Sometimes you have to be blind, deaf, and dumb just to avoid accidentally giving away someone else's secret and triggering a scandal.
I couldn't keep my mouth shut, and it feels like I've ruined the lives of people I love...
Summer was fast approaching. Leo was just finishing first grade, and it was still too risky to leave him home alone. My wife, Jennifer, and I didn't have vacation time until August, and the first two months of summer were shaping up to be a nightmare.
We started looking into summer camps, but nothing seemed to fit—either they were too far away or the age groups weren't right. We found a decent session for July, but the beginning of June was a total wash. We even started asking around for a reliable nanny; it's terrifying to leave a seven-year-old by himself for eight hours a day. He'd just sit there hungry in front of the TV. But then, we got a lifesaving call from my mother-in-law. She told us her vacation was in June and she wanted to come stay with us and Leo. She wanted to get some fresh air, walk around the city, see the sights, and go on some tours.
In her small town, you can see everything in a day—two monuments and a tiny museum—but here in the city, there's plenty to see. We were thrilled, knowing the kid would be fed and looked after.
My mother-in-law arrived on Sunday evening, bringing fresh herbs from her garden and unpacking her bags.
"I'm sure I'm not imposing?" Martha asked.
"Mom, stop it," Jennifer smiled. "It's a miracle you're here."
"Look," I jumped into the conversation, "I've made a list of what's happening and when. Movies, museum exhibits, shows. This should last you and Leo for at least a week. Pick whatever you like. Here's money for tickets, and if you head out early, I can drop you off on my way to work."
Martha unpacked and started making a fun-filled plan with Leo. My son doesn't settle for the bare minimum, so almost every item on the list got a checkmark after their discussion.
"We're going to have to work hard to fit in everything you picked. Can you wake up early?" Grandma asked, glancing at her grandson.
"Early, like for school?" Leo made a face. "No way. Cross something out then."
***
The duo's vacation started off very active. By morning, there was a plate full of pancakes on the table, soup simmering on the stove, and Leo was devouring cheese crepes. Jennifer looked at the spread and whispered happily, "Hooray, I don't have to cook today!" before taking a blissful bite of a pancake.
A few days later, I decided to ask Leo how his outings with Grandma were going.
"Did you make it to all the shows?" I asked him as we walked from the parking lot to our front door.
"No, we only did the movies, the swings, and the kids' room."
I spent a while trying to guess what he meant.
"A petting zoo room? A funhouse? A haunted house?"
I couldn't figure it out. Being seven, Leo speculated, "Probably a haunted house. There were couches, toys, and doctors. Doctors are scary."
After about a dozen leading questions, I realized my son had been in a playroom at some medical center.
"Grandma went to get a shot, and I played with the other kids."
"What kind of shot?"
"Right here," Leo pointed to the inside of his elbow. "She has a mark from the needle there."
It wasn't entirely clear, but logic suggested it was a blood draw. Even though Leo could have mixed things up, I started to worry. Was my mother-in-law seriously ill? I decided not to pry. For all I knew, she was a blood donor or something. I honestly don't understand why so many men hate their mothers-in-law. I was genuinely glad Martha was here; Jennifer could finally breathe and cook less, and the kid was always occupied. In the evenings, I'd come home to an art gallery by our young artist. Or a massive Lego castle. Or a dozen crookedly cut paper snowflakes. My wife and I even had more free time; we managed to go out to dinner twice that month.
A day later, I was looking at Leo's drawings and asking him what was what. The boy was clearly not blessed with artistic talent—every page was covered in unrecognizable shapes—but he described each "masterpiece" with great enthusiasm.
"This is the big carousel with the horses we rode. This is the ice cream I had today. This is the pharmacy where Grandma bought medicine. This is the crow that was walking in the square."
I tried to get more details about the medicine, but Leo couldn't explain anything, only saying it wasn't for him. Then I asked him to draw the medicine.
