Starting Fires (38 page)

Lacey and Ian couldn’t make the concert, but the rest of us piled into his Buick. An ice chest claimed the spot of the middle back seat, between Wally and Nicole. Without having to voice it, everyone assumed that I’d be riding in the front next to Lucas. It was about an hour away, and the drive wasn’t so bad. With everyone else in the car, it was easy to forget how close we were.

The band we were seeing was one that I’d never heard of, but the pavilion was interesting. A huge open-air amphitheater stood at the bottom of a large rolling hill. We didn’t buy tickets, and only had to pay for parking. Anyone could come and watch them play and alcohol was permitted as long as it wasn’t in glass bottles, hence the ice chest. Lucas was the only one who thought to bring a blanket. Charles had a folding chair, but Nicole had already convinced him to let her use it. A few different bands were playing throughout the day, so we found a spot in the middle of the grass hill and set up.

Lucas opened a beer and leaned onto his elbows, his long legs stretching out in front of him. Once everyone else had their drinks, Charles claimed the ice chest, and Nicole, his chair. Without a thought, Wally walked over to the blanket and sprawled out, too. “Are you gonna make Marzy stand?” Lucas asked.

Wally peered up at me. “We can make room for her.” He scooted over and patted the tiny spot between them. I didn’t want to stand, or sit on the grass, but it was hot and I’d worn the shortest pair of shorts I owned. No matter how I situated myself, they’d be getting an eyeful of skin. “I don’t bite,” Wally said. “Well, not unless you want me to.”

“Like I’d ever ask
you
to bite me,” I said. To keep from getting grass on the blanket, I took off my flip-flops and sat between them, my hips directly in line with their faces.

Since there was no shade, we were all wearing sunglasses, making it hard to read Lucas’ expression when Wally replied with, “Yeah. Maybe I should leave that to my boy over there.” Visibly, I stiffened, and shot an elbow into his shoulder. “What?” he laughed. “I’m positive that he’s bitten something on you. Probably a few things.”

My face started heating. “You’re so rude,” I whispered to him, making everyone around us chuckle, even Lucas—though his was quiet, hidden behind a sip of beer.

While the band played on stage, I quietly nursed my drink. Periodically, Wally would shift on the blanket, pushing into my tiny space and making me scoot closer to Lucas. He didn’t seem to mind, and didn’t move away

After they finished, a new band started setting up and everyone but Lucas and I went to walk around. Ice cream and slushy stands were set up on the outskirts of the stage. They looked tempting with the sun bearing down on us. I wasn’t sweating yet, but could feel my skin heating. Of course, today would be a day that I’d forgotten a hair band. With Wally gone, I scooted down and stretched my legs out in front of me. To momentarily get my hair away from my neck, I leaned on my hands and tilted my head back. The gentle breeze felt nice, and I savored it with a sigh.

I barely felt his gentle tugs, and knew that his fingers were playing with the ends of my hair. Slightly, I tilted my head towards him, and saw that his shaded eyes were fixed on the stage. Up on one elbow, he took a drink from his beer.

This morning, I’d given in and added his sparrow to the violin chain. It was tucked into my shirt, but I’d wondered what he’d feel if he saw them together, dangling from my neck. I was beginning to feel my resolve dwindle. “Are things better with Gwen?” I asked to remind myself of what had happened between us.

“I fired her,” he said. “Or let her go rather. Fired sounds so harsh.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “When?”

“Probably a week after you started coming back to the bar.”

Taken off guard, I reach over his body to open the ice chest. Clumsily, I fished a beer out, having to lean against him to reach it. “Why did you let her go? She was a good bartender.”

He began toying with his beer can, twirling it back and forth as he thought about how to answer. “I guess I didn’t like the way she talked to you.”

For a split second, my heart tensed, but then I remembered all the nasty things Candace had said to me. “Really?” I laughed. “Candace has said far worse to me, but you still have her around.”

“
Had
,” he said. “I
had
her around. While you were in New York she and I talked, too.”

I shouldn’t have been this interested in finding out what they’d discussed, but I turned towards him. “What about?” I asked, before taking a long drink from my beer.

He watched me. “You really want to know?” he asked.

I gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know. I guess it really doesn’t matter.”

It
didn’t
matter. I turned forward to face the stage. The new band was about to start playing, and I was sure our friends would be back soon. Next to me, Lucas rose from the blanket, sitting as I was. “I did her wrong,” he said. “For a long time. I knew that I didn’t want what she did, and told her as much, but I didn’t put my foot down as I should have. I kept hoping that she would find somebody. That she would move on and I wouldn’t have to be the bad guy, but she never did. And then I used her.”

