“How was your trip?”
“Just dreadful.” The smirk quickly left his face and he cast his eyes downward.
“Ugh, sorry, of course it was. That must have sounded very uncaring.”
“Don’t worry. I know no one ever knows what to say when things like this happen.” He sighed and put Homer down. “The house looks great. You didn’t have to clean it, you know.”
“I know. Chaucer wasn’t thrilling, after all. I hope you don’t mind,” she joked.
“Mind? Are you kidding me? It hasn’t been cleaned in years.” He looked around and smiled. “Paul used to keep it spotless, but after he moved out, I just don’t have the time or energy.”
“He came by,” she said casually, walking past him. She went to the hallway and started putting on her snow boots, then her coat and scarf which were hanging on a hook on the wall.
“Paul?” Ben was genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Mm hmm, earlier today. He heard about your sister. He brought flowers. They’re on the table in the kitchen. He wants you to call him.”
Ben took in a long, deep breath, which made his cheeks puff up, then let the air out forcefully. “Well, I’ll think about that tomorrow. Right now, I just want a hot bath and a stiff drink. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to get some sleep. ” He dug in his back pocket for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“You can pay me tomorrow. I’ll stop by after class.” She opened the door to leave. “You’re welcome.” She winked and closed the door behind her.
Ben walked over to lock the deadbolt. The house was now eerily quiet and empty without Janelle’s presence. Exhausted, he turned to find Homer wagging his tail and sitting patiently on the stairs. He sat next to him and dropped his head into his hands. He rubbed his tired eyes, which were tender to the touch. He hoped he would finally be able to get some deep, uninterrupted sleep. He was glad to be home, but he also felt detached and desolate and very, very lonely.
* * *
Late that night, Ben screamed into the darkness and abruptly sat up in bed. His heart was pounding. His undershirt was wet with sweat. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temple, realizing that he had awoke from a nightmare. He tried to recall the dream. He remembered hearing Rachel call his name. He was desperately searching for her in a tall building with many identical, white doors. He heard her, but couldn’t see her. And then he opened a door and she was there, outside, high above the city, clinging to the ledge of the building, hanging on for dear life. She looked right at him with wide, terrified eyes and cried, “Help me.” He tried to grab her hand and pull her to him, but he couldn’t reach her. She kept getting further and further away. Frantic, he leaned over and tried again, but he lost his balance and fell. He felt himself hurling through the air towards the street below. He lost his breath and woke up just as he was about to smash into the ground.
Ben pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He let out a long sigh, peeled off his shirt and lay back in bed. Turning on his stomach, he gripped his pillow and buried his face. He began to cry softly. Then he started sobbing forcefully. He cried because he was lonely. He cried for Jacob. He cried for the brother he never knew, for his father, and even for his mother. But most of all, he cried because he wanted Rachel back.
* * *
A week had passed since Ben had returned home. Despite his best efforts, the house had slowly regressed back to its natural state of untidiness: the sink nearly full of dirty dishes, clothes that hung on the backs of chairs, empty wine bottles.
Now, he was in his small dining room, which he had converted into an office several years ago. He sat at his desk going through an old family album, searching for pictures of Rachel. The album had belonged to her. Agnes had given it to him while he was in Austin. There were some photographs he hadn’t seen in years—a few he’d never seen at all. He stopped briefly at an old picture taken when he was about five years old. His father stood behind him with his hand on Ben’s shoulder smiling proudly. His mother stood next to his dad holding Rachel in her arms. She was around two years old and held a lollipop in her tiny hand, looking happily at the camera. Barbara was by far the most dominant figure in the picture. She had a fixed, tight smile and was wearing a white pantsuit with large, white-rimmed sunglasses. He used to think she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He was too young at that time to understand her eccentricities. He noticed how normal they appeared to be.
Then he looked at the photo directly underneath that one. It was small and faded. Ben didn’t recognize the couple at first, but upon closer inspection he realized they were his parents. He guessed they were probably in their twenties when it was taken. His mother had long, straight hair and wore a thin headband wrapped around her head. His Dad was almost unrecognizable with a full, shaggy beard. He was flashing the peace sign at the camera. Ben pulled the picture out and turned it over. “San Francisco, 1967” was handwritten in cursive.
“Wow,” Ben said out loud. He looked at the picture again and was amazed at how happy and carefree his parents looked. He couldn’t believe it. He had never given much thought to what his parents’ life might have been like before he was born. He had always figured they were just younger versions of the people he knew. Then he remembered Barbara’s words from outside Edward’s house the last time he saw her: “A couple of bumbling boozers living by the seat of our pants.”
He never would have dreamed his mother had lost a baby. At seven months, the baby would have already been formed, almost ready. They must have buried him. He wondered how he would have gotten over a traumatic experience like that. If a mistake he made had killed an unborn, nearly full-term baby—his baby, his firstborn. It must have been what drove her crazy, to become a Christian fanatic with such blind faith and irrational zeal. He thought something like that probably would have driven him crazy, too, but instead of the cross, he would have turned even more towards the bottle. Just like Dad, he realized.
