Gilbert slammed his glass down, splashing cold milk all over his gasping mother and the table. Furiously, he shoved the chair back — all the while glaring at his hawk-eyed father — and stomped up the stairs to his room, immediately turning his radio so loud that the mirror over his desk quivered like water.
“Why does Mom put up with him?” he asked himself, before plopping heavily onto the side of his bed.
Ever since he could remember, the ritual had been the same, never varying a week or a day. With the exception of three nights a month, his dad was the perfect father and husband – always home from work on time, never staying out drinking with the guys, thoughtful to Gilbert’s mother, attentive to Gilbert – but when the time came, Gilbert’s mother, Elaine, would suddenly grow very quiet and uncommunicative. That was Gilbert’s signal that it was “time”.
Instead of her cheery self of a morning, Elaine would have that dark – lost – bleakness about her; her eyes, somber and red-dry. How Gilbert had come to dread the “time” like nothing else.
As frustrating as it was to Gilbert, his parents never would discuss the problem. That was the main thing that made him so terribly angry. Numerous times he tried to drag it out of his mother and father. “It’s not your concern, dear. None of your business.” If he persisted, he would be punished in some way: grounded or his allowance withheld.
The last time it happened, he raised such a fuss they docked his allowance for three months! That was a head-hanging shame to a fourteen-year-old. Instead of trying to explain to his buddies why he couldn’t go to the movies or join them at Bonnie’s Arcade in the afternoons, he pretended he wasn’t interested and wanted to study – giving them the impression he was becoming a nerd! The whole thing was horrible.
It was bad enough not having his money or friends, but the dreaded “time” had rushed around again. He saw it in his mother’s eyes at breakfast, and again, when he came in from football practice. As always, the worrying upset his stomach. He knew the futility of it when – at the dinner table – he asked one more time. He just had to know! As anticipated, he was promptly sent to his room.
Shortly, there was a soft swish-slapping of his mother’s slippers as she quietly went to her bedroom across the hall and bolted her door from her side. Downstairs, the front door opened then slammed.
Gilbert bolted forward. His dad wouldn’t be home for three days!
“Shit!”
He peeped down between the blinds and watched his dad slip into his white Toyota Camry and drive off towards town. “If only I were old enough to drive and had a license,” he fretted, “I’d take Mom’s car and follow him.”
He heard his mother’s door being unbolted and opened. She rarely left her bedroom once his father was gone, except to cook. Usually, when his dad wasn’t there, she was a recluse. He hurried out to the hall and called to her, just as she was heading downstairs.
“Mom?”
She stopped, right foot dangling just over the top of the last step. She didn’t turn around. “What is it, Gilbert?”
“You know what it is. Where’s he going? For once – just this friggin’ once – can’t you tell me something? anything? Even a lie would be better than being ignored.”
She answered with the so-irritating, ”It’s not your concern, dear.”
“Dammit! Mom!” He did something he never had done before: he grabbed her shoulders and swung her around from behind, nearly knocking her off the last step, realizing for the first time that he was actually bigger and stronger then she.
He frightened her. Her olive-green eyes looked like saucers.
He stepped back, releasing her. “ ...... Sorry ...... Forgive me?”
She nodded that she did, but the fear still showed.
“This is driving me nuts. And ...... it’s not helping you. For your own sake, tell me!
“Please?” he begged, knowing he sounded as pathetic as he felt.
She studied him for several seconds, eyes swimming with strange reflections. “Gilbert ...... you’re right. You do deserve an explanation. I am sorry. I realize this is as much hell for you as it is for us.”
“Why?”
“Because, it’s best you don’t know.”
“I disagree, Mom. Nothing could be worse then this nightmare of wondering, watching my mother so sad, not knowing where my dad is. Mom, I hate to say this, but it’s just plain weird! None of the other kids’ fathers do ...... whatever it is he does ...... “
“You’ve told them?” She seemed more alarmed at the possibility of others knowing, than his not knowing and being so hurt. Her freckled face flushed slightly, exaggerating her carrot-red hair.
“Not really. You don’t have to worry yourself, Mom. I see what is important to you. I’ve been afraid to tell anyone how weird my family is. I know they’re not like us ...... just from hearing them talk about their moms and dads....... Is Dad some kind of freak? A transvestite? He has to meet his real lover three nights a month? You love me too much to get a divorce and tell me? Help me here! Are any of these possible explanations right?”
