it was.” It had been hard for him, but he was glad he'd done it. He knew they had Sylvia and Gray to thank for it. Thanks to them, he had gotten up the courage to call her. “I'll pick you up at noon.”
“I'll be ready… and Charlie… thank you.”
“Goodnight,” he said softly.
18
THE DRIVE TO LONG ISLAND WAS INTERMINABLE, AS Adam crawled along the Long Island Expressway in the Ferrari. He hadn't spent the night before with Maggie, because he didn't want to deal with her comments, however accurate, when he left to see his family in the morning. He had dropped her off at her place the night before, and knew she was spending the day alone. There was nothing he could do about it. He felt that some things in life couldn't be changed or avoided. It was his code of ethics, and sense of duty to his family, however painful they were for him. Thanksgiving with his family was a responsibility he felt he couldn't shirk, no matter how unpleasant. Maggie was right, of course, but even that didn't change anything. Going to spend the day with them felt like facing a firing squad. In spite of the aggravation, he was grateful for the traffic that slowed him down. It almost felt like a reprieve. A flat tire would have been nice too.
He was nearly half an hour late when he finally arrived. His mother glared at him as he came through the door. Welcome home. “Sorry, Mom. The traffic was unbelievable. I got here as fast as I could.”
“You should have left earlier. I'm sure if it was to meet a woman, you would.” Bam. First shot. More to come, he knew. There was no point trying to respond, so he didn't. Her score. And never his.
The rest of the family was already there. His father had a cold. His nephews and nieces were outside. His brother-in-law had a new job. His brother made cracks about Adam's work. His sister whined. No one ever talked about anything he cared about. His mother said she had read that Vana was on drugs, why did he want clients like that? What kind of firm did they run, catering to drug addicts and whores? Adam's stomach tied itself into the appropriate knot. No worse than usual, but uncomfortable all the same. His mother talked about getting old, one of these days she wouldn't be around, and they'd better appreciate her while they still could. His sister stared into space. His brother said he'd heard Ferraris were built like shit these days. His mother rhapsodized about Rachel. His father fell asleep in his chair before lunch. Cold pills, his mother said. His mother made a crack about his blowing it with Rachel, and that if he had been more attentive to her, maybe she wouldn't have left him for someone else, an Episcopalian yet. Didn't he worry about his kids being brought up by a Christian? What was wrong with him anyway? He hadn't even made it to synagogue on Yom Kippur. After everything they'd done to give him a decent upbringing, he never went to temple anymore, not even on holidays, and he went out with women who looked like prostitutes. Maybe he wanted to convert. As Adam listened, time stood still. He heard Maggie's voice. He thought of her alone in the apartment in the tenement in New York. He stood up, as Mae walked into the room to tell them lunch was served. His mother stared at him.
“What's wrong? You look sick.” His face was white.
“I think I am.”
“Maybe you have the flu,” his mother said, turning away to say something to his brother. Adam didn't move. He just stood rooted to the spot, looking at them. Maggie was right. He knew it.
“I have to leave,” he said to everyone in the room, but looking at his mother.
“Are you insane? We haven't eaten yet,” she said, looking right at him. But whatever she saw, he knew it wasn't him. She was seeing the little boy she had berated all his life, the one who had intruded on their lives and her bridge games. The one she had criticized since he was born. Not the man he had become, with accomplishments and achievements, disappointments and pain. Not one of them cared about his pain. Not even when Rachel left him. It was his fault. It always was. It always always always was, and always would be. And maybe