Watching the Sky Cry

by J. B. Hartnett

  Dad put his hand ever so lightly on the middle of my back. Maybe to ease me, maybe to tell me to be nice. But he didn’t have to do any of those things. Because, one look at my uncle, I could see he was doing everything possible to keep his own shit together. But as he went on, explaining the ideas he and Dad had tossed around about the additional shop for me, I noted his stature: stalky, not the same tall bulk of my Dad or even Quentin, for that matter. His eyes were a warm brown, set beneath thick brows that conveyed kindness, understanding, empathy. His eyes were the ones I’d known as a girl, the ones that would say so much without words.

  And Miles looked nothing like him.

  “Uncle Lee?”

  “What do you think, Ry? You’re a clever, artsy girl. You could have a sort of workshop here and make things. Your mom said you’ve taken all sorts of classes for crafty shit.”

  “Crafty shit” was exactly how my dad would have worded it. And my husband.

  I gave him a light smile in response to his tentative one. He was worried, maybe about how I was feeling toward him, the man who cheated on my aunt. But I got it, I really did. Not that I condoned what had happened, but my opinion didn’t matter. What I understood without judgement was, when you’re in pain, you don’t question the mode of escape. You jump on board with the hope you’ll forget, for just a little while, no matter what kind of damage it does to you or anyone else.

  “Can I speak with you?” I asked. “Alone?” Dad took the hint, shook his head, and walked out of the semi-built space. “I’m just heading over to the bakery. Can you come with me?”

  “Sure.” He was reluctant, probably expecting me to blast him. But he soldiered on, and, just as we left their property, he asked, “How’s the wrist?”

  “It’s fine, really. It feels much better today.” I’d left the brace off but wore long sleeves so no one would stare at it.

  “You talk to your aunt?”

  “No, I get the feeling Mom has it covered.”

  “You understand why I sent Quentin away?”

  And there it was. The guilt was palpable.

  But I stopped, right in front of a row of mailboxes under a canopy of redwoods. Cars rushed past, leaving a whoosh of warming afternoon air as they went. And I knew, my pain was neither better, nor worse, than his. But his was more recent, secrets and lies surfacing all at once. And I’d been strong, resilient, and generally happy until that very first accident.

  It changed me.

  But not for the worse, no. I was grateful. For every single minute of pain and suffering, because, for each of those, I’d had love and joy in more than equal measure.

  “I read somewhere that your first heartbreak prepares you for the man you’re going to marry.”

  “Oh yeah?” he commented absently.

  “My first heartbreak prepared me for losing Nick, Uncle Lee. Like I told Quentin, I was lucky to have two great men, two great loves. I can’t hold you responsible for my immaturity. He wrote to me, he explained everything, and it was my choice not to open those letters.”

  And now that that was out of the way…

  “I hate to ask this question, but I’m not sure if anyone else has.”

  He stood back, his eyes to me, waiting.

  “Was there ever a paternity test done?”

  He looked down the road, then back to me. “No.”

  “Is there a chance she could be lying?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “Doubt it though.”

  “Then maybe we should find out.”

  “Rylie, I don’t want to put anyone through anything else—”

  “I can do it. I’m sure I’ve seen it in a movie or on a TV show. I just need hair, I think. Or no, I think swabs from the cheek.”

  “Rylie…” He looked away from me, and God, I hated that look. If I were to take a guess, I think he wanted to know as much as he didn’t.

  “Uncle Lee,” I said. “It’s not the cheating that hurts her. It’s the fact another woman gave you what she couldn’t. It might help her, to heal that wound.”

  He turned to me, and, at long last, I saw something there I don’t think he’d ever shown anyone before. I could see all that regret, and he confirmed it when he said, “For me, it doesn’t matter if he’s mine or not. I think, me and Ardie…she’ll heal that wound by being the momma that kid never had. Maybe, that’s what me and her were meant to do.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder, prompting our journey to begin again toward the bakery.

