1985

I inhale humid air through my two nostrils think of my one dead mother. She smoked. And right now I want a cigarette. I'm thirty minutes away from needing one; in that time span even a stoned out Psych 101 could figure out this Freudian puzzle that gasps through my smokeless lungs.

"Pony," Aimee's voice is curt as she and her two piping hot apple pies squeeze me against the cupboard. The previous owner had the ingenious idea to cut the kitchen in half in order to expand the dining room and now I'm wondering how the hell I ever shared that small bed with Soda? Our kitchen is two and half beds long.

Nutmeg and cinnamon thicken the air of the crematorium.

"Smells good," I say in a voice a bit too loud for the size of the room, as if the chasm between us is physical and my voice is the bridge, rather than the one-half the instrument of its demise. My voice is devoid of all emotion. Is it the nicest thing I've said to her in how long? I don't know if I should feel defensive or apologetic when she ignores it.

"It's Sara Lee," she puts down the pies to cool and turned away from me, her blonde hair now a bob and the outline of her bra showing through her shirt, I can hear the annoyance in her voice; as if I should know better and I realize that I can't ever win with her.

Maybe that's the problem. Marriage shouldn't be about winning and losing.

My philosophical musings roll my eyes for me and I fumble through my jeans for a phantom package of smokes. I have nothing.

It was easy, too easy in retrospect to quit. I guess I thought with everything we went through surely there should be one hurdle low enough to jump over, I had Aimee and soon, our baby and that was motivation enough. Now my marriage is over and my ring finger taps something into the counter. It is seven beats before I realize it's the Winston jingle. A stone. A fuckin' stone could bleed my shallow thoughts dry.

Broken mirrors unable to look at each other.

We fell in love with each other at first sight. I never knew that happened in real life. My dad said that he fell in love with mom at first sight, but she had a different version of the event, "only because my sister Lucy was taken, then you decided to take a glance in my direction."

But they laughed and stayed married. We laughed too, we were three boys and the very idea of romance antithetic to everything we believed in, but the idea of our dad marrying Aunt Lucy, who ended up with an entomologist named Darryl; too bizarre to even picture.

"You'd be a bug man dad, and we'd be girls!" I squealed with the logic that has clearly served me so well over my life.

We met when we were in college. I was her first, something that terrified me since I liked her too much for me to be her first. I wrote and she took photos and we moved in together, and got married and traveled and rented a house and got two pups and had two daughters and moved and bought a house we told ourselves we'd grow into and held our eldest daughter's hands on the first day of Kindergarten and each other's in the ER on the day our youngest jumped off the swing set and landed head first.

And there we were.

Now we argue and get into low grade fights and our house has morphed into a closet. We fought about nothing until nothing is all we ever fought about. We went to counseling and sat on the couch and never held hands.

And here we aren't.

I make a mental note to talk to the attorney about the house, Aimee is keeping it, but she's been real considerate about giving me time to look for a place and making sure that we work out a deal that's fair to both of us.

Paige runs into the kitchen; a reprieve, a startle a reckoning all at once.

"Did you know you'd have to keep the faucet on for forty-five years non-stop to equal the blood your heart pumps?"

"Weird," Aimee laughs and flicks water at our daughter.

"Neat," I hunt through the cabinet for my potato salad recipe, which is just something from Readers Digest.

Paige, happy with all things weird and neat in equal measure, gives us a gap tooth grin and runs back into the bedroom she shares with Daphne. The girls insisted on sharing a bedroom.

"Your family will be here soon…" her voice ellipses and I wait a few seconds before realizing that she's finished. The worse part about fights is not the yelling but the silent gaps between. "Any way we can cut and run?" Her laugh only partially covers up her thoughts.

"God, I wish." My own laugh rings hollow. I look at my watch, how the hell did we get stuck hosting the family BBQ? And why the hell didn't we cancel? I know, because that would have gotten questioned by the best interrogators this side of the Stasi and maybe I want and need a distraction almost as much as I want a cigarette. Or my mother, who would be disappointed in me or maybe she'd understand. It really doesn't matter now does it?

