by Milly Taiden
Adrienne released a long, slow breath.
"I was wrong. Christian filled many gaps for me, but he could not fill the void left by you. When Angelique returned a couple of weeks later with the birth announcement of your daughter, I felt deeply saddened for Christian that he might never know the father Naomi knew. I thought of scenarios in which I could unite the two of you, but I didn't want to interrupt your newfound life. I finally realized I had to stop fantasizing of a life that was not mine any longer. The series of choices I made, right or wrong, sealed this. I decided to be happy for you and your new family.
“Nearly a year later, your wife Janie showed up at our door.”
***
32- Oz
Adrienne paused for a moment. I was tense with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and anticipation. I hadn't yet fully allowed the news of my son to sink in, and a child lost. As she had spoken, my mind briefly drifted back to the Deschanel Magis’ attempts to locate Adrienne, and arrived at the painful realization the sixth death they presumed was her, was in fact my child’s passing.
Now she was suggesting she met my wife?
“Janie was completely unaware of our past,” I finally had something concrete to wrap my mind around. “I made damn sure of that.”
Adrienne shook her head slowly, patiently. “You asked me for the truth. You didn’t ask me to make you believe it. Should I continue?”
I nodded and waved dismissively, but perched forward in my chair, ready now to rebuke anything she said which did not jell with the truth as I understood it.
“Let me finish. Then you can ask questions. No interruptions.”
I released a long, strained sigh. “Fine.”
“I was the last person to see her alive. By telling you about this, I believe I’m giving up any chance for your forgiveness, but you asked for the truth and I owe you at least that much.
“She showed up in Abbeville, and had Naomi in the car with her. Naomi was asleep as far as I could tell, but she stayed in the backseat and I only saw a glimpse of her.
“Unaware, I answered a knock to the door. Janie was pacing, wringing her hands. When I opened the door, she said ‘Oh God,’ or, at least, that is what it sounded like.
“She knew my name and told me who she was, and that she had come out for the same reasons you came to me today. She wanted answers; she wanted the truth. In sum, she wanted to know the very things which would cause her to end her life, and I willingly, naively gave them to her. She asked me what the exact nature of our relationship had been.”
“What did you tell her?” I pressed. My palms were sweating, and my face was damp from pressing my hands up against it.
“I told her the truth. That I loved you. But I also told her I made you miserable and things were long over between us. ‘Oz loves you, not me,’ I told her.
“She mulled that over for a few moments, but her fidgeting never ceased. She became more erratic, and then she looked at me and asked me, 'So when I’m dead and in the tomb, what will keep him from coming back to you, little girl? What then?'
“'He doesn’t love me anymore, Janie,' I said to her, worried she would snap at any moment.
“She suddenly shrieked and brought both hands to her mouth in a fury. When I turned to meet the subject of her gaze, she was staring at Christian, who was standing in the corner of the room. ‘Mother of God, it’s true! Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s a tiny Oz!’
“Then, just as quickly as she lost it, she slowed her breaths and began to sob.
“Oz, I felt so terrible for her. All the jealousy I projected at her over the past year was replaced by pity. In our own ways, we’d both lost you.
“’What can I do?’ I asked her. ‘What can I do to ease your suffering?’
“’Let me die in peace,’ she replied in a thick voice, so deep with sorrow my heart was breaking. ‘Let me die knowing he really, truly loved me and that you meant nothing to him.’
“’How do I do that? Tell me. Whatever it is, I will do it.’ I owed her nothing. The woman who stood between us was standing in my doorway, and I was ready to give up anything to ease her pain.
“’Promise me you will never tell him about this child,’ she pointed at Christian. ‘Promise me, little girl. I’m not a selfish woman and I ask for very little. I know one day Oz will get on with his life and remarry. But promise me it will not be with you.’
“I did the only thing I could do. I submitted a promise to a dying woman to help her enjoy what was left of her life, so she could pass on knowing her husband would not run back to his previous love. It didn’t matter I knew you wouldn’t; I had ruined all chances of that. She wanted to hear something that represented finality and gave her hope. An hour or so later, she drove her car into the river on the way back to New Orleans.”
“I never knew,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. I was still reeling from Adrienne’s words and what they meant. I didn’t know how to process this. I didn’t want to process this. “I never even questioned why she was out near the Memorial Bridge that day.”
“Now you understand why I said I was sorry, yesterday, and that I felt responsible for the loss of your marriage. Had she never come to me, had I never been so honest with her…”
“Don’t,” I stopped her, my mind whirling. Had Janie really done this? Had she gone to all the trouble of finding out about Adrienne? “Janie made the choice herself, and she can’t blame anyone for it, but herself.”
“I had no right to come back. I had to, though. I had to tell you about your son, if nothing else. I couldn’t keep that from you.”
“Adrienne-“
“No, let me finish! I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you in the least. I would understand if you never spoke to me again, never wanted anything to do with me! But your son needs you, Christian needs you!” She began to cry.
Adrienne reached out and touched my closed hand, opening it at once. When she released it, I looked down and saw she’d placed a picture in my hand.
