A Song for Julia (21 page)

Finally I said, “I only know part of it. And it doesn’t reflect very well on me.”

She leaned against the door, huddled in her coat, arms wrapped across her chest.

“Why do you ask?” I said.

“Because it’s obvious they love each other. That the separation is killing them.”

I sighed. “I don’t really understand, either. I don’t see her very often. Holidays, sometimes.”

“Are they always like that?”

I nodded. I think I understood what she was getting at. Were they always so tragic? “Yeah. Always. And it drives Dad insane that Sean and I are so angry with her.”

“My parents make appointments to see each other, I think,” she said. “Even though they live in the same house, and he’s retired now. I don’t know if they ever felt that way.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know that kids ever know what’s really going on with their parents. I sure as hell didn’t. I mean, your parents touched each other often enough to have you and your sisters.”

She grimaced. “I didn’t need that image in my head.”

“Your parents must have been screwing like rabbits for years. I bet it was never quiet in your house.”

She shook her head, her expression irritated. Okay, yeah, I was pushing it. It’s who I am. “Since I’m the oldest, by a lot of years, my sisters … they weren’t around much when I was little.” She paused a moment, then turned the subject back to my mother. “There was no warning? That she was leaving?”

I shook my head. “I came home one day, and she was gone. No explanation.”

What I didn’t say—the day I came home and my mother was gone? The upstairs bathroom door had been broken off its hinges, the wood frame shattered. The violence of the act was a shock; unheard of in a house my parents took painstakingly good care of. I’d been gone for three days at that point, drinking and screwing and getting in trouble, so I didn’t have a clue what had occurred in my absence, and Sean refused to say anything. In fact, he hardly said a word for the next three months. This, from the kid who could rattle on for an hour about the internal workings of an electric toothbrush.

“It was partly my fault,” I said. 

She looked at me, confused. “How?” she asked, very frankly.

“I think she left because she just couldn’t take us anymore. Sean was having massive freak-outs, he was always at the doctor, and I was getting in major trouble all the time. If my dad wasn’t a cop, I’d probably have gone to jail for a good long time. As it was, I got a couple misdemeanors that should have been felonies and got brought home more than once when I should have spent the night in jail. I was … trouble.”

Julia listened carefully, as always, and didn’t come back with a knee-jerk response. Finally, she said, “That’s stupid. Get mad at your kid because he acts like an idiot? That I can see. But leave your husband because of your kid? I don’t buy it. There’s a lot more to that story.”

I don’t know why this irritated me so much, but it did. I responded in an angry tone, “You sure do have an opinion about everything, don’t you? You meet my family twice, and you’ve got us all diagnosed.” 

She gave me a skeptical, irritated look. “Don’t be such an ass.”

“It’s who I am,” I said, smug.

“It’s your mask, maybe.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “You wear a mask long enough, no one can tell the difference any more. Not even me.”

“Not even for your friends? Your dad, or your brother?”

I snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And what about you? What kind of mask do you wear?”

“None of your damn business,” she said.

“For someone with so many opinions about me, you sure are sensitive about yourself.”

“I’m off limits.”

Jesus Christ. Like I didn’t know that. She had to rub it in. Sarcastically, I replied, “I know. You already told my brother that.” She flinched a little at the bitterness of my tone.

I was driving so fast, I went right by the exit for Cambridge.

“That’s my exit,” she said.

“I know.”

She was silent for almost thirty seconds, which was a minor miracle. “So—are we not getting off the highway?”

“Not there,” I replied. She was silent.

Three minutes later, I got off at the next exit. A left turn would have taken me into Cambridge. I turned right, driving across Charlestown toward Route 1.

A few moments later, she said, “I don’t recognize this.”

“It’s Charlestown,” I replied.

“Um …”

“Just frickin' relax for a change, all right?”

She stared at me and quietly said, “Just to make things very clear. In case you’re taking me off to the woods to kill me or something, I’ve taken self-defense classes, and I carry mace and a very sharp knife. And I wouldn’t hesitate to use either one.”