He carefully turned the page and saw a school picture of himself next to one of Rachel. She was in grade school, maybe fifth or sixth grade. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled bashfully, perhaps self-conscious of her braces. Ben was struck by how much Jacob resembled her. He traced her face with his finger. He felt his eyes water. A tear fell onto the album’s plastic sheet protector. He wiped it off and then wiped his face with the back of his hand. He grabbed the glass of wine sitting next to him and took a big swig.
There was a knock at the door. Homer wasn’t barking. Instead, he sat on his hind legs, panting just inches away from the doorknob. Ben knew then just who it was. He checked his appearance in the hanging mirror, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Paul was holding a large basket in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. Their eyes met and they held each other’s gazes for a moment before Paul looked down and smiled. “Hi, Homer,” he said.
Ben watched as Homer danced around Paul’s old, familiar, broken-in cowboy boots. He felt a small pang deep inside his chest.
“You look exactly the same. You haven’t changed a bit,” Ben said somberly. Paul was a tall, slender man about ten years Ben’s junior. He had soft, dark hair and big eyes, a lighter shade of brown than Ben remembered.
“I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I heard, but you were in Texas.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Can I come in? I brought homemade lasagna and fresh bread,” he said, flashing his big, perfect, toothy smile.
“Right … okay,” Ben said and slowly moved over to let Paul into his home.
Ben closed the door and helped Paul remove his coat, then followed him and Homer to the kitchen. He scanned Paul’s back, his broad shoulders and slender waist. He could smell a hint of his cologne in the air and a flurry of conflicting emotions filled his head. He was about to offer Paul some wine when he saw that he was already at the cabinet helping himself to a glass. Ben sat down at the small kitchen table. It was strange to see Paul in
his home again after all these years. It was as if he had suddenly reclaimed his place there, as if no time had passed at all. Ben watched him move effortlessly about the room, pouring himself a glass of wine, turning on the oven, preparing the napkins, plates and silverware for their meal.
“Are you still writing?” Paul asked, gesturing towards the makeshift office as he placed an empty plate on the table in front of Ben.
“Yes.” Ben grimaced. “Well, I haven’t written a single word in over a week. I just can’t seem to get my mind off Rachel, I guess.”
“I can’t imagine the horror you’ve been through.” Paul turned to look at Ben, with worry in his eyes. “How are you coping?” He hesitated. A silence brushed between them. “Or if you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
Ben looked at him briefly, then turned his gaze to the table and started nervously tearing an old paper receipt nearby. He couldn’t help but fidget. It was unsettling to speak with Paul as if nothing had happened. Their breakup was painful and ugly, but it also happened nearly four years ago. Ben had only seen Paul a couple of times since they parted, and on those occasions, Ben avoided all interaction. Deep down, he knew he was just terrified of getting hurt again. More so, of letting Paul back into his life enough for it to ache worse. Now, with Paul standing just a few feet away, he didn’t know what to do: kiss him, punch him, kick him out or take him upstairs. He lightly drummed his fingers on the table. “How’s Mitch?”
“Who?” Paul’s face went blank, and then returned with a look of remembrance. “Oh God, I have no idea. I haven’t seen him in years.”
Ben was apprehensive. “So, are you involved with anyone right now?”
Paul had moved to the kitchen counter and had his back to Ben as he placed his glass on the counter. It was a tense subject. “Not really. I’ve dated a couple of guys over the years, but I haven’t had a steady relationship, since …” He paused. “Well, since you.”
Ben held his chin and pondered that for a moment. He decided to put his pride aside and open up. After all, Paul was making an honest effort to reach out, and now didn’t seem like the time to reopen old wounds.
“Do you remember Rachel’s friend Elena?” Ben asked.
Paul turned around to face him. “The pretty doctor?”
Ben nodded. “She married a guy named Jack in May and Rachel slept with him two nights before the wedding.”
Paul’s eyes widened.
“Nobody knew,” Ben continued. “On the wedding day, Rachel was about to confess to Elena, but I convinced her not to. After that, Rachel apparently went into a depression.” Ben looked at the table. His voice cracked. “And then a few weeks ago, she jumped off Elena’s balcony.”
“Oh. My.” Paul stood motionless. He looked stunned. “I had no idea she committed suicide.” He stared at Ben, holding the napkins and forks in his hands.
“I know, it’s unreal.” Ben cleared his throat. He couldn’t believe what he was saying, much less who he was saying it to. He took off his reading glasses that were resting on top of his head and placed them on the table. Then he slowly, painfully, recounted the events that had transpired over the last few weeks. Paul came to sit down at the table next to him. He became increasingly shocked as Ben spoke and kept leaning closer to him, anticipating his next words.
When Ben finished telling him everything, Paul asked, “And what about the police?”
“We filed a report. They had Rachel’s body exhumed and reexamined.” Ben shook his head. “They didn’t find any foul play, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Does he have an alibi?”
“Apparently, he was with Elena.” Ben took one of the napkins from Paul and used it to clean his glasses.
“Wow, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.”
