Run Delia Run

by Cindy Bokma

  “Can I go to Vincent’s house? Can we go fishing? When are we gonna see Vincent again?” he asked, his bright eyes shining and joyful.

  “You need to meet my mother,” Vincent said suddenly, one night after he cooked a lobster dinner for us. We were in the kitchen cleaning up while Will looked outside for lightening bugs with a mason jar.

  “Really?” I asked, my hands plunged in soapy water. “This must be getting serious.”

  “I’ve been talking about you so much; she wants to meet you and Ethan. She can’t wait.” He blushed and looked away.

  I pursed my lips. I wanted her to like us. I wanted to be accepted into Vincent’s family. I never met Leo’s family and he didn’t speak about his childhood. Will and I didn’t have anyone but each other. I hoped for a reunion with my brother, but it hadn’t happened yet. I couldn’t imagine bringing Will to Florida to meet Priscilla and Taffy. I almost laughed at the idea of seeing them though I did wonder how they were doing now and then.

  “Okay, sure. I’ll be looking forward to it.” I smiled up at Vincent but inside my body, everything went soft and jello-like. I leaned against the counter to hold myself up.

  He scraped the leftovers into a container. “I can’t stop telling her how amazing you guys are. She is going to fall in love with you, like I did.” With that, he stopped what he was doing, fork and knife poised in mid-air. His face grew beet red.

  “What exactly have you told her?” I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

  Closing the lid to the container, he set it in the fridge. Then he closed the dishwasher and turned it on, then leaned against the counter. “Oh, I told her how Ethan and I like to go fishing, how I’m trying to help him read. I told her about fixing your stairs. That’s about it.”

  “That’s it? Seriously? Where am I in all of that?” I playfully swatted him with the dish towel.

  He threw his head back and laughed, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Ha! I’m teasing. I filled her in on this wonderful woman who likes to wake up early and spend Saturday mornings in my boat with me, who has an amazing kid, let me think what else...”

  “Ugh, unexciting.” I rolled my eyes. “I sound completely boring. I’m surprised she still wants to me meet. I wouldn’t want to meet me.”

  “Oh, but you are so exciting.” Pulling me close for a light kiss, he paused as my son stomped through the back door. One look at Vincent and me and he pretended to gag.

  “Yuck, are you kissing my mom?” He wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

  We giggled and both lunged for Will, wrapping him in a hug.

  Claire sent me a text in the middle of the night, two words: He’s gone.

  I didn’t see the message until early the next morning, and I called immediately.

  “What happened?” I asked, sitting up and trying to awaken out of my dream. And it was a good dream. Vincent and I were getting married on the pier with the boats in the harbor, the majestic lighthouse creating a magnificent backdrop to our nuptials. The German pastry shop made our wedding cake, a chocolate confection. It was all very lovely until my eyes opened suddenly and I reached for my phone.

  “. . . and you don’t need to come to the funeral,” Claire said.

  “What?”

  “I said, everyone will be there I’m sure, everyone he ever worked with. But there’s no need for you to come. It would take the focus off of Leo.”

  Yeah, take the focus off Claire was more like it.

  “I wasn’t planning on coming . . .”

  “Well good. I wouldn’t want you there. His ashes will be scattered into the Pacific Ocean. I’ll be going up to Malibu to fulfill his wishes personally. I called to let you know it was over. He’s at peace now and didn’t suffer, he died in his sleep.” Her words were short, punctuated by sniffles. “I assume you’ll tell Will.”

  Naturally, I’d tell him as gently as possible. My son had been through so much. I was grateful our lives were calm and peaceful. Now I’d have to break this news to him and I wondered how he’d respond. I started biting my nail as my mind raced.

  “Delia?” Claire’s sharp voice brought me back to the moment.

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry . . .”

  “To be honest with you, I think he was hanging on. He knew you would come back.”

  “And Will—”

  “What about him? As far as I’m concerned, the two of you might as well not even exist. The trust fund money for your son will be available when he’s eighteen. Other than that, you don’t need to step foot in the state of California again.” Gone were the sniffles and low voice, her tone raised and she sounded angry.

  I tried to fall back asleep after we hung up, but I tossed and turned. I wanted to get back to the dream with Vincent, but when I fell asleep, I had no dreams at all.

  After school when Will and I strolled home, enjoying our peach ice cream from our favorite ice cream shop, I grabbed his warm, sticky hand and pulled him to a bench. Leaves collected on the ground near our feet. A bird pecked for crumbs but flew away when we sat. There was a chill in the air and it signaled winter coming. I shivered and pulled my jacket tighter.

  “Hey buddy, let’s sit for a second.”

  “What?” He dropped his backpack next to us and gazed up at me with his big, innocent eyes.

  Nervously I moistened my dry lips. “It’s your dad.”

  Will knit his brows together and met my eyes. “He died?”

  I nodded. His expression grew serious and he absently took a lick from his ice cream cone, staring straight ahead at the boats. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. The spot where he lost a tooth made him look cute and vulnerable. I watched him poke his tongue in and out of the space.

