Chapter Twenty-Eight: Monday, January 2, 2006, New York
Dad was still sleeping when Simon crept through the bedroom and into the shower the next morning. He wasn't sure what had surprised him most about last night.
It wasn't his father's unannounced arrival, that was for sure.
It wasn't even the way everyone had been so gracious, even—especially—Caroline.
Maybe it was the way he'd stood up to his father when they got back to the apartment. Not just that he'd stood up for himself—for Caroline. For their relationship, but the way he'd done it. Calmly. Coolly.
Reasonably.
He knew his parents would never see their relationship as reasonable, but he could be reasonable. It made him feel good to realize that about himself.
He followed the instructions Cathy gave him, when he phoned her ask how to get to Henry and Lin's place as well to set up lunch with her for his father, and emerged from the subway station just a few blocks from the China Moon restaurant.
Henry met him at the front door. "Catherine said you were on your way. No troubles navigating the subway?"
"It was a fairly straight shot from her apartment." It was navigating from his new home that had him worried.
But Henry grinned. "You'll get the hang of it in no time." He ushered Simon into a booth near the back. "Samantha says you have restaurant experience?"
"It's at a pizza place," Simon admitted, hoping it wouldn't dash his chances at getting hired. "But I'm a quick study and a hard worker. Pete, my boss at the pizza place, said you could call him for a reference. My other old boss, George Smith, said you could call him, too." Simon had phoned Cecelia's father yesterday afternoon. "It wasn't restaurant related, but he can attest that I was always on time and always worked hard."
And why was Henry smiling like that? "I'll take those numbers and make the calls, but as long as you're willing to work Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights from four to close, and every other Sunday from two until close—and willing to pick up a little Chinese—you're hired."
"Seriously?"
"We close most weeknights at nine, so you'd be getting out of here around nine-thirty or ten. Friday and Saturday, we stay open until ten. Sundays we close at six. And if you get the job at the school, you can start at five on school days. I'm willing to work around special events at the school as long as you can get them to work around big events here."
"That sounds great." Better than great, it was possibly the easiest job interview he'd ever had.
Henry was still smiling. "I assume you have no issues with working Friday and Saturday nights?"
Simon laughed. "You know who my girlfriend is." God, he loved the way that sounded.
Henry chuckled, too. "Caroline can help you with the Chinese and I have a friend who can tutor you. No charge, he owes me a favor, but you're at the mercy of his hours which can be a little unpredictable." Henry handed over a piece of paper with a name and a phone number on it. "George knows to expect your call."
"Thanks. I'll call him this afternoon."
"Good." He stood up. "Why don't I show you around so you're set to hit the ground running on Thursday."
"I'd love that. What should I wear?"
"Good shoes. Jeans are fine. Clean T-shirt—black is best but white's okay. No logos. I'll get you a couple of company polo shirts by the end of next week. Lin isn't a fan of earrings," he added.
"I'll take them out for work."
…
"It's nice to meet face to face," Eric said, when he was shown back to Cathy Chandler's office. He'd found the note Simon left him this morning. Simon had set up his lunch with Caroline's mother and set up the coffee maker for him before heading out to his first job interview. Was it un-Christian—uncharitable—of Eric to hope his son didn't get it?
"It is," Cathy agreed. The warmth of her smile made the needle of guilt that had been poking at him all morning dig in harder. It wasn't just his very uncharitable thoughts towards his own son. Eric had prowled around Cathy's apartment this morning, insisting to himself that he wasn't snooping because he hadn't opened cupboards or drawers except to find a cup and spoon for his coffee. He was only trying to get a sense of who this woman was.
He still had no idea, even faced off with her now.
He knew she listened classical music and read classic literature. She was especially fond of poetry, particularly the great romantics. There was no Bible, but there was a thesaurus and large Oxford English Dictionary. There were pictures on her desk—but none of her husband.
"Can I interest you in a cup of really bad coffee?" Cathy asked with a playful, teasing grin. She herself was an attractive woman, with graying golden-grown hair done up into an elegant twist and light brown eyes. Her suit was feminine, giving her an air of soft sophistication—but there was a strength about her that told him she was a force to be reckoned with.