Ben stared at his glasses. “I know he’s responsible for her death. I just know it, but I can’t prove it.” He stopped and looked at Paul intently. “That night we went over there to confront him, for just an instant, I saw a crazed look in his eyes. He looked downright evil. He’s behind this somehow.”
“What about Rachel’s husband?”
“He thinks I’m nuts.” He paused to take a sip of wine and then continued. “My brother-in-law is still in a state of shock. I think he’s expecting Rachel to walk in the front door at any moment. The only thing that shook him out of his fog was when I told him about her having sex with Jack. He became enraged and went straight over to tackle him.”
“Well, you can hardly blame him for that,” Paul said. “What about your mother?”
Ben scoffed, not wanting to go into what he had recently learned about her. “She’s as demented as ever,” he said. “It’s sad, really.”
He watched Paul get up and walk over to the oven. He was still in great shape. It always amazed Ben how Paul could eat whatever he wanted and not gain an ounce. He came back to the table with the food and proceeded to serve Ben and then himself. He threw the dishrag he was using as a potholder over his shoulder, brought over the bottle of wine from the counter and refilled their glasses. He looked around, and when he was satisfied, sat down with Ben to eat.
Still a bit taken aback by Paul’s presence, Ben asked, “What exactly are you doing here?”
“I made you dinner.” He casually placed his hand on Ben’s upper arm. “I’m here to help a friend, that’s all.”
Ben closed his eyes when Paul touched him. It stirred him inside. Then he opened his eyes and looked directly at him. “So, it’s just that easy for you? To walk back in here, like nothing happened?”
“Don’t over think it,” Paul interrupted, slowly removing his hand from Ben’s arm. “I’m simply here because you need somebody right now.”
Ben nodded as he took in his answer. The pain was still raw. He never thought he’d be able to forgive Paul for cheating on him, but Rachel’s infidelity had caused Ben to question his principles. If he could forgive his sister, shouldn’t he also be able to forgive the only man he’d ever truly loved? He still wasn’t sure if he could actually move past it, but one thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be alone. Now that Rachel was gone, alone was all he felt.
He found himself holding his breath every time the phone rang, hoping the person on the other line would be her, as insane as that was. And he just couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in Elena’s room when Rachel confessed her secret. He wondered if he had been so harsh with her because he was still mad at Paul for cheating on him. What if he had reacted differently? What if he had told her to talk to Edward instead? What if he had told her to tell Elena? So what if things had gotten messy? At least Rachel would still be alive. Why did he have to be so hard on her?
Ben tried to quiet his mind by admiring the spread laid out in front of him. Then Paul smiled gently and raised his glass. “Bon appétit,” he said with a warm smile.
They didn’t say much during dinner. When they finished, Paul poured Ben more wine, got up to do the dishes and ordered Ben to go and try to write for a while.
“You don’t need to wash the dishes,” Ben said.
“I know. I want to.”
Ben shook his head. “Look, if we’re going to do this, I mean if we’re going to be friends again, let’s take it slow. I don’t know. I want it to be … it should be a reciprocal relationship. I know I took you for granted; I don’t want to make that mistake again. Don’t let me take advantage of your kindness,” Ben said, seriously.
Paul grinned and began to take the dirty dishes to the sink. Ben joined him and they stood there silently as Paul washed and Ben rinsed and put the dishes away.
* * *
Paul made dinner for Ben the next three evenings. They didn’t talk about the past. Paul never told Ben if he regretted his affair. Ben never mentioned how devastated he was after they broke up. They did talk about Ben’s work; his ideas for his current novel; Paul’s younger brother who enrolled in the military and was now stationed in Germany; and Paul’s work as a high school music teache
r. But at the end of the night, no matter how their conversation had started, the topic would inevitably come back to the circumstances surrounding Rachel’s death.
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy thinking about this,” Paul said, sitting at the worn, upright piano in the living room. His long fingers gently toyed with the keys while Homer rested by his feet.
Ben sat on the sofa, staring out the window. It was dusk and his eyes were fixed on the tall pine tree in the neighbor’s front yard. White, blinking Christmas lights hung haphazardly from the branches. There were patches of snow on the ground. He could feel the cold on the side of his cheek seeping in through the glass pane. As unexpected and gratifying as it was to have Paul back in his life, he still felt weighed down by Rachel’s death. He still wasn’t sleeping well. Most of his days were just routine, feeling bankrupt inside.
“I can’t help but feel responsible,” he said softly.
Paul frowned and looked over at him. “How’s that?”
“I was the one who made her keep quiet. She was so desperate to tell Elena and I convinced her not to say anything. I actually told her it was her cross to bear.” Ben ran his hand through his hair. “I just didn’t realize how much she was suffering.”
“That’s not fair. You were only trying to protect her from losing her family and her friend. And if you’re right about Jack, he had more to do with Rachel’s depression than the secret did,” Paul said reassuringly.
“It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, if she had really been that depressed, she would have called me long before that day.” Ben sighed deeply. “I feel like I’m missing something, like there’s a piece of the puzzle that should be so obvious, but it keeps evading me. I keep listening to her voicemail over and over again, hoping I can make more sense of the fragmented words, but there’s nothing there.”
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