Intensive Therapy Part 29

When Jonas arrived home, the aroma of Jennie's beef Stroganoff was wafting through the hallway. He found her in the kitchen over the stove with a spatula, sauteing mushrooms in a big skillet. Jonas snuggled up behind her and, after pecking her lightly at her hairline, he ma.s.saged her neck and shoulders.

"Mmm. That feels good." Jennie let her head flop around. She wiggled her shoulders until Jonas's thumbs kneaded a certain spot. "There. Right there."

Jonas squeezed Jennie's trapezius muscles rhythmically. "Where is everybody?" he said, hoping that Gil and Gracie were eating at home.

"Gil's studying. Gracie is at Jillian's preparing for a chemistry test. She should be home any minute."

"Have they said much about the trip?" Jennie remained silent. "I guess not," he said. "I heard from Eddie today. He said you and Margo are learning to shoot c.r.a.ps."

"You don't think you guys are going to have all the fun?"

"I hope everybody has a good time, kids included. Don't you think it's odd Gil and Gracie haven't said anything about it?"

Jennie turned off the gas and rapped the spatula sharply against the skillet. She opened her mouth, then grimaced as if she had bitten her tongue.

"What is it?"

"Jonas, all Gil wants is for you to be proud of him. He's your son. He needs that."

Jonas exhaled deeply. "He's so different from me, Jen. Nothing seems to move him. When I was his age, I was pa.s.sionate about everything: girls, music, science. You know how emotional I am-how an aria can move me to tears. I get the sense that Gil feels I'm an emotional wimp."

"Just because he handles emotions differently from you doesn't mean he doesn't have them. He's more cerebral. He's pa.s.sionate about his music, but he doesn't show it like you do. He feels you feel there's something missing in him, that you don't like being with him."

"What can I say? Sometimes I barely feel he's mine. I wish I didn't feel this way."

"And Gracie? Do you feel that way about her, too?"

Jonas flinched. "Are you talking about her ethics cla.s.s?"

"It's way more than that. Gracie is a different animal," Jennie said. "Her life is becoming more and more about friends. Do you know why?"

"I a.s.sumed that was her strength. I encouraged her to do what she's good at. She's ten times more socially gifted than I ever was."

"That's not the point. I think the real reason she's searching for her birth family is because she wants a sister. I told you I hate the group she's involved with. Heaven help us if she picks one of them for a soul mate. Try and talk with her and find out where she's at. She's a lot smarter than you give her credit for. She's the one who could sit for hours and discuss chemistry and biology with you."

"I don't want to pressure her. You know that, Jen."

"What's important to you isn't necessarily important to them. We all know that music makes your heart sing, but expecting them to love Beethoven and Brahms doesn't cut it. Gracie thinks you think she's stupid. That's why she chooses the friends she does. They like her. At least I think they do. When's the last time you studied math or science with her?"

Jonas couldn't remember. "It's been a long time. I didn't want to stand over her like a taskmaster."

"She knows what a wonderful teacher you are-of other people's children, Jonas. I understand that you give all day at the office, but charity begins at home."

"I've given them the best of me: my enthusiasm and my encouragement."

"What if that's not what they need?"

This was not the evening Jonas had had in mind. "What's your point?" he said churlishly.

Jennie flung the spatula into the sink, splattering brown droplets on the countertop and backsplash. "Can the att.i.tude and start listening, Dr. Wonderful!" she shot back at him. "Gil's incredibly closemouthed about his emotional life. His parents weren't from around here. You're the neurobiologist. Does it surprise you that people from different gene pools handle their emotions differently?"

"He's so stoic. Whenever I ask what he's thinking, he acts likes I'm prying. It's like trying to crack a bank vault."

"Then try another combination. I think you're so used to being admired by your students and your patients that you've lost sight of what your own children need from their father."

"I'm afraid they'll tell me I'm not their father. That would kill me."

"That's part of the package, dear. They didn't ask to be adopted by us."

"I think about that all the time," Jonas said.

Jennie's eyes blazed away. "They're not like patients you can refer out if you don't hit it off with them."

"Hold it right there, Jennie. I don't deserve that," he reacted self-righteously. "I have blind spots, I admit it, and you're right to point them out. But that's how marriage works, isn't it? You see things I don't, and I see things you don't. We're supposed to be on the same team."

"As long as you understand what I'm saying."

"Believe me. You've made your point."

"Apparently not. We talked about this a month ago, and nothing's changed. I'm trying to be patient, Jonas. I know you're having a tough time, but do I have to club you over the head with this skillet to get through your thick skull?" Jennie stretched her neck and back, which Jonas knew had begun to spasm.

"Here, let me. Where does it hurt?"

Jennie winced as she clutched the back of her neck and pointed Jonas's hand to the sore spot. "Ouch, it really hurts."

"Let your neck hang loose, and I'll stretch it. Let go of the tension. Just let go, and let me stretch."

Jennie complied hesitantly.

"Don't fight me," he said. He pulled Jennie's head to the right, ever so gently. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Relax into the stretch."

"That's better," Jennie said.

"Good. I forgive you completely!" he said.

Jennie looked like she couldn't decide whether to embrace him or wring his neck.

Before she could do either, Jonas said, "I know I have to wrap my head around this. What do you see in Gil and Gracie that I don't?"

