Instant regret climbed over me and I scowled at the waves for bringing me the wrong words. Heat crawled up my throat and I felt redness blossom on my face.
Jake reached across the table and grabbed my hands. “I’m in love with you too, Kat.”
I gazed back down at the foamy waves and this time they brought me words I’d never said before. “I guess I’m in love with you, too.” A huge, white wave broke over the rocks and the squabbling sea lions slid into the ocean, where their waddling and fighting became water ballet.
* * *
Once the first week passed at Jake’s house, I began to grow restless. I’d started working when I was eight, cleaning up the pub and doing a paper route. Eventually I’d picked up babysitting jobs, until I was old enough to have a W-2 job at sixteen. I had been laser-like in my focus on earning money for college; a dog with a bone, my dad always called me. I could not remember the last time I’d had more than an idle hour in years.
Jake taught me to play. His calm and patience made me comfortable with being quiet. He coaxed stories from me like a magician pulling scarves from his sleeve: one tied to the next and the next. Stories of childhood at the pub became stories about college became stories about my family—about my mother.
One morning as we sat on a cliff in the Marin Headlands, overlooking the Golden Gate, he told me how his dad wanted him to be a businessman, a tycoon like him. His father had never believed in or understood his talent. “He thought my art was some passing hobby. I wasn’t interested in the stock market, or sports, or erecting skyscrapers, so he assumed I was gay, which disgusted him. I let him think that for a long time. It took the pressure off.”
I looked at him sideways. “I can testify that’s not the case.”
“It wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t detest me more if I was a serial killer.”
“He doesn’t detest you. You’re his son.”
Jake gave me a look that told me how clueless I was. “He shuffled me from one caregiver to another. He’s no father to me.” His face was a weaving of anger and grief. “When Burt published the first photographs of my work, I started to get more public notoriety. We got prestigious grants. Obscene commissions from famous buyers. When the art started generating lots of money, my dad thought maybe I was legitimate. But then I started turning down commissions. I never have liked doing art just because someone wants to buy it. Kind of misses the point, really. And it drives Burt crazy, too, because he’s always wanting to take care of my future.”
“Sounds like Burt’s looking out for you.”
“Burt’s a good man, but the money just doesn’t matter that much to me. I already have enough.”
I grew itchy talking about money. Student loan payments were crippling. My Bug needed new tires, and the clutch was going bad. Guilt flashed as I thought that it was only rich people who have the luxury of not caring about money. I didn’t want to think of Jake as I had some of the trust-fund babies I’d met throughout school—spoiled and entitled, reckless with their privilege.
I shielded my eyes from the bright sun. “I want you to know. I’ve never loafed or mooched like this before. You’re probably used to people who try to take advantage, I mean, I’d like to chip in for the groceries or—”
A shadow crossed Jake’s face and creases formed between his brows. “Don’t do that.” His voice was pinched. “Don’t insult yourself or me. Or us. It cheapens what we have.” He stood and walked toward the bluff. The wind tossed his hair in every direction at once.
I had that helpless feeling that I had said exactly the wrong thing—again.
I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle, resting my cheek on his back. “I’m not used to someone spending money on me. The clothes. The restaurants. My family’s kind of big on the whole idea of noble poverty. Work ethic and all. I just don’t want you to think that I—”
“I’m not my father. Money is just a happy accident, nothing I ever aim for. It means nothing. Wouldn’t even happen without Burt. And just because I have money doesn’t mean I don’t have a work ethic.” He turned his gaze to the gray horizon while his icy words cut through me.
It wasn’t just that I was uncomfortable talking about money, though surely I was. Other than Nigel, I’d never been close to someone who’d come from wealth, and though I hated to admit it, I’d always felt more comfortable with those who shared my working-class roots. Only people who had a lot of money ever said that it meant nothing. Mary K and I had that in common, and had shared nine years of scraping while we’d watched wealthier classmates float through without our worries. The topic of money—as unfamiliar as it was to me—was near toxic to Jake. Money was intertwined with Aaron Bloom and the two formed a noxious compound, like ammonia and bleach, that choked the tenderness out of Jake.
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I guess I’m just used to money being a struggle.”
“Me too, Kat,” Jake sighed. “Money’s always been a struggle, but I never want it to be like that between you and me.”
I knew in that moment that Jake and I had a different vocabulary—a whole different language—when it came to money. I was relieved when his body softened and he welcomed my embrace. I rested my head against his back, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed from its galloping rate.
Mary K’s words echoed in my head. Was she right? How could I be in love with this man I hardly knew? He came from a different world. Was it just sex? Nothing more than chemistry? Or was I just so in love with the idea of being in love that I was flying past all warning signs about Jake? What did we have in common, after all? His was a world of art and culture with celebrities and tycoons. He’d grown up around fame and money while my whole life took place in the small triangle formed of Murphy’s pub, St. Anne’s, and UCSF.
With a smooth, gentle motion, Jake turned to me. His eyes glittered. “You must be wondering who the hell I am right now.”
His uncanny ability to read my thoughts unsettled me. I tried to erase the uneasiness from my face.
