Chapter 37

Unspeakable

2007

Only twenty minutes to go. Ed could not decide if time was moving much too slowly or much too quickly. It had been a three-year wait for a day he had almost given up on seeing come to fruition. Now that it was finally here, however, Ed realized just how utterly unprepared he was. He was in the living room, sitting on an antique sofa that was soft from wear rather than by design, checking his watch as discreetly as possible every couple of minutes. Millicent was by his side, having lit on the sofa's edge after apparently growing tired of pacing. Here the two had made small talk about people they knew, families other than theirs, and how those people had decided to spend the holiday today, but their feeble attempt at conversation died shortly after beginning. A shame since he was normally so good at saying a whole lot about nothing. He suspected Millie had grown quiet for the same reason he had. Today held a ton of potential, and everyone else's Thanksgiving was irrelevant when stacked against what this one dinner could mean for the Crosswires as a family.

For a split second, Ed thought about breaking the ice. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. He could just turn to her and say them. I'm scared. Just go for it. Maybe she would reassure him, remind him that he was a gifted speaker, that he would be able to use that gift to make everything fine, that he had done it so many times before. His record was not perfect, though, and that gave him reason to worry. Try as you might, you could not make everyone like you. Frank Snyder had taught him that. He looked at his wife, who stared ahead. His right knee was clutched in her death grip while she fidgeted with the yellow diamond teardrop pendant he had gifted her for this occasion, and he knew he could not pile this on top of everything that was likely going through her head. It was his job to reassure her, not the other way around. His father's voice was as clear as a bell in his memory: "Man up, Edna." He needed to. This was his mess, after all. Millie had evidently felt his stare, for she blinked hard and turned to look at him. Ed offered his hand to her and gave hers a comforting squeeze when she took it. In a voice that was soft yet confident, he told her, "Everything's gonna be great, baby. You look lovely, by the way."

She did look lovely. The necklace complemented the bateau dress she wore in a shade of "frosted chrysanthemum brown", as she had described it to him earlier that week. Ed was clad in brown, too, both his cardigan and his tie, but he was not sure which shade they were. Somewhere between chocolate and rusty red, maybe. All he knew was that Millie approved, and that was fine by him. All Crosswires were to dress in fall colors for Thanksgiving dinner. That had been her mandate ever since their first Thanksgiving together. She said her family had done it for as long as she could remember, and color coordination just made for better holiday photos. He was about to ask her what shade of brown she would consider his clothes when a delighted squeal carried from the second-floor landing.

"He's here!"

Ed swallowed a pain-filled grunt. Millie had dug her nails into his hand upon hearing their daughter shout. She shot up from her seat to stand rigidly, never letting go, dragging Ed along with her. They shared a look.

"He's here." they said in unison.

Ed checked his watch again. Eighteen minutes early. Could they take that as a good sign?

"He's here!" Muffy cried again.

Muffy had been in her room most of the afternoon. She claimed to be taking her time as she got ready for the big day. Ed believed that was at least partly true. Muffy always wanted everything to be just right, which reminded him so much of her mother. Of course she would spend a lot of time on her appearance. But since the pop music that usually wafted from behind her closed door had been turned off for the past half hour or so, he suspected that she just might be staring out the window, waiting for their guest to show up. Just a hunch, but he would not be surprised. She had missed him something awful these past couple of years. Her voice was growing closer and closer.

"Mom! Daddy! Bailey! He's here!"

A series of quick, slapping footsteps echoed in the foyer, and the next thing Ed knew, Muffy skidded on the newly-waxed floor, coming to a halt in front of the living room archway, her garnet dress trailing behind her, her eyes brighter than the lights on a Christmas tree.

"Chip is here!" she said breathlessly.

The plan had been to greet Chip in the foyer as a family, only he was not due to arrive yet. Thanksgiving at the Crosswires had always been a multi-course feast that began promptly at four in the afternoon. Chip had caught them off guard. Muffy had barely gotten the words out when Ed heard a car door slamming right outside the front entrance, where Chip had decided to park. Ed and Millicent joined Muffy in the archway in time to see Chip enter by himself, stuffing car keys into his coat pocket, closing the door behind himself with his foot. Ed glimpsed a small black sedan at the foot of the front steps before it shut completely. The car was a far cry from the Porsche he had once leased for his son, but it was clean and looked well taken care of. Chip froze when he saw them staring. After a moment or two, he offered them a simple, neutral, "Hey."

"You're here!" said Muffy.

She ran to her brother, not stopping until she crashed into him, hugging him.

"Hey, Muffler. Wow, you've gotten a lot taller."