The telephone rang. Jennie handed him a whisk and pointed him toward a saucepan. She said, "It's probably Gracie calling to say she's on the way." Jennie picked up the phone. "h.e.l.lo, kitten," she said, cradling the handset between her neck and shoulder. She winced again and stretched as Jonas had instructed. "That's okay," she said. "Dad and I will wait. Depche toi."

Jennie looked at Jonas. "She needs to be pushed academically. You can explain science better than anyone I know if you put your mind to it. School has her working on complicated chemistry and math, but she's so into being with the in crowd, I'm afraid she'll get distracted and stop trying altogether." Jennie peered down the hall toward Gil's room. "He'll do better when you stop doing what you want to do with him and do what he wants to do with you."

"Which is?"

"Gil's much more comfortable writing his ideas than speaking them. Something tells me there's a girl in drama cla.s.s who has a crush on him. I don't think he knows how to handle it. Musically, he likes alternative rock and roll. It's ironic. He's into cla.s.sics, like you are, only it's music from the last decade, not the last century. It'd be a lot better for your relations.h.i.+p if you took him to a rock concert instead of Der Rosenkavalier. If you want know what he likes that's German, ask him about Rammstein. It's heavy rock with guttural German lyrics."

"It'll take work," Jonas said.

"Since when do you shy away from a challenge? All you have to do is express interest in music. His music. Or is playing the ba.s.s line beneath your dignity? How's that for a metaphor? And one more thing. Be thankful Gil's metal is in his music, not his tongue."

54.

Jonas tapped on his son's door.

"Who is it?" Gil called.

"It's Dad."

"Is supper ready yet?"

"In a few minutes. Can I talk with you about something?"

"About what?"

"About the vacation."

"What about it?"

"Can we talk face-to-face?"

"Wait." It took another minute until he said, "It's okay to come in."

Gil's room was as neat as a marine barracks, everything in its place. Gil was on his bed, leaning against a corduroy chair-pillow, with a Tom Stoppard play open on his lap. So handsome and rugged he could have been on the cover of GQ, he wore a pullover sweater that complemented his black hair.

"How's it going?" Jonas began.

"Fine. Hang on a second, Dad," Gil said, preoccupied by a text message that had just arrived. "This'll just take a minute."

Jonas waited, but after several minutes, he got up to leave, telling Gil, "It looks like you're busy. I'll come back later."

"Don't leave. I'm just saying good-bye." Gil put his phone aside. "What's up?"

"Do you have everything you need for the vacation?"

"I'm all set."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

Each utterance sounded to Jonas like Gil couldn't wait to be left alone. "We haven't had a chance to talk much lately. I was hoping we could talk about Puerto Rico. I want you to have a good time."

Gil looked at Jonas for the first time. He sat up. "There's a lot of reading for drama cla.s.s. They're putting on a production this spring, and I'm thinking of trying out. Mom thinks it'll help me be more comfortable around people."

"People? Anyone in particular?"

Gil fidgeted and his face flushed.

Not the right time, Jonas told himself, so he dropped the subject for the moment. "What play are they doing?"

Gil seemed relieved. "Actually, it's two plays: Shakespeare's Hamlet, and Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which is a takeoff on it."

"That's quite an undertaking. When are auditions?"

"Right after winter break. We get the vacation to prepare."

"I've heard about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, but I never saw it."

"It's very witty. Did you ever read Hamlet?"

"A long time ago."

"Do you remember who Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were?"

"I'm not sure. Hamlet's friends?"

"More like acquaintances. Hamlet's mother and stepfather use them as part of a plot to have Hamlet a.s.sa.s.sinated. Hamlet figures it out, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are executed instead. In the last scene, the English amba.s.sador announces, 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.'"

"What's the play about?"

"It's Hamlet told from a different perspective. The minor characters in Hamlet become the main characters in Stoppard's play."

"Which role you want to play?"

Gil swung his muscular legs over the side of his bed, stretching his arms behind his head the way Jonas often did. "It's a long shot, but either Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. To be honest, I'll take any part as long as I'm in it." Gil put a bookmark in the paperback. "I'm memorizing everyone's lines, so that I can recite the whole play by heart."

"Wow, that's something." Jonas himself knew every line in Carmen. He thought, Maybe we're not so different. "Good for you, Gil. Do you practice with anyone from cla.s.s? You know you can always have friends here after school if you want to practice in a smaller group or one-on-one."

"Well there is this one person ..." Gil squirmed and looked at his father like he needed help finis.h.i.+ng the sentence.

"Hmm. Let me guess," Jonas said. "Someone who wants to play the heroine?"

Gil started to blush again. "How did you know?"

"Well, let's just say that back in the day before your mother stole my heart, I had my share of encounters with the fair s.e.x. When I was around your age there was a flutist named Cheryl who wanted to play Mozart sonatas with me. We knew each other from orchestra."

"Was she any good?" Gil asked Jonas laughed. "'Good' is a relative term, son. Cheryl was far and away the best instrumentalist in school. Her intonation and technique were impeccable. The sounds she made felt like they came from on high. In that sense she was better than good. Back then I was very proud of being concertmaster, so the fact that she looked up to me musically felt good; so as long as were practicing or performing we got along great."