Chapter 18: Had a Dad

It took a bit longer than I expected to finish the clean up of Clara’s yard that evening, but eventually I shut the shed up and made my way to the back door of her house. Clara was preparing something in the kitchen. Some kind of music was audible through the door and it got louder when she waved me in.

“All done?” she called, raising her voice over the music.

I smiled and gave the thumbs up.

“Would you mind turning down the stereo in the studio?” she requested, indicating her wet hands from washing lettuce. “It got louder than I expected!”

I lowered the volume to a level that seemed appropriate for talking in the kitchen.

“Thanks. Do you mind if I eat a quick bite before we go?” she asked.

“No, that’s fine.”

Clara smiled. “It won’t take long. Are you hungry?”

“Um, no thanks. We’re having dinner at home, I’m sure.”

“Okay. I’ll be quick. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. Grab a stool from the other side of the bar. Something to drink? Glasses are here.”

“I’ll take some water.” I filled a glass and took a seat at the bar. The music was still quite present. “What kind of music is this?”

“Tango.”

“Oh. Like the dance?”

“Yes, for the dance, in fact. The music and movement go hand in hand. Argentine tango. Do you like to dance, Matt?”

“Not at all.” Immediately I felt bad for so generally dismissing a liking of her profession. “I mean,” I added, feeling heat rising to my face, “I like to watch dancing, but I can’t do it myself.”

Clara maintained her amused smile. “Have you tried?”

“Not really, I guess. But I’ve also never felt the urge to do it, either.”

“You might enjoy it, as a musician. It can be like playing music with your body, sometimes. There are overlaps, of course. My mother was a ballerina, and my father, a musician. A tango musician, actually.”

“What did he play?”

“The bandoneon,” Clara said. “A type of accordion. Very difficult to play.”

“Is that what you have over in the living room?” I asked, remembering the splayed instrument on her server.

“Yes! That was his personal instrument.”

“So you got the dancing from your mom,” I asked, “and music from him? Or did he dance, too?”

“No, he definitely could not dance. He had polio when he was young and needed a cane just to be able to walk. But, he certainly could make the bandoneon dance.”

“I guess he doesn’t play anymore?”

“No. He is no longer with us.”

“Sorry to hear that ... I also lost my dad.”

Clara looked back at me. “I’m very sorry, Matt.”

“I was really young, so I actually don’t remember him at all.”

“What a shame,” she lamented.

She had assembled her salad and carried her bowl to the dining table. I spun around on the stool so I could face her.

“What did your father do?” she asked.

“He was an antique dealer. He worked down in the city during the week.”

“In Manhattan, you mean?”

“Yeah. He’d drive up for the weekends. He actually died in a car crash on his way home.”

Clara shut her eyes. “Oh, how terrible! For all of you. Do you have siblings?”

“A sister. She’s my age, so she doesn’t remember anything about our dad either.”

“And what does your mother do? I don’t think I know her.”

I hesitated. This is always where things got complicated, if I let them. I felt surprisingly at ease with Clara, so I ventured forward with the truth.

“Well, one of my mothers is a ski instructor, and the other is the head chef up at the resort.”

Clara nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

“I know what I just said is probably weird,” I added, nervously.

She smiled in understanding. “No. Rare, perhaps, but not weird.”

“It’s even more complicated when you know that one of my moms is my real mom, and the other is my sister’s real mother.”

Clara raised an eyebrow as she parsed my riddle. “Okay, I won’t ask any further,” she said with a small smile.

I laughed a little, trying to relieve the tension within me, but said nothing.

“A unique upbringing,” she mused. “Makes for unique people. Is it hard?”

“Is what hard?”

“Surely, when you interact with friends, school, the community, there must be questions?”

I shrugged. “You mean like now?”

Clara grinned, perhaps even sheepishly, though her fine face didn’t seem like it would truly allow such a feeling to express itself fully.