Millicent was next up, enveloping Chip in a tight embrace, looking as if she never wanted to let him go. Ed remained in the archway. There was no way he could walk up to Chip and give him a hug after three years, not after the way they had left things, not after his son had disappeared on purpose. But this was the first time he had seen his son since that afternoon on the front lawn of his fraternity house. Remaining silent was not an option either.

"Um, how was the drive?" he asked once Chip and Millie had parted, and his stomach knotted just a little when Chip did not answer. Maybe he had not heard him. He tried raising his voice. "How was your drive? Eleven hours and change…must be a doozy."

Millie shifted her eyes nervously toward Ed before taking mercy on him and coming to his aid.

"That is such a long trip, sweetheart," she said to Chip. "Aren't you tired?"

Chip shrugged. "Not really. I've worked sixteen-hour days before. Driving for twelve is a breeze."

Muffy looked at Chip as if he had just said something incomprehensible. Millie balked, then, "Oh, my…I hope you aren't pushing yourself too much."

"Eh, I do what it takes," was Chip's blunt reply.

Hurried footfalls were coming from the kitchen.

"Terribly sorry, Sir, Madam," said Bailey dutifully, breezing into the foyer. "I was in the middle of removing the turkey from the oven so that it may rest. Ah, Master Chip! Welcome home."

Even the butler looked pleased to see Chip as he walked past Ed to greet him.

"Please, allow me to take your coat."

"Hey, Bailey. Uh, yeah. Okay."

The shock that appeared on Millie's face was almost instantaneous. Even Bailey had noticed right away. Underneath his thick black coat, Chip was wearing a dark blue sweater, a clear contrast to the family's fall-themed outfits. Ed wondered if the color choice had been on purpose. Chip seemed oblivious to his faux pas. Or maybe he did not care.

"So wonderful to see all Crosswires under one roof again," Bailey added, effortlessly breaking the awkward silence in his usual, well-mannered way. "Do make yourselves comfortable in the living room. Aperitifs shall be served in five minutes."

True to his word, Bailey had served three glasses of vermouth to the adults and a single spiced cranberry juice and soda for Muffy, right on time. Chip never touched his drink, not even once. Rather, he placed it on the coffee table, just off the cocktail napkin and never mind a coaster, where it sat, ice melting away. Millie and Muffy bombarded Chip with questions as the trio huddled together on one sofa. Ed sat alone on the opposite sofa, looking for an opportunity to get a word in. Every time he managed to come up with a good topic, his wife or his daughter would beat him to the punch. It was a very long hour before Bailey at last announced dinner. As they filed out of the living room, with Ed and Millicent leading the way, Ed heard Chip mutter to Muffy behind them, "Hey, didn't this room used to have a lot more stuff?"

He was referring to the vast and eclectic collection of valuable antiques and artworks that adorned the living room. Of course the room would look a lot different to Chip now. Several once-beloved pieces were now missing.

"Oh, Daddy sold a few pieces a couple of years ago," said Muffy, "and then he donated some others. Right, Daddy?"

"Um, that's right, sweetums," he said over his shoulder, though he and Millie exchanged a nervous glance.

Ed knew dinner had gotten off to a bumpy start when he saw Chip spit his wine back into his glass and make a disgusted face. "Oh my god," he said gruffly.

"What's wrong, honey?" said Millie.

"This wine is ass," Chip said, giving the glass a sniff.

"Chip, please," she said in a hushed and appalled voice even though everyone could hear her, "not in front of your little sister."

Chip looked across the table at Muffy and asked, "How old are you now, Muff?"

"Uh, twelve," said Muffy, looking uncertain as to whether she should answer.

"She's heard way worse," Chip said to his mother, "trust me."

On another day, in another time, Ed would have reminded his son that such language had no place at a Thanksgiving dinner table, and copping an attitude with his mother was never acceptable. But a lot was riding on today, and he looked to his wife, who appeared defeated on the matter, drawing a calming breath instead and plodding on, and he decided to follow her lead.

"What do you mean the wine is bad?" she said. "This is a Viognier from Northern Rhône. Marcel Leduc gave it a glowing recommendation."

"Maybe, but it's corked. Can't you taste it? It's subtle, but it's there. Nasty."

Ed and Millie both sniffed their glasses. He could not smell anything, but he went on to taste the wine, trying to hone in on whatever Chip had detected, while Millie called for Bailey, who promptly removed the sullied bottle and their glasses. Bailey promised he would decant and test another bottle as quickly as possible. Dinner went on. A suitable bottle of Millie's coveted Viognier was served, everyone began enjoying their meal, and conversation eventually picked up again. Ed was not listening so much as he was waiting for an opportunity to jump in. When things hit a lull, he took a chance.

"So, Chipster, do you meet any interesting folks at work?"

