Crashing Souls

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  “Noa?” Miranda snapped her fingers. “Noa, we’re here.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She waited until the driver came to open her door and slid out easily. I wasn’t as graceful, stepping in a pile of slush and cursing under my breath. We entered the sleek building that housed evidence of my emotional wreckage. The windows were large, and although modern, it made you want to come inside. I looked around, noticing they’d already moved things around in preparation for an up-and-coming artist’s new showcase. I walked into my area of the gallery. No matter what, this was my space. This was where my work lived.

  I looked at one of the walls, walking closer to get a better look.

  And the past hit me as tangibly as the winter breeze outside as I looked at the old canvases crowding the white space of the wall.

  “He brought a few of your older paintings in. Hence the new paperwork,” Miranda said as she walked up. “You were always good. Detailed and talented. But this stuff…it’s raw. I envy it.” She stood beside me and my eyes watered. Six paintings, all from Blue. The girl I used to be.

  Chapter 27

  My phone chirped for the third time in an hour. I’m outside. Let me up.

  I ignored it. At some point, Dexter would give up. Noa, come on.

  I turned up the volume on my movie and flipped my phone over so I wouldn’t read the incoming messages anymore. As I was getting back into it, the doorbell buzzed. There was no way I could ignore that, so I got up and walked to my front door.

  “Yes?” Apparently he was going to make me be an adult about this.

  “Let me up. I have someone I want you to meet.”

  I ran over to the window that overlooked the front of the building, and sure enough there were two bodies, one a grown man, the other a little girl. I ran back to the door, my face twisted in annoyance and slight panic.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said through the speaker. “No.”

  “Please?” His voice was soft and it made me seriously consider letting them up. Before I could change my mind, I pressed the button that unlocked the front door. I couldn’t let that little girl freeze down there.

  I looked down at my sweatpants and T-shirt. Good. The more hideous the clothes, the more likely Dexter would take one look and run screaming from my apartment. I was still mentally wrestling over the likelihood of it when my apartment door opened and in walked Dexter. The look in his eyes told me that him running from my apartment wasn’t ever going to happen. There went that scenario. He was holding the small hand of the sweetest looking little girl…who happened to look nothing like Dexter.

  I smiled, figuring that was the polite thing to do.

  “Hi, Phoebe,” I said, offering my hand. She ignored it and hugged me. I silently mouthed the word ‘what’ to Dexter and patted her back. He shrugged. I guessed he didn’t know I was actually asking if he knew he hadn’t sired the Asian child in front of me. One of these things was definitely not like the other.

  “You’re pretty.” She took off her backpack and pulled out two dolls and a book.

  “Thanks. Uh, so are you.” I turned to Dexter. “A word?” He followed me into the kitchen. When I turned to bombard him with questions, he took my mouth and made good use of it. Light pecks followed the assault and I wanted to swoon.

  “Don’t ignore me again.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you; I was hiding like a coward,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. He chuckled and stepped back, making it easier to breathe. “Who is Phoebe’s father?”

  “I am.” When I looked at him pointedly, he nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m not her biological father. When I linked up with Rachel again while visiting Aunt Tracey, she’d just found out she was pregnant. Phoebe’s father died. It was cancer. No one saw it coming, and by the time they found it, he was gone. So, we became friends. We sort of shared our grief. After all, it felt like you’d died. When Phoebe was born, it was like she was mine. I was there for all of the big appointments, helping Rachel out whenever I could. She asked if I would mind adopting and I didn’t, so here we are. It wasn’t until she was a year old that we decided to try being in a relationship. After a few months, I knew I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t invested in that way. Still, she never gave me a hard time when it came to Phoebe.” He looked at the little girl with so much love in his eyes. “She moved to Everett so we could all be closer. And one day she’ll make someone very happy.”

  There was part of me that was happy that Phoebe wasn’t biologically his. That happiness scared me. It made me want something I didn’t think I’d ever have.

  I placed my hand in his and we watched her play. Phoebe was an interesting child. Most kids her age, which Dexter divulged was three, would crave social interaction. They’d want to touch everything and learn. She was content to sit on her own, amongst her things, and create her own happiness.

  “What should I do?” I whispered, nervous.

  “Just be yourself. She’ll love it.” He grinned down at me.

  “Dexter,” I started, “I have to tell you—”

  “Daddy, I’m hungry,” Phoebe said, interrupting me. He looked back and forth between us, and only when I assured him it was nothing did he ask her what she wanted to eat. She announced that she’d like chicken. Dexter eyed me hopefully and I shook my head.

  “Nope. No food here. I’m surprised I have toilet paper.” Phoebe giggled and I smiled at the sound. I had to hand it to Dexter, she was cute.

  “I’ll go run out and get some. Stay here with Phoebe.” He grabbed his coat, and I grabbed him in a panic.

  “What? You can’t leave her with a stranger,” I said, my eyes looking at him with fear. He smiled and grabbed my face.

  “You’re the one person in the world that I know.” He kissed me and then kissed Phoebe’s head before running out. “I’ll be back soon, lovely ladies.”

