry at—”

“Angry? Me?” She forced a laugh. “Why should I be angry?”

“Remy,” Alex said, “Dad's just trying to—”

“Shut up!” She turned on her brother, fire in her eyes. “Just shut up, Alex. Like you have any idea how I feel!”

Alex shot David a worried glance, and David's heart went out to his son. Alex so badly wanted to play peacemaker, but he was out of his league. Madeline Albright would be out of her league here.

“Alex, son, it's okay,” David said. “Remy and I have to work this out.”

“Right, Alex.” Remy faced her brother. “You can't fix everything, you know? You're just a kid. And what do kids know?”

“This is Daddy,” Alex said, pulling himself up to tower two scant inches over her. “You gotta hear what he has to say. Honor thy father and—”

She exploded, shoving Alex so hard that despite outweighing her, he stumbled backward.

David had seen enough. He grabbed Remy's arm to stop her, and she rounded on him. Before he understood her intent, she slammed her right fist into his stomach, and as he bent from the impact, she did it again.

“I hate you!” She screamed the words. “I hate you! I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. I don't want to ever, ever talk to you again! I hate you. You ruined my life! You ruined Alex's and Mom's. You're a fag! A queer! You should never have had kids! People like you don't have kids!”

She broke away from him, stepping backward, and held both fists in the air in front of her like a shield.

Alex lunged for her, but David quickly stepped between
them. He caught his breath. A slender fourteen-year-old girl couldn't pack much of a punch, but it had been enough to knock the wind out of him for a moment.

The impact on all their lives was far more devastating.

“Alex, go inside,” he said. “Do you have a key?”

Alex was sobbing. “Yes, but—”

“Use it, son. We'll talk later.”

Alex stumbled up the steps. In a moment the old door swung inward and Alex disappeared.

David stared at his daughter. She still held her fists in the air, but the rage in her eyes had dimmed. She looked marginally more like the child he had sired and raised. But she wasn't the same child. Not anymore. And he didn't know how to relate to this new incarnation.

“It doesn't matter how angry you are,” David said carefully. “You will never take your fists to me or anyone else in this family again.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She lowered her fists an inch, no more. “I meant every word. I want you to leave me alone. Stay away from me!”

He didn't know what to do. Nothing in all his years had prepared him for this. He could continue to force his way into Remy's life, even insist that the courts back him up. Or he could do as she asked and step out of it. Not forever, but until she gained enough maturity to have a better understanding of the things that had happened.

His gaze dropped to the ground at her feet. “While I was waiting for you, I sat here and remembered all the wonderful times we've had together, Remy. Being your father and Alex's is the best part of my life.” He looked up again. Her expression hadn't changed. Bravado might be a mask, but it was an effective, impenetrable one.

“I don't want to destroy that,” he said quietly. “So I'll wait for you to find me again. And I'll be there waiting, whenever you're ready. You don't have to worry that I'll hate you for what
happened today, or that I'll move on to something else and forget about you. I'm your father. I'll be here until the day I die, even if you don't want me to be.”

“I don't and I won't.”

“You made your point.”

“Did I? That's a nice change.”

He heard the sadness behind the sarcasm, as well as the insecurity and the fury. He had told her one thing for thirteen years and something altogether different since. She had no way of judging who he was anymore, and she was too frightened to give him another chance to explain.

He understood all that. He saw it all clearly. But the pain in his gut wasn't from his daughter's fists. It came from witnessing her shattered heart.

“Do you have my phone number?” he asked.

“I don't need it.”

“Alex has it. Your mother has it.”

“That's their problem.”

He stepped aside. She swept past him and through the unlocked door, closing it with a bang behind her.

David was still standing there, unable to move or even think, when he heard a voice behind him.

“David?”

He turned and saw Faith coming toward him, just as their children had a few minutes before.

“What are you doing here?” She didn't smile, but she didn't seem upset to see him, either. “Anything wrong?”

“Anything wrong?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Our daughter hates me. That's what's wrong.”

She glanced toward the house, then back at him. “You spoke to Remy?”

“I tried.” He could feel emotion welling where a moment before there had been dark desolation. “She told me she hates me. She shoved Alex. She hit me.”

Faith sucked in air, as if her lungs were empty. “David, no, I—”

“What are you telling her, Faith? Are you feeding this? Are you talking about how lonely you are, how financially insecure, how sad you are that your life has changed?”

She looked startled. “What are you talking about?”