“I’ve frightened you.” He lifted my chin and kissed my lips with such tenderness it felt like a sacrament. “It’s just I’ve spent my whole life living down the shame of my father’s legacy. And you’re used to a family that loves you utterly and completely. It’s just so hard to believe that you might want me. With you, I feel rich, really rich, for the very first time in my life.”
As the words left his lips, it felt as if they were not just his but my words as well. No, this was not just chemistry. Romantic love was just so unfamiliar that I hardly recognized it. But there it was, something I never knew myself capable of feeling; unmistakable, desperate, passionate love. These were riches I’d never imagined.
Family Reunion
In those first idyllic days when Jake and I nested in his loft, I pretended nothing else outside mattered. Day trips around the Bay Area, beautiful meals, and lovemaking were nearly enough distraction. But Jake found ways to remind me of the world I was pretending didn’t exist. He’d lure me into talking about Tully driving me to Galileo High School in his beat-up pickup, or Dr. Schwartz’s inspiring me to go into medicine. As we cooked together, he’d ask me about Alice’s recipes and my dad’s favorite Irish dishes and if Mary K ever did any cooking.
“You’re about as subtle as a wrecking ball,” I said.
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things. Subtlety isn’t among them.”
It was a week after Ben died and my fight with Mary K when Jake and I took advantage of a sunny day and drove north to the Napa Valley. In his Valiant, we wove our way from winery to winery. At each vineyard, Jake gathered tidbits of history and winemaking craft from the vintners and service staff, swapping jokes and stories with them like he’d known them for years.
From Napa we drove farther north to Healdsburg’s pricey, upscale version of Mayberry with its quaint storefronts and comfortable benches that invite visitors to linger.
“Is today the day?”
Jake asked.
“The day for what?”
“The day you make peace with your family and Mary K.”
I stopped walking and yanked my hand from his.
He looked at me, wearing a quizzical look. “That’s an expression I haven’t seen yet.”
“You find this amusing.”
“Not at all. Just seeing your face in another kind of light is all.”
“And what light would that be? Righteous indignation? Betrayed friend and daughter?”
Jake shrugged.
“Come on. I can take it.”
“I’m not sure you can.”
Metallic anger singed my tongue. In the years I’d dated Nigel, he’d never once confronted me or challenged my behavior. It also dawned on me that my relationship with my family had been a series of polite exchanges. I’d grown up accepting what I was told as absolute, never questioning or rebelling, even as a teen. My family offered me near limitless adoration. It was an enviable childhood by most people’s standards, but by its benign nature, my family life had not equipped me for conflict. I was changing, and Jake was the catalyst.
“I really want to know,” I said. “What’s my part?”
“All right,” he surrendered. “How about being judgmental and stubborn?”
“Hey, I’m the wronged party here. My family lied to me for more than twenty years.”
“Your family did what they did for no other reason than to protect you.”
“So lying is okay with you.”
“Of course not. But malice wasn’t the motive.”
“I know,” I confessed. “It’s not their motives that I find fault with. It’s just the deceit. And judgmental! When have I ever been judgmental of Mary K? You have no idea what I’ve tolerated from her over the years. I said nothing while she brought a nine-year parade of lovers through the house. I bring one guy that she has some issues with, and wham!”
“To tolerate something implies that it’s something you have a judgment about, doesn’t it? And didn’t you—judge her, I mean? You may not have said anything, but—”
I turned and marched down the sidewalk, my steps soon becoming stomps. Jake kept pace. “She ridiculed Nigel so much I never dared bring him to my house. Then she’s all barbed wire and dynamite to the only guy I ever did bring home,” I mumbled to myself as I continued to stomp. “And she practically accused you of murdering Ben. Oh, and I suppose it’s just fine for her to sleep around with a whole slew of people with absolutely no intention of developing it any deeper.”
“That’s sort of what I’ve always done,” Jake said. I stopped in my tracks.
“I never intended to get serious about anybody,” he said. “I figured the Bloom relationship record wasn’t so hot. I met a few women along the way that made me think differently, but just about the time I thought there might be something special, she’d decide I wasn’t the guy, or that she needed to focus on her career or something. Only one time I loved someone who really loved me for me, and my dad proved me wrong by buying her away from me.”
“He really paid her to leave you?”
“Yeah, well… that’s my dad.” Jake wore an expression that showed a lifetime of betrayal and disappointment.
“You must have been heartbroken.”
“I had my art, my travels. Burt.” Jake’s gaze was across the square, watching a couple with a double baby stroller navigate the sidewalk, sharing licks off of the same ice cream cone. “Sex is easy, Kat. Love is scary. Mary K’s got a hard shell to protect herself. She’s had a life-threatening illness since she was a kid and probably always assumed she wasn’t going to live very long. She just lost a member of her family. She deserves some slack.”
I felt my own hardened shell begin to crack. Saying nothing more, he took my hand and we got into the car.
During the long drive back to the city, the mood in the car was reflective, and fog gathered, complying with our inward thoughts. For the first time in a long time I felt peaceful and calm. But questions loomed in my mind.
We stopped at the vista point on the Marin County side of the Golden Gate, its sturdy towers and graceful arches saffron against the clear blue sky.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
Jake leaned his cheek against the steering wheel and looked at me. “Like what?”
