First Light

by Isabel Jolie

  Back at my parents’ house, I wrapped myself in one of Mom’s old crochet throws and curled into a ball. Erik joined me, stoic and serious. All business. I expected tomorrow we would make arrangements, but he entered with a distinct focus. I sensed he had a checklist and he wanted to go through it.

  “Where’s Logan?” I pulled my feet closer to me so Erik wouldn’t sit on them.

  “Checking out of the hotel. He should be here soon.” That made sense. I sniffled then reached for a tissue.

  “Cal, I’m taking Dad with me.” Did he mean taking him out for dinner? He couldn’t… “He wants to go. He’s decided against a funeral. He doesn’t want to spend any time in this house without her. We’ll put it on the market. I’ve found a real estate agent who will handle everything. Before you leave to go back east, go through the house and gather anything you want to keep.”

  “Wait.” The walls and floor waffled and spun, and I braced myself against the sofa armrest. “What?”

  “Dad wants to return to Macau. I’m taking him.”

  “Is that where you’ve been living?”

  “Sometimes. He wants to be near his family.”

  “But no. No. When someone loses a spouse, they say you’re supposed to stay in the home for a year. Not move to another country.”

  “His visa is current. We’re leaving late tonight.”

  “What? No. We have to have a service for Mom.”

  “She’s being cremated. You know Dad is fiercely private.”

  “But her family? Her friends?”

  “This is what Dad wants.” Erik’s somber expression hinted he might not agree completely, but he wouldn’t fight it.

  I poked a finger through the crochet and wiggled the knuckle. In an out-of-body experience, the protruding finger appeared as someone else’s, not my own.

  “Your visa isn’t current.” He said it matter-of-factly. “But I’d like for you to join us.”

  “Move?”

  “Dad thinks you should stay here with Logan. I disagree. It’s up to you.”

  “That’s very kind of you both to come to that conclusion.”

  “Don’t be like that. If you don’t join us, if you choose to stay here, it’s possible we won’t see each other again.” I gasped, and the tears returned. “In a worst-case scenario. We can see each other again in non-extradition countries. I just want you to be aware of the risk.”

  “Is Dad aware of it?”

  “To some degree.”

  “You told him?” My insides, wracked with pain, couldn’t take any more. My question wasn’t rooted in concern, but simple curiosity.

  “This is the course of action he’s chosen. At least for now. We leave tonight.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “It’s best to stay moving. And I’m not lying, Cal. Dad wants this. He hasn’t said so, but I don’t think he can stand the thought of sleeping in their bedroom.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Packing. There’s a closet downstairs. And Mom’s basement room. Those are the two places you’ll find the sentimental stuff. Any of the stuff you want to take. I mean, if you want this furniture, you can have it. But it’s not like it’s what we grew up with.”

  No. The designer Erik hired pushed my parents into the modern era. Truth be told, a lot of the furniture we grew up on had served its purpose.

  I looked down at my lap. “I want this. Mom made it.”

  Erik’s dark eyes shone like mirrors. I saw a distorted version of myself in his pupil, just as a lone tear fell down his cheek.

  When my father entered the den, Erik hurried to wipe his face. His rush to hide his tears reminded me of my eight-year-old brother. He’d fallen when we were both learning to ride our bikes without training wheels. Somehow, maybe because Dad held on to my bike longer than Mom held onto Erik’s, I hadn’t fallen. Tears soaked his cheeks, and bright red colored one knee and thigh. Dad scolded him. Gave him the “boys don’t cry” spiel. He didn’t tell me the same thing, but I tried to stop crying from that day forward, too. At some point, though, I’d shed that outdated mode of thought. Erik apparently hadn’t.

  “Cecilia, there are two boxes I’ve set out down in the hall. One has photographs. You remember how your mother loved them?” Yes, she’d loved the real thing. Dad bought her a Polaroid. She had another camera too, a real one with multiple lenses. She’d referred to herself as a hobbyist. To my knowledge, she still took in film to get developed. Or she had. I nodded to answer his question. “Well, those are two boxes for you. Stay here as long as you want. We won’t list the house until you’re ready.”

