Missed Connection

by K Larsen

  “Did you leave the podcast? Did you give the business to your daughter? Are you under a gag-order, Mrs. Van Buren?”

  “No! I’m just—I’d like some privacy, please.”

  “Jesenia!” I’d recognize that authoritative voice anywhere. I thought the town car with the tinted windows that was slinking along beside us had come with the reporters. Turns out, it’s the senator. He lowers the window and glowers at me with his ice cold blue eyes.

  “Jess, get in the car!” he barks before rolling the window up.

  I don’t have a choice. I’m about to get trampled by reporters. It starts to rain. I run to the car. A secret service agent steps out from each side and come to my aid, one takes my suitcase, the other has an umbrella and shields me from both the rain and the onslaught of the paparazzi.

  The interior of the car smells like money. John is dressed impeccably, as usual. He gives me a condescending smile and gestures to the mob, raising one eyebrow at me.

  “Thank you,” I say quickly.

  “You’re welcome. What was your plan back there? Just curious.”

  “Outrun them.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to take up any of your time. Where are you headed, we’ll drop you off.”

  “Uh, Stanton St. between Norfolk and Essex, on the Lower East Side, right off of Houston.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Look, I’ll make this quick and painless. My campaign manager doesn’t want you moving in with him until the divorce is final. We’re almost there with the paperwork, it’s just a matter of getting a rush job with the court date.”

  “I’m moving in with him tonight, John. We don’t have much time left.”

  “Right, I heard about the cancer. So the only other option is for you to go public with the story. The media might have more sympathy, if they knew he was dying. I look like the martyr but still retain my image. I’m dating an actress. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

  “That is entirely up to Titan. I won’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to. I spoke with my lawyer, John, and told him to work around the divorce proceedings—this is more important to me. If you want everything—take it. I’ve got enough for retirement with the accessories line. I’ll be fine.”

  I’m counting the seconds until we make the turn onto Houston.

  “Don’t lose your head over some boyfriend, and screw your whole future. You’re a sick woman. What happens when he dies? You can’t really expect Angie to pick up the pieces. You’ve sold the house now. Essentially, you’re homeless. I’m just supposed to stand by and watch you make terrible decisions until you destroy what little is left of your life?”

  “That’s it right there,” I yell, leaning toward the driver.

  “On the right side, Mrs. Van Buren?”

  It’s Clyde, we’ve known each other for years. He helped me pick Angelina up from school and from her piano and dance lessons.

  “Yes, Clyde, with the fluorescent sign. Right there, number 127.”

  “You’re looking lovely these days, Mrs. Van Buren, if I may say so, better than ever.”

  “Oh, thanks so much, Clyde. What a pleasure to see you again!” I lean all the way and crane my neck through the divide so I can kiss his cheek.

  “Getting ink, today? I’ve got one right here. Best present I ever gave myself,” Clyde says patting his bicep.

  I grab my purse and the secret service man on my side opens the door for me. John looks up from his phone, his eyes still steely.

  “Hardcore Tattoos? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “I’ve got to go, I have an appointment. I’m moving in later tonight, John. You can speak to my lawyers.”

  “What if I flinch or jump when the needle goes in?”

  “I’ll be holding your arm down, you don’t have to worry about it.”

  Royal is a burly man with a long beard and a leather jacket covered in patches. He’s got tattoos on every inch of him, including his knuckles. Inky images crawl out of his shirt and all the way up his neck, stopping flush with his jawbone. He apparently likes scary things, demons and devils from the deep, skulls, daggers and flames. His face holds no ink but some impressive piercings I can’t take my eyes off of. The skin is stretched and the holes are so huge.

  I close my eyes when I hear the loud buzz of the needle. My muscles feel tense and ready to spring forth like a racehorse. It hits and the pain is milder than I’d imagined. It’s a sweet burn that stings but I don’t even have to squirm like I’d imagined I would.