It made me mad that he talked about Candace’s hurt like she was some victim. Maybe she was, but it was difficult to see that through my own pain, especially when she’d been such a vital part of it. “Poor Candace,” I said and stood from the blanket. There had to be a bathroom around here somewhere. Without looking back at him, I stormed off to a concrete structure away from the lawn. A line of girls was trailing out of it, so I figured it was a safe bet.

With the wait, it took at least twenty minutes for me to finish, and I was still seething when I came out, pissed that I’d asked him about it at all. From the sidelines, I watched the next band play. They were better than the last, but all I could really hear was their drum player.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking towards me. It was Lucas. I threw my hands out and starting walking in the other direction.

“Marzy,” he said. I didn’t turn around. “Marzy, wait.” I still didn’t turn around. He caught up enough to grab my hand and pull me to a stop.

“What?” I yelled. A few people turned to stare at us, and I shrunk in on myself.

After our audience went back to their business, he brought a hand to my face. “And then I used her.” Reactively, I started pulling away, but he didn’t let me. “I told her that I will never be what she wants. I can’t. She needs to move on. Because I belong to someone else.”

The tension left me.
He belongs to someone else.
One of my hands wrapped around his forearm.
He belongs to me.
This is what I wanted to hear from him, but now that he’d said the words, it was too much. I wanted to hold on to my anger and hurt, because they felt real. They felt like a sure thing. This felt like a risk. A risk I wasn’t ready to take. “I’m glad you cleared it up with her,” I said flatly. Behind his shaded eyes, I couldn’t read his expression, but I’d guess that it was disappointed. “Let’s go watch the rest of the concert.”

The sun was setting and the last band was set to go on stage. As the grassy lawn started filling, it was clear that this was one people had come to watch. If we wanted to see, sitting wasn’t an option anymore. Lucas folded his blanket and put it on top of the ice chest. I pushed my sunglasses into my hair and he’d discarded his, so now it was easy to see the hurt in his eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him anymore. But I was scared all over again. All the courage I’d gained had been killed, replaced by new turmoil and insecurities.

The tension in his neck and shoulders was visible. He was purposefully looking anywhere but at me and standing far enough away that we wouldn’t touch. This wasn’t what I wanted either.

Time. I needed time. It had been nearly three months, but I needed more. If I mattered that much to him, he would give it to me. Selfishly, I didn’t want him to move on from me yet. And he might. Especially if I kept rejecting him.

The band started playing and the crowd was pulled into their music. I didn’t know any of their songs, and if Lucas did, he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. On an impulse, I moved to stand in front of him. My back was to the stage and he was looking down at me, trying not to look hopeful. Without a word, I pulled the necklace out from under my shirt and showed him the sparrow flying next to the violin. I turned around to the stage and his hands went to me—one settling on my hip, the other on my shoulder. I didn’t stop him. I even closed my eyes when I felt his lips touch the top of my head.

On the car ride home, everyone was loud and boisterous. Lucas had only indulged in two beers, and hadn’t drank in at least an hour, so I let him drive.

After about thirty minutes on the road, Wally and Nicole were having an argument in the back seat. “You’re so full of shit Wally,” Nicole said. “There is no way you’ve jumped out of an airplane over 500 times.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned. “I’m not having this discussion with you again. I have and it doesn’t matter what you think.”

“You’re lying.” She was drunk and egging him on, and he was letting her.

“No I’m not!”

As I listened to them, I was smiling to myself. And still smiling when my phone started vibrating. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw Juanita’s name flash across my screen. Not knowing what she wanted, I sent it to voicemail.

A few minutes later, she was calling again. I sent it to my voicemail again.

Wally and Nicole were arguing louder now. But Juanita kept calling. Over and over. Never leaving a message.

“Something wrong?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “My dad’s housekeeper/lover keeps calling me.”

“Do you want to answer it?”

“I’m not sure.” I prayed that she was just being weird and calling me nonstop to see if I wanted to come home for a trip or something, but I knew that was unlikely. “Maybe I should.” My voice sounded distant and foreign.

“Hey,” Lucas said loudly. “Shut the hell up for a second. Marzy needs to take a phone call.”

With a few grunts and sighs, their argument ended and, like clockwork, my phone vibrated. I was hesitating. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “Just see what she wants.”

