Chapter 2

While I was driving Bobby home I still kept the secret. I don’t know why, since it was going to bust wide open the instant he saw her. Or the instant he hugged her, anyway. When she gave me a hug nowadays there was obviously something pressing against my stomach.

But I’d told her she was going to have to tell him sooner or later. I guess it was going to be sooner.

On the way I heard all about basic and what he called A.I.T. It was different than I had thought it would be. They got a lot less law enforcement than I expected, and a lot more security type instruction.

His appetite hadn’t suffered. While I avoided fast food these days, he was ravenous for it. We stopped at a Sonic and he ordered three entrees off the menu, with what looked like heaps of tater tots and a 44 ounce drink. He ate while I drove.

I don’t think there was anything left after about ten miles.

I had my cell phone with me, but I guess it just never occurred to me to call Chrissy and warn her Bobby was coming home.

When I pulled in the driveway it was after midnight, and there were no lights on in the house. I was pretty bushed. I guess I assumed Bobby would see her ... and find out ... the next morning.

That’s not quite how it worked out.

I had just gotten in bed when Chrissy screamed “Bobby! What are you doing here?“

There was some shushing sounds and then the hallway lit up a little bit as somebody turned on a light. I guess he’d left the door open when he went in to wake her up and tell her he was home. His voice was the next thing I heard.

“What the fuck?” It was a very strained, loud, but at the same time he was obviously trying to be quiet. Then a little louder “Why didn’t you tell me?“

I heard Chrissy’s voice and winced. I’d told her she’d have to face this.

“Fuck, Chrissy!” came Bobby’s voice, again trying to be quiet, and failing. It was the next thing he said that made me sit up in bed: “What are we going to do?!”

You know how something happens that doesn’t make sense, and you know it should make sense, but it just doesn’t and there’s nothing you can do to figure it out, and then one little detail makes it all come clear? Something about the way he said that just turned a light on in my brain and illuminated everything. I didn’t like what I saw, because in that light that faceless male who had plagued my dreams ... the one hunched over my baby girl, getting her pregnant ... turned out to be my son. I just knew it, somehow. I didn’t want to believe it, but there was that note in his voice that just said it. What are “we” going to do? He should have said, “What are you going to do.”

I had no idea what to do. I knew I should get up and go confront them. But what if I was wrong? You can accuse your kids of a lot of things and get away with it ... but accusing them of incest ... and being wrong about it? I knew that would turn out badly. In fact, either way it was going to turn out badly. And, to be honest, I just didn’t want to know right then. I was in shock.

So I didn’t get up.

I should have. I don’t think I slept at all that night, as tired as I was from the trip. I’d had some clues. Maybe you, the reader had already figured it out by now. But it just wasn’t something I’d contemplated.

I contemplated the hell out of it now. They’d always been close. They didn’t fight and feud like a lot of siblings do. And when Marie had taken off, they’d sought comfort in each other’s company. I’d known that ... I just didn’t know how much comfort they’d sought.

I spent some time trying to convince myself I should have known, somehow. Then I went through a period of doubt. What if that closeness I’d seen simply meant that, like me, Bobby considered himself as just being in this with her. He was her brother, and he felt responsible for making sure she was all right. How could I have just assumed the worst? I spent a lot of time that night thinking about what a pathetic father I’d been ... was.

Then, about five in the morning, I realized two things.

The first was that Bobby hadn’t stormed into my room wanting to know why I hadn’t told him.

The second was that I didn’t hear the front door slam as he left the house to go find the son of a bitch who had knocked up his sister, and kill him.

Those two little facts solidified my suspicions, but by then hours had passed, and it was too late to do any kind of confrontation that would do anybody any good.

I must have dozed, because when I opened my eyes the sun was up. I felt like shit. I got up at the insistence of my bladder and looked at the wreck in the mirror when I was done. I didn’t even have the urge to shave.

I wondered if they were still in the house. Then I panicked as I thought about the possibility that they’d fled together, to avoid my wrath. I didn’t feel very wrathful. My state of mind was more in the realm of confusion than anger. Several times during the night I thought about how, over the last couple of months when I got the chance, I stared at my daughter’s pussy. True, Bobby had done more than look ... but how big a difference was it really? I’d gotten hard for her. I’d had some fantasies as I jacked off, replacing that faceless man with myself.

