Chapter Nine: Friday, July 4th, 2003, 10:00 P.M.
You know, we never did do any grilling that day. We were all too tired from screwing one another! So we ordered some Domino's to be delivered to the house. (No! No one answered the door naked. We live in a nice section of AA.)
By now, we'd all gotten cleaned up and dressed in our respective night clothes. We stayed away from James' stash of beer in the garage out of deference to the twins' age (almost twenty-one) and the possibility that every adult woman in the house might be pregnant.
We had relocated ourselves to the dining room and the time seemed right for our children (and my husband) to explain themselves. I was all ears! Peter began by telling us about his mother's letter to him.
"Mom, Dad... I've thought about how I was going to say this, but then I realized that I could just let Mom speak for herself. If you don't mind, I'll just read her letter. It's really not that long, anyway.
James and I both nodded our heads and put down our food. Peter began:
"It's dated: February 5, 1982. 'My dear sweet Peter, It suddenly came to me last week that I'm not going to be around when you're a teenager to say to you what needs to be said. Right now, you are only three years old and can't understand. I've asked a good friend of mine to promise to give this letter to you on the occasion of your sixteenth birthday. That age seemed to me to be a good compromise between your ability to understand and my friend's ability to hold on to something like this. (Basically, she said thirteen years was her limit, so here we are.)
'So, now you are sixteen, and I've been dead and buried for a long time. If you remember me at all, it will be the most fleeting of images I'm sure. Such is life.'
'But, it is because of life that I'm penning these words to you, my son. I must tell you the truth of your origins, for only two other people in this world ever knew: the man who delivered you is dead; your biological father is too honorable a man to think to burden you with this news. Therefore, it is left to me - your mother - to say what needs saying. And that's perhaps as it should be; for I am ultimately responsible for the circumstances surrounding your birth and life.'
'You were conceived at a Halloween frat party, Peter. I had intended your father to be this boy I was dating. He had good prospects, but I really didn't like him all that much. On top of that, he was a middling lover at best. (Snicker, now, young man, but one day you will appreciate the importance of a partner who can 'rock your world'!)'
"I want to tell everyone here that I actually did snicker when I first read that," Peter interjected. He cleared his throat and continued.
'I'm just going to say this straight because that's how you deserve it: straight. You biological father is the same man you have probably always considered to be your father: my brother James. And, for that, I will always love him. He gave me you, Peter. Don't for one minute hate him or be disgusted with him because you were conceived in incest. It is not (necessarily) the evil that most people consider it to be. Though, too often, it is.'
'Now, understand this one thing: James never confessed this to me. I figured it out for myself. Please let me explain how I did that.'
'After you and your sister were born - yes, Rachel is your sister! Well, your half-sister, really. Anyway, after the two of you were born, James was the one person your Aunt Patty and I could count on to care for the two of you. We couldn't afford daycare, and James was a year out of high school. He gladly volunteered and we happily accepted. He has already been the best Dad any kids could have, and I just know he'll be a good role model for you later on.'
'Around your first birthday, I was really lonely because I hadn't had sex for a long time and I really liked sex. Well, I went into James' bedroom one night and I sexually attacked him. When his big penis went up into me, I knew he had been the one to get me pregnant. There was just something about the architecture of his organ that gave it away...'
'Anyway, I looked at him with horror in my eyes and immediately jumped off him. I ran back to my bedroom and wept into my pillow in shame. I was very angry with James for a week - not speaking to him and doing all the worst things a woman can do to the one man who loves her.'
'You must understand, Peter: it came to me one day soon after that my brother loved me. I knew this because he never once used his knowledge of what he'd done to tease, humiliate or gain advantage over me. I also knew he loved me because he loved you, my dear son! He will always love us both.'
'I then confronted James, and he confirmed what I had deduced. From then, we have been frequent lovers up until last month when my cancer was found to have spread to my brain. It is inoperable and will kill me soon enough.'
'I am not ashamed that you, Peter, were conceived in incest. Why? For the simple fact that so was I and so was my brother! We are both the product of two rapes forced upon our mother by her brother Thomas. (I go to my grave with you being the only other person in our family who knows this!)'
'Thomas was sent to prison for the violence he forced upon your grandmother. He died there in a pool of his own blood and guts... writhing in agony... everyone (including the guards) watching and not helping, because they all knew what he had done. That was the only real justice the Michigan justice system dispensed on that terrible man! May he rot in hell!'
'Contrast that, however, with the love my brother and I share... the love (though deceptive at first) that brought you into this world.'
'So, there you have it, Peter. Share this letter with whomever you feel comfortable sharing it. I hope you will at least share it with your sister, Rachel (whom, up to now you thought of as your cousin). She needs to know when the time seems right to you.'
'All my love,
Your Mother'"
"That's it, folks. She added no postscript," Peter said.
James and I looked at one other, shell-shocked. It was obvious as day that he had never been told he was the product of an incestuous union. Then a smile crept over his face and he began to laugh. He laughed so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks and he fell to the floor.
When he finally got hold of himself, he got to his feet and said:
"The sins of the father are passed down to their sons to the seventh generation! I guess it's really true."
"True or not, James," I said, "you have to explain to me why you had an on-going relationship with Abigail for a year instead of with me?"
"Patty, I'm not going to lie to you... I had known for years that you had feelings for me. I also had feeling s for you, but Abigail asked me not to say anything to you. I think she knew long before her diagnosis that she had cancer. She never actually said it to me, but I think she wanted me for herself while she could still enjoy sex. The last time we made love, she told me to take good care of you. I took that as her giving me permission to marry you."
"Well," I responded, "that explains why she and I stopped having sex. I just chalked it up to her and me being too tired from work..."
I really wanted to ask my husband more about those early days in our marriage, but thought that many of those questions might be better asked in a private setting, so I decided to switch gears as it were:
