Accident Prone

He reached out and took her in his arms and told her there was no way he would let them loose the house. She clung to him pitifully, sobbing with her head on his shoulder and repeating she was sorry, she was so sorry. Michael knew any hope for their happiness had just gone the way of her money.

* * *

"This seat is so big," Rachel marveled wide-eyed. Michael and Jack exchanged a glance; evidently someone had given Mom a special dose of pain reliever for the ride home. The center seat of the Honda Pilot was all hers. In the rear seat, Effie regarded her mom with proprietary right, her self-appointed guard dog. Guard-shark, Michael corrected sourly. Programmed by nature to rip into anything that moved, itself included. From this moment on, Michael expected nothing but trouble from her.

"You OK, Mom?"

Rachel smiled contentedly. "I am so OK, Michael. Thank you for asking." She leaned against the door with her legs across the seats and attempted to buckle herself in, looking dreamily from one belt buckle to the other. The best Michael could do was strap her around the waist and secure her legs with the two remaining seat belts. Not exactly legal, but it would have to do. Mom sighed cheerfully and snuggled against the pillow that Jack had brought, arms loosely crossed. "It feels so good to have clothes on again." She grinned widely at Michael, nearly giving him a heart attack. "Those stupid hospital gowns are so immodest, you know? Every single one of those nurses knows my body better than I do now." She giggled delightedly. "The male nurses especially. I'm certain one of them gave me a sponge bath one day last week." She smiled absentmindedly and tried to remember what day that might have been while Jack and Michael exchanged another embarrassed look. Michael was pretty sure no male nurse had ever sponge-bathed his mother. Knowing his father would have that privilege in the coming days-he'd taken the week off to attend his wife's needs-gave him a mental ulcer.

Mom asked brightly: "You know what I like best? Getting to wear a bra again!" She flung out her arms and proudly displayed the front of her parka, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Some lucky fella gets to take it off me later on, and I like that too!" This drew an outraged "Mom!" from her daughter and a groan from both males. This time Jack and Michael did not exchange a look.

Rachel dozed, sang, hummed and embarrassed herself with scandalous commentary on the way home. Effie did her best to keep her distracted and to some extent it worked, but Rachel still popped off occasionally with zingers.

"I hope you reinforced my side of the bed because both of us on my side and this silly cast doing whoop-de-do certainly won't work." "I wonder if this cast qualifies as kinky lingerie." "I could wear this thing as a corset, don't you think?" "Can you imagine me not shaving for six whole weeks and having someone cut me out of this thing?" "Speaking of shaving: I'm beginning to look French, everywhere. It's so embarrassing." "Oh, Jack. I think we left my vagina behind. Did I just say vagina? I meant my jeans. Silly me."

Finally, Jack pulled into the driveway at 3335 Sycamore and turned off the ignition. There was no way Jack and Michael could look at each other now. Removing the wheelchair from the back, Jack wheeled it around while Michael shouldered his mother's pink duffel and waited patiently at the rear. He refused to even look at her. It wasn't until Jack called for his assistance and Michael unwilling gripped his mother below the arms and helped Jack slide her across the seat, that he realized her eyes were perfectly clear and looking at him amusedly. Son of a bitch, he thought. She was acting. It took all his will power not to bray out laughter.

Getting Mom upstairs was an exercise in logistics. Jack helped Rachel to her feet; Effie held her in place while Michael removed the wheelchair, and then Jack and Michael took up position either side and formed a sling to carry Rachel upstairs. The climb went flawlessly with Effie ahead directing, and a minute later Rachel was eased down on the edge of her mattress, which she patted fondly, like a long lost dog, Then Michael was politely ushered out so Dad and Effie could get the invalid undressed and into bed. Effie closed the door with a look of pure, unadulterated smugness. Michael shook his head, rolled his eyes and thought, if impotence had a name, it would be Michael Fleming. He went downstairs and ferried up the rest of his mother's belongings.

That night, and every night moving forward, Jack and Rachel shared the same bed. And Rachel was correct: two and a cast were more than the bed could take. It protested angrily whenever they somehow, impossibly made love.