“This is Remy! My daughter. My daughter who adored me! This has to be coming from somewhere.” He combed his fingers through his hair and realized his hands were shaking.

“Are you saying this is
my
fault?” Faith was clearly angry now. “How dare you! I love Remy. I wouldn't do that to her. I've tried to smooth the waters for you, although God knows that will take a miracle. But how can you think I'd make her unhappier than she is? There's only one person at fault for all the changes in her life, and it isn't me!”

“
You're
the parent in charge. You're living with her every day. What do you think is happening here? You think this kind of anger is normal? You think it'll just blow over? Why haven't you gotten her any help?”

“I think she's adjusting to a million things at once. I think she needs time, and apparently so do you. But don't you ever,
ever,
come here again and accuse me of making things worse. How much room did you leave us, David? How much room was there for things to be worse?”

They were both out of breath, staring at each other. He crumpled first, but only a little.

“I'm sorry.” He barely shoved the words out.

“You damn well should be.”

“She needs help, Faith.”

“We all need help, David.”

“I told her I won't contact her again until she wants me to.”

“We're both flying blind. I don't know what to tell you, and frankly, you're at the bottom of my worry list. I'm getting through this one minute at a time.”

“What about professional help?”

She took a deep breath, as if she needed the time it took. “If I tell her she needs to see a therapist, she'll go over the edge. Our rapport is fragile. You're not the only one she hates.”

“You think you can handle this alone?”

“What choice have you given me?”

“The choice of consulting a professional.”

“If things get any worse, I'll broach seeing a counselor. In the meantime, I'll do what seems best. I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces of the lives you cracked wide open.”

He considered what to say or do next. But that, like everything else in his life, was a question mark. In the end, he simply nodded curtly and walked away.

R
emy waited for her mother to punish her. Alone in her room after the encounter with her father, she sobbed out her frustration, pounding her pillow until one side split and wispy tufts of batting floated in the air. She heard Faith come inside a few minutes later, and she fully expected her to arrive at the bedroom door. But her mother surprised her.

Sometime later, when she was armored again, Remy made her way downstairs for the confrontation. Faith was sitting in the living room, staring into space. Remy could hear voices in the backyard, and she supposed that Alex and that awful homeless man were wrestling with more ivy. The man's presence was just more proof that her mother had gone crazy right along with her father.

Faith looked up as Remy approached. She didn't smile. “How could you? He's your father. Nothing changes that. How could you ever believe you had the right to hit him?”

“He grabbed me first.”

“Yes, I know. After you shoved your brother. I heard the whole sordid story from Alex.”

“Alex is a tattletale.”

“Alex struggled very hard to be fair to you. There wasn't much he could say, though. There is no excuse for your bad behavior. None. Period.”

Remy felt a hundred more important questions trying to squeeze their way out, but she only had courage for the most mundane. “So, are you going to ground me?”

Faith patted the sofa. At first Remy had no intention of yielding, but as Faith's expression darkened, Remy saw what was in store if she didn't make this concession. She sat on the edge, as far from her mother as possible.

“I don't know what to do with you or for you,” Faith said. “I know you're in a lot of pain. I know you're angry at everyone. But I wonder how it came to this, Remy? Did somebody in our family teach you it was okay to abuse the people who love you? Is that what you've witnessed in your own home?”

Despite everything, Remy felt a shudder of remorse. She hadn't missed the expression in her father's eyes when she punched him. He'd looked like someone watching a pileup on the Beltway. And she'd wanted to be glad. Some part of her
had
been glad. But the rest of her had felt sick.

In that moment she had remembered, for no good reason, all the times David had held her on his lap when she was sick or afraid.

“Are you sorry?” Faith asked.

Remy knew her immediate future depended on her answer. She wanted to lie and say yes, just to get herself off the hook. Maybe it wasn't even a lie; she didn't know. But every lie she told weighed her down a little more, even when the freedom they bought made her stinking life a little more tolerable.

“I'm sorry I hit him,” Remy said at last. “I was just so mad. I don't want to see him, and I don't want to talk to him, and I couldn't get past him to get inside. I felt trapped. I always feel trapped now, like I'm in a cage. Like that stupid rat Alex caught.”

“He misses you. He just wanted to see you, not trap you.”

“I don't miss him!”

“Yes, you do.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“I wish I did. I wish I knew the girl I raised was still in that teenage body somewhere. The one who didn't hit people or call them terrible names. The one who understood how to forgive others for their mistakes.”

“That was one frigging mistake, wouldn't you say?”

