Until There Was You (10 page)

"Nathaniel," Bernard said, nodding vaguely in Nate's direction. His face was emotionless, no flash of joy or recognition.

"Dad," Nate replied, wanting to say something more but not really knowing how.

"Dad! I found Granddad Bernard! I knew who it was because he looks like you when you're old! Very old!" Bailey grinned, gripping his granddad's hand tighter, shaking with the excitement of discovering his new family.

"Bailey, you shouldn't call people old," Nate said.

"He can call me old, Nathaniel. I am old," Bernard replied, chastising Nate with his tone. It was another thing about the house that Nate remembered: the disapproving tone, the disappointment, the unspoken criticism.

Nate could feel his body straining to lash out, to unleash a torrent of anger, to rip open old wounds—but he looked at Bailey and let the anger inside of him subside. Nate knew that he didn't want to ruin this for his son. He wanted Bailey to feel a part of this family. Nate wished that he could make this easier, that he could turn the situation into a Norman Rockwell painting, but he couldn't quite make the leap. But, as every best friend said in every romantic comedy Nate had ever seen, he would just have to fake it until he made it.

One Thing Leads to Another

Nate winced as he stretched out his hunched body. Bailey was lying on his chest, a slight snore coming from his throat, looking peaceful and content and sucking his thumb. Nate shuffled his body from under Bailey's weight and waited for his son to slouch back into sleep before he got out of bed and grabbed some coffee. He shivered as he poured a cup of strong, black liquid; he had forgotten how cold it was in this part of the country. He had let the countless memories of snowball fights and snowmen recede into his past, to disappear when he had driven away into sunnier climes.

He suddenly felt the need to smell the air, let its coolness caress him, so he put on his dad's coat, a beat-up brown parka, and went onto the porch. He let the mug warm his palms as he watched his breath turn to smoke in the icy air. It smelled the same as he remembered: fresh, woodsy, like endless hikes and walking to and from school with his friends. It brought back mental photographs of his life, or at least of the life he had left behind. Happy times; his first kiss, getting his first straight-A report card, the first time he got silly-drunk with friends. The first time that he had seen Joshua, the first time that he had held Joshua's hand. His mind was also muddled by sad times, the moments that he had spent a lot of time running from and burying in his psyche. The night his sister had finally passed away, after years of waiting and bone-deep dread. The night his parents had asked him to leave and he had bundled himself in Joshua's car to disappear from their lives.

Nate felt less raw than when he'd left, but he still couldn't quite shake the feeling that he didn't belong. Grandview was a part of him, but it was a part that didn't quite seem to fit. Nate looked up at the huge tree trunks surrounding the property; it was the perfect place to write, all wide-open space and clean, natural air. It smelled like an expensive spruce candle. It struck Nate as funny that people paid huge amounts to make their city homes smell like air, which was free here. He took another gulp of his coffee and savored the rich, bitter taste. The sky was a very light violet fading slowly into watery blue, giving everything a dreamy purple haze.

"It must be quite a change, you know, from the city." Ava walked up through the mouth of the forest to the side of the cabin, holding some small but pretty flowers. She seemed cheerful and alert, completely suited to her outdoorsy environment.

"It was so strange trying to sleep; I need to hear at least three ambulances before I can settle down." Nate smiled and took another sip of his coffee. He sat down on the swinging chair by the front door and signaled his mother to join him. She sat down, her stiff knees creaking under the strain. The sound of the iron chains, which held the love seat aloft, squeaked rhythmically, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Ava played with the flowers, separating them so that that each one could show off its beauty.

"They're pretty," Nate said, nodding towards the blue, white, and purple plants.

"They are. They're not the most beautiful flowers and they don't always make the biggest impression, but they are very, very strong. They can survive bad weather—in fact, they even thrive in it." Ava sounded wistful.

"Yeah. I remember them. I can smell them and I feel like I'm five years old again. It's weird. Horrifying. Nice. Terrible. Great. I don't know. But it will be nice to show Bailey all of the things that he can't see at home. You know, actual soil and leaves and worms. It'll be good for him." Silence descended on them as they swung gently together in the same comforting rhythm.

