Somewhere Between Black and White (18 page)

“Yeah.”

She regarded him curiously. “Are you a
Buddhist or something, and you don’t want anyone to know?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want anyone to
know. And no, I’m not a Buddhist. I’ve just always liked reading this kind of
stuff, and it’s not something that . . . well . . . comes up.”

“It just seems like you might have
shared something about it before.”

“There’s nothing to share.”

“But, this is what I mean. Since the day
we met, I’ve detected this, I don’t know, calm reflectiveness in you. This
sense of something I can’t put my finger on—that I wish I had in myself.” She
combed through the pages one more time, seeing various notes she assumed were
Sam’s, then she closed it and held it tightly in her hands. “I think it’s what
makes me want to be with you ad nauseam.”

“
Awww
. That’s probably the nicest
thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I’m not kidding.” She watched him
expectantly, waiting for a response to her confession.

He gave her an endearing scowl. “I’m no
sage, Sophie, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I know you’re not a sage,
per se
,
but there is something very
sage
-like about you,” she concluded while nodding
her head, as if she were on to something.

“I was not at all sage-like, as you say,
that day in the hallway with Jake. I was anything
but
.”

“I thought you handled it pretty well.
Personally I wanted to beat the living crap out of him,” she admitted.

“Oh, believe me. So did I. But I dislike
jail. Besides. . . .” He retrieved the
Dhammapada
and set it on his chest
of drawers. “The type of person you refer to would not have those kinds of
impulses.”

“Still. . . .” She touched his face as
he crawled back into bed. “I think you are very tranquil, in general. Endlessly
tolerant and kind.”

“All right, enough about me.” He rubbed
her shoulder. “The sage MO has worked its intended magic on you, so it’s time for
me to move on to my next gullible victim.”

“I’m serious, Sam. I want to know more
about this.”

“Like what?”

“Like, has this book been a strong
influence on how you think? Who you are? Besides the fact that, apparently, it
belonged to you in your last life.” She kept her last comment light-hearted, as
if that kind revelation was commonplace.

“Yeah. Besides that,” he answered with a
bemused grin. “Since we’re not going back to sleep, I think this conversation
calls for coffee. You want some?”

She followed him to the kitchen, itching
to hear what he would say. At last, she would be given the elixir she needed,
that he’d been keeping to himself. Something special kept the waters still
within him, while hers were the kind that capsized boats. And not modest-sized
boats, but huge pirate ships. Always tossing, rolling, churning. It was
exhausting.

“What do you know about Buddhism?” Sam
asked as he spooned some grounds into the filter.

“Very little.” Sophie thought a moment
more. “Okay, nothing. I know nothing about Buddhism. Except that the Dalai Lama
is Buddhist.”

“I’m not trying to sound condescending,
but it might be kind of hard to explain the book’s appeal to someone who hasn’t
read it.” 

Sophie gave him an expectant smile.

He turned on the coffee maker, leaning
against the counter as it began its gurgling and percolating.

“All right,” Sam conceded. He scratched
his chin, considering where to begin. “Like I said, I read it while in college,
and at that time, it didn’t have much of an impact on me. Then a few years
later, my mom started having health problems from smoking. Chronic bronchitis,
high blood pressure. Didn’t matter how bad it got, she just kept smoking. And as
I told you before, I was always mad at her. I didn’t get it. I wouldn’t just
talk to her about it, I would lecture her, then we’d get into it because she
didn’t like me telling her what to do. I got to the point where I kept it to
myself, but every time her symptoms got worse, I got pissed off at her because
in
my
mind, it was something she could fix.”  

The first signs of dawn were peeking
through the window, its pastel ribbons lacing the sky. The coffee finished
brewing, and Sam poured a couple cups.

“One day after I had gotten really angry
with her, I remembered the
Dhammapada
mentioning something about not
judging others.” Sam absently stirred cream into his coffee. “Not a novel idea,
obviously. It’s mentioned in the Bible. But all I remembered was that you
shouldn’t judge others, unless you want to be judged. Well, I didn’t
care
if someone wanted to judge me.” His laughter was self-deprecating. “Anyway, I
decided to reread
Dhammapada
.”

As they took their mugs to the dining
table, Sophie asked, “Does it tell you how to stop?  Judging, I mean. ‘Cause I
could
really
use that where Christian is concerned.”

“I’m not going to comment on that,” he
replied impishly. “Because
I
would never judge you. See how I did that?”
He nodded, as if impressed with himself.

Sophie squinted and crooked the corner
of her mouth. “Yeah, I see. Smarty pants.
Anyway
, does it? Does it tell
you?”

“
Uhhh
. . . no.”

Sophie’s shoulders sagged. “Well, what
good does
that
do?”

“It’s more like. . . .” He tapped his
finger against his mug, as he struggled to think of a comparison. “You know how
we always tell the kids to stop worrying about what their neighbor is doing,
and start worrying about what
they’re
supposed to be doing?”

“
Psh!
Yeah.” Sophie made a face
and shook her head. “They don’t get that.”

“Neither do we! We spend so much time
focusing on what’s wrong with other people.
Oh, that person is so rude!
”
he declared in a catty voice. “
That old fart seriously needs to learn
how to drive or get off the road. Why doesn’t she teach her kids how to act
right?
On and on and on.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “If
everyone spent half that energy looking at themselves and how
they
could
be better, think how different things would be.”

Sophie tilted her head and raised her
eyebrows, considering his point. “So that’s it? That little bit from the book
is what makes you so even keel?”

“Oh, no. There’s more. It’s about having
compassion, for
everyone
. Even our friend, Jake.” He listed on his
fingers. “Non-judgment, non-attachment.” Sam shook his head. “Non-attachment,
that’s the part where I can’t get on board.”