Knowing that I would need it, I put my hand on his leg for strength. “Hello,” I said.

“Marlowe!” Juanita sobbed. “Oh, Marlowe. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was afraid I wouldn’t reach you.”

My hand on his leg squeezed and he brought one of his down to rest on top of it, gently rubbing. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said.

“Your dad, sweetie. Your dad… he’s… he’s…” she was crying so hard, I couldn’t even guess at what she was going to say. “Oh my God… it’s so horrible… I can’t even… the way he looked… it was heartbreaking… oh God…”

“Just spit it out already!” I said forcefully, growing impatient with her. I felt guilty about suddenly losing it, but this was my dad we were talking about, the last remaining family I had.

She whined. “He’s at the hospital,” she said, taking a breath. “He had a heart attack. A bad one. They had to revive him
two
times in the ambulance. Oh, Marlowe, I don’t know if he’ll make it.” Her sobbing was ringing in my ear. Maybe I should have offered her some comforting words, but I didn’t have any.

The phone slipped from my fingers and went crashing to the floorboard of the car. Its light bouncing around until it settled at Charles’ feet. One of my hands went to my head. The other, clutched Lucas’ as I turned into his shoulder.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

It took me a moment to respond. “How far away are we?” I whispered to him.

“Fifteen minutes. Tell me what you need,” he rushed out, sensing my anxiety. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

“Just hurry,” I said.

 

Chapter 32

T
he dark sky
filled the window of the plane. Down below I could see the twinkling lights of distant cities. Getting to the airport and boarding felt like a blur. I wasn’t sure who drove me. Charles? Lucas? I had no idea. From the moment my phone call ended, I’d felt numb.

And I felt numb through every layover. And every new plane. And the taxi ride. I felt numb as I walked into my father’s house. When I first heard the words, it had been a struggle not to cry. Now it wasn’t even an issue. I felt nothing. Juanita ran to me, wrapping me in her arms and crying into my shoulder. She may have said something sweet, but I couldn’t be sure.

Before I did anything else, I wanted to see him. Juanita said that visiting hours had ended and they wouldn’t let me. Without speaking to her, I went to his office and grabbed one of his spare keys hidden in the desk. In the garage, I discovered that it belonged to a new Lexus. My old one was nowhere to be seen. Feeling nothing, I drove to the hospital.

The nurse at the station wasn’t going to let me in. She said he was resting, and wouldn’t be able to speak to me, that I should wait until morning. I leaned across the counter and said through gritted teeth, “I’m his only family and I flew all the way from Louisiana to see him. I’m going in that room whether you let me or not.”

She let me.

His body looked worn, sleeping but not peacefully. The monitor to the left of him kept beeping. A cuff on his arm periodically expanded. Had he been taking care of himself? Had
Juanita
been taking care of him? I sat in a chair next to his bed and watched him sleep. There was so much that needed to be said.

Don’t leave me all alone.

After a good fifteen minutes of silently watching him, I stepped into the hallway. A doctor standing at the nurse’s station shifted his eyes to me as I pulled the door closed. “Miss Duncan?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Wade Jacob. Do you remember me?”

He was young, but older than I was by at least few years, maybe more. His shaggy brown hair and green eyes weren’t recognizable. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s okay,” he laughed and walked over, outstretching his hand. “We met at my father’s quite a few years ago. I was only an intern then.”

“Who is your father?” I asked, still shaking his hand.

“Dr.
Gavin
Jacob.”

Gavin Jacob. Maybe. “Did he have the house overlooking the lake?”

“He did,” he smiled. “Listen,” he said, looking over my father’s chart. “He asked me to take a look at your dad. I believe someone named Juanita called him. Give me a minute and I’ll be able to tell you a little about his situation.”

“Okay.” I sulked over to the nurse’s station and stared at a bright, happy poster on the wall. A pair of cartoon hands were full of suds, and comical, goofy looking germs were falling dramatically from them.
Don’t let germs freeload off you! Wash your hands!
it said.

After what felt like only a moment, he came back to my side. “He really needs a bypass, Marlowe,” he said. “According to his records it was recommended months ago, but he refused.” There was a long pause as he reviewed another section. “I won’t lie to you,” he sighed. “He’s considered high risk. He doesn’t take his medications as recommended and ignores all of his cardiologist’s orders. If he doesn’t start listening to his physicians, there isn’t much they can do for him. But if he consents to the surgery, there’s hope. Otherwise…” He didn’t need to continue for me to know what would happen. Dr. Jacob cleared his throat. “It looks like they suggested he undergo the surgery as soon as possible, but he hasn’t agreed.”

