Jeffery

Dad and I were driving to the post office to look at his grandmother's jewelry. To find a ring for Charlotte. It was an awkward arrangement. Without mom there he felt like a stranger to me. I hadn't realized how much she filled in the gaps. She made it seem as though he'd been a part of my life when he hadn't. Still, I admired him. I didn't know if that was love, but I felt privileged to have time alone with him. The snow had started coming down harder. He turned the wipers on and they were a fast rhythm plunk, click, plunk, click. It was ethereal, the heavy flurry of snowflakes coming down, everything turning white as it accumulated before my eyes.

"How was it with you and mom? How did you ask her to marry you?" I said to him in a moment of vulnerability, nervousness over the prospect of asking Charlotte to marry me.

He kept his eyes fixed on the road. The wipers moving rapping . There was heavy snow, too much for the rubber wiper blades to clear the glass, leaving a watery film over the windshield. It didn't obscure things too much. He shook his head slightly, "it wasn't how I would have liked it. It wasn't the way it will be with you and Charlotte."

"Why?" I knew why in a larger conceptual sense, it had always been evident that secrets haunted their marriage. But, those constructs were never defined. I'd like to have known the specifics.

He shook his head. In the car, beside him this was how I knew my dad best. Driving behind the wheel of an expensive car, managing the dials and buttons, looking like an airline pilot. I tried to juxtapose that with my image of my mother. There had been a time when she'd rejected everything he loved, mostly his lifestyle. At the same time, he'd scoffed at her choices. The things that made her happy and comfortable. Wasn't parenthood one of those things that he and my mother disagreed on? She loved being our mother. His absence was reliable. I watched him as he drove. My relationship with him was less complicated than his with my siblings'. I had what I wanted or needed as a child. I accepted my mother's love and it insulated me from my father's lack of affection. It allowed me to appreciate the little that he had to give. That wasn't true for my sister. Something happened when she was a teenager. She had adored our mother but then she turned and there'd been nothing but hostility since then. She continued to shut my mother out completely almost as if she enjoyed breaking my mother's heart over and over. Whenever we were all been together, Clara was foreign; either on drugs or spilling over with resentment for our parents. It was no better with Charlie. My brother had such a palatable loathing for my father that it was uncomfortable to be in their presence too. As a result, they were rarely in the same room together. I had been surprised when mom said he was coming for Christmas with his wife and their two children. My mother traveled often to visit them in Connecticut. She loved the grandchildren, but my father had accepted Charlie's feelings many years before. He bowed out of the relationship willingly. I somehow had remained—all my life—in the eye of their storm. If you were to have asked either one of my parents they would have told you that I was the only child they thought turned out all right. I hated that position, but there wasn't a choice. I was lodged there. It was a suffocating burden.

My father seemed half interested in the conversation. He was doing something to control panel, maybe adjusting the defrost. When he finished he looked at me for a moment, "Why wasn't my proposal to your mother how I would have liked it? Is that the question?"

"I'm just curious. What was it like in the beginning when you decided you wanted to marry her?"

"Your mother and I have had many lives together." He turned his attention back to his driving and with one hand pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the glove compartment. He managed to shake one out and pressed the car lighter in to heat up.

His response was so cryptic, so typical of him. I wanted more. "I don't know what that means, dad. It's cryptic."

He removed the lighter and lit his cigarette. "Don't know what, what means?" he put the lighter back, in haled and blew the smoke out.

"That you and mom had many lives together."

He turned to me again. He looked me squarely in the eyes. His subtle intimidation. I turned from him and looked out the window. I rolled the words around in my mind. "your mother and I had so many lives together." I let him take control for a moment; he always did eventually. I tried to shrug it off in my own mind, just remain silent until we got there. He would have been happy for it to go that way I was sure, but I felt he owed me more.

"Did you ever love her, dad?" I asked. I wasn't nervous about hurting him or making him angry. I wanted to know.

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. We were pulling off the freeway and on to a smaller road on the outside of Chicago, still suburbs but a bit of a distance from our house.

"Was I in love with your mother?" He rolled the window and tossed the cigarette out. "Of course I was—I still am."

"I wondered. Some of your lives together were pretty bad." I looked out at the snowy scene.

He put his hand on my shoulder. "Maybe you'd better tell me about Charlotte. I think the conversation will go a lot farther that way."

"I'm an open book." It was clearly sarcastic I knew I was and I didn't care.

