The Things We Knew

by Catherine West

  “Sorry? That’s all you have to say? Hope you filled up the car.” Pops rubbed his jaw and Gray peered a little closer, taking in the vacant look in his eyes.

  This was worse than coming off a bad trip.

  Gray backed up when Nick got too close with the broom, its soft bristles tickling his toes. “Yo, dude. Take it easy there.”

  “Sorry.” Nick glanced up and stopped sweeping. “If you take two steps that way, I can get those pieces behind you.”

  Gray sidestepped the shards. If it’d been him, he might have let Nick step on them.

  Lynette rounded the counter and put her arm through their father’s. “Dinner’s almost ready. Since you’re awake, would you like to join us?”

  “Why are we eating at this ungodly hour?” Pops shook his head and smirked. “You kids and your wild parties. Well, I suppose I could have a bite. Gray, go get your brothers. It’s time to eat.”

  “Mr. Carlisle!” Cecily ran into the room, out of breath. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Pops, then shot Lynette a harried look. “Lawdy, girl, I can’t keep track of him. Man needs a cowbell or something. There he goes again!” She hurried after Pops as he headed to the dining room.

  Gray scratched his head. He tried to dislodge the rock in his throat and managed to get Lynette’s attention. “Lynnie, what the—”

  “Stop.” She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. “Not now.”

  “I need a drink,” Gray muttered as he watched her take their father into the dining room.

  “I’ll get you some water.” Tori’s glare shot through him.

  “That’s what I meant.” She never did appreciate his humor.

  Tori found another glass, miraculously produced a bottle of Evian from somewhere, plopped in two ice cubes, and handed it to him. Gray downed the cool liquid too fast. Bright spots flashed in his eyes and he bent over his knees.

  Nick grabbed his elbow and jerked him up before he hit the floor.

  “Gray!” Lynnie was back, bending to look at him. She took the empty glass from his trembling hand before he could drop another one. “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy.” Gray straightened and wriggled out of Nick’s grasp. “What’s wrong with him, Lynnie? He’s not still drinking?”

  “No! He hasn’t had a drink in years, Gray, I promise you.” She kept her voice low, her eyes frantic, willing him to believe her.

  “Then what is it? And why didn’t you tell me? And if you say you don’t know, I swear I’ll—”

  “Stop shouting at me!” She whirled and stood with her back to him.

  “Who’s shouting? You want shouting?”

  Cooper made a noise like he was choking on something and marched past them with a large bowl of pasta. His piercing gaze jacked up Gray’s blood pressure again.

  His stomach was doing a number on him. He should have taken Tori’s advice. Because all this? A longer stint in rehab would have been a much better idea.

  “Gray, chill.” Tori scowled at him.

  Lynette picked up a handful of cutlery and headed for the dining room.

  Gray stared at her retreating figure. “Did she just leave? I asked her a question and she ignored me?”

  Nick stalked past him again and poured thick red sauce into a white serving dish. He turned to Gray, bowl in hand. “Mind taking this out to the table while I get the bread?”

  “Yes, I mind,” Gray spluttered. “I want somebody to give me some answers!”

  “Give it to me.” Tori took the bowl from Nick and looked at Gray. “Go sit down and zip it. Please.”

  Gray couldn’t make his head stop spinning. He blinked a couple times, took some deep breaths, and filled his glass with more water.

  Tori was ordering him around, his baby sister was giving him the cold shoulder, his dad was going mental, and Cooper was treating him like the help.

  This is what he got for deciding to get sober.

  Gray hunched over the toilet and waited. Maybe he was really done this time. He’d tried to be quiet, but that was pretty much impossible when his entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out.

  The bathroom door creaked open and somebody crouched behind him. Gray couldn’t move to see who, could barely lift his head.

  A cold cloth was placed on his forehead. “Your mother always said a little ginger ale and an ice pack could fix anything.”

