Three months have passed since that night, and I haven’t seen Julian since his birth.
At his mother’s request, I’ve worked very hard to put my feelings for her aside and do the right thing. I threw myself into work and building our new home on Hammond Island. Meg is happier than I’ve ever seen her planning it, and I’m doing my best to focus on her and the children alone. They’re beautiful and sweet, and they’re depending on me. If I keep waiting and working, those old feelings will pass. Julian will always be my son, and I’ll help them any way I can, but I’ve made promises to Meg, and I’m doing my best to keep them.
Peachtree became our biggest investor in the Phoenician developments. Our meeting with Rex had turned into a close friendship that opened doors with bigger groups and introduced us to other money men. Real estate had become a hot investment option, and our popularity was snowballing.
I traveled to Atlanta periodically to meet with Rex, and through him, I became acquainted with Jennings Grant, who was chairman with Aspen Equities. In a few short years, I’d become well-versed in the language of investment banking and real estate development, and it was a great distraction from other, more personal matters.
“It’s been fun watching you grow, Bill,” Rex said, pouring scotch into three heavy crystal tumblers. We were meeting with Jennings to discuss the status of the first rollout of buildings and to get his group involved in the next series of developments. “The first time you came in here, I was strictly meeting with you out of courtesy to Abraham, but you held your own. I was impressed.”
“I had nothing to lose back then but pride,” I said, taking the tumbler.
“There’s a lot to be said for fearlessness.” He clinked his against mine.
“Would you say you’re not so fearless now?” Jennings asked, studying me.
“Fearless is the wrong word,” I said. “Being in the mix of the day-to-day routine takes the edge off enthusiasm.”
Jennings frowned. “So you’re less enthusiastic now?”
“Not at all,” I said quickly, tilting the tumbler of scotch I held. “It’s just more a foregone conclusion now. Less like something that has to be sold and more like an inevitability that you can either be a part of or left behind.”
“There’s the old arrogance,” Rex laughed, slapping me on the back.
“I’m sorry if that’s how it comes across,” I said. “It was just what was bound to happen, and we want you to be a part of the team, Jennings. I’d rather work with people who come recommended by friends.”
Aspen was onboard shortly after that meeting, and I was starting to feel like everything I touched turned to gold. In my professional life, at least. So business was good, but I was having a hard time caring about anything.
Working with the elevations and planning out design had been one of my favorite aspects of the job. Now it was all bricks and mortar. I tried to put it in perspective. I’d wanted to build buildings. I needed to be out where the rubber met the road. Meeting with the survey crews, looking at the empty lots, this was where it all began. But walking on the empty tracts of land reminded me of sitting out on Port Hogan Road looking out at the sea with Alex. I remembered her long hair drifting into my face and talking about portraits and the future.
The ribbon cutting ceremony was done, and we had moved our offices from Homeport to Phoenician I. That development was soaring, and every day a new high rise was on its way up. The Gulf Coast looked more and more like the elevations we drew senior year. I always knew we could do it. Sure, there was an element of luck involved, and it kept me on my toes. But now it was here, the massive framework in the sky, lining the Gulf like a wall. We simply had to sit back and watch it all come together.
Dec. 20, 19--
She knows.
I have to find her because I don’t know what she’ll do.
I’d only intended to give Alex the gift for Julian, but I couldn’t do it in front of everyone without arousing suspicion. It had been a lucky break when I saw her slipping out of the party in what looked like the direction of her office. A friendly conversation, Merry Christmas, and the gift. That was all that was supposed to happen. I was still trying to piece together where I got off track.
It was still there—that invisible pull between us. I was still in love with her, and the closer I got, it was impossible to fight. She was so beautiful in that red dress, and I kept thinking if I could only smell her hair one more time. If I could only hold her in my arms one more time…
Meg had appeared out of nowhere, and Alex had run after her. I knew she would go back to the house, but I didn’t have a car and Bryant was home with a sick kid.
I never wanted to hurt Meg.
She would never believe that.
I had worked so hard to do right by her. I had to find her. I had to apologize. I had to explain that I couldn’t keep going like this. She could have anything she wanted. She could have everything, the house, all of it. I would give it all to her if she would just let me go. Set me free.
“I need a cab.”
Dec. 22, 19--
I’ll never forget the first sight of our house after the cab dropped me off at the end of our driveway. It was clear she’d been here. The front door was wide open, and the entire house was lit. I paid the man, and he pulled away as I slowly picked my way toward the entrance. Paintings were smashed all over the flagstone drive. Our family portrait was in shreds, and as I went through the doorway, I saw shattered frames and torn pictures scattered all around.
Inside, windows were broken and the plate-glass mirror was in fragments. Framed pictures were all over the floor. By the fireplace, the picture of the three of us was pulverized, and another picture of the two of them on my boat had a hole in it that looked like it had been made with the heel of a shoe.
“Meg?” I called loudly looking up the stairs. No answer.
The light was on, so I went to check the bedroom to see if she was there. My bedside table was emptied and papers were scattered everywhere. What was she looking for? I saw the note on the rug and picked it up, slipping it into my pocket. Just then I heard voices downstairs. I saw her journal on the floor and picked it up, sliding it between the mattresses. I would look at it later.
I ran to the doorway and out onto the balcony. It was the police.
“Bill?” It was Chuck Wilson, our old high school friend and now chief of police in East End beach. “The door was open… Are you okay?”
“Hey, Chuck,” I called back. “Yeah… just a little misunderstanding.”
His face was lined with worry. “Bill, I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news. You’d better come down and have a seat.”
Dec. 24, 19--
Two days have passed. It’s Christmas Eve, but nobody’s celebrating. I haven’t seen my children. Gigi has taken them somewhere.
I have to think hard to recall exactly what happened after Chuck broke the news to me. I was picking through the rubble of torn photographs and paintings. The last thing I’d heard him say was, “She didn’t make it.”
Meg didn’t make it. Her car had wrapped around a light pole, and her little body didn’t bend in the same direction as the twisted metal. They estimated she’d been going about a hundred miles per hour on impact. I imagined her putting her head down on the wheel as she drove.
They asked me if I had any reason to believe she’d wanted to kill herself. I wanted to tell them they were looking at her Number One reason. The man she’d built her life around. The one she’d decided at fifteen she would devote herself to. The one who callously tore her heart out and threw it on the ground. The one who slept with her best friend.
I didn’t say any of that. I simply said no. I didn’t believe she would kill herself. She was devoted to her children. And as I said the words, I knew they were true. I’d simply hurt her so badly, she wasn’t thinking straight.
I’d killed her. It was the same as if I’d driven the car myself. It was my fault. They should arrest me.
I shook my head as
we all absorbed the loss. The beauty queen. The prettiest girl at school. The sweet one who’d only wanted to marry me and have my babies and volunteer in the community.
My wife was dead.
Dec. 28, 19--
Only two people know the real reason Meg was behind the wheel the night she died, and we have no intention of sharing it with anybody. Ever.
Alex stays far from me now, which is right.
It was as if both our hearts had gone into shock following the loss of Meg.
Hundreds of people turned out for the funeral. My wife had known almost everyone in South County it seemed, and those she didn’t know personally knew her parents and came to pay their respects. She was buried in the Weaver plot near her father. Her mother watched with composed resolve as she bid her only child goodbye. I convinced her to stay with us to help with the twins, and then I threw myself into work.
Aug. 15, 20--
It’s been many years since that last entry. I feel like I should round out the story for this autobiographical record no one will ever read. I should probably burn it. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do that. Yet.
Gigi stayed with us until the twins started kindergarten. I worked all the time, hoping I would wake up one day and find it was all just a horrible dream. I withdrew from everyone, including Bryant. Eventually we dissolved the development firm of Kyser-Brennan Equities, and Bryant went into some other line of work. We still held all the ownership rights, and our future was secure. I just couldn’t find a reason to keep moving forward.
Development in South County carried on, and as hurricanes came through and wiped out older places, developers came in to plot out and build new ones. The only structures that stood the test of time and the weather were the Phoenicians. We had done our job well. I was satisfied to run the existing business and provide consulting services to start-ups. I’d accomplished all I’d wanted, and we were financially secure for a long time.
Alex eventually opened a little art and souvenir shop down on the beach road, and from what I could tell she was pretty successful at it. She stopped painting altogether and dropped out of all social circles. I only heard from her if Julian needed something she couldn’t afford, and then I’d deposit a check into her account. I always doubled what she asked for.
She never told him who his father was. Ten years after that night, the one time I’d suggested coming clean, she’d told me no. The fallout would be too great. She was probably right, and I’ve never brought it up again.
Now, except for the occasional, accidental crossing of paths, I never see her. I heard about Julian growing and becoming interested in art. He isn’t a painter like his mother, but I read he’s developing an impressive body of work in sculpture.
Time is passing and I’m watching my children grow and evolve. Meg would be pleased that they’re all fine-looking kids. Of the three, I’m closest to Jack, and I’m grooming him to take over my role in the business. He’s controlled and mature for his age, and his instincts are good. Lucy is impossible to manage and is always getting into trouble. I don’t know what to do with her, so my one hope is I can pay for whatever damage she causes.
Will has been the most troubled. He inherited my drive to take the business world by storm, but he’s ruthless and cold. There’s a cruelty to his approach that I don’t like. He doesn’t want to produce a legacy, he simply wants to win. I blame the loss of his mother, which hit him hardest since he was old enough to remember her well. At times it feels like he blames me for her death, as if he somehow knows, which is impossible.
I hang back and observe my children as they find their way in the world. Perhaps they won’t make the same mistakes I’ve made, but they probably will. The hole I created in their lives when I drove their mother away is gaping and apparent, and I never want them to know what really happened.
In the evenings, I walk out on the patio and look out at Lost Bay. I stare at the darkening skyline as the misty stars light up one by one. South of me I can see the product of my years of dedication and focus, and I wonder how it can be possible that I accomplished something so enormous and yet repeatedly failed at something so simple.
I started out on one path, and then I discovered I was lost. I reached out to change direction and took a life. There was a time I sat and wished it would all be over. But the end is a long way off.
When I’m feeling honest, I’ll admit I’m not ready to acknowledge my defeat. I’ve never failed when I’ve been truly determined to win. I think about the night I’d been ready to give it all away, everything I’d devoted my life to achieving, if I could just be free. That level of motivation and focus has always served me well. This time will pass, and I will have what I want.
We will be together.
* * *
Anna – December 31
I sat back and exhaled deeply. It was all so sad.
They hadn’t been much older than I am now in the beginning, and by the end, they were all so far off track. I didn’t know whether to cry, to be angry, or to be disgusted with all three of them. How could they be so selfish and blind to the ones they were supposed to care about? At the same time, I could see them making these mistakes, and I could also see why. And how easily it all fell apart.
Ms. LaSalle’s reasons for wanting to keep these dark facts a secret were understandable. Julian would have to deal with the knowledge that his entire existence was a product of a betrayal that ultimately led to a death. But I couldn’t understand what Mr. Kyser wanted. Even though their marriage seemed doomed from the start, I couldn’t believe he’d put his family through this revelation, even if he did want to know Julian as his son.
So why had he given me these books? Why did he want me to know all of this?
I leaned my head against my bed. Mom and Dad would be home in a few hours. I needed to do this now. Scooping up the three journals, I grabbed my jacket and my bag and headed downstairs. I scribbled out a quick note for Mom, telling her I was meeting Julian and wouldn’t be much after midnight, that I had my phone. In minutes, I was speeding down the familiar, two-lane beach road in the direction of Hammond Island.
He’d be there alone. I knew from Lucy’s text she was at the party with B.J., and Jack and Will were in New Orleans. The sun was dropping fast, but one glance at the clock told me I had time. And I needed answers.
I parked in the large, circular driveway and stepped out onto the flagstone. Everything was different now as I looked up at the massive stucco mansion. I was different. I wasn’t afraid anymore.
Bill Kyser had pulled back the curtain, and everything made sense, from his rude question about birth control that first night to his separation from his children to the things he’d told me during our interview in his office. Not to make plans at my age, feelings change.
The side door was unlocked, and I let myself in, walking through the mud room into the kitchen. The house was quiet and dimly lit. I continued into the open living area and looked out toward the large patio that faced the bay. There he stood.
He was just outside the doors with his back to me, dressed in khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt. The wind pushed his light-brown hair around his head.
“Mr. Kyser?” I called.
He didn’t turn immediately. His hand lifted, and I watched him take a drink first. Then his back expanded with an exhale, and when he did turn, I was impressed again by how much both his sons were like him in different ways.
His blue eyes went from my face to the books in my hands and he nodded slightly. “You finished.”
“Yes, and I wanted to bring them back. I knew Lucy was out.” Somehow I couldn’t just charge into what I wanted to know. I felt the need to be more formal, which didn’t make any sense, given all I knew about him now.
“Thank you,” he said, not moving. “You can leave them on the counter.”
But I didn’t move. I wasn’t going anywhere yet. It was strangely liberating to know so much about a person, and even if we weren’t exactly
friends, my old fear of him was gone.
“Why did you give them to me?” I asked.
His eyes flickered down, and he entered the living room, going to the fireplace. He placed his tumbler on the mantle where pictures of Jack and Lucy as babies, him and Will, were arranged. He studied them a moment before answering.
“I wanted your help,” he said quietly.
My brow creased. “How can I help you?”
He traced his finger down one of the frames before dropping his arm. “I want my family together. I want them to be in my life. I want this”—he looked up at the giant house, around the panoramic view with the Phoenicians rising faintly in the distance—“all of it to mean something.” His last statement was almost a hushed afterthought.
I inhaled deeply before answering. “I don’t know if that’s possible. And even if it were, how can I help you with that?”
His eyes held mine then. “The day you said Julian needed to know his father—what made you say that?”
I shook my head, gesturing with the books. “I said it because I didn’t know all this.”
“Yes, but that day, why did you say it?”
I blinked several times, thinking. “Because he’d said something that… well, I knew it bothered him not knowing who you were.” I paused, then quietly added, “And because it’s not fair.”
“Why?” I could tell he already knew my answer.
“You could give him so much.”
“I want to give them everything,” he said. “I want them to live here with me. I want Julian to know he has a father. To know how proud his father is of him.”
I could tell by his tone he knew it was an impossible wish, but he was giving me a glimpse of his private pain. My eyes grew warm at that thought combined with what I knew. Julian believed his dad didn’t want to know him, never cared about him, never gave a shit. He had no idea.
Undertow (Dragonfly) Page 27
