Blue Moon

I hadn't been back to the town where I lived for seven years with X, the town where I first met Jack, in four years, but I remembered the way to the Blue Moon. It's an old German joint out on one of the surrounding rural highways, just one of many places in that part of the province where one can find pork hocks and, if one is really lucky, Laugenwecken. Today, we weren't that lucky, but the beer was fine and cold. We'd been cruising around town in the sweltering heat in Jack's mother's convertible.

Jack had just returned from a week spent up north with his father and brother, fishing. I've heard much about both of them but have never met either one. Nor his mother. Nor anyone else in his family.

"Where shall we go next?" asked Jack.

"How about your father's house?" I suggested, since he gave me the opening, but I knew what the reply would be. Jack's father played in a band in the 1960s, and still has his Fender Stratocaster. I've waited 15 years to meet him, and I'll have to wait a little longer.

"No."

"What about your brother?"

Jack considered for a moment, then said, "Sure."

Just when I think I've got him figured out.

Jack turned the convertible around and headed back to the city. "They do know about you, you know," he said, "In general terms, that is."

"Oh?" I was surprised at this. "How general?"

"They know that you're a tall redhead named Sass, and that you're moving to California."

"That's pretty general," I said, but secretly I was thrilled that he'd told them anything at all about me. Jack is a fiercely private man.

Twenty minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of a low-lying building. "This is where Jason works," explained Jack. "He called me earlier today and said he was having trouble with his laptop. I'm going to take it back to my mother's place and have a look at it."

Jason was exactly as I'd imagined him, and nothing like Jack. Not all siblings resemble one another, and Jack and Jason are a shining example of this. It's not that they look that different: they are both tall, handsome, and blue-eyed with sandy light brown hair. It's just that you wouldn't guess they were brothers.

We chatted about California, and I wondered whether Jack hadn't told Jason more about me than he let on. Jason hadn't known we were coming, yet he didn't seem the least bit surprised to be meeting me. I, on the other hand, couldn't stop grinning as I listened to their avuncular repartee.

Nor when we got back into the car.

"I'm going to have to take the computer back to my mom's place," said Jack. A convertible with the top down, in 44 degree heat, is no place for electronics.

I'd been to the house where Jack's mother and her second husband live once before, ten years ago when Jack and I worked together. It's a sixties style bungalow, with a fabulous back patio, the only place we're allowed to smoke. Jack took a seat on one of the rattan chairs and lit a cigarette with his Zippo. The expression on his face told me something was bothering him, and so I replayed the last hour in my mind, searching for the point at which his mood had turned.

He'd been his usual, jovial self with his brother, and when we got back into the car... let's see... he told me he was planning to meet Peter later, for some guy's night out drinking and cavorting. I asked whether I might join them for a beer — just one, and then I'd head back to Toronto, I promise. Jack had agreed and then...

Yes, that was it. He'd hardly spoken since then.

"Jack, something's bothering you. Is it me? Would you prefer it if I went back to the city?"

"Would you mind?" he asked, apologetically.

"Of course not," I said. Then he moved to the sofa where I was sitting, and kissed me. "I know you don't like to believe this, but I know you pretty well."

"You're always going to want more from me than I can give you," he said, and his eyes were sad. "That's gotta suck."

"Let's have one more cigarette, then I'll go, OK?"

"OK," he agreed. And then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the thunder clouds, he was back to his old self. It was almost an hour before he walked me out to my car.

Jack opened my car door for me, as he always does, but instead of getting in I asked him a question.

"Jack, do you think my father loves me?"

He was taken aback by the question, not because it demanded an obvious answer — he's met my father, and he knows the answer is far from obvious — but simply because of the unexpectedness of it.

He took a moment to think about his answer, and then he said, "Yes."

"Why? A lot of people, many of my relatives included, wouldn't think so."

"Because I saw the look on his face when he watched you dance."

"There you go," I said, and smiled.

"What, you mean because they're our parents, they love us no matter what?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

Instead of answering, I kissed him goodbye, and got into my car.

"Think about it."

In the next story, Postmodern Sass learns she can't take her car to California. At least, not yet. The farewell party happens Sunday night at The Rivoli, goes until closing, and Sass and Carson sing the final number: Green Day's "Holiday." The moving truck arrives Thursday, and Zee breaks up with her boyfriend again.