"As opposed to me?" There was a note of humor in his tone. He smiled at me. "Is that it?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It doesn't matter." I kept my gaze on the road. I wished that we'd never gotten into such an uncomfortable conversation. It would have been so much better to keep small talking.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

I looked at him. "I wish I knew you better."

"I do too." He exhaled and flicked his ash in the ashtray. "I was in love with her. If things had been different I'd do exactly what you're doing now. I imagine it would have been terrifying to do it your way. I wish it could have been like that with your mother." He pulled the car into a parking space and turned off the engine. "I was already married to someone else. Your mother, Clara's mother. You know that."

I'd forgotten. I felt the life drain from me. I didn't know why, likely it was being home and this decision I'd somehow fully ventured into. I looked at him. "Yeah. I knew that."

"Well why'd you ask then?" He kept his eyes on me.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

He nodded. He let out a breath and smiled at me. "It wasn't so bad. We had our love story too."

I nodded.

After a moment, he asked "Ready?"

The precipitation had petered down to a few small flakes here and there. There was about an inch of accumulation, but because the neighborhood was so quiet for the holiday, things looked untouched, blanketed in white. Quintessentially Christmas. My father and I walked together up the stairs to the post office. Dad walked ahead of me and held open the heavy green painted door. A rush of warm air hit us when we entered the building. The entry way was tiled in large cream-colored marble tiles. Dad looked in charge walking into the post office and summonsing help from the clerk. She was young, maybe a few years older than me but she had the presence of a librarian with a straight wool skirt and sweater. She wore pearls and her hair was held back in a severe bun. She had a peculiar way about her. I expected her voice to reflect her peculiarity but she sounded perfectly normal despite her appearance.

"I'd like to open my safe deposit box. Number 17." He said. He had a business like way. Dismissive. I'd noticed over the years that he often spoke that way to women in those sorts of service positions. As if he were the one in charge.

We followed her through a pair of wooden doors and into a room with a marble counter in the middle. All around all of the walls there were post office boxes in several sizes. The smaller ones were higher up on the wall, the mid-sized were eye level and a few larger ones were a little lower down. She selected a key from a round key ring filled with small brass keys. She unlocked the little brass door to our safe deposit box. She removed a container about the size of a breadbox, a little shorter. She walked the short distance to the jade-colored marble counter. I noticed how her heels echoed first the click on the marble, then the click clack seeming to come from the ceiling. She put the box down and looked at my dad. "Is this all right Mr. Lambert?" Just as he'd taken authority she'd assumed subordinance.

"That's wonderful. Thank you." And of course, he couldn't leave it at condescending, he had to add just a little charm to it. Wonderful then he smiled warmly.

He turned to me and raised his eyebrows "ready?"

"Sure."

He opened the box and I'd expected it to look like a treasure chest inside with gold and pearls spilling over. Rings and earrings just piled on top of one another, but it wasn't like that. There were a number of smaller, velvet boxes inside. There was also a leather case which I imagined contained documents or maybe stocks. I didn't know.

"We'll have to start opening these up," He said. "I really don't know what's here. Your mother seemed to think there were some rings. She remembers these things better than I do." I moved closer and waited for him. I noticed there was a sweet perfume smell, that must have been my grandmother's scent. I picked up one of the smaller boxes, one I thought would contain a ring. It was black velvet. I opened the top; the metal hinge had a bit of tension. There were two sets of earrings, both diamond studs. They were side by side.

"Jesus," dad whispered. "goldmine."

He opened a square box. The interior was lined with a pale blue silk. Inside was a diamond and sapphire bracelet. It looked like it was set in platinum. We kept looking.

"I feel like we're burglars." I said.

He laughed out loud. "That's exactly how I feel too." He opened a smaller box and said, "Here. Look at this." It was in a burgundy velvet box and the inside was lined with black silk. Inside was a round diamond solitaire. It was set in platinum there were three small diamonds on each side of the setting. I stared down at it. I was frozen in time. I let out a breath.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know any more."

"Well here, let's keep looking." He opened another smaller box but I couldn't take my eyes off the solitaire sitting there contrasted by the black velvet.

"Dad." I said. "There's no way I can do this. Let's go."

"Go where?" He put the jewelry box down and took a pack of cigarettes from his coat. He shook one out and lit it.

"I can't. " I put my hands up, almost as if in prayer and let a breath out. "I just can't." I said moving my hands up and running them through my hair.

Dad took a few drags and watched me. I could feel the nervous energy building inside of me, almost to a panic. "I feel like I'm being held down against my will." I finally said. It was desperate.

"No one's holding you down, Jeffery. The girl doesn't even know you're going to ask her. If you don't want to. Don't do it."

I looked at him. I'd only heard part of what he said. "That's not what I mean."

"Do you want to look at another ring?"

"No. I want this one for Charlotte."

"What makes you feel like you're being held against your will?"

"I just—maybe I'm completely crazy. I've only known her six months. She's going to New York in the spring. She's starting a whole new life. She'll think I'm trying to ruin her life."

"You're going to give a girl a diamond ring and she's going to think you're trying to ruin her life?"

"Don't you think I'm too young?"

"No."

"That I'm being stupid because this is the first time I've fallen in love with someone?"

"No. I don't think that's stupid."

"I can't."

"OK. It won't kill you to wait. You can bring the ring back to Massachusetts with you. You don't have to decide right now."

"Once I have the ring I'll have to give it to her."

Dad laughed. He picked up the box and handed it to me. "Here." Then he loaded the others back into the metal container. "Wait here. I'll be back in just a minute. I stood in the empty marble room surrounded by little brass safe deposit boxes. I'd expected that activity to be part of a romantic story, not clumsy and uncertain.

The young woman returned and slid the box back into its place in the wall. She turned the key. "Everything is locked up here. It's secure Mr. Lambert."

"Thanks very much." He smiled at her. "Merry Christmas." Dad said.

I was completely overwhelmed. I regretted bringing the box with me but I wouldn't have left it. I tried to imagine how to present it to her. I knew that some people planned a proposal for a long time, making it spectacularly romantic. I just wanted to give it to her. I just wanted it to be decided and done with.

Most of the way home I didn't say anything. Dad drove and smoked cigarettes. He had the radio on and that seemed to justify any silence between us. I wasn't examining the scenery or thinking about dad. The only thing on my mind was presenting the ring to Charlotte. Then, it dawned on me. Maybe she wouldn't like it. Maybe it wasn't a nice ring.

"Is it a nice ring, Dad?" I asked.

He looked at me and nodded. "it's a very nice ring."

"Is it something a woman would like?"

He laughed. "I can say definitively a woman would like that ring." He put his hand on my shoulder. "This is going to make her very happy."

Clara was at the house when we arrived home. She'd insisted on taking a taxi from the airport despite my parents' willingness and desire to meet her at the gate. She'd flown in from San Francisco and the last time I'd talked with her a couple of months before she'd told me she was bringing someone with her, a professor she was seeing. A woman. I walked into the house and heard voices in the kitchen. I went up to my room and put the box with the ring in a desk drawer. I felt completely self-conscious as I entered the kitchen. Clara and Charlotte were sitting on stools at the island in the center Snow had accumulated outside and walking into the kitchen with my family and Charlotte sitting was tangibly sentimental. As much as I worried about what she'd think of my family, it felt good to have her there amongst them.

In the time it took me to go upstairs and hide the ring in my bedroom and return to the kitchen, everyone was completely engaged in conversation. Charlotte was talking with Clara and when I walked in Clara turned to me and smiled. She was still stuck in her 1960s bohemian style. She looked more together than usual. Her make up was subtle and she had not frizzed her hair out in all directions. Still, it was hard to match this woman with the prim and proper girl that Clara had been. I walked over to Clara who had her arms outstretched, silver rings weighing her fingers down and a leather braided choker around her neck. When she hugged me she smelled clean and fresh despite what I thought were her attempts to seem degenerate to my parents.

"Here he is." She said, "the published author in the family. I'd like to think I had something to do with that story in Harpers," she said as she release.

I shook my head. "Everything to do with it." I said to her and kissed her on the cheek. I walked over to Charlotte and kissed her. When her eyes met mine they seemed full of a new knowledge. Things she would share with me later about my family. I was sure my mother had become completely enamored with her and had let Charlotte know it. I still hadn't had have a chance to debrief with Charlotte about the drama that had unfolded between my parents that morning. Charlotte kept her eyes me.

Mom and dad were on the other side of the room. In the short time I was gone, they were already engaged in a hushed conversation; it seemed friendly enough. My Dad had lit a cigarette and was leaning against the counter. My mother was standing close to him talking, almost entertaining him. She looked young around him, enamored. Mom had her hand on dad's arm. He was smiling –amused—with something she was telling him. I had a second of Charlotte's attention.

"Did you have fun while I was gone?"

I hadn't really left her with anything to say but yes. She nodded.

I noticed a faint trace of light blue eye shadow. The blue was subtle but along with her black mascara she had an innocent coyness to her expressions. "Look you have an lash," I said and I gently touched below her eye and wiped away the lash. I leaned closer and kissed her. When I pulled away she was staring at me.