  “He died in his sleep. Remember, I told you he found out he had a tumor, that he was so full of cancer, the doctors couldn’t help him.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes and I wiped them away with the rough edge of a napkin. Will said nothing. The tears weren’t so much for Leo as they were for Will. I didn’t want him to be in pain. I couldn't help but remember when I learned my parents had died.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Gently I rubbed his back and waited for him to speak. After a while, he finally let out a sigh and turned to me.

  "I feel sad," he said.

  “It's hard when someone dies. I understand how you feel.” I put my arm around him and gave a squeeze.

  “I knew he was going to die. I’ll never see him again.” He turned his gaze back to the harbor. A light wind lifted his hair from his face and he looked so serious, I could almost see the face of the man he would be someday. I watched him closely, waiting for tears to fall but he stared straight ahead.

  “I love you so much. And your dad loved you.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shrugged and took a bite of his ice cream cone.

  I saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. I handed him a napkin and kissed the top of his head. I wanted him to know that it was all right to cry. For me, however, the rush of tears never came.

  I almost felt guilty about the huge sense of relief I experienced. I touched the spot on my neck that never quite healed; I’d always have an area on my body that Leo hurt. But he never broke me completely, and I found solace in that.

  That night, I tossed and turned. No matter how much I tried to fall asleep with using lavender essential oil, listening to a meditation app on my phone, reading an article about winterizing the house, steadying my breath, sleep evaded me.

  I finally got out of bed and checked on Will who was twisted in his sheets and blankets; his breath was low and deep. His nightlight cast a glow on his sweet face and my heart skipped a beat as I looked down at him. I smoothed his blankets and kissed his forehead then tip-toed down the hall and into the kitchen where I made a cup of herbal tea.

  I carried the mug upstairs to my bedroom. I planned to watch a documentary on my iPad but my e
ye fell on the closet door. It was open just a crack but reminded me of the box of items from Leo. I hesitated.

  The rain-battered notebook was inside, its cover ripped in places. Curiosity got the best of me and I retrieved the book, then brought it back to bed where I fluffed up my pillows and sat back. The handwriting was messy; I recognized it as Leo’s immediately. With all of his intelligence and charm and success, he still had terrible writing.

  I began to read the journal entries, trying my best to decipher the writing ,which was blurred and illegible at times. Spots were erased, then written over, then crossed out again, so it took me forever to get through it.

  When I closed the book a strange feeling settled over me, like I witnessed something both scary and private. All the times I wished for insight into Leo, but came up empty. . . now I knew more than I wanted.

  In the pages of the journal, he described an overbearing and controlling father; of torment at school due to the fact his family was poor. He wrote about not seeing his grandparents, of suicide attempts when he was twelve, thirteen. Movies were his escape; he used to sneak into the theater to hide from his dad. This was a memoir of Leo’s life. Parts were written out of order and some were nonsensical, but I managed to piece together a clear picture of this man.

  There were several paragraphs where I had to pause and close my eyes. Leo’s father had beaten him with a belt that had a buckle on it that left scars on his back. He had told me the scars were from football.

  According to this journal, Leo had been an overweight, underachieving kid, whose home life was so unpleasant that he ran away when he was a teenager and lived in a homeless shelter until his father found him. He didn’t speak of the stepbrother that Aurora told me about; I wondered if he stopped writing before that happened.

  He wrote of his father who eventually ended up in jail for killing someone but he left out the details of why and how. My eyes filled with tears as I read Leo’s words and by the time I was finished, every muscle in my body ached, even though all I did was sit and read.

  I was mentally exhausted from the awful picture Leo painted in this journal, but when I turned off the light, I couldn’t stop thinking about Leo as a child and his relationship with his father.

  Is that what would have been in store for Will, would Leo have repeated his father’s behavior? I tried to reconcile how Leo treated me with what I read. Maybe his words were false. This journal could be a total fabrication for all I knew. How could I have married someone knowing so little of their past? I was angry with my younger self. Emotions buzzed and churned in my mind as I tried to make sense of everything. I eventually faded into sleep, but when I woke up, it felt like I hadn’t slept at all.

  Chapter 22

  Present

  . . . and I couldn’t believe it when I got the letter in the mail. I was stunned, it had been so long. I wondered what had happened to you.” David’s voice came through loud and clear, as if he were in the next town over, not in Japan. “I wondered where you were. I sent a Christmas card and a birthday card and heard nothing. I tried to email you but I got a bounce-back notice.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s a long story. But know that I’m all right now.” I pressed the phone to my ear and closed my eyes. “Actually, I’ve never been better.”

  “We have so much to catch up on. I want you to finally meet your nephew.” His voice was friendly but the tone changed. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I mean, we didn’t really talk a whole lot after I moved away, especially when you got married. I figured maybe”—he paused and I heard a sharp inhale—“I thought you were angry with me. Even though I came to the wedding, it seemed like you were avoiding me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off base here.” He chuckled but I knew he wasn’t joking.

  I paced back and forth in my kitchen. Memories and thoughts of my parents moved through my minds eye. I remembered David sprawled out on the floor watching TV and making fun of me, the four of us at Christmas time in the snow. Random thoughts popped up. David with braces on his teeth. Going to the mall and him insisting he didn’t want to be seen with me. So many memories of my brother, of my parents.