  “You know, it wasn’t that I ever doubted, but I think you should know, you’re a fine woman, Rylie.”

  “I had good teachers, Uncle Lee.”

  TWENTY

  Only a day later, my brother, and everything he’d brought with him, was gone, and I knew this time was different. He wasn’t returning with reluctance to the job or life that would eventually bring him back to us. He was escaping, and I knew it was heartbreak.

  Unfortunately, his departure coincided with the first real heatwave of summer. Great for business, but having lived in a coastal climate for most of my life, I wasn’t handling the heat as well as I’d hoped. The previous summer, I was in a sort of bubble, still adjusting to the move, untouched by much of anything outside of my thoughts. But it hadn’t seemed this hot, and I was right, it wasn’t. Locals were cautious, whispering their memories of the fires which ripped through the area not so long ago. I hadn’t been there, but I heard about it. Homes and property destroyed, charred hills and remnants of fire where it licked the trees still remained. And, of course, the lives lost.

  I guess the good news, and there was good news, only a few days after the Bay Bride’s stay with us, Shannon emailed me a mockup of her article.

  River Romance offers something for every kind of romantic out there. With a selection of vineyards at your doorstep, you can be transported to a Provence chateau, experience the glorious age of Haight-Asbury heydays, or travel further back in time to the California redwoods, when your neighbors were lumber mills and rolling hills…

  I sent her a thank you card immediately.

  Despite that happy little piece of news, the nightmare from three nights ago had shaken my confidence. Somehow, I’d managed to avoid having the inevitable conversation with Quentin. With Billy and Miles gone, something always interfered—a phone call, a knock on his door, a knock on mine, a situation at the bar requiring his attention. But I hated keeping secrets from him.

  And now, it was close to midnight. I helped Dad and Uncle Lee settle in ten unexpected guests. Mom and Aunt Ardie had briefly seen Billy before he’d gone down south. He arranged for a moving company to do the job he and Miles were meant to do. Meanwhile, Miles decided to spend some time at the beach house with his dad, Pete.

  Which led me to a dose of reality I hated to hear, but had to all the same.

  Quentin and Miles’ mother was severely schizophrenic. Something that became worse after the birth of Quentin. She had spans of months, even years, where the disease seemed to steady itself, giving her and her family a reprieve from the horror of her instability. I knew it was bad when we were growing up, but never really understood just how bad. As Quentin gave me more and more detail, I realized just how much he’d left out, and why he was usually alone.

  But while these things were happening around us, they weren’t happening to us. And I wanted Quentin to know we were immune. We could handle whatever came our way. One little nightmare was not going to shake me from my own happy ending.

  I was worried for Billy and Miles, though, and Aunt Ardie and Uncle Lee. But the two of us…we’d be all right.

  I drove to the bar and intended to make myself part of the furniture, even help out if I could make myself useful. But the minute I walked in and locked eyes with Quentin, I saw the intensity communicated, but didn’t know what it meant. Should I go? Should I stay?

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  But Quentin didn’t answer me. He walked the drink he’d just made to the
end of bar and handed it off to the waitress.

  When he returned, I saw his jaw set, and just when I was about to ask what was wrong, he leaned in close and quietly asked, “What exactly are you trying to do, Rylie?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and powered through. “What’s going on?”

  Quentin reached beneath the counter and produced the paternity kit. “You know, I’ve never seen Miles like this. He’s the strong one. He’s the one who gets me out of my shit, and now?”

  I hadn’t hidden the kit. It came in the mail early that day. I opened it and left it on the kitchen table. What I didn’t think was, that he would open it.

  “It’s a long shot,” I whispered. “But don’t you think it’s worth it?”

  “I look like my dad. Miles looks like Mom.”

  “But he doesn’t look like my uncle,” I said.

  He had no reply. He simply leaned in farther, his entire frame rigid and tense. “You better go, Rylie.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re angry, Quentin.”

