Not so long ago, I would have said that I quite liked my son-in-law. A stand-up guy, I'd have said after he escorted Thespia to her younger brother's wedding, flying clear across country on his own dime to do so. A husband of substance, I determined as he worked his way through the mazes and tunnels of computer game design into a job with Microsoft. A land-on-his-feet kinda dude as he manipulated his gaming projects to reflect his interest in WW2 fighter planes. All this and he continued to write plays and movie scripts. He liked a madly eclectic bunch of music: everything from chanting monks to Ella and Louis, with a good sprinkling of soundtracks and Chopin. He could argue, with good humor, about almost anything.
True, there were indications he wasn't perfect. As they fed each other wedding cake, he bit Thespia's finger hard enough to draw blood. His attention span was brief. He was less than no help with household chores, especially noticeable when we all spent time in rental houses on Cape Cod. His considerable personal charm and wish to act in such a manner as to be thought well of continued to tip the balance in his favor.
Then came the summer of '07. The Weasel took the gloves off and gave us a long, clear look at his bloody claws. While Thespia cringed around the edges of the Truro aerie we were renting, trying for oneness with dust motes, Weasel strutted and posed and, in every way possible, negated her existence. Brought morning coffee and croissants for everyone but her. Disappeared with Pippa, their daughter, for chunks of the day without revealing a schedule or a destination. Seemed unable to hear simple questions when she asked them. Got up and left a room when Thespia entered.
Just before we all met on the Cape, Weasel had been to writers' camp at Bennington. For his edgy, bold self and good looks, Weasel had been lionized, or so we were given to understand. After ten days of unmitigated adulation and firming up his friendship with a misogynist he'd met the previous summer in Provincetown, Weasel was in no mood to tolerate eternal days and nights of family togetherness. Because, really, we just couldn't appreciate him enough to make us worth bothering with. After ten days of this, Weasel kicked Thespia to the curb.