“It's time to look beyond your own pain. You're not alone in this. You're one of four people in our family.”

“He's not in our family anymore. You're getting a divorce.”

“David Bronson will always be your father. And your dad and I will always be connected by you and Alex, even by the things we shared when we were married. Our family changed, but we're still tied to each other.”

“You have an answer for everything. It's like you're always reading some stupid book about teenagers and divorce and reciting what you learned.”

Faith's lips twisted into some indefinable expression between a smile and a frown. “You know, honey, I wish somebody would write that book. I could use some help.”

Remy could feel herself deflating. Despite her attempts to pump up her anger, it wasn't bottomless, and she had used up the day's supply. Just as she'd had a moment of empathy for her father, she now had a full minute for her mother.

At last Remy shook her head. “I was just so angry. I didn't mean to hit him. But he grabbed me, and I freaked. I don't want to make things worse for you or Alex.”

Faith looked relieved. Remy supposed that this time she had said the magic words with enough sincerity to please her mother.

“I'm not going to ground you,” Faith said. “But, Remy, this can't happen again.”

“He said he's going to leave me alone from now on.”

“It's costing him everything to give you more time. He needs his daughter. This is a very bad moment in your father's life.”

“Yeah, well? Maybe he should have given this whole homosexual thing some thought.”

“I suspect he gave it quite a bit.”

“I want to go out for a while.” Remy got to her feet. “Maybe I'll walk over to Billie's.”

“I don't know, I—”

“Look, am I in prison here? Just tell me and I'll go crawl in the cage with Alex's stupid rat. At least then I'll have some company. In McLean I could go for a walk whenever I wanted. But if that's changed like everything else, let me know, okay?”

Faith looked torn. She was never good at hiding her thoughts, and now Remy was glad, because she pressed her advantage. “If Georgetown is that dangerous, we shouldn't live here, should we?”

“Please don't be gone long. Okay?”

Remy had given her mother Billie's phone number. In fact, a few weeks ago Faith had talked to Billie's mother to be sure it was all right for Remy to spend time there in the afternoons. Billie's mom, who worked two jobs, had apparently satisfied Faith, even though Remy had never met the woman.

“If I'm at Billie's house, can I be gone an hour?”

“I guess so.”

“Good.” Remy started toward the door.

“I'll get chicken for dinner and that bean salad you like. But be sure you're home by 5:30. Don't forget, I'm going out. Your grandmother's coming to get you at 6:00.”

David wanted to buy her ice cream. Now Faith was trying to bribe her with bean salad. Remy couldn't imagine any human beings lamer than her parents.

Outside, she turned toward Wisconsin, and once there, she turned left, heading toward Lawford's, the clothing store where Enzio worked. She knew he had an afternoon shift on Fridays because she'd visited him at the store last week.

Billie Wolfgard did go to Remy's school, and they were in the same science class. She was older than Remy by two years, because she had been held back twice. Billie didn't like to do homework, which was part of the reason she was still in eighth grade. Remy wasn't doing much herself this year, but it was a
small sacrifice to do the science assignments, then stop by Billie's every morning so she could copy them. Remy had made Alex promise he wouldn't tell Faith about her daily detour.

Remy didn't really like Billie, who was loud and hyper, but in exchange for copying Remy's homework, Billie had agreed to pretend Remy was at her house in the bathroom or some other place where she couldn't come to the telephone if Faith called. Then Billie would call Remy at Enzio's house or at the store. She might not be good in school, but she was smart enough to remember where she kept those numbers.

Billie was the closest thing to a school friend that Remy had. The rest of the kids looked at her as if she had two heads, and even the ones who tried to be nice disappeared the moment she let them know she didn't want their charity. She was Remy Bronson. Last year she'd been picked to lead the academy's Easter parade. The cutest boy in the school had asked her to be his lab partner. Every single day she had eaten lunch with the popular kids.

Now her only friend was a delinquent with a nasty laugh and plans to drop out of school the moment she was old enough. Welcome to Georgetown.

Remy walked along Wisconsin, paying little attention to the people pushing past her. The shops and restaurants were sandwiched together in old buildings, not like the mall where everything was bright, spacious and easy to find. She didn't know what her mother found so charming about Wisconsin Avenue. The sidewalks were crowded; the stores were narrow and often dark inside. Sure, they sold good stuff, but nobody could afford it, especially her.

