He started to cry. Tears fell down his cheeks, and his nose and throat clogged with phlegm. He coughed and sobbed, and everything came out. He let it. He rested his head on his arms, which he’d folded across his knees, and he cried. The cat circled at first, concerned perhaps by the noises coming from the man. When Fender quieted, it lost interest and ran across the lawn, pursuing a moth into the shadows at the corner of the yard.
Chapter Eighteen
GINGER SLEPT WITH THE LIGHT ON and the dog next to her in bed for several nights after her dream or vision or whatever it had been on the couch.
And she didn’t sleep well, so she went by Molly’s house before she went to the pool for work one morning. Molly was in the bedroom, in a very uncomfortable-looking yoga pose. She was still marijuana-free and had declared yoga her “new high.”
“Be careful, you might break something.” Seeing Molly made Ginger feel better already.
“It’s supposed to be downward-facing dog.”
“It looks like maimed llama. You got a minute?”
Molly stood and gave Ginger a hug. “Anything for my favorite girlfriend. How are you?” She picked up an armful of dirty clothes from the bed and made Ginger a place to sit.
Ginger sat and started to tie and untie the fringe of the bedspread. She needed to tell Molly about her dream—about Fender, or Brad. Whatever that thing was, it’d been a thing she couldn’t forget about.
Molly didn’t wait for Ginger to start talking. “Uh-oh. Something nasty happened. Are you okay? What is it?”
“I’m fine. It was a nasty dream. A daydream. I don’t know. A visit of conscience.”
Molly sat down next to Ginger, ready to listen. “Let loose. Give me all the gory details.”
Ginger related the dream. She told Molly about Brad’s appearance in particular. The mental picture made her palms clammy. “It’s creepy, isn’t it? I can tell you it hasn’t been fun being in the house alone since then. I’m glad I have Zoë to hang on to.” Ginger tried to move the conversation along, afraid Molly was at a loss to contribute.
“No, you know what? I think I owe you an apology.” Molly moved a pen around a note pad in the shape of big triangles.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I got this vibe off of Fender when I met him. I don’t know what it was, but I just didn’t like him. So, I’ve been a brat about him to you. But this tells me something. One thing it tells me, it tells me you like Fender. You’re really interested in him.”
“I was, but it was too soon, like you said.”
“No, no, let me finish, because I think we both know it wasn’t.” Molly could be very assertive when she wanted to be, Ginger remembered. She stayed quiet and let her talk.
“Okay, so, the first part is just about you wanting Fender. But you can’t move; that’s right, I forgot about that part. You want him to take the lead, make the decision to start the relationship. ’Cause you’re scared, or you don’t feel like you can be the one to initiate. But the bad part, the Brad part, that’s pretty obvious.”
“Obviously about what?”
“Well, you haven’t made your peace with the whole Brad thing.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s your guilty conscience. You think you’re a bad person because you found this guy you like.”
“I did love Brad.”
“I think we should be honest, Ging.” Molly sat next to her. They both looked intently at the fringe on the bedspread for a moment. Molly continued. “Brad was a good person. But he annoyed you. You talked about that all the time when he was alive.”
Ginger tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat. “But once you live with someone, they always end up annoying you a little. That’s just life.”
“Ginger, he was just a boyfriend. He was a good guy; don’t get me wrong. But you have to make your peace with him. Let go.”
“How?”
“You need to do a cleansing. Of yourself, your house. I can help you with it. We can do it after you get home from work.”
“What’s it about?”
“The Pueblo Indians use sage to purify stuff, people. I think we should do that for you. That’s a good start.”
Ginger gave Molly a big kiss on the cheek and left to go to the pool…
Where she thought about her advice the whole day at work. A fresh start. Maybe she should cleanse herself of Fender while she was at it, too. She didn’t want to think about him anymore; it just made her sad.
Molly was waiting on the front stoop when Ginger got home. They went inside together. Molly unfolded a cloth she’d tied hobo-style and displayed its contents on the rug in the living room. She spread out bundles of sage, little rocks, an eagle feather, and picked up her phone.
“I made a playlist on my phone—good meditative chanting stuff. I’ll put it on, Ginger, and we’ll do this. You sit in the middle of the cloth. Put the chakra stones around you. Hold the feather.”
“Molly?”
“Yeah, Ginger?”
“I forgot to tell you some stuff.”
“About what? Fender?”
“No. It’s not just Fender. I notice other guys, too. Bode, at the pool. The guys who play Ultimate Frisbee in the park. Maybe that changes things.”
Molly stopped arranging the rocks and looked at Ginger for a moment. “Have you ever had dreams about these other guys?”
Ginger shook her head no.
“Did you ever sleep with these other guys? Kiss them?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then the other stuff is hormones. Good Lord, girl, you are a human being.” Molly patted her on the back. “I think we’re on the right track here. Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of it—get your head in the right place so you can get on with getting on with your life.”
Molly pushed play on her phone, and a very soothing melody of flute and chanting began. She told Ginger to close her eyes. Ginger had a hard time concentrating. She felt silly. Then she smelled the pungent odor of the sage wafting to her. Molly was circling, blowing the sage at her. Ginger relaxed a little. Even if it doesn’t help me get past the Brad stuff, it’s kind of nice. And Molly was so sweet to be concerned.
