Sweet Reunion (28 page)

After the franks and beans were consumed and followed
up by heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream, Noah begged Justin to come up to his
room and tuck him in, and Justin happily complied.

As they entered Noah's room together, Justin said,
“So, how does this tucking in thing work? Is there a book that I read you,
or...?”

Noah dashed into the adjoining bathroom and yelled
from in there, “First I have to change into my jammas, wash my face, and brush
my teeth. Then you can read me a book!”

Justin smiled at Noah's use of the slang term “jammas”
in place of pajamas. That was what Justin had said when he was little, as well.
So many things, both small and large, that tied them together as brothers.

Noah came rushing out of the bathroom, freshly
scrubbed and in soft cotton navy blue PJs with baseballs and bats printed on
them. He ran over to his shelf and grabbed a large oversized book. He then
scampered over and handed it to Justin where he sat on the edge of the bed
before hopping in between the covers.

Justin fingered the aged leather cover of the book,
and the crumbling binding. Puzzled, he opened it up and began to peruse the
pages.

To Justin's amazement, the book was like a bound
shrine to him. It was pictures of Justin, moving chronologically from babyhood
all the way up through high school. Interspersed with the photographs were
school papers he had written and drawn from as far back as kindergarten, crafts
like handprint turkeys, report cards, the blue ribbon he had won in the fourth
grade spelling bee.

As the scrapbook moved forward in time through
Justin's middle school and high school years, newspaper clippings and photos
started showing up, mainly centering on his athletic prowess. Even articles
that barely mentioned Justin were included, with Justin's name underlined in
strong blue ball point ink, as if the person who had drawn the line were making
a strong statement about which part of that article was the truly important
bit.

Justin was mesmerized by the book. He flipped through
the pages as if in a trance, and when he reached the end, he started again from
the first page.

At the end of his second trip through the book, he
looked over and realized that Noah was watching him carefully, and had probably
been watching his every move and facial expression as he looked at each page.

“What is this?” Justin inquired, trying to keep his
tone neutral, to keep the intensity of his amazement and puzzlement out of his
voice, lest he scare Noah, or make him think he'd done something wrong by
handing Justin the scrapbook.

Justin needn't have worried. Noah was all but bursting
to share every detail with him. “It's the book of you, silly!” he yelled in
pure delight.

“You're right, I am silly,” Justin responded in a
light tone, striving to let Noah set the mood of the conversation, “I am super
silly. I should have seen it was a book about me. Do you know who made this
book, Noah?”

“Dad made the book! He made it about all the special
things of you!”

Justin nodded slowly. “Thank you for showing me this,
Noah. I really appreciate it. But I already know all these things about me. You
know what I'd really like to see? I'd like to see your book, so I can know all
the special things about you.”

Noah shook his head sadly, “There is no book of me,”
he said, not meeting Justin's eyes.

“Why not?” Justin asked softly.

Noah shrugged, still not looking at him.

“Noah, can you tell me why not?” Justin pursued
gently.

“Cause it's just for you, because it's for special
things you did. I never did anything good enough to get a book of me.”

“I know that's not true,” Justin protested.

Noah nodded, trying his best to be matter of fact,
although Justin could see the hurt. “I think you have to be amazing to get a
whole book of you,” he shrugged, “I'm just regular.”

Justin shook his head, “Now that is absolutely not
true. You are an amazing kid. I would read a book about you any day of the
week!”

Noah shook his head, done with the subject, and hopped
out of bed and over to his bookcase, “Do you want to read me a normal book?” he
asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Justin agreed, although he mentally made a
note to broach this subject with his brother again the next time they had a
chance to talk.

Noah returned with a dog-eared copy of The Lion, The
Witch and the Wardrobe and Justin read to him until his eyes drooped closed and
his breathing became deep and even. When Justin was sure that Noah was asleep,
he picked up the scrapbook and headed downstairs with it.

Noah may not have wanted to discuss the scrapbook any
further, but his father was going to, like it or not.

--- ~ ---

“What the hell is this?” Justin demanded, thrusting
the scrapbook at Rick, who looked unsure about what to say next. It was as if
he could tell that his son was incensed but, without knowing exactly why, he
didn't know how to proceed without saying the wrong thing.

“It's a scrapbook I made so that Noah would know you,”
Rick said carefully, judging Justin's reaction, “I wanted him to know who his
brother was.”

“Oh, he knows me alright,” Justin said, his voice
taut, “He knows me as an unattainable ideal, a perfect figure that he can't
ever hope to measure up to.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Rick responded,
genuinely confused.

"My God, you know, you
really don't know how to do anything but fuck up your kids, do you?"
Justin spat out sardonically. "It's really all you are capable of
doing."

Justin's father shook his
head slowly back and forth, sorrow and fatigue weighing down his shoulders as
he spoke. "I know you don't believe this. You have no reason to believe
me. But I've done the best I knew how to do..."

"Oh, stop!" Justin
cut him off angrily. "The sad and almost laughably ironic thing is that
with me, I almost understand it. You did a shitty job because you weren't even
trying. You were a drunk, and you did the kind of parenting job that someone
does who thinks 10 times more about where their next drink is coming from than
they do about their kid. Yes, it felt crappy being that kid that never gets
considered, but I understand that. I understand the frame of mind.

"But then you have
Noah. And this is where it gets good. I mean really, really good." 
Justin's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You actually tried to be a good
parent to him! You actually put some effort in, for God's sake! What a new
experience that must have been. And what did you accomplish? You just managed
to screw it up in a whole new way! You managed to make that kid - that
incredibly sweet, loving, trusting, brilliant, and big-hearted kid - feel like
he'd never measure up to someone he hadn't even met. That he would never be as
good as a ghost."

