Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (35 page)

This black and white image doesn’t do her justice. Neither does this cold, colorless place where she is laid to rest. Not caring about the frosty temperatures or the light mist on the ground, I lay next to the tombstone, let my fingers run over the picture.

What would she say to me now? Had she survived, if Joe had returned then, would she have forgiven him? Would the pain, our fractured bodies, the fear of death been enough to make her release her anger? What if it had been me? If I had died and she’d been left alone, would she have told my father?

I imagine them together, clustered close, over my grave, weeping, clinging to each other as my body sinks into the ground. Death would have healed them. It should have healed me.

“You’re going to catch a cold.” Ava’s voice is soft, just above a whisper.

“I don’t really care.”

 
“You want a room next to your father’s in the hospital? Come on, sit up.” She pulls me by the hand so that I am next to her on the cement bench next to my mother’s headstone.

I rest my elbows on my knees, cover my face in my hands and Ava hugs me, rubs my back. “Oh, sweetie, you’re the bad karma kid.”

“Well thanks, Ava,” I say, jerking my head at her.

“I just mean that if bad things happen, they’re going to happen to you. I’ve always thought so.”

She’s not wrong. I was always the kid in school who fell off the monkey bars; the awkward, lanky girl who couldn’t make her legs keep time with her feet. Busted knees, broken arms, all injuries I suffered before my parents thought getting me into sports would help me learn balance, control over my body.

“Joe told me why he left.” I look at Ava, her worried, near apologetic expression. “Did you know?”

Her excuse is quick, but there isn’t any guilt clotting her words. “I could never betray Evelyn’s confidence. But yes, she told me. She never wanted you to know.”

“Ridiculous. Why the hell not?”

“Autumn, you don’t remember what it was like for your mom.” Ava takes my hand, refuses to let me pull away from her. “She was crazy in love with Joe, more so with you. And you both loved her back, but you had this idea that Joe was this invincible, infallible superhero. You idolized him and Evelyn didn’t mind being in the shadows. And then Nichols finds out about Joe’s wife in Ireland.”

“Nichols?” She can’t mean my always absent, mildly perverted boss. “What the hell? Is everyone in my life harboring secrets about my past?”

“Nichols had a thing for Evelyn when they were in graduate school.” Ava shakes her head, puckers her lips as if there is a memory of him that she finds ridiculous. “He was quite pathetic. He had a cousin from the same village Joe grew up in. He told Evelyn what he knew.” Ava shudders. “It destroyed her and she knew that if you discovered the truth, you would hate Joe. You’d likely hate all men. She didn’t want you bitter.”

“Didn’t work very well, did it?”

“She never once talked poorly about Joe in front of you and you know it.” I nod, agreeing. My mother was always careful not to curse my father in my presence. She offered no real explanations, vague excuses that I didn’t understand. And she was so sad about him that I didn’t want to push. I hated seeing her upset and didn’t want to be the cause of it. “And now you know. Do you think you can forgive Joe?”

“I think I already have. I told him I loved him. I’ve lost one parent, Ava. Joe has been a shitty, shiftless father, but I know he loves me. And right now, I’m just happy he’s not dead. I’m happy he’s here. I’m not happy about all the lies and I feel like a complete—Declan and I—” Ava catches my meaning, understands with one look what has me shutting up.

“I didn’t realize things had gotten so serious.”

“He says he loves me.” I don’t wipe my face dry, don’t let Ava either.

“Do you love him?” It’s as if I have no control over my body; I can’t stop the tears, the blank surrender on my face as Ava watches me, as my face flushes and my chin moves on its own. “Oh, baby.” I fall into Ava’s lap, let her stroke my hair. “Don’t you think there’s been enough anger? Enough arguing and resentment?”

“He got my dad, Ava. I know it’s stupid. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t look at him the same. I feel like an idiot, that he was with me all those times and he knew, like he was laughing behind my back. He got Joe. He had my dad for years and years.”

“And you got Evelyn,” she says, pulling my hair out of my eyes. “He didn’t have a mother, did he?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” She lifts me up, takes my face in her hands. “Wasn’t he lost too? Didn’t you get something he never had a chance at? You got a mother who loved you. You had a blood tie, something that connects you to this world for far longer than Declan did. Joe was a surrogate father and I’m sure he was a good one, but he never had blood, sweetie. He can’t ever have that again.”  

“He lied to me.”

She shakes her head as though my excuses are thin, not worth the energy it takes to think of them. “He was protecting you, honey. Can’t you see that?”