  “Carla?” he yelled out to the waitress. “Be back in ten.”

  “Got it,” she answered.

  He wasn’t rough with me, but it was clear, he was moving me outside, to the parking lot, to my car. Once we were there, he opened my purse, took out my keys, and unlocked it. “Go home, Rylie.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You should’ve talked to me about this first.”

  “I haven’t even done anything. I was going to talk to you about it first.” He turned to walk away from me, but I grabbed his shirt to stop him. “Why are you so angry?”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “Yes, Quentin. Why?”

  He dragged his hands down his face, and when he gave me his eyes, I could see, that little action did nothing to contain how pissed-off he was. With me.

  “You have no idea,” he said.

  “No idea about what?”

  He walked away. “I can’t do this now. I gotta get back to the bar.”

  I couldn’t accept that response, of course, and chased him across the parking lot.

  “Are you pissed because I didn’t tell you?”

  Still walking, he replied, “The list of things I didn’t know until today is getting longer and longer.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  Then he spun around and let me have it. “You’ve been wrapped up in your own bubble. Meanwhile, the rest of the world keeps turning, Rylie. And you have no idea how much I want to be in that bubble with you. Because I love you, so fucking much it hurts to think anything might ever rip us apart. But right now, I’m fucking pissed-off, and I have nowhere to put it. I can’t be pissed at you, because you never bothered to open my fucking letters. And I can’t be pissed at Dad for never really being there, because he couldn’t cope with having a mentally ill wife who, turns out, never really loved him. And I can’t be pissed at Miles because he’s suffering, too, told his dad might not be his dad, and big shit is going down with him. Can’t be pissed at Lee or Ardie. But the one person I’m really fucking pissed at is my mom, who shoulda never even had kids. Because if she lied, Rylie. If there’s any chance that Lee isn’t his dad, then all of this…all the secrets, all the heartache, all of it, was a colossal waste of time.”

  I reached out and took his hand in my own. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, Quentin. I just wanted to be sure. For everyone’s sake.”

  “And I get that,” he said, finally getting himself together. “But I hate her. I know I shouldn’t. I know she’s sick and probably can’t help it. But back then, as far as I can tell, she knew exactly what she was doing.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed quietly.

  “Listen, we can’t always tell each other everything, Rylie. Sometimes we’re bound by loyalties that even a bond like ours can’t breech, and we shouldn’t let it. But I will say this, I can’t believe the amount of pain this must have caused your aunt. Listening to her story at dinner, it must have crushed her.”

  I nodded. “It did.”

  “I think she knew. I think my mom knew exactly what she was doing. In fact, I bet she got pregnant on purpose to trap your uncle into staying with her.”

  I didn’t want to admit it to him, but the thought had crossed my mind.

  “But it’s gonna be okay now, really. We’re together, finally, and—”

  “I fucking hate her, Rylie.” His words were choked with emotion, the threat of tears right there on his eyes. “When you were gone, when I knew you wouldn’t be coming back to me…no summers, no Christmases, all of it was over…Miles seemed to be the only one who understood. And your aunt. The sun started to shine when you arrived and set every time you left. And the rest of the time, we lived our lives in the shadow of a monster.”

  There wasn’t much I could say or do. It was obvious he needed to go through whatever emotions came his way, but I wasn’t completely powerless.

  “Would you like me to sit at the bar and maybe, I don’t know, distract you with my cleavage?” I slowly grinned at him, and he tried to smile, but it wasn’t convincing. So I stepped closer. “Or I could tell you that I love you, Quentin. I love you. And I’ll say it again and again whenever you need to hear it.”

  He reached down for my hand and brought my knuckles to his lips. Brushing them back and forth with light kisses. “I need you to give me some time with Miles, Rylie. Can you do that?”

  “Of course I can do that, but I—”

  “I don’t want him to see you. And I hate to keep shit from you, but I really can’t tell you why. Not now.”