  Gray blanched at the sound of his father’s voice and pushed back on his heels before hitting the cold tile with his butt. “Thanks.” He took the plastic tumbler and sipped. Fizz shot up his nose and made him cough. Pops reached for the cup and placed it on the counter.

  He extended a hand, his face masked with worry as he looked down at Gray. “You want to go back to bed?”

  Gray grabbed hold and let his father haul him to his feet. The old man wasn’t so frail after all. “Sorry I woke you, Pops.” He picked up the soda and shuffled back toward his bedroom.

  “I was awake anyway.” His father followed him into the room. “I don’t sleep much these days.”

  Gray got back into bed and pulled up the blankets. The house was freezing. Damp, musty, and filled with the salty smell that infiltrated his dreams—hadn’t left him even when he’d left the place.

  “What time is it?” His throat felt clogged with cotton but he knew if he tried to clear it, he’d be running for the bathroom again.

  “Must be around five. Sun should be up soon.” Pops stood by the window, peering through the gap in the plaid curtains.

  Gray smothered a yawn and closed his eyes.

  “The first few months are the hardest.” Pops thumped down on the edge of his bed.

  Gray’s eyes flew open. “What?”

  “When you’re trying to quit.”

  His father’s expression was kind, soft even. Maybe he really had gone nuts.

  Maybe they both had.

  Because from what he’d witnessed last night, Gray had no clue how they were even having this conversation. But he’d take it.

  “That’s what I hear.” Gray heaved a sigh and ignored the rattle in his chest. “Lynnie says you’re on the wagon.”

  Pops played with the sash of his robe. “Been a few years now. I stopped counting the exact days. Actually . . . I have a little trouble keeping track of time lately.” Slow laughter rumbled out of him.

  “Oh.” No kidding. “That’s great, Pops. I mean, that you quit. Way to go.” Gray rubbed his eyes and wondered if the rest of them knew about this and why he didn’t. Then again, maybe if he’d bothered to call once in a while.

  Pops crossed a pajama-clad leg over his knee and looked Gray straight in the eye, the way he used to when a lecture was coming on. Gray felt sixteen again.

  “My mind plays tricks on me sometimes, son, but not all the time. I have eyes and ears. Know what I’m saying?”

  Shame smacked his cheeks, and Gray studied the trophies on the shelf across the room. Posters of baseball players and rock bands still stuck to the walls. Faded Red Sox and Patriots pennants wedged between the Rolling Stones, U2, and the Stop sign he and Nick had stolen in tenth grade.

  Everything in his bedroom was exactly the way he’d left it that last summer, the year he’d turned twenty, told them he was quitting college and heading to California.

  “I screwed up, Pops.”

  His dad moved up the bed and placed his hand on Gray’s arm. “I know.”

  Gray pressed his teeth into his bottom lip and met his father’s eyes once more.

  “We all make mistakes, Gray. I’ve made my fair share. But I don’t need to tell you that. Your mother and I were always proud of you, no matter what.”

  “I don’t think Mom would be too proud of me right now.” Gray dragged a hand across his face and sniffed.

  “She was a very forgiving person. I wish I had been.”

  Gray pushed up and took a sip of the cold drink. Glanced at the digital clock and reached for his pills. He saw his father’s face and scowled. “Anti
biotics. I had pneumonia.”

  Pops squinted at the label and put the bottle back on the bedside table. “I’m glad you decided to come home.”

  Gray hadn’t been sure. That year before he left, they’d had some wicked arguments. Gray squished his head against the soft feather pillows and tried to read his father. The room got a little lighter. Birds began to chirp outside, their morning song mingling with the ocean’s serenade. “For real?”

  Pops nodded, his face cracking with a rare smile. “Don’t tell Lynnie. She thinks I’m still mad at you for totaling the car on your sixteenth birthday.”

  “So you’re not?” That little joyride across Sankaty Head Golf Course in the middle of the night hadn’t been such a great idea. His laugh brought on more coughing, his lungs practically evicting themselves from his body. If the sun came out today, he’d spend all day just sitting in it.

