The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [127]
“It worked though, didn’t it?” he said to his wife.
She laughed. “You always had a weakness for the grand gesture.”
Annie and Buster watched their parents, obviously in love, appreciating the magnificence of their own handiwork, and felt their power slipping away.
“What about Mom’s paintings?” Annie asked. “What about that?”
Caleb’s face darkened and Camille looked away. “Yes, that was . . . that was well played on your part. After so many years of being the source of unrest, I guess I had forgotten what it felt like to be caught in the middle of the chaos. It was an altogether unpleasant experience. You two almost ruined us.”
“Good,” Annie said.
“Your mother first tried to tell me that it was a hoax, something the two of you had dreamed up. I wanted so badly to come to that opening, to see for myself, but I knew I had to stay focused. Instead, I went to her cabin when she was away and found more of those . . .” Caleb’s face had turned bone-white, flinching as if needles were being inserted under his fingernails, “more of those paintings.”
“That was a secret,” Camille said to the children, trying to smile. “I only shared it with you two.”
“But we moved past it,” Caleb continued, though Annie and Buster could see the doubt lingering on his face. “I do not for a second doubt your mother’s devotion to what we have been doing for our entire lives. I love her and she loves me and, most importantly, we love making real, genuine art. We love this thing that we’re making.”
“And now what?” Buster said, noticing without surprise, confirming his worst fears, that he and Annie had not been included in the list of things their parents loved.
“Well, we have to be declared dead, and then we come back to life,” Camille answered.
“And all of this?” Annie said, gesturing to the air above them, their lives in North Dakota.
“We leave it behind,” Caleb said.
“Bonnie? Lucas and Linus?”
“We leave it all behind,” Caleb said.
“I talked to them on the phone,” Buster said. “They called you their dad.”
“I am their dad,” Caleb said. “But things will have to change.”
“Do they know about all this?” Annie asked.
“God no,” Caleb said, his voice rising. “Can you imagine? They aren’t like you two. They aren’t real artists. They wouldn’t know how to handle it. They’d find a way to ruin it. I guess they did ruin it. That fucking song.”
“I told you it was stupid,” Camille pointed out.
“What happened?” Annie asked.
“The twins were always playing with instruments, making this awful racket. So I taught them the song. I had no idea they would become somewhat proficient, would make an album, would sign to a label, would go on tour. How could I have anticipated that? I mean, you’ve heard them. It was a mistake though. I do take the blame for that. I got lazy and I paid for it.”
“This is insane,” Annie said.
“You’re upset,” Camille replied. “You don’t like that we kept you in the dark. But you have to admit this is an amazing piece.”
Annie stared at her parents. Their demeanor had changed since they first entered the food court. They were enjoying the explanation of their grand design. They spoke with reverence about the way they had deformed the lives of those around them so that their idea could take shape, be willed into existence.
“You have never cared for us, for anyone but yourselves,” she began. “You’ve done as much as you possibly could to wreck our lives. You made us do everything you wanted, and when we couldn’t do it anymore, you left us.”
“You left us,” Caleb said, the anger a heavy thing in his voice. “You two left us to pursue inferior forms of art. You disappointed us. You nearly ruined what we’d made. So we moved on without you. And now, we’ve made something better than anything we’ve done before, and you two are not a part of it.”
“We are a part of it,” Buster said. “We’re your son and daughter.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,