"Like this," a wobbly square appeared on the paper.
"Can you write down what it's called?"
"Yeah, I can," Leo answered confidently.
I was briefly proud of how smart my son was, but then he just wrote three identical letters in the middle of his square, and I realized it was a lost cause.
"You don't know the name?"
"No, I didn't look."
"I'd really like you to draw that medicine and write its exact name."
"Grandma said it's a secret and I can't tell."
"But you just told me."
"No, I didn't tell. I drew it. She didn't forbid drawing," Leo replied firmly.
"Great. And can you take a picture of it?"
"If I don't say it out loud afterward, then I think I can."
God bless children's logic and the inventor of the camera phone.
The next day, the little guy proudly brought me his phone, put a finger to his lips, and commanded me not to speak. I sent the photo to myself and deleted it from his phone. That evening, I scoured the internet and found the answer. The medication was used to treat certain STDs...
I realized this was a very sensitive matter and decided to stay out of it for the time being.
***
By the end of the month, my son had been everywhere, and I had gained a few pounds from my mother-in-law's cooking. Her vacation was ending, so I offered to drive her home on Saturday and take Leo along. We loaded up the car.
Leo brought his grandfather a mountain of gifts: drawings and collages. He demanded they all be hung on the wall and admired until next summer, when the artist would produce a new batch. My father-in-law, Arthur, saluted and tucked a few masterpieces into the display cabinet, spreading the rest on the table. Martha suggested we stay the night and drive back in the morning. Leo agreed and climbed onto his grandpa's back. Once the kid was asleep, Arthur suggested I try some of his homemade moonshine. The first glass relaxed us both.
"Listen, son-in-law, don't miss the window," the old man started. "Get Leo into soccer or hockey."
"I don't follow. Why the sudden idea?"
"Look, art just isn't his thing. For example, what is this: a dead pigeon? A mutant ant? Grandma's soup?"
Arthur was holding the drawing of the medicine. I recognized it by the three letters. If I had been sober, I would have stayed silent, but under the influence of the moonshine, I somehow blurted out:
"How could you let a disease like that into such a respectable family? That, for your information, is a drawing of the medicine your wife is taking."
At first, he thought it was a joke. Then he demanded an explanation. I didn't know what to do. It turned out I had stuck my nose where it didn't belong; it was a shock to me that a husband didn't know what his wife was being treated for. I showed him the photo of the medicine on my phone. Arthur's hands began to shake almost imperceptibly. I felt guilty, though objectively, the blame lay entirely with my mother-in-law. Naturally, the man couldn't keep that information to himself and went to confront his wife. It felt like the perfect moment to leave, but I had moonshine in my system and a sleeping son. So, I just announced I was sleeping in the car.
I don't know how they settled things, but an hour later my wife called, asking what I knew. She was hurt that I hadn't told her anything.
***
Like it or not, I had to go into the house the next morning. Martha didn't come out to say goodbye. Leo was already packed and walking around the house eating a pancake. I shook Arthur's hand, apologized for everything, and asked him to tell Martha I was sorry.
My mother-in-law had combined business with pleasure. She saw so many interesting things, helped Jennifer and me tremendously, and "took care of her health." On one hand, everything was fine, but on the other, Arthur had been completely in the dark. If it weren't for my great artist, it all would have remained a secret. Jennifer's parents live in a small town; it's possible Arthur even knows the person who was taking those same pills alongside his wife last month. I know he doesn't want a divorce. They've been together for thirty years, but he's not ready to live with a cheater. For now, he's moved to their summer cottage to clear his head before making a final decision.
It ended fairly peacefully, especially for Martha. Arthur stayed at the cottage for two months, drowning his sorrows in his own moonshine, but eventually, he went home. He says he's forgiven her, but you can see in his eyes that he hasn't—not entirely. Whether he found his wife's lover, I don't know and I haven't asked. But I still can't wrap my head around it. How can you live together for so many years and then pull a stunt like that?
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