"Am I overwhelming you?" I asked her.

"Maybe a little. In front of your family."

"God, Jeffery." Clara said. "What's the girl supposed to say? She hates your family?"

"We were having a private moment," I teased Clara. I turned to Charlotte again. "I'm glad you had fun." I said and then walked over to the fruit bowl and grabbed an apple. I took a bite.

Clara kept her eyes on me. "And you don't have to worry," she teased me, "we all love Charlotte." She smiled at her. "Besides. Of course she had fun without you. With mom and me? What could be more entertaining?"

At that my mother walked over from where she'd been talking privately with my dad on the other side of the room. She put her hand on Charlotte's "she's a very good cook. And good company. Between the three of us everything is ready for tomorrow."

When my mother walked closer to us, Clara's expression changed. For an instant I had thought that she was cheerful and maybe even gotten over her negative feelings towards my mother. But, that wasn't so. As soon as my mother came over to us, Clara got up from her seat, walked over to the cabinet and retrieved a wine glass. My father who was smoking a cigarette watched her closely. Clara then went into the refrigerator and removed an open bottle of wine.

"What do you think you're doing?" My dad asked.

"I'm 25 years old. If I want a glass of wine during my vacation, I'll have one." She turned and faced him, "Objections?"

"Watch it." He said. My father looked at my mother. My mother shrugged.

"Don't ask her." Clara said. I was waiting for the next line she's not my mother. But Clara didn't say it. Instead she picked up the glass of wine and her leather tooled cigarette case and walked out of the room. My mother went to my father and looked at him for a moment.

"I'm going to talk with your mother for a minute," he said and then the two of them left the room, leaving Charlotte and I sitting there at the island in the now empty kitchen.

"Wow" she said slowly exhaling as she said it. She made an exaggerated grimace. "What happened?"

I shook my head. "I'm sure she was perfectly fine until my dad got here?"

Charlotte nodded. "She had a couple of moments with your mom but not like that."

"That's what she does. She attacks my mom whenever my father's around—Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What?"

"Be here with them for Christmas."

"Of course I do." She stood up from the barstool and came close to me. Her cream peasant blouse made her skin looked tanned. I put my hands on her waist and looked into her eyes. The colors of the kitchen made them stand out as did her make up.

"They're crazy," I said. "And it's not subtle."

She shrugged her shoulders. As I leaned in to kiss her I remembered the ring. I wanted to give it to her then. In no other way would I have called myself impulsive but I wanted to know what she would say.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

I shook my head. "There's something I want to tell you—it's not the right time and..."

"What is it?" she leaned closer and her long sandy colored hair fell over shoulders. I tucked a strand behind her hear.

"Did you mean it when you asked me to move to New York with you in the spring?"

She bit her lip and took on a feigned nervous look. "I do, but my parents wouldn't like it if we moved in together. I guess I didn't mention that part."

"So you don't want me to?"

She smiled. At first she was still being silly, but then I could tell she realized I was serious. "Of course I do. We just couldn't live together. But I do." Her smile returned. Her beautiful lips accentuated with her slight overbite. Her eyes were so full of attraction and love for me. I imagined that I must have revealed the same. "Why?" She bit her lip, "why are you asking me now? Do you think I won't want to any more if your family really is crazy?"

"No."

"No?"

"No that's not what I'm thinking."

"OK."

Of all the talents dad had, making people want his approval was his greatest. Driving to his new studio downtown Chicago, I saw how it worked with Charlotte. It had already worked with me that morning at the post office. His cool restraint and then dolling out intimacies as if they were real.