"It will be good for him. It's good for us too. You know, when you get old—and it will get you one day, believe me—you sometimes lose momentum. If you're not careful, you just sort of slow down until you stop. But with Bailey here, I feel like I've had a vitamin shot or something. He's so lively." Some humor and warmth settled in Ava's voice, which was filled with wisdom. It was different than Nate had remembered, or maybe that he had misremembered.

"You say all of this now. But I can promise you, very soon you will be off-the-charts tired. I love him and he is exactly the kind of kid that I wanted—but the questions!" Nate said.

"He cannot be even half as bad as you were." Ava giggled, nudging Nate's side. Nate was surprised at how comforted he was by this everyday gesture.

"Believe me, he is one hundred times worse."

"You couldn't walk past anything without asking twenty questions about it. 'Mom, why is that car that color? Mom, why is that man walking funny? Mom, what has his life been like? Mom, where was that lady born'?" Ava put on her best impression of a kid's voice. She sounded uncannily like Bailey, aping the patter of his rapid questions perfectly.

"I don't remember being like that
at all
. I always thought I was quiet, a bit of a loner," Nate said, curious to get a glimpse into a part of his life that he didn't really recall. It was weird, like he was watching a film for the hundredth time and finding whole scenes that he couldn't remember. It was unsettling and fascinating.

"Who are you kidding? You wouldn't be quiet. I don't think that you
could
be quiet. At Christmas we used to make you stand on the table and put on these strange, elaborate shows. You had all these characters and read all of the poems that you wrote. You would make the adults laugh, like you were Seinfeld or something."

"That's so weird. Apparently the apple actually doesn't fall far from the tree. Sometimes I hear Bailey interviewing his toys and he sounds just like a news anchor. It's so funny." Nate smiled broadly.

"You've done a good job with him. He's clearly a good kid," Ava said, looking away into the distance.

"Thanks... I really needed to hear that. I didn't know that I needed to. But I did." Nate put his hand on top of his mother's gently.

"I think that David wants to see you. He called last night. He saw the car outside when he was coming home from work. I would have passed you the phone, but you were bone tired. You were out for the count." Ava let her hand rest on Nate's. Nate felt her warmth, and he was surprised by the fact that he'd missed it much more than he had thought.

"I don't know if I can see him. I want to, but you know. Without Jen here… And I missed her funeral and I feel like shit… I mean, I feel terrible about it. And it's just so sad. I think it's too sad and I'm not in a place to bring anything good to the table," Nate said, his voice cracking with sorrow.

"That's very selfish."

"I know. Maybe I am very selfish," Nate said.

"Maybe… But I don't think so. And I know that you loved Jen and you love David and I think it would mean a lot to him if you went and explained. Or just laughed. Or cried. Or did whatever lifelong friends do when they haven't seen each other in a while." Ava sounded motherly and bold and wise.

"I don't think that I can."

"You get a choice in life. And whatever you do, if you're a good person, you know what is right and what is wrong. And you
are
a good person. So you know you have to call him. It's not too late." Her words were serious but kind. Then she let everything fall into silence as if she was giving Nate the time to come to a decision.

"Why is it that both of us find it so easy to give advice to other people but find it so difficult to follow it ourselves? You know you could have called me anytime? I would have answered – I really needed you, even when I didn't want to admit it. You should have picked up the phone. I know that I should have too, but you're the parent." Rye could suddenly remember how desperately he had wanted to hear his mother's voice when Bailey was born and he was left in a house by himself, trying to navigate parenthood with nothing but parenting books and the internet.

"I wish that I had, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how to start and the longer I waited the harder it became until I just didn't think it was possible. That's exactly why I can tell you to ring David – because I know how painful it is when you don't pick up the phone."

"I'll try and meet him tonight. If you don't mind looking after Bailey for the evening. I don't think that it will take too long," Nate whispered.

