Why?
Cody Lynch had an extensive vocabulary for a four-year-old child, most of which he acquired from watching public television programs such as Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and Sesame Street. Of all the words the preschooler learned, there was one he preferred above all others: the three-letter, one-syllable adverb why. Sometimes he used it to start an interrogative sentence; other times the word alone would suffice. A highly inquisitive child, he also frequently asked how, what, who, when and where—but not nearly as often as he asked why.
Melody Lynch, Cody's mother, frequently had her patience put to the test by Cody's perpetual need to know why. Why was the sun hot? Why was the grass green? Why did ice cream melt when it was left out of the freezer?
Why ... why ... why.
There were times when the word became a mere link in a chain. Why do I have to eat fruits and vegetables? Because they're good for you. Why? Because they have vitamins that your body needs. Why? To keep you in good health. Why? and so on. When Melody could not or did not want to reply to Cody's question, she simply pulled rank on him and responded, "Because I said so, that's why." This reply, Cody quickly learned, meant that his mother had had enough. It would do him little good to ask why after that.
Art Lynch, unlike his wife, had little patience with the four-year-old's constant questioning. It was not that he was an unloving father. On the contrary, he would walk through fire for his only child. However, he did not subscribe to modern parenting theories. He believed as his father and grandfather had before him: that the man was the head of the household and that children should be seen and not heard.
* * *
In July, two months before their son was to enter kindergarten the Lynches took their first real vacation since Cody's birth. One of Art's business associates owned a house on Nantucket Island and offered the Lynches the use of the place for the month.
"Why would you want to go to an island?" Melody asked in disbelief. "You hate the ocean."
"I don't hate the ocean. I think it's quite beautiful—when seen from the land. I just don't like to go in the water, that's all."
"I think you've seen Jaws one too many times."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm not afraid of sharks. I just don't know how to swim," he admitted. "My father tried to teach me the old-fashioned way. He threw me into the deep end of a pool and said, 'sink or swim.' I sank."
"How horrible! You could have drowned!"
"I didn't, but it scared the hell out of me when I went under and got a nose and mouth full of water. Eventually, I managed to doggy-paddle to the ladder and climb out. Since then, though, I've never gone in any water deeper than three feet."
"I'm glad my parents didn't use that technique when they taught me to swim."
"Speaking of your parents, are you sure you wouldn't prefer to leave Cody with your mother?"
"Of course, not. He's going to love the beach. Besides, I've never left him overnight before. How can I just pack up and leave him for a whole month?"
"It's such a long car ride. I don't see how a four-year-old boy can sit fastened in a child restraint seat for six hours."
"We don't have to drive straight through. There are plenty of rest stops along the interstate. We can pull over every hour or so, take him to the restroom, buy him a snack and a drink, let him stretch his legs and then go back on the road. It probably won't add more than forty minutes to the trip," she predicted, "an hour tops."
"Okay, if you say so, but make sure you bring something to keep Cody occupied in the car. You know how whiny he gets when he's bored."
* * *
Art hated to drive in rush-hour traffic, so he insisted on getting an early start. To save time, he put the baggage in the car the night before. The Lynches rose at 4:00 and were ready to leave by 4:45. Melody picked Cody up from his bed and carried him out to the car in his pajamas.
"Come on, Little Man, it's time for a car trip."
"Why?"
"Because we're going on vacation to an island."
"Why?"
"So that we can swim in the ocean, lie on the beach, build a sandcastle and search for seashells."
"Why?"
"Because it's fun."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, that's why."
Art turned to his wife, and asked once again, "You did remember to bring something to keep him busy, didn't you?"
"Yes, I packed his picture books and a few little travel games."
The first leg of the trip went smoothly. The movement of the car put Cody to sleep shortly after they left home. They had driven just under two hundred miles when the flow of traffic came to a sudden stop.
"Damn it," Art swore quietly. "We're not moving."
"There must be an accident up ahead," Melody theorized.
"Mommy!"
"What is it, honey?"
"I have to go potty."
"I'm sorry, you're just going to have to hold it," Art said.
"But I have to go now!"
"There is no bathroom around here, sweetheart." Melody reasoned with the child. "As soon as we get to a rest stop or a gas station, Daddy will pull over so you can go."
"Why aren't we moving?" Cody asked.
"Because there's a lot of traffic."
"Why?"
"The men with the big trucks are probably fixing the road."
"Why?"
"So that it will be safe for people to drive on."
"Why?"
"I think that's enough questions for now," Art said, interrupting the mother-son conversation. "You're beginning to sound like a broken record. Why don't you look at one of your books like a good boy?"
"Because I have to go potty."
"Maybe if you look at a book, it will take your mind off it."
"Why?"
"Just do it, and stop answering back."
"Have some patience," Melody cautioned. "He's just a little boy.