  “I’ve decided to let it go.” Pops rose and pulled the covers tight around Gray’s shoulders, like he used to every night. Before.

  “Sweet.”

  His father scratched his nose, tipped his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  More laughter tickled Gray’s sore throat. “It means cool. Good. Sweet.”

  “Oh. Okay then. Sweet.”

  Gray returned his wink and marveled at what was going on inside of him. An emotion he barely recognized worked its way upward. Pushed through all the muck and mire and the clouded judgment and lit the tiniest of sparks.

  Hope.

  Pops reached over and tousled his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’ll tell Lynnie not to wake you.”

  Gray drew in a deep breath as his father shut the door. Despite everything, Gray knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. It wouldn’t be easy, but there were things here he needed to take care of.

  He pushed his forefingers into the corners of his eyes and cursed at the wetness. No matter. He’d survive this. Somehow.

  He wasn’t sure of much at the moment, but he did know one thing.

  It was good to be home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lynette backed off and studied the piece she’d created just before dawn.

  The scene still didn’t make any sense.

  The painting took her mind places she didn’t want to go. Pushed questions toward her she could neither comprehend nor contemplate.

  She reached for the bedsheet with a trembling hand and covered it up.

  Trying to remember the past through her paintings wasn’t doing any good. It was only giving her more nightmares, more to worry about.

  She left the art studio and took the dogs for a walk. As she trudged along the beach, she thanked God the week was over. It had been a long one, dealing with Gray and Victoria, playing referee when Cecily was around. Gray’s friend was hardly amenable, and Cecily had already voiced strong opinions about her being here.

  Lynette picked her way around patches of brown seaweed, discarded rope, and the odd dead fish. The dogs raced ahead, chasing sea gulls and each other, stopping now and again when they picked up a scent. Off in the distance a long white coast guard ship made its way around the island. Their beach was private, tourist free, providing the peace she needed.

  Peace that never lasted long.

  She hoped the sea air would rid her mind of last night’s dream.

  It was like all the others, but more intense. And vivid. Her mother was trying to tell her something, but as usual, Lynette woke before she heard the words.

  A shell poked out of the sand, and she wandered over to retrieve it. The top was green and slimy and covered in moss, but when she flipped it over, a kaleidoscope of pearly pink, blue, and gray shimmered in the sunshine and spoke of hope. But that feeling never lasted. Even now, dark clouds gathered along the horizon, threatening to put the sun back to bed.

  “Good morning, Lynette.”

  Lynette pocketed the shell and looked up. Anthony Cooper strode down the beach toward her. She stiffened, but waved a hand in greeting. “Hi, Mr. Cooper.”

  The dogs circled her legs and began to growl. “Stop that.” She pushed them off, but they wouldn’t budge. They stopped growling at least and sat at her feet.

  “Doesn’t look like we’re going to see much of that sun today.” He took off his sunglasses, tipped his head toward the mass of dark clouds.

  “I guess not.” A rainy day might afford more time for another painting. One she could actually sell this time. Lynette shrugged. “At least it’s Saturday. Don’t have to worry about going anywhere.” In summer she rarely left the house unless she had to.

  “True.” His blue eyes were so like Nick’s, but without the warmth. His smile seemed plastered on, no life behind it. And he looked thin, almost gaunt. “I thought I heard some noise last weekend over at your place. Cars coming and going, dogs barking? I hope there wasn’t trouble.”

  Nerves pelted the pit of her stomach but she managed to meet his inquiring gaze. “No trouble. Gray’s home. We had some local press poking around.” Sudden fear seized her. “If they come to you . . .”

  He gave a small smile. “Gray who?”

  Lynette smiled back, but his expression made her uneasy.

  Anthony fiddled with his watch, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I hear you’re putting the house on the market. I think it’s a sound decision, Lynette, under the circumstances.”

  She watched the wind whip up the waves, white surf churning. Her stomach was starting to do the same. “Circumstances?”

  “Financial of course. And then there’s your father . . .”