  “If you breathe, the pain is minimal. Holding your breath like that will get you nowhere, except passed out on the floor.” He slams his steel-toed boot down. I jump a little in my seat, but his plastic gloved hand is in the air, not filling in the anchor on the inside of my wrist. “It’s possible that it’s going to swell and bruise on you, Miss Buren.”

  “Van Buren. But call me Jess, please.”

  “No way? Jesenia Van Buren? What a trip!”

  “You’ve heard of my husband, I guess?”

  “Well, shit. That and you’re all over the news. The Craigslist romance of the century. The handsome black guy. Sorry to hear about the cancer. If that ain’t cruel irony, then I don’t know what is.”

  “Thank you. Yes, a lot of coverage on our story, although I’m not sure it warrants it. We’re just two regular people in love.”

  “Yeah, but wait until I tell Wendy, she’s gonna flip. You think I could get a picture with you for my wife? I mean, I’ve been paying attention to the news because I have to, she doesn’t stop talking about it. Wendy is maybe the biggest fan of your show in the universe. All of the guys make fun of me when they come over. We’re a bunch of bikers but we got a sign over the bathroom door that says W.C. Water Closet. They never let me live it down. Jesenia Van Buren. What a riot!”

  “Indoor Stencils and Homemade Signs, episode 82.”

  “She is going to love it. Seriously. For my wife, meeting you is better than Elvis.”

  It’s starting to burn more as he fills in the shape he’s made with the black contour lines. I squirm just a little and clamp down on my teeth.

  “Is this for him, the guy? What his name, Tyson, right? Is the ink for your man?”

  “Titan,” I say. I nod at Royal and a surge of heat flushes through my heart. My man. The one I want to be anchored to for life.

  “Whoa! Slow down,” I say, scared I won’t get to live out my remaining months. Luke’s in driver’s ed class and we’re practicing his skills every day. I will see him get his license. Maybe. If he slows the hell down. I’m white knuckling the handle by the window currently.

  I’ve tried to keep my emotions in check lately. I managed to tell Rusty, Dan and family what’s going on, without tearing up, which I thought was a big deal. I’ve been to my lawyer to make some alterations to my will and estate. I contacted the Hepatitis C Virus World Community Advisory Board about becoming a donor. Organ donations to the non-infected have been done, but now, as a general guideline, they transplant from positive donor to positive patient to avoid complications. They say as long as the cancer doesn’t metastasize, I can donate what organs are cancer free.

  Luke and I have resumed our sessions with the family counselor to help us get through this and Jess is moving in with me. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but I have a mental bucket list going. See Luke get his driver’s license, live with Jess, spend a weekend on the boat, take Jess to Hope’s, go camping one last time with the boys, to make this Christmas epic. Small things that all involve time spent with loved ones. I’m livid I’m being taken away from Luke and Jess and frustrated that the wellbeing of both of them is out of my hands when I pass. But another part of me is calm. Another part of me just wants to spend this time with the people I care about.

  I’ve temporarily handed over the reins of Titan Custom Home Builders to Rusty and Dan as long as they keep the business running a percentage of company pr
ofits will go into to an account for Luke. It won’t be enough to live on but it will lessen the stress of supporting himself after the life insurance runs out.

  Luke pulls up next to a parked car. “Okay, so I cut the wheel first, right?” he asks.

  I laugh because we’ve tried parallel parking at least ten times today and not once has he been able to nail it. “Yes. You know the drill.” I look out my window as he inches backward. This won’t be the time he nails it either. He’s already too wide. I keep my mouth shut though and let him do this on his own.

  Luke slams his hands on the steering wheel. “Why do I have to know this? I mean no one ever has to parallel park here.”

  “Because in the event that you leave this town, you will have to know,” I tell him. “I think it’s time to call it quits for today, Bud.”

  “Can I drive us home?” he asks. I nod and grip the handle again as he pulls back onto the road.

  “Stop at the store so we can pick up some things for Jess,” I tell him.

  “I’m here!” I call out after the exhausting drive. My wrist is wrapped in saran wrap and sealed with masking tape. If John could see me now, he’d be appalled, the thought makes me grin.

