This is ringing a bell for John. “He was drunk. Rolled the car. Decapitated, right.”
“It was fucking terrible.”
“My god. Poor Lynn. That kind of damage is hard to shake.”
Brian rubs John’s shoulder now. “But it can shake, right?”
“Maybe, Brian. Maybe it can.” John answers hopefully.
Brian prays it can.
Anna opens the door to John's smiling face. "Rumor has it you are attending a certain birthday celebration this afternoon."
He looks nothing like the broken man she found on the beach less than twenty-four hours ago.
"I told Stephanie I would come but wasn't really comfortable without talking to you first." My god he has a beautiful smile. Anna knows it is wrong, but after holding Clara in her arms, she can’t stop herself. Those lovely dark ringlets, she is literally too beautiful. Anna knows she has lost all reason. John brings her back to the moment.
"Stephanie isn't good at taking no for an answer. She is a great attorney though." John plays with a curl resting on Anna's shoulder. "Come and meet Clara.” John ignores the fact that they met yesterday. “I'm headed to the shops for a present. Care to join me?”
"First things first," Anna says, pulling him inside with her mouth on his. Now is the time.
“Wait,” he stops with a smug smile, pulling the paper from his pocket.
“What?” She wonders as he hands her a print out of the photo.
“Look. I respect your need for privacy. I haven’t Googled you. I really don’t know shit about you. But this came at me today. I couldn’t stop it. I’m putting it on my fridge. I thought you should know.”
“Well fucking fantastic.” She lays the photo face down on the table. “All those gorgeous men, and still I’d choose you.”
They don't bother undressing, just move clothes around as needed. They land on the living room floor hard. His passion has a different energy. He is a little more aggressive and vocalizes his satisfaction differently. Something has changed in him.
They find a toy store filled with children's treasures. After much deliberation, John chooses a stuffed pony the size of a refrigerator. "How will they get it back to Chicago?" Anna laughs even though things have changed between them and she isn’t sure what that means. He doesn’t know it yet, but he has already left her a little. He stands straighter. He seems taller. His eyes even look greener or maybe just clearer. He is different. He is becoming a father again.
"I'll ship it," he says, petting the pink mane.
Anna selects a much more modest Richard Scarry book collection. Satisfied with their purchases, they squeeze the pony into the car and stop at a dockside taco bar for fish tacos and margueritas. They talk about renting a boat again to explore the island's waterways. Anna plans to enjoy John right up until the last minute. The heartbreak and missing him will be for later. She knows she can weather it. She’s weathered much worse.
Eventually conversation turns to Clara. "They want me to take her. No one is saying it yet, but they do, while she is still young. They'd keep her forever, but...” John pauses, taco in midair. A joyless smile splits his face in two and he closes his eyes.
"What is it John?" she asks with genuine concern.
"Our sad stories. Mine. No warning, I just threw it at you yesterday in the form of a sleeping baby girl. Literally."
She starts to protest but doesn't. She puts down her taco, remembering the full impact of his words last night.
"This isn't fun for you anymore, is it?" John tries to look into her eyes, but she averts hers. "Fuck," is all he can think to say.
“John…” she starts but doesn’t finish. He is right in a sense.
"God I am sorry. Babies and birthday parties and my fucking horror story. This really is not fun anymore."
"Wait John. Let's talk this through," she reaches for his arm. She isn’t ready for this to be over.
"But isn't that the point. We don't want to talk things through? We want to enjoy ourselves and fuck and just have a good time. And we have. Every day with you has been a good fucking time."
She smiles but doesn’t mean it.
"Anna I never meant to unload on you like that."
She offers nothing. She isn’t sure what he needs or what she wants to give.
"You and your dammed silence." He looks up, avoiding her eyes in frustration.
"Wait, are you actually angry with me? I have done nothing wrong here. Nothing. I am the same person you had bent over a dining table little more than an hour ago. The only thing not fun is you behaving like an ass." Anger coats every word.