"I've already had about as much caffeine as my doctor—or wife—will allow. Heart attack a few years ago," he explained. "Then a double bypass."
"Elliot had a heart attack last year. I made him take up jogging."
"He mentioned that last night. I got the sense that you're close…?"
Her expression remained serene despite the intrusive question. "We have a somewhat complicated history—but it's a great lesson the power of love to overcome all obstacles."
Lawyer one, preacher zilch, Eric mused.
"How long will you be in town?" she asked.
"Probably just a few days. Annie, my wife, is flying out tomorrow to join me. She's bringing some of Simon's stuff."
"I'm sure Simon is planning on moving into his new place as soon as he can, but you and your wife are welcome to stay at my apartment while you're in town. Or pretty much any time you like. I'll have someone drop off an extra copy of the key for you."
"You really don't have to do that."
"Of course, I do. Your son is dating my daughter. That makes us family. Besides, it's as if I actually live there. The place is empty most of the time. I really only hang onto it for out of town guests."
"Where do you live?"
"We're not too far from Central Park. Can I buy you lunch? I'm afraid the best I can offer is something from one of the food trucks outside," she added. "I have to be back in court in an hour, but if you like Jamaican food, Javier makes the best jerk chicken in town."
"Sounds great."
"Just let me get my coat."
On the way out, she passed one of the assistants desks and told a pretty, dark skinned woman that she was heading down to Javier's and asked if she wanted anything.
"I'm good, thanks. You need anything for this afternoon?"
"I'm about as ready as I will be," Cathy told her. She guided Eric out of the warren of cubicles and down to the street level.
"Big case?" he asked her, mostly trying to make small talk.
"They're all big. But this one is hitting a little close to home. The foster system is supposed to help children, not harm them." She led the way to a red and yellow food truck.
Even before they got to the front, the owner looked up and flashed Cathy broad, toothy grin. She smiled back. When it was their turn, he greeted her by name and asked if she'd like her usual.
"Yes, please."
"And for you?" he asked Eric.
"Cathy tells me you have the best jerk chicken in town."
He laughed. "She's a smart lady with a great sense of taste! You want that over rice or greens—personally, I'd go for the greens," he added.
"Who am I to argue with the chef," said Eric.
Javier dished up their food, refused Cathy's money, and asked her to stop by on her way home tonight. "I have something for Vincent."
"Thank you, Javier, I will. And thanks for lunch," she added.
"Any time."
They moved out of the way so he could serve the next customers.
"We can go back to my desk or find a quiet spot in the lobby."
"Either is fine," said Eric. "I can't tell you how many lunches I've eaten at my desk."
"I can imagine." She steered them towards a quiet corner of the wood-paneled lobby where several benches had been installed. "We'll have to go somewhere a little nicer next time," she promised.
"I have to ask," Eric began, after they'd settled in. She was right; the jerk chicken was incredible. "You're really all right with Simon moving out here?"
"As Caroline so eloquently pointed out to my husband and I last night, we can't stop him from moving, we could only ask Samantha and Zach not to have him in their home. But what would that accomplish?"
"You still have the advantage of being able to exercise some parental authority." Something Eric and Annie had lost when Simon turned eighteen. They'd had some leverage while they were paying for school, some while he was living at home, but now, they'd lost both of those advantages.
Cathy's smile grew. "You sound like my husband's father. For all it's worth, he's not precisely in favor of them seeing each other, either."
"And your husband?"
"Vincent was…pensive when he learned of Simon's age."
"Pensive. That's a good word for it."
"Tell me, Eric. Besides the gap in age, what do you have against our children seeing one another?"
Wasn't that enough? "Simon has…he's had a rough couple of years. He's made some pretty big mistakes."
"He's told me."
He had?
"I'm just not sure he's ready for something as serious as what he's talked about. I don't mean…I just meant…."
