Dad’s Thanksgiving Surprise

Email to fishgineer@jmail.com:

Hey brother,

Sad news. Dad is gone. Last night at about 11. I wish I could say he went peacefully in his sleep and just faded away, but it wasn’t like that. It was horrible. You’d be glad you weren’t there. I’m not even sure I should talk about his last minutes on the Earth. Maybe I should just let you remember him as he was, even though we both know he wasn’t all that great. Let me know. Margo and I will be heading to mom’s on Thursday. You still in Alaska? Don’t forget about the halibut!! It’d beat the shit out of Bob’s turkey. Maybe we can BBQ on Saturday if we can keep you away from the driving range long enough. See you tomorrow. 

Jack

PS: it’s not that I’m not broken up about dad. I’m really sad. It’s just he told me some stuff and it kind of changed my opinion about him. Listen, I know you’re a big boy and all that but maybe sometimes people are better off left in the dark. Think about it, Mike. I know dad wouldn’t want anyone to know but I don’t know if that includes his kids. I won’t be telling Cherry. She’d flip out and she’s already unstable enough in spite of the chlorpromazine. She’s coming tomorrow so, if you decide you want me to tell you what dad told me, you gotta promise you won’t say ANYTHING to Scary. I haven’t told Bob either. Crap, brother! I gotta tell somebody! I need to know if you’re okay with it. Shit…

Email to: jackinthebeanchalk@jmail.com: 

Hey,

What the fuck, Jack? It’s not enough that he’s dead, you gotta lay this BS on me about some terrible secret he’s been keeping that’ll change my opinion of him? My opinion of the drunk old bastard isn’t all that rosy to begin with so how do you think whatever it is that he told you could tarnish it? I just went through a storm off the Aleutians that scared the shit out of me and everyone on board. I think I can take a little salacious info about dad. How bad can it be? We always figured he was probably gay. Is that it? Did dad come out of the closet a second before he died? Unlike you, brother, I got no illusions about the old man. He was a mess. He was a shitty father, and he was a drunk. If he was gay that would explain a lot: the hernia checks, the lunchtime showers, the weird looks and all the other stuff. It’d explain his drinking, too. Is that it? It ain’t that big a deal, Jack, you jerk. Just tell me, for God’s sake. 

M.

PS: On second thought… If it’s not that he’s gay maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know. Did he have an affair? Is there a new member of the family or something? I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not like he has a lot of money or property to leave us that we’ll have to share with the new kid. Did he murder someone? Is it something like that? Maybe if you gave me a hint, I could make a more informed decision. You’re right; sometimes it might be better not to know about stuff. I know there’s a few things I saw in Bangkok I wish I could unsee. Gimme a hint and I’ll decide. Another thing: it’s not fair that you have to shoulder this ‘burden’ alone. But the 20 pounds of halibut should take care of that. Just kidding… If you NEED to tell me, go ahead and tell me but keep it between you and me and leave Bob and Cherry out of it.

Email to fishgineer@jmail.com:

Hey,

I told Bob. He didn’t take it well. It made me hesitate even more about telling you. I told mom over the phone. I mean I only told her that dad died. She broke down. I thought that was weird enough. They’ve been divorced for what, 25 years? Maybe him dying put her in touch with her own mortality and the tears were from fear and not from grief. I couldn’t tell her about the other thing. She’s already got a bum heart and, if her reaction to his death is any indication of how she’d handle the BIG SECRET, she’s better off not knowing.

Yeah, so Bob knows. He totally freaked. Our big, tough older brother lost it, Michael. We were on FaceTime, and he just sat there like I’d told him he had terminal cancer and only had a couple weeks to live. Then he turned all red in the face and handed the phone to Margie and left the room, wiping his eyes. He was crying! I haven’t seen him do that since what’s-her-name dumped him when we were kids. Margie didn’t know what to say. She was as shocked as me. I heard him slamming around in mom’s kitchen, throwing pots and pans and cussing up a storm. Then, Margie just disconnected. If the chief of police of tin town can’t take the truth about dad, who can? You said you wanted a hint, and you’d make an informed decision. Fuck that. Brother! Fuck all of it! I’m gonna tell the whole family after dinner tomorrow. That’ll make it a Thanksgiving to remember.

Jack 

Email to: jackinthebeanchalk@jmail.com:

Jack, you idiot,

Tell me first and I’ll tell you if I think you should tell the family. Don’t do the typical Jack kind of thing and go off the rails. For once, keep your head. Don’t do it, brother. Keep your mouth shut or there’ll be NO HALIBUT for you. I mean it!

M. 

***

            Margo and I got to mom’s around 3:30 P.M., Thanksgiving Day. She lives in a double wide in the Mojave. It’s a nice mobile home park as far as those places go and she’s got lots of friends. But today, it was family only: mom, (Alice), my oldest brother, Bob and his better half, Margie, Mike, my youngest brother and his wife, Donna, me and Margo and our younger sister, Cherry. She’s single at the moment, her latest love having gone to state prison for shooting her ex in the back of the head because he wouldn’t turn down the game. Everybody was there except for Mike, the Merchant Marine engineer who works on a big Alaskan fishing boat. He and Donna would be arriving in half an hour, right at dinnertime.

Entering the front door, we were greeted by the blast of the TV and the odor of mom’s delicious cheese onions, her one contribution to the feast Bob was in the process of preparing. 

“Hi Margo,” Margie came over from the kitchen and gave my wife a sisterly hug. “Happy turkey day.”

“Hi sweetie,” Margo said. “Something smells delicious!” 

Out of character, Margie ignored me.

“Hi Margie,” I offered.

“Hi Jack.”

“No hug?”

She took Margo by the hand and led her into the small living room to the large table. 

“How was your drive?”