Anna grabs her bag and leaves, to walk the short distance back to her house. She makes it maybe one hundred feet and looks back at him, sitting alone, looking out over the water. His hair blows with the breeze. He entwines his fingers behind his head and just sits. Her heart pulls her in two directions, away to safety and back into his arms. She won’t let him go yet, she can’t. Despite her high-heeled sandals, she runs back to him and wraps her arms around him from behind. She lays her head on his shoulder. He presses his hands to her arms to hold her tight.
She whispers into his ear, "I am utterly and completely in love with you. Can that be enough?" She says it lightly but means it.
Of course he doesn’t take her seriously. “You’ll love me for the rest of the summer. No promises. No future tense.” He pulls her into his lap. “Yes Anna, it is enough."
After dark, Brian walks the beach alone with one beer in his hand and one in each front pocket. He’ll tell his secrets to the ocean and let them wash out to sea. He wants to forget that night in Buenos Aires. He has lied to Stephanie about it all this time. He told her John was already gone, but he wasn’t. If she knew the truth, she might feel differently about John and Brian doesn’t want that. They have been close since law school. John introduced Brian to Stephanie. Still, that lie eats at him. He sits in the sand and forces himself to remember. The first thing he recalls is the smell of rot, walking into the underground room.
A few light bulbs cast accusatory shadows over the cement floor. Black, horizontal rows of rope line a small ring. He hears the screams of animals, no the screams of men. He imagines pit bulls ripping out each other’s throats.
It’s John he sees, shirtless, two hundred and twenty pounds of ripped muscle, sweat and blood streaming down his body like tears. He bounces on his toes, fists raised. His opponent is taller and broader, but slower, bald head shining. Years of splitting boards in class with other boys in white gis and taking hits on the line, Brian knows John can fight. But not like this.
John’s eyes are wide with cocaine or worse. His face is cut at the lip and eye. He hits hard, the force of each punch harder than the one before. He leans in to take a few, maybe on purpose, to keep it interesting, or maybe because he likes the feel of it. He smiles like it’s the feel of it he wants. The crowd cheers and punches the air, too chicken shit to do more than place bets. Tall bald guy won’t go down. John is tiring and takes some hard jabs to the ribs and a few more to the face. John lands a roundhouse kick to bald guy’s cheek, he finally falls, hard.
Brian wonders at the rules here, if any. Shoulders down for a count of three seems unlikely. Ever the showman, John bares his teeth, pulls his leg high and lands a foot into bald guy’s teeth, helping a few fly across the floor. A bloodied, torn hand covers his mouth, instinctively protecting the rest. John isn’t done.
John drops to one knee and lands a quick, sharp punch directly into bald guy’s face. The sounds of bones crushing rolls Brian’s stomach. John rises, finally finished, and shakes the sweat out of his hair as his opponent rolls over and vomits. Brian’s own nausea sends him running out into the bright light and open air, not quite believing the animal his brother has become.
Brian kicks in John’s door easily and waits in the single wooden chair by the filth covered window. John returns quickly with a bottle in a bag. When he sees his brother, he doesn’t even give Brian the satisfactio
n of a reaction. He strips, steps behind a shower curtain, rinses himself off and then falls to the bed, grunting, holding broken ribs.
“Is this where you want to be?” Brian asks.
The answer takes so long, he’s not sure John heard him.
“’It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.’” John quotes the sociopath, Tyler Durden, from Fight Club, then he adds his own words. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
Brian isn’t going to reason or beg with John jacked on coke and adrenalin. He leaves, returning early the next morning. John is long gone.
Clara is drawn to John. Anna understands Clara has been prepared for this, but still Anna is fascinated by the instinct in her. She knows her relationship with her father is special and that isn’t easily taught. There is no love to match that between a parent and a child. John visibly warms to her more and more every hour. Day by day, John is more Clara's father. He seems almost relieved to finally be with her.
While John and Clara build a sand castle, Anna observes the changes in John. His face is different. He holds his shoulders differently. He breathes differently. His release of tension is completely physical. They are so beautiful together, he and Clara, Anna’s heart breaks wanting what he has. She imagines the child she could have with him. The need, the wanting for a sweet baby fills her with joy and pain at the same time.