Maybe it's because were both creative types and deep inside heart of every artist is a masochist beckoning for the sting of the whip.

Aimee wipes her hands up and down her thighs, "it feels wrong," she whispers, mindful of our daughters, Paige and Daphne, and their uncanny ability to pick up everything they shouldn't.

"We could tell call it off, tell everyone I have a stomach flu or something?"

But Aimee shakes her head, "it's done, it'll be fine," then she pauses, "besides, I like your family."

I look at Aimee and for the split second we are back. We're back to being a team, holding each other's secrets and lies. I try to think of something comforting to say. But I have nothing to give either of us. Maybe I never did.

If the door between us is closed, than at least we should close it with tenderness.

But my throat is dry and mouth says nothing. All I can do is stare and watch the clock speed faster, it's two minutes to 12 and Darry and his crew will be here soon.

She's already gone.


Good thing I didn't have any money betting on my oldest brother's punctuality.

Soda, Mary and Hazer arrive first. Soda's jeans have holes in them; Mary is in tight black spandex and one of Soda's shirts. Hazer has pearl earrings. My brother is never early to anything.

"You have such a gorgeous house!" Mary exclaims, as if she hasn't been here a million times.

I look around at our house, there are books in every room in every place except the book shelves, the girls' paintings cover almost every wall, knick-knacks sit on Mom and Dad's coffee table. I have nothing.

But I give them a hug and a grin. Except Hazer, who clings to her mother.


Soda is wrapped up in blankets, his head bandaged and he moans out dutifully to Daffy's command as he lays on a Cabbage Patch sleeping bag.

"Ohh,"

"You're suppose'ta be in pain, cry more!" And somewhere the spirit of Louis B. Mayer is awoken from his slumber, giddy about getting to tell one more Jackie Coogan that his puppy died.

"Oooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" Soda moans and I smirk at him. "Pretty sure that sound is still illegal in some states."

"Daddy, you're not helping. Please, the patient is dying; it's very serious and extremely sad." Extremely is Daffy's new favorite word.

Soda turns red and his lips vibrate to keep him from cracking up.

"Sorry, Doctor Daphne. Hey, what's Hunt doin' here?" I look at our golden retriever, his chin resting on a Fischer-Price doctor bag.

"Hunt's our nurse," Paige explains, disappointed in me for not figuring it out. "Rex was fired for not listening to Doctor Daphne."

"Of course."

Paige flips through her medical dictionary she bought at a garage sale near Darry and Cathy's house.

"Okay, Dr. Daphne, the patient has been diagnosed with Coronary artery disease, we can't waste time here. He's on death's door as we speak; this is a very delicate operation that will involve…" Paige goes on to slowly but confidently read the paragraph. She hardly makes any mistakes.

While the girls frantically look through the doctor bag, and Daphne puts on a pair of dishwashing gloves, Soda glances up at me his eyes wide and his mouth in shock, "I am?!"

"Shut up," I try to suppress the laugh that will surely bring Paige's wrath on me.

The girls turn around and Soda goes back to being a step away from the pearly gates, his tongue falling out the side of his mouth.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! He just gave birth to a cat too!" Daphne triumphantly holds up a Garfield that Rex chewed its tail clean off.

"It's a miracle!" Paige exclaims with a voice that could give her a spot as the next Tammy Faye, "and her umbilical cord has already fallen off."

Soda can't hold it in anymore and I can't either and the next thing I know Soda is holding his hand out to catch my ass from falling on top of him.

Then I look at my girls. Their backs to me huddled in a whisper. Paige puts her arms around Hunt, inviting him into the fold. They are sweet, my little girls.

Soda pulls hard on my jeans cuff, raises his head up and whispers, "you alright?" His stare is hard and compassionate. I shrug. I'm not fooling anybody but who gives a fucking shit.

Paige looks over her clipboard, "don't forget you and Mommy have an appointment this evening." She looks a bit sheepish before whispering, slightly embarrassed, "I know it's only pretend. Daphne likes it." Paige likes it too, but she's getting at that age where her friends are less and less likely to want to play in the world of her imagination.