Holy shit. “Did you just threaten me?” I asked. I could feel my face twisting into a grin.

“Just making sure everything is clear.”

“Good,” I said. “You’re not gonna need that shit. Not with me.”

I took a left turn onto Route 1. Traffic wasn’t bad for a Saturday night, and a few minutes later, in the silent car, I saw the sign for Revere Beach. 

“Isn’t it a little cold for swimming?” she asked.

I snorted. “Wasn’t planning on swimming.”

“Then why are we here?”

“You haven’t been to Revere Beach, have you?”

“No,” she replied.

“You’ve seriously lived in Boston, what, three years? And you haven’t been to Revere Beach?”

“I live in Cambridge.”

“Christ, whatever. Was coming to my dad’s house the first time you’ve ever left campus? Hanging out at Revere Beach is like a rite of passage here. Relax, you’ll enjoy this. Then I’ll take you home.”

She looked over at me, her expression seeming to indicate that I was nuts. Which I will freely admit, I was. I glanced at her purse, which presumably contained the sharp knife. Wonder if she was telling the truth about that?

“You’re aware that it’s something like 20 degrees outside?”

“Oh, yeah? Good, the ocean won’t be frozen.”

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms across her chest, and then looked out the window. But the thing is, my brother has Asperger’s. I’m used to people looking away from me.

So I drove, while she ignored me, and a little while later I was threading my way down Revere Beach Boulevard. On our left were houses, occasional businesses and bars, and further down, larger buildings. On our right, the wall, about three feet high, and beyond it, the ocean. Even in the cold, there were occasional groupings of teenagers and college students hanging out, mostly sitting on the wall. No alcohol visible, but it was almost certainly there somewhere.

I parallel parked on the beach side of the road and turned off the engine. Julia still wasn’t talking or looking at me.

“Come on. You’ll thank me later.”

Without a word, she opened the car door and stepped out.

I caught my breath when I got out of the car. A biting, icy cold wind was blowing in off the ocean. If Julia didn’t kill me first, that wind would. I zipped my jacket up all the way and turned up the collar, and jammed my hands deep in the pockets. Julia wrapped her scarf around her neck, and walked toward the wall between us and the beach. It was a popular place to sit and watch the water.

Julia was already standing at the wall. She was hunched over a little, arms wrapped around her chest, trying to stay warm.

“Okay,” she said, “so … why are we here?”

Because I’m impulsive? I didn’t have a clear answer for that question. I looked out at the water. The waves were high, coming in with heavy whitecaps and crashing up the beach. The sound of it was nearly overpowering, even in this awful wind. The sky was shadowed with roiling black clouds coming in from the northeast. Nor’easter coming in. It was exhilarating, fantastically beautiful, like something you’d see in a fantasy movie. The nearest teenagers were far enough down the beach that while facing the water, we had absolute seclusion. I finally answered her.

“You didn’t mean to … but you accidentally shared something about yourself earlier. And I wanted to tell you something about me. This is where I used to come at night … when I was in trouble, or got in fights with my dad, or just couldn’t take the pressure and craziness at home any more. My parents weren’t bad—they were doing their best, but the situation couldn’t be fixed, and it was making them crazy. So I’d come here. Look out at the waves. I feel grounded here.”

She shivered and I said, “Let me block some of the wind.” I put an arm around her. She didn’t move, didn’t respond … didn’t lean into me or away from me. It was as if she were frozen. A few snowflakes had fallen, and I could see more coming down over the beach.

“Something about the water, the waves, the wind, the sheer hugeness of it all … it makes me feel like I have a place in this world. A small place, but it’s mine.”

She slowly shook her head. “I don’t like the way it feels. It’s wild, out of control.”

That made me pause. I hadn’t thoroughly examined my own motives in bringing her here. But it certainly hadn’t been to make her uncomfortable.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. If you want to go, let’s go.”

“What do you want from me, Crank?” Her voice was raw, desperate.

I looked at her. She was so close, but might as well have been a thousand miles away. I said, “I want you to love me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Then I’ll settle for a date. Bowling?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you really just say that?”