Her husband inched the car forward, and complained, "We've been sitting here twenty minutes, and we've only moved about half a mile. At this rate, we'll never make it to Hyannis. That means we'll have to get a hotel for the night and take a ferry the following day."
"Oh, oh," Cody suddenly cried.
A second later, a tinkling sound followed.
"Damn it!" the frazzled father swore, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "He peed all over the seat."
"That's enough, Art," Melody warned, raising her voice. "He's just a little boy. He can't help it. Pull over, so I can change him."
"Pull over? Traffic's not moving, why should I pull over? Just get in the back and change him. And while you're at it, see if you can wipe up some of the mess."
By the time Cody was changed and the car seat and floor mat wiped clean, traffic was once again moving. Art took the opportunity to make up for lost time.
They had not driven ten miles, however, when Cody declared, "I'm hungry. I want breakfast."
Art looked at the clock on the dashboard and said, "It's 10:45. We'll be stopping for lunch soon."
"I don't want lunch. I want cereal. Cocoa Puffs with milk."
Melody tried to strike a bargain with the toddler.
"Cody, wouldn't you rather go to McDonald's?"
"I want breakfast."
"But if you can just wait a little while longer, Mommy will buy you a Happy Meal."
"I want Cocoa ...."
"You'll eat what we get you or go hungry," Art declared crossly, in no mood to humor his son. Cody began to whine, and Art appealed to his wife. "Can't you do something with him?"
"It's a long drive; he's hungry and cranky. And remember, he's just a little boy."
"Damn it! I already know that. There's no need to remind me every five minutes!"
* * *
It was almost 4:00 p.m. when the Lynches finally arrived in Hyannis. The next ferry for Nantucket did not depart until 6:00. Art, whose six-hour drive had dragged on for eleven hours, was understandably sullen and piqued.
"We've got two hours to kill. Do you want to get an early dinner?" he asked.
Cody piped in, "I want McDonald's."
"You had McDonald's for lunch," Art told his son and then spoke to his wife. "There must be a good seafood restaurant in the area. I could go for a nice big lobster. How about you?"
"I want a happy meal. Chicken nuggets, French fries and a chocolate milkshake."
"No. Daddy is getting tired of hamburgers."
Again, Cody responded with a non-stop whine.
Melody, the great compromiser, suggested, "Why don't we take him to McDonald's now, and you and I can get seafood once we get to the island."
"I don't see why Cody can't get something to eat off the kid's menu in a seafood restaurant. A hamburger is a hamburger."
"I want a happy meal," Cody cried.
"I don't care what you want! We're the adults; we make the decisions," Art insisted angrily.
"Mommy, why is Daddy yelling?"
"Daddy is tired from driving all day, honey," Melody said soothingly. "Honestly, Art. Have a little patience; he's just a little boy."
But Art was all out of patience—with Cody and with his wife.
"YES! That's precisely what he is: a four-year-old boy—a kid. He's not Jesus Christ incarnate. Okay? So, stop treating him like he is."
Melody did not answer. In fact, it would be some time before she spoke to him at all.
* * *
Nantucket is a quaint, picturesque and historic island, a charming vacation spot two hours off the coast of Massachusetts. Under different circumstances, Art and Melody might have enjoyed a month of rest and relaxation on its sandy beaches and cobblestone streets. Unfortunately, their trip had gotten off to a bad start, and things did not improve with time.
Although Art was quick to lose his temper, once he blew off steam, he soon reverted to his normally easy-going self. Melody, on the other hand, usually managed to keep her emotions under control; but when pushed too far, she reacted with silent, brooding anger. She could go for days, and sometimes weeks, without speaking. Such was her mood when they arrived on the island. Not only was she mad at Art for his outburst, but Cody had gotten seasick on the ferry and vomited his happy meal and chocolate milkshake all over her new blouse that, unfortunately, had to be dry-cleaned.
The first day on the island was no better than the preceding one. The suitcases and groceries needed to be unpacked, and the house, which had stood vacant since the preceding summer, required a good cleaning. Art, seeking to avoid his wife's cold shoulder, drove to town, ostensibly to get the newspaper and whatever travel brochures were available. Consequently, Melody was left to do the work herself.
"Where's Daddy?" Cody asked after he finished his breakfast.
"He went to town."
"Why?"
"He wanted to get the newspaper and to find out what places there are for us to visit on the island."
"Why?"
"So that we'll know where to eat and where to go shopping."
"Why?"
"Because we don't know where anything is here."
"Why?"
"Because we've never been here before."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, that's why."
Once he had exhausted that line of questioning, Cody tried another.
"When is Daddy coming back?"
"Good question," Melody murmured under her breath.
The entire island was only fifteen miles long. How much time could it take to drive to town for a newspaper? Where had he been all this time, swimming back to the mainland?