Charlotte was bundled in a blue wool pea coat. I'd let her sit in the front seat while I was in the back. Unexpectedly it allowed me to have a spectator view of her with my father. She was innocent and --even though I'd told her how absent he'd been, how unkind to my mother; even though she, herself had been witness to his door slamming and charm afterwards-- I could see that she was growing fond of him. He was fatherly, nothing underhanded. He didn't operate that way. He was not lecherous, just a man who sought admiration. For as long as I remember my dad drove an Alfa Romeo. This model was avocado green and the interior high end with wooden dash and an instrument panel with the round speedometer and other gauges looking almost nautical and at the same time refined. The steering wheel was polished wood and I watched as he steered with his right hand and smoked a cigarette with the other. I noticed his platinum wedding band. I didn't understand why my mother wouldn't wear hers and why he donned his. It was bright white outside, the roads had been plowed and the accumulated snow pushed into piles along the side of the road. It had grown colder and glistening ice twinkled over the white blanket. Dad was wearing his aviator glasses. In that moment I felt proud of him, I'd been washed into his ocean. While the metaphor for his relationship with my mother would best be described as gravitational. She orbited him but couldn't leave. My metaphor was the ocean, breaking surf. Mostly I wasn't anywhere near him but when I was, I was drawn in by an undertow in a retreating wave. Unlike mom, I'd always return to the shore. Having Charlotte made it more turbulent. I was less buoyant supporting my feelings for her. Once I'd brought her home with me, I was watching out for her feelings too. Not just her feelings for me which I'd begun to believe wouldn't change because they were so anchored in our other life together, our real lives. I was also worried about her feelings, how tenuous her trust and vulnerability were. I knew she had an investment in my family loving her, but she didn't know it would come at a cost.
"Is that right?" dad was asking. He looked at me in the mirror and directed his comment to me, "And what do you think of it?" he asked. I hadn't been paying attention to their conversation.

"What's that dad?"

"New York? The internship at New York magazine?"

I nodded. "I think it's good."

Charlotte looked back and me and smiled. She too was wearing sunglasses, round frames like John Lennon's. On her they looked sophisticated somehow. She had a fashionable sense of style. It was part bohemian, maybe just an accessory like the sunglasses or a macramé belt. Mostly her style was casual chic. She had such a beautiful body that clothes that were nondescript on others were compelling on her. Her long straight hair formed ribbons against the red leather seat. I could have written a short story about that alone. The variation of color against the maroon leather.

"He may move to New York." She told my father.

Dad's tone changed immediately and I saw Charlotte grow flush. My protective feelings surfaced. It wasn't like always, a desire to keep her from being hurt, it was the instinctive deluge of defense I had around my father and women, particularly my mother.

"Is that so?" he asked me. I could tell his feathers were ruffled at the thought of us living together. He knew I was going to ask her to marry me. Jesus.

I wanted to knock him down a bit. "When in the hell did you become so conservative?" I asked him, completely out of character for me.

He tossed his cigarette out the window. And rolled up the crack he'd kept to release the smoke. He waited. That was another one of his signature tactics. Leave the intimidation and disapproval floating in the air, until it grew difficult to breathe.

"Mr. Lambert," Charlotte offered. Her tone was apologetic. I could see that she wanted to reset the equilibrium, she wanted his approval back. I shouldn't have left her to address his disapproval.

I jumped in, "Dad we're not going to live together. I'd get a place in the city."

He nodded but continued to look out the window. I knew he was orchestrating the tension, flexing his power a bit. He would switch the disapproval on or off without a moment's notice. When he resumed his charm, we'd again feel satisfied and safe.

He turned into the parking lot at the art institute. The parking lot hadn't been plowed and there were a number of tire tracks through the inch or so of snow. He pulled into a space marked with a small sign Lambert.

"I thought we were going to your new studio."

"We were but I wanted to show you my new series. We didn't have time to do both."

Charlotte turned to me and smiled. She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were full of anticipation. I could see she was growing more impressed with my father. His studio and paintings would secure an adoration, respect.

"I'd love to see your work, Mr. Lambert." Charlotte said.

I reached over the seat and touched her cheek. Dad had already gotten out of the car and was walking around to open her door. "I love you," I whispered.

She kissed my hand. "I love you so much." She said. At that her door opened and dad was standing there. He was a gentleman. It was chivalrous but had a hint of 1940s anachronism. I opened my door and exited the car. I held Charlottes mittened hand and we followed dad into the building. He quickly found the right key and unlocked the glass door. I'd been to the institute many times. I don't remember going when I was very young when he and mom were married the first time although they said I did. Dad would tell the story of Charlie and me jumping on the couch, throwing the cushions on the floor and crawling under the long tables that were strewn with drawings, colored pencils and jars of paint brushes. We almost ignored the easels and canvases. According to my mother and father, while Charlie and I rough housed in the studio and out in the hallways, Clara had sat perfectly quiet next to dad in front of an easel. Dad would let her paint with oils. He displayed her little girl paintings in his studio. Clara had always been dad's favorite. He doted on her while Charlie and I –Charlie in particular—were always under his stern watchful eye. From what Charlie had told me, we were constantly in trouble while Clara could do no wrong.