"You'll both be getting operated on, I hope you don't extremely die!" Daphne happily shouts.


I give Cathy a quick hug as Darry and I step to the side. For the briefest of split seconds I wonder what if.

I try to match his grin in width if not substance and run my hand through my hair as if that will distract from what I'm sure is a warn, tightly drawn expression.

Getting through today will be harder than I thought and now I regret not playing the stomach flu route. Not that my brothers would believe me.

"You lost weight, huh Pony?" his eyebrows furrow slightly. I shrug. Soda made the same comment earlier.

Soda who miraculously survived his operation sits crossed legged on the floor, balancing a paper plate of cheese and crackers on his lap.

"Want some?" before I have time to say anything he puts five crackers in my hand. I'm not hungry.

'Where's Patrick?" Cathy asks as their four make their way into my living room; C.D. makes an immediate bee line for the back yard. "Hey," his Dad calls out, "stay inside and say hi to everyone."

C.D. looks around and crosses his arms, "what? Patrick doesn't have to be here? This blows."

I can hear Darry's deep in breath before I can see his chest or shoulders rise, a dangerous sign. He gets into his son's face, and his finger is right at the tip of C.D's nose, "stop it," he says in a low, scrubbed harsh whisper.

Ah, there's the Darry we know and love.

"…Hopefully doin' something illegal," Soda casually shouts back to Cathy; C.D.'s glares at his dad.

"Yeah, well you still got to be here, bud," Darry gives C.D. a pat on the back, "chin up, buckaroo." C.D. stares straight up at the ceiling, puts his arm straight out and begins to walk like a zombie. And I'm no longer the weirdest Curtis.

"Ow, my neck," he quietly moans, gingerly rubbing it.

Soda shakes his head, his bandage still on, crumbs of Ritz falling down his lips. "Least I hope so Cathy. The kid is so damn good, I'm beginnin' to doubt he's mine," the crumbs fall into the socks he's got wrapped around his wrists as bandages.

"Hmm," Mary with Hazer in her lap snatches the box of Ritz from Soda's hands, "like Daddy, not like son, huh babes?" Soda's head rolls back into a laugh.

I smile, but I can't help but feel an unease poking out from the edge of tight lips. There's more genuine warmth hugged around that one tease than anything Aimee and I have shared in months. But I play the good host even as I am failing in being the good husband (was I ever?) and laugh. Ex-husband. Soon to be ex-husband. Extremely Ex-Husband.

"I want to see the dogs, can I see the dogs? Where are they?" Tommy asks someone, Daphne I think.

I wonder how long I keep up the charade. I look at Aimee to see how she's faring and she and Karen are talking away, I can tell Karen is talking about tennis because that's the only time I see my niece getting that enthusiastic.

"Oops, sorry Mom," Karen says with a giggle when the demonstration of her backhand knocks her knuckles right into Cathy's breast.

"And to think I got an infection trying to nurse you," Cathy says with a smirk and an affectionate brush of Karen's hair. When was Cathy ever this easy going? Or funny? But she always was. There are times when I find myself starting to tell Cathy about this girl I dated in high school, before I stop and realize, I'm talking about her.

"Do you got an infection?" Daffy pipes up. "Me and Paige are doctors, we can fix it."

"Shut up, you're embarrassing me," Paige says, her ears turning slightly pink.

"No honey, I'm fine," Cathy says quickly to Daffy who is trying to do a headstand and not paying any attention.

"Paige," Aimee and I both scold in unison.

"I'm sorry Daphne," her voice is sincere. She turns to Billy who is giving Hunt a hard belly rub, "Do you want play Parcheesi or I have Uno?" Poor Billy stammers, trying to get out it. I can't blame him. My daughter really isn't a fan of the whole 'lose with dignity' concept.

"Play with her," Darry orders his son.

I turn back to Mary.