* * *

A month later, Michael came home one Friday afternoon to find Rachel's home-care companion at the kitchen table doing her taxes. "Hi, Rachel," he said, un-shouldering his backpack and setting it on the counter. Rachel shared the same first and middle names as his mom, though Rachel spelled her middle name Lynne, while Mom's was spelled with no trailing "E". Even their maiden names were eerily similar: Paxton and Patton. Rachel had grown up not a mile from Mom and had attended the same middle and high school, though 8 years earlier. Rachel Patton was 44.

"I hope you do better than I did this year," Michael said, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a can of Coke. "Of course, I made about 10 freaking dollars, so it was like, a dollar fifty to the feds, and 75 cents to the state. Gotta keep those school open though, right?" He chugged half the can down thirstily. "How's Mom?"

"Mom's fine," Rachel said distractedly. "She wants to see you, though."

Michael considered what a difference 8 years and 40 pounds made on a woman her age. And thought how unfair that was.

"What about?" he asked.

"Not sure. Something about the house?"

Michael shrugged and made for the stairs. He kept as much distance from his mom as the constraints of the house allowed. He'd not seen her in two days and would be fine if that stretched to a month. A month of Sundays, he thought irritably. Making the second floor, he plodded the 10' to her door, thinking that with any luck she'd be asleep in that fucking bed of hers and he'd call Marty to hang out. Tapping lightly, he glowered when she answered immediately and said to come in. She was in bed, reading, propped against a stack of pillows. She wore the jade green pajamas and matching robe that Michael had gifted her for Christmas. She looks almost gaunt, he thought casually. Good.

"Rachel said you wanted to talk?"

She nodded and set aside her book. It was obvious he should close the door for this conversation, but he left it open and stopped halfway to the bed. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. For a moment she held his eyes, and then abruptly disintegrated into tears. Startled, dismayed, he stood undecidedly a moment and then sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Go!" she cried, waving him away. "Leave me alone!"

Michael reached out but she batted his hand away. "Don't touch me! I'm sorry I bothered you, Michael. Please shut the door when you leave." She turned away and shrank into the stacked pillows. He just sat there, admitting finally what a fool he was. He'd done exactly what he'd promised not to do in the hospital; let his jealousy throw up a wall between them. He'd deserted her when she needed him most. He was no better than his father. Worse: Jack had never purposely deserted her.

"Like father, like son, right?" he muttered.

Rachel made an angry gesture that was more accusation than answer. She had told him flat out that Jack would expect sex from his wife and he'd agreed to accept that. Rachel and Jack were man and wife, reconciled, with expectations of a renewed marital relationship. She loved Jack, the father of her kids, the man who'd raised them alongside her. Man and wife the entirety of Michael's life, making love thousands of time. Who was the interloper, the one attempting to cuckold? Not Jack.

"I can't help what I feel," he said quietly. "Since that night in the lodge-" He choked, almost gagging on the emotional turmoil. "I have to watch you with him instead of with me and that's more than I can deal with. I understand why people ruin their lives because of jealousy and anger. I am so jealous of Dad that I want to kill him half the time and that anger transfers to you, making me want to hurt you as much as I can. It poisons me, makes me think things I know are totally stupid and irresponsible." He sighed, defeated. "The stupid thing is I have no rights to you at all. You're my mother, not my wife. How did this fucking even ever happen?" Tears streamed down his cheeks. He gripped his mother's hand when she slipped it into his. He slowly turned to meet her eyes and she was crying also. How miserable could two human beings be, he wondered?

"I'm so sorry, Mom."

Rachel broke down completely and Michael slid onto the bed beside her and put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, letting her sob quietly on his shoulder. He placed his free hand atop the one she pounded lightly against his chest in frustration. There was no good ending to this, he thought dully. God had chosen the perfect punishment for his transgressions. When the door swung open sometime later and Effie stood in the doorway staring at him balefully, he just nodded in agreement, and looked away, beaten. It was time to end this.

* * *

Effie found him in the basement that night. He sat at the end of the couch with his ankles crossed and one heel on the coffee table. His arms were locked across his chest and he stared blank-faced at the dead TV with the remote clutched in one hand. He'd been there an hour and a half and had never turned it on. He refused to look when she sat down next to his feet. She placed her hand gently on his ankle, and then he did look.

"Am I all wrong?" she asked.

Michael frowned at her.

"About you and Mom and Dad?"

He continued to stare and Effie clasped her hands in her lap and wrung them anxiously. "Mom is about to have a nervous breakdown, I think. Is that because of me?"

Michael wanted to kick her backwards off the coffee table. Instead, as steady-voiced as he could manage, he said, "It's not because of you, no."

Regardless, Effie hunched her shoulders and looked ready to slink away in shame. "I think maybe I've been completely unfair to you, ever since the accident. I wanted Mom and Daddy back together so bad I didn't care what that would do to her. I just wanted him back. I was convinced whatever he did was because of her, and he would never cheat unless she was neglecting him or doing it herself or being a horrible bitch. And then I saw that report on TV about the accident, and I knew it was you she was involved with, and I couldn't believe it. All along it was you and you drove Daddy away and were doing perverted stuff with Mom, and she was perverted too, and I hated both of you!"

Her voice had gradually climbed as misery boiled into anger; now, slowly, hands balled into fists, she forced herself back into calmness. "I'm not wrong about you and Mom," she accused softly. "I'm not wrong about that at all." Her look dared him to lie. He did not.

"I had nothing to do with Mom and Dad breaking up. Things started for us the day she spilled the Drano on her head. It never went anywhere. Before she went in the hospital the only thing between us was tension. We never talked about it, didn't play footsy with each other..." He leaned forward and dropped his feet to the floor. "And we sure as hell never went to bed together. I've never even kissed her, God damn!" Now he was the one mad. "Things have been horrible since we got home. Wanting to make her suffer, hating myself, wanting to rip your fucking head off for being such a spiteful little creep!" He restrained himself with great effort, sitting back, re-crossing his arms and putting his feet back on the table.

Effie sat quietly for a time. "Mom's about to come apart. You're about to kill me. I can't believe it, but I think Dad is totally clueless about all this. I'm not sure anymore that it wouldn't be better for Mom to be with you rather than with him. As much as that idea revolts the crap out of me." She made a patently sour face and punched his knee belligerently. "You are such an asshole sometimes, Michael Fleming!"

"So the hell are you!" he shot back.

She flinched, and then grinning ruefully, punched his knee again and kicked his shin hard. He grabbed her by the shirtfront and mussed her hair violently. They laughed as she struggled to get away and retaliate, crying "Hey!" as he pushed her across the coffee table and onto the floor with his foot. From flat on her back she protested with an up-thrust middle finger, which she shook defiantly as she struggled to sit. Sticking out her tongue, she then asked: "So what are you going to do?"

Michael shrugged. "What the hell can I do?"

"You can start by telling her it's not over between the two of you, you idiot."

Michael scowled angrily. "It is over. It has to be. We ended it this afternoon. For good."

"Well undo it then, God damn it! Before she comes apart like a box of fucking Lego Blocks!"

"Will you watch your mouth, God damn it."

"Do something about this and I will! I'm on your side, Michael! That alone should make you fucking go running upstairs and throw Dad out of her bedroom."

Michael came off the couch and reached across the table but Effie was quicker. Scuttling away on her hands and heels, she shook her head and pleaded silently with her eyes. Please!

She was right: Rachel was close to losing it and the cliff edge was right at her feet. Do something now, or watch her take a swan dive to oblivion.

"Get Dad out of the house tomorrow," he said.

"How do I do that?"

"Break your leg. It worked for Mom."

* * *

The next morning, Jack took Effie shopping for Lacrosse gear she didn't need. Rachel sat in her chair by the window, reading the new Stephan King novel. She looked up, her expression remote, when Michael entered. He doubted she even saw the words she was attempting to read.

"Effie and I had a talk last night," he said.

Her expression remained blank. She removed her reading glasses and set them aside, and then closed the book in her lap. She wore the same Jade pajamas and robe she'd worn yesterday. Her eyes were dead. He squat beside the chair and put his hands on the arm. "She knows who you are really in love with, Mom."

Rachel nodded slowly. Michael had never seen her so leaden. Destitute was a better word, perhaps.

"She wants an end to this mess. She wants you happy."

Rachel smiled woodenly. "And how does she propose we do that? Given the present circumstances?"

Michael placed a hand lightly on her arm. "That's up to you and me."

She laughed, a nearly hopeless sound. "I'm not worthy of anyone, Michael. Jack's been the perfect husband since the accident and I've cheated on him every day with his son. Emotionally, if not physically. I'm a disaster and he's at a loss to understand why. What's happened is impossible and he refuses to see what his 10-year-old daughter picked up in a news broadcast. It kills him to see me like this and I'm clueless how to stop it." She looked away, freeing her arm from his hand. "He deserves more than me."

Michael stood. He looked out the window and watched a gold minivan drive up the street. There was no way out of this mess, he thought. This gave lie to every happy ending he'd ever seen or read in a book. He felt stomped flat by God or fate, or something.

"You know something," he said. "Let's just wait."

Rachel looked up, puzzled. "I'm sorry...?"

Michael rubbed the top of her seat back. "Maybe we're trying to push something into the daylight that isn't ready for daylight yet."

Rachel was decidedly puzzled.

"Sometimes...sometimes things are best left to God or the powers that be, or even to fate, if there is such a thing. If that's what we're supposed to do, I say we do it."

Rachel gazed up at him perplexed. "You're thinking ...?"

"That it's not right for us now."

Rachel sighed and looked away again. "I don't know. I don't think this gets any better no matter what, Michael. It is, what it is. We should just accept it."

"Maybe. Are you willing to see?"

It was a long time before Rachel shrugged and then turned to look out the window.

NEW YEAR'S EVE 2012

"They could lock me up for this, you know," Rachel said humorously. Michael guided the drink to his lips and sipped the icy mixture, licking a spot halfway up the rim that she had missed. Margaritas were her favorite drink, his also.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Rachel looked at her watch, angling the faceplate to pick up stray light coming through the window. The house was dark and they were by the kitchen door waiting for midnight to arrive. From the family room came the sound of a female vocalist and slightly discordant music backing her up. Michael guessed it was Mariah Carey, though he couldn't be certain. The channel was tuned to the memorial Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve, hosted by Ryan Seacrest; the sound quality made identification impossible.

"20 minutes to," she said.

Michael, nodded, content to let the night un-spool at its own pace. He put his own icy glass to his mother's lips and let her sip. They were pleasantly buzzed, though not yet intoxicated. Effie was spending the night with Jack at his place.

"Thank you for making us wait," Rachel whispered. She eyed him over the rim of the glass as she sipped. They had shared everything tonight; a pizza, a six-pack of Corona, a pitcher of Margaritas, two joints of exceptionally fine weed, and one chaste kiss when Michael got back from his drug run, which Rachel had fretted over angrily. She had to admit the high was worth it, though. Except for the munchies. She hated the munchies.

"What you mean," Michael corrected, returning her glass to his lips, "was making us not lose faith."

As Michael suspected, once Rachel healed, lost the cast and went into physical therapy, Jack lost his sense of direction. He'd predicted his father's downfall almost to the moment it became evident Jack was seeing another woman. The separation came in early October and Michael gave Rachel time to acclimatize to being alone again. It was better for her and worse this time. She'd been through it once, but the family was in terrible financial difficulty and each month brought a new crisis. Jack lived with his new girlfriend, which helped, but Michael quit school in December and went to work with his friend Marty at the local Costco. He made a surprising good wage, enough that Rachel could pay the mortgage on time this month and be only a few days late on the utilities. Still, she hated that he had quit school.

"You will go back," she promised. Michael had smiled and nodded agreeably. He didn't care what he did as long as he did it with her.

"Effie is fit to be tied," he said.

Rachel laughed. Effie was always fit to be tied. "Because we're alone here tonight on such a perfect evening, or that she's missing it?"

Michael grinned. "You know what she asked me yesterday? If we were. Tonight, I mean."

"What did you tell her?" Rachel asked, grinning expectantly.

"That I didn't know." He held her eyes in the soft light. "I still don't know. Do you?"

Rachel shrugged. "Let the powers that be decide. It's what we agreed on."

Michael nodded. He was totally fine with that. That powers that be had guided them to this moment in time, which was indeed promising. He slowly breathed in his mom's light bouquet of womanly scents. She wore lavender scented spray which he especially liked. Just enough to detect in the air. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply at her neck, taking her all in.