"Take as long as you need." Ava smiled, holding onto Nate's hand.

*~*~*

Nate walked into O'Hannigans. The smell of dried beer, cheap shots, and peanuts burst through the door and the light in the room was a deep, aquatic blue. The unmistakable sound of people playing pool mingled with the jovial chatter of people on their third drinks. Nate looked around and saw David sitting at one of the only freestanding tables, tapping his phone nervously. Nate hesitated before walking up to him. They had arranged to meet over the phone, but Nate had been not been certain that David would actually show up. So much had happened since they had last seen each other that meeting up with David felt a little like meeting up with a stranger.

"Dave?" Nate asked reluctantly.

David looked towards Nate, his face bright and his smile wide. He stood up quickly and wrapped Nate in a warm bear hug. Nate stood still for a second, a little nervous energy still working its way through his system, and then reciprocated the hug.

"It is so good to see you," David said, genuine and heartfelt.

"Really? I thought that you would want to kill me." Nate shrugged awkwardly. "Just, like, throw a whole bunch of rocks at me."

"You think throwing rocks at someone is a good way to kill them?" David asked.

"I don't know. It can't be comfortable… How would you react if you were walking home from the bank and someone hurtled a boatload of rocks at you? If you didn't die, you would at least be pissed." Nate sat down and took a gulp of the beer that David had bought for him.

David was quiet for a second and Nate wondered what was going through his mind. David seemed relaxed and comfortable, like he always had been, but Nate wasn't sure that everything was fine between them. "Yep. Yep I would be pissed."

"See." They sat in silence for a second. Nate opened his mouth, closed it again, considered what he was about to say, and began. "You know… I should have come back for the funeral. I tried to, but I couldn't come back."

"It's okay."

"No. Not really. I wanted to come. I planned to come. Then something stopped me. I just got in the car and I couldn't make it drive. Every single good memory I have of this place includes the two of you. And her not being here… It just seemed like a whole bunch of shit. And I was too much of a pussy. I couldn't stand to have the only good things I remembered about my life here completely trashed." Nate's voice was cut off by a fragile, quiet sob that emerged from the bottom of his throat.

"What can I say? It was a bad day. It was the worst day. The absolute worst. But you know, the truth is, I wouldn't have even known you were there. I was like a zombie. It's not like it would have been a great day if you'd been there. And she got to see you; we got to see you, the month before in the city." David sounded sad but at peace, like he had been broken apart but had gone some way to repairing the wounds.

"Yeah, maybe. But you shouldn't be comforting me… It should most definitely be the other way around. I'm such a jerk." Nate sighed, circling the edge of his pint glass with his finger. He couldn't bring himself to look at David's understanding face. A part of him wanted to be punished, to have his actions thrown back at him.

"I won't argue you on that. You're a complete jerk. But that's just because you have a bad personality... It's got nothing to do with the funeral. Jen loved you; I could always tell when she had gotten a letter from you. She would beam. She'd dance around. That doesn't stop because you found it too hard to come to the funeral." David's voice was a little rawer at the sound of his wife's name, like it was the first time he had said it in a while.

"I hate you so much… I wish you would just react to things the same way that a normal person would. You know, when she was going on your first date, I told her that you had shifty eyes and she didn't listen. But I was right." Nate managed an almost-smile.

"Do you remember that poofy little skirt she wore that night?"

"The neon lime one? How could I forget? And she had her hair all puffed out like she was wearing a weave."

"She looked like a glamorous Ninja Turtle."

"Are you kidding me? She was picking that outfit out for months. I think even before you asked her out. She skipped outta the door like a homeless-looking Hollywood star."

"She really was something, wasn't she?"

"She was pretty much everything."

They stayed silent, thinking about the person that they had lost. Nate tried to find the lesson that could be learned from losing Jennifer so early, but he couldn't quite find it in the emotional rubble. The silence was sad but, surprisingly, almost comfortable, as if they both knew that the other person needed it.