Time passes.
My knees hurt, my back numbs with pain. I hold Lucas. Eventually the sobs subside. He sniffles now and then, but doesn’t pull away. I rest my head against his, rocking him in place. His hair is as thick and soft as I imagined. He takes a long, deep breath, then exhales. With one arm still holding him, I lift his chin. He avoids looking at me, turning his head away.
“Let’s wash your hand.”
Slowly we get up and walk to his bathroom. He sits on the tub’s edge while I open drawers until I find a box with a red cross on it and sigh in relief when I open it: it’s a complete first aid kit.
I rinse his hand. There’s an ugly, long cut, bleeding heavily, and several smaller ones, pieces of glass still stuck in two of them. I open the bottle of antiseptic.
“This will sting a bit.”
I’m not sure how much attention Lucas pays me right now. He looks somewhere in space as if drugged. I first remove the glass from his hand then pour the clear liquid over the cuts. He doesn’t even flinch. I blow in his palm the best I can, then apply antibiotic ointment on all cuts. I doubt he needs stitches and decide to bandage it with a few dressing pads and wrap a gauze roll over it.
After I put everything away I sit next to him on the tub. “What happened?”
“The new meds seemed to work but then . . . I guess Mom’s kidneys and liver shut down. What I don’t understand is why my father has the power to do it. I’m her legal guardian.” Lucas stares at his palms, turning them up then down a few times. “I told him if he unplugs her life support I’ll sue him, but he sent me a scanned power of attorney with Mom’s signature on it. There’s a clause giving him the authority to pull the plug. Why did Mom never tell me about it?”
“Maybe your mom knew you wouldn’t do it. Pull the plug I mean.”
Lucas sighs. His jaw clenches. “I played God once when I asked my wife to abort our baby and I’ve regretted it every day since. I won’t do it again.”
“Even if your mom is in pain? She must suffer with her organs shutting down one by one, no matter how many meds they pump into her. It might not be what you want or think is right, but if this is her wish, you must respect it.”
“This is harder than I thought it would ever be. I know Mom is very sick and each breath she takes is a gift. But now . . . it just hit me.”
I pat his leg. “Be right back.” I return with a bottle of water, two aspirins and a sleeping pill. “Here, take these.”
“What for?” Redness rims his green eyes.
“These are for pain. This other one is to help you sleep.”
He takes the aspirins and stands, walking into the bedroom. “I don’t think I can sleep. I need to make travel arrangements.”
I leave him alone and go clean up the mess in the living room. I’m wide awake, too shaken by the news to sleep. As I move about the room I hear bits of words here and there. Lucas must pace the room because some words are clearer than others. Back home it’s late morning. When he talks with Cameron it’s an emotional exchange, often interrupted by muffled sobs.
The living room is back to normal. The only thing I couldn’t get rid of is the smell of liquor. With one last glance over the room, I turn the lights off. Don’t hear Lucas talking anymore. Maybe exhaustion caught up with him. It didn’t. Barefoot, he sits on the bed rubbing the gauze wrapped around his hand. He wears jeans and a black V-neck shirt.
I walk into his bedroom and stand before him. “You need anything?”
He shakes his head.
“I know it’s hard, but you need to rest. Even if you can’t sleep, just rest.” My hand touches his thick hair, pushing it back. Stubbornly it falls over his forehead. “Come on, Lucas, there’s nothing you can do right now.”
He grabs my wrist and looks up at me. He doesn’t need to tell me how he feels; I know just looking into glassy eyes, clouded face, and trembling chin. He swallows a few times. “Lay with me. Please?”
Under different circumstances his request would’ve earned him a slap, maybe two, and my stomping out of his room. I’m torn between refusing him, which is the proper thing to do, and doing something for him when he needs me most. Good God. Please have mercy on my sinful heart and body.
Without waiting for my answer, Lucas stretches on his back, making room for me. I join him, scared out of my wits, trying not to touch him. Squeezing his left arm under my head he gathers me along his body, his other arm covering his eyes. He doesn’t talk or move, only sighs.
I forget to breathe. Dizziness makes me want to throw up. I’m in Lucas’s arms, in the same bed with him. Random thoughts buzz in and out of my alert brain. Holding still for so long, in the same tense position, exhausts me. My eyelids turn heavy. I shouldn’t fall asleep.
I can’t.
It’s all wrong.
I should go to my room.
Right this second.
Immediately.
I should . . .
Agonizing bells ring in my head. Darkness greets me when I blink and for a few seconds I don’t understand why there’s a hot, hard body in my bed. Then it sinks in. It’s not my bed. I fell asleep in Lucas’s. As much as I fought to stay awake, I must’ve dozed off. At least my daughter hasn’t seen me—I couldn’t explain why am I in his bed. Not that anything happened, but I doubt she’d understand much anyway.
He must’ve fallen asleep after me and pulled the covers over. The lamps were still on when I joined him.
I must leave, but don’t know how to do it without waking him up. My arm rests around his middle, our fingers intertwined. I’m the one hugging Lucas from behind and I’m mortified. I wiggle my fingers trying to remove them slowly. He lets out a long sigh. I freeze. A few moments later I try again to free my fingers. This time I succeed. All I have to do now is slide my arm from under his. Slow and easy. Inch by inch, up to my wrist. Almost there.
Lucas grabs my hand and turns toward me. “Where are you going?”
“I . . . Ella . . . If she wakes up . . . I don’t want her to . . . to see me here . . . in your bed.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
The floor feels cold under my feet. I linger a minute longer on the bed’s edge. Shades of dark gray veil the room but I can make my way out.
“My head is killing me,” I rub my temples.
Lucas walks into the bathroom returning with two pills he deposits in my palm.
“Thank you, Lucas.”
He sits next to me, resting both elbows on his thighs.
“You should rest. It’s still dark outside,” I stand and walk away, but Lucas’s words stop me in the middle of the room.
“I’m scared.”
The panic in Lucas’s tone shocks me. It’s not the darkness he fears—I know that. It’s being alone that frightens him. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with the random emotions of helplessness, anger and sorrow and the chain reaction they create, as if the heart implodes.
Oh, how I know that place he’s in and how I despise it. I return and stop in front of him. He looks up at me. I’m close enough to see the lines of sorrow etched in his handsome face. They’ll be there forever. He’s warm to the touch, a two-day beard tickling my palm.
“Oh, Lucas . . .” I struggle to swallow.
Forcefully he wraps both hands around my waist and holds so tight, only short and shallow breaths reach my lungs.
“Oh, my God, oh my God,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I can do this . . .”
I push him down and snuggle next to him once more, resting my head on his chest, holding him tight. “You can,” I murmur. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Chapter 19
“Mommy, when is Lucas coming back?”
I glance out the window toward Madame V’s castle. Lucas left earlier to talk to her. Eventually he fell asleep. I didn’t. I forced myself to stay awake listening for my daughter to wake up. Lucas woke before she did, jumping at the first ring of his cell. His mother had passed away. I’m not sure ho
w much closure it gives Lucas, but at least his father didn’t take her off life support. I hope in time father and son will reconcile. Hatred is a heavy burden.
Lucas was on the phone for most of the morning. I made breakfast and two large pots of coffee. I began packing before he told me he needed to go see Madame V.
That was an hour ago.
“He should be here anytime, honey pea.”
“Look what I made for him.”
Ella hands me a piece of paper. Tears mist my eyes when I see her drawing: on the upper right side there are two stick figures with angel wings and holding hands walking toward the sun. She wrote ‘Daddy’ above one of them and ‘Lucas Mommy’ above the other. Below and on the left side she drew two more stick figures with a heart between her name and Lucas’s, all in capital letters.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” She tilts her head, biting on a yellow pencil. Before I respond I hear the front door slamming.
Big blue eyes snap at me. “He’s back!” Ella lets out a squeal, jerks the drawing out of my hand and runs from my room. I wipe my face and take a few deep breaths before following her. I haven’t had the chance to tell Lucas that Ella knows about his mom.