"Eric. I know my daughter and I trust her judgement. I trust your son's as well. Both he and Caroline have told me about the mistakes he's made with past girlfriends. Mistakes he deeply regrets. I would be lying if didn't admit to having made a few of those same sorts of mistakes myself. I might have been a little older than he was, and as long as I'm being honest with you, I don't regret all of those types of encounters—although that's probably because I was older and perhaps just a little more thoughtful than he's said he was. At least most of the time."
"I…." can't believe I'm having this conversation with the mother of the girl my son is….dating. Caroline and Simon were dating. "I guess a lot of people make those sorts of mistakes."
"Yes." She looked out the window for a long moment. It had started to snow again, big white flakes drifted down from the sky. "A very long time ago, a wonderful man taught me what it was to love. To be loved. More than that, he taught me to believe in the impossible, because where there is love nothing is impossible. I can't say for sure that your son and my daughter have that kind of love, but if they do, there is nothing you or I or anyone else can do to stop it. We shouldn't want to."
"Vincent?" Eric asked.
"His love has carried me through every darkness, every hardship, the same way mine has carried him. I wish that same love for our children. For all children. We both know that in just a few short years, the age difference between Simon and Caroline won't matter. We could try and pry them apart, hurt them—perhaps make them resent us, perhaps even hate us—or we can accept them as they are and guide them through the next few years."
Eric wished he could come up with something to say to that.
Cathy smiled. "I can see where Simon gets his best qualities, Eric. Many parents wouldn't care enough to fly across the country just to try and talk their son out of making what they fear is a mistake."
"It doesn't seem to have done much good. He's still moving."
"Your being here, your wife planning on joining you, that shows Simon how much you care about him. How much you love him. Even if you don't accomplish what you'd hoped, there is tremendous value in knowing you're loved by the people who mean the most to you."
"I just wish my son would stop running away. He ran away to college, then he ran home…now he's running here."
"Perhaps this time he has found something to run towards."
…
Simon navigated his way through the subway system for the second time in as many hours to find his way to the school for the deaf where Laura and Samantha worked. It was an old three-story building surrounded by high fences with locked gates in a mildly frightening neighborhood. A Tenctonese security guard whose name tag read "Thomas" let Simon in with a surprising cheerful smile, greeting him in both ASL and spoken English. He directed Simon in the main doors and said the office was just off to the right, across from the school's library.
"You can't miss it," he added.
Simon responded in ASL and (his very limited) Tenctonese. "Thank you, Thomas."
Thomas beamed with pleasure, and Simon quickly explained he was only just starting to learn Tenctonese, but asked if—as long as he got the job he was applying for—Tomas would mind Simon practicing with him.
"It would be my pleasure! And good luck on the interview!"
Simon only caught a few of the Tenctonese words, but understood ASL well enough to understand what he'd said. (He wondered, briefly if Thomas was Thomas Jefferson, or perhaps Thomas Hobbs…maybe Thomas Edison…? Or maybe he was one of the lucky ones who had ended up with nice, normal "human-names" and was simply Thomas Smith or Thomas Jones.) Simon thanked him again and headed into the building.
The school was clean. It smelled like every other K-12 school Simon had ever been in, a combination of gym socks, cafeteria food, and industrial cleaner. The halls were painted a cheerful yellow and green, and pictures clearly drawn by children had been thumbtacked to a strip that ran the entire length of the main corridor, giving the place a warm, welcoming feel.
As promised, the principal's office just to the right of the main entrance and impossible to miss. He had only a very short wait before he was sent in to meet Hilda Anderson, a petite woman with ebony skin and coiled grey hair who wore the bright colors of a proud African American heritage. Her bright smile was enough to convince Simon that she was someone he would like whether she hired him or not.
:Samantha tells me you know sign,: she said, signing only.
:A little,: he signed back.
:Can you tell me where you learned?:
:My older brother dated a deaf woman for a while. I learned some from him, then more from her. We all thought they would end up married. They didn't. I'm a little rusty,: he added.