“No, Gilbert. They’re not ......” she didn’t finish. Her hand went to her mouth, instead.
“They’re not ...... what? Mother?”
She turned around and steadied herself to the floor.
“Drop it, Gilbert! I can’t tell you! Please? Just leave it be.”
“Aw ...... Dammit!” He returned to his room, but wasn’t there long. As soon as his mother was secured in her room, he slipped out of the house, determined to find his father, find out – once and for all – what was going on.
It took Gilbert four hours of riding around town on his ten-speed, but he finally found his father, sitting in the Little Doggie Bar, sipping a tap beer. He appeared alone and looking every bit as sad as Gilbert.
Gilbert waited for some time, standing outside, leaning against the lamppost, watching his dad through the big plate glass window with the bright pink neon sign. He half expected to see a bosomy blonde – or – another man.
No one ever showed.
Another hour passed, ever so slowly, and Gilbert’s eyelids felt like old leather. Seemed no one was going to show, no secret lover. He seriously doubted that he could make it back home on his bike without falling asleep. Besides, he felt like he was going to vomit, as extreme nausea had suddenly hit him. He made it to the city park, found a bench and curled up – after heaving his guts out for half an hour – and curled up in a fetal position, even sucking his thumb, nursing his rolling stomach.
The next thing Gilbert knew it was morning and he was curled up in his bed, hugging his blanket.
Had his venture out been a dream?
No!
He had left. He had seen his father in the Little Doggie Bar. But ...... he did not remember riding his bike home. He tumbled out of bed, shaking off his covers, and peered down at the walk; his bike was parked by the willow on the side of the drive. He rubbed his throbbing forehead. “Why couldn’t he remember coming home?”
There was a light tapping on his door. His mother said, “Made you breakfast, Gilbert. Hurry ...... or you’ll be late for school.” Then, the door to her bedroom closed.
He knew he wouldn’t see his mother again until dinner that evening. He picked up the remote and turned on his small television. The morning news was on. Some young prostitute had been brutally mutilated and murdered the previous night, adding to a long list of mysterious deaths over the past five years. As all the others, it appeared the victim could have been killed by a wild animal, but the police – because of the obvious cleaningup after the deaths – now believe the murders were executed by human hands. Gilbert had seen enough. He switched off his TV and went to the bathroom.
He leaned into the bathroom mirror. Was that red fuzz on his cheeks? a beard? He reached up with tentative fingers. A couple of times before, he had thought he was growing a beard. It always turned out to be a false alarm. But this? No way, could it be false! Definitely, this time, he was starting a beard. “But I’m only fourteen!” he said in his reflection. The thought, the possibility, made him proud. “Maybe I’d better shave ...... He fumbled around in the bathroom drawers and finally found his dad’s electric razor and plugged it in, just to the right of the mirror. Just as he raised it to his face – the fuzz disappeared right before his unbelieving eyes! “What the –?”
He furiously rubbed his cheeks with both hands. Smooth as a newborn’s skin. Not even peach fuzz. “Shit! I am going bonkers!” He didn’t bother to unplug the razor. He was too pissed.
That evening Gilbert sat quietly, merely nibbling at his fried chicken leg and staring at his dark-faced mother from across the table. He was a little sick at his stomach again. At the end of the table, his dad’s chair was empty.
He was caught by surprise when his mother actually spoke: “They found another young woman murdered ...... I should say ...... slaughtered ...... in the park this morning.”
“Yeah?” How many did that make this year? ten? fifteen? “So?” he said, vaguely remembering that he had been in the park. He didn’t remember seeing anyone. He guessed he was just lucky.
“Well, you don’t have to be so insensitive! Even if this one was a prostitute ...... like so many are ...... she was human. She had family somewhere ...... friends ...... feelings ...... a life.”
“Didn’t say she didn’t matter, Mom. But ...... we have a few problems of our own. Don’t we? Like ...... where is Dad?”
“Gilbert – “
“Come to think of it. Seems like every time someone’s murdered, Dad is gone.” Realizing the gravity of what he had said, he dropped his fork in the middle of his mashed potatoes and gravy and stood from the table, throwing his chair back. “That’s it! Isn’t it? Dad! He’s the one! You’ve been covering for him all these years.”