“My face in the new kind of light. Judgmental. Stubborn. And I’m thinking maybe I should add spoiled to the list.”
“Judgmental just means you have opinions. Stubborn just means you’re willing to stand by them. I’m pretty sure I’m going to like your face in every kind of light.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why me?” Jake was handsome. Wealthy. Worldly. Talented. Charismatic. Surely he could choose from among hundreds of women.
Silence ticked by almost audibly in my ears, and I feared he’d be unable to come up with an answer. His gaze was penetrating. “You’re unlike any other woman I’ve ever met. You’re impressed only by the things that are impressive instead of the things that someone is born with. You’re curious and you actually listen when people talk. You seem to have some sort of internal guidance system about what is right, and it isn’t determined by what’s fashionable or profitable. You’re smarter than you know. Prettier than you think you are—and that’s rare. Sexier than I’d imagined. And when you ask me this question, you aren’t fishing for compliments.”
The shimmering string Jake’s words spun around me wove a cocoon that at once made me feel deeply adored and embarrassed.
“And my favorite thing,” Jake said, his lips forming a lopsided smile. “Your face is like your personal weather system. It shows every emotion.”
I inhaled the salty smell of the air, trying to see myself in the way that Jake had just described me. The knot in my throat kept me from speaking, and Jake’s kisses spared me the trouble.
* * *
I sat with Dr. Schwartz, my dad, and Alice at the family table at Murphy’s. Mugs of coffee sat before us, and stripes of early morning light slipped through the blinds and onto the weathered tabletop. The faces around me appeared years older than just two weeks earlier.
“Tully?” I asked.
“I’m afraid he’s been AWOL since the last night you saw him, Kitten,” my dad said, shaking his head. “I called a few of his cousins. Sean over at O’Shea’s said he’s been in there, hitting it pretty hard and crying in his beer about how he ruined everything.”
“I’m worried about him,” I said. “What if he gets in an accident?”
“Sean took the keys to his truck,” Dad said. “We can thank the stars for that.”
Alice stirred sugar into her coffee. “Tully used to drink pretty good before you came along, Katie. But then Elyse appointed him your one-man personal transportation committee. Smart cookie, she was. Then he became the driver for us all with his string of beat-up pickups.” Alice shook her head. “Tully knows his way back onto the wagon.” Alice’s mascara had melted into dark shadows under her eyes. Her blonde bouffant maintained its beauty parlor-perfect shape, though her face appeared wilted and tired.
“It’s a terrible burden he’s carried, Katherine,” Dr. Schwartz said, his head wobbling in involuntary agreement with his words. “He was so special to Elyse. And her to him. Closer than any brother and sister I know. Losing her was one of Tully’s biggest blows. He couldn’t talk about it for years.”
“We were wrong not to tell you,” Dad said. His eyelids were swollen, his color gray. He peered into the blackness of his coffee cup. After a while, he drew a deep breath and then found my eyes with his own. Even under his wiry brows and the gentle sag of his eyelids, his eyes were clear and soft. “We always meant to tell you everything, when you were old enough to understand.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Dad kept talking. “You were such a little girl, and it all seemed so big.” Dad stopped and cleared his throat. Any pain I felt for myself at that moment paled next to what it felt like to see my dad waging such a struggle.
> Dr. Schwartz rested his gnarled fingers on Dad’s forearm. “What your father is saying is that we’ve always meant to talk to you. When you were little the time wasn’t right. You were such a brooding teenager, so serious, so alone. You didn’t have friends the way other children did. We didn’t want to make things harder. I’ll have to admit we all lost our courage along the way. And time conspires to bury the best of intentions.”
The three of them told the story like a fugue, one voice picking up as the other left off. My mother’s depression had started back in Ireland, after losing three brothers in the war. She was a woman of great faith. She prayed and asked for mercy. She went to the priests, who told her to focus on others.
Dr. Schwartz took a sip of his coffee. “Medicine was only beginning to really treat depression in the 1960s. One doctor even told Elyse to take up smoking to settle her nerves. Can you imagine?”
“Poor thing tried it, but the cigarettes only made her sick,” Alice added. “She was so much better for a while after you came along.” A mysterious cloud passed before Alice’s eyes. “I never did see anything that could lift her the way you did, honey. The sad spells came back in full force when you were about two. She’d say, ‘How can I be unhappy? I have everything I ever wanted.’”
Dad’s face was slack with sadness. “When Elyse told Alice that she was wishing she’d die, well—”
“We knew she needed more help than we could give her,” Alice said. “So she went to Langley Porter Hospital.”
Tully took her to the hospital whenever she needed to go, still wedded to his role as family driver, and wanting nothing so badly as to see her well again.
Dr. Schwartz sighed. “In those days, they did shock treatments. Elyse was willing to subject herself to anything… because there was you, Katherine. She so wanted to be free of it all. She was afraid that her bleak outlook might affect you. But treatment had been futile. Each time she emerged from treatment, she was thinner and less herself. The last time she came out of the hospital, she seemed better, stronger. We all thought the treatment had finally worked.”
Fire & Water Page 8