The three of us walked past Ed's studio. It was dark but I could make out some shadowy furniture and even a few large sculptures through the glass window that faced the hallway. I remembered it hidden by the closed tan canvas curtains. I thought of Ed. What dad had said to mom that morning. His words imbued with tension and distaste, "Ed won't be joining us..." What had Ed done? While it obviously had to do with mom, I couldn't imagine anything so indiscreet as to threaten their friendship. It was something. Maybe Ed had told mom about one of dad's affairs. Or maybe his wife Elizabeth had.

My mind returned to what I'd heard when I entered the front room and found them in an embrace. "I won't see women anymore." That's what he had said before I knocked and entered the room. I felt exhausted from it all and I imagined Charlotte did too. My family life in Chicago was relentlessly dramatic. Everyone—even Charlie who said it with disdain—everyone chalked my parents marital problems up passionate, artistic temperaments. My parents seemed to derive a a little bit of pride in that explanation as if they knew something other couples didn't. Passion came with a price, but it was better than middle class inertia. I didn't see it that way. As a writer, I was an artist. I didn't want that kind of life. I wanted Charlotte and I to live as we had all summer and fall on the Cape. Quiet, intimate. I never wanted to be embracing her, smoothing back her hair, seducing her into kissing me after I'd been with another woman. I didn't want to ruin her life. I didn't think Charlotte would accept that anyway.

"Here we are," dad said. He turned the key and opened the door to his studio. He flicked the light on. Immediately the smell of oil paint filled the air. As soon as it registered on my senses, it reminded me of my father. It was an intimacy I held towards him, something captured in my senses. The smell of oil paint and turpentine would always remind me of my father. The feeling was almost overwhelming. I couldn't discern if it was yearning or love.

His studio was as awe inspiring as it always been. This was the part of dad that was amazing. Amidst the lies and deceit that defined my father, his art was the truth. We walked in and Charlotte looked around, her eyes bright. She bit her lip and looked from one side of the room to the other. Dad walked over and helped her with her coat. She slipped out of the pea coat and there she was, her slender figure, the same organic beauty as the paintings around her. The paintings in dad's new series were mostly abstract. They were feminine figures, mostly in rich oils that dried in a rich velvety black and white. He'd once been been an impressionistic artist but his abstract paintings had smooth clean lines. I walked over to one of the paintings on the easel.

Dad lit a cigarette and was leaning against the wall behind his desk, watching us admire his work. "Be careful Jeffery that one is still drying. " When I walked over to the painting, got closer, I saw the photograph taped to the top of the easel. It was a woman. She had long black hair. She must have been in her late twenties. Not that much older than me or Charlotte. She didn't look like Charlotte though. She looked comfortable posing naked. She was pretty. She had heart shaped lips. I looked back at the painting. I saw that the pose was identical to the girl's except it was abstract.

I turned to dad. "That's uncanny dad." I said.

"What is?"

"How the painting resembles the girl. Its abstract, but there is an essence, a movement."

He nodded.

Charlotte came and stood next to me. She leaned against me and looked at the picture too. She turned to dad. "Are they all of this model?" she asked. It was an innocent question, but for some reason I felt as if she'd ventured into a minefield that I'd learned to avoid.

But, it didn't seem to faze dad at all, "they are, in fact."

She walked over to a table towards the back of the room, while I moved to another painting. He joined her and when I turned to see them, Charlotte was leaning over examining one of dad's sketches. I heard him telling her that was how he started. Pencil sketches to study composition before he started painting. I walked over to a large diagram that hung behind his desk. That was how he and the curator planned an exhibit. I turned to look at them again when a little box on dad's desk caught my eye. It was one of the boxes from the post office, one of his grandmother's. I looked back up to make sure dad was still distracted; he and Charlotte were immersed in their conversation. I stood above the desk. I picked up the box. Underneath it was a small envelope. It said Elaine. When I lifted the box closer, I recognized the sweet smell that had emanated from his grandmother's jewelry at the post office box. The scent that must have belonged to her. I lifted the box. I felt a kind of boyish terror. I didn't want to get caught, but I couldn't stop myself. I flipped opened the top of the box. Inside was the larger of the two pairs of diamond stud earrings I'd seen. I closed the box and placed it back on top of the envelope. Elaine. He would have had to just placed it there. It was from his grandmother's collection and we'd just been there that morning. I moved to another picture. I felt sick. My mind returned to the scene I'd walked in on earlier I won't see other women anymore. I shook my head. I wanted to rush home to my mother. I wanted to pull Charlotte away from him.

"Hey," I said. "I want to get going." Dad turned and looked at me. Charlotte looked up at me too.

Dad nodded.

"These are really wonderful, Mr. Lambert," Charlotte said. "I wish we were here for your show."

"You two should come. It's not such a long flight."