“It is what it is,” I continued. “Although, there sometimes are issues. We’re trying to get a couple of students from Ireland to stay with us for the second half of the school year, and I guess there were some people at the school that didn’t want them to stay with us.”

“Why not?”

“Because of our situation.”

Clara nodded thoughtfully. “What happened?”

I unexpectedly found myself moving to the dining room table in order to to tell the story of my encounters with Dr. Kendall. It gushed out of me, to my great surprise. And yet, it felt very good to release the anxiety of that situation to someone I barely knew. I’d been keeping the details of that incident to myself, so much that even Lara hadn’t known about it, let alone my parents or any of my friends. By the time I told her of the resolution, Clara was smiling.

“I’m happy to hear that our principal is a man of kindness. I don’t know Dr. Kendall very well. Still, what an experience for you!”

“Yeah, I was thinking suspension was coming for sure. I’m still half-waiting for the note to come in the mail.”

Clara chuckled and shook her head. “It sounds like it’s over, fortunately. When do the twins arrive?”

“After the holiday break.”

“How wonderful for them, and for your family. I’m sure it will be a great experience.”

“Yeah. I just hope that...”

“Hope what?”

“That they don’t find our situation weird, you know?”

“Even if they do,” Clara said softly, “once they interact with you and your family, and not some idea of who you should be, I’m sure it will be wonderful. Often we set up imagined cutouts of who people are, based on a few pieces of information. Then we’re surprised when the truth is quite different.”

“I guess that’s true. But still.”

“It’s true no matter who you are. I face many expectations and stereotypes as a ballet dancer. So does Shannon, at school and with her friends. And don’t get me started on trying to get boys to come here. After they get to a certain age, they always drop out.”

“That’s too bad. Why?”

“Let me ask you this. If you took ballet classes here, would you tell your friends?”

Clara looked at me directly. I swallowed hard. Before I could answer, her face softened into a smile and she rescued me.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she said, “but you might think about it.”

“I think I know what you mean,” I said quietly.

“It sounds like your parents are discreet and low-key.”

“Yes. Then again, lately...”

Clara glanced at me calmly.

“Lately, there’s kind of been someone else,” I ventured.

“How so?”

“It’s not really anything serious. At least, not for now. But it is something new for me and my sister.”

She looked at me, not following.

I paused for a moment. “There’s a friend of my ... A friend we know from Montauk. We usually spend summers there, and well, this guy has kind of become very close with my moms.”

Clara nodded, narrowing one eye slightly.

“I mean, we always knew about our dad,” I continued slowly, surprised to find myself saying these things. “There were always photos of him around the house, and we still have many of his things.”

“But now, there’s someone else entering the picture?”

“Maybe. He lives in Montauk, so we don’t see him much, but something is going on. Our parents have told us something is, even.”

“It sounds like you’re unsure about it. Do you like this man?”

“Yeah! He’s really cool. Me and Lara actually met him first, and then he hung out with our families a few times. I’m not unsure about him, just unsure what it would mean to have someone else getting more involved with the family. In that way.”

Clara nodded. “It’s funny. I grew up having an opposite experience to yours. I told you my mother was a ballet dancer, and my dad was the tango musician. But until I was a teenager, I had a stepfather and I always thought he was my real dad.”

“Your dad died when you were young, too?”

“No. He and my mum separated when I was a baby. She married my stepfather when she moved from Argentina to the States right after the separation. I found out about my biological father on my own, unfortunately.”

“What happened?”

“I went to Argentina to look for him, not knowing where he was or anything. My mother didn’t support it, at all. Neither did my step-father, of course.”

“How did you find out about your dad?”

“I found some letters he’d been sending, that my mom had been hiding from me for over ten years.” Clara looked at me pointedly. There was a touch of resentment in her voice.

“Whoa!”

“Yes, quite a shock!” She laughed and then took a deep breath. “The story is long and ugly, Matt, but suffice to say that I found my father. Like I said earlier, he wasn’t the person I’d imagined. All I had before I met him were a few of the gifts he’d given to my mum, his letters, and a record of his music.”

