Still Air

by Freya Barker

  “She’s in the bathroom, but I think she needs you,” Syd whispers when she opens the door for me. I can hear water running in the background. Her face looks blotchy and red and her eyes are swollen. This has got to be hard on her.

  “Thanks,” I mumble over her head, as I fold her in a tight hug before letting her go.

  “Go gentle,” she smiles sadly, slipping past me out the door.

  I don’t have to wait long before the bathroom door opens and Pam walks out, stopping in her tracks when she sees me. She’s wearing different clothes from what she had on earlier and I can see some water drops glistening in her hair. But her shower wasn’t able to wash the swollen eyes or the sheer devastation from her face.

  “I’m tired, Dino,” she says, her hands up.

  “So let’s have a nap,” I answer, holding out my hand. She looks at me surprised before her gaze drops to my outstretched hand.

  “You didn’t come here to talk?” I hear the disbelief in her voice.

  “Only if you want to. Come here, Pam. Lie down with me.” I drop back on the bed without taking my eyes off her, patting the mattress beside me for good measure. Finally she starts moving.

  “I’m sorry,” she says as she climbs in bed beside me, while keeping her distance. I reach out and pull her closer. She hesitates only briefly before dropping her head to my shoulder and her hand on my chest.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Biscuit,” I assure her, pressing my lips to her hair. “Nothing at all.”

  “I’m not sure what I should do next.” Her voice is faint and sounds so small. It fucking breaks my heart.

  “We’ll figure it out, honey. Just rest your eyes for a bit, okay?”

  “Okay...”

  “I’ve got you, Beautiful—I’ve got you.”

  “Okay...”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Pam

  “Want me to take the group for you?”

  It’s been a week. Technically, it’s been almost two since he died, but it’s been a week since I said goodbye. A week since I found myself alone in this world, until a group of people closer than any family I’ve ever known showed up to prove otherwise. Every fucking day they make sure I know it. I’m starting to believe it.

  That’s why Viv’s on the phone again. She’d been dead set against me going back to work so soon. Something Dino actually went to bat for me on. Not sure what he told her but she backed off. It was weird though, going back without even having a funeral for Derrick yet.

  I haven’t had the stomach to go through his box, the one Dino tossed in the back of Gunnar’s truck at Green Haven. He brought it over last night. He’d been reluctant to leave me at all this past week. If not for his job or the kids he has at home, needing his attention, I swear he would’ve stayed glued to my side the entire time. It took a bit of arguing to get him to drop me at my house to begin with, but I needed that time. Need the chance to get my bearings. Figure out where I go from here, now that my carefully concealed past is exposed for all to see. It’s a miracle I managed to escape discovery for so long.

  Maybe I should tackle that box tonight. Gunnar’s contact at Hobbs Funeral Home is scheduled to drive to Green Haven tomorrow to pick up Derrick’s body. I don’t even know what he would’ve wanted. For years I’ve gone to visit him regularly, but we still managed to become strangers. Both of us careful not to discuss how his conviction, and subsequent incarceration, affected our day-to-day life, out of concern for the other.

  “Okay,” I finally answer Viv. “If you don’t mind, I have some things I need to take care of.”

  “For sure, girl. You need any help taking care of things?” I can hear concern in her forced cheer. I love her for it, but I want to do this by myself.

  “I’m good. You taking the group would really help. Thank you, honey.”

  “Okay. No problem. Whatever you need.”

  I’m smiling when I end the call. More like laughing at myself, actually. Fifteen years I’ve been living a lie, spending my days teaching women there’s no shame in where we came from, there’s just responsibility for where we’re going. Fuck, I’ve been preaching but not practicing. Who’s the fool now? If I’ve learned anything over the past week, it’s that despite my great love and admiration for the people that have included me in their life, I’ve so miserably underestimated them. Not one of them has questioned or called me on the fact that I’ve been less than forthcoming. Not one has judged or condemned me for demanding honesty and trust from them, without giving the same in return. Not one.