"Aww come on Mare, Soda's a Prince. Prince at cheatin' at cards, Prince at fightin'…" Corny joke aside, I feel relieved that right now no one, not even Soda, can tell what's really going on with me. Maybe I can make it through this day.

Soda gasps in mock horror and reaches behind him for Hazer's ears, tickling them.

"Cover ya ears my darlin'! They be spreadin' a heap of lies bout your Daddy, girl!" He sounds exactly like Dad did when he did impressions of our Ozark relatives. Hazer actually lets out a laugh, which makes all of us crack up, Mary and Soda, the loudest. Mary and Soda, with Hazer sitting on Mary's lap between them, laugh in different octaves; Mary's laugh like sandpaper, Soda's soft and gentle. But they laugh in perfect harmony.

Cathy pulls Aimee close to her, "does that baby have on a petticoat?" They look over at Hazer who can barely sit up on her mother's lap with the weight of lace billowing from her.

Aimee nods and chuckles, "with little hearts on it and earrings, those PEARL earrings," she coos, bringing her hand up to her heart. Her voice is easy and genuine. How the hell does she do this?

"I just can't," Cathy shakes her head smiling, "that baby is too precious."

Darry gives me a pat on the back and a mammoth grin, "hey better watch it, looking at babies is all it took to get Cathy pregnant. Watch out or the next thing ya know you have a third kid on the way."

The emptiness of my chuckle echoes through me. Oh believe me Darry that ain't happening.

Aimee is standing up and bouncing Hazer up and down. Cathy whispers something to her and for a brief second there's a look of shock in her eyes before going back soft smile. She really does have a nice smile. I've forgotten.


I'm fairly decent around the grill, but I was pleasantly surprised at how well everything turned out. It was hard looking into those flames and not be grabbed with desire for a smoke.

Conversations run around me all throughout lunch and I struggle to catch up, to play the good host, good brother that I'm supposed to be.

"We're putting a new layer on the deck when we get home, Dad's gonna let me use his power tools." Darry looks at Billy with an incredulous stare.

"Yeah, Daddy's gonna let me use them too." Tommy says proudly.

"Oh am I now?" Darry playfully flicks the back of Tommy's head.

"Have a charity you want us to donate in your memory in lieu of flowers?" Mary asks Darry with a laugh.

"Might as well take advantage of free labor."

"Arbeit macht frei!" C.D. shouts in an exaggerated German accent.

"That is so inappropriate C.D, that's what the Nazis said," Karen gasps and inhales a fly on her in breath.

"Who are Not Sees?" my youngest asks. C.D. too busy laughing at his sister, thankfully, ignores her.

"Danke Schoen, Karen Ilse Koch!" and Karen rolls her eyes, gulps down half a glass of lemonade. Oblivious to that her brother has just referred to her as an infamous Nazi war criminal. He mispronounces the last name.

Billy snorts a low laugh that turns his cheeks pink. "Cock" he mutters under his breath and laughs again, a bit of snot escaping from his nostril. I look to see if my girls heard what he said, but Paige's head is deep in Superfudge and Daphne is deconstructing my one claim to culinary fame-the potato salad.

"C.D. swore" Tommy pipes up again. Karen and even Billy roll their eyes at him. Tommy slips Rex a small piece of apple pie as Rex nuzzles into him. "You're a good boy! A very good boy," Tommy gushes and for a brief second, as one youngest to another, I can't help but identify with his loneliness. I tell myself that I should make an effort to spend time with my youngest nephew.

"He likes you," I say to Tommy, pointing at Rex, patiently resting his nose on Tommy's thigh. What I don't add is that Rex would like Ilse Koch if she came bearing food.

Tommy ignores me and lets out a huge burp and laughs so hard, for a brief second it looks like he's going into convulsions, which makes Billy and Daphne laugh and Rex to jump up and run around the yard.

"That was a good one buddy," Soda praises. Darry gives Soda a glare which is only met with a shrug. Tommy beams at Soda.