  “Dad, this isn’t the house I grew up in. I don’t have any attachment to it.”

  His lips tilted downward on the ends. I suspected his lips would angle downward for a long time in the future.

  “I understand. I have tagged a few items I want shipped to me. Anything else you can take.”

  “Dad, I don’t—are you sure about this? Can you stay a few days so we can give Mom the service she deserves? Her family—”

  “We will give her a service back home. I’m having her ashes sent to me.”

  “But—”

  “Cecilia. We’re in shock. But I need to move. Forward.” He stood, arms at his sides, head tilted down. “I like Logan. I’ve always wanted you to be with someone good. Who deserves you. I think you are like your mother in that you will be happiest here in America. It’s good to see my daughter in love.” He stopped speaking and looked at the ceiling as his bottom lip trembled. His chest rose and fell. I stood to go to him, and he raised an arm, motioning for me to stay away. “I’m glad Dahlia got to see you with him. She told me he’s the one. That’s what she said. But it’s up to you. You can have an expedited visa in three days. We’ll make it happen if that’s what you want. At any time. But I like Logan. He is protective.” He grimaced then transformed before my eyes. His shoulders rose, his lips flatlined, and his chin jutted out. “Erik, are you ready? The car is on the way.”

  Chapter 21

  Logan

  * * *

  “Welcome back.” Gabe held up his glass beer bottle in greeting, and I pulled out the stool in front of the beer waiting for me. I picked it up and clinked the neck of the bottle against his.

  “Thanks. And thanks for this.” Drops of condensation on the glass dripped onto the wooden deck. The cold liquid quenched my thirst, and my muscles relaxed at the end of the workday signal.

  Post-Labor Day, the crowds had cleared, and the marina didn’t hold as many boats. But the skies were blue and the days still long and humid. Everything around us reeked of summer, except for the noticeable absence of vacationers.

  “How’s Cali?”

  She’s good was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. I didn’t know how she was, but good didn’t qualify as remotely accurate. She’d taken the last two weeks off work. Had walked a ton. Hadn’t been for a noon run since we’d been back. She’d dropped a few projects and extended the deadlines on a couple. I didn’t really know what she did during the day. In the evening, she cuddled up against me while I flipped channels.

  “That bad?” Gabe asked.

  “It’s tough.” I shrugged. “Her mom died. And, I mean, unexpectedly. She didn’t really get to say goodbye. I don’t know. What’s someone supposed to feel or do?” I might’ve sounded defensive, but I didn’t mean it that way. I asked because I didn’t know if I should be concerned or if I should get her help. Or if time was all she needed.

  “How’s her dad taking it?”

  “Her father and brother both left the country. Sounds like for good. Moved to Macau. It’s near Taiwan.”

  “I didn’t know she was from over there.”

  “She’s not. She’s from Seattle. Her grandfather on her father’s side is from Macau. Don’t repeat this, but her family’s an odd crew.”

  “Other people’s families always seem odd. I think I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve ever met who didn’t have
issues with the in-laws.”

  “No. It’s not that. I mean, I get they were emotional. And meeting me for the first time. Her dad, a typical older businessman. Consumed with grief, as you’d expect. Her brother…he didn’t…” I thought back to Erik’s demeanor around me…but he’d just lost his mother. “They didn’t even have a funeral.”

  “Maybe COVID showed people you don’t have to go through all that. I know I’ve always felt badly for the family standing there shaking hands on a receiving line when they’ve just lost someone they love.”

  Memories of my mother’s funeral surfaced. It had just been her and me, but one of her friends planned the funeral. I’d been inundated with her friends introducing themselves. Her church friends served plates of cookies and lemonade after the funeral. I shook a thousand hands. I knew they all said funeral-appropriate things, but damn if I could remember any of those words of wisdom.

  “I think it would’ve been good for Cali, though. I’m not the biggest fan of funerals, but I do believe they provide closure. And the way her dad and brother left—who does that? On the day she died. It was bizarre.” I shook my head, still grappling with it. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume they were on the run. “Cali said her dad couldn’t handle being in the house after her mom died. Which sucks. It’s almost like she’s mourning them too.”