  I push back from my desk and make my way into the kitchen, where Brenda and Doris are having tea. Both look up when I walk in. When I came back to the shelter on Monday, after being gone for a week, I called them both in my office and told them I’d had to leave town for the death of a loved one. That’s all I shared, but even that much was hard for me to do. I don’t do well with sympathy, it ruffles my feathers. But both girls know enough not to push for more and simply stated they’d be there if I need them.

  “Viv’s offered to do tonight’s group. I’m going home. Make sure each of you take what you need time-wise, okay?”

  “Not to worry,” Brenda immediately responds. “We make a pretty good team.” She nudges Doris, who is the quieter of the two, as she says it.

  “We’re good,” Doris adds a bit more subdued.

  It’s hard to hand over the responsibilities I’ve carefully guarded for so long, but at the same time, it’s a relief to be able to.

  “See you tomorrow.” I wave as I go to fetch my coat.

  -

  I stop briefly at Duckfat, a sandwich and fry restaurant only a little bit out of the way, to pick up a large poutine and a milkshake. Not the healthiest of dinners, but I figure I could use a solid base in my stomach before I get down to my self-imposed task for tonight, and I don’t feel like cooking.

  When I turn into my driveway, I’m surprised to find someone huddled on my porch. It’s freezing out tonight and I can almost feel the snow in the air. Whoever it is must be chilled to the bone. The moment I’m out of my car, the shape unfolds itself.

  It’s Jonas.

  “What are you doing here?” comes flying out of my mouth, before I catch myself. “You must be freezing!” I rush to open the door, and push him in ahead of me. I’m not sure what he’s doing here. He just had some pretty major surgery, not even two weeks ago, and I doubt sitting in sub-zero temperatures on my porch is recommended for his recovery.

  He lingers awkwardly in the hallway and I move past him to the kitchen, dropping my bag with dinner on the counter.

  “I wasn’t sure,” he says, almost shyly as he follows behind me, still wearing his coat. “Dad told me about...well...I’m sorry,” he finally says. Oddly those simple words, from this boy, hit me harder than any words of sympathy I’ve heard so far.

  “Thank you,” I manage, my voice thick with emotion and poor Jonas looks everywhere but at me. I turn my back and fight for composure before looking at him again. “What weren’t you sure of?”

  “It’s Thursday night. I wanted to maybe talk but I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me here.” His voice is hesitant and I swear he’s actually shuffling his feet.

  Truthfully? It wasn’t what I had geared up for tonight, but I can’t turn him away.

  “I’m guessing you’re hungry?” The slow smile that spreads over his face is answer enough. “Okay, then shed the coat and I’ll grab us a few plates. I didn’t cook, but count yourself lucky; you’re about to have a mind-blowing French fry experience. You heard of Duckfat?”

  “Really?” he says when he walks back into the kitchen, his eyes seeking out the familiar name on the bag on the counter. “That place is the shit. Dad took us there once. We loved it—Mom hated it. We’ve never been since. Their milkshakes are something else,” he ends wistfully. A lot of information right there.

  “Well, it just so happens.” I pull the large milkshake I ordered from the bag with great flourish and get a
kick out of the look on his face. “I got large of everything, so we’ll share.”

  I divide the poutine over two plates and pull down a plastic tumbler and straw from the cupboard, so we can share the shake.

  We eat quietly, the silence a bit heavy around us, when an idea starts forming. “You know,” I start when Jonas slurps the last of his drink. “Your timing actually couldn’t be better.” I start clearing away the dishes as I’m talking. “I could use your help with something.” He follows me into the living room, where the box is sitting on the coffee table, right where Dino left it last night. I haven’t even moved it. I sit down in the corner of the couch, and instead of sitting in his usual spot in the chair across from me, Jonas surprises me by taking the other side of the couch, his eye focused on the box on the table.