"Thomas," Darry's voice is firm, but I can see the sides of his lips twinkle into a smile. Tommy's a real cute kid, he looks like someone who should be in a commercial for Life cereal. Tommy,unlike his eldest brother is smart enough to know when he's licked and apologizes.

"That's disgusting," Karen shakes her head and runs her fingers through her hair.

"Karen..." Cathy's voice is a warning.

Karen shrugs her shoulders, "what? It IS."

"You were the one who ate a fly," C.D. retorts and to my surprise it's Billy who starts softly singing, "I don't know why she swallowed a fly-perhaps she'll die!"

But no one hears Billy because my daughter shouts in a loud voice. "I know a lot of swears, mostly from Daddy." Daffy very helpfully added to our conversation. Everyone, except Aimee, laughs.

"I did not Kapo!" C.D. says in spiteful tone to his youngest brother. I'm guessing he's reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich right now.

Paige doesn't say anything, too engrossed in her book. I lean and give her a kiss on top of her head. "You doing okay, baby?" Her eyes dart across the page and she gives me a half nod.

"Can we not talk about this at a FAMILY dinner?" Cathy scowls at her two oldest. But I want to them to go on, it's a distraction.

Aimee brings out the apple pies and Daphne leans into her slice and begins licking it before biting into it.

"Daphne Michelle, what the he…heck are you doing?"

In a tiny voice her fingers clawed up in front of her face, she speaks, "I'm not Daphne, I'm a little itty bitty kitty cat. MEOW!"

Soda and Darry are trying not to laugh, even while Darry takes the Redi Whip away from C.D., his entire slice drenched.

"I hope there's enough for the rest of us," Karen mutters under her breath.

"You want some of mine?" Billy takes his fork and scrapes the whipped cream off his pie.

"No you're not, you're a little girl, eat with a fork or don't eat at all." I say in the most patient voice I can muster. Darry gives me a smirk and I'm sure he's remembering some dinner from long ago when I did the exact same thing. Hopefully I wasn't fourteen.

Aimee, who is handing Karen a napkin shakes her head at me, "Pony, really, who cares? Let her be," her tone is all bite. Everyone is looking at Aimee and then at me. Aimee rarely loses her cool in public and if it were Mary or even Cathy, the moment would go by unremarked. But since it's sweet, never loses her temper (yeah right) Aimee you'd think she cold-cocked baby Hazer from everyone's reaction. My jaw locks.

I'm not about to get into an argument, not now, not here.

Daphne sticks her tongue in her lemonade, lapping it up like a cat.

I grab the cup and place my hand on her shoulder, "don't," and try to give Aimee a dirty look, but she and Mary are talking in conspiratorial whispers, going on about who slept with who in Fleetwood Mac. Daphne continues to lick the ice cubes in her glass.

I take a huge heap full of apple pie and stuff my mouth.

"This pie is delicious," Mary says between bites, "who made it?"

"Sara Lee." I say tersely, "you want to thank anyone for this pie? Thank Miss. Sara Lee." I pick up my napkin and wipe my youngest daughter's chin.

What I wouldn't give to engulf my lungs in flames.


The kids, except Hazer, are outside.

We're back in my living room, the six of us. It's easy to tell which husband and wife belong to each other.

Soda's sitting on the floor. His legs stretched in front of him and his toes wrap around the leg of our parents' coffee table. His socks are wrapped around his wrists.

He's casually holding his daughter above his head with one arm. Hazer has brown hair and dark brown eyes. She doesn't look at all like Soda, except when she flashes a rare gummy grin.

Thing is, her smile is nothing like my brother's it has a grave set to it, Whistler's Mother without the whistle. That only cracks us up even more, only Soda and Mary would escape the cocaine polyester excess of the 1970s to find themselves parents of that most auspicious of figures, the American Puritan.

He pulls her down to his knee and bounces her up and down, every so often injecting himself into the conversation, looking at us and grinning. And it's back. His grin is back.

But one eye is always on his kid. And his eyes are more serious, more somber, more sensitive and without a doubt, more jaded and merciless than the eyes that raised me.