But concentration continued to elude her. Ginger felt really off track now. She kept her eyes closed as an image of Bode, swimming underwater, came to her, followed by a quick flash of the Frisbee boys, all smiles and tans. Then she remembered Fender’s eyes crinkling when he smiled at her. She thought about his kiss, and warmth rushed through her. Maybe she was feeling better about all this.
The phone rang. Ginger and Molly jumped at the sound. Ginger got up and caught the phone on the fourth ring.
“Is Mrs. Janson there?” It sounded like a young girl. Ginger felt sick at the sound of Brad’s last name.
“There is no Mrs. Janson, I’m sorry.” She started to hang up.
“Well, ma’am, this is Natalie Higgins from Central Evergreen Bank. I have this as a number to contact regarding Mr. Janson’s closed account at our branch.”
“I was his girlfriend. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m not sure what to do in this situation. I should have waited until our manager came back, but she’s in Boca Raton until Thursday, so I thought I’d better call.”
Ginger felt a little dizzy. “What is it about?”
“Well, a check presented against the account. I thought I’d call someone before I sent it back; I didn’t know if it was something you’d want to pay.”
Now Ginger was bewildered. What could possibly be clearing now, almost a year after Brad’s death? “What’s the check for?”
The young voice hesitated. “Umm…Here it is. Yes, see, this is why I called. It’s for quite a bit of money. And the memo is odd. It just says ‘the ring.’ The check is signed by Mr. Janson and made out to Barnes and Son Jewelers.”
The floor spun under Ginger’s feet. “Send it back unpaid.” She hung up the phone and dropped to the f
loor.
Molly rushed to her. “What’s wrong? What the hell is wrong?”
“Cleansing ceremony’s off. I wasn’t just a girlfriend after all. Brad bought an engagement ring. From Fender.”
Ginger closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. An image popped into her brain. She stood under the green awning before Brad’s grave, almost a year ago. Tears blurred her eyes. She looked up, looked across the gathering of people as the preacher talked about Brad. There was a man, a younger man, with dark hair in a somber suit. Standing across from her, he looked up at her, catching her eyes for a moment. Then he turned and walked away from the gathering. The shoulders of his dark suit glistened in the heat. She distinctly remembered watching the man stride to a car and drive off.
The man was Fender.
He was at the funeral.
Ginger went to the bathroom and threw up.
Ginger had never cried so hard. Not long after throwing up, she’d shown Molly the door and crawled straight back under her covers. When Brad died, she’d felt numb all over, and she’d shed very few tears. She’d just felt tired, empty of life. Now she was devastated. What if he’d made it home? He would’ve proposed. She would’ve said yes. She might even have been married by now. Something about that chance stripped away hurt more than knowing Brad was gone forever. It made her think about a happiness they might’ve found together that had evaded them as boyfriend and girlfriend.
She wouldn’t hear of any of Molly’s sensibilities now. Sure, she’d almost been open to the fact that she’d never really felt perfectly right dating Brad. But things were different now.
She and Molly didn’t differ on their opinion of Fender at the moment. When Molly realized Fender had sold Brad the ring, she concocted a wild plan to visit revenge on the jeweler. Ginger didn’t care about that; she just never wanted to see him again. She didn’t understand why he’d been at the funeral. She didn’t understand why he was on the mountain. But Brad had to be the link between her and Fender. Fender must have been preying upon her, after something.
She spent three days straight in bed, crying for a life she might have had.
Chapter Nineteen
FENDER WOKE UP SEVERAL MORNINGS after his cleansing late-night catharsis, and it occurred to him that he had slept well—three nights in a row of good, normal sleep. It felt liberating somehow. In the mirror, his eyes weren’t puffy anymore, and he felt better. He used Pop’s shaving cream and shaved.
The Morning Bird was busy this time of day. The regular breakfast customers usually lingered until nine or ten. They nursed cups of coffee and chatted long after the workers ate and rushed to jobs in nearby office buildings.
Though he hadn’t been here in weeks, he recognized a few of the regulars sitting at the counter, and Sam stood behind it, talking. He was unbelievable. Somehow he managed to retain this job. Hell, how he even got himself out of bed in the mornings to cook for the breakfast rush amazed Fender. But he always seemed to do it, no matter how late Fender had kept him out the night before.
Sam noticed him, and Fender instinctively ducked his head. He was ashamed of what he’d done to his best friend. But Sam called out to him. He seemed glad to see him.
“Hey! It’s Fender, everybody! Fender! Come here and get a cup of coffee!” Sam set a cup on a placemat a few seats down from the regulars. The old men leaned away from the Formica counter to get a better look at him. Satisfied, they turned back to their coffee and conversations.
Fender sat at the spot Sam had set for him. “Hi.” He wasn’t sure about this, still. He could see a faint mark on Sam’s lower lip, maybe from the socking Fender had given him. “I’m such a total asshole.”