I nodded but didn't offer anything else. I grabbed Charlotte's and my coat. I held it out for her and she put it on. She buttoned it before putting on her mittens. She put her hand behind her collar and loosened her hair that had been tucked under her coat. She took out her sunglasses and held them.

I put on my suede driving jacket and held my leather gloves.

"Looks like you two are ready," dad said. He put on his lined trench coat. He took the keys out of the pocket. "I've got to drop something off at the office. It'll only take a minute. Why don't you two go warm up the car?" He tossed me the keys.

I couldn't look at him. I said "sure" under my breath. Charlotte and I walked out to the car and I opened the door for her.

"It's getting icy." She said. "Colder too."

I moved to the front for a moment and turned the heat on, then I jumped in back. She turned and looked at me. "Your dad is incredibly talented."

"Yeah he is," I said and looked out the window.

She removed her mittens and reached for my hand.

I kept my hands in my lap. "I'm all right."

"Why are you pulling away from me?" she asked. "Did I do something?"

I recognized my behavior. I was acting like my father. Shutting her out. "No. I'm sorry." I said.

"It's all right. Is something wrong?"

"I hate this place. I hate being here. I can't tell you how much I wish we'd stayed on the Cape. Or gone to your family's house."

"This is much more fun." She smiled at me.

"It's not fun for me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

I turned and looked out to see if my dad was coming. The sidewalk was empty and the building looked abandoned. It was getting colder and the city was asleep except for an occasional passing car. It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to come down. It cast a liquid gray over everything. There were no colors. Just snow and different shades of muted gray.

"My dad is such an asshole." I said.

"Why?"

"Yesterday I heard him talking to my mother. She was asking him to stop having affairs."

She bit her lip and it looked for a moment as if something had stung her. "That's really terrible."

"I'm not like him," I said.

"I know that."

"When you were looking at his drawings in the back of the studio, I saw a small jewelry box. It was sitting on his desk. His grandmother left her jewelry to him and to my aunt. The box was from that collection. I opened it and it was a pair of diamond earrings."

"For your mother?" she asked hopefully almost giving me a satisfactory explanation for what he was doing.

I shook my head. "No. There was a card there. It was addressed to someone named Elaine."

She turned and looked out at the gray. It was almost dark. "Is that where he is now?"

"Who knows. I can't imagine a woman waiting in the building alone. But I don't know. He's taking a long time."

"He must have been worse when he was younger. He was so handsome back then."

"I think he's still as bad now." I sighed. I moved closer to her. I kissed her. She put her hand on my cheek. "You're hands are cold," I said. '

She pulled it away. "I'm sorry. That must have been freezing."

I smiled and took her hands in mine and rubbed them to warm them up.

"I have something for you back at the house." I said. I wasn't nervous anymore. I kept my eyes on her.

She smiled a sweet smile. "What do you have?"

"You don't have to accept it. Really."

She opened her eyes wider and took in a deep breath. I could see that she had an idea of what I was saying. "What is it?"

I felt my heart drop. "I want to marry you."

She smiled at me and started to say something when my dad opened the car door. She kept her eyes on me for a moment, nodded and whispered "yes."

"All right," dad said. He turned to Charlotte and smiled. "Are you ready to meet everyone? All the Lamberts in one place?"

She nodded. "I am."

"Did Jeffery fill you in on his grandfather and aunt yet? It can be quite a spectacle over there."

"He didn't." she kept looking back at me. It was better than I'd expected. We were now bound by a secret intimacy. It was how I imagined our marriage would be. Just us, bound together, separate from them. Our life. My life. I leaned back in the seat while my father tried to gently explain what a bunch of assholes his family were. I watched the snow start, first in random occasional flakes then heavy snowfall. It was dark by the time we pulled into the drive way. I saw the car that Charlie must have rented and it sobered me to think of the power of the information I had. If I told my mother, something would blow up. Charlie was always on the verge of confrontation with my father. It was as though he wanted to make up for his inability to protect her from him back when things were bad. He seemed to always be waiting for the chance. He was also so much like dad. There wasn't room in our family for the two of them.

"Looks like Charlie's here." Dad said flatly.

It felt like Christmas in the house. My mother had Charlie's 15 month old daughter in her arms and his three year old son was following her over to the couch where it looked like there was a children's story book and a half eaten cookie. My mother must have changed the baby's diaper. Peggy, Charlie's wife, was sitting on the couch across from Clara who was seated on one of the upholstered chairs. Clara looked a little drunk but still able to present herself reasonably. When we walked in my mother first looked at my father. She smiled adoringly. "Peggy, can you hold the baby just a moment while I let Jeff and the kids in?" She handed the baby to Peggy and walked over to the doorway. Dad handed her his coat and she kissed him. I felt my stomach turn. Charlotte looked at me, I think she was still high from my half proposal. I was too, but I was also gauging the room, a habit I had whenever the family was in one place.