Why would he do that? “I understand,” I said. “I’ll talk to him when he’s more able.”

“I’m on call this week. Not in this unit, but my colleague is. I’ll make sure he knows that Harold is a family friend, and to call me if anything happens.” He smiled and walked away.

At home, everything was quiet. There was something about a big house being silent. It felt heavy, as if it was pressing down on you, pushing into your shoulders as soon as you crossed the threshold. I found Juanita sitting alone in the living room. A cup and saucer sat on an end table underneath a dim lamp. Around her body was a thick throw blanket, and she was staring off into space.

I wanted to walk on by, but something pulled me to her. “Why didn’t either of you tell me about his health problems?”

“I tried,” she whispered. “In September. That was after he had his first heart attack.”

“What?” I gasped. “You kept that from me?”

There were tears in her eyes as she shrugged. “He didn’t want me to tell you. It was only a mild one, and he didn’t want you worry.”

“Juanita, this is my father. The only family I have left. I had a right to know.”

“I was going to tell you,” she said, crying. “I was, but then you got so mad. I thought that your dad told you about us, but when you became so angry, I knew he hadn’t. When I confronted him, he said he didn’t want you to know how long we’d been together or about his health issues. I stayed silent, because it wasn’t really my place to share any of it.”

Everything she’d said bothered me, but I didn’t want to argue with her about what I did or didn’t deserve to know. She was right, I guess. My father should have been the one to tell me, not her. “The doctor told me that he hasn’t been following their recommendations. Why?”

“He’s a stubborn fool,” she said angrily. “Thinking that he was fine and healthy. That they didn’t know what they were talking about. I tried. I
did
try, but then he would just get angry at
me.
”

I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t going to pretend that I suddenly felt some bond to this woman just because a man we both cared about was sick. “Goodnight, Juanita,” I said and walked out of the room.

“Marlowe,” she called after me. I stopped and turned over my shoulder. “Tomorrow… do you think I can have that day to myself? I haven’t seen him since he went into the hospital. Just tomorrow. You can go visit him the next day.”

Who did she think she was? “I’ll call my dad and see what
he
wants,” I said. “If he wants to see me, I’m going.”

I didn’t wait for her to say more, and went to my bedroom.

The next morning I called Mr. Yudeski and informed him of my father’s situation. He was less accommodating and gave me only a few days. I hoped that I would be ready to leave by then. When I called my father’s room, his voice sounded too soft and frail. Hearing it was depressing. After I talked with him about everything that Dr. Wade had told me, he said he was sorry for keeping it from me. With some chastising, he agreed to get the bypass. It was scheduled two days from now. I was grateful, but then he said Juanita had called him too.

“Maybe it will be best if you stay home today, darling. I don’t want you to see me this way. Give me a day to get my strength.” Even though it hurt to know he didn’t want me there, I conceded. Juanita could have her day.

With the house empty, I walked from room to room, trying to discover who my father had become in his later years. I didn’t even know him anymore. Only the basics. He worked often. Slept little. And enjoyed the finer things in life.

The day was overcast, the sun hiding behind a blanket of clouds. I didn’t bother turning on any lights as I walked around, letting the soft, grey day creep in from the windows. Most rooms told me nothing about him. The decorations probably weren’t even his choice. Books on the shelves were popular editions that most people owned, but I doubt that he’d read.

Nowhere, not in one room, was a picture of my mother or sister, not a memory or a keepsake. It was as if they never existed. Was this my father’s doing or Juanita’s?

His office was the only place that held any part of him. Though, it felt sterile and sharp, no comfort to be found. I sat in his high back chair and twirled, eying the massive bookshelves that lined both walls. Why did he need so many books? Did he feel like they made him look more cultured?

On his desk was the last contract he’d been working on. The legal writing made my head hurt and I pushed it away. Determined to find out more about who he’d become, I started opening his desk drawers.

The middle held nothing but pens and business cards. The right side was only old files and junk, things that really had no place anywhere. The left was even more files, a grooming kit, and templates for potential clients. Every file was neatly labeled. All but one. A piece of loose-leaf paper was sticking out of its top.

I pulled it out and gasped at the familiar handwriting. It was my sister’s. The date told me that it was a letter she’d sent my parents during her freshman summer abroad.