  “Why doesn’t she go out and visit them?”

  “She might. She applied for a visa.”

  “We never see her at the house. Poppy’s been by every day.”

  “She’s basically living at my house.”

  “Why don’t you guys stay at hers? Don’t get me wrong, I like your place, but she’s oceanfront. And you’d be two decks down.”

  I swallowed my beer and thought about that. I wasn’t sure how we fell into our current rhythm. I’d offered when we got back to get her settled in at her place, and she’d said no, she wanted to stay at mine. We went over to her place together, and she packed up some more clothes and picked up Nym.

  “There’s something about that house. I can’t put my finger on it, but she doesn’t feel safe in it.”

  “I don’t know why not. She’s got more security than most houses in the Hamptons. It’s like a five-minute process to get through the front door.”

  I scratched my beard, thinking about that. “It’s not so odd that she has an alarm system or multiple locks. It’s that she’s always turning it on. She locks her door when she goes out on the beach.” She still hadn’t told me anything about her ex. Not even his name. I learned she had her maiden name when I met her family, but I didn’t know if she’d changed it back or had never changed it to begin with. Not that now would be the time to ask questions. She had enough on her mind without digging up bad memories. Come to think of it, she must’ve gotten divorced quite a while ago. Nowhere in the house were there any photographs of her with another man, not even a photo of her as a bride. Only that high school graduation portrait. I wondered, if my mom were still alive, would she have removed all traces of Bethany?

  “It’s probably habit.”

  “What?” Gabe’s question threw me, because it was nowhere near where my thoughts had gone.

  “Locking up all the time. An ingrained habit.”

  “Yep.” I took a long swallow of my beer. She didn’t lock the doors at my house, but she also didn’t seem to leave it much since we’d returned. “Poppy should stop by my house. Does she know where it is?”

  “Yeah. She pointed it out to me one day when we cut through your area.”

  “Well, if she gets a chance, ask her to stop by. I know they say to expect dark days. I just don’t want her to unpack her suitcase and live there.”

  “Maybe Poppy and Luna can get her out for a girls’ night. Nails or something.”

  “That’d be good. I made reservations for dinner tomorrow night. I mean, I don’t want to push her…”

  “Nah, I think that’s a good idea. Have you bought her flowers?”

  “No.”

  “Poppy loves flowers. Get her something cheerful, though. Stay away from, you know, anything people send to funeral homes. That’s…” He shook his upper body in mock revulsion.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You want another beer? I’m gonna place an order for a to-go pizza, but I’ll hang until it arrives.”

  Back home, I peeked through the window on the back deck while I kicked off my shoes. Cali lay on the sofa with a blanket over her and her head on a pillow. Nym stretched out on the floor beside her, ears pricked forward, listening. He knew I’d arrived home, but Cali showed no signs of awareness.

  After two or maybe three bites of pizza, Cali went to bed. The sense of helplessness stifled me. The whole situation fell far outside of my wheelhouse. A box with a cardboard lid sat on the coffee table. I flipped off the top.

  Photographs filled the box. Some Polaroid, with the white frame, some regular prints. Most of the shots were of Cali and Erik growing up. I’d thought all photos these days were online, stored in a cloud. As I dug into the box and found younger photos, Cali and Erik became virtually indistinguishable, with identical haircuts. In several pictures, they even wore matching outfits—the same t-shirt, shorts, and shoes. Cali had a touch of tomboy, and her brother probably wouldn’t appreciate me saying so, but he had a feminine quality. I found one shot with them both holding dolls. And another photo of them both holding water guns. Right about the age uniforms infiltrated the photos, it seemed Cali’s hair grew longer, and Erik got a haircut. A photo of Cali in braces, smile wide and open, standing behind her brother, caught my attention. He sat at a large desktop computer with a mammoth monitor, oblivious to the person taking a photograph. While he was oblivious, she was all joy. Light and happy.