Sam patted him on the shoulder, handed him a menu. “Yes, you are. But I am, too. And when you really get down to it, so is most everybody. All is forgiven. Now I feel it’s my duty to cook you some eggs. You look better, but as the Southern womens would say, you look peaked, pal.”
“No, really, I’m so sorry. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry.” Fender realized he had a hold on Sam’s elbow, keeping him from escaping to the kitchen.
Sam leaned in, lowering his voice. “We were just worried about you. You don’t have to apologize. We just want to help you out of whatever it is that has sucked you down.”
Fender tried to look optimistic. He sat up a little straighter. “Well, I think I could use your support. I think I want to tell Ginger the truth. Tell her about Brad, about the ring, all of it.”
Sam set down the coffeepot. “Really? You know, Fender, I think that might be a good idea. Yes, I do.”
Fender felt like maybe he hadn’t blown it with Sam. “Yeah. You know, I’ve thought about it a lot lately. I owe her the truth. I owe it to you and to Pop to tell her, too.”
Sam waved this last point away. “You don’t owe us anything, Fender.”
“You guys helped me out. You’ve been taking care of the store. You had the balls to tell me what you thought of me selling the ring. I need the two of you around, and I need to do something to deserve that.”
Sam’s face went flat, and he shook his head. “I want you to be really clear about this. Look at me. Look me straight in the eye when I tell you this. Pop and I don’t need you to do anything. You don’t have to do anything to deserve us.”
Sam had a toothpick in his hand and began to pick his teeth. “Despite the idiotic things you do, Fender, your heart’s in the right place. I may not look like I have high standards, but I do. I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t think you were a good guy. Believe that.” Sam slapped Fender on the shoulder one more time and went into the kitchen.
Fender could see Sam from the neck up now, standing at the grill behind the order window. He was preparing something. Probably Fender’s eggs. Fender had to raise his voice for Sam to hear him. “So, what I want to do is tell Ginger the truth. I was hoping you could go with me, kind of for moral support.”
Sam must have set the pan down on the flames. He came back out front and rested his hands on the counter in front of Fender. “I can do that. I’d be happy to do that. I just want to see you up and around again.”
Fender breathed in deeply. “I think this might do it. This will fix things.”
Sam pulled the dishcloth from at his waist and wiped his hands on it. “You know, Fender, she may not want to talk to you or see you again after you tell her the truth.” He took a breath. “And you can’t be surprised about that. She might not like you much when she hears the truth.”
“I know.”
“Okay, just so you’re realistic. Don’t expect hearts and flowers.”
“I don’t. I need to do this, though.” Fender fiddled with the place setting in front of him.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, you do, my friend.” There was a pop from the kitchen. “Oh, Christ! Your eggs.” He hustled back into the kitchen and called through the window. “You’ll eat, I’ll finish up here, and then we’ll go talk to her.”
“Okay.” Fender felt a little stronger than he had in a while. He hoped he could hold out.
After breakfast, Fender sat in the passenger seat of Sam’s car. He gave directions to Ginger’s house, and they pulled up on the street, across from her door.
Just then the door to Ginger’s house swung open. Fender elbowed Sam in the side. “Here she comes! Scooch down in your seat; I don’t want her to see us. We’ll just follow her. She must be going to work or something. Maybe I can talk to her there.”
Sam ducked his head a little in an effort to hide. “Fender, I don’t ‘scooch.’ I’m a big man.” He started the car and pulled out behind Ginger’s white hatchback. “Okay, partner, let’s go make things right.”
Fender straightened his shoulders. “Let’s go.” He was a man ready to stare down his fate.
Some days after the phone call from the bank, Ginger went back to work. She needed to escape the house. She couldn’t even stand to look at Zoë.
She entered the pool’s enclosure and came around the
fencing to see Bode skimming the surface of the pool with a long pole. His face was intent on his work. She walked to the side of the pool and stripped down to her bathing suit. She dove in, swimming down to the bottom of the pool. She touched the grate at the bottom of the deep end with her hand, like she had when she was a child. That had always been a big accomplishment. If it was possible to cry underwater, she was crying now. She felt safe under here and knew Bode couldn’t hear her. She put both hands on the grate and breathed out, expelling all of the air from her lungs. How long could she stay under? She pulled her feet underneath her and stared up at the flickering surface. The light played with the water, shooting its fingers down into the blueness, mixing the elements.
Her chest hurt. She was going to have to go up. I used to be able to stay under longer. When I was a kid, I could live down here. She liked how quiet it was. She wished she’d taken a bigger breath.
She felt someone pull at her hair. Then the person had a hold of the straps of her bathing suit, tugging. The person slipped an arm around her neck in a tight grip and pulled her up, hard. She opened her mouth, and water rushed into her windpipe. She coughed, and her instinct took hold. She kicked for the surface, helping the rescuer who still held her tightly around the neck.
Breaking into the air, she coughed and spit up water. Bode shook his head like a dog to get the hair out of his eyes. He didn’t let go of her until he’d hoisted her up onto the deck.
He stood up, running to get a towel. “What was that about?” he yelled, clearly distraught. “Are you all right? Were you caught on something?” He was by her side again, wrapping a towel around her and pounding her on the back to clear her lungs.
The Jeweler Page 14
