David Gates - Jernigan

The hospital was on Division Street, and I realized that all you had to do was go all the way out Division, cut through the mall parking lot and, bingo, you were on Hamilton Avenue. We’d come here by way of JFK Boulevard and it had probably taken an extra five minutes with all the lights. So if you wanted to believe that something good always came out of everything, this was what you could point to tonight: a new shortcut.

“How you feeling?” I said.

“Really excellent,” said Clarissa. “Have you been watching the moon?”

“No, I’ve been watching the road,” I said. Now that the crisis seemed to be over, I could go back to being a prick and a put-upon.

“Look,” she said, and pointed out her window.

I leaned forward, chin beyond the steering wheel, and looked up and to the right. White disk of moon hanging there with a face in it. “Yeah,” I said, sitting back, “full moon.”

“Could we just drive around or something?” she said. “I’m really not freaking out anymore, and it’s just so excellent.”

“I think we should get you home,” I said. “Enough adventure for one night, n’est-ce pas?”

“That’s cool,” she said. “Whatever. I’m just kind of sorry for you . Like you’re missing out.”

5

Clarissa was humming a mad little tune when we pulled up in front of the house again. Something like Schoenberg to the beat of “Do You Know the Muffin Man?” The Reliant was back at last.

Martha opened the door for us. “So I’m all ears,” she said. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m sure you’ll get around to telling us,” I said. “I might ask where the hell you were.”

“Hey Ma?” said Clarissa. “Danny come home yet? I really have to talk to him.”

“Danny,” said Martha, “came in two hours ago and went right up to bed. Now what goes on here, young lady?”

“Look, Ma, I’m real tired all of a sudden, okay?” And she was off down the hall.

“Peter, now what’s all this about? It’s almost two in the morning. I’ve been frantic.”

“I knew we’d get a time check sooner or later,” I said. “Would you mind very much if I take my coat off and sit down? And get myself a drink? This has not been a pleasant evening.” At least she’d gotten it warm in here. I took off my coat and draped it over a chair. “I trust you had a delightful time, whatever it was you saw fit to do.” I got the gin out of the refrigerator and — in deference to Martha’s sensibilities — a peanut butter jar out of the dish drainer.

“I saw fit,” she said, “to go to work. As you know.”

“What do you mean as I know?”

“We had this conversation yesterday morning, Peter. I can’t believe that you’ve forgotten.”

I shrugged. “So refresh me.”

“Peter,” she said. “Yesterday morning. You were sitting right here”—she pointed at what had become my chair at the kitchen table—“and I told you that I was going to be gone nights because I was back working at Alexander’s. For the holidays. You’ve heard of holidays? You know, Christmas? Or is that just all beneath your notice? And as a matter of fact we talked about it again this morning, because I said I wasn’t going to be home until really late because we’re open till midnight and what were you going to do about supper? Right? You don’t remember this?”

I went back over to the sink. A little water in with the gin might look less compulsive. More debonair. I stirred with my index finger. “Yeah, I don’t know,” I said. “I guess so.”

“You honestly don’t remember.”

“Yeah, right, I do remember now,” I said, sitting down at the table. I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.

“Now what happened tonight?” she said.

“Where to begin,” I said. “Okay, first of all I had one of Danny’s little friends tell me he might be suicidal.”

“That Danny is?” she said. “Or the friend is?”

“Please,” I said, holding up my hand. “This is not the time. So first I find this out — no, actually, first I find out this friend of Danny’s has taken up residence in my house. Then I find out Danny is suicidal.”

“I wasn’t making a joke, by the way, Peter. I was honestly confused. Sorry if I’m so stupid.”

“Then,” I said, ignoring this, “I get back here, where I find your daughter in the midst of having a bad acid trip and screaming to be taken to the emergency room. Where we have just finished spending an edifying several hours cooling our fucking heels and finally getting in to see a doctor and getting shot up with tranquilizers. Plus a little interrogation about the living arrangements around here. Just for good measure.”

“Oh my God,” said Martha, looking toward the hallway. “What happened? Is she all right?”

“How the fuck would I know?” I said. “I mean, you saw her. She walks and talks. Whatever they shot her up with put a stop to the screaming meemies at least. Which believe me is no small boon.”

“Oh my God.”

“But what I particularly wish you’d been around for was when they were giving her the shot and she tied herself off with her belt. That was really attractive. You know, to get a vein up? You should’ve seen the doctor taking that in.” I stopped for a swallow of that gin. Pissed me off that I’d watered it down. “You told me Clarissa had once had a little drug problem,” I said. “You never told me she was shooting up, for Christ’s sake.”

“What did you think I meant, that she was taking too many aspirin?”

I took another swallow. “You should have told me.”

“Right,” she said. “So you’d look at her like a freak. And me like some welfare mother. She needs to be treated like a normal child, Peter. It’s part of her recovery.”

“Right,” I said. “Some recovery. She’s recovered so well that all she does anymore is drop a little acid now and then and jump out of her fucking skin.” What I didn’t add was that it was a friend of Danny’s who’d given it to her; this didn’t really fit into a rant about Martha and her daughter. “Jesus,” I said, “some fucking situation I got myself into this time.”

“Well,” she said, “you didn’t use to mind it.”

“I didn’t use to know what it was,” I said.

“The rate you put that stuff away,” she said, “you’re in a really great position to be making judgments on Clarissa.”

“Whoa,” I said. “Touché . Too fuckin’ shay. I’m fucked up, right? I’m the fucked-up one.” Jabbing a forefinger into my chest. Then I had to laugh. “God, I sound just like Ralph Kramden,” I said. “Did you hear it?”

She stared. “Is there some particular time of the day,” she said, “when you might be sober enough for us to actually talk? I think we could really use it.”

“I’m ready to talk,” I said. “What. Because I can stand outside myself for one second, I’m suddenly not in any shape to deal with anything? I was in enough shape to get your daughter to the hospital. You want to talk about shape?”

“I’m going to go check on Clarissa,” she said. “You’ll excuse me?”

“Thank you,” I prompted her.

“For what?” she said. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Forget it,” I said. “Go.” I flopped a sloppy-wristed hand to dismiss her. “You might check on Danny while you’re at it.”

“Of course,” she said.

I sat there at the table, in my accustomed chair, head of the family, and drank off the rest of that watered-down gin. Waste of good gin to water it down, though actually it wasn’t because it was still the same quantity of gin. Well, at least Danny was safe in bed, presumably, so that much could wait. But this whole thing was unbelievable. I felt like just crashing on the couch tonight, but I couldn’t even do that because then in the morning the kids would know there’d been a fight. Morning meaning when the alarm went off in a few hours. Some schoolday tomorrow was going to be.