  “So your dad told you I have...had a son?” It costs me to get the words out, but even if this only gets him thinking, it’s worth pushing through the pain for. The kid is very uncomfortable, I can tell from the tight way he nods, while eyeing me carefully. I won’t cry in front of him. It would send him packing. “Well—Derrick killed himself.” The statement sounds brutal. I intended that, but the look of shock on Jonas’ face is a bit too much for me to handle, so instead I stare at the box. “He made a mistake when he was your age—a big, life-altering mistake—and he ended up in jail. He served fifteen years and had enough. Not too long ago, he was turned down again by the parole review board. That killed all his hope—and mine.” I pause for minute, giving him time to let my words settle in before I continue. But I still can’t look at him. “Last night, your dad brought over all Derrick’s possessions in this world. They’re all in that box. I wasn’t ready to open it yet, and frankly, I’m not sure I’m ready now, but I’m going to. See, tomorrow Derrick’s body will be brought here to Portland, and I need to figure out what to do for his funeral. He was my son for thirty-three years and I have no idea what kind of send off he would’ve wanted.”

  It’s too much, it’s all too much. I stand up suddenly and rush down the hall to the bathroom before I lose it. I lean on the counter, pressing my eyes closed as I breathe in deeply through the nose, trying to keep the sob building in my chest at bay. When I feel I have it under control, I grab a washcloth, run it under cold water and hold it against my face.

  By the time I walk back inside, I’m convinced Jonas bailed, but am surprised to find him sitting next to the box, on the coffee table. The lid is off and he’s holding what looks to be an envelope in his hands. He doesn’t look up, but rummages through the contents.

  I consider whether I should be upset, but decide I’m not. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to make that start myself. I sit down in the corner of the couch and pull my knees up.

  “This is addressed to you,” Jonas says, holding out the envelope to me, but I wave it off.

  “Leave...” I have to clear my throat before continuing. “Leave that for later.”

  Jonas just nods and puts the envelope down before diving into the box and pulling out a well-worn book. Lord of the Flies by William Golding. The only possession he took to jail with him. It looks like he read it more than a few times, judging by its dog-eared condition. I flip through and notice a highlighted passage.

  His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

  The significance sends a shiver down my spine. I quickly flip through a little further to encounter another marked line.

  Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of a true, wise friend called Piggy.

  Tears burn my eyes but I’m willing them back. How ironic that the very book he devoured before he got involved with those kids, the book I remember cursing because at the time I thought it helped him justify his poor decisions, was also the book that clearly helped him regain some perspective. Sadly it had been too late. Perhaps not too late for some.

  Jonas blinks a few times when I shove the book back in his hands.

  “Here, take it, it’s yours. I’d like to think that Derrick would have appreciated you having it.”

  “He didn’t even know me,” he sputters, but I sharply shake my head.

  “Sweetheart...” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before continuing, “...he was you. It was too late for my boy, but it isn’t for you. Not by a long shot. Please,” I plead, pushing it in his hands. “Please take it.”

  “Okay,” he says, hesitantly taking the book from me.

  I don’t say it out loud, because I’m not sure this boy could handle the responsibility, but if I have to find any kind of meaning to Derrick’s death, then let it be that this living, breathing man-child, will learn enough from my son’s legacy to avoid the same traitorous path.

  Dino

  I’m surprised to find it nine thirty when the phone rings.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, Princess, what’s up? I’m just gonna clean up the kitchen and will be home soon.”

  “I’m worried,” she says, making my heart skip a beat. “Jonas left three hours ago and said he’d be home soon, but I haven’t heard from him yet, and he’s not answering his phone.”

  Dammit.

  “Did he mention where he was going?” I wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder, as I shrug on my coat. Clean up will have to wait until tomorrow.

  “Pam. He said he had an appointment at seven. But he’s taking the bus, Dad. What if those kids...”