I automatically glanced at the sideboard that held the bandoneon and the old 78 rpm record.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Clara confirmed.

She rose and went to grab the photo that stood atop the instrument. She looked at it as she carried it back to the table, handing it to me. “That’s us. My mother, a beautiful dancer. And my dad, holding me. This was taken a few days before they split up, for good.”

I looked at the picture, saying nothing. I had similar, but naturally different images of my family, some taken only days before my dad was split from us. Forever. I swallowed hard.

“What hap—” I tried, but my voice cracked awkwardly. “What happened to your parents?”

Clara sighed as she held the photo. She was silent for some time. “My father put me in some danger. Not on purpose, of course, but it was too much for my mother. She never forgave him, for holding to his idealistic values too strongly at the expense of the people around him. And maybe she was right, but maybe she wasn’t.”

I sat silently as she eventually returned the photo to the top of the bandoneon. She then went to the kitchen, clearly moved by old memories. She took some lettuce from the spinner and prepared more salad.

“There were other things, of course,” she said, her voice still heavy. “The young New York City Ballet was calling after Balanchine had seen my mother on tour. She was dancing again after taking ten months of leave to deliver me and then regain her form.”

Clara returned with two bowls, placing one in front of me. “Please, eat a little something. I feel bad for keeping you late.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

She passed me the dressing despite my weak protest, so I helped myself.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I haven’t really thought about these things in some time. I walk by that photo every day, but it’s very rare that I really see anything but its surface. To look deep into it can be ... Ah, well, I don’t even know how we got here!”

“I was telling you about Frej, the man who has been hanging out with my parents.”

Clara laughed. “Oh, of course. Then I just took that and unloaded this on you.”

“It’s not a problem,” I said quietly.

Clara looked at me for a moment before laughing lightly. “I feel a little bad. It’s a Friday night. The last thing you probably want to be doing is sitting here with me!”

“No, it’s fine,” I protested, looking around the room. “You know, I’ve never told anyone about my deal with the principal. It actually felt good to finally tell someone.”

“Yes, it can feel good. But come now, let’s talk of better things.”

We finished our salads on a lighter note, as Clara looked at the photos of Shannon once again. I told her more about my interest in photography. I probably got much too technical for her, but she listened with unflagging interest. At last, she stretched her arms upward and looked at me.

“I should get you home before your mothers start to worry. What time did you arrive today?”

“Um, I think it was around three-fifteen.”

Clara glanced at the clock and then pulled out forty dollars, which she handed to me.

“I hope that’s okay, ten dollars an hour?”

I stared at the money. “This is forty, though. I only worked about two.”

“But by the time you get home, it will be about four hours.”

I was going to protest the amount, but Clara pressed the money into my hand. She gathered her purse and keys, so I grabbed my knapsack on the way out, a mix of feelings washing through me.

Shannon stopped by the following night to pick up the mic stand. I was in a good mood from a very fun and productive band rehearsal. Lara was really settling into her singing role, putting lots of energy into her performance, at times getting so into it that she’d close her eyes and the rest of us would all grin at each other as she sang the hell out of the song.

“Hey Matty,” Shannon called, rolling down the window of her car as she pulled around in front of our house. I had come out to meet her, having easily heard the engine approaching.

“What’s up?”

“Not much.”

“The stand is up in the cabin. Let me grab it.”

Shannon killed the engine and got out, accompanying me around back.

“Clara was really impressed with you,” Shannon said.

“What? Really?”

“I had class this morning and she mentioned what a good guy you seem to be.”

“Nothing is what it seems, I guess,” I quipped.

Shannon sniffed. “Well, I already knew it, so she didn’t have to convince me!”

I felt a slight twinge at the tone of her comment. A bit too effusive for my comfort. “Hmm. It wasn’t anything amazing. I just cleaned out an old shed.”