Mom inspected me for a moment. I guessed she could sense something was amiss. "Take off your coat Jeffery, let me hang it up for you sweetheart."

Charlotte took off her coat. "I can hang them up, Mrs. Lambert." She said.

"That's sweet of you Charlotte." She gave the coats to Charlotte and looked at my dad. "Can I get you a drink, darling?"

He kissed her. "Scotch" he said and then walked over and gave Peggy a kiss on the cheek.

Charlie's little boy Frankie ran over to Jeff. "Grandpa!"

Dad picked him up and kissed him on the cheek. "Did Grandma give you one of her special cookies? Should we sit down together and you can finish it?" Dad picked up the snowman cookie and gave it to Frankie. They sat on the couch together and Frankie sat on his lap. He took a bite of the cookie, looked up at my father and waited. When dad smiled, Frankie smiled back. Dad laughed. Charlotte returned from hanging up the coats and I walked with her into the room just as mom brought dad his drink. He was watching her with affection, almost flirtation. When she leaned down to give him the drink, he whispered something in her ear. She rolled her eyes. If I hadn't seen what I'd seen the box at the studio, I would have thought they were sweet and still cared about each other after all those years. Mom took the baby and sat down next to dad and Frankie on the couch. Peggy stood and smiled at Charlotte. "Peggy this is my girlfriend, Charlotte."

"Where's Charlie?" Dad asked.

"He's taking a shower," mom said half attending to him, more making faces at the baby with Frankie behind her shoulder watching her and copying her expressions. "They just got in a little while ago. He wanted to shower before going to your dad's." She looked at the clock on the mantle. "I guess I'd better get dressed too. I have a feeling our time together as a family is gong to pass too quickly. I wish we had more time like this, just being together."

Charlotte spoke up, "I should get dressed too. Jeffery said it will be a little formal."

Mom was giving the baby back to Peggy. She stood back up and looked at Charlotte, "yes, unfortunately we have to get dressed up." Mom shook her head. She couldn't stand my dad's father, Neil and dad's sister Julia was an absolute bitch.

Dad looked at his watch. "We've still got a couple of hours before we need to leave. "I have a driver coming for you and Charlotte" dad said to me, "and Clara will ride with you too."

Clara stood and stretched her arms in an exaggerated yawn.

Dad turned to her, "Lay off the drink for a while."

She nodded and looked at me as if I would commiserate with her. I shook my head.

Charlotte and I went into my old bedroom. When we got inside and closed the door she stood in the middle of the room. "What did you ask me in the car?" she said. She looked so happy. It was remarkable to me how asking her had changed everything I felt about being in Chicago. It didn't matter. I walked over to the desk and removed the small box. My heart was racing even though she'd already said yes.

She was smiling and biting her lip. She was so excited that she laughed nervously. "what's that?"

"Come sit on the bed next to me," I said. I could see how nervous she was. I was too. "I'm in love with you." I said to her. I opened the box. "I want to marry you, Charlotte."

She started crying. She was nodding and swallowed hard. "I want to too." She said. I took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger.
"It fits," she whispered. She held up her hand. "It's so beautiful." She stared at it for a moment. "It's breathtaking."

I leaned over and kissed her.

"I love you." She said.

"Can we go tell my mom?" I asked. "I have to tell someone."

I held her hand and we walked out of the room. I stood before my mom's door and knocked on it. When my mom opened the door, she was in a long robe. "Can we come in?" I asked.

"Of course." She immediately looked down at Charlotte's hand. She was beaming but didn't say anything.

"Mom. We're engaged."

She smiled and put her arms around Charlotte. "I just loved you the minute I met you. I'm so glad." She let her go and moved to me. She put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek."
"We wanted to tell you." I said.

"I am so happy for you." She stopped herself and said to Charlotte, "Darling do you want to call your mother?"

"Oh yes! I forgot. May I? I'd like to call her. She's going to go crazy. She loves Jeffery."

"Jeffery take her down into the study. You can close the door and she can call her mother in private." Mom walked over to us and put her arms around us both. "maybe you'll want to announce it at the party tonight?"

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and looked at me.

"We can talk about it," Jeffery said. "We don't' know yet."