So we waited, and Frank had to go back over and over for treatment, and then one day he comes home and says it’s not good news, the cancer’s back. Who knows what he was planning to do next, how far he would have taken it. But I thought that was it, the end. Frank went up to his room as if he was climbing up there to die and I fell face down on this table and cried with my son. And that’s when it came out. I suppose Chad must have read as many books as his father. Because when I said, how can a man die of such a little thing? And I said that I should have done something earlier but it looked like just a little red blister . . . Well, that’s when he started asking me questions. I was just so confused. Was it a blister or a mole, Mom? What colour was it? Was it round or irregular? So I described it, like a little red button, and that’s when suddenly Chad runs up the stairs and starts yelling all these obscenities at his father.
I have to go slow here to get the words right. Chad was shouting, Is it basal cell or squamous, basal or squamous? over and over. Yes, that was it. Well, I had to look up all the words later on. And Frank is yelling how he has no right and what does he know about anything anyway. And then Chad is yelling, I bet it’s not even squamous, it’s not, is it, you . . . and I won’t say the word he called his father, and whatever happened that word wasn’t right. It’s not even squamous, you . . . it’s definitely not a . . . melanoma and I bet it’s not even squamous.
Chad runs to his room and starts to pack right away. Frank meanwhile won’t say a single word to me. I’m in such a state here about my husband dying and now my son is shouting at him and leaving. So I run to my son’s room and he’s so angry he can barely speak. But eventually he grabs me by the shoulders. There was such a look in his eyes like I won’t forget. And he says to me, Next time he goes to the doctor, you go in with him, Mom. Dad had a basal cell carcinoma, not a melanoma, he’s a liar. You go and you ask the doctor the difference, Mom, almost no one has ever died from a basal cell carcinoma, it’s a whole different thing. Even if it’s squamous cell then it’s very low risk. You find out the facts, Mom, and then you can decide if you ever want to see him again. That’s your choice. But I will never ever come back to this place, you understand me? I will never come back unless that man is dead or gone.
Frank was at the door to the room. He starts saying things. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be back, Mommy’s boy. That’s what he kept calling him, Mommy’s boy this, Mommy’s boy that. And you won’t stay away from your mommy for long. Just like when you were a boy. You’ll be back. And he had this look of . . . just this absolute horrible certainty. Sneering like he pitied his own son. And then he reaches out with his hand and says, A hundred dollars says you’ll be back. Chad doesn’t flinch so Frank keeps taunting him. You’ll be back, I’ll stake my life you’ll be back. And then Frank said, I always knew you were a little . . . and this time he didn’t say Mommy’s boy. And I won’t even use the word he said.
Well, Chad just finished packing all the while this was happening. And he refused to even look at his father while those vile things were coming out of his mouth. Frank was blocking the door and Chad had his bag ready. And then he walked to the door and just stood there, six inches shorter than his father. Just stood there and looked up at him slowly. And Frank I think tried to stare him down. But then he looked away, looked past him at me and said, He’ll be back, just wait and see, he’ll be back.
I thought someone was going to hit someone. But Frank stepped to one side. And that was the last time I ever saw my own son.
LXXIV(v) As I listen to Chad’s mom I try to picture the farmhouse rooms upstairs, I think of needlepoint roses and orange wood. I see the door frame that the farmer filled, Chad’s room full of the books in which he searched for all those facts to prove his father wrong.
I try to picture Chad in his room. But instead of one Chad I see two of him standing there, squaring up to the farmer. The first Chad is the boy who stumbled over his words while I rubbed my sore hands that first day on front quad. And beside the first Chad stands a second, the one who stared at me across the coffee table when the Game was down to three, the Chad in whose eyes I had seen the daily surge of resolve, the gloss of his strength.
And while I picture this, the second Chad grows immensely clearer than the first. The scene becomes very vivid indeed. And then the farmer, six inches taller than his son, steps to one side.
LXXIV(vi) Chad’s mom starts to weep softly. A buzzer goes off. She gets up and takes a tray of cookies out of the oven and transfers them to a cooling rack.
Mrs Mason, I say, I promise I will speak to your son. I’ll do whatever I can.
She turns around. Her tears flow harder and she nods at me. She tries to smile.