Mary is reclining on the arm chair; her bare feet are on one end, her head resting against the other. Mary is still all skin and bones even after giving birth to their daughter. Every now and then she flashes Hazer a grin. Her grin has an edge to it.

I used to think her grin was a bit unnerving. It reminded me of Sylvia, Angela, even Steve, smiles doubled as carving knives ready to for the kill.

But Hazer doesn't seem to care, if anything her eyes brighten up even more when she sees her mama smiling at her.

Mary has on 3 necklaces. A silver cross, a long one made out of turquoise beads and another plain gold chain. She has on blue hoop earrings. I wonder how she manages to wear the dangling pieces of jewelry with a baby around. When Paige and Daphne were that age they grabbed and pulled at everything on sight.

They look casual and relaxed, comfortable, but in their own little world with Patrick and now Hazer at the center of it.

Darry and Cathy are sitting on the 'nice' couch, the couch Aimee's mom gifted to us for our last (and now really last) wedding anniversary. The couch is brown leather, with a reclining seat.

Darry and Cathy look like the power couple they are. In contrast to Soda and Mary, Mary is now draping her legs across Soda's midsection while Soda pretends to take a bite out of her leg; Darry and Cathy are sitting straight up on the couch. They both have perfect posture, but if you look down you can see their feet wrap around each other, how Cathy's toes curl into his.

They hold hands.

Then there's the purple couch. The couch we got from Randy as a wedding gift. He dumpster dived to pull it up for us. We keep it for sentimental reasons than for anything else. I hadn't thought about the furniture. How we're going to divide it. I don't care, furniture, even the house, that doesn't matter to me. All that I care about are my daughters.

Aimee and I sit down, we don't touch.

"I can't believe Rock Hudson has AIDS" Cathy says out of nowhere, "honestly, I had no idea that he was even a homosexual, I should have, the cute ones always are."

Mary looks at Cathy like she's growing another head. "Really, Cat? You're kidding me? You didn't know? Doris Day was his beard." A while ago this would have been the point of awkward tension between them, but now they laugh and go over the list of Hollywood actors who may or may not be gay.

"It's okay Cathy, our grandma thought Liberace was just on the cusp of finding a nice young girl to marry," Darry chortles.

She gives him a playful slap, "not helping! Even I know that!"

"It's fucking sick how people with AIDS are treated. It's bad enough people are dying, but they're being treated like leapers. The government don't give a shit. You don't think that if we all got sick they wouldn't be putting money into research and trying to find a cure? But 'cause it's happening to gay men and junkies, everyone looks the other way."

I'm taken aback. I never expected a speech this passionate or political from Mary, who thought Nixon's first name was, for whatever reason, Charles. But I know Mary has a lot of gay friends. I never thought about it, I guess never had a reason. Here's the kick in the pants. No matter how miserable you are, no matter how much your life sucks, there's always someone else who is worst off.

"We were junkies," Soda said softly and I notice, though I don't think he did this consciously, he's covering Hazer's ears.

Mary shakes her head, "it's not the same. You know what; I wouldn't be surprised if the CIA had something to do with it, that's what my friend thinks." From the tone of her voice, I can tell Mary believes it too.

"The CIA? That doesn't make any sense. I get the impetus behind it, when bad things happen people need to assign blame, to make sense of the devastation, to regain a sense of control. But just because something is horrible, doesn't mean there's a conspiracy behind it. Sometimes bad things happen, and it's no one's fault, it..." Cathy breaks in, her voice resolute and firm, but polite. I give her a small grin, but Soda is speaking over her and back at Mary.

"Mm, Tulip, now that's a fellow who don't got a screw loose." Soda spins his finger on the side of his head.

My brother turns to Cathy. "Aww, shit darlin' I'm sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?"

Cathy didn't seem upset, "no, I was done."

Soda bites his bottom lip like a guilty child, "are you sure? Cause I do want to hear what you have to say."

"Be careful what you wish for," Darry deadpans. But the look between him and Cathy is drenched in love.

"Don't forget Haitians and Hemophiliacs," Aimee adds.