  Bethany had been all about the photos and had done some cool things with our wedding photographs. She had some apps that let you create books and gifts. If I scan these photos, I could do something like that for her. Bring back a little of the lightness…and a smile. I pulled aside a solid selection and set them in an old shoe box to take to work. So many photos filled her box, my selection didn’t make a dent. She’d never notice.

  “Hey, you ready?” Friday night, I held out a wrapped bouquet, all multiple colors. I picked it up from the market on my way home.

  “What are these for?” Cali’s lips turned upward, into a soft smile, and I’d swear my insides lightened, just from seeing more life in her.

  “Just because.” I pressed a kiss to her lips then broke away, aware we were about to be late. I’d gotten pulled into a discussion about someone’s barking dog and didn’t get home as early as planned. “Let me take Nym for a walk, and we can go.”

  “I already walked him. He’s actually back at my place.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I went back there this afternoon to pick up a few things and check on some stuff. He trotted around from room to room. It could all be in my head, but I felt like he missed the place. I knew we were going out to dinner, so I figured I’d leave him. His breed is territorial. While I think he loves me, I think maybe he loves that house more. We can swing by and get him after dinner. Or let him sleep there.”

  “Works for me.” Her long black dress fell down her lean frame in an elegant column, and she wore black leather sandals to match. Her dark hair formed a smooth curtain past her shoulders, completing her polished, refined look. I lifted her hand to my lips. “You know, Nym’s not the only one who loves you. I do too.” The moment didn’t feel romantic, and I should’ve said it with more impact. I’d wanted to say it earlier, but I didn’t want it to come across like I was saying it because her mother died. But every single day, the feeling surged.

  Her fingers brushed through my beard, and those dark eyes bored into mine. Her gaze cut to my core.

  “I don’t think I could have—you’ve been wonderful.”

  “Because I love you.” I gazed into her dark eyes, and I hoped my expression reflected my words. I didn’t need her to say it back to me;
I simply had to let her know.

  She pushed up onto her toes, and her lips found mine. She laced her hands behind my neck, and I roamed her gentle curves. Our tongues danced a familiar dance, soft and slow. A part of me ached to carry her into the bedroom, but I had a mission. I broke our kiss and ran my nose along hers, then my fingers through her silky strands. “We have a reservation.” I whispered against her ear as I guided her out of our home, “We’ll finish this after dinner.”

  “Promise?” She flicked her tongue over her lower lip, and the movement reverberated in my groin. I’d been holding her at bay, unsure. She’d had her period, and then she’d been so sad. But my body remembered hers, and it ached for her.

  “Oh, I promise. We’d better get out of here, or we won’t make it to dinner.”

  She linked her fingers through mine and tugged.

  “Well, let’s go. I’m hungry.” As we descended the steps, she said, “I accepted a new project.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “It’s a children’s textbook translation. Cantonese.”

  “Wasn’t Arabic your great rebellion?”

  Her white teeth appeared as she bit her lip through a smile. “You’re a good listener. Yeah, I took the project as a way of brushing up on my Cantonese. It’ll be intensive for me. It’ll take a lot of work to pull it off. I have an old professor who is going to help. But my grandfather taught us Cantonese. I learned it when I was learning English. It’s not like I unlearned it when I chose a concentration in Arabic.”

  “But you don’t list it as one of your languages?”

  “I don’t. I understand some of it verbally, but I have years of studying the writing in front of me. It’s a tough language. It’s one of those that you can study for a lifetime. Anyway, it makes me feel closer to my family. When I was little, my grandmother would sing to me. It was more of a mix of Cantonese and Portuguese. As I grew older, both my grandparents were so different from other people’s grandparents.” She chewed on the corner of her lip, then with a loud exhale continued. “Looking back, I think I owe my love of languages to my grandmother. When I was little, before I cared what others thought, I felt like she was magical. Her language was like a secret code that no one else knew, and when she sang it…” As she trailed off, a faint smile graced her lips. I understood. She may not have seen eye to eye with her father’s family, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love them and they weren’t a part of her.