When I entered the kitchen I know I must have been a little wild-eyed. I was a bit frantic, fearing that I’d lost both my kids. But Chrissy was standing at the stove, cooking something, just like it was a normal day. Bobby was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, reading the paper. A sound of agonized relief came from my throat and they both looked over at me.

Maybe it was the look on my face. Maybe they just wanted to get it over with. For whatever reason Bobby stood up and just said, “Dad, I’m the one who got Chrissy pregnant.”

Just like that.

I know I stood there looking stunned, but the absolutely outrageous thing was the reason I was so stunned. I’d spent the last two months hating the man who got my daughter pregnant. I’d had a basically sleepless night of torture as I contemplated accusing my kids of incest. Never mind that there are a dozen or more cultures in the world that are just fine with that behavior. Ours wasn’t one of them. But the reason I was stunned at that moment was because I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

It was very complicated, now that I think back on it. Part of the relief, as I said before, was because they were both still there. But the complicated part was that I was actually relieved that it had been Bobby who she had parted her legs for. I loved Bobby, and I loved her, and it was impossible in those few moments to hate either of them. It was impossible even to be unhappy with them. Later on I’d worry about things that everybody worries about when incest produces a baby, but at that moment in time I was elated that it was Bobby’s baby in that gently swelling belly, instead of some stranger’s.

Which explains why I blurted, “Thank goodness!”

I don’t know how much later it was that I fully came to my senses. There was a lot of noise going on in that room. Somehow we had all come together in a group hug, and all three of us were talking at the same time. We were all crying too. It was a surreal kind of situation to find one’s self in, and I’m sure they both felt that way too.

At any rate, eventually a sort of halting story came out. He’d been getting ready to go off to basic training. She was worried about him. His girlfriend had broken up with him, angry that he was leaving her for the Army. Chrissy was scared that something would happen to him. He probably was too, though he’d never have admitted it. So they were both strung out emotionally and a hug had turned into something wild and passionate as each tried to express the depth of feeling for the other. He’d kissed away her tears and, at some point in the process, his lips had brushed hers. They were overwhelmed with feelings that demanded more until suddenly they were on the bed and their clothes were coming off.

Afterwards they tried to make sense of what they’d done. He’d taken her virginity. At the time she hadn’t cared. In the aftermath they felt guilty, but at the same time it had been undeniably precious to both of them. Neither had had time to process the storm of emotion because Bobby had left the next day.

I remembered the mood in the house that morning, as I got ready to take him to the airport. I’d had my own feelings to deal with as I sent my son off to an unknown future. I’d completely missed that part of the somber mood that was the result of lovers torn apart.

Finally the surge of emotions began to wane and we were left there in the kitchen with a big invisible question mark filling the room.

What was going to happen now?

Society puts expectations on its citizens. As a result, the citizens put expectations on themselves. It’s all supposed to affect behavior. Then things like love, passion, imagination and even hormones have an effect on behavior that conflict with society’ expectations. It can make for a tumultuous life. A lot of it depends on how seriously you take society’s strictures. Or maybe it’s more to do with whether or not you think you can stay below society’s radar.

The next two days were a little like trying to tiptoe barefoot across a room where five pounds of thumbtacks have been spilled. You try to pick a path that seems least likely to result in pain. At the same time, you have to get across the room - go about your routine business.

In other words, it stayed complicated. I was honestly relieved to know who the father of Chrissy’s baby was. More to the point, I was relieved that it wasn’t somebody other than Bobby. But that didn’t mean I approved of a resumption of the activity between them that had produced that baby.

I suspect it was just as complicated for them. A man and woman who love each other, and have created life in the woman’s womb, can’t just clamp off their feelings. I knew that. While the boat of love that Marie and I boarded may have been leaky, the fact that we had created Bobby and Chrissy had kept us bailing until the last moment. Even now I still loved Marie on some level.

When she had gone off to “find herself”, it became pretty clear what she meant when the divorce papers arrived and the grounds were listed as “irreconcilable differences.” The return address turned out to be that of another realtor in her firm. I didn’t fight it because, to be honest, if she didn’t want me, I didn’t want her either. I didn’t like her very much, but she was the mother of our children. The bond of father and mother can’t ever be broken completely. They might hate each other, but there’s still a bond of sorts there.