"What honey? You're right. I forgot about the Haitians and Hemophiliacs. That's right. And Tulip don't got a screw loose, Soda."

Mary shakes her head goes on to tell us about a teacher she read about who was fired from his job.

Darry, who is doing an impressive job of staying quiet, shifts uncomfortably in his seat, "I don't know, I mean, I don't think we should discriminate, but teaching is different. I wouldn't feel comfortable with someone with AIDS teaching my kid, they say you can't get it through casual contact, but until we know for sure, I'm not there yet and…" his voice takes on a surer tone, "I'm never gonna be. Not when it comes to my kids."

Mary is glaring at Darry. Soda has a bated smirk on his lips, waiting for all hell to break loose.

Darry lifts up his hands, a wine glass in the left one, in half surrender, "and it's got nothing to do with being homosexual …"

Mary sits Hazer down on a blanket, takes out powder, wipes and a diaper from the bag and changes her on the middle of the floor; lying flat on the floor with Hazer and tickling her, she hands Soda the diaper. "You're getting the next one babe," and from her tone I wouldn't want to be Soda if he didn't change the next diaper.

Tommy walks in and plugs his nose, then with his shirt lifted to cover his nose, begins to speak, "Uncle Pony, Aunt Aimee, Daffy threw up."

Aimee and I stand up from the couch at the exact moment and rush out to our daughter.

"She okay?" Soda asks with concern as Aimee walks past him to take Daphne to a bathroom to clean up. I nod, apparently she was eating worms. And the sentence doesn't make any more sense saying it out loud.

"I'm worried about Patrick," Soda says quietly. He pauses, and pulls a frayed string from his ankle and around his finger, a bit too tight. "He's a real good kid, and that's kinda what scares me. He's gone through so much in his life, but he keeps everything so bottled up, ya know?"

Patrick had some trouble adjusting when he first met his dad, the fact that his mother was suffering from severe depression at the time, made it worse. But Patrick is great, he's polite and in my eyes, has it as together as you can expect from a 17 year old kid, never mind someone who survived what he did. But looking at Soda, now I'm worried that I missed something. Wouldn't be the first time.

Darry looks concerned but shakes his head, "he's a strong kid Soda and he knows he can go to you with anything."

Soda isn't pacified, "I ain't sure. It's funny, I was so worried about him turnin' out like me, and now that he's the opposite, I'm worried even more." Soda laughs a dry, empty laugh devoid of any humor. Mary rubs the back of his neck.

Soda kisses Hazer's head and I can actually feel him become calmer. The baby really does soothe him. As much as I'm truly happy my brother has his kids, for their sake, I hope they never know how much their dad needs them. It's too much for a child to take in. Then I think what Aimee and I are doing to our children and I have no other place to look but down.

"We're taking a road trip," Mary bursts out into the heavy silence.

"When?"

"Leaving in about a week. I just need some time with my son, away from his mom and Tulsa. Show him our old stompin' grounds, do whatever I can to snatch him outta this." Soda wrings his hands together and the string is wrapped so tight around his finger.

"You really think Patrick's depressed?" Cathy's look hoovers between disbelief and concern.

Soda shakes his head as if whipping the thought out of his mind, "not like Anna, I mean, thank God it ain't that bad. But I don't ever want him to get to that point. That's why I'm doin' this, to prevent my son from turning out like us. We took him to a therapist, you know, when he was a kid. I'm thinking about taking him back, but thing is, I don't really know what's going on with him, or if there's anything wrong. But I just feel it."

I notice Aimee isn't saying anything. She's pretty quiet even when she's comfortable, but I wonder what she sees when she looks at the five of us? I move over to sit closer to her, even as I'm not sure why.

"He's dating Angela's daughter, right?" asks Cathy who at this point is slightly tipsy.

"Crystal, she's such a sweetie," Mary says and I can tell that she probably already has their wedding planned out. "She's good for him."

"He's good for her too," Soda's voice is defensive.

"Is Tim still in prison?" I add just to say something. Who gives a fuck.