Showing him the paper, Ella says, “My daddy will take good care of your mommy, Lucas. He will. He’s a good angel. When the sun comes out he smiles down at me. I can see him. He’ll show your mommy how to do it and then you’ll see her, too.”
Up until now Lucas bent down to look at Ella’s drawing. His hair is rumpled, red lips contrasting with his pale face. As if his knees give in, he kneels in front of Ella. She throws her arms around his neck. He hesitates for a second. With trembling chin he enfolds her in his arms, swallowing hard several times. He mouths, “Thank you,” over her shoulder.
Tears glitter in his green eyes and it takes every ounce of control not to run to him and hug them both at the same time.
“That’s a beautiful drawing, Ella. Thank you.”
She lets go and skips to the couch. “You’re welcome.”
Ella turns on the TV while Lucas and I go to the kitchen. We meet by the coffee pot. I hand him a cup of coffee and help myself to one as well. He leans against the countertop, and I follow suit. His hand finds mine along the edge. He caresses it. On the outside I’m as rigid as a statue. On the inside, heat invades me. How is it possible to experience such strong emotions with only one touch?
He turns toward me, his fingers trailing up my wrist. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was pretty upset.”
“Don’t worry. I know what you’re going through. I needed a new TV when I was done with my anger.”
Lucas fixes glassy eyes on me. “I’m not usually that way. Violent, I mean.”
“I’m the last person you have to explain yourself to. Seriously, I know how you feel. The helplessness, the rage . . .” I look at his hand on mine, then up at him. “Been there, done that and hated it.” There’s an eerie exchange between us, not spoken but rather soul to soul. People sympathize but don’t really understand what one goes through unless they’ve walked in the same shoes.
Lucas shrugs and removes his hand. “Anyway, thank you. Uhmm, I should finish packing.”
“Okay. I’ll be in my room doing the same.”
The zipper to the last luggage closes. I take a quick look around Ella’s room and mine to see everything is packed except a small toiletries bag and the nightgown Lucas bought for me. I left it in the bathroom by the sink and forgot to pack it. Curiosity gets the best of me and, after a few lengthy moments in front of the mirror staring at the gown, I undress and put on the silky red garment. It feels as if clouds wrap around my body, hugging, soft and light.
One day I might consider wearing it to bed. Maybe. One day. For now I need to focus on getting us back home to the States. Changing back into jeans and a black turtleneck I open my laptop. The next plane to Los Angels departs tonight at 9:15 P.M. The website doesn’t show any seats available, but I dial Air France anyway. Five minutes later I’m still on hold.
Lucas knocks on the doorframe. “Jane, can I ask you something?” He’s dressed head to toe in black.
I hang up. Air France can wait.
“Sure.”
“A friend of Viv’s offered to fly me back to the States on his private jet. I know you planned to see more of Paris, but . . .” Lucas clears his throat, pushes a hand through his hair, and shuffles on his feet. “I was wondering if you’d consider returning to the States with me. I—” He again clears his throat. “I’d like you to be around.”
Because his request catches me off guard, I can’t find a damn word to say. Why me? As soon as he’s home at least a ton of people will be around him. My mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out. Eventually I find my voice. “If this is what you need, I’d be happy to come.”
His eyes glitter. “Really? You’ll do this for me?”
“Sure. When do we leave?”
“As soon as we finish packing.”
I point at my bags. “I’m actually done. I was calling Air France for seats on tonight’s flight to Los Angeles.”
Lucas’s brows scrunch together. “What happened to the other places you wanted to visit?”
“It won’t be the same after what happened with your mom and all. Paris lost its magic.”
Lucas’s hug smothers me. “I’ll make it up to you.”
The next few hours pass quickly. Ella is adamant about taking all her toys—three extra bags courtesy of Madame V. A driver drops us off at a small airport outside Paris. And then the waiting begins. There’s a problem with the jet that needs fixing. It makes me nervous, but I elect not to tell Lucas—the last thing he needs is my anxiety. Try to keep a four-year-old über-active girl confined in a waiting room. There are only so many cartoons she wants to watch and an equal number of fairytales she’s willing to listen to.