After lunch, with Art still not back, Melody took Cody for a walk.
"Let's go this way," she said, heading toward town. "Maybe we'll run into Daddy driving back."
"I wanna go to the beach. I wanna look for shells like you promised."
"But Cody, darling, we'll be staying here a whole month. You'll have plenty of time to search for shells on the beach."
"You promised!" he whined.
"Okay. We'll go to the beach."
Art returned home just before dinner. He offered no explanation for his long absence, and Melody, still not speaking to him, did not ask.
As the week went on, the distance between them grew. Art found one excuse after another to go off alone, leaving his wife and son to amuse themselves as best they could. Finally, Melody cast aside her self-imposed vow of silence and confronted her husband.
"Where have you been every day since we got here?"
"Well, is Mrs. Freeze finally thawing out?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"Do you really care one way or another how I spend my time?"
"Yes, I do. I'm your wife, and I have a right to know where you go and what you do."
"Okay, you wanna know where I go? I made some friends here on the island. I go to their houses and engage in adult conversation, uninterrupted by four-year-old boys who constantly ask questions. I can watch something on television other than cartoons, and I can eat and drink what I want."
"Oh, so that's what this whole trip was about? You get to spend four weeks selfishly doing what you want to do and going where you want to go. I thought we were a family."
"We were—until you decided to put Cody's needs before yours and mine."
"Will you listen to yourself? You sound like a jealous husband. He's our son, for Chrissake."
"I know he is, but you go way overboard, Melody. When was the last time we went to a movie that wasn't rated G? Or ate at a restaurant where we didn't have to go up to the counter to place our order? Do you realize that since Cody was born, we haven't gone anywhere without him?"
"I can't help it if I take my responsibilities as a mother seriously."
"What about your responsibilities as a wife? Why don't you try working a little harder on them?"
Melody reached out her hand and slapped him across the face.
"It's funny," Art said bitterly, "you're the one who's dead set against parents hitting their children. I guess husbands don't deserve the same consideration."
* * *
Two weeks passed. Half their vacation was over, and all Melody had to show for it was sunburn and an unraveling marriage. Art was not only gone during the mornings but the afternoons and evenings, too. Sometimes he did not come home until the early morning hours.
"Mommy, why doesn't Daddy come to the beach with us?"
"Because he's made some friends here on the island, and he wants to spend time with them."
"Why?"
"I don't know, Cody. I just don't know."
A week later, she got her answer. Melody and Cody had planned on packing a picnic lunch and walking to the far side of the island to try their hand at fishing, but the weather had not cooperated.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone our outing until tomorrow," she announced.
"Why?"
"Because we can't walk across the island in the rain."
"Why?"
"Because we didn't bring any umbrellas."
"Why?"
"Because I forgot to pack them."
"Why?"
"Because I did, that's why. Now, why don't we make some popcorn and watch Nickelodeon?"
"I want to go fishing," Cody said, lapsing into another whine.
"But we can't, so let's think of something else to do. Maybe we can go into town and I can buy you lunch."
"McDonald's?"
"I don't think they have a McDonald's here, but I bet I can find a place that sells ice cream."
They put on their raincoats and walked the short distance to town. Art's car was parked in front of an Irish pub.
"Is Daddy getting ice cream, too?"
"I don't know what Daddy does anymore."
Across from the pub was a family restaurant that sold hamburgers, hot dogs and ice cream in more than twenty flavors.
"Look, Cody, I'll bet we'll find what we're looking for in here."
They sat at a booth where Cody devoured a hot dog and a double chocolate soda. Melody ordered a small tossed salad but had little appetite for it. Her mind and eyes were on the bar across the street.
"I want to go now," Cody said after he slurped up the last of his soda.
"Mommy's not done, honey."
"But you're not eating anything. You're just pushing your salad around with your fork. How come you always tell me not to play with my food?"
"See," she said, putting a forkful of greens in her mouth. "I'm eating. Mmm. This is good."
Just then, Art emerged from the pub with a shapely redhead at his side. They got into the car and, unaware that they were being watched, fell into a passionate embrace.
"Mommy, why is Daddy kissing that lady?"
* * *
When her husband walked in at 2:00 a.m., Melody was sitting up waiting for him. He stiffened in anticipation of yet another argument.
"I've given a lot of thought to what you said," Melody announced sweetly. "You're right. We never spend any quality time together. We'll be going home soon, and we haven't had a chance to get that seafood dinner yet."
Art was taken aback. He had expected her to be angry, not warm and conciliatory.
"I was afraid you'd changed your mind. After all, you haven't spoken to me in three weeks."
"I admit I've been a trifle standoffish lately, but you haven't been around much, have you?"
Art took her in his arms, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
"We were doing a good job of making up. Don't ruin it."