Chip looked up from his plate to stare at him for a few seconds, not bothering to close his mouth while he chewed, before turning his attention back to his food.

"Oooh, yes!" Muffy said, and Ed could have sworn his daughter was making an effort to stay casual. "I've read that Atlanta has a big music scene, and thanks to a twenty-percent tax credit, Georgia as a whole is a budding hot spot for all sorts of Hollywood productions. Do any celebrities visit your restaurant?"

"Sometimes," Chip said to her, "but I don't always recognize them. "Jane Fonda is a semi-regular. I've seen Elton John once…oh, and last weekend 50 Cent was there, and his entourage got into a brawl with some Kanye loyalists. It happened outside in front of the valet station, so I didn't see it. Heard it was pretty insane, though."

"Goodness," said Millie. "Well, now that you're in town, do you have any plans?"

Chip laughed. "Yeah, Mom. My plan is to go back to my hotel room and crash for a couple of hours before I hit the road. My job awaits. Money doesn't make itself."

"I hear that," said Ed.

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"Just saying," he stammered, "if you want it, you have to stay after it. That's what I did."

Chip put down his fork and stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. "I think I'll turn in early," he said.

Millie grabbed Chip's hand as if she were trying to prevent a kite from flying away. "But, dear, we haven't served dessert yet."

"I know, but I should probably take all the sleep I can get." He bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek before heading out of the dining room, nearly colliding with Bailey as he exited. "I'll call you, okay? Love you, Mom, Muff. Bailey, it's been real."

"Allow me to fetch your coat, Master—"

"Don't worry about it. I know where it is."

Ed did not have to turn to Millie to know she was giving him a pleading look. Not knowing what exactly he was going to do, he left the table in pursuit of his son. The evening had not gone well at all, but he had promised Millie it would be great. He had to do his best to salvage the evening, to maintain their years of effort and ensure things would not get as bad as they had before. A severely-warped Ping Anser putter was still stored somewhere in the garage, a reminder of just how bad things had gotten. It had been his father's prized putter, and Ed had never been able to throw it out after the terrible abuse that had befallen it. No, never again. He promised Millie. Chip's shoulders sagged the moment he realized who was following him to the coat closet.

"It's great you've finally decided to come up for holidays again," Ed said in a voice as warm as he could manage.

At this, Chip said nothing. He simply opened the closet and began searching for his coat, as if Ed was not even there.

"You, uh, you made your mother happy, that's for sure."

Chip was pulling his coat on now.

"And Muffy's been over the moon. You're all she's talked about for the past couple of weeks."

Chip zipped up his coat and looked to be feeling around in his pocket for his keys.

"So…can we expect you for Christmas? If you're coming up, probably best you let your mom know now, eh? So she can prepare for it, you know. Right around the corner, after all. But hey, maybe you don't know what your schedule's gonna be that far in advance. If you can't confirm until last minute, that's probably fine, too. Or…or I'm sure she'd be willing to move things around if you can't make it on Christmas Day…."

Chip brushed past him, on his way toward the door. Ed could not take it any longer, and he threw out a desperate plea.

"Chip, wait. Please? It's been—what—three years, and you have nothing to say to me? Nothing at all?"

To his surprise, Chip stopped, and the look he gave his father upon turning around was one of sheer astonishment.

"Don't you remember?" he said.

"Yes?" said Ed. "No. Remember what?"

"Before you left Omega Psi Phi? How you told me I…the very last thing you told me? That. I'm just acting accordingly, big guy."

Oh. That. Ed remembered what he had told Chip. Clearly, Chip had not forgotten either. How could either of them forget, really? It took a moment for Ed to make the connection between the final threat he had made that day, the only time in his life he had ever screamed at one of his kids, and the silent treatment he had received from his son today. He thought he knew what Chip meant by it, but he did not dare ask Chip to confirm his suspicion. The implication alone sent a shiver along Ed's spine that could be felt all the way up to his scalp. As stone-faced as Chip tried to remain, Ed could tell the memory of his words still affected his son to this day. He could not blame Chip for dwelling on them. No one should ever say that to their child. Not ever. Under no circumstance. He needed to say something to Chip right now, not just words, but the right words, words that would turn this whole sorry situation around and make everything better for everyone. But nothing came to him. How was he supposed to right those kinds of wrongs? He had struggled for three years with the answer to that question. He was struggling now, and Chip was gone without another word.

Present day

"What do you think, darling? I want your honest opinion."

Millie had asked Ed to meet her in the dining room on Sunday afternoon, where she had set up a wine tasting for two. The menu was comprised of her shortlist, three competing bottles, and the winner got the honor of being paired with the main course on Thanksgiving. Ed had already done this once. Last night, they had selected a winner from her shortlist of dessert wines. Vino had never been his thing. In Ed's opinion, every option Millie had presented him with tasted almost identical to the others, except for one, which was sweeter, and so it got his vote. He thanked his lucky stars Millie happened to agree. Now he was experiencing the same conundrum, only with two full-bodied whites and one medium-bodied red.