"You're doing quite well," Hilda told him aloud, signing as she spoke. "My daughter is deaf. That's what brought me here. First as a teacher, now as a principle. I should warn you. This is a private school, but I'm sure you can deduce for yourself not one of those that charges exorbitant tuition. The staff here doesn't make a lot of money."
"I understand. And I appreciate that you don't charge an arm and leg. From what I've seen no teachers make as much as they should and it's even worse in private schools. Even the ones that charge a lot of money to attend. It seems really unfair."
"Amen to that. So. You're interested in the part-time janitorial position?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Although honestly, I'm interested in just about anything right now. I'm…I've just moved to New York and I need a job. But I'd love to work here."
"Why here?"
"I decided to change my major a few weeks ago. I had to drop out to move, but I should be back in the spring, fall at the latest. I want to go into teaching. And I have experience as a school janitor, at least the cleaning up part. I had a part-time job in high school cleaning up my own high school. I can give you my old boss's number. He's already promised me a glowing recommendation."
"That sounds encouraging. I'll tell you what. I do need a janitor. I've got a couple of applicants already who are decent enough people, but none of them can sign. And none of them is interested in a career in teaching—assuming you're not having one over on me because you're desperate to get the job."
"No, Ma'am. I can give you my old college councilor's number, too."
She smiled. "How about I just take you at your word on that one and ask you if you'd be interested in a job as a teacher's assistant, instead?"
"I'm barely through my sophomore year. I…had a few hiccups the last year or so."
"Are those hiccups over?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely."
"All right. But before you get too excited, the teaching assistant position pays less than the janitorial position—ten and hour verses fifteen. It's eight am to three pm, Monday through Friday, holidays and summers off—but we have a summer program that could probably uses you, if you're interested. There are no benefits, and you won't be eligible to join the teacher's union. And you'll still end up sweeping up and mopping from time to time because we're a small school with a very small janitorial staff. On the other hand, it will look more impressive on a resume than 'custodian'."
"I'd love it, really."
"All right. See Mrs. Green at the desk for the paperwork and I'll see you on Monday morning."
…..
"Simon, that's almost fifty hours a week!" Eric gaped at his son when Simon shared the "good news" about his job interviews over dinner—dinner Simon had brought home from some carry out place he probably couldn't afford because he was moving to New York where everything was twice as expensive as it was in Glen Oak! Even with two jobs, how was Simon ever going to make ends meet? "When are you going to find time for school?"
"I'll have Monday through Wednesday nights, and Saturday all day. I know it's not ideal, but I stopped by Brakefield College on my way home. It's a small, private school," he explained, when Eric shot him an inquisitive look. He'd never heard of Brakefield. "Cathy suggested it," Simon added. "Because they're small, they're more able to take individual considerations into account than somewhere like NYU. And they have an excellent teaching program."
Teaching? When and how—why—had Simon decided to switch his major to teaching?
"I was able to get into see a councilor while I was there today. She had me fill out financial aid forms and started the paperwork to get me enrolled in the spring." Simon was clearly excited. "I'm only going to miss one semester—and if I take a couple of classes over the next few summers, I'll still be on track to graduate on time, even if it's not a race," he added. "That's what Ms. Marstander reminded me of. She's the councilor at Brakefield I saw today. And she's right. I'll get there when I get there. What matters is that I'm not giving up, just like I told you I wouldn't."
Cathy's words echoed through Eric's head. He could either try to pry Simon and Caroline apart—try to force his son to move back home—or he could work with the situation and guide Simon as best as he was able. "Son…fill out the financial aid paperwork, but if you don't get it, or if you fall short…your mother and me will still help with tuition. No strings attached," he added, praying Annie would see it his way. "And no matter what happens, you'll always have a place in our home, a place to come to, if things don't work out. Or if you just want to visit."
"Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me." They ate in silence Eric hoped was comfortable before Simon asked, "Have you talked to Mom about all this?"
"She's meeting me at Matt and Sara's tomorrow. We're going to get a hotel room near their place. I'll be staying there tonight."
"Cathy said you could stay here."
"I think we've imposed on Caroline's mother long enough."
