First Position (40 page)

* * *

Emory stood outside of Mason’s condo, key in hand.
 
Maybe I should have called first
?
She said a quick prayer, unsure what she’d find when she opened the door.  She doubted it was as clean as she’d left it.  She turned the key and unlocked the door, stepping inside slowly and shutting the door quietly behind her.  “Mason?” she called out nervously.

It was dark, and the pungent smell hit her immediately.  She put down her purse and keys and called for him again.  “Mason?”  She stepped over empty food cartons and dirty clothes littering the floor.  Just outside the kitchen, she heard a crunching sound under her feet.  She took a few more steps and heard more crunching.  She opened the blinds and saw a collection of empty liquor bottles and kneeled down to examine the glass and broken chips on the floor.
 
This is my fault
.
  She heard a little moan coming from the bedroom.  “Mason?”  Emory pushed the door open and saw him on the bed, in his underwear, an arm covering his face.

She flicked on the light and opened the blinds.  “Hey, stop that!”  He threw a pillow in her direction.

Emory walked to the bathroom for a glass of water and aspirin.  “Get up, drink this, take a shower, and put on a suit.” 

Mason didn’t move but peeked under his arm, seeing Emory in a conservative navy dress and the coat he’d bought, her hair pulled back in a bun to show her pearl earrings
.
Why all dressed up?  What time is it?  What day is it? 

“Mason, did you hear me?  Get up!”

He covered his face and rolled over.  “No!”  Emory climbed on the bed and with all her strength, pushed him out of it, Mason landing on the floor, hard.  “Damn, OK!”  He staggered to his feet. 

Emory picked up the glass and handed it to him.  “Drink!”  She then handed him the aspirin.  “Now go take a shower.”  She gave him a slight push towards the bathroom.  “We have somewhere we need to be.”

“Where?”  Mason pouted, squinting his eyes and running his hands through his hair.  “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Get in the shower.”  Emory gave him a forceful push.  “I’ll pick out a suit for you.”

Mason walked slowly towards the bathroom
.
A suit
?
He stood at the sink with his head down, groaning and holding his temples, as he looked into the mirror.  He hadn’t seen himself in days -- bloodshot eyes, face covered in stubble.

“Hurry up!” Emory yelled, making the bed.  She fluffed a pillow and looked towards the television -- and the gaping hole in the screen, wires exposed, glass littering the floor.
 
Jesus.

Mason decided against shaving.
 
Don’t want to overextend myself
.
  He did manage to get into the shower and wash his hair, the warmth of the shower refreshing him for a moment. 

“Mason, hurry the hell up!”

He shut off the shower and dried himself, walking into the bedroom naked, still massaging his temples.  “I’m going back to bed.”

“No, you’re not.  Bed’s made.  Get dressed.”

“I don’t want to.  I’m tired.”  He tried to go around her to the bed, but she stepped in front of him.

“Mason, have you been alone in here drinking for the past three days?”

It’s been three days
?
  “Yeah, so?”

She cast her eyes down. “Nothing.” 

“You thought I might be with another woman?”

“It crossed my mind.”  Emory swallowed hard.  “I’m sorry you were alone.”

Mason reached for her hand but stopped, seeing her engagement ring.  “I wouldn’t do that to you again, Em.”
 
Damn you for tempting me, Clive, you crazy bastard!

“I know.”  She gave him a small smile and handed him a suit.  “Now get dressed.”

“Why?  My head is fucking killing me.”

She cupped his face in her hands.  “Because our baby died six years ago today.  I think it’s time we mourn that loss together.” 

* * *

They both agreed Emory should drive, Mason in no shape to do anything.  His stomach was queasy, and his head hurt.  It hurt to open his eyes, let alone look out the window at the rising sun.  It hurt to talk, which was fine because he didn’t know what to say anyway.  And the turns were the worst, as if he was spinning into orbit.  He decided just to keep his eyes closed for the most part, wallowing in guilt, blaming himself for the death of his child.

Emory didn’t talk during the short drive.  She could tell Mason was hurting and gave him his space.  She thought about his condition -- drunk and sloppy -- and the condition of his condo.  It scared her.  She didn’t have any magic words.  She thought about her annual routine -- how scary it was to torture and torment herself -- and about Wesley’s words in the studio, while well-meaning, were comforting for only a moment.  She knew, in the end, she deserved the pain.  In fact, she needed it to satisfy her own guilt. 

She pulled into a parking space, and Mason lifted his head, looking up at St. Peter’s.  “We’re going to church?  It’s not Sunday.”
 
Should have extended myself to shave.

“There’s no better place today.”

They walked inside and saw Father Tony greeting parishioners.  “Thank you for speaking with me this morning,” Emory said.

“Of course,” Father Tony replied, patting her shoulder, then offering Mason a smile.  “I like what you’ve done to your face.”  Mason rubbed his stubble, embarrassed.  “Jesus himself had a beard.”  Father Tony then suggested Mason check out the Book of Jeremiah before leaving to prepare for mass.

Emory and Mason dipped their hands in holy water and made the sign of the cross.  She walked in front of him, taking a seat in the last pew.  The church was mostly empty, not uncommon for a weekday morning mass.  Mason sat beside her, careful not to touch her.  Father Tony emerged, and the mass began, without any music or fanfare.  It was a bare-bones service, with three Bible readings followed by a short homily which focused on the Book of Ephesians.
 
In whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace
.
  Such power comes from God in Heaven, Father Tony explained, and God’s followers are commanded to share the power with each other.  Holding a tissue and dabbing her nose and eyes, Emory peered at the statue of Mary holding the infant Jesus, believing without question that her own mother was cradling her baby.
 