Mom and Dad, France is beautiful. I’m still struggling with the language, but luckily, many people in the city speak English. You’d love it here. Sometimes I go to the park to finish homework and can see the Eiffel Tower! Can you believe that?

I grabbed the folder and put it onto the desk. Inside it I found more letters, some from my sister, some even from me, small things from school throughout the years, pictures of my mother, pictures of my sister, pictures of our entire family.

Carefully, I held every item, reviewing it, analyzing it, trying to remember what it had felt like to have them alive. Had my father done the same thing? On nights when he felt the loneliness, the emptiness, the great void they’d left, did he hold the pictures in his hands and grasp for the memories, hoping that maybe, for just one second, he could give life back to them?

I stared at a picture of us standing in front of a cabin, and a tear slid down my cheek. It was from a vacation we’d taken just before I started high school. My father was wearing blue wind shorts that went too high on his thighs and socks up to his calves. My mother’s hair was in a messy ponytail, and her face was tilted back on a laugh. My sister and I were each hugging a parent—her arms were around my father and mine around my mom.

I wiped the tear away as I placed the picture down. The only thing I hadn’t touched was a folded up letter. It was worn and obviously read many times. With care, I brought the edges back.

Caroline,
the first word said. Seeing her name, my mother’s beautiful name made my heart seize. The crisp script was clearly in my father’s hand. At first, I considered that maybe I shouldn’t be reading it, but couldn’t stop myself.

Caroline, I miss you. God, do I miss you. You’ve been dead for two years, but I can’t let it go. We were supposed to die old and happy. Maybe in a beach house overlooking the ocean or a garden in Tuscany. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you. Sometimes I wonder,
Would she have been able to do it
? I know that you were stronger. Wiser. And I realize that somehow you would have found a way. But I can’t. I’m failing. Our daughter sees it, and I feel so ashamed that she has to watch me crumbling, barely able to glance at her. She has your eyes. Your same beautiful eyes. Every time I look at her, I see you. And I’m pushing her away. But I don’t know what to do. She needs you now. So many things in her life are about to change, and I haven’t the slightest idea how to help her.

I love you still, Caroline. It’s never left me. Not one ounce of it. Some days I’m happy that I still carry it with me. It makes me feel connected to you. But others I just wish that I could move on and let the pain go. On the bad days, I find myself listening for you in the other room, trying to hear you rustle through your closet or making the bed. Sometimes I nearly can, but then it’s gone. I’ve been drinking too much. I hide it from Marlowe and take trips to my parents’ summer home when I need to be alone. How are we supposed to go on when our heart is shattered? Not just broken. Shattered. It seems impossible. I don’t think I can do it Caroline. I truly don’t think I can.

Old water stains had settled near the bottom of the page, and I wondered if they were his tears. I folded the letter and I sat back in his chair, staring at the folder. I was more confused now than I’d been before. Juanita had told me how long they’d been together. It was before my mother had passed. How could he have been with her if the love he felt for my mother was still so prominent? He talked about dying old and happy with her, but he’d already soiled their marriage by having an affair. I put the folder away before Juanita came home to find me with it.

This time, I was the one sitting alone, staring off into space when she came in. Her heels clicked and clacked across the floor as she made her way into the formal sitting room. “He’s doing better,” she smiled. “And I convinced him to have the bypass. I think he’ll pull through.”

Funny, I thought I convinced him this morning. “That’s good, Juanita,” I said, my voice sounding thick, having not used it all day.

“Some friends of mine are coming by tonight,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “I’ll just be up in my room.” So I wouldn’t feel quite so alone, I turned on the television as I curled onto my bed.

Hours later, I heard a knock at my door. “Yes,” I called.

“You have a phone call,” Juanita said. “On the house line.”

I realized that my cell was probably dead. Not once had I even thought about charging it. I opened the door and heard the distant laughing of her guests. “Thank you,” I said, taking the phone from her. Thinking that it was one of my friends calling to check on me, I put it to my ear. “Hello.”

“Hey,” I heard, and my brow furrowed. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“I’m sorry, who’s this?”

“It’s Mark,” he said, sounding a little offended.

Not at all the person I expected. How did he even know I was here? “Um. Hey. What’s up?”

“I heard about your dad.”

“How?”

“Juanita’s status update. Is there anything I can do to help?”

It was completely strange that he and Juanita were social media friends, and made absolutely no sense at all. They weren’t friends in real life. Why would they be on the internet? “No. Everything is fine. But thanks for checking. How did you know I’d be here?”