After four years, John comes back around. Amazingly, Shirley still loves him. He decides he’ll commute to Cabin John from Chambersburg on the weekends. He’ll keep teaching at Wilson College until he gets a job in the D.C. area. He asks his wife for a divorce.
Regrettably, she’s got other ideas. Several of her family members are on the board at Wilson College and John is unceremoniously fired. When the divorce does come through, John has to pay child support for three children, plus alimony to his wealthy ex-wife.
We are entering uncharted territory. John drives down our rutted driveway to the back garage in his little convertible red Corvette and moves into the house immediately. There is no get-to-know-you event that I can remember.
How curious. My father is no longer living in the house. A stranger is.
There is also a scary new rule: the children must keep John’s presence in our house a complete secret. It’s hard to convey the gravity of this command for the children.
This, it turns out, is the first of many unexpected secrets I must keep in my life. It weighs on me heavily and my anxiety spikes.
By a stroke of luck, John gets a job as head of the English department at a nearby community college. But here’s the rub. In the early 1960s, either Shirley, who is now teaching creative writing at American University in the city, or John or both could lose their jobs if it gets out they are living together without the benefit of marriage.
At first, John sleeps on the modern black faux leather couch in the office. Perhaps this is meant to promote the idea that this is a neutral situation. But within a few days, he quietly moves into Mom’s bedroom and stays there.
This untenable situation continues for over a year, until John’s divorce finally comes through. We must always watch what we say wherever we are in case the truth tries to leap out of our mouths. God forbid one of our friends comes into the house and notices a strange man installed there.
Resentment, confusion, and anxiety reign, depending on how old you are. Jake and Eddie lean on the resentment side, while I am confused and anxious. I don’t know how Tyler feels. We children don’t talk about these things with each other.
Once John moves in, though, it’s all about him. Mom is terrified he’ll suddenly realize what a mistake he’s made, leaving the cushy life and money his wife has and his three kids, taking on four ruffians that pass as children, a dog that rolls in dead things, and engaging the long-term debt of child support and alimony.
My mother spoils John rotten. Even though the rest of us get clothes from Sears, John’s Brooks Brothers habit is sustained. This is not necessarily his fault. He may not realize my mother is drastically cutting corners and counting every penny to make sure he gets what she thinks he needs.
Brooks Brothers logo of the Golden Fleece.
She goes into the office attached to the bedroom and finds an order sheet for Brooks Brothers on the desk. John has checked quite a few items. Gulping at the cost, she puts the order in the mail without consulting him. Later it turns out it was a little wish list that John hadn’t intended to mail. But they don’t cancel the order.
There are plenty of other changes coming, big and small. One of them is cloth napkins.
Oh hell no, cloth napkins? That's high-toned as hell