Clara hands Anna an oyster shell. Her tiny beautiful hand places it in Anna’s. Her baby wouldn’t have been too much older than Clara.
Anna excuses herself and goes into 517, returning with her camera. She shoots hundreds of photos of John and Clara and then the others. These are her first photos since Dylan’s death. It feels good to be joined with a camera again. Anna becomes a different person with a camera in her hand. She connects with a place inside herself that she has left dormant for too long. Strong musculature in her forearm awakens, remembering how to support the camera. Anna swivels her waist and hips in perfect balance, leaning to get the best angle. She sets her chin reviewing her shots, determined to capture the finest from everything and everyone in her surroundings, contributing a magical quality she is used to achieving through her art.
At one point, Joe walks by. Stephanie asks him to photograph them all standing in the surf. It is their first family picture in a long time. Anna hesitates to join in, but Stephanie physically pulls her in and wraps her arm around Anna’s waist.
“Say cheese,” Stephanie smiles at Anna and for a moment they feel like sisters.
At dinner, Clara climbs onto John's knee, giving up her chair. Stephanie's heart pulls a little. With every move Clara makes toward John, she knows without a doubt that Clara needs to be with him. Stephanie and Brian desperately want Clara to be with her father, but it is hard. When Clara grows up, she will know her mother left her. There will be a time when Clara will feel deserted. She cannot grow up feeling deserted by two parents. Stephanie and Brian will do anything to spare her that, even if it means giving her up. They want to reunite the two while Clara is young enough to forget her time without John. They have seen individual therapists and family therapists, and spent long hours talking into the night about how to make this work for Clara.
An after dinner rain chases them inside to board games, coloring books and wine. "I've been playing on that old Fender," John says to Brian.
"Are you shitting me?” Brian shouts before he runs out the door. Six startled little eyes follow him.
"It's okay y'all. Daddy said some bad words though, didn't he?" Stephanie explains, wondering if this is really happening. Brian needs this so badly. The void of missing his brother has taken a toll on her husband. His lightness and ease are harder to get at now.
Within a minute, Brian is back with a guitar. "I had this sitting in the van." He pulls his guitar from its case. John gets his from the closet. They sit side by side on the couch and tune for a moment. Stephanie wonders if she can trust all of this. It just seems too good.
Without a word or explanation, Brian nods, and counts off low, "one... two... three... four..." They play Freebird like they have been playing it all of their lives. They are perfectly in sync, but take the tempo in different directions. This is an arrangement, long rehearsed, created many years ago.
When they finish, Brian says simply, "Now that is how it's done."
His words are simple, but Stephanie knows his meaning is much deeper. John starts strumming an old U2 song. By the look on Brian’s face, it is clear this song has a special meaning to them.
Stephanie feels her eyes starting to well and refuses to ruin the moment with tears. She slides the door to the deck and stands under the umbrella to avoid the falling rain. Anna follows her.
"Are you all right?" Anna asks stroking Stephanie's hair.
Stephanie shakes her head. "It is a lot, Anna. There is so much going on in there besides some old songs on two guitars.”
Anna waits.
Stephanie lets a few tears fall, but she hates letting them fall. “I don't like to speak ill of the dead."
“Go on. You can tell me anything.”
Stephanie watches the rain for a moment. She holds out her hand to catch the falling drops. "Even before Sarah died, John had lost that light you see in there. They had such bad years trying to have a baby. But even before that, it was never easy with them. Brian missed this so much.” Stephanie wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Brian has been a little lost without him for a very long time. It has been even harder on him, watching the boys grow. It is such a reminder of what he and Brian had together. They were so close."
"Was he happy with her?" Anna asks. “With Sarah?”
