Page 62 of Midlife Crisis

My brow pinches. I’ve heard of the Sunday night pasta ritual, something practiced when the boys were on the road. Tommy wants Collision, the band he manages, to have a homecooked meal and hang out like a family. The practice is more sporadic when they are home as Tommy and Gage have their own families to spend time with on a weekend. I’m not certain if I should be honored or concerned by the tension in Hank’s voice.

“Who are we meeting?” If I ever believed people could rise from the dead, this moment was one of them. For the briefest minute, I feared Kit Carrigan was actually alive and living in this house, and for some sick reason, Hank wanted me to meet her. What he said next floored me almost as much as my original thoughts.

“We’re meeting my son.”

+ + +

As Hank leads me toward the house, he remains quiet and doesn’t offer an explanation. My insides roil in turmoil at the omission of his having a son, and from what I surmise, it was with Kit Carrigan. The oddity is Hank seems just as tense as I do, squeezing my hand enough to cut off circulation.

“What is it?” I ask as we wait at the front door. His mouth opens, but he closes it once the door opens. Edie welcomes us inside, kissing Hank on the cheek and hugging me.

“Deep breaths,” she warns. “It will be okay.” I’m not certain what to think until we enter the living room. Tommy greets me next, kissing my cheek and shaking hands with Hank whose eyes can’t leave the young man sitting in the center of the room.

Tommy waves us forward. “Lawson, this is Hank. Remember me telling you about him.”

A device projects the answer. “Yes.”

“Hank, this is Lawson Carrigan.” Lawson Carrigan sits in a wheelchair, his curled hand over what looks like a laptop. Hank stares, unblinking, as if he’s never seen his son before. Dawning comes slowly as I realize Hank hasn’t met his son before. Stepping forward, I crouch before the chair.

“Hi, Lawson. I’m Midge,” I say quietly, trying not to stare at any one feature other than his eyes, which don’t focus on me. They match Hank’s steely gray. A computerized voice replies with a greeting. I turn back to look at Hank and see him wiping his eyes. He takes a seat on an extra-large white leather couch. It’s circular, ancient, and sterile like the rest of the room. A large white brick fireplace centers the space with uncovered windows on either side. No affects decorate this space. It’s massive…and cold.

“Hello, Lawson. I’m Hank.” He pinches at his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to meet you.” Lawson isn’t looking at Hank, but his head shakes. Without responding by his machine, Hank looks over his shoulder at Tommy. “Does he know who I am?”

Tommy shakes his head. “I think we should talk later. Lawson isn’t deaf,” Tommy explains. “He can hear everything.”

Hank’s head swings back to Lawson. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes roving over his son. “I’m so sorry.”

After twenty minutes of awkward, stilted conversation, an aide appears to take Lawson to his rooms. In that time, we learned Lawson has cerebral palsy. Unseen to us, he has an entire wing with supports. With round-the-clock care, he lives in a working home instead of an institution. However, I wonder if he’s lonely. Hank follows the aide to learn more about Lawson’s set-up, and Tommy goes with them. I collapse on the couch and dissolve into tears.

“It’s a lot,” Edie says. Sitting next to me, she wraps an arm around me.

“I have so many questions, but the first thing I’m thinking is how grateful I am for my boys and how sad I feel for Lawson.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him, Tommy tells me. He’s amazing, and he’s had no worries. He’s taken care of. His aides are wonderful.”

“Doesn’t he feel alone, though? He’s so secluded.”

“He goes to a day school for therapy and returns home every night, just like people who work or go to school. He has a good life.” Edie pauses.

“But he lost his mother, and he’s never known his father.” I stare at Edie. “How did Hank not know?”

Edie shakes her head. “I don’t understand it all, either. I assume they all had their reasons. I’m not saying I agree with any of them, but I wasn’t a part of this world when those decisions were made. I have to respect and remember that.” Edie’s glare hints at deeper meaning. I need to accept things as they are because I cannot change the past.

My hands cover my head as if holding in my thoughts. Tommy and Hank return, and silence fills the empty space.

“I think I’ll start the pasta. Darlin’, join me.” Tommy’s directness doesn’t surprise me. Hank and I need a moment. From the stunned expression on Hank’s face, he needs more than a minute. Leaving us alone, Hank remains standing, his hands slipping into his pockets. We stare at one another before he looks away.

“I don’t know what to say,” I say to fill the quiet.

“I don’t either. My head spins with so many questions.”

“Hank, did you know?” The question comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t grasp not knowing he was a father.

“I had my suspicions but never the answers.”

“How could she keep this from you?” I demand, my irritation at a dead woman growing.

“She had her reasons.” It hits me. Hank was an enabler; Kit played off his weakness—her.