And Mason’s baby
.
Mason peeked at her occasionally, fighting his every instinct to hold her.

After the homily, Emory and Mason bowed their heads, as Father Tony delivered the intentions of the mass, offering prayers for those serving in the military, for those affected by violence and racism, for the sick and suffering, and for lapsed Catholics to come home.  He then offered one final prayer.  “We pray for the peaceful repose of the soul of baby Mason, for whom this mass is being offered.
”
Amen.

Mason’s head sprung up, and he looked at Emory, tears in his eyes.  She grabbed him, fighting back her own tears, and held him in her arms.  “I know, I know,” she whispered, now crying herself.  “I’m so sorry.  I love you.”  He buried his head in her neck, and she draped her arm around his head, the other around his waist, Mason clinging to her, his tears falling on the shoulder of her navy dress.
 
I finally brought Daddy to say goodbye
.
 

* * *

After mass, there still remained an uneasiness, a tension, between them.  It was going to take more than an inspiring homily and a few tears to fix what was broken.  Emory started her car, and hoping to drown out the silence, turned on the radio.  “Summer of ’69” came blaring through the speakers.
 
And now the times are changin', look at everything that's come and gone
.
  Emory’s hand gripped her belly, having lost so much, worrying she may lose even more.
 
Sometimes when I play that old six-string, I think about you, wonder what went wrong
.
Mason glanced at her engagement ring, finding a different meaning in the lyrics now.  He knew very well what went wrong and shut off the radio. 

Emory drove to Freedom Park, their first date in Charlotte, a source of good memories and new beginnings, with everything now, and their future together, so uncertain
.
I gave him a second chance.  Will he give me one
?
  She didn’t think she deserved one.  She pulled into the park, and they started to walk towards a picnic table, Emory instinctively reaching for his hand, but seeing Mason had them in his pockets.  They took a seat across from each other.  “I figured this would be a better place to talk than your condo,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.  “I was afraid I might cut myself on the glass.  I couldn’t watch TV, either.” 

Mason offered a slight smile on his drawn face.  “Probably a good idea.  I’m going to hire someone to clean it up.”

“Make sure it’s somebody you trust, so they don’t call the police,” Emory teased, a hint of truth in her words.

Mason nodded, embarrassed, figuring the way he’d destroyed his condo and screamed at her days earlier, she probably was scared of him, recalling her curling up in a tight ball.
 
She deserves better
.
  He’d spent the past three days replaying his mistakes in his mind, and not just over those days, but over many years, an endless reel of regrets. They had consumed his mind and heart, leaving him in no mood for small talk.  He had questions and wanted answers.  “Boy or girl?”

His quick question stunned her, Emory drawing a sharp breath.  She hadn’t expected him to be so direct, since he’d spent the past months avoiding serious subjects, only wanting to bask in the surreal glow of their relationship.  “Girl.”

Mason didn’t offer any visible reaction.
 
I bet she would’ve looked just like Em
.
“Was there a funeral?” 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“When you miscarry, there’s nothing to bury.”  Emory wrapped her arms around herself, trying to protect what was no longer there.  “Just tissue.”

“Can you still have babies?”

Emory felt like she was in front of a firing squad the way Mason was shooting questions at her.  She believed death was near -- the moment he lashed out and delivered the blame she so richly deserved.  “The doctor said there’s no reason why not,” she said.  “Apparently miscarriages are pretty common.”

“Did you consider abortion?”

“Never.”

“Adoption?”

“No, I told you I gave up my dance career for her.”  Emory wiped her nose and patted her wet eyes.  “I wanted her.”
 
Death is closing in. 

I would’ve wanted her, too
.
Mason looked away, unable to watch her cry.  “What reason did the doctor give?”

Now the guns were raised
.
“Inconclusive.  They send the tissue off to a lab to try to give you a reason, but no reason.”

“Not the fall?”

Emory shrugged, feeling her stomach knotting.  “The doctor said he couldn’t be sure what caused it.”

“So, it might not have been the fall?” Mason responded quickly.

Emory shook her head, unsure, but she’d found her own certainty years ago.  “Either way, it was my fault.  Either I fell and killed our baby, or I took such bad care of myself that I killed her,” she said, pausing to sniffle.  “So if you’re looking for a reason, for someone to blame, it’s me.”

She pulled at her clothes, waiting for Mason to accept her offer, but instead, he reached across the table, grazing his fingers over the contour of her hand, stroking her gently.  “It’s not your fault, Em,” he said tenderly. 

“It is,” she replied, sobbing.  “I danced too much, too hard.  I didn’t gain any weight like I was supposed to.”

“Em. . . .”

“No!” she cut him off.  “I was so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. . . .”

“I was just so focused on having to raise a baby alone that I, uh, I. . . .”  She broke down, unable to finish the thought.

Mason lowered his head in shame.
 
Did she really think I wouldn’t be around to help?  I guess she did because I was already with Alexis
.
  “It’s not your fault.”  Mason paused, then looked up into her eyes. “It’s mine.”

Emory knew Mason was prone to say outrageous things, but this was beyond absurd.
 
He’s supposed to be yelling at me
.
  “You weren’t even there?” she cried.

“Exactly.”

“But you didn’t even know!  That was my fault, too!” 

“If I had just listened that day in the weight room. . . .”  Mason started, then stopped, searching for the right words in his despair.  “If I hadn’t been so selfish. . . .”