Once she spotted Lawford's she slowed her pace. She wasn't sure what Enzio would say when she showed up again, but she didn't have any other place to go. Last time he'd been cool about it, but he'd treated her like his sister. One of the other salesclerks had snickered because she was so surprised at the prices. She'd felt like the country mouse in the story her father used to read to her. That thought made her sad.

At Lawford's she peered in the window for a while before she went inside. Hip-hop pulsed from speakers cradling the doorway. She couldn't understand all the lyrics, but the beat cheered her a little. The walls were painted black, and stark steel chandeliers lit the room. The clothes, lots of leather and spandex and shiny lizard skin fabrics, glowed like jewels under the fluorescent bulbs.

She searched for Enzio but didn't see him immediately. Half a dozen customers stood at the racks, combing through the clothing. One bored salesclerk, with a bleached buzz cut and two nose rings, stood watching them, arms folded over a pumpkin-colored bustier.

Remy pretended to look at jewelry while she waited for Enzio. Most of it looked like restraints or shackles from an ancient Roman slave galley. She thought that one gold bracelet, snapped just right, might secure Alex to his bed frame.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Remy's heart did a flip. She looked up just in time to see Enzio's face hovering inches from hers. He lowered it the necessary distance and gave her a proprietary kiss, right on the lips; then he stepped back. “What's happening?”

Her entire afternoon shifted focus. She smiled shyly, glad she'd graduated from sister to something more intimate. She tried to be cool. “I'm just hanging.”

“I found something that will look good on you.”

“I didn't bring any money with me.”

He shrugged and disappeared to return with a lime-green skirt and jacket with a rhinestone encrusted zipper. He held it against her, the back of his hand brushing one breast. The skirt was barely long enough to cover her panties. “Just try it on.”

She knew what her parents would say if they ever saw her in an outfit like this one. Her mother's clothes were like leftovers from a ladies' club yard sale, expensive clothes that were so discreet they faded into every background. Faith picked out clothes like that for Remy, too, and until now Remy hadn't thought much about it. “You're sure?”

“Hey, you're with me. You can do anything you fuckin' please.”

You're with me.
She was with someone. She was with Enzio. Feeling about ten years older and ten pounds lighter, she grasped the hanger and went off to find the dressing room.

 

From the moment Pavel invited her to dinner, Faith wondered what she should wear. She had never been a clotheshorse. She was too petite for excesses, too blond for bright colors, too traditional to expose much skin. Early in adulthood she had settled on pastels, grayed tones and classic design, but there was a fine line between classic and dowdy. She empathized with Queen Elizabeth, although at least she knew better than to wear flowered hats.

Now, after a shower that didn't quite wash away the afternoon's traumas, she stood at her closet surveying the two candidates that were battling for first place. The more conservative was a navy dress with red piping that outlined princess style panels. She had good red shoes, a matching purse and her grandmother Millicent's pearls. She could carry a red linen jacket in case the restaurant had the air-conditioning turned too high.

The other possibility was a salmon-colored camisole worn under a gray knit suit. The suit had subtle stripes of the same salmon, and she had gray sandals to wear with it. The camisole seemed a little risque. She had no undergarment that worked with the thin straps and, frankly, no need for one. But what kind of message did that send? She wouldn't pick up much business wearing it on a street corner, but still, what exactly did baring her shoulders communicate?

She was a thirty-seven-year-old fuddy-duddy.

She decided to wear it and keep the jacket on, no matter what the temperature.

Remy came home, called up a halfhearted greeting and went into the dining room to eat her dinner. Alex had eaten earlier. He wasn't excited about going to his grandparents' house for
the evening, but Lydia had promised he could pick out a DVD on the way to Great Falls. He had already decided on
X-Men,
which, with a story line about mutant adolescents learning to cope with their extraordinary powers, always fascinated him. If Lydia survived the viewing experience, she would grow a full notch in Alex's estimation.

Lydia arrived and came upstairs to greet her. Faith was just fastening gold studs in her earlobes, and Lydia sat on the bed to watch.

“You should cut your hair,” she said. “Not short. Just have it shaped and layered.”

“I look like yesterday's
Vogue,
huh?”

“Not even yesterday's.”

Faith looked at her mother and saw the smile on her face. “Well, thanks. You're good for my confidence.”

“You're not even forty yet. And you're lovely and thin.” She paused for effect. “And you don't have to represent all the evangelical Christian women of America anymore, or the right wing of the Democratic party, for that matter. You can just be you.”

Faith paused in the act of slipping the second stud in place. “I can be me, huh?”