Justin paused a moment.
Looking at his father's defeated posture, he almost considered stopping.
Continuing with this cruel tirade felt almost like kicking a puppy, and Justin
had never been a man that reveled in kicking someone when he was down. But the
pressure building inside him had taken on a momentum that felt somehow
unstoppable. He had to get out the one final sentiment that was burning within.

"That's the legacy
you've left to both of your kids, Dad,"  Justin's voice was now calm and
even, and immeasurably sad. "The certainty that we, your sons, each in our
own way, will never be as important to you as some inanimate object. Some
abstract concept. That, no matter how hard we try, we'll never be worthy of the
love that you freely give away to things that aren't even real. And if that's
really the best you knew how to do? Even sadder. Congratulations."

Justin looked up from his
father sitting on the couch when a movement caught his eye. He glanced to the
top of the stairs and saw Noah's small, scared face peeking around the corner.
Well, great. The thing he had hated the most about his chaotic childhood, more
so than the drinking itself, was all the violent outbursts from his father that
the alcohol had spurred, and all the violent confrontations he had been a party
to. And Noah had been spared that - until Justin came into the picture. He had,
in one moment of anger, brought hostility and fear into Noah's world, and that
couldn't be undone now. His father hadn't done that. He had.

Shame swept over him. He
knew he should climb the stairs, talk to Noah, make it right. But he had no
experience with sticking around and dealing with the aftermath of things. He
didn't know how to work something through, to explain his actions, to take
responsibility, to mend a relationship, and to move on.

So he did the one thing he
did have some experience with. He turned around and walked right back out the
front door.

--- ~ ---

Justin walked the miles back to Amanda's place on the
far end of town slowly, trying to let the night air clear his head and make him
stop feeling like a monster. He shook his head ruefully. Gee, he thought to
himself, maybe I have slightly overshot in my expectations of the capabilities
of the night air.

None of the things he usually did to clear his head or
bring himself out of a funk when he had a problem to solve were working. He
tried walking, it wasn't working. He tried getting out in nature, that also
wasn't working. He tried making a mental list of possible solutions. No dice.

The only solution that seemed halfway appealing was
his old standby. Leave. Take off. Don't say a word to anyone, just go. The
problem won't follow you to a new place.

However, he was shocked to find that this solution,
his previous crutch, the action which tempted him any time his life got the
least bit complicated – was coming in a far distant second to the thing that he
actually wanted to do, that he actually needed to do, in fact.

There was one course of action which, once he thought
of taking it, the rest of the problem seemed to melt away in significance, and
he began to breathe easier. His entire tense body relaxed in relief when he
thought of it, and his pace picked up speed.

Yes. He knew what he needed to do. It wouldn't solve
anything on its own, but he knew with every fiber of his being that it was the
clear path to figuring out the right path to take.

What he needed to do was talk things over with Amanda.

--- ~ ---

Justin climbed the steps of Amanda's back porch with a
heady mixture of trepidation and anticipation. He knew he wanted and needed to
come to her with his problem, and to him, it felt so right – the process of
talking over their day, what was going on in their lives, strategizing,
sympathizing – it was all so perfect, like falling into lockstep, picking up
right where they had left off ten years ago.

But on her end, Justin knew, there were still a lot of
well-deserved unresolved feelings. Even in moments when they seemed perfectly
in sync, Justin would catch her looking at him with trepidation, as if she
weren't sure if he was going to get up and head back to Alaska right in the
middle of their conversation.

He knew he was going to have to fight to overcome that
uncertainty in her. He was going to have to work hard to rebuild her trust in
him. He was willing to do it, though. As long as he felt like she still wanted
and needed him here, he was willing to put in that work.

He climbed Amanda's back porch steps and walked up to
her kitchen door. This was the way he had always come into the house when he was
a teenager, and old habits die hard – this was still the route that felt most
natural to him.

At the back door, the scene he glimpsed through the
window stopped him cold. Amanda was sitting at the kitchen table drinking wine
and talking with Lauren, Karina, and Sam – but she looked so different.

She was wearing a body-hugging, simple, elegant black
sheath with shining black heels, which was a stark contrast to the jeans and
cotton T-shirts he most often saw her in. Justin liked those just fine, as
well. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen an ass in a pair of jeans that he
preferred to Amanda's, it was like a work of art. But this was something new.
Something elegant and sophisticated. Something grown up, powerful, in control.
It was hot as hell.

Her hair, which normally either fell around her face
naturally in unruly golden curls or was trapped carelessly up in a hastily
dashed off ponytail, now lay sleekly around her head and framed her face in a
sheet of pure blonde silk.

The contours of her face, which on a normal day would
have still been the loveliest that Justin had ever seen in its default
freshly-scrubbed state, now were enhanced with expertly applied makeup. Her
smoky eyeliner and shadow caused the aqua flecks in her sapphire eyes to spark,
and her already lush lips gained even more fullness from the soft pink liner
and gloss that had been applied to them.

He was so entranced by her beauty that he didn't catch
any of her words until the sound of his own name brought him crashing back down
to reality. He could only hear snippets, but what he did manage to make out
broke his heart.

“...don't know, sometimes Justin...just tell
myself...just wish Justin had never come back....”

The air whooshed from his lungs in a rush as he felt
those words hit his gut as a physical blow.

He turned around and quietly descended the porch
steps. He felt numb, but he knew what he had to do. Amanda didn't want him
here. He'd already made a mess of his brother's world in the short time he'd
known him. He shouldn't stay here, he didn't belong.

It was time for him to go.

There was nothing left for him to do but throw his
things into his duffel bag and hit the road.

--- ~ ---