Soda shakes his head, "nah, he's out. I've seen him 'round town a few times, he seems to be staying on the straight and narrow, says his PO is a pain in his ass though."

Cathy, who is clearly having way more fun than the rest of us put together, rolls her eyes, "yeah, if I was a pain, that's just where I'd want to spend my time, in Tim Shepard's ass." That's the first time I heard her say the word ass. I let out a low, hysterical snort.

"Nazis, AIDS and the contents of Tim Shepard's ass, we really do know how to have a good time," Cathy says dryly. That made me laugh, the first genuine laugh since I was watching Paige and Daphne operate on Soda. "Anyone got any other inspiring topics to talk about?"

Divorce, Cathy, we could talk about divorce.


The kids are back and I don't know if it's her children or the wine wearing off, but Cathy is back in mom mode. I feel a shadow follow me into the kitchen and at first I think it's Aimee, but it's Cathy. She looks at me with concern.
"Pony, this isn't any of my business, but are you okay?"

Maybe it's because I've been holding so much in myself and need to let it go, or maybe it's cause I'm an asshole. I don't care. But I move in closer to my sister-in-law, and whisper in her ear, "Aimee and I are getting a divorce. No one knows, not even the girls." The moment I mention the word 'girls' I feel bile run up my throat; I quickly swallow it back down. Aimee and I promised each other we wouldn't tell anyone about the divorce until we told Paige and Daphne. Just one more way I let everyone, myself included, down.

But Cathy just isn't anyone. I've known her since I was fifteen.

Her eyes grow wide her mouth drops open into an audible gasp, but because this is Cathy it takes only a split second for her to regain her composure.
"Ponyboy, I'm so sorry." Then her eyes widen, "oh my gosh, I actually teased Aimee about you two having another kid." She turns pale.

I give her a slight shrug, "you and my brother both."

"Really?" She looks mortified.

"Yeah," my voice turns urgent, "but you can't tell anyone, okay?"

She nods with the sincerity of a Girl Scout earning her badge for trustworthiness, "of course." And I take a sigh, of course I can trust Cathy.

"And Pony? I really am sorry." When I look at her face, and into her compassion and empathy, I know she means it. That's Cathy. I'm about to turn around when I feel her fingers press into my forearm, "do you need an attorney? Cause Darry and I would be happy to help you find a good one." That's also Cathy.

Everyone is gone and Aimee looks over at me, "I don't know how we're going to tell everyone." What's left unsaid is thickens the air. Neither one of us know how we're going to tell Daphne and Paige. Guilt races through me and for a split second I'm reliving the goodbyes, hoping that Aimee didn't pick up on the way Cathy hugged the girls, and her, longer than normal. The one thing I promised Aimee. The last thing I promised her as her husband, and I couldn't keep it.

"We'll get through it, we have no choice."

How did this happen to us?


The girls didn't forget about our appointment. We're lying on the floor, my toes touching one of Daphne's Barbies.

"What's up Docs?" I say in a piss poor impression of Bugs Bunny when my girls enter the room. They laugh anyway.

"You need heart transplants," Paige's voice is somber.

"I'm relieved we have such dedicated and experienced doctors on the case," Aimee says gravely.

"Hold hands," Daphne orders, "or else it won't work."

We pause, hesitate for half a second.

I feel her hand in mine. I feel her pulse. I feel her squeeze my hand. I squeeze back.

I don't know who I'm going to be without her. Who am I when my soul doesn't belong to me?

Paige flips through her dictionary. "You've been diagnosed with 'cardianesthesia', she sounds out the word. "An absence of sensation in the heart."

"What does that mean?" Daphne asks while pulling out a wedgie.

"It means they can't feel anything. But first I need you to confirm, Dr. Daphne."

"Aye Aye Dr. Paige," Daphne takes her stethoscope and leans over Aimee and then over me.

"Nope there's nothing there."

And maybe there never was.


Hoo Boy. Ugh. I'm so sorry. But thank you for reading, I really do appreciate it.