She stretched out thin arms to him. “No! Your father would never kill anyone.”
“Right!” he snapped sarcastically, with his head bobbing up and down like a rubber ball. “Explain it, then?’
“ ...... I can’t.”
He shoved his plate across the table, knocking over salt, pepper, butter, peas and carrots, right into his mother’s lap, and left the house in a huff.
“Damn!” he hissed as his frosty breath streamed into the autumn air. “God! Why haven’t I put this together before? Why?”
Gilbert soon found himself down the dirt road and in old Bob Miller’s conventional, red barn, a straw dangling from his teeth, and observing Miller’s prize Guernsey, Elsie, chewing her cud. “I’ll run away,” he said to amber, saucer eyes coolly observing him. “Yeah ...... that’s what I’ll do. Maybe Mom doesn’t mind living with a weirdo ...... maybe even a butcher ...... but I do!” He tongued the straw to the other side of his mouth, practically matching Elsie’s chewing rhythm and thumbed his chest. The cow just eyed him as though listening and kept placidly chewing her cud. “Tonight ...... when Mom’s asleep, I’ll pack a few things and thumb my way west. Yeah ...... Los Angeles. Always wanted to see California. I know where Dad stashes his extra cash. He thinks I don’t know about it. But, I found it when I was ten.
“Late one night when I couldn’t sleep, saw a mouse settle back of the piano. I wanted to see if I could catch it. Well ...... never caught that vermin, but I did find a Kleenex box stuffed full of tens and twenties.
“He’s probably been saving for his getaway when things get too hot for him here. Yes! That’s what I’ll do. He must have several thousands tucked away by now. Last time I took a look-see there were four full boxes of sweet greens. Enough to not only get my butt away from here, but enough for me to take care of myself for a while.” With that thought, he realized it was getting dark. He had been there much longer than intended. He jumped up, dusted straw off the seat of his pants and patted Elsie on her head. “Thanks for the chat, Elsie. You’re the best listener I know. See ya around.”
When Gilbert reached his home, he stopped cold in the drive. He couldn’t believe it. “Huh?” Never, as long as he could remember, had his father come home after only two days. His folks were arguing upstairs. He bounded up the steps in three swift leaps. Their door was closed, but he easily heard every word. They were yelling.
“We can’t quit now,” his dad pleaded. “We’ve hung in this long ...... just as you begged me to do a few years ago. What difference can a little longer make?”
“A lot! I can’t take anymore, Bob. It’s only a matter of time before the police put all the pieces together. I seriously doubt if they’re going to understand ...... and they’ll be coming after us. And ...... I’m afraid! Scared silly. Never thought I would be, but I am!”
“We’re family!”
“We have no choice. We’ll have to move away ...... somewhere where he’ll be safe ...... we’ll all be safe.”
“Gilbert’s getting too old, too big. He’s demanding answers. If we don’t supply them soon, he’s going to run to the police ...... or run away. Maybe both.”
“But – “
“We can’t allow him to do that.”
Gilbert heard enough. He shoved the door hard, expecting it to be secured, but he was very glad it wasn’t.
“Gilbert!” his mother and father said in unison. “We thought you were gone.”
“We’ve been so worried about you,” his mother added.
“We were afraid you might be trying to run away,” his dad offered.
“So that’s why you’re home? Nice to know you care!” He wanted so much to confess he knew about the money, but that would blow his chances of taking it. He figured he would need it soon. “So ...... you’re thinking of splitting ...... maybe leaving me behind. I’m getting too big. Ask too many questions. Right?”
“Whatever it is you thought you heard, Gilbert, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Have I? Why can’t you ever tell me anything, then?”
“It’snotyourconcern!” his mother said.
“Shit! How I hate that answer. Itismyconcern! I’ve been so concerned about it for so long that I can’t ever get a good night’s sleep. It is driving me crazy! And you don’t even care! But ...... when I tell the police that you always disappear, Dad, at the same times the murders take place, they just might think it is my concern, too.”
His father stepped forward. There was a deep furrow in his brow, making his deep-set eyes appear even deeper. “Gilbert ...... Son ...... I didn’t kill those people.”
“Yeah ......? Prove it!”
His father shook his head apologetically. “I can’t.”