"I wouldn't dream of it. In fact, I've planned a nice romantic day for the two of us tomorrow."
"What about Cody?"
"He made a friend named Brendan who lives two streets over. Brendan's mother has kindly volunteered to watch Cody for the day. She says he'll keep Brendan occupied and out of her hair."
"And while Cody is playing with Brendan, what are we going to do?" Art asked seductively, as he caressed his wife.
"It's a surprise; you'll have to wait and see."
Cody woke the next morning, anxious to go fishing.
"We're not going fishing today," Melody apologized. "You're going to spend the whole day at Brendan's house."
"Why?"
"Because Mommy is going someplace with Daddy, and I'm afraid you can't come."
"Why?"
"Because I said so. That's why."
After they dropped Cody off at Brendan's house, Art and Melody drove into town. They had a delightful lunch at the Brant Point Grill and then strolled, hand in hand, along the docks.
Art kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "I've missed spending time with you like this."
Melody turned her head away. She did not want him to see the contempt in her eyes.
"Now, for my next surprise."
"Are you gonna pull a rabbit out of your hat?"
"No. I've rented a boat. We're going to row around the island."
Art paled.
"I don't think I'm up to going out on a boat."
"Don't be silly. I used to sail all the time when my parents had a summer home in Cape May. I'm better at handling a boat than I am at driving a car."
"I don't know."
"I'll stay in the slow lane and drive under the speed limit if it will make you happy," she joked. "Look, you'll be perfectly safe. I'll make sure you have a life preserver."
"You promise you'll stay within sight of land?"
"Lighten up. You're not going out on the Titanic."
Once Art got over his initial fear of being on the water, he decided to make the best of their time away from Cody. He removed his life jacket and embraced his wife. Melody went along with his amorous advances until they were barely within sight of land. Then she pulled away from him.
"Tell me, who was that redhead you were hitting on yesterday?" she asked bitterly.
"You brought me out here in a boat to ask me that? Why didn't you just ask me last night? What kind of game are you playing?"
"I wasn't about to get in a big fight with our son in the next room. It would have upset him terribly."
"I should have known this was all some kind of trick. All right. You want to fight, let's fight. I met Phyllis the morning after we got here. Her husband is in the Navy, and he's gone for months at a time. She was lonely and so was I. That's all there is to it."
"You were lonely! My heart aches for you," she spat, her words dripping with venom.
"Yeah, I was. Since Cody was born, you've shut me out of your life. All I ever hear from you anymore is Cody wants this or Cody needs that."
"You're pathetic!"
Her feelings went beyond anger, beyond hatred. She loathed him.
"All right, you made your point. Let's go back."
"We'll go back when I'm good and ready."
"I want to go back now."
"But then you'll miss the big surprise!" she cried, her face lighting up with a sardonic smile.
Then she stood up, grabbed both sides of the rowboat and shook it violently from side to side.
"Stop it, Melody. You'll make us capsize."
"That's the idea! Surprise!"
Art stood up and tried to grab her, to make her stop rocking the boat. When he did, Melody threw her weight to the right tipping the vessel at a dangerous angle. Art lost his footing and fell into the water.
"You really shouldn't have taken your life jacket off," Melody cried heartlessly.
"Help me," her husband screamed as he frantically tried to swim toward the boat. But Melody was already putting distance between herself and her floundering husband.
"For God's sake, why?" the desperate man asked.
"Because I said so; that's why."
Melody waited for over an hour and then headed toward shore. Teary-eyed, she told the authorities that her husband had fallen overboard.
"What am I going to do?" she sobbed, as the police officer tried to offer some comfort. "I have a four-year-old son. Now he'll have to grow up without a father."
It was a great performance, Melody thought with pride, one worthy of an Academy Award nomination.
* * *
Cody sat opposite his mother at the kitchen table. Each had a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front them. Outside, a torrential storm battered the house with severe wind and pelting rain.
"Eat up, Cody. It's our last night on the island, and Mommy made your favorite meal."
Melody herself ate with surprising gusto. It must have been the fresh ocean air, or perhaps it was the feeling of freedom that had come over her when Art's body washed ashore and the medical examiner declared his death an accidental drowning.
"Mommy, why did Daddy go away?"
"I told you, sweetheart. Daddy liked his new friends better than he liked us."
"Why?"
"Because he was selfish and thought only of himself."
"Why?"
"Because I said so; that's why."
"Mommy, if Daddy wanted to go away so badly, why did he come back?"
"What are you talking about? Daddy can't ...."
Suddenly, the screen door behind her flew open with a loud bang. Moments later, a cold gust of air enveloped Melody's shoulders, and icy, wet hands reached for her throat.
"Mommy, why does Daddy look so mad?"
Why does Salem suddenly look like a character from South Park?