“That’s your son,” she told me, swiping at her tears.
I stared at the picture for a long time, my breath caught in my chest. As she said, the eyes and hair were exactly the same as mine. He also had my dimples, and even the same grin of mischief. His chin bore my tiny Irish cleft.
There aren’t words to describe the first time a father looks upon the image of his son. All I knew was I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life.
I was so angry with Janie for wanting him to be kept from me! But at the same time, I empathized with her. How unfair it had been to marry her and steal her life when I had still been in love with someone else. I couldn’t blame her for looking into the matter, for paying Adrienne a visit. It is only the last desperate act I could not forgive.
And, once again, here was Adrienne, sitting before me, having told me a story I would never recover from. For now, I wasn’t processing any of it except the little boy whose photo I now held in my hand.
I looked at Adrienne. I thought of my dead wife, and felt like a horrible person because I suddenly could not picture her. Instead, I could see Adrienne and nothing else. Adrienne, sitting in her father’s high backed chair in the office preparing to go to school in Brussels, still a girl; I saw her when I opened my door to her three years later, almost a woman. In the park, The Girl of the Stately Oak, finally a woman; I saw her smile, her brilliance, and her kindness.
“It’s up to you now, Oz. It’s your choice. You can ask me to walk out of your life forever, and I will do that. I’ll make sure you see your son, but you will never have to see me again.”
I was still staring at Christian’s photo. How was it possible to love someone you haven’t even met yet?
“Or?”
Tears slid down her soft, round cheeks again as she went on. “Or you give me a chance I don’t deserve, and I promise with all my heart never to hurt you like that again. I’m not perfect, but I know what mistakes I’ve made. I’ve grown up enough to unders
tand you have no reason to make this choice.”
I tore myself away from the photo finally, and looked at her.
“Adrienne, why should I believe this is any different now? Because you say you’ve grown up? Because you promise? It was never about promises or age, Adrienne, don’t you understand? It was about trust! You never trusted me to protect you and take care of you! You never trusted I loved you enough to see past the bad things, or to understand the truth! I told you over and over and over again, I loved you. Damn it, I nearly begged for you to believe in me, and you never did! You chose the weak and cowardly way out, and you’re living the life that you chose. I never promised you the world, but I promised to care for you, and that wasn’t enough. No, don’t argue with me. I know you told yourself you didn’t tell me everything for my own good, but if you truly believed in me, not telling me would not have been an option!”
I fell back, exhausted. One look told me she understood in a way she never could have two years ago. I was done arguing. I was finished with the drama and the rich plots. Angelique was still alive, but Adrienne had chosen to defy her anyway. I wanted to think of Janie, and to mourn her death properly, but I found myself slipping back into the old Oz; the one who had once been prepared to give up everything for the little girl sitting in front of him.
“There is a limit to how much a person can take,” I said.
Her face fell. “I know.”
“And right now, I think I’ve hit that limit, Adrienne. I honestly believe one more thing could send me over the edge.”
Tears ran down her face as she watched me. She wanted to speak, but was afraid to.
“But the truth is,” I said, once again looking down at the photo of my son. My son.
“I’m only Oz when I’m with Adrienne.”
***
Epilogue
4 years later
Summer 2005
Oz: 30
Adrienne: 25
It was summer again in New Orleans. The tourism had slowed, because people not from the South couldn't handle the wilting heat and humidity that made the world feel like one gigantic swimming hole. The afternoon storms were persistent. The rain came almost daily, flooding out the small yards with large gardens for approximately an hour, leaving the air slightly cooler in its place. The weather reporters predicted this would be a hurricane season to remember. The cicadas Adrienne adored sang their rough melodies through the day, and into the night; the air smelled like a bouquet of fresh, exotic flowers.
To the southeast, the sounds of the river; the steamboats. Two blocks away, the ambling rumble of the antiquated streetcar running along its course. Young mothers in their Suburbans drove with the windows up, and the air conditioning on, as they ushered their children from one mansion to another for birthday parties. A homeless man walked towards Prytania peddling Mardi Gras beads with little success.
I watched as the last of my family and friends drove away from my birthday party, and realized I could not have happened upon a better time to turn thirty. My world was alive, and just as I liked it.
Behind me, Naomi squealed as Christian tugged on her long hair. “You are hurting me!” she protested. Christian smiled, but shrugged. He was six years old and wore it well. He loved to tease his little sister.
“Be nice,” I warned, but my admonishment was hardly necessary. Christian was a sweet and delicate little boy who never took things too far. He left his sister alone and went outside to play with his trucks in the garden. Christian was so much like me; clever and bright, but introspective. Everything amazed him, and he had a penchant for discovery and research like his mother. He spent hours in the garden, behind the banana trees, near the Bird of Paradise, trapping spiders and bugs in a small plastic house. He used them for many things, including unleashing them on his unsuspecting sister.
“Can I go play too?” Naomi asked with bright eyes, completely over the episode of a few moments ago. She had to ask to go outside because her skin was pale, like Janie’s, and she burned in the Louisiana sun. I had to lather her up in SPF 30 before I would send her out to play. She protested most times, but I would not see my daughter suffer for her obstinacy, so I made her endure.