Declan said he couldn’t help himself around me. He told me we weren’t right for one another, made me feel ridiculous for the connection I thought we had. But then he wouldn’t stay away, wouldn’t let me go. My confusion, doubt must be on my face because Ava exhales, squeezes my fingers.

“What?” I ask her.

“You’ve always been trying to find things that have been in front of you your whole life, Autumn. You were angry at Joe for leaving. Then you were angry at every man that came into your life because of Joe. I understand that, believe me. But you never realized, instead of focusing on what you didn’t have, you never saw what wonderful things you did have. You had fourteen years with Joe. Declan never had a day with his father. You had twenty-two years with Evelyn, some folks never get an hour. You have been loved, even from afar, your entire life. You’ve been searching for this quiet, for this serenity that has always been in the palm of your hand, just waiting for you to reach out and catch it. It’s still there, right now, but you refuse to see it.” Ava’s not angry, not being cruel, but I still feel the bite from her words.
  “Autumn, why are you wasting time with me? Go get what’s waiting for you.”

Joe texted me the address to his house; Declan would be there. I was the one who asked for it. That was harder than I thought, but his “do hurry and make up with him” text told me that my father was a bit enthusiastic about the idea of Declan and I together. He also requested his reading glasses and a double cheeseburger, but that was pushing it.

My throat feels thick, like it’s closing up, as I walk to the door. The house is on a cul-de-sac, just outside of Cavanagh’s town center; a small neighborhood of older homes; Craftsmans, Victorians all done up like rows of dollhouses, pointed and arched gables, yellows and blues and white structures that remind me of someone’s grandmother. I half expect to smell cookies baking as I stand on the front porch of Joe’s neat little cottage. It is gray, with white trim and a haint blue ceiling on the porch that I don’t think will keep the spirits away.
 

I knock on the door and when no one answers I debate walking away, not sure if Declan would want me here, not sure if he’s alone.
  But then I remember that Joe is my father, that this is his home and, regardless of what thickens the distance between us now, I want Declan. I don’t care about anything other than that, and I want to fight for him. So, I stand on my tiptoes, slip my hand up to the jam above the door and take the key that Joe told me would be waiting for me there.

When I open the door, I see hardwood floors that are dark, scrapped with knots scattered on every other plank, and there is a homey, comfortable feel to this place. It isn’t overly masculine, no coolers for tables or lawn chairs replacing recliners, but there aren’t any flowers, no sweet smelling fragrances that mark a woman’s touch. Still, as I head out of the foyer, running my fingers over the pictures on the walls, the low console table behind the leather sofa, I see Joe’s influence everywhere. A crucifix hangs over the molding of the hallway entrance. The Irish flag is framed above the mantel of the fireplace and horseshoes rest above every doorway.

“Hello?” I say coming further into the living room. No one answers. On the mantel there are pictures of Declan. Him as a lanky kid, all knees and elbows; him diving for a catch, wearing a jersey I don’t recognize and, in a new frame, silver and clean, I see my own face, younger, fuller, as I sit on Joe’s lap next to my mother. I reach for it, want to touch my mother’s face, but then I hear someone coming down the hall. A smile quirks my lips, preparing for what I hope is a friendly welcome to Declan, but then vanishes as Heather stops short, pulling her shirt down over her stomach.

I feel like I want to vomit.

“Autumn?” She nears me, no shoes on her feet and her hair rumpled as though she’s been napping or doing other things that require a prone position. I want to die. “What are you doing here?”

The way she looks at me, as though she knows something I don’t, makes speech impossible. Quick flashes of Heather wrapped around Declan fill my head. Of them
  naked, rutting together, their bodies slick with sweat…I have to close my eyes, calm my beating heart. But then Heather’s smile grows smug, teasing, and something shakes me, wakes me up. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Joe wanted his reading glasses.”

“Oh. I’ll ask Declan. He’s in the shower at the moment.”

My gaze veers to the window at my left and I don’t care if Heather gets some sort of smug satisfaction at seeing the flash of pain I know is there. “Just ask Declan to bring them to the hospital,” I say, watching my feet as I walk across the room.

“I will,” she says, following me out of the living room. “When he’s decent. We’re just going to stay in tonight, since you’ll be at the hospital. Poor thing is exhausted.” She lowers her chin, comes a step closer. “I guess all the worry over Joe got to him, but don’t worry, Autumn, I made sure your brother relaxed.” Heather’s smile is taunting, vindictive and it takes all my strength not to lash out at her.
 

