Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“Good, then.”

“Well,” he, said, and he sighed. “I feel pretty good.”

“So do I.” She paused. “Someone inside said you were a lawyer. Are you a good lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what it’s like.”

“What can I tell you?”

“You seem like a lawyer,” Julia said.

“How do lawyers seem?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Legal and...” She shrugged.

“Say it. Pompous.”

“You’re not at all pompous.”

“I’m not?” Matthew said.

“Certainly not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little stuffy sometimes. No, not that. I guess I feel I should be a little stuffy. There’s a difference.”

“Why should you want to be stuffy?”

“Because I’m a lawyer, and a husband, and a father, and sometimes I don’t feel like any of the three.”

“How do you feel?”

“Sometimes?”

“Yes.”

“Like seventeen,” Matthew said. “Sometimes my kids will have their friends over to play, and I’ll look at them and wonder why any parents in their right minds would entrust the safety of their children to me , an imitation father who is only seventeen years old.”

“I see. And how old do you feel right now?”

“Are you going to tell me you’re forty-eight again?”

“No, never again. We’re past that now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are.”

“So tell me how you feel now.”

“With you?”

“Yes. With me.”

“I feel like your son,” Matthew said.

He went to see her for the first time a week later. It was a Saturday, and he was driving into town to do some errands when he passed the Regan house and suddenly decided to stop. He pulled the car to the curb, got out, and walked to the front door. At first, there was no answer. He rang again.

“Just a moment,” Julia called from somewhere inside.

He waited on the front step feeling somewhat foolish. The events at the party seemed like such a long time ago, seemed almost unreal. He wondered what he would say to her now, wondered if their so-called friendship had not been the result of his alcoholic haze.

She was wearing a robe when she answered the door. Her hair was in curlers. He could see them under the scarf she had hastily thrown over her head.

“Matthew,” she said. “How nice! Come in!”

He followed her into the house.

“I was just making some coffee,” she said. “Will you join me?”

“Yes, thank you. I’d like some.”

They went into the kitchen. She poured the coffee and then turned on the radio to see what the weather would be like. There was something very natural and very familiar about the scene, Julia sitting at the table in her robe and curlers, Matthew in dungarees and a woolen sports shirt, the radio behind them giving the news and weather. He felt totally relaxed and comfortable as he sipped his coffee. They began chatting later, easily, without innuendo, without guile. Before he realized it, he was telling her about Kate and the difficulties they were experiencing with the adoption.

“Ordinarily, it might have been a routine thing, although adoption laws are the most confusing in the world. With Kate, it’s become more complicated because two states are involved, Minnesota and Connecticut.”

“I see,” Julia said.

“We had to make application in Minnesota, you understand. And the law there states that any person who’s resided in the state for more than a year may apply for adoption. Naturally, we can’t establish residency in Minnesota. But happily, the law says this provision may be waived by the court. Well, we applied for the waiver, and it was refused, so we appealed, and the waiver was finally granted, but that was only the beginning.”

“Have some more coffee, Matthew.”

“Thank you, I will. There’s a matter of consent involved, too, Julia. Usually, the parents’ consent is required, except when the child is over fourteen, in which case her consent is required, too. Well, Kate’s real father is dead, and her mother... well...” He hesitated.

“You can tell me, Matthew,” she said gently.

“Her mother is institutionalized, Julia. And since she’s been adjudged incompetent, we then needed the consent of the Director of Social Welfare, but this too could have been waived by the court. Well, the court wouldn’t waive, so we’ve been waiting for the results of the investigation. There’s got to be an investigation and report by the director, you see, after six months of residence in the proposed home. And then, when he finally decides it’s all right for us to keep Kate, and to love Kate, the proceedings to adopt will be held in a Minnesota juvenile court in the county of residence of Kate’s real mother. Ordinarily, the place of venue would have been the adopting parents’ county, but here again we run into the Minnesota-Connecticut confusion. Believe me, it’s been annoying and frustrating.”

“But does it look as if it’ll go through?”

“Yes, I think so. At last. I’d hazard a guess and say Kate’ll be ours within the next six months.”

“Well, that’s good, Matthew.”

“Yes.” He smiled. The radio was playing music now. The November wind lashed under the eaves of the old house. The house felt warm and secure and snug. He finished his second cup of coffee, stayed a few moments longer, and then put on his coat and got ready to leave. Before he left, he kissed her on the cheek.

He stopped by to see her regularly after that. He was always welcomed and he never had to call beforehand. Sometimes he dropped in on the way home from work, and Julia would mix a Martini for him, and he would sit in the living room with her and sip at his drink, and tell her some of the things that had happened at the office, or simply discuss Talmadge affairs, or sometimes discuss nothing at all, sometimes just sit quietly with her and sip at his drink. Once, sitting opposite her, he said, “I want to kiss you, Julia.”

“Please,” she said.

He went to her, and she tilted her head.

“I need to,” he said.

“Please.”

But that was the last time, and he felt better afterward, knowing it would not happen again. He went to her house without guilt, openly, with no attempt to deceive or to hide. He parked his car blatantly in her driveway, with a total disregard for the opinion of the Talmadge townsfolk. He told Amanda that Julia Regan was his friend, and perhaps she was. He did not question his relationship with her too closely. He knew only that he found something in her home, something he had not known for a very long time. He did not ask himself what this something was. He knew it had to do with a relaxed feeling of irresponsibility. He owed this woman nothing. Nothing, really, was demanded of him. He could come to her or not come as he desired. He could talk or remain silent. He could arrive in a sulk and rant in her living room for a half hour before leaving. He could tell jokes if he chose to, but no demand for entertainment was ever made. He could think sometimes of taking her to bed, knowing full well he would never take her to bed. She gave, she gave to him out of her merciful bounty, and he took, he took with both hands.

Once, he was moved to the point of tears. He had brought her a gift for Christmas. There was a large decorated tree in the living room, and Julia was standing on a ladder when he came into the house, putting a star on the top of the tree. He came into the house and stamped snow from his feet, and then blew on his hands, and then looked into the living room, and saw her standing on the ladder, reaching for the tip of the tree, and stood suddenly transfixed in the doorway, silent, watching her.

“Oh, hello, Matthew,” she said. “Is it cold enough out there?”