  “Sweetheart,” I cut her off, trying to put her mind at ease. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m sure your brother is fine.” I sure as fuck hope so. I never sat down to talk to him about safety, especially after his encounter with those two punks. They’re locked up tight now as per the last conversation I had with Barnes, but there are more gang members out there to worry about. Of course, I hadn’t considered he’d go off on his own yet, he wasn’t even scheduled to try back at school until Monday. “I’ll give her a call and make sure he’s okay. Then I’ll swing by there to grab him before coming home, okay?”

  I hang up and rush into the pub where Syd’s manning the bar.

  “I’m heading out early. I’ll come in early to do clean up but I’ve gotta run and get Jonas.”

  “Everything okay?” she asks, a concerned look on her face.

  “I sure as shit hope so,” I reply. “I’ve had about all I can take these past few weeks.” And how fucking true is that, between my ex, my kids, and Pam, the weight on my shoulders is about to bring me to my knees.

  I try calling Pam on my way to the car and she finally answers on the second try.

  “I’m sorry,” she answers right off the bat. “I never took my phone from my purse so I didn’t hear it at first. Are you looking for Jonas?”

  The breath I realize I’ve been holding releases with a whoosh.

  “Yes, is he there?”

  “Still is,” she confirms. “Sorry things ran a little late.”

  “Just keep him there,” I order her a bit sharply.

  “Of course,” is her terse reply, hanging up on me. I immediately feel guilty for snapping.

  The bungalow is blazing with light when I pull in next to Pam’s car. Light snow just started falling and I try to remember whether there was anything significant in the forecast. I normally love this time of year. Other than right around Christmas, the pub is generally a little slower during the winter months, and I always enjoy the extra time working on plans for the coming summer season. New menu items to try out, exploring new and better suppliers, checking out the competition. None of that has happened yet, so far. Mostly because I’ve been behind the eight ball since even before the summer.

  The front door opens before I even reach the steps.

  “I really am sorry,” Pam says from the doorway, a worried look on her face, and suddenly everything else l
oses its significance. I move to her on instinct, needing the comfort of her embrace I’ve missed for almost two weeks now. I’ve hugged her, I’ve even kissed her, all comforting contact—but I haven’t taken anything for myself, not sure if she was in a place to give it. I need her lips on me now, though.

  I cup her face in my hands and slide my mouth over hers. Need, relief, and apology all rolled into that one soft kiss. Her arms slip around my neck as she gives herself. “I was an asshole,” I whisper against her lips.

  “You were worried,” she whispers right back.

  I catch a slight movement from the corner of my eye to find my son peeking over the back of the couch, half a smirk on his face. Damn, I’d forgotten you can see clear to the front door from the living room. Pam stiffens in my arms when she realizes the same thing, too. I don’t bother hiding, now that the cat is out of the bag, and pull her in for one more quick hard kiss on the lips before I walk into the living room.

  “Bud, the fuck are you doing here?” I ask Jonas, taking in the mess surrounding him. It looks like the two have been busy with the box I brought over yesterday. Jonas just shrugs.

  “Giving Pam a hand, that’s all.”

  “That’s good of you, Son, but I didn’t know where you were, and you told your sister you’d be home well over an hour ago. On top of that, you weren’t answering your phone.” I try to keep my voice even, despite my anger flaring up.

  “Crap,” he says, slapping his forehead. “I left it in my jacket.” He shoots up from the couch and dives into the hallway closet coming up with his phone. “Dead,” he says, looking at the screen. The next instant his face is beet red and his eyes are big as they flick between Pam and me. “Sorry,” he mouths.

  I hear Pam choke off a snort. “I appreciate the concern, Jonas,” she says, “but I don’t expect you—nor do I want you to—weigh each word from your mouth. You should know that after tonight.”

  Her last comment has me curious.

  “What did you guys do tonight?” I ask, noting Jonas’ eyes focus on Pam, waiting for her lead.