My hand on the doorknob freezes when I hear Declan call after me. If I turn, right now, I promise myself I will look in his eyes. I want to see if there is guilt there. If there is shame. My breath hitches when I face him; shirtless, his hair wet, the button of his jeans undone. A white button up hangs in his hands.

 “What’s wrong? Did something happen with Joe?”

“He wants his reading glasses.” There is realization on his face, understanding, but I don’t see guilt. I don’t have to.

Stretching my fingers to still the shake does not help. Neither does looking over his shoulder, ignoring his freckled and tattooed chest when he picks Joe’s glasses off of a side table and hands them to me. Our fingers touch and I know he can see how upset I am. “What…”

Heather makes a great show of tidying her hair, patting it down before she takes Declan’s shirt from him, pulls it over his shoulders. He follows my eyes to the intimate way she angles against him, to her hands brushing his shoulder. Then, he gets it, sees the accusation in my eyes.

“No. It’s not what it looks like.” He turns to Heather, quickly buttons his shirt. “Tell her nothing happened.” She remains silent, but smiles and Declan curses low under his breath. I try to leave, manage to turn away from him, before he has me, fingers digging into my arms, giving me a small shake. “You can’t possibly think that I would be with her after I told you I loved you.” He steps closer. “You didn’t believe me?”

“You guys are gross. You’re related. You can’t love her, Declan,” Heather says, trying to step between us. If I were her, I’d be scared at the sneer he gives her. His cheeks flush and I can tell that it takes mammoth control to keep his voice from rising.

“For the last fecking time, Heather, Autumn and I aren’t related. I told you that when you bummed a ride here, which, by the way, why haven’t you left?”

“But Declan, it’s so weird.” She passes a glare between us. “You and Autumn? What will people say?”

His temper snaps when she reaches for his arm. “I don’t give a feck what people say.” He drags her to the door and flings it open and pushes her out onto the porch. “Least of all you. Now. Feck off.” He slams the door in her face.

 
Declan’s back is to me, shoulders lifting with each heavy pant that spills from his lungs. He waits and the silence in the foyer grows thick. When he finally turns, his hands are at his sides, arms straightened down hard as though he has to restrain himself from touching me.

I don’t know what to believe. There has been too much confusion, too many lies. I came here willing to fight for him, wanting to claim him. But I had not expected Heather to look so comfortable. To touch him so intimately.

Declan takes a step and I move around him when he reaches for my hand. “I have to get back to my dad.”

He won’t let me go, won’t let me have even a foot of space from his wide frame, from his fast moving chest. “What?” he says. His voice breaks, as though his shock rushed out before he could decide what he wanted to say. “You can’t leave like this, Autumn. Not again. You can’t do this to me again.”

He can’t be serious. What I’ve done? Me? “Excuse me?” I say, stunned by his subtle accusation. “What did I do exactly? Lie? Break up with you?” When Declan shakes his head, releases a dismissive, annoyed glare, I want to throttle him. React first, think later. “Tell you I don’t want you and then not give you a moment’s peace?” I slam my palms against his chest, livid. His body barely moves. “Oh wait, - that’s what you do, not me, Declan.”

When I try pushing him again, he catches my wrist in his hands, holding it against his chest. “I was protecting you, you stubborn arse.”

“I told you, I don’t need your protection.” I’m tired of this, tired of being coddled, told what’s best for me, people keeping secrets from me like I’m incapable of dealing with the truth. Declan pulls me closer, tries forcing a kiss, but I twist my head, not sure if the tears clouding my eyes are from wanting him to never stop touching me or from my anger at him blaming any of this nightmare on me. “Don’t touch me. God, Declan, Heather just left your bed.”

His expression is harsh, as though I’d slapped him. “I did not fuck her! Dammit, Autumn, I’m not going to let you do this again!”

“Do what, you jackass?”

Instantly, Declan’s hands rip through his hair, his eyes shifting to the floor, over my shoulder, as though there are too many thoughts, emotions confusing him; too many ways to make things worse. He tries for control, for rational thought, but fails. He fails tremendously. “Rip my fecking heart out!” We stare at each other, breathing hard. “You wouldn’t let me explain. I tried to tell you over and over, but you kept putting me off or we got interrupted. There was never a time and then when you found out, you just locked me out. I was begging you, fecking begging you, Autumn.” He grabs my shoulders like a lifeline, as though he is drowning and I anchor him above the water. “I don’t beg. Not ever, and yet I was begging you. You wouldn’t listen. You destroyed me.”