"Well?" she said.

"Um, the first one."

"The Muscadet? Really? I was leaning more toward the Beaujolais."

"Which one is that?"

"The red."

"Well, maybe I didn't give it a fair shot."

Ed picked up the glass for another sip. As he swished, just as Millie had instructed him to do, she asked, "What do you think is wrong?"

He knew Millie well enough to know she was not talking about wine anymore. She was talking about Chip. She had been worrying about Catherine's update and what it might entail since yesterday. A part of Ed wished he had not told his wife until the last minute.

Ed swallowed. "She said it was an update. That doesn't automatically mean something's wrong, Millie. Maybe it's good news."

"Like?"

"I don't know. Muffy said something about Chip's social life? Maybe he has a girlfriend. Maybe he's engaged."

"He had better not be engaged without telling me."

"Here's what I do know," He placed both hands on her shoulders and massaged them slowly, trying to sooth her. "We can trust Catherine. If she says there's no emergency then there's no emergency, baby. Please stop worrying. You know I don't like seeing you all frazzled."

"I'll try," she said. "No promises. I'm a mother."

"I know. And you're absolutely right. The Beaujolais is the ticket."

Millie smiled. "You think so? All right, then. I'll call Marjorie and put in the final order."

"Wonderful," he said as he watched her leave the dining room. "I've got some calls to make myself."

"Just don't get too chatty," she said over her shoulder. "Dinner is in an hour and fifteen, okay?"

Once Millie was gone, Ed ambled to his office and shut the door. He needed to call Luddy and soon, but he could put that off for later. Right now, he needed to make a very different call. He settled into his chair and pulled up the number on his cell.

"Hello?" said the man.

"Bill? It's Ed."

There was a pause.

"Ed, yes. Hi. How are you?"

His voice was weary, and rightly so.

"Never mind me, how are you and Doria holding up? How's Fern doing?"

"Fern is trying to sleep, but she's in a lot of pain, so she looks pretty restless. Dori and I are lucky. Our girl is alive."

"Thank goodness. I was just checking up, seeing if there's anything I can do, but if this is a bad time, I'd be happy to call you back later."

"No, no, now's fine," said Bill. "A funny thing…I was about to give you a call."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Listen."

Ed listened as Bill explained how Fern had trespassed onto Van Houten property and ended up getting hurt there, which was a lot more information than Doria had provided on Facebook.

"About the Van Houtens," Bill continued, "just how worried should we be, exactly?"

Ed sucked in a sharp breath. "Tough to say. They can be a litigious bunch. Martha especially."

Bill sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Oh, well, Fern is so young. And with her injuries, why, they might even take pity on her. You never know. But just in case they don't, I can recommend a good lawyer."

"And I was hoping you'd say that, though I am afraid any lawyer you might know, I won't be able to afford."

"Don't worry, Bill. You've got my word that I'll help however I can. And don't refuse. The only thing I want you and Doria to worry about is getting some rest after such a harrowing night and helping little Fern feel better."

"I—I really appreciate that, Ed. Thanks."

After providing Bill with a name and a couple of phone numbers, Ed hung up with him, wishing he could do more. He did not know why the existing Van Houten generations had allowed their family farm to fall into the sorry state it was now in. Perhaps farming simply was not for them. But why not let it go, sell the land and at least profit from it instead of paying taxes on it every year and terrorizing anyone who dares set foot on the land? It was such a shame that a piece of Elwood City history was going down the tubes and a beautiful plot of land was just sitting there, unused. It was sad how Martha saw the farm as a burden when Ed saw nothing but potential. Only a few seconds passed before he sat bolt upright and dialed Bill again, an electric thrill coursing through him at the prospect of opportunity.

"Bill, hold that call for a day or two, would you?" he said. "I'd like to try talking to Martha myself. Don't worry—I'll never mention I spoke to you. All right? Take care, buddy!"

Ed opened his desk drawer and retrieved his address book from underneath and old and yellowed newspaper, plopped it onto his desk and opened it to the V section. He plugged the number in and waited.

"Martha! Ed Crosswire…Hope things are great there in Lake Tahoe...Yeah.? I'm jealous…Oh, yeah, I heard about what happened at the farm. What a wild night that must've been…Vandalism? That's awful, but thank God the kid was okay, right? That's actually why I'm calling you. I was wondering if you'd like to make lots of money and preserve your family's good name and legacy…What do you have to do? Why, just say 'yes', and I'll take care of everything else."

To be continued…