  Phoebe giggled again and I turned to her after the door was closed, fear in my eyes. I tried to hide it, knowing that these creatures smelled fear, but she went right back to playing with her things.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I asked her and sank to the couch slowly. Sudden movements might cause her to react violently.

  I could tell a lot about a person simply by the color they favored. There was always a story behind it.

  “Orange. Like mommy’s hair. Daddy likes blue.” Simple. She was an easy-going child. For a three-year-old, she was smart. But I knew next to nothing about children. Her speech wasn’t perfect, but it was adorable.

  And she had a lisp. I was weak against her sweet lisp.

  I had forgotten what Rachel looked like, but I remembered that straight curtain of red hair. And her hazel eyes, kind as she approached me to tell me her side of Dexter’s “audition” incident. I knew she had a thing for Dexter. But it didn’t bother me. I thought she was harmless.

  I looked down at her little girl, whose eyes were hazel. Her hair was a few shades lighter than jet black, but other than that, she had what I assumed were her father’s Asian features.

  She dropped her dolls and picked up her book. I watched as she crawled into my lap and handed me the book. I looked down at it. Where the Wild Things Are. A child after my own heart. I smiled down at her and opened it, clearing my throat to prepare for the reading of a lifetime.

  I used my most animated voice, earning me laughter that made my heart melt. When I finished the book, she turned toward me with a smile.

  “Noa,” she whispered as she turned into me. Her eyes closed and I felt myself still. After a few minutes, mine closed as well.

  •••

  I woke up when Dexter took her from me, missing the slight weight of her against me.

  “I told you,” he said as he kissed my lips. He stood with her in his arms, and I pointed him in the direction of the spare bedroom. It was the only bedroom in the apartment. It was also the one room I avoided. I preferred my bed out in the open with the rest of the place, a separator dividing the space.

  When he came back
, I yawned, stretching.

  “Still up for chicken?” I asked.

  “Is it wrong for me to want this as much as I do? Because if this isn’t what you want, you have to tell me, Noa. It isn’t just me anymore. I mean, I have Phoebe to think about. I’m willing. I’ll do it. But tell me if it’s what you want.”

  I sat back on the couch. I’d always known Dexter to be a patient person. Our relationship was always set at my own pace. Like he knew that I would bolt under pressure. At that moment I was sitting on the couch, fighting the urge to do so. He came over, kneeling in front of me.

  “I was patient before. I knew you needed it. But now? I need this. I need an answer, Noa,” he said, his hands on my arms.

  “What if I can’t do this?” My mind was scrambling, thinking of ways out.

  “But what if we can? Come on, Blue. What has you so scared?”

  “Daddy?” I damn near cried with relief at the sound of Phoebe’s voice because I was so close to telling him everything. When he went to her, I headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Dexter knocked on the door and I told him I’d be out in a second. I sat for a few minutes trying not to hyperventilate. When I’d calmed down, I flushed the toilet and looked at myself in the mirror. Blotchy skin and bags under brown eyes. I splashed some cold water on my face and dried off before walking out with a forced smile.

  Dexter and Phoebe stood at the door with their coats on.

  “She’s not sick,” Phoebe said with a pout.

  I smiled with a little less force this time. I wasn’t an expert on kids, but it seemed like Phoebe liked me.

  “You don’t have to go, Dexter, really. Stay. Let’s eat. I’m famished.” I walked over to Phoebe and took her coat off.

  “You’re sure?” He eyed me, and when I stood and unbuttoned his coat, he smiled softly. “Okay.”

  I turned back to Phoebe, lifting her in my arms. “Your daddy is going to cook and we girls are going to watch a movie!”

  She shrieked in delight and when I picked up my remote, I asked her if she wanted to watch a Christmas movie. She nodded and we decided on the classics, starting with Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Every so often, I would look back to see how dinner was faring and would catch Dexter watching us. I supposed the polite thing would be to see if he needed help, but I was sure he got a kick out of watching us interact and would turn me away anyway. He announced that dinner was ready in the middle of Frosty the Snowman, so I told him we could eat in the living room area. I didn’t have utensils for a child, and I could only hope Phoebe wouldn’t stab herself or others.

  Dinner was delicious and Phoebe was an angel. Sure, she pouted and stamped her foot when it was time to go, earning her a stern look from her father, but that was normal. Right? I had no clue.

  Dexter ran his fingers through my hair, something I’d always missed, and kissed my cheek.

  “Tonight was wonderful. Kind of makes you think….”

  “Of what could’ve been,” I finished, blinking.

  “Of what can still be,” he corrected. Always the optimist.

  I shut the door behind them with a quiet moan. Maybe it was too hard to say no because I wasn’t supposed to.

  I turned off my television and headed to my bed. I was nearly there when I saw the white box poking from beneath it. I slid it out, running my fingers over the top. Don’t open it, Noa. Don’t spoil a great night.

  I’d almost done it. I’d almost let myself be happy. I slid the unopened box back under and crawled into the bed, curling in a ball. I didn’t cry myself to sleep that night, unlike many nights before. It was Phoebe’s pretty laugh that kept me from it.