  “It’s okay. Your family is going through a lot—”

  “No, Rylie, our families are going through a lot. Believe me when I say, I lost you once, and when I did, I didn’t just lose my sky.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek, my eyes closing, adrift with his touch. “I lost my soul. And I won’t lose it again. I just need a little time to clean up the mess my fucking mother made out of all our lives.”

  ****

  The following week was very quiet. For me, anyway. I figured everyone was busy sorting out their lives, and my impatience wasn’t going to speed it up. But Mom and Aunt Ardie were back from sorting out my parents’ house in Southern California. Uncle Lee and Dad were hellbent on completing the café and gaining permits to build the additional shop. So I did something I hadn’t expected to do.

  I left.

  I got in my car without packing a thing and drove toward 101. I was only an hour into my trip, thinking I’d drive into The City for the day when my phone rang.

  “Hey Billy, you won’t believe this, but I’m just about to get on the highway and—”

  “Is this Rylie? Billy’s sister?”

  “Yes, it is. Where’s Billy?”

  “Listen, I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m just gonna come out with it. Billy takes care of my dog when I travel, so we’re friendly and…look, I think you need to come up here. I know you’re close and, you need to come up here. Now.”

  She told me everything she could, and as soon as I hung up with her, I called my mother. “Mom. Meet me at the airport,” I said urgently. “We need to get to Billy, and Mom…” I whispered, “You’d better bring Dad.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The tense hours of waiting for a flight were excruciating, but there was nothing any of us could do.

  Nothing, but wait.

  The details were sketchy. The woman who called from Billy’s cell said she couldn’t wake him up, and when the paramedics arrived, it was a suspected overdose. To say it was a shock to hear my brother had OD’d, whether by accident or on purpose, was a gross understatement.

  This wasn’t Billy. Not the Billy I knew. But, it was clear to me, there was a whole lot about my brother I didn’t know at all. But Mom…Mom knew something, and her focus wasn’t on pacifying me. It was on getting to him, and I respected that. I hated it, but I understood. She assured me that, even if she divulged her assumptions, the
y wouldn’t change the outcome of what was happening now. Dad, surprisingly, didn’t push her and spent his time on the phone, pacing back and forth just out of earshot. And me? I sat with my head in my hands, waiting in the airport lounge at Oakland International Airport.

  Fog delayed our flight, and I once again cursed fate for being a fucking prick.

  “Rylie,” the rumbling voice called my name. And, without taking my hands from my face, I fell forward into Quentin’s embrace. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay.”

  He didn’t know that. And hearing him say it struck a nerve in me, something I’d ignored for far too long.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Rylie…”

  “People say shit like that. Like, everything happens for a reason, and you’ll get through this, and my favorite, everything’s gonna be okay. You know what, Quentin? Sometimes, it’s not okay, it’s never going to be okay, and you, of all people, should know that.” I wiped furiously at the tears that wouldn’t stop falling from my face.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “God, you’re right.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I blubbered. “I’m just worried, and—”

  “I think you should come home with me.”

  I shook my head. “No, no, I need to be with my family.”

  “Rylie?” Mom’s soft voice came behind my shoulder. “Rylie, Dad and I are boarding now. It’s better you stay here with Quentin. Please, just trust me, okay?”

  “No,” I argued. “No, I have to—”

  “Rylie…” Quentin tried again.

  But it was Mom who broke through. “Honey,” she nodded, and Quentin moved away to give us some space. “I’ve been worried about Billy for a long time. I was up there, after his accident, remember? I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I know you’re worried about him, but I don’t think you should come.”

  I shook my head.

  “Honey—”

  “I can’t lose him, Mom. I can’t…I can’t handle it,” I sobbed.

  “Honey…” She sat down in front of me, just next to Quentin. “Honey, he still has pain from the accident. And this, this was an accident too. He’ll be fine.”