The Middlesteins: A Novel(60)

Benny nodded, looked back into the house, and then put his arm around his father. “You want to go out back for a little bit?” he said. The two of them walked around the front lawn, through the darkness, and onto the back patio, where Benny promptly pulled out a joint.

“You still doing that stuff?” said Middlestein.

“Once in a blue moon.” Benny looked up in the sky. “It looks pretty blue to me tonight.”

“I’d have a hit. Just one, though, because I have to drive.”

“One’s all you need anyway,” said Benny. He lit up, dragged off it a few times, then a few more—Blue moon my ass, thought Middlestein—then handed it to his father. He immediately relaxed, the crush of tension in his heart and his back collapsing down toward the earth.

“Not bad stuff,” said Middlestein.

“It’s government grade,” said Benny. “No hangover supposedly, though sometimes I’m a little slow in the morning.” Benny sat down on a patio chair and motioned for Middlestein to join him. They both put their feet up on the table. Benny handed him the joint, and he took one quick last puff. “Enough for me,” he said.

“All right, no más,” said Benny.

There was no crying upstairs, Middlestein noticed. Rachelle passed by a window, and then one light went out and then another.

“So. Dad,” said Benny.

“Son,” said Middlestein.

“I wanted to let you know something regarding the b’nai mitzvah,” said Benny.

“So formal,” said Middlestein, and he laughed. “What’s wrong? I can still come, right?”

“Of course,” said Benny. “I just wanted to give you advance warning about something.” He stubbed out the joint and looked up and smiled weakly at his father. “Mom’s got a boyfriend, and she’s bringing him.”

“How the f*ck does your mother have a boyfriend?” Who would want your mother? was what he was thinking.

“Dad!” he said. “Don’t talk that way about my mother, please.”

“I just meant, already? That’s all I meant. I mean, we only just split up.”

“I don’t know. She talked to Rachelle about it, and Robin’s met him and said he’s great, and Emily liked him a lot, too.”

“Emily met him?” he said.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” said Benny. “I can’t watch over everyone all the time.”

Middlestein shook his head. If he didn’t have to drive, he would have smoked that entire joint right there, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to calm him down. Some other man lying with Edie. He’d believe it when he saw it, and then he still wouldn’t believe it.

“I wanted to let you know in advance so there were no surprises,” said Benny. “I’m not on anybody’s side but the kids’. We want them to have a good time and feel like they are loved by the family. And if it would make you feel better and you wanted to bring a friend, you absolutely could.”

Beverly!

“I have to go,” said Middlestein, who stood up awkwardly, knocking over the patio chair behind him.

“You don’t want to stay? Rachelle cut up some fruit.”

“I have a date,” he said.

“Are you all right to drive?” said Benny.

“Never better,” said Middlestein.

In the front seat of his car, not the old car, not the future car, just the car, his car that he had at this time in his life on this planet earth—crap, he was kind of stoned after all—he called Beverly on his cell phone.

“It’s me,” he said.

“I know who this is,” she said. “It’s a bit late to be calling.” Oh Beverly, the sound of her voice slowly unfolding itself through the ear, luxurious, silky smooth, as he could only imagine her skin must feel like.

“It’s not that late. Can I come over?”

Beverly laughed. “Well, I never expected to get one of these kinds of phone calls at my age.”

“I just want to talk,” said Middlestein.

“If you want to talk, we can meet somewhere,” she said.

“Anywhere!” said Middlestein.

She paused, and he imagined her sweet breath flowing out of her mouth as loopy pink swirls of miniature flowers. “Meet me down at the pub, then,” she said.

Through this town and the next one and the next—Slow it down, Middlestein, the last thing you need is to be pulled over by a cop, try explaining that one to your daughter-in-law, you’ll never see those kids again—every last one of them looking identical to him. He was a part of this, his stores were, his store, the last one anyway, those other two closed (not failures, just not successes), but this last one, his legacy, the last one standing, he believed it was special. Was it not unique and important to have been one of the first Jewish business owners in the town? Had he not provided a service to his neighbors and friends? Was that not a success? Was he not worthy of being admired? Wasn’t he worthy of Beverly’s love?