Lucas is on the phone most of the time. Some conversations sound monotonous, repetitive. I gather he calls relatives. The conversation with his father affects him a lot. I guess he put it off as long as he could. He ends it with, “Look, if you can’t be civil and attend Mom’s funeral without starting another fight, don’t come. No one will miss you.”
The cell phone makes a clunk when he drops it on the leather chair next to him. His black jeans stretch when he leans forward, pressing his elbows on his thighs. “Asshole,” Lucas mutters, resting his forehead on his linked hands.
I look across the room at Ella standing by the window. She sings and tilts her head left and right. She’s far enough not to have heard him.
I rub his back. “Family, huh?”
Lucas looks sideways at me. “The nerve he has to tell me I should’ve been there. As if I don’t feel bad enough.” He snorts. “At least I was part of Mom’s life, unlike him. I didn’t leave her when she got sick. It was too much to see her in pain, that was his excuse. I stood by her side. I paid her medical bills. Asshole.”
Lucas gets up and paces. Quick, vigorous strides, back and forth, the length of the waiting room. Anger darkens his face. I wait for him to calm down, but it seems his anger escalates. He punches one fist into the other, then turns around and paces more. He lets out a lengthy ‘argh’ and Ella stops singing. She looks at him then at me. I shake my head and smile at her, waving a dismissive hand as to don’t-mind-him. She slides in a corner and resumes singing.
When Lucas is about to walk by me I stand in his way. He looks as if he doesn’t know me or why I’m here. His jaw twitches in my palm.
“If your father were here, he’d take great pleasure to see how much he hurt you.” My words seem to start a fire in his eyes, but I continue in the softest tone possible, “There will always be people doing and saying things you can’t control. But what you can control is how you react to them. You know what your father said is not true. Put it behind you. There are more important things you need to focus on. Everything else is secondary.” My palm caresses his face a moment longer. His jaw
stops clenching.
“You’re right. Normally it doesn’t affect me, but today . . . today it’s harder.”
“Because you’re vulnerable.”
I take a step away but Lucas stops me, encircling me with both arms. He kisses the hair above my temple, rocking me in place. I return the embrace with a trembling heart.
“How do you do it? How do you go on with your life? How do you function?” Lucas pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
Wanting more than anything to help him, I say, “I was in the same place you find yourself now when I lost Evan. I bawled and hurt. I destroyed things around me then bawled and hurt some more. I still do, but you’ll see that the pain dulls in time. It’s always there but not as unbearable, not as strong as it is in the beginning.”
“Does it really?” He squints his eyes, searching my face. “Does it really ease up?”
I lace my fingers with his, caressing the skin between his thumb and index finger. “In time, yes. It won’t happen overnight, but eventually your heart will heal.” I’m flat out lying. My heart never healed.
“What would I do without you, Jane?” His whispers defrost butterflies in my stomach.
“You’d be just fine.”
Ella pulls at my jeans. “Mommy, I’m bored.”
I open my mouth to say something, when a guy walks in speaking French. Lucas responds and, by the look on his face whatever the exchange was about is good. His words confirm my suspicion. “Let’s go, the plane’s ready.”
Chapter 20
Aside from a few plunges that have me gripping onto the armrests, the flight is pretty uneventful. With renewed energy Ella watches one movie after another, sleeping very little. She’s like a zombie when we get off the plane in Los Angeles around 4:10 P.M., running to Pete and Mom who came to pick us up. After introducing Lucas to them, Pete insists Lucas stops first at their house—Mom slaved in the kitchen the entire day cooking everything in a cookbook and then some. Knowing my mom, Pete isn’t exaggerating.
I’m surprised Lucas wants to come with us. He leaves for Salt Lake City for his mom’s funeral tomorrow, that much I know, but I thought he was eager to get home. He hauls all bags in the back of Pete’s truck. Mom takes the wheel while Pete buckles Ella’s seat next to his. Lucas and I take the bench in the back. We don’t make it out of the airport area before Lucas’s fingers intertwine with mine. Ella talks nonstop, every other word being Disneyland and dolls.
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 16
