The Fury - Jason Pinter [18]
you ever think to tell me I had a brother somewhere?
You never thought that I might be interested to know
that? Never occurred to you, huh?"
"He wasn't your real brother," James said slowly.
"Helen was not your mother. I never considered myself
that boy's father."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"She wasn't supposed to keep the baby," my father
said. I heard Amanda gasp under her breath. So far my
father had barely looked at her, like Amanda was a
referee, a third wheel, something to be ignored. I hadn't
bothered introducing her because I knew he wouldn't
care.
For a brief moment I glimpsed a flicker of pain
behind those eyes. A memory he thought forgotten had
come back to him.
The Fury
57
"But she did," I said. "And then she left. Tell me what
happened."
"I don't need to tell you anything," he snapped
suddenly, the beer sloshing liquid onto his bathrobe.
"It's thirty years ago. It's over."
"It's not over," I said, my voice quivering. "Your son
was found dead in a seedy apartment this week. It's not
over. You were the boy's father. I know it meant nothing
to you, but it damn sure meant something to him, and to
Helen Gaines. And it damn sure means something to
me."
"What?" he said, lurching out of his chair, knocking
the bottle flying. I recognized that look. The look of
rage, the look that said he didn't owe anybody anything.
"What does it mean to you? You never knew him. I
never knew him. He's a fucking stranger. What, just
because you share some, like, microscopic strand of
DNA in common all of a sudden this matters to you?
Please. Spare me, Henry. Go back to New York. Go
back to your big city and do whatever you do there." He
pointed at Amanda. "And take this ...whatever... with
you."
"This is Amanda," I said. "And she's given me more
in just a few years than you have in a lifetime."
"Are you finished?" he asked, sitting back down.
"Because I have a league game tonight and I bowl like
crap when I'm not prepared."
"Right," I said. "Your bowling league. You cared
more about those pins than you did us."
"Pins don't talk back," he said. "Pins don't waste your
hard-earned money on books that don't put food on the
table. Speaking of that, will you be joining us for dinner?"
58
Jason Pinter
"I'd rather break bread with Bin Laden," I said.
"How long were you sleeping with Helen Gaines while
you were with Mom?"
James sighed, leaned back, searched his memory. He
spoke as though this was a mere trifle to him, like I'd
asked what he had for lunch yesterday.
"Must have been about a year. Maybe a little more.
Who keeps track of these things?" he said. Who keeps
track of these things. Like it was a bowling score from
a few years ago.
Without warning, my father stood up, cracked his
back and went up the rickety stairs. Amanda and I sat
there unsure what to do. We heard some rummaging
around, and soon after, my father came back down. He
held something in his hand I couldn't see. Then he gave
it to me.
It was a photograph of a young woman. It was worn,
faded, kept somewhere it was not removed from often.
The woman in the photo had pale skin, curly brown hair
and luminous green eyes. She was sitting on a grassy
hill, a blouse covering her knees. Her mouth was open
in a smile, the shot taken in the middle of a laugh.
Despite her young age she had deep laugh lines. She
looked like the kind of woman it would be easy to fall
in love with.
"You kept this?" I said. "Why?"
"I'm not keen on throwing things out. Never know
when you might need them."
"Didn't you worry Mom would find it?"
"She hasn't yet."
I handed the photo back to him. He hesitated, then
took it, slipping it into his pocket.
The Fury
59
"You didn't care that you were married?" I asked.
His glare told me he didn't.
"When did you first learn about Stephen? That you
had a son?"
"When Helen was about four months along. She told
me she wouldn't have sex anymore. And that was the
reason. I thought she was going to get an abortion. That's
what we both wanted, I thought.