“What
do they mean by non-attachment? To what?” Sophie sipped her coffee, immensely
enjoying this conversation. Buddhism 101.

Sam stopped to admire those bright blue
eyes peeking over her cup, as she waited on his reply so expectantly. Wearing
the Tinkerbell t-shirt he’d bought her at Disneyland, disheveled curls around
her face, she couldn’t have been more captivating.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Well, are you going to tell me about
the non-attachment thing?”

“Why certainly,” he replied in a
professorial tone. Sophie smirked at his affectation.

“Buddhists believe that all of our
suffering stems from attachment—to things, people, and circumstances,” he
continued in a refined manner. “Because all the things we love in this world
are impermanent, when we lose them we suffer. Loss of a loved one, a job, a
home, money, wouldn’t be painful if we didn’t foster attachments to them.

“I mean, I get it in
theory
.” Sam
returned to his normal voice. “But explain to me how you’re not supposed to be
attached to your family, your friends. How, when you lose a parent or a child,
you’re just supposed to be okay with it.”

“You’re not!” Sophie answered. “That
actually sounds pretty lame.” They both laughed. “What can I say?” she added.
“I guess I’m not very enlightened.”

She stood up and kissed him on the
forehead. “But apparently, you are.” She ran her fingers along his forearm as
she walked toward the French doors to watch the sunrise.

At times, Sam felt uncomfortable having
conversations like this with Sophie, worried that he might come off as an
arrogant know-it-all. She already looked at him as if he were an enigma to be
worshipped, and
that
was nothing short of ridiculous.

Sophie turned and smiled at him. His
eyes never left her as he reflected on some of the things they talked about—her
constant aggravation with Christian, how she battled it daily.

Sam believed he had become pretty good
at surrendering judgments. He accepted the reality that his mother was going to
do whatever she wanted. Yes, it would very likely take her life at some point,
and probably in an unpleasant manner. But it was her decision. Not his. Why
spend what time he
did
have with her angry because of the choices she
made? Sophie could do the same with her sister.

When he applied this philosophy to all
of his personal interactions, it was liberating. No. It was more than
liberating. It was gratifying. Without obligation to be judge and juror for
everyone else, the only person he needed to be responsible for was himself. And
it felt damned good.

However, he hated that he had failed so miserably
that day with Jake. His fondness for Ian muddied his vision, turning him into a
callous, mean-spirited creature. No matter what Jake had done, he was still a
child with a story of his own. In most cases, kids didn’t do bad things unless
they were dealing with their own brand of suffering. He could see it in Jake’s
eyes, the contrived insolence meant to conceal remorse. But Sam didn’t care. 
All he knew for certain was that Jake’s actions had injured Ian.

Attachments. They certainly were a
bitch.

But as he watched Sophie gazing out the
window at the sunrise, quietly enjoying her morning brew, he was reminded how
attachments made life quite sublime. He was all about taking the good and managing
the bad as best he could. Determined to enjoy every passion to its fullest,
fully aware of the torment that was often an accessory, it would likely be eons
before he’d be willing to give attachments the slip. 

His beloved Sophie was utterly clueless
as to the power she held in her hands. How, in a single breath, she could blast
his soul to pieces by the simple withdrawal of her love. This kind of existence
was entirely
non
-Buddhist.

And he would have it no other way.

Twenty-Three

Those worthless steroids meant to combat
Evelyn’s pleurisy weren’t doing the job. The stabbing in her chest, the struggle
for air, became too much. She hated calling her mother to take her to the
hospital, nearly frustrated to tears as she dialed the phone, but she refused
to ask anything of Christian.

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” Abby
said. “But where’s Christian?”

Abby still knew nothing about
Christian’s betrayal. Evie wanted to keep it that way, but wasn’t sure how long
she could pull it off. “He’s out right now. I told him to just meet us down
there.” She’d worry about the rest later. Maybe she could concoct a believable
story by then.

 Although Christian had come home after
a brief stay at a hotel, they’d had little interaction. They were in a holding
pattern. Evie needed time to figure out what she wanted to do, and Christian
had been making himself scarce, either holed up in a room with his work or spending
the time with his mother.

Had he confided in her? Christian’s
mother had always been good to Evie and treated her as a daughter. Still, Christian
was forever her one and only perfect baby. Her fixation only intensified when
his father moved back east following the divorce.

Once Evie was settled into a hospital
room, Abby propped several pillows behind Evie’s back in an attempt to ease her
breathing. “Sweetie, I called Christian while they were taking your vitals,”
Abby admitted. “To find out why he isn’t here yet. I don’t know what’s going
on, but haven’t you two patched things up since the holidays?”

Damn it!
Evie covered her face and shook her head. “Everything will be fine. We’re just
going through a rough patch.”

“I called Sophie, too, to let her know
you’re here. And Christian is on his way.”

Evie groaned. “Mom, I wish you hadn’t. I
don’t want him here right now.”

“You’re in the hospital! Seriously, you
think he’s not going to notice when you’re not home?” Abby stopped fussing with
the blankets. “Or has he moved out?”

“He hasn’t moved out, but there’s no
need for him to be here. How many times have I had this done? They’ll drain off
the fluid, and I’ll call him later.”

Abby folded her arms. “Honey, are you
high
?
Yes, you’ve done this before, but it has serious risks, and your husband should
be here.”

Evie grimaced, holding her chest as
another invisible blade pierced her insides. Abby gently rubbed her back. “I’m
sorry you’re going through this. Just hang on. They’re going to make it
better.”