“I meant every word of it.”

“I don’t understand you. Is this how you get girls in bed?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“So what’s different?” She was starting to shiver.

“I’m not trying to get you in bed. Well … I am. But not just temporarily.”

She shook her head, then looked out toward the ocean, her eyes wide as she watched the waves coming in. “I like you, Crank. But I can’t be involved with you.”

“One date. That’s all I’m asking. Surely you’ve dated since you’ve been in college. I know you went out with that English putz.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve dated.”

“Any long term?”

She took a deep breath. “I was with a guy for two years. We broke up last spring.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He asked me to marry him.”

I swallowed and looked out at the snow. “I don’t get it.”

“He asked me to marry him. I thought we were … not that serious. Honestly, I really didn’t like him that much. I feel awful, but when he asked me to marry him, I broke up with him.”

“Jesus, Julia. Why did you stay with him so long if you weren’t serious?”

She looked down at the ground. It was hard to figure out her expression. “Because he didn’t scare me. There wasn’t so much … messy emotion. We’d go out, have fun. I didn’t expect anything more.”

“What the hell happened to you that you’re so afraid of feeling something?”

She pulled away from me. “I don’t discuss that. Ever.”

“All right.”

She took a few steps away from me. “That night in Washington—why did you leave?”

“I told you then.”

“Tell me now.”

I leaned my head back, looked up at the falling snow. It was starting to come down harder. 

“I left because I was hoping for something more. I sleep with girls all the time, and what’s the frickin’ point? They’re gone in the morning, and it was all fun and games, but maybe I’m … maybe I need something that means something.”

She shook her head, looking baffled. “Can we get out of this snow? I hate snow.”

“Um … sure. Come on.”

We got back in the car, and I cranked it up to let the heater run. “We’ve got a couple of options,” I said.

“Take me home.”

I just kept talking. “We got Bill Ash’s, which is my number one choice. It’s all Revere locals, not a tourist spot. You’ll like it.”

“I said, take me home.”

“Or we could head back to Roxbury, and play some piano together.”

“Last chance: Take. Me. Home.” Her voice was firm and angry.

“Home, it is,” I answered, as smooth as I could. 

I’d crashed and burned. Hard. I put the car in gear and banged a u-ey headed south on Revere Beach Boulevard. It would take almost half an hour to get to Harvard. And it looked like that was going to be one uncomfortable as hell half-hour. I was finding that I felt sad … disappointed. I’m not used to rejection. But even if I was, usually it just didn’t matter. This was different. It was very different. Everything I’d seen of Julia fascinated me. She was kind, and compassionate, and smart as hell, and she was also one moody bitch. Call me crazy, but that combination was one hell of a turn-on. I wanted to break her out of that shell and find out what she was like underneath. I think I got a glimpse of it when we were playing piano together, when she had that secret half-smile.

I wanted to see her smile again.

I sighed. Route 1 was coming up and not long after that we’d be in Cambridge.

“I’ve made you angry,” I said, trying to sound very reasonable.

“You piss me the fuck off!” she shouted, her voice high and strained.

I actually flinched. The snow was coming down harder now, and I had to slow down, which meant this was going to be an even longer drive. I was as tense and self-conscious as I’ve ever been. Talking to her right now was like walking through a minefield.

“Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?” she asked. In a mocking tone, she said, “Hi, I’m Crank, and I’m irresistible. Let me take you to the beach and see if we can get sexy.”

I spoke before I thought. Which is normal. “Maybe I took you to the beach so I could find out why you’re such a bitch.”

I’m glad it was dark, and I was watching the road closely, because I couldn’t see her expression. Her voice alone nearly took my skin off.

“I’m a bitch because love doesn’t mean anything. Attraction and lust don’t mean anything. All they do is screw up your life.”

“You don’t really believe that,” I said.

“You don’t know me,” she replied. “Besides, look at your own parents. I’ve never seen such a screwed up couple in my life.”

“Lay off my parents, college girl. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”