What did he expect? What was I supposed to do? “Yeah Declan, and you destroyed me.”

It’s as though the air collects poison, seeps into the moment and freezes us until we can only manage to exchange a glance—watch the wall that should be broken down, but neither of us will attack it first. Declan’s chin shakes and I don’t believe it’s anything but anger, maybe disbelief, that is causing this physical reaction.

He is the first to breach the silence, but his voice is too quiet, too precise. “I know it hurt, Autumn. I know everything that has happened hurt you. I should have tried harder, but I told you I loved you and I meant it. I’ve…I’ve never told anyone that but my mum. I can’t do this. I can’t let you do this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you.” I curl my arms around my stomach, pinching my coat between my fingers.

“You’re not listening. You’re angry, I know that well. But I’m angry too. I’m hacked off at Joe for almost dying, for taking his sweet bloody time to tell you the truth. I had to watch you with that bollocks, watch him touch you,” Declan closes his eyes as though just the thought of Tucker touching me burns in his memory, cripples him, “and it killed me. You were the only one I wanted and when everything was out in the open, when you knew, you threw me out, tossed me away like I was some piece of rubbish. I needed you. I was scared, I’ve never been so scared and I needed you and you didn’t fecking care.” He runs his hands over his face, takes a calming breath. “That’s the only reason Heather came with me to hospital. She showed up there, said she’d heard about Joe and I was so out of my mind hurt, afraid, that I just let her come along. She knew what it was like. Her da, last year, he had a heart attack as well. It scared her. I…I didn’t know what to do, Autumn. I never thought this would happen to Joe. I had no one, not one bleeding person to tell me what to do.”

“So you went back to your ex-girlfriend?” I’m grasping at straws, trying to keep my guilt at bay and Declan knows it. For a moment, I think he’ll disregard my snide comment completely.

“I have never touched Heather. The only reason I hung around her was to throw you off, to keep my distance from you so that I wouldn’t bloody touch you until you knew the truth.” Again, he scrubs his face and this time his fingers shake. There is no warmth in his eyes; it’s all vacant but for the seething anger. “I needed you. But you, you couldn’t even look at me. You wouldn’t even try. That’s the only fecking reason I even let her come along with me.”

It doesn’t make sense. I understand needing support, needing comfort, but she touched him so intimately, as though she’d done that often and that touch was welcomed. I came here to fight for him and one touch, one glance at Declan’s half naked body and Heather’s confident touch knocked me out of the fight. He’s lied to me before. How do I know he isn’t lying to me now?

There is no excuse to give him for my reaction. It should be obvious and now, with him fuming down at me, accusation in his sneer, I feel my fight dim. The game is over because I didn’t have the energy to keep fighting anymore. But Joe belongs to both of us.

“What do you want from me, Declan? We can’t keep arguing with each other. He’s…Joe’s important to both of us.”

I’ve noticed over the months that Declan’s face is expressive. I’ve sorted out how to tell when he’s angry, when he’s tired, when something overwhelms him. But now, watching the quick quiver of his chin and the small twitches that move his lower eyelid, I know he is near the brink of a complete breakdown.

He’d never let me see that and when he moves the heels of his palm into his eyes, rubbing them, I suspect that he is trying not to cry in front of me. Either that or he is trying not to lose his temper completely.

The steely silence of his anger only darkens. His stern eyes soften, but only slightly. I want to know his thoughts. Something settles in his mind, a decision he keeps to himself and then Declan steps away from me, stands with his hand on the door handle. 

“I can’t be around you, Autumn,” he says, his voice uneven, fractured between high and low pitches. “You go home. I need to see Joe, talk to him about some things. I’m asking you, please, to stay back a while.” He opens the door, stands back though I think it’s an immense effort to not look at me, to not stop me when I pause at the threshold. “I love you,” he says, eyes downcast, voice cracking again. “I’m blind from how much I love you, but I won’t let you hurt me again. I needed you and I never need anyone. But you weren’t there. You turned your back on me.”

I at least manage my pride, to not make excuses or catch his eye. And I’m fine with his answer, fine with being chucked out. But then I turn, face him as I stand outside on the porch. There is a second where I think I might apologize, where I think he may let me. It’s the potential of resolution that moves between us. These expressions, our restraint tested as the moment stretches. But it passes and the anger returns, stubbornness extinguishing the natural instant to move toward each other. And then, Declan slams the door in my face.