Jack, meanwhile, was sitting by himself in the air-conditioned resort bar, having a Coors. He’d just reached that state of inebriation where he felt happiness – there was no other word for it – pouring in. He was revisiting the best parts of his life. That big European prize one of his authors won, and Jack had taken the stage too and bowed, and everyone had applauded. Lizbeth’s alabaster shoulders, when she’d worn that green silk dress and moved into his arms to the tune of ‘Moonlight Serenade’. Walking in to Paul Elder’s Books with Milly (when she’d been Billie), on the corner of Sutter and Stockton on Valentine’s Day. Choosing Catcher in the Rye by Salinger and then drinking cocktails in Vesuvio Café. He remembered wanting to ask her to marry him, and then drawing a love heart with their initials on the fly leaf instead. Not even telling her it was there – just giving her the book later. It was only their second date, after all. He had liked himself so much then. Several epiphanies hovered just outside these memories, close enough for him to taste them. Ah, wisdom! Acceptance of imperfection! Clarity! Life was good. He was about to order another beer, when the screen door slammed open.
‘Hey, Dad.’ August slumped on to the stool next to his father.
Jack’s epiphanies evaporated and he sighed. The barmaid brought two Coors without being asked.
‘Augie, how could you screw up your marriage so quickly?’
‘Yeah, well. That’s what I like about you. Always good for small talk.’
‘Bullshit. I don’t know what’s wrong with you kids. Seems like you’re all…marital wimps.’
‘How about Billy and Maria? They just celebrated their tenth anniversary.’
‘Ten years! That’s nothing. Amateurs. What was so wrong with whatsherface?’
‘Nada. It’s me. Guess I’m a screw up,’ he said, looking up and smiling like a child who had just been caught eating the frosting off an uncut birthday cake. Then softly, ‘I know, I know. She’s nice. A good mom. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t mess around with other men. Has a great job.’
‘You seemed okay. Happy. What happened?’
‘Nothing really. Well, some stuff happened, okay? But mainly just the same old story as everyone else. The old cliché. You know. And I got busted.’
‘Jesus,’ said Jack. ‘That’s just plain dumb.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Dad, you can talk.’
‘Why’d you have to go and get caught? At least I never got caught.’
‘Liar.’
‘Well, okay, obviously, me and your mother. But at least I married someone who could forgive a little…peccadillo.’
‘Thanks. Peccadillo. Love to hear my entire existence summed up that way. Anyway, did you marry someone who could forgive?’
‘She’s still here.’
‘Like she had a choice, Dad.’
‘That’s mean.’
‘Sorry.’ Beer drinking pause. ‘What would you do if she ever stepped out?’
‘What?’
‘If Milly ever found someone else. Fell in love with someone else.’
‘As if!’
‘What, you don’t think other men have been attracted to her? Your wife is gorgeous.’
Another beer drinking pause.
‘She did, actually, step out once. Or wanted to, anyway. I don’t actually know.’
‘Seriously? No! Seriously?’
‘She’s human. She met some guy at college. He was in a wheelchair, believe it or not.’
‘You saying crippled people aren’t attractive?’
‘Give me a break. Anyway, we’d been married a long time. I hated it, but it didn’t mean the end. In fact, when the day came I realised it was over, I felt so sorry for her I took her to Monterey for a weekend. Without the kids. It was like a second honeymoon. Or a better first one.’
‘Well, you know what I think? I think you are pretty damn lucky she’s still with you. No offence, Dad, but you are kind of a dick.’
Another pause while they both drank beer, and watched the barmaid. Jack turned to his son with a smirk. August frowned, then they both laughed in their usual way. Loud, helpless, irreverent laughter, drawing looks from others in the bar. Then a winding down.
‘Anyway, you’re the one with another divorce on your hands, Augie. Me and Milly are still together.’
‘Whoop-de-doo for you.’
Jack swigged more beer. ‘You think I’m happy?’
August sighed, looking suddenly about twelve.
‘Oh crap, August. I never liked whatsherface that much anyway. Kinda cold, wasn’t she? Super efficient.’
‘Not really. Why can’t you ever remember her name? It’s insulting.’
‘It’s not going to be easy now, Augie. You realise your new girlfriend’s going to drive you insane too. Probably within six months. Insane. There’ll be some little thing, like the way she starts to wear her hair, or some expression she gets when she’s pissed off at you, or the way she votes. Then it’ll be over. This phase, gone. Never get it back, that way you feel at the beginning. But you’ve got to hang in there anyway, because what’s the alternative? New wife every five years? You listening to me?’
