Page 140 - Too Much and Never Enough - Mary L. Trump

ahead blankly, disengaged his arm, and left the room.
Shortly after, Donald came in with his kids and Rob’s stepson. With the
exception of Eric, they were all teenagers, the boys tall and chubby and wearing suits. Donald went to sit on the chair by the TV, and Ivanka climbed on his lap. The boys started wrestling. Donald watched the action from his chair, kissing Ivanka or pinching her cheek. Every once in a while, he’d stick his foot out and kick whichever boy was being pinned to the floor. When they had been younger, Donald had wrestled with them—a fight that had basically consisted of his picking them up, throwing them on the ground, and kneeling on them until they cried uncle. As soon as they had gotten big enough to fight back in earnest, he had opted out.
When Liz and I were as far out of harm’s way as we could get, she held the box out to me and said, “This is yours.”
We didn’t exchange gifts outside of Christmas, but I took the box from her, curious, and opened it to find a vintage stainless-steel Timex with a small, plain face and an olive green band.
“Somebody gave it to you for Christmas,” she said. “You were only ten, and I thought you were too young to have something that nice. So I took it.” She left the room to look for her father.
Later Donald and Rob huddled together in the breakfast room, their shoulders close and their heads down. My grandfather stood nearby, leaning forward almost on the tips of his toes, trying to hear what they were saying.
Fred said, “Donald, Donald.” When he didn’t respond, my grandfather tugged on Donald’s sleeve.
“What, Dad?” he asked without turning around.
“Look at this,” Fred said. He held up a page that had been torn out of a magazine, an ad for a limo similar to the one he already owned.
“What about it?”
“Can I get this?”
Donald took the page and handed it to Rob, who folded it in half and slid
it onto the table.
“Sure, Pop,” Rob said. Donald left the room. Whatever had once tied
them together, Fred’s remaining sons had given up all pretense of caring what their father thought or wanted. Having served his father’s purpose, Donald now treated him with contempt, as if his mental decline were somehow his own fault. Fred had treated his oldest son and his alcoholism the same way, so Donald’s attitude wasn’t surprising. It was jarring, though,