  I put a bag of groceries down on the counter with my keys. I picked up bars for Luke after practice and some new protein powders for Ty, I’m going to make him start drinking smoothies to keep his strength up. But as far advanced as the doctor says he is, Ty seems remarkably resilient—either that or he just tries very hard to hide it from me.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I say, walking into the living room and kissing Luke on the head. He’s absorbed in his homework and wearing headphones, listening to music.

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Upstairs, doing the journal thing. He’s writing about sex and I told him he could talk to me about it, I’m sixteen. But he says he’s got to write it all down, he’s driving me nuts.”

  “Luke, I get the feeling this isn’t about the diagnosis. He’d avoid this topic, even if he weren’t sick. Ask Angie anything you want to. She’s really open about sex. I’d help you out if I could, but I don’t want to step on your dad’s feet. Let him write it, it will be something you’ll treasure later on.”

  “Are you here for good now?” Luke asks me. He’s got dark circles around his eyes. But he still seems so hopeful. The pain he’ll have to endure, yet again, just kills me.

  “I closed on the house, so now you guys are stuck with me.”

  Luke smiles and suddenly yells, “Jess is here!”

  “I guess I’ll go help him out with his research.”

  “Gross! God, you guys are hopeless.”

  When I walk into the bedroom, Ty is stretched out on the bed, he’s still clad in his work clothes, pen tip in his mouth, reading glasses perched on his head.

  “Luke said you were writing about the birds and the bees.”

  “Come over here,” Ty says. I cross the room and he tugs me onto the bed. I curl into his side and breathe in his scent.

  “Where are we at?”

  “I’m working on the technical stuff like verbalizing and consent. It’s in the news so much at all of the colleges. There are rules that you’ve got be aware of—stuff that didn’t even exist when we were growing up.”

  “Don’t look so concerned. It’s great that you’re doing this. But you raised a very sweet and conscientious young man. I don’t see him as capable of ever disrespecting anyone.”

  “I know. I just feel desperate to cover it all before it’s too late.”

  “I’ll be here for Luke. So will Angie. We both know how women should be treated. Besides, Ty, you’ve modeled behavior for him his whole life.”

  “He’s driving.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Terribly, but still—the permit’s a done deal.”

  “I know you need to do all of these things so that you can find some peace and closure. I do understand. But I can’t help but feel that it’s bringing us closer to the end.”

  “We are moving closer to the end. We’re not going toward the beginning. You never know how much time you’ll have left in life, with anyone.”

  “I know you’re right, but I don’t have to like it.” Ty kisses me and tucks my body into his. I reach up and take the glasses off his head and toss them onto the bedside table. Ty catches my arm on its way back. He jerks it to him and sits up fast. I smile at him through tears and yank my white cowl neck sweater up over my head.

  I offer him the inside of my wrist and he takes it in his hands. Carefully he pulls back the masking tape and lifts the saran wrap. I almost turn away at the sight of what must be blood mixed with ink and maybe some pus, swimming nauseatingly over what truly is, underneath, a beautiful anchor. Ty looks at it adoringly and then looks at me in wonder.

  “Did you go to a safe place, sterile and all?” he asks. I nod my head, I know how concerned he is about clean needles. “Did it hurt?”

  “Not a much as I expected,” I say. My fingers find their way to his anchor tattoo, I run them over the ink that covers his wrist; I can feel the blood pumping in his veins underneath my fingertips. Blood that’s his life force but that’s also killing him.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Ty says, grabbing his notebook. He scribbles down the word, tattoos, under the paragraph he’d been writing. He then tapes mine back up. “Tomorrow we wash it.”

  “Why don’t you go spend some time with Luke. I’ll make his lunch for tomorrow and clean up the dinner dishes.”

  “What about you?”

  “I live here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, but first I need to taste this dangerous, tattooed lady.”

  He rolls me under him. Titan may be sick, but his libido is healthy.