“It’s a pretty day,” Margo said. “We’ve always liked the desert in the fall. With a few clouds hanging around, it looks a little less like a moonscape.”

“Hello Margo,” mom said, seated at the head of the table, the queen surveying her subjects. She tilted her head in Margo’s direction, making it easier for her daughter-in-law to plant the requisite kiss on her leathery cheek.

“Hi mom.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving, honey. Hello Jack.”

“Hi mom,” I said and added my dry lipped contribution to the cheek. 

Alice smelled of Estée Lauder as usual. It made me want to gag. The heavy scent like a sweet wine belch was masking something sour. Not for the first time I wondered if mom was, like dad, on her way out. I sat next to Margo on the queen’s right. Cherry sat opposite me and Margie sat next to her.

“Jack,” Cherry said. 

“Cherry,” I said. 

 “Hi Cherry,” Margo said, “how are you?”

“Peachy. Daddy’s dead and I’m swell. How should I be, sis?”  She delivered her salvo with a healthy dose of contempt. Par for the course.

“I’m really sorry about your dad, Cherry. He was always very kind to me.”

“He wasn’t always kind to me, but I still loved him, the bastard.”

“Your father was a troubled soul,” Alice said. “We loved each other—at first. Bobby!” she hollered. “Open the Mohway!”

“It’s pronounced Moët, hard T, mummy,” Cherry said. “My Gawd…”

“Bobby brought champagne. I love champagne.”

“You’re diabetic, Alice. You shouldn’t be drinking,” I advised.

“Bobby!” Alice was interrupted as her oldest came in twisting the metal wire on a bottle of Moët and Chandon. He prevented the plastic cork from exploding into the ceiling and filled his mother’s long-stemmed glass. “Happy Thanksgiving, everybody,” she said, sipping.

Bob went around the table sullenly filling all the wine glasses. When he came to mine, he stopped and looked at me.

“How could you lie about something like that, Jack?”

“I’m not lying, Bob. Why would I?”

“I can’t figure it out. It has to be a lie. You tell me: why would you?” 

“I told you the truth, man. That’s exactly what he told me.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“That’s your problem.”

“I deal with criminals every damn day. How’s this possible?”

“How’s what possible?” Cherry asked. “What are you talking about? Who said what?” 

“Something dad told Jack before he died. Jack’s making it all up as some twisted way of getting back as us, getting back at the family for some reason, at mom.”

“You’re nuts” I said. “I’m really sorry I said anything. I should have kept it to myself.”

“Whatever’s eating at you, Jack, you need to let it go,” Margie said. “When you hold unforgiveness in your heart, you only hurt yourself, not the ones that hurt you.”

“Pleeeeze!” Cherry said. “What the fuck did daddy say, Jack? What’d he do?”

Right then I almost spit it out. 

“Wow! Something smells really great!” Michael said as he and Donna came roaring into the living room. “Happy Thanksgiving everybody!”

“Hello everyone!” Donna said. “Happy, happy!”

Bob filled two more glasses and handed them to the new arrivals. He still hadn’t filled mine. I stood and hugged Michael then his pretty wife. 

“I’m glad you guys could make it,” I whispered. “The wagons are starting to circle.”

Mike and Donna removed their coats, and we all sat back down. 

“Can I have some of that?” I asked my oldest brother. “Or am I still persona non grata?”

“Hi scary,” Mike said to his little sister. 

“Don’t call me that, asshole,” she said. “What did he say, Jack. I wanna know. I have a right to know if there’s another felon in the family besides Mikey.”

Bob slammed the bottle down in front of me. The champagne fizzed up and spilled onto the table and dribbled over the edge, onto my lap. My napkin still sat near the plate in front of me, so the tops of my jeans were immediately soaked. I jumped up and followed Bob into the kitchen.

“You gonna calm down so we can have a civil Thanksgiving or what?” I asked.

He grabbed a couple hot pads, opened the stove door and reached in. He pulled forth a golden brown turkey, sparkling with crispy skin slicked in juice. My mouth started watering when the smell hit me.

“Man, that looks good,” I said.

“I wish I could just forget it, Jack but it’s something I’m afraid I never will, never can forget.”

“Lemme get that,” I said and grabbed our mom’s famous onions. “I’m sorry, brother. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it to myself. It’s me that needs your forgiveness.”

“It’s dad that needs all our forgiveness. I just don’t know if I can give it.”

***

After the pumpkin pie was decimated, the dishes were cleared and we were all a couple pounds heavier, the subject of dad’s confession was brought to the table. 

“I think we’re all adults here and I think it’s just about time you told us what it was your father said to you, young man,” the queen ordered. 

“I’m almost fifty, mom,” I said, deflecting. 

“You’ll always be my baby, Jackie,” Cherry said, mimicking. “You always made me laugh, Jackie. You’re my favorite, Jackie, my most likely to succeed. My one, my only…”

“Enough!” Mike said. “Let’s have it.”

“Out with it, Jack,” Bob said.

“You want to do the honors, brother?” I asked Bob.

“No thanks. He didn’t confide in me, his firstborn. He committed the secret into your care, Jack. Remind me never to tell you anything I don’t want broadcast.”

“He never said I needed to keep quiet about it, just that he knew how hard you’d all take it.”

“Jeez, how bad can it be?” Donna said. “Did he murder a nun? Did he use the N word?”

            “Worse,” Bob said. “Much worse.”

            I told them.

            Just like in Mudville, that fateful night Casey struck out, there was no joy after the disclosure. Only a silent grief punctuated with Cherry’s bursts of profanity and the rest of the family’s bitter tears. I wonder what will happen next. I guess my family along with the whole nation wonders that. 

My father’s dying revelation was that he had voted for Donald Trump.