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tainted, a dark house, unlivable. I had to stay at the cabin for a
little while longer I did.
I wanted to disown my father. It was time to erase a
blood-bond between us. A last name could easily be changed.
There was no longer a connection between us that I found
valuable. I had to leave the cabin, and soon. In the meantime, I
turned into an unloving monster for my mother s sake and
treated Isaac like shit. When he spoke to me, I swore at him.
When he tried to treat me well, I barked vulgar names at him. I
yelled: My life will be better without you! My mother should have
left you before she did! You re not my father! I don t know who
you are! I have lost nothing, nothing at all honestly.
Isaac Robert West was childless. He had his
photographer and sunflowers. He had his cottage by the lake
and a friendship that grew into sexual longing. Inside my heart,
like the child I had lost, Isaac was dead to me. I no longer
needed him as a role model. I saw him as a stranger, interloper,
someone different, and not a human. Of course, he begged me
to understand his situation. Isaac explained the connection one
man could have with another man, an everlasting bond and
sensual unity. He attempted to walk me through his romance
with H. Maximiliani, from start to finish, which infuriated me.
Isaac tried to beg for my blessing, which I could not provide
never, a promise on my mother s grave. I would not budge and
begin to comprehend his lies I promised myself that.
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* * * *
Development: Inside a tiny room at the Samoy Library I
had periodicals scattered around me. For over eight hours I
perused The Samoy Caller and Samoy s Teller, two local
newspapers. There, I learned that the H in H. Maximiliani stood
for nothing. There, I learned that Nebraska Close was the
photographer s pseudonym. And there, I unraveled the history of
Isaac s lover. So many details and truths. A list of specifics
twisted within my mind: Close s lover was named Rudger
Thomas; a photograph called Sunflower Growing; Mt.
Stephano s Methodist School for Boys; an agent named Bill
Cassidy; the cottage purchased in 1984; and so many other
details, specifics about Isaac s artist. Christ, I couldn t obtain it
all never. I wouldn t, refusing.
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Chapter 7
It was inevitable; I had to call Carla in Shermont, Ohio and
explain to her that I could not under any circumstances return
to the house on Murray Street in Pittsburgh. I had to explain to
her that I was staying at the cabin for a few more weeks, that I
didn t belong in Pittsburgh any longer, and it would be insane to
return there. I told Carla that I still loved her no matter what our
crisis entailed and that I would always love her. I whispered
into the phone that I felt changed, different, unsure of my life,
and drawn away from so many things. A darker Nicholas West. A
shadow of sorts without part of his soul me!
Carla listened, understanding.
I told her about my father and his lover, the photographer
at the cottage. His secret was exposed. His damage was felt. I
mentioned the sunflowers and my trip to the Samoy Library. The
details of Isaac s affair leaked out of me, flowing with ease. I
mentioned how depleted I felt, lost and confused. Lied to for so
many years. The abandoned boy. A mother who had hurt. No
empathy for Isaac s case. I was altered, of a new creation. No
longer was I the son of Isaac Robert West. No longer was I a
father. No longer could I stay at the cabin along the lake. No
longer could I return to the city. No longer
Carla listened, understanding.
I told Carla that I could leave the cabin and rescue her
from Ohio/parents/difficulties. She objected my offer with a
simple: No, Nick. I m fine here& I m safe. I needed to see her, I
realized, and explained that we still had the ability to salvage our
marriage, with or without our families. I told her I was thinking
about our relationship a lot, pondering my happiness with her as
my wife, and that hope was surely to be found between us. The
blackness would disperse someday and our lives together would
be considered normal. Again, we could be the husband and wife
we were used to. Of course, the death of our child was
incomprehensible. And yes, our lives as parents were violated.
We were emotionally torn apart and ruined. But in truth, I felt that
we could survive together, side by side. Because frankly, we
57
were still married, in love with each other, together by golden
bands on our fingers.
Carla listened, understanding.
* * * *
Development: My future with Carla. I see it in a different
town, far and away from Pittsburgh. A new house with two
bedrooms and a large basement. A picket fence, porch swing,
and birdbath. Somewhere in Steubenville, Ohio or Sistersville,
West Virginia. A settled man and woman with different and
changed lives. We will have new jobs and a vegetable garden.
Carla will join a book club and I will start playing chess. There
will be a Mustang and a BMW in the driveway. An in-ground pool
in the backyard. A maid will come every Tuesday and Friday
afternoons to clean. We will start over again. We will be
childless forever. The perfect husband and wife. A married
couple. We will never conceive a baby boy again. Happily ever
after. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas West until death do us part.
58
Chapter 8
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