Acre Under a Green Sky

My grandfather tried to help my father down the street to the car, but my father pulled away from my grandfather and put his hand on my shoulder for support. When we reached the car, my grandfather opened the passenger-side door for my father, but in that instant my father saw Danny and Baby Ruth in the back seat and fell head-over-heals in love with them.

"Oh my God, look at those faces! I'm gonna sit with my babies."

He sat in the back seat between Danny and Baby Ruth and pulled them both close to him. I jumped into the front seat and sat on my knees facing them in the backseat. Danny and Baby Ruth kindly tolerated my father's gushing and slobbering as long as they could and then Baby Ruth said, "You're squishing me!" And Danny said, "You stink!" My father laughed and squeezed them even tighter –– one in each arm.

My grandfather ramrodded the car out into traffic and turned onto Pine Street so fast we all slid over to his side of the car like a rolling wave. I was practically in his lap before the car righted itself.

"What did you say back there?" my grandfather said into the rearview mirror.

"I said he stinks," Danny piped up, "Cause he does!"

"I'm talking to your father!"

"My God!" my father said, "Where did I leave my car?"

"Back at the courthouse, remember?" I said.

My father smiled a stupid smile at me, and said, "Thanks. You're a good kid."

"Josh, what did you tell those people back there?"

"I don't know. We were just talking."

"Did you talk about Luka?"

"Of course, I talked about Luka. They're my friends. I have a problem. When you have a problem, you talk to your friends."

"You told them about Luka?"

"Of course not! We were talking hypothet-IC-ally. About doing the right thing. I never even mentioned Luka's name. Luka never came up in conversation."

"You're a damned fool," my grandfather said more to himself than to my father.

My grandfather dropped us at our house but did not come in like he used to. I couldn't remember the last time he'd been in our house. My mother came out of the house as soon as the car appeared. Apparently, Joe Scarceletti had phoned her, too. She had that look she gets when one of us is hurt. She helped my father out of the back seat and then the two of them just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk hugging each other. I could feel the back of my neck turn red as I looked from one yard to the next to see if anyone was looking. My grandfather pulled away from the house without so much as a wave back at us, and still my mother and father stood there with their arms wrapped around each other. I had to pull them toward the front door to end that God-awful embrace. It was mortifying.

Once inside, my mother made drinks for them both, and the whole story came spilling out of my father. My mother told me to put Danny and Baby Ruth to bed.

"They're not my kids," I said.

"Do as your mother says!" my father snapped at me.

"No. I'm a kid, remember?"

"What's gotten into you?" my mother said, "Will you please put your brother and sister to bed for me."

"Do it yourself!" I said, and I went to my room and slammed my door as loudly as I could. Moments later my father came into the room with Danny. He undressed him and put him to bed. My father couldn't even look in my direction, though I had the sense that he had a great deal to say. I think he was afraid to start. He seemed to go out of his way to close the door behind him as gently and as softly as he could.

I have no idea what they talked about that night. I only know that I slept with my clothes on, and that they made love like lovers later in the night. I would have to wait until the next morning to find out my mother's position on Luka's guilt and my father's conflict over how to proceed.

I woke the next morning to hear my father throwing up in the bathroom. Later, we would say that he had the flu. When I came downstairs, my father was lying on the couch with a mug of coffee. Everyone else was in the kitchen eating. My father couldn't even tolerate the sight of food that morning. He and my mother were talking to each other from room to room. I wasn't sure I'd be welcome anywhere in that house, but I passed by my father and entered the kitchen with as much brass as I could muster.

My mother interrupted herself in mid-sentence to tell me that I was selfish.

"And I want you to know that I feel very sorry for you. Now, apologize to your father."

I turned on my heels and stood in the doorway facing my father. "I'm sorry," I said by rote.

"You're forgiven," he said, "Now, apologize to your mother and go eat."

I looked to heaven and faced my mother with another, "I'm sorry."

"Thanks," my mother said, "But I know you don't mean it."

I took my seat across from Danny and Baby Ruth. They seemed to be examining me for some sign of a mortal wound. I assured them with a smirk that I was okay. They were safe. I would always stand between them and the giants.

And I was selfish. I knew my father was in pain though I couldn't begin to understand why. But I was fighting for my life –– or so it seemed to me. I was not going to become the only parent in that house.

My father was so successfully arguing both sides of the issue that he managed to argue himself into a corner. He was paralyzed somewhere between self-interest and self-righteousness. It soon became obvious whose side my mother was on –– her own. She wanted it all to stop as soon as possible. She feigned an interest in Luka and his need to confess. She used the word 'justice' a lot, knowing as we all did that 'justice' was a trigger-word for my father. The very mention of it was guaranteed to bring on a nostalgic, wistful look. She fumbled and strained with ideas about right and wrong. She reminded him of the idealistic young law student he was . . . "before your father got his claws into you!" But finally frustrated beyond endurance after hours of seesawing with my father, she rose from her chair in the living room and said it all completely and succinctly:

"Please just end it! Make it be over!"

And she left the room.

My father stayed on that couch all that day and the next. When people phoned for him, they were told he was sick. Luka started calling right after noon on Saturday, and we were told to tell him that my father was out. Luka must have called five or six times that week-end, but my father was never at home to him. It broke my heart to lie to Luka, and I think it broke my father's heart, too. It was immediately after Luka's second call of that Sunday that my father took the phone off the hook and left it off.

Joe Scarceletti dropped by Saturday morning to return my father's briefcase, but he never entered the house. My father didn't seem to care that he had left his briefcase at the Royal Grill the night before. Also, at some point during the day, my father's car mysteriously appeared out front. The keys were left in the ignition.

It was strange having my father at home. I could not remember his ever taking a whole day off; much less, two days. And I never saw him sit idly for more than a few minutes before jumping up to do something or other. But there he sat for two days thinking. He didn't appear to be wrestling with any great issues. He seemed perfectly serene just sitting there thinking. He played and visited with Danny and Baby Ruth when they crawled up on his lap. And early Saturday evening, I came into the house to find my mother cuddled up on his lap, too. She might have been napping; I don't know. They were so quiet together. And on Sunday morning, he read us the comics –– changing his voice for each of the characters. I couldn't remember the last time he read us the comics like that.

I was almost surprised to see him in a suit and tie when Monday morning rolled around, but there he was –– ready for work. In spite of its being Monday, my mother made a Sunday breakfast for us all and sat across the table from him.

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?"

She smacked the tabletop with the palm of her hand. My father got the point.

"I'm going to try this case to the end. It's the only chance Luka's got."

"No! End it today. I'm begging you."

"I can't."

"Well, I'm sure your father will be as proud as a peacock. After all, isn't that the point –– winning Daddy's approval?"

She pushed her plate away and said, "You'd better take the kids again. I'm going to be busy."

"Doing what?"

"I'm knitting an American flag."

And with that, she left the room.