  His air of nonchalance rankled her. “My father will—” What? Be fine?

  He drew thick brows together and stroked his chin. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult. Alzheimer’s, is it?”

  Defeat gained a little more ground. “We haven’t made a decision about the house yet. My brother and sister arrive today.” Part of her wasn’t ready to face Liz or David and all their questions.

  Wasn’t ready to accept the truth.

  “I realize this must be overwhelming for you, dear, but I really think selling is—”

  “I already talked to Nick. I know.” She almost wanted to apologize for her sharp reply. “My family and I will figure it out.”

  “You know . . .” He turned to look at the ocean. “I happen to know some very influential people, investors. They’ve been looking at property in the area. If you want to—”

  “Nick told me that too.” Lynette tried to keep her voice steady.

  He glanced her way, stone-faced. “Don’t take too much time. Tell David to come to see me, won’t you? We can discuss things. I’d love to help.”

  The lack of sincerity in his eyes scared her a little. The darkening sky threw down the first few drops of rain. “Thanks, Mr. Cooper.” She wasn’t sure he deserved her thanks, but didn’t know what else to say.

  “Best find shelter before it gets any worse.” He gave her arm a squeeze, turned, and strode off toward his house. Lynette had to grab both dogs to prevent them from chasing after him. Her heart thudded as she caught sight of Nick charging down the steps that led up to the Cooperage.

  Their raised voices were captured by the wind and tossed into the stormy sea. Lynette turned and headed home. She didn’t want to know what they argued over. She had enough trouble of her own.

  “Lynette, wait!” Nick’s voice caught up with her just before he did. The dogs changed direction and greeted him with excited barks, tails wagging. Lynette pressed on against the wind, blowing sand and rain.

  Nick jogged beside her and grabbed her arm. “Hey, wait up.”

  “Leave me alone, Nick.” She shook him off and kept walking, wet sand infiltrating the tops of her worn sneakers. He moved around her, and she had no choice but to come to a standstill as he put his hands around her wrists.

  “What did he say to you?” The concern on his face and the intensity of his gaze rendered her motionless. But anger won out and she struggled free from his grip.

  “Not
hing you haven’t already. Oh, and thanks for spreading the news. Who else have you told?”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed, tinged with confusion. “Told what?”

  “That my father has Alzheimer’s. He’s forgetting his life, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing it.” She pushed past him and stalked toward the set of rickety wooden stairs that led up to their house.

  “Lynette!” Nick blocked her path again. “I never said anything to my dad about your father. Maybe he heard it somewhere else, but it wasn’t from me.”

  Lynette clutched her elbows and shivered. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning slashed through the sky. Fear pushed her toward the house. “I’m going inside.”

  Nick put his hands on her shoulders. “Not until you say you believe me.”

  “What does it matter?” Salt stung her eyes and cheeks as the wind slapped her hair around her face.

  “It matters to me.”

  His eyes pierced her and she couldn’t look away.

  “I’m on your side. I need you to believe that.”

  “Nick . . .” She gave up the fight and let the tears come. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t think I can cope anymore.” The words choked her, bringing with them inexplicable sorrow and grief she’d never acknowledged.

  Not out loud.

  “Oh, Lynnie.” Nick moved closer and slid his hands around her face. The warmth of his touch penetrated her cold skin; she shivered. “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. The thing she feared most stepped out of the shadows, looming bigger and darker than the clouds above them, daring her to pay it homage.

  “You’re shaking.” Nick rubbed her arms and pulled her closer.

  “I don’t like storms.” It was impossible to explain such an irrational fear so she didn’t bother. Lynette met Nick’s eyes and knew she had to trust him. There was no one else. “If I tell you something . . . will you just . . . don’t think I’m crazy.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy.” He looked like he meant it, but he’d be taking back those words.

  “I . . . have these dreams. Well, just one. It’s always the same. About my mother. She’s trying to tell me something. I think . . . about the day she died . . . because I can’t remember.”