U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

Lionel would have had to be a fool not to pick up on the chill in the air, but since neither Mona nor Jon would discuss the situation, his father was no doubt delighted to ignore the problem. One Saturday afternoon Mona took the girls shopping, and Lionel walked out to the garage and knocked at Jon’s door. Jon hollered out, “It’s open!” and Lionel dutifully trudged up the stairs. He took a moment to survey the place, which was as cold and bare as a cell.

He said, “Well, it looks like you’ve settled in. Very nice. Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” Jon said. He knew his two rooms were without character or comfort, but he didn’t want to offer his father the means to maneuver.

“Is it warm enough out here?”

“Pretty much. I don’t have any hot water to speak of. I get five minutes’ worth of lukewarm dribble before it runs out.”

“Well, that’s no good. I’m glad you brought it up. I’ll have Mona take care of it.”

Jon suspected he’d just given his father an opening to the Mona discussion that loomed. It was up to his father to proceed without any help from him.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Jon moved a pile of dirty clothes from a wooden desk chair so his father could take a seat. Lionel began a long, rambling discourse about the new blended family. He acknowledged that things were sometimes tense between Mona and Jon, but she was doing her best, and Lionel said it was only fair that Jon meet her halfway.

Jon stared at him, bemused by the enormity of Lionel’s self-delusion. Of course, his father was her defender. She and Lionel were allies. Jon had no recourse. There was no court of appeals. In effect, his father was announcing that Jon was totally at her mercy. Her whims, her sharp tongue, her uncanny ability to seize the upper hand: for all of this, she had Lionel’s blessing. Jon couldn’t believe his father didn’t see what was going on.

“Well, Dad,” he said carefully, “not to be obtuse about it, but from my perspective, she’s a clusterfuck.”

Lionel reacted as though slapped. “Well, son, you’re certainly entitled to your opinion, but I trust you’ll keep it to yourself. I’d appreciate it if you’d try to get along with her, for my sake if nothing else.”

“For your sake? How do you figure that?”

Lionel shook his head, his tone patient. “I know the adjustment isn’t easy. She’ll never replace your mother. She’s not asking for that and neither am I. You have to trust me on this; she’s a caring person, amazing really, once you get to know her better. In the meantime, I expect you to treat her with the respect she deserves.”

It was the word “amazing” that somehow stuck in Jon’s craw. Mona was the enemy, but he could see how futile it was to battle her head-on. After that, Jon referred to her as the Amazing Mona, though never in his father’s company and never to her face. The newlyweds’ first Christmas together, the Amazing Mona had inveigled Lionel to play Santa for a Climping Academy fund-raiser, and every year thereafter, he donned his white wig, white beard, and white mustache, and then climbed into a red velvet fat suit, trimmed in white fur. Even his boots were fake. In Jon’s mind, the photograph that exactly captured their relationship was the one in a silver frame Mona displayed on the baby grand piano in the newly decorated living room. In it she was decked out in a low-cut Yves Saint Laurent evening gown, perched seductively on Santa’s lap. While she glowed for the camera, Lionel’s identity was obliterated. She did manage to raise over a hundred thousand dollars for the school, and for this she was widely praised.

Jon unburdened himself bitterly to his brother by phone. “She is such a total bitch. She’s a tyrant. I’m telling you. She’s a fucking na rcissist.”

Grant said, “Oh, come on. You’ll be out of the house in a year or two, so what’s it to you?”

“She thinks she can run my life and Dad lets her get away with it. Talk about being pussy-whipped.”

“So what? That’s his business, not yours.”

“Shit, that’s easy for you to say. I’d like to see you try living under the same roof with her.”

Bored with the topic, Grant said, “Just tough it out. Once you finish high school you can come live with me.”

“I’m not moving away from all my friends!”

“That’s the best I can offer. Stiff upper lip, old chum.”

Jon discovered a new way to occupy his time. He began breaking into various Horton Ravine homes he knew were unoccupied. While he caddied at the club, he picked up all manner of information about members’ travel plans. Guys chatted among themselves about upcoming cruises and European tours, jaunts to San Francisco, Chicago, and New York. It was a form of bragging, though it was couched in queries about exchange rates, good deals on charter flights, and luxury hotels. Lionel and Mona socialized with most of them, so all Jon had to do was look up their addresses in Mona’s Rolodex. He’d wait until the family was gone and find his way in. If there was talk of an alarm system or a house sitter, he knew to avoid the place. People were careless about locking up. Jon found windows unlatched, basement doors unsecured. Failing that, he scouted out the house keys hidden under flowerpots and fake garden rocks.