  Chapter 28

  Ilooked over my latest project, a series of paintings that were close to my heart. I was reverting back to my older techniques with this one, building off of the paintings I’d done as a teenager. Miranda loved the idea, and so we worked on it. Her on the business end, me on the art end. She’d taken down the paintings Dexter brought in, and I looked at them propped up against the walls of my studio. I turned on my phone, and it chirped almost instantly.

  What are you doing this weekend?

  I loved that he knew to text me. I hated phone calls. Rarely did I answer them, especially calls from unknown numbers.

  Probably sitting around, wondering what you’re doing and dodging my boss. When we’re working on a project she tends to turn into a very scary lady.

  I set my phone down, and sure enough, someone knocked on the door.

  “You can’t be hounding me yet, Miranda,” I said easily as I opened the door. Her face was grim, and I could see black smudges of makeup under her eyes like she’d been crying. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you this over the phone. The hospital said they’d been calling you.” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  “Noa, honey. Tim is dead. Your mother was with him. She’s unconscious.” She pulled my hands in hers but I yanked them back, feeling like if I didn’t touch her, she wasn’t there. And if she wasn’t there, this wasn’t real. I grabbed my phone, looking down at my latest text.

  Want to spend Christmas with Phoebe and me?

  Can’t, I typed, Tim is dead. Heading back home.

  Not thirty seconds later, he responded.

  Meet you at your place in an hour. We’ll fly out together.

  How was I supposed to react to this? How could I even tell him not to help me when I knew I needed it? I blinked and inhaled. All I was capable of was blinking and breathing for a few minutes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Miranda whispered.

  “Don’t apologize, please.” The tears weren’t coming yet. I was in shock. My mother? Fuck my mother. But Timothy was one of the sweetest people ever. Sure, when he was drunk, he was prickly and rude. And that had been a majority of the time growing up. But as I became a woman, he kind of became a man. And our relationship was finally a solid one. He was the only decent person I could call mine. “Take me home?”

  We walked out of the studio, and she locked the door for me before placing the keys in my shaking hands. The waiting black BMW was so shiny that I saw my shocked face reflecting back to me. I ignored it and got in. After pushing through traffic, we made it to my building and I hugged Miranda tightly, telling her I’d be back as soon as I could.

  “You take your time, darling,” she whispered, kissing my cheek.

  I climbed out and looked up my building before unlocking the front door. I didn’t sigh over the contraption of an elevator. I didn’t get annoyed when it took several tries to get my door open. Once inside, I dropped my things and sat on my couch. Apparently I’d been sitting there for a long time because I was still there when someone buzzed in.

  “Who is it?” I asked with a monotone flatness.

  “Dex. Let me up.”

  I immediately hit the unlock button. When he stopped at my floor, I ran out of my apartment and jumped on him, making him drop his bags. He wrapped me in his arms, hitching me higher so I could wrap my legs around his waist. When he squatted down to pick up the travel luggage he’d brought, I thought for sure he’d drop me. I only briefly remembered his bad knee. But he made it inside, kicking the door shut and dropping the bags again before placing his cold hands on my body.

  “I’m sorry, Blue. I know you loved him. Do you know what happened?”

  I shook my head.

  “I haven’t listened to my voicemail, I haven’t done anything. I waited for you.” I tucked my head in the crook of his neck, kissing the skin there. I was so grateful he’d come straight to me when I needed him. He’d known I needed him. In a way, it was starting to heal me.

  “I’m here. Not going anywhere. Shall we?” He set me down and pulled a laptop out of one of his bags. “I booked the flights on my way over. You have a printer?” I nodded and led him over to it. He made quick work of linking his computer to it and I grabbed my phone, playing my messages on speakerphone.

  The first one was a
n old one from Tim, insisting he’d come to visit for Thanksgiving. He hadn’t. I tried not to cry.

  The second one was Tim apologizing for not coming on Thanksgiving but promising he’d be here for Christmas. He wouldn’t. I didn’t try not to cry. I sobbed like a baby. It didn’t freak Dexter out as much as I thought it would.

  The third was from the hospital, stating that there’d been a fire and my brother was dead upon arrival but that they were doing everything in their power to save my mother. I wanted to throw my phone, but I didn’t.

  All of these things I did and didn’t do. And Tim was doing nothing.

  “Our flight is in three hours. You have to pack,” Dexter announced, breaking me from my morbid spell.

  I was in a haze as I threw things together. I looked down, realizing a pair of shorts had made their way into the pile. I dumped out the suitcase and Dexter walked over, picking up the items that would be appropriate to wear in the cold.

  Finally, my bags were packed and I was bundled up. I managed to lock the front door quickly enough and we got into his car, his driver still waiting for us. We reached the terminal a short time later and were going through the motions. Security checked and double-checked, and we waited for the flight to board. I leaned my head on his shoulder, and he ran his fingers through my hair.

  “You don’t listen to music anymore?” he asked. I looked up at him in confusion. What an odd thing to mention now.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think it would be good for you.” He stroked his fingers up and down my arm. “I don’t know, when you listened to music, you had this peace about you. It settled you. Ralph was a lot like you when it came to that. You both had a sincere love for it.”