I didn’t say more. I wasn’t sure what else I could say.
“I’m glad,” she told me. “You looked so upset the last time I saw you.”
She was right about that: the last time she saw me, I was yelling at her husband. But I wasn’t ready to go into that, so I changed the subject: “I’ve been thinking about my grandmother a lot. I never realized how much I’d miss her.”
“I can imagine, honey. If it hurts, don’t feel like you have to say anything.”
“No,” I said, rubbing the corners of my eyes. “It’s not that. I actually like talking about her. But it’s weird, everyone avoids the subject with me.”
Mary smiled with understanding. “I was very close to my grandparents, too. My granddad used to drive me to school every day. He loved to drive, he used to tell me I shouldn’t bother to get a license, that he’d be happy to be my chauffeur forever. I had this suspicion then that he was being sexist, he was of that generation, you know, they had all theseprejudices about women drivers…but now I realize it was the one time a day we were alone together, and he didn’t want it ever to end.”
“Is he…?”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “He died ages ago. He was very old. It’s funny, I realize now I haven’t talked about him in years. The poor guy doesn’t deserve that, he should be commemorated more often, but you know, people get weird when it comes to talking about death.”
“People get weird when it comes to talking about anything serious,” I said. I wondered if that sounded too forward, and I wasn’t exactly sure why I’d said it. I mean, I knew she was avoidingsomething, but even I wasn’t certain what I expected from her.
At any rate, she changed the subject. “How are your parents?”
It was a touchy subject. I stared out the window. “I guess they’re fine. We don’t talk much. It’s OK, though. They do their thing, I do mine.”
“I understand,” she replied. I hated that. I hated how older people always told you they understood everything. And I didn’t want her pity.
“You don’t understand,” I told her.
“But I do. More than you can even imagine. If you’re upset with them, you must have your reasons, but I can promise you, they think about you and they’re worried about you.”
Something snapped in me, and I responded, enraged, “They weren’t worried about me my first year of school, when they kept trying to undermine me so I’d come back home! They weren’t worried about me when I had to go stay with my grandmother because they’d basically stopped talking to me! And they sure as hell weren’t worried about me the day of her funeral, when they decided it was better to kick me out than let Jack stay with me so I could have one single day of peace.”
“I understand.”
“Stop saying you understand!”
I hadn’t wanted that to come out so aggressively, but I couldn’t helpit. She took it well, though. “What I mean is, I understand them. I’m not saying what they did was right—it was wrong, and there’s no justifying it. But being a parent…it’s not what you think it will be. When you’re a child, you take for granted that parents have access to some special wisdom, but they’re just like you. Just as touchy as you. Just as petty as you. The only difference is, they’re older.”
“Are you talking about your own parents?” I asked.
“More about myself, actually. But it’s complicated. Let me take a little step back here, and I’ll make a confession. I was worried when you came into Jack’s life. I’m embarrassed to say that, but we’re being honest here, right? You brought out something in him I hadn’t seen in a long time, and that was nice, but I was scared where it would take him.”
“How do you mean?”
“OK…when the boys were little, Mike was…well, what can I tell you, Mike was Mike. He’s always been wild and impulsive, he’s always gotten into trouble. I love him with all my heart, but he just never grew up. He’s never been serious, and he’s never cared much about anyone else. He has a good heart, but he doesn’t know how to use it. Jackie was the opposite, and that’s why, despite Mike being older, Jackie’s always been the more mature one. And believe it or not, he absolutely adored Mike when they were boys. You can’t even imagine, he was his idol. If he got a good grade, he used to run to Mike’s room to show him his report card. If he won a trophy, he’d go seeking his approval. And so, when Mike, um, turned down the wrong road… Jackie tried everything to help him. But at some point, I think he realized some people just can’t be saved.”
Wait…was she talking about me somehow? Because it certainly felt like it. I looked straight ahead as she continued: “Jack’s always had this kind of savior complex, trying to help people who don’t even realize they need help. He was that way from the time he was a kid. It only went awaywhen he couldn’t do anything for Mike. And then you showed up, and that part of him came back…”
Did she mean that in a positive way? I couldn’t tell, but I was starting to feel attacked. Mary went on to say she thought it had something to do with the abuse Jack had suffered at the hands of Mr. Ross. That Jack felt bad for not being able to stand up to his father, and that made him want to stand up for other people. She finished: “What I admire about Jack is his understanding nature. But he’s not that way with everybody. It’s something he can turn on or off, you know? But you bring out that nurturing side of him, and that was why I wanted you to come.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or I resented her for using me. And did she think I was someone who needed saving? She implied that it was a good thing that I brought out the kindness in Jack, but was I comfortable with how ready she was to use that to her advantage? It seemed unfair to me, and downright manipulative to Jack.
She added, when she realized I wasn’t going to respond, “But getting back to earlier, if I can give you some advice, Jenna…give your family another chance. I’m not saying everything will ever be perfect, but you’ll have a relationship. And at least they’ll know you’re all right, and you’ll know that they are, too. It may not seem like much, but one day, you’ll be happy to have that, I promise.”
She stopped talking then, and I was grateful for it, and by the time we reached the clinic, I was a little more relaxed. I wasn’t sure what to think of everything she’d said, but I no longer felt like coming with her was a mistake. When she parked, I hurried out, excited and nervous: excited to see Jack, nervous about what he would say when he saw his mother. Mary was tense, too, and walked a few steps behind me with crossed arms. She knew as well as I did that this could all blow up in our face.
I walked inside, and after a few minutes waiting, the attendant I’d seen on my last visit brought Jack out, dressed in the exact same outfit as before.He was smiling and looked ready to go. I smiled back at him convincingly enough that he didn’t ask me if something was wrong. He clapped the employee on the back, adjusted the strap on the gym bag he’d brought with him, and trotted down the stairs arm in arm with me, looking ready to conquer the word. Then he looked up, saw his mother, and stopped. He clearly wasn’t pleased that she’d come.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted.
“Hello, Jackie.”