  The sharp sting of him leaving me and joining the military after our parents died stayed though I never held a grudge. It couldn’t have been easy for him either.

  “Please don’t worry or feel guilty.” I looked out the window. A hummingbird landed on one of the bushes, its wings beating like my heart when I saw Vincent. The wind lightly shook the leaves on the trees. The sky was a vibrant blue with fluffy, white, storybook clouds moving slowly. A sense of calm fell over me like a blanket.

  Leo was dead, Will was thriving. I was talking to my brother. Vincent was in my life. I loved my house, my job. I thought back to one year ago, to the plans I was finalizing as I was about to run from Leo. Sneaking to the library in disguise, using burner phones, and taking notes as I got advice from domestic abuse counselors. Hours of research. Hours of planning and plotting and praying. Hours of fear, of being afraid.

  I remembered paying cash for new ID for Will and myself, then hiding it where Leo would never find it. I remembered the crushing nerves and unsettled stomach every time Leo came home from work and slammed the door behind him, his heavy footsteps sounding like gunshots. I squeezed my eyes closed against those memories.

  “I’ll always worry about my little sister,” David said now.

  “My life for the past several years has been . . . crazy. But it’s good. When can you come for a visit? I want to show you around and have you spend time with Will, he’s such a great kid. You can stay here with us, or I could get a room for you at an inn, I’m happy to book something for you.”

  After Leo’s estate was settled, I had more money than I knew what to do with. I appreciated how Leo set it up; I kept my privacy and new identity. A new bank account held the funds from Leo. I didn't want to touch the money until I needed it.

  “I don’t want to make extra work for you, so whatever you prefer. Let me get my leave approved, I have about ten days, how does that sound? You and May can hang out and you can get to know your sister-in-law a little more.”

  “Yes.” A huge smile made its way across my face. So this is what contentment felt like.

  When we hung up, I experienced a sense of peace and satisfaction. My shoulders felt lighter, my body relaxed. After many years my brother and I would be together without Leo standing by to threaten or control me.

  I cleaned the house, dusted and vacuumed, with the windows wide open and a nice cool autumn breeze blowing the curtains away from the sills. A candle burned on the counter, something called Peaceful Dreams. When I saw the name, I had to buy it.

  Will was out with Vincent and they would be home later in time for dinner. I gazed out the window and saw the top of the lighthouse in the distance.

  I closed my eyes and heard voices calling out from the water and the bustle of tourists walking through the narrow streets. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked and birds chirped.

  In the kitchen later that afternoon, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow on the yard; I paused to admire the beauty of it. I snapped a photo with my phone and sent it to my brother. To share something with him might have seemed small and insignificant to anyone else but for me, the ability to not look over my shoulder and worry was relatively new.

  I was in the middle of making dinner. After being gone all day, they were due back soon and I needed to work quickly, since the meatloaf needed an hour to bake. I mixed the meat and breadcrumbs mindlessly while I thought about Leo.

  In therapy, I worked on this strange sense of freedom. Like a new pair of shoes I was trying to break in, there were times the feeling was stiff and not quite comfortable.

  It was unusual to not flinch at a noise or stiffen at the sound of a knock at the door. When I drove down the street, I worked at disregarding the panic of being followed though I had the habit of scanning behind me, looking just in case.

 
A feeling of serenity washed over me when I spent time with Vincent. At first, I was cautious and nervous, but in time, I came to accept that Vincent was not Leo; he would never be like him.

  When they arrived home, hungry and tired from a long day, dinner was ready. Mashed potatoes were whipped, the meatloaf was hot, and the salad was vibrantly green in a wooden bowl. I lit more candles and made a fire in the fireplace.

  The scene looked like a Christmas card.

  “I’m famished.” Vincent kissed me lightly on the cheek. His face was flushed and his skin was cool. He carried the light briny smell of the sea on his clothes.

  “We had a great day, Mom. Caught some fish. Oh, but Vincent made me throw them back into the water. It’s called catch and release.” Will’s face was serious but then he turned toward me and smiled brightly, his nose crinkling and his eyes happy.

  “And Vincent said we could go to Maine. He said we can cook the fish we catch right there. And we can hike in the woods and look for rocks. And Vincent promised to look for bugs with me.” Will took a breath. This was the most he had spoken at once in a long time.

  I took a step backward and put a hand on my heart. “That sounds amazing. I hope I’m invited.”

  Vincent winked at me. “I know a guy with a place up in Bar Harbor; we can stay at his cabin and go fishing and hiking.” He and Will traded smiles.

  “Sounds good to me.” I pulled Will in for a hug and gave him a squeeze before he wiggled out of my embrace.

  “I said we could go this spring. What do you think?” Vincent turned to me and I couldn’t help but notice how the navy blue of his shirt accentuated his ruddy complexion and white teeth. He was so handsome that I actually inhaled sharply.

  Will watched me expectantly. “Say yes, mom.”

  “Yes, how can I say no to you?” I heaped a pile of mashed potatoes on to my plate and passed the bowl to Vincent, who met my eye and grinned.