“Ha! That’s exactly what I thought. Tell me ...... why would you want to move away, then? You’d better tell me quick, before I do go to the police.”
“You’ve got to trust us, Gilbert,” his dad pleaded. “Please?”
“<>UTell me!” he screamed. The veins stood out in his neck, and his face was red.
“We have to tell him, Elaine.”
“No!”
His father sighed from deep in his soul. “Okay ...... Son. Just simmer down. Okay?”
“When I get some friggin’ answers. Not a second before.”
His mother turned and looked out the bedroom window. “Oh my God! Bob! The full moon’s up! It’s the last night! The worst night!”
His dad paled. “Not already!” There was hopelessness in his voice.
“What’s this full moon crap?”
Elaine shoved away from her husband. “GetGilbertout of here!”
“I am not budging! You are not fooling me with some ridiculous bullshit about the moon.”
His father looked as sick as Gilbert felt. “There’s no more time, Son.” He lunged forward, getting Jake in a headlock and forcing him into the hall. The door slammed and his mother slid the bolt on the other side.
“What the shit are you doing, Dad?”
Without answering, he dragged a wriggling Gilbert downstairs through the kitchen and out the back door, finally releasing Gilbert. “Run for the woods, Son!”
“Huh? What for?” He asked, now very sick to his stomach, enough to throw up everything he’d eaten for the past week.
There was no response from his father; already, he was disappearing into the pines in back of the house. Pain engulfed Gilbert. He vomited heavy and hard, heaving and heaving, more ill by the second – before everything went black.
Gilbert awoke in his bed, head reeling and feeling sluggish. He looked as though he had a hangover as he studied his face in the mirror. That fuzzy weird beard was back! “What the shit’s happening?”
Loud sobs came from down stairs. It was his father. Gilbert’s legs were still crampy – like he’d run the Boston Marathon; but, he managed to make it to the kitchen. His dad was at the end of the table, nursing a cup of black coffee. He was weeping and holding a folded sheet of Elaine’s pink stationery.
She wasn’t there.
“Where’s Mom? And ...... how’d I get home? In bed?”
The look in his dad’s black eyes was that of total despair. “She’s gone, Gilbert.”
“What do ya mean? she’s gone? Isthatwhyyou’recrying?”
“She’s been really brave for a long time, Gilbert. But ...... these past few months have just been too much for her.
“When I came home last night, I found this note.” Bob handed the folded stationery over to his son.
“Dear Bob,” it read,
“Icannotgoonlikethis.IfeelthatIamtoblame.Pleasefinditinyourselftocontinuetakingcareofourson......thewayyoualwayshave......dowhateverittakestoprotecthim.Ijustpraythatsomedayyou’llfinditinyourhearttoforgivemefornottellingyoumyfamilysecretbeforewemarriedandGilbertwasborn......thatthegenethatproducesredheadssometimesproducesotherthings.It’sjustthatIloveyousoverymuch......andyouprobablywouldnothavebelievedmeanyway......Pleaseforgiveme.
“Love,Elaine”
Gilbert’s face flushed hot. “You have to tell me, now, Dad. What’s this family secret? What the frig does she mean? What’s this gene thing?”
Bob scooted back his chair and stood. “You look a bit shaky, Son. How’s about a cup of black coffee?”
“Dad! I don’t believe this! Tellme!”
In spite of Gilbert’s demanding tone, Bob ignored him, just slowly stepped over to the counter and poured coffee for Gilbert.
“What is this family secret, Dad?”
Bob kept his sun-veined eyes straight ahead, not uttering a sound. He placed Gilbert’s steaming coffee on the table and went out to get the morning paper, while Gilbert stood emotionally paralyzed at the audacity of his father’s refusal to tell him.
When Bob returned, he unrolled the newspaper and sat back down. He read only a few lines, then, in a strange tone said, “You know ...... she really shouldn’t have run out on us, Son.” He dropped the paper on the table and went to the window and peered out.
“Thatdoesit!” Gilbert yanked the paper up, anxiously scanning the front page. His eyes fell on one sentence. FourKleenexboxesfulloftwentiesandtensfoundinlatestvictim’ssuitcase.Authoritieshaven’tbeenabletoidentify......”
“You know ...... “his dad said in a matter of fact manner, “My mother was a redhead.”
Gilbert screamed.