Smiling, I told her to go get the pink bottle, and she skipped off toward the bathroom, her tiny legs carrying her this way and that as her dark hair hung halfway out of the rubber band.
Yet children grew up. Just a month ago, we watched Christian walk down the small aisle of the kindergarten classroom and “graduate.” He held his head high, so proud of himself. He kindly let everyone take their pictures and fawn over him, with more grace and patience than most adults. Naomi would be starting kindergarten in the fall. They were both growing up so fast. I wanted to hold them again in my arms, the way I did when they were babies. By the time I met Christian, there wasn’t much baby left in him, but I held him anyway.
They had both been so good at the party, completely well-behaved. I was always proud of them, but there were times, such as these, I wanted to take a day meant for me and show them off to everyone; show how sweet and kind and wonderful they were.
My mother offered to clean up the mess everyone left behind. My parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, even Ana and Nicolas, had all shown up to help me celebrate this milestone event. My home was littered with half-empty wine glasses, frosting on the edges of the sofa, napkins built in the shape of a house by one of the kids, wrapping paper in shreds, and, most humorous, a kazoo sticking out of the last piece of cake.
“No, Mom, I can do it.” I love you for being in my life, for being my mother, I almost said. I love you for taking me to the doctor for the sniffles, for keeping me home from school when I scraped my knee on that broken fence next door. I can appreciate you so much more now that I have my own to look after.
She kissed me quickly, the way mothers do, and understood. “I’m so proud of you, Colin. You are so strong; not like me at all.”
“Oh, Mom, don’t say that. You’re stronger than you realize.”
Her eyes gleamed with the start of tears and she shook her head. “No, darling. You were my strength, always. Keeping after you, worrying over you, watching you grow up into a boy and then a man. That’s my strength. Now, I also have Naomi, and Christian. What could be better?”
She ushered out most of the guests when she saw the children getting irritable with the burden of a long day. It was nearly eight and they had families to get back to. The Sullivans brought their swarm of wives, husbands, children, and grandchildren. I wondered mid-day what the legal occupancy would be on a house this size and was almost sure we had reached it, but I was happy to be surrounded by people I knew and trusted; people I loved and that loved me. It made me wealthy in the way that meant the most.
Nicolas, my dearest and oldest friend, toasted me around four, embarrassing me with a speech delivered with too much cognac and an abundance of enthusiasm. It was sloppy, and loud, but it was Nicolas, and I loved it. I would remember it always.
The threats which had once plagued us were now gone. Angelique had passed away unexpectedly not so long ago. Anne, her daughter, was slowly assimilating into the Deschanel clan, thanks to the kindness and sponsorship of Aunt Colleen. Jesse moved on, without ceremony. There no longer existed anything which could come between Adrienne and I, and all we had fought for.
I picked up a plastic wine glass adorned with a smudge of pale lip gloss on the rim, and tossed it in a large plastic garbage bag. I thought of the woman who wore the gloss and a warm, comfortable feeling washed over me. My heart palpitated softly, my arms threatening to go numb. There were times like this, where silly little things would happen to me, and I would fall in love with her all over again.
I felt the lips that wore the special gloss graze the back of my neck. I thought nothing had ever felt so soft, so perfectly real. “Adrienne,” I whispered and turned around the meet the owner.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she purred.
“The kids?”
�
�Your mother is still here.”
The sun had only begun to set, but the sky was dark and turbulent. The rain would begin to roll in at any moment. “Where to?” I asked. Asking was a habit. I knew the answer.
“St. Charles.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s dusk.”
We walked up Seventh and hung a left on St. Charles, making our path along the route we had taken night after night. I held my wife’s hand as the breeze came in long and soft from the river, carrying with it the scent of magnolia and camellia.
I loved the softness and beauty of her. The yielding down on her arms, and the way her hands had to be occupied at all times.
Her hair fell long and loose behind her as it caught on the breeze. Neither of us said a word. There were many times where we would talk for hours on end, sometimes from one day into the next. Our hearts, our souls, were connected by the electricity in the air, and the cool, fragrant scents surrounding every thought and every action on the old avenue.
We came upon Audubon Park, and her oak. Here, we could talk. She was no longer The Girl of the Stately Oak. Instead, she owned the oak, owned her moments on it. The oak had not grown in the short time we had been visiting it, but she had, in a myriad of ways.
The tears spilled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into my neck. I felt her soft, pliable lips, her hot breath. “Happy birthday, my Big Hero.”
I wanted to take her then, under the oak, and to hell with anyone who had a problem with it. I wanted to be inside of her, to love her in the best way I knew how. I owed her my heart; Adrienne, the wonderful mother of my children. My beautiful wife.w
“Aren’t you ever afraid?” she whispered, pushing my thoughts back to reality. “Afraid I might disappoint you? That Naomi and Christian might disappoint you?”
“Don’t ever say that,” I said firmly. I held her face in both hands, and watched her lower lip tremble. It tortured me. “Don’t ever stop trusting in me.”
