by T. Torrest
I can’t even look at him as I rise to my feet and brush the sand from my clothes. I shake out my hair and finally turn back to him, all business. “So. What now?”
He’s still sitting in the sand, legs drawn, elbows bent over his knees. “I don’t know, Liv. Maybe one of us will be able to figure it out.”
I can’t believe we’re caught in such a standoff, and that neither one of us is willing to back down. He wants more… and I just can’t give it to him. And until one of us caves, we’ll be stuck right here in limbo.
I’m still in denial as I go to say goodbye. So, instead of coming up with some zinger, some perfect sentence that will haunt his days and nights while we’re apart, I offer flippantly, “Well, good luck. Or break a leg. Whatever it is I’m supposed to say, do that.”
I give a quick salute and then turn on my heel, leaving Jack sitting there on the beach.
* * *
When I get back to the house, I discover that thankfully, everyone has already turned in for the night. The living room is dark and quiet as I tiptoe past Tom on the couch and make my way to my room. God bless Vix, she must be bunking in the middle room with Sam and Isla tonight, because I find that I have the bed to myself. Then I become aware it’s because she obviously assumed I’d want this room for Jack and me. The realization starts the tears flowing again as I curl up into my bed—the bed I shared just yesterday morning with Jack—and will sleep to come.
It doesn’t.
A few hours later, I hear Jack’s car start. My body tenses at the sound; my heart wrenches all over again. It takes him an excruciatingly long time to put the car in gear, the engine idling low outside my window, almost daring me to take this last chance and go to him. Is he having second thoughts? Is he ready to acknowledge how completely wrong this is? Should I just suck it up and tell him what he wants to hear?
I fight the deplorable urge to run outside and beg him to change his mind. Please, Jack. We don’t have to do this. I just need a little more time. Just tell me you’ll wait for me.
But then finally, I hear the crunch of his tires pulling slowly over the gravelly driveway and onto the road, holding my breath until the sound fades into an oppressive, deafening quiet.
Do something, explore it, find something new…
…and move on.
CHAPTER 38
Tuesday, April 30, 1996
Who knows? Earlyish.
Lenape Lake
Norman
It’s a cold, wet, miserable day outside.
Perfect.
I don’t know what possessed me to decide to go for a run today, other than to burn off all this nervous energy. Unbridled anxiety has woken me up at dawn consistently for days now.
Checking my face in the side mirror of my car, I can see that the proof of my near-insomnia is evidenced in my eyes, which are shadowed with a deep, dark gray. My skin is pale and lifeless during the winter, but by April, it’s simply screaming for some sunshine. I figure I’d better hit the tanning booth a few times before Tess’s wedding, which gives me exactly twenty-six days to acquire a tan.
I’m parked in the lot between the post office and The Westlake Pub, sitting sideways out of the driver’s seat, lacing up my sneakers. Lenape Lake has a pretty good running route, although I suppose I chose the location just for the added torture.
I’d be able to take advantage of the pretty views if it were a nicer morning than this, but no matter. Aside from a few diehards, I won’t be passing too many other runners on such a gloomy day, and that is just fine with me.
I stand and stretch against my car, making it look as though I know what I’m doing. I execute a few lunges and then take off in a counter-clockwise trot around the lake.
Running in the cold serves to be only mildly distracting. Unavoidable is the fact that I am now alone with my thoughts. The memory of my first week without Jack is almost too difficult to bear. But as it happens so often lately, my consciousness is inevitably brought back to last summer and the worst night of my life.
When the girls woke up the next morning—I didn’t sleep much at all the night before—they found me bloodshot and bleary-eyed. I was barely able to mumble out the reason why. They listened in sympathy, the looks on their faces stunned and sad, but even that outpouring of support wasn’t enough to get me crying again.
I was done crying already.
Nevermind the fact that I was probably too dehydrated to muster up any more tears, the long and short of the situation was that after a sleepless night spent doing nothing but, I just refused to cry anymore. It was the principle of the matter. I rejected the attempt by my broken heart to turn me into a sniveling, depressed little weakling.
Been there, done that.
Despite my sister’s protests, I decided it would be best if I just went home. I just couldn’t do five more days down there in that house when my wounds were so fresh. I told the girls not to worry and told Ronnie and Tom thanks, but no thanks on the offer to kill Jack for me. I was sure they were only trying to cheer me up. He was their friend, too—their friend first, actually—after all.
I caved only once on my newly-instituted, anti-crying policy. It was that very morning on my way out the door. I had gathered up all of my things in my duffel bag and had my hand on the knob when I saw Grendel on the windowsill next to the door. I looked at the goofy face of the ridiculous stuffed dog Jack had won for me. My prize for a day on the boardwalk when I first realized he had worked his way into my heart.
My entire body froze, then started to shake uncontrollably as I reached out to grab it. My walls shattered, my defenses down, I felt the tears pouring down my face. I held the stupid dog to my chest as I sank to the floor, sobbing. Thankfully, everyone was out in the backyard and didn’t witness my drama. I was able to pull myself together and was replacing him on the sill as I turned and saw Ronnie and Tess coming through the back door. I looked away quickly, hiding my face while I gathered my bag over my shoulder.
Tess sounded concerned. “I thought you’d gone already.”
My voice was overbright when I answered, “Yep. Just cutting out now. I’ll give you a call when I get home to let you know I got back safely.”
“Liv?”
I still didn’t turn around for fear of being caught with wet eyes and a red face. “Yeah?”
I had one foot out the door as Tess asked, “Aren’t you going to take... that?”
“Burn it,” I said, then stepped out into the sun.
I went directly home and opened a big bottle of wine. I sat my ass on the couch and spent the next eight hours watching a “Twilight Zone” marathon, before passing out right there in the living room.
The next morning, I woke up feeling so sick that I ran for the bathroom and puked my guts out. I just didn’t have the stomach to make a very good drunk.
I guessed alcoholism was off the table.
I spent the whole weekend on that couch. When I got hungry, I ordered food, and when it would show up, I realized I couldn’t eat more than a few bites. That little conundrum lended to the pile of Italian sandwich boxes and Chinese food containers mucking up my refrigerator.
So, I guessed eating my feelings was out, too.
The girls called every few hours, probably just to make sure I wasn’t hanging from the showerhead by my terrycloth belt or anything.
Which brings me to The Robe.
I’d put it on shortly after getting home on Wednesday, and didn’t take it off the whole weekend. I hadn’t changed clothes or showered for four days. I hadn’t even looked in the mirror, which is probably why the delivery guys would stare at me a little funny whenever I answered the door. I must have been a sight.
By Sunday afternoon, I’d had enough.
I surprised my parents when I called and told them I’d be there for dinner. I just needed something normal, something routine to get me through the day.
I finally dragged my sorry self into the shower and managed to put on clean, matching clothes. I prac
ticed a happy face in the mirror and then headed over to Mom and Dad’s.
Dad and I found ourselves alone in the den while Mom finished putting our meal together.
“Glad you decided to join us, Livia Moon. How’s tricks?”
“Epic as always, Dad.” I plucked an olive from the bowl and popped it into my mouth. I was trying to avoid getting into too much detail about the events over the past week.
“Work okay?”
“Whatever. S-O-C-K-S,” I answered in the small bit of Spanish I knew. Eso sí que es; it is what it is. Thank you, late night infomercials. “Maybe Phil’s daughters and I can start our own girl-band. Second generation of you guys. We’ll call it ‘Female Persuasion’!”
“You don’t want to end up like me.”
I did a double-take at his resigned tone. My father was normally a cheerful kind of guy, and I just delivered a solid joke. He kind of threw me by turning our lighthearted subject into a serious discussion. “What are you talking about?”
He aimed a sad smile at me. “The rock and roll lifestyle takes no prisoners, Livia. Temptations from every angle. I made mistakes in those early days because of it. Mistakes I can’t take back.”
I didn’t know if he was referring to the drugs or the women or what, but there was no way I could sit there and have a conversation about it. He was my father, for godsakes, and I didn’t think I could bear hearing all the gory details straight from the dog’s mouth, much less listen to his excuses about it.
But when I looked up, I saw the drawn look on his face. I could see that he wasn’t trying to convince me of anything. He was just taking the opportunity to beat himself up over it.
And that’s when it hit me.
In that one second, I became wholly convinced that his regret stemmed from the person he was in the past. He screwed up once—and he screwