The Grown Ups Read online

  “Dude,” Frankie said. He gestured with his head toward the parking lot. As the thunder and lightning ramped up, the sky had turned nearly black. Sam and Frankie made their way around the grounds to the parking light. As Sam looked out over the aisles and aisles of cars, the security floodlights dotted among the plantings flickered.

  “How the hell are we supposed to find him?” Sam asked.

  “Blue sedan?” Frankie yelled as a crack of thunder exploded. “Fuck, that was close.”

  With that crack of thunder came the rain, as unrelenting as before. Sam hunched over as water pelted the top of his head. He ran up and down the rows, between cars, looking from side to side. He could barely see the make of the cars, let alone anyone sitting in one of them.

  When Sam hit a parking marker, hard, he bounced back and was knocked on his ass. His clothes, his shoes, every inch of him was soaked. He realized as he lay there that there was no way he was going back into the reception, and so he gave in to the rain and stretched out on the pavement.

  After a few minutes the strikes of lightning had subsided, although the rain was still coming down hard. Sam could actually see where he was, the clubhouse directly in front of him, about six rows of cars away. He grabbed hold of a door handle and pulled himself up, and as he did so he could just barely make out the outline of someone standing in front of the stairs. Sam pulled himself together and ran over. “Hey!” he shouted.

  When the figure spun around his face was half hidden in the hood of a dark blue slicker, but Sam knew it was Mr. Epstein. He saw Suzie’s nose in profile. “Hey—can you hear me? You have to go. Now.”

  Mr. Epstein was in bad need of a shave, and even in the storm Sam could smell the stink of alcohol rising off his body. He was trying to figure out what he should do when Frankie came up from the left, panting. “You found him?”

  Mr. Epstein looked from Sam to Frankie. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “Hey! What’s your deal?” Frankie pushed Mr. Epstein hard on the shoulder. Mr. Epstein crumpled against the post at the bottom of the stairs, his body collapsing as if he had no bones.

  “Fuck,” Sam yelled to Frankie. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

  “He’s shit-faced!” Frankie shouted over his shoulder as he lifted Mr. Epstein’s chin off his chest and peered into his face. Mr. Epstein raised his arms in front of him in an ineffective attempt to fend off Frankie.

  It became obvious to Sam in that moment that Mr. Epstein was no threat to Suzie or Michael or his parents. Not that day, anyway. “We have to get him out of here.”

  “Ted! Please!”

  Sam looked up. Had he heard Bella? He squinted through the rain toward the porch.

  “TED! Answer me! Please! TED!”

  Frankie was still crouched over Mr. Epstein. The rain seemed to distort everything. Sam didn’t want anyone to see them with Mr. Epstein. When he heard the thud of footsteps he froze.

  “TED!”

  Sam looked up. Bella was coming for him, her head down, her hands up in front of her face. She was wearing a too-big long, dark suit coat over her bridesmaid’s dress.

  Sam took several large steps toward Bella and away from Mr. Epstein sprawled on the ground, but it was too late. Bella saw Mr. Epstein and ducked around Sam. From the look on her face he realized that she thought it had been Ted down on the ground. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

  “He’s wasted,” Frankie yelled.

  “Ruthie told us he was here. She told us to stop him so he wouldn’t ruin the evening for Suzie. We didn’t hurt him. We tried to stop him from going inside. He just sort of fell.” Sam realized he was rambling and shut up.

  Bella put her palm to her forehead and rubbed. As the rain lightened up Sam could tell that she was definitely wearing Ted’s suit jacket. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  Sam felt helpless. “Don’t tell Suzie.”

  “Why? Why would I do that to her, Sam?” Bella chewed her bottom lip. She half turned away from them as if she were going inside, but then she stopped and turned back around. “What can I do to help?”

  “Go back inside and keep anyone, Suzie and Michael especially, inside too.”

  Bella nodded and pulled Ted’s coat tighter around her chest. “I can do that. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  Sam, who hadn’t had a plan until that second, said confidently, “Absolutely.”

  “Okay,” Bella said. “Okay.” She turned and jogged back to the clubhouse.

  Sam wondered what had happened to Ted: Why had Bella been shouting for him?

  “Dude, come on!” Frankie nudged Mr. Epstein’s hip with his foot, as if that would make him move along, then started going through his pockets. “What are you doing?” Sam asked.

  Triumphantly, Frankie held up a ring of keys. “We click this, find his car, drag him there. Quickly, before someone else comes out and sees us here. We’re lucky that was only Bella.”

  Sam shook his head. They hoisted Mr. Epstein up between them and Sam supported most of his weight as Frankie pressed the unlock button on the key chain. He had to do it several times before they finally saw the headlights flash on a car about ten rows back, parked in the middle of the lane.

  Frankie took his place on the other side and they half walked, half dragged Suzie’s dad to his car. When they got there it was obvious that someone drunk had parked the car. Sam opened the front passenger’s side door.

  “No, no, the back,” Frankie said, gritting his teeth and leaning over to reach the handle. He swung it open and Sam pushed Mr. Epstein headfirst into the backseat. The seat was littered with newspapers, clothing, fast-food containers, and beer bottles. Some of the trash fell to the floor as Mr. Epstein’s body filled the space.

  Together Sam and Frankie jammed Mr. Epstein in the rest of the way. He grunted when his head hit the opposite side door, as if he were the one exerting himself. He was wearing only one shoe, which meant the other shoe was lost somewhere between the steps and the car. Sam wasn’t going back to find it.

  Once Mr. Epstein was all the way in the car Sam slammed the door shut and then slumped against it. Frankie raked a hand through his wet hair, his face almost purple from exertion.

  “Give me the keys.” Sam put his hand out and Frankie dropped them into his palm. Sam walked around the car and got in behind the wheel. His wet clothes were beginning to feel stiff and cold.

  Frankie opened the passenger door and leaned in. “What are you doing?”

  “Driving him to the train station. I’m going to park the car there in the lot and let him sleep it off.”

  Frankie got in and shut the door. He tapped the dashboard three times and flipped on the radio. Sam pulled out of the country club lot and turned right.

  “What a fucking day,” Frankie said. He pulled down the visor and peered into the mirror, checking on Mr. Epstein. “What a fucking unbelievable day.”

  Sam drove slowly, carefully. The road was littered with debris from the storm. Traffic lights were flashing and ropes of black electrical lines were down. But the roads were passable. He hunched over the steering wheel to peer out the window, and over to his left, in a swath of clear sky, he caught the hint of a rainbow.

  There was no way Sam or Frankie could go back inside the reception. But Marguerite’s Honda, which Sam had driven to the wedding, was still in the lot at the country club and Sam had no choice but to return and get it. He wondered if Ruthie had covered for his absence, or maybe even Bella. Had he redeemed himself just a little?

  They walked back slowly under a sky that was streaked with the remains of a sunset. Sam’s suit was drying stiffly in odd places and made it difficult to walk fast. He and Frankie were quiet.

  At the edge of the parking lot they stopped. “You want a lift home?” Sam asked.

  Frankie pointed. “Looks like she has it all figured out.”

  Sam looked up. Bella was rushing across the lot. In her arms was a bulging plastic bag. Sh
e was no longer wearing Ted’s jacket. The bottom of her dress looked dark, and her hair was now down around her face, but other than that she didn’t look at all like she had been out in a rainstorm. She was beautiful.

  “Here,” she said breathlessly when she reached them, thrusting the bag against Sam’s chest. “It’s the best I could do. My dad keeps some extra golf clothes here. You can just say you were caught in the rain if anyone asks. ”

  Frankie laughed and grabbed at the bag, pulling out a pair of lime green plaid pants.

  “Is everything, uh, did things work out okay?” Bella asked.

  “If we tell you we’ll have to kill you too,” Frankie joked. He held up the pants, tugged on the waistband, and raised an eyebrow as if he were considering buying them.

  Bella took a step back. “What?”

  Sam laughed and shoved Frankie. “Bella, we left him in his car at the train station to sleep it off. By the time he wakes up and remembers where he is, Suzie and Michael will be long gone.”

  Bella smiled. “You did good, Sam.”

  “How about me?” Frankie asked. He had discarded the plaid pants for blue seersucker shorts.

  “Both of you,” Bella said, but she was still looking at Sam.

  “So everything is okay inside?” Sam asked. “I mean, no one knows or . . .” He wanted to ask why Bella had been out in the rain screaming Ted’s name earlier, but he couldn’t think of how to phrase it tactfully.

  “Don’t worry. Everyone is drunk and dancing.”

  “Sounds like my kind of party,” Frankie said as he discarded his shirt, jacket, and tie for a pale pink polo shirt.

  Bella shook her head but she was smiling. “I’ll let you guys change.”

  “Hey—what’s your dad going to say when he sees us in his clothes?”

  Bella was already walking toward the club. She waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. I already told him you guys got caught outside. He thinks you’re both dimwits anyway, so . . .” Bella was laughing and Sam started laughing too. Dimwit was a step up from loser who abandoned his daughter when she needed him the most.

  “Save me a dance,” Frankie yelled to Bella’s retreating form. Sam wished he had gotten the words out first, but then he had no right to ask. Instead he picked up the clothes Frankie had left in the bag and turned his back modestly away from the club as he undid the fly of his ruined suit pants.

  TWELVE

  The Only Sure Thing About Luck Is That It Will Change

  Suzie—2009

  When Michael got caught up with a patient and had to cancel lunch with his father at the last minute, Suzie didn’t mind. She enjoyed spending one-on-one time with her father-in-law, even if it was as simple as grabbing hot dogs from a cart and walking through Central Park.

  After the hot dogs had been eaten, Suzie and Hunt took a bench by the entrance to the zoo. Suzie must have been staring too hard at the ice cream vendors, because Hunt got up and returned with two ice cream sandwiches. Suzie unwrapped the paper eagerly. Pregnancy was making her ravenous. She and Michael had agreed to keep it quiet until she hit the twelve-week mark, and she had four more to go before she could tell Hunt they were going to give him a grandchild.

  “So, not the healthiest lunch, huh?” Suzie smiled at Hunt. “Michael is going to kill me for allowing you to eat a hot dog and ice cream. It’s not like I don’t know any better.” She tugged on the lapel of her white lab coat.

  Hunt shook his head. “I have to indulge every now and again; otherwise I couldn’t face another bowl of quinoa and kale.”

  Suzie made a face. All she had wanted to eat since she found out she was pregnant were carbs, tangy meat, and sugar. She was already thinking about the pot roast she’d started before the sun had even come up that morning, when she was bleary-eyed from lack of caffeine. She had hoped for the best as she tucked the meat into the snug bowl of the cooker along with a pile of plump baby potatoes and carrots, thanking God that she didn’t have any morning sickness. Surely a slab of veined bloody meat would have brought it on.

  Maybe she would pick up brownies and ice cream for dessert. She had no idea if Michael would be home for dinner, and what she truthfully cared about most was eating that delectable soft, greasy meat and crawling into bed by eight. Food and sleep seemed to be the only things she craved. She was going to have to slow down if she didn’t want to gain eighty pounds by delivery.

  Hunt took the napkin Suzie offered him and wiped his mouth. A few pieces of shredded napkin dust got caught in his midday stubble. Suzie put her index finger to the corner of her mouth and Hunt mirrored her, ridding himself of the flecks of white. He relaxed back against the slatted bench in his suit and tie and raised his face to the late-September sun. Suzie smiled. Hunt had taken care of his sons when his wife decided she no longer could. He never seemed to judge anything either of them did. Suzie hoped she would be that kind of parent, the kind of parent she imagined Michael would be. She thought of Sam, still drifting. And how still Hunt seemed to be willing to let Sam figure it out. Would Suzie be that generous? She couldn’t be so sure. Lying to her parents had always felt too natural, the truth rarely a consideration.

  As if he were reading her mind Hunt said, “I called Sam to meet us too, but he didn’t answer.” He paused. “Have you seen him?”

  “Michael did, last week,” Suzie said cautiously, not wanting to say anything else. She was pretty sure Michael had lent Sam money. She and Michael had a joint account, and she had noticed a withdrawal of five hundred dollars on the day he and Sam had met for drinks. She hadn’t asked Michael about it, but had hoped he would bring it up to her instead. She had never told him not to give Sam money, so she wondered why he hadn’t.

  Hunt nodded, his shoulders relaxed. “That’s good. I’m glad they make time for each other. Sam’s working hard. They both do. I always wished I had someone growing up, you know? The perils of being an only child, I suppose.”

  Suzie did know. She had always felt like an only child. Josh was finally going to graduate from college after an extra semester, and Eli had graduated eighteen months before. He was living in Boston sort of near their mother’s condo, bartending and selling solar panels and trying out for semipro athletic teams. But he was good to their mother, checking on her, bringing her food, and forcing her to leave the condo at least once a week for lunch or dinner. He was better to her than Suzie had ever been. After Sarah left Silver Hill, she seemed to blame Suzie more than her brothers for this drier version of her new life. So Suzie called once a week and stuck to a script they had been working on for years. When Suzie found out she was pregnant she did have a moment of panic: How would she become a mother if she had never felt mothered? But then she quickly pushed that out of her mind. She had to, that was all.

  Hunt stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to the office, but Suzie checked her watch and he noticed. “Have to go?” he asked.

  “I do. I have paperwork to finish before the shift change.” Suzie didn’t move. The last thing she wanted to do was paperwork. She could feel the midafternoon slump coming on hard and fast.

  “Can I get you a coffee for our walk back?”

  Suzie debated the offer. She wasn’t technically drinking coffee, but there were professionals on both sides of the caffeine debate for pregnant women. She probably wasn’t going to be able to get off this bench if she didn’t have a little push. Besides, wasn’t that hot dog she inhaled worse than coffee? She nodded at her father-in-law, grateful. One cup couldn’t hurt.

  They retraced their route out of the park at a slower pace, coffee in hand. As they approached the park exit, Hunt hesitated. He looked left, then right, but didn’t make a move. A crowd of people crossing the street parted around them as they stood on the curb. Suzie touched him on the elbow. “You okay?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Hunt said. But he didn’t make eye contact with her.

  “Is something wrong?” Suddenly Suzie felt a
catch in her throat. What if it was his heart again? What if it was something with Marguerite? Hunt looked down at the coffee in his hand as if he had never seen it before. Slowly he raised the cup to his face, but didn’t touch it to his lips before he lowered it again. “Hunt?” Suzie said again. “Are you going back to the office?”

  “The office?” Hunt repeated.

  “Yes,” Suzie said slowly, wondering if she should assess him for a stroke or call Michael.

  “Well, I suppose I have to.” Hunt turned and smiled at her. Now he seemed fully present. He shrugged. “If only to set an example.”

  Suzie smiled back. Perhaps it was her hormones that were making her such an alarmist. Certainly her early-pregnancy brain had made her foggy. Hunt offered her his arm, a courtly gesture, as they stepped off the curb, and Suzie rested her hand on his forearm. It struck her then that Hunt was the closest thing she had ever had to a father, a father in the truest sense of the word, and she didn’t know what she would do if she lost him.

  Suzie had landed in the field of adolescent psychiatry because she was drawn to teenagers’ tender souls. At first it was disconcerting to glimpse her vulnerable teenage self peeking out from behind the scrim of bravado; but then it became like seeing an old friend, one you were once close to, had moved on from, but still remembered fondly.

  It was a pregnancy scare that actually made Suzie want to have a child. She and Michael were only a month into marriage and her shoulders still bore the shadow outline of her bathing suit straps from their Italian honeymoon. It wouldn’t have been a surprise to be pregnant; Suzie wasn’t on the pill because she hated what it did to her body, and they had been lazy about birth control. They had so much sex during that golden ten days that sometimes she wasn’t sure where one orgasm ended and the next started. So when her period, regular to a day since she was fourteen, was ten days late and she had to bite down on her lip when Michael even gently grazed her breasts with the back of his hand, she was convinced she was pregnant.