"He thought he was, but I have known John since he was twenty-two years old. He wasn't happy. I think they almost fell into it together. He was so busy working and all of a sudden there she was. I think they became a habit for each other. I can't explain it, but he wasn't happy. He wasn’t in love. Oh my god you can never repeat that," Stephanie covers her mouth, regretting the admission.
“I never will Stephanie.”
“You know what I think Anna? The stories we tell ourselves of the dead are rarely honest. Death changes our memories and turns everyone into the perfect ideal. It just isn’t always true.”
Their last day is a rainy one. Stephanie leaves the boys watching a soccer match on TV, with John and Brian mocking the soccer players. Something about Texas and football and she thinks she hears “pussies.” Whatever. Even though Clara was laid down upstairs for a nap, she is sleeping peacefully on John's chest. He smooths her hair, gazing at his daughter. Oh the difference a week can make. She picks up a bottle of wine, rethinks the wine, takes the bourbon, and lets herself out the back door. They won't even notice I'm gone. She knocks on Anna's door trying to hide under the overhang to stay dry. Anna slides the glass, quickly pulling Stephanie inside.
"You want to get drunk with me?" Stephanie asks.
Anna laughs. "Absolutely. Looks like you brought the good stuff." Anna reaches for glasses.
Stephanie pours heavy shots and syncs her playlist to Anna's speakers. Mumford and Sons takes over, setting the tone of a lazy afternoon. Anna and Stephanie sit back into the couch cradling their bourbon. Stephanie studies Anna wordlessly, never losing her smile.
“Stephanie, I’m wondering if you were a prosecutor.”
“Why do you ask?” Stephanie smiles because she was indeed a prosecutor.
“I feel an interrogation coming on.” She sips, waiting and Stephanie just smiles sweetly. After the song ends, Anna loses her patience. "Come on Tami Taylor, out with it."
"What?" Stephanie asks innocently. "Was that a Friday Night Lights reference? Oh it’s just the red hair and the long bangs, isn’t it? I just love her though. She is always in charge. Wait, was that a compliment or no? Oh whatever," she laughs. “Anna really, what a great week. I just want to thank you." Stephanie drains her glass. Anna follows suit and they pour.
"Oh?" Anna replies.
"Yeah,
thanks for a great week. I'm not sure how or why, but I think you might be responsible."
More draining and more pouring. Responsible. The word lingers. It is a loaded word, full of meaning. Cause, fault or obligation.
"No need to thank me. Thank you actually. It has been a wonderful week. You have a wonderful family. You are a truly wonderful mother. The ideal really." Anna is repeating adjectives, a little drunk.
"Anna, thank you so much. Really. There is nothing more important in the world to me than being a mom."
Another round goes down easily. "I'm not asking any questions," Stephanie lies.
"Really? I must confess some surprise, counselor," Anna jokes, slurring her words. "I was certain this was a cross examination."
"It is, but I am using enhanced interrogation techniques. Jedi mind tricks. These are not the droids you're looking for. Or something like that." Stephanie’s giggle comes out as a snort and her phone buzzes. “Yes I'm next door… Yes I took the good bourbon... Yes we drank it... No! I am totally behaving!" In not so hushed tones to Anna, “Tell Brian I am behaving. By the way John says you can take care of yourself. Good girl!"
Anna yells into the distant phone from the kitchen, "We’re just having a quiet afternoon tea." She shares an open bag of dark chocolate pomegranate candy as Stephanie ends the call and takes a handful, chewing thoughtfully.
"Here is what I see. You are in love with him, and he is in love with you. Undoubtedly.” Anna’s jaw drops and Stephanie ignores it. “But I detect an impermanence. It feels very temporary. Which must be intentional. No sleepovers. No planning. Do you have a brain tumor?"
Anna winces.
"No. Oh shit of course. I get it now. You have checked out. You are taking a break, but you are going back to it. To Bono and Clooney and Brad Pitt. Back to globetrotting and all that bullshit? Fuck! Does he know?" Stephanie demands.
"It isn’t that simple. And John knows nothing. Can we leave it at that?"
Circling The Shadows (Sunshine and Moonlight Book 1) Page 11