  We are hauling in our Christmas tree. Luke and I really razzed Jess over the length of time she took to pick one out but she said it had to be perfect. It’s been a few weeks since she’s moved in and for the most part, everything is wonderful. She has cute habits that I didn’t know about before. Like the way she stands when she brushes her teeth, one arm behind her back, like she’s a captain. Or the way she has to have music on in the kitchen. She swings her hips whenever she’s cooking. While watching TV, she twirls one clump of hair repeatedly. All these things are endearing and intimate.

  “Let me help, Titan,” Jess says trying to nudge me out of the way. I shake my head no and continue carrying the tree inside. She positions the stand under it before we set the trunk in and then we hold it straight while she screws the knobs tight.

  “Can I go over to Bree’s now?” Luke asks as soon as the tree is standing upright on its own.

  “Sure, Buddy, be home by ten, though.” He hugs me, then Jess, and trots out the door. I thought maybe having Jess live here would make Luke uncomfortable but so far, he seems fine with it.

  Snow falls quietly outside. The first snow of the year. It’s beautiful and makes me wonder how many winters I complained about it, rather than stood in awe of it. It falls softly just barely covering the grass and road. It’s clean and unblemished and has this static smell about it. I leave the view from the window and head to the garage to pull the ornament box with the tree lights from the top shelf.

  “Let me carry that,” Jess says. I carry it to the kitchen and slam the box down on the island. I’m sick of being treated like an invalid. I’m sick of the special treatment. It’s not how I want to spend my days.

  “Dammit, Jess, you’ve got to stop!” My voice booms.

  She steps back. Her shoulders slump and she looks at her feet. I feel like a jerk for yelling at her. I walk to her and put my arms around her. “You’re not here to watch me die. You’re here to watch me live. To live with me. You’ve got to stop treating me with kid gloves. I’m not an invalid, okay?” She looks up, tears fill her eyes. I’ve never yelled at her before and I feel like a schmuck. “I’m sorry I yelled.” I lean down and kiss her.

  “I guess all couples have a spat once in a while,” she says
.

  “You know what that means right?”

  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “What?”

  “Make-up sex?” I try. Jess bursts out laughing and I follow suit.

  She twists out of my hold and grabs the Christmas box. “Come on, stud, let’s get these lights up.”

  I smack her rear as she goes and she jolts. “A guy can try, can’t he?”

  The lights are up. They cast a dewy glow throughout the room. I love this moment, when the tree is up and lit but no ornaments hang yet. If I squint, the whole room turns into a prism of light. Jess is curled into me on the couch, sipping a glass of wine.

  “When do you decorate?” she asks.

  “Christmas Eve usually. There’s no real reason except we just always have. We play Christmas music and hang all the ornaments. When Luke was little and went down for his nap, we’d put out all the extended family gifts and before bed that night, he was allowed to open one gift.”

  “What else do you do for traditions?”

  “Well, a couple nights before Christmas, I used to rig up bells to a string outside his window. And when Rory would put him to bed, every so often I would pull the string. The bells would jingle outside his window and Luke would shoot straight up—even if he were almost asleep—asking, Did you hear that? Did you hear that?!” I laugh because the memory is so close to my heart. “We really went to town on the holidays around here.”

  “You’re wicked!” Jess says and playfully slaps my chest.

  “It was great when he still believed. And we kept him believing longer than most. It was only around twelve when he finally caught on to me.”

  “That’s great. Luke had a great childhood.”

  I nod. “He did.”

  “What about you? How have you celebrated? What are your traditions?” I ask.

  “Growing up, my parents always did the anti-Christmas. We went to Miami or Palm Springs. Palm trees and a pink or white tinseled tree in some condo rental or swanky hotel. My parents would drink cocktails and plop me in front of A White Christmas or Miracle on 34th Street on television. Those were the times of year when I’d wish for a sibling more than anything else. My mother didn’t cook, couldn’t really be bothered to decorate. That may be part of why I became so obsessed with those things.”