by J. L. Mac
I ran, though it wasn’t really necessary. Graham couldn’t chase after me. His leg hindered him from going anywhere quickly.
Would he chase me if he could?
The little girl in me stopped her twirling and petal plucking to ponder the question that cropped up in my mind. I hated to tell that little girl in me the bad news. It didn’t matter if he could or would chase after me. It didn’t matter if and when he finally got to me. I was already gone.
The moment the stuffy Manhattan air hit me, this city had lost its majesty. At least, for now. Maybe forever.
Thankfully my arm had barely made it above my head before the screeching of cab breaks filled my ears, bringing with it the promise of sanctuary in a musty cab. I didn’t care. I would take it.
The cabby took off and asked for my destination and for the life of me I couldn’t think of a safe place, and that realization made me feel so very sorry for myself. Everyone deserved to have a safe place. Didn’t I deserve a safe place?
“Just drive for a bit, please,” I croaked through the onslaught of tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Meter’s runnin’ lady.” He shrugged.
“I don’t care. Just drive, please.” I fished my cell phone from my clutch and texted the only person on the planet I knew I could trust with everything.
Me: Where are you?
Matty: Cal’s. What’s going on?
Me: Is it okay if I come over there?
Matty: Of course. What’s up, babe? You’re freaking me out.
Me: Party was bad.
My summation of the catastrophe I had just escaped felt so inadequate. A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of me with tears still slipping down my face.
What the fuck is going on?
Matt texted me the address and I relayed it to the cabby. By the time we arrived at Cal’s place, I had run up a one hundred fifty-six dollar fare. I shoved a handful of cash at the cabby. I was certain that I’d overpaid him but I didn’t care. It was Graham’s cash and carrying it felt heavy. I ran my fingers under my eyes, attempting to blot away my tears and smeared mascara. I sniffled and made my way to Cal’s apartment. I no longer felt pretty in my heavy sequin dress. I felt like the disgraced prom queen.
“What in the fuck?” Matt gasped as he opened Cal’s door and took one look at me.
It was my undoing. I hurled myself at him and crumbled in his arms. Matt whispered sweetly in my ear and shushed me and rubbed my back. He deposited me on a couch and pulled me against him.
“It’s okay. It’s alright. Calm down. Breathe,” he coaxed me. A deep breath stuttered down my throat and I took the tissue that Cal sat in my lap.
“Th-thank you, C-Cal,” I hiccupped, working to catch my breath and calm myself.
“You’re welcome, Flor.”
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Matt asked, tucking my hair behind my ears and smoothing back stray tendrils from my sodden face.
“We—uh—we went to my dad’s party.”
“Right. Go on.” He nodded.
“I was trying to introduce Graham to my dad and they just…” I shook my head and fought against a fresh wave of tears. I was still so confused by what happened. “They already know each other,” I rasped. “Graham is an alcoholic. My dad is his sponsor. I had no idea. This whole t-time!”
“Motherfucker,” Matt whispered looking just as horrified as I felt.
“I ran.” I shrugged. “I couldn’t think of a safe place. I don’t want to see him and I know he’ll want to talk. I’m sorry for barging in and ruining your night,” I apologized, looking between Cal and Matt.
“No, no. It’s okay,” Cal waved.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Matt said at the same time.
“I…” I trailed off clutching my chest because I was certain that my heart was breaking, and it hurt more than I ever knew it possibly could. “I knew he was hiding something. He’d told me as much but I assumed it had to do with his brother. I just never thought—I’m so stupid!” My body wracked as heavy sobs and gasps for air tore through me.
“It’s going to be okay, babe. It’s going to be just fine.” He wrapped his arms around me again and tugged me closer to him.
“It’s not okay, Matt. I love him. I love him so much,” I croaked. Those words should have been liberating to say aloud, but they weren’t. They were the exact opposite. I wasn’t liberated by saying them. I was imprisoned.
“I know, babe. It’s okay. Shush,” he cooed as though I were a child.
My phone began ringing from within my clutch and I knew exactly who it was. His ringtone, “(Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” by The Rolling Stones, once made me smile, and now it made me shrink away like it would bite if I chose to get too close.
“It’s him.” My phone rang and rang and fell silent only to begin ringing yet again. He called three more times before Matt swore under his breath and snagged my phone. He powered it off and settled on the couch beside me.
A moment later Matt’s phone began ringing. “He won’t stop,” I mumbled, sounding hoarse and nasally from all the crying. He pulled his phone from his pocket and ignored the call, sending it straight to voicemail. It rang again and he ignored it yet again. We all stared at each other, waiting for his phone to ring but it didn’t. Instead, it chimed as a new text message lit Matt’s phone.
Graham Stone: Is Flor with you?
Matt: Yes.
Graham Stone: I just need to know she’s safe. Please tell her to call me. Please.
Matt didn’t respond to that message. He powered off his phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
“Cal, may I use your bathroom?”
“Of course. Down the hall to the right.”
“Thank you.” I felt weak and exhausted from my meltdown. On shaky legs, I made it to Cal’s bathroom and shut the door behind me. I was afraid of the mirror. I didn’t want to see the woman looking back at me. I braced my palms on the vanity countertop and breathed deeply.
My thoughts whirled out of control.
How did this happen? How did I not know? How long has he known? Did he know who my dad was?
The answer was no. He couldn’t have. I couldn’t recall ever giving him my dad’s name and beyond that, the look on his face tonight was evidence enough of his ignorance. He didn’t know. His face…
God, his handsome face.
A fresh wave of unbidden tears welled in my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. I sniffled and finally looked up and peered into the mirror. How tormented I looked. How broken. How bereft. My appearance mirrored exactly what I felt inside.
Things were making sense, though. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted the pain medication I tried giving him. He was a recovering alcoholic. I knew well that my dad shied away from anything mood altering. The summer I spent with him and Liza, he ended up with a sinus infection and she offered him multi-symptom cold syrup, and he’d adamantly refused. They didn’t speak for a full day over the matter.
I wasn’t sure how long Graham had been sober. I didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter. He lied to me. He knew. All this time he knew and he took great care to keep it from me. I gritted my teeth and gripped the counter hard. I was so mad, and so hurt and so very heartbroken.
I turned on the water on wet my face. My eyes were already swollen and red. I dreaded what they’d look and feel like in the morning. I also dreaded where I’d be in the morning. I wouldn’t be in Graham’s arms. I wouldn’t be on my way to him. I wouldn’t be coming home to grab more clothes. I’d be in my own bed. Alone and nursing a broken heart.
I’d have to endure sympathetic glances from Matt. I’d have to tell my mom when she asked about him, and then she too would look at me with sad eyes and downward turned lips, and it was more than I thought I could bear.
I cleaned the smeared makeup from my eyes as best I could with just water and tissue. I straightened my dress, smoothed my hair, tucking errant tendrils away from my face, and took a deep breath.
Time t
o go home.
Graham
The Balvenie
I’d never seen Martin this quiet. In nine years, he’d never been rendered speechless. By anything. He was wise, experienced, intelligent and so very key to my own sobriety. His very deliberate demeanor always stabilized my sometimes erratic moods. Seeing him so pensive, so tense, it was unsettling for me.
My world had just been blown to pieces by the ugly truth and the party guests around us were none the wiser. I was jealous of their ignorance. I’d been living in a little bubble of newly found love with Flor. I was thoroughly drunk on her. Knowing who had just walked out on me and what she took with her was terribly sobering. The only woman I’d ever fallen truly in love with was gone and with her, any sense of strength and happiness had flown the coop, too.
I followed Martin numbly from the ballroom and down the wide corridor leading from the rear of the hotel to the circular doors that led to the busy sidewalk outside. He turned into a small alcove with intimate seating and low light. I watched as he sat down in one of the leather chairs looking so very tired. He rested his head back against the seat, interlocked his fingers across his stomach and looked at me.
His gray eyes looked so much like Flor’s now that I gave it thought. His were older, more tired and slightly less clear, but the likeness to Flor’s eyes was there. His expression was indiscernible, and I imagined mine was very similar. Emotions warred for dominance in me. Shame, frustration, shock, guilt, and all-consuming sadness. They all flourished and ran amuck. I realized exactly why her face seemed familiar. I’d been to Martin’s house multiple times. There were pictures of his children everywhere. They were all pictures of very young children but Flor had been there the whole time. I knew he had two daughters and a son, though he always shied away from the topic of children. I now understood why.
Elle.
Like a puzzle suddenly snapping together on its own, images of pictures framed all around Martin and Liza’s home rushed in. One in particular always caught my eye. It sat in a dark wood, high gloss frame on the mantle in their sitting room. It wasn’t a huge picture. It was a snapshot—an old one, slightly yellow near the edges. A newborn baby wrapped snuggly in a pink blanket was in the arms of a little girl, a toddler with wide gray eyes and light brown hair done up in short pigtails. Flor’s hair was much darker now, rich with flecks of red that had a way of glittering amber in the sunlight. She was there the entire time. I had rested my elbow against that mantle countless times and peered into the eyes of the little girl who’d grow to be the love of my life. Nearly a decade I’d been in and out of Martin’s house and I’d always admired the picture of the little girl with a baby in her arms. Her pudgy little face was turned upward, and she smiled a toothy little grin. She was the definition of a happy little girl.
My skin crawled, realizing that only a couple of years after that picture was taken would have been when Elle died, and the little girl that smiled brightly in that picture died too. The wreckage that remained was what shaped my Flor, my love.
I looked up at Martin as though I were seeing him for the first time.
Flor’s dad.
He also seemed to be lost in thought and playing catch up like I was.
“I gotta call her.” My voice came out more urgent and shaky than I had intended to sound, but I was desperate and there was no help for it. I wanted to run after her, chase her down and beg her to forgive me for lying and for being the person that I am.
“Don’t call her just yet. Give her a little bit.”
“I need to—”
“Trust me, bud,” Martin interjected firmly. I took a deep breath and nodded, resigned to waiting and being both relieved and anxious. I needed to call her but I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.
“She’s the one you’ve been seeing.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Yes. She’s the one.” I ran my hands through my hair and tried to disregard the words I’d just said.
She’s the one.
“How did you two meet?”
“Uh…” I didn’t know where to start. I pursed my lips, thinking.
“You have to stay honest here, bud.”
“Right. Well Tommy’s apartment… He… I kept Tommy’s apartment. I go there sometimes. She lives next door.”
“I see,” he said, drawing a deep breath in. He didn’t say anything about Tommy’s apartment beyond that but I had a feeling that we’d be discussing it more in depth later.
“She didn’t know about your recovery.” It was another declaration versus an actual question, but I answered him all the same.
“No. She didn’t know.”
“Jesus Christ, bud.” Martin shook his head. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands.
“I’m a coward. Matt told me she…that she had a rough childhood because her father was an alcoholic. It scared the shit out of me. I knew I needed to tell her. I just…couldn’t. I had no idea she was your daughter, Martin. Her last name is Randall.”
“She changed her name as soon as she could legally do it.” A small humorless laugh bubbled out of him. It made me terribly sad for the man I’ve idolized for the last decade.
“Sounds like her,” I added dryly.
“So what do you know?”
“I know about Elle. I mean—I know she died. I know it was an accident, but she didn’t give me the details.”
A look of anguish spread across his features. “She was my youngest. The baby. I was drunk. Of course,” he mumbled, tugging at his already loose tie.
“I know. Why didn’t you tell me that your daughter passed away?”
“Why didn’t you tell Flor that you’re an alcoholic? I expect our reasons for withholding full disclosure are one in the same. Wrong, but one in the same. Fear and shame have a way of lingering.”
“I knew she’d hate me if I told her,” I whispered, feeling the full weight of how she had looked at me. Her gray eyes speared me, her words shredded me, but none of that hurt more than how decisive she was when she’d given me her back and chose to run. She hadn’t even wanted an explanation. That was how little she cared, and it was exactly what I deserved.
“If there’s anything I know about my daughter, it’s that she always cares. She cares too much. That’s why she acts the way she does. She cares more than her heart can stand to.”
“I don’t think so, Martin.”
“Yeah, well, I’m her father and I know so. I’ve been enduring her wrath for years. It would be easier to walk away, to allow her to hate me and to give up on hoping that someday we may have a healthy relationship, but I can’t give up on her. I can’t give up on myself. I turn the other cheek because I know she loves me and I love her and right now, being angry, pointing the finger, it’s the only way she thinks she can deal. I hold out hope that she will come around.”
“She doesn’t hate you. Even Matt said that. She blames herself for what happened to Elle.”
“I know she does and I’ve told her a million times that she was a little girl. She was in pre-k for the love of god! I was to blame, and it’s my burden to carry.”
“She’s stubborn.”
“And that may be your only hope for fixing things with her. She’s stubborn. She doesn’t give in easily and her brain may be screaming at her to wash her hands of you but if I know my daughter, her heart will refuse. She’s too stubborn. It’s always been her greatest strength and her biggest fault, that stubborn heart of hers,” he said with a ghost of smile on his lips and a tear shimmering in his tired gray eyes.
“I hope you’re right.” Even as I said it, I knew there was no hope. She was done with me, and I couldn’t blame her in the least. I felt spent and scared and heartbroken. I wondered where she’d run off to and if she was okay.
“Me too, bud. Me too.”
Silence stretched between the two of us and I toyed with the idea of asking Martin for more information. I knew it would hurt him to tell me, it would hurt me to hear it, and it
would hurt Flor the same as it has hurt for the last twenty-two years but I had to know…
“What happened to Elle?” I asked with my fingers steepled in front of my face, my elbows bent, the weight of my upper body braced on my knees. I looked as though I was praying and maybe I was. Praying for me, for Martin, for Flor, for an ugly history, an uglier truth and the single parallel between it all—alcoholism.
I said my goodbyes to Martin and slipped out into the night. I was worried about Flor. I had no right to her but I needed to know she was okay. I needed to know that she was safe. Hearing what Martin had to say, I ached for Flor more than I ached for myself.
My God, Flor. My sweet, beautiful, Flor.
I could have called Con to come get me. I could have called Halley. I could have even taken Martin up on his offer to drive me home, but I chose to hail a cab instead.
I had so much to think about. I didn’t want the company of anyone who knew me. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want sympathetic glances. I didn’t want worried eyes burning holes in me. I wanted solitude. I knew solitude didn’t mean that I would be better off. I’d simply have the peace and quiet I needed so that I could fall apart.
I dragged myself into my penthouse and hated that my nose seemed to seek Flor’s scent of its own volition. She wasn’t here. I knew that but I wanted to draw in that soft and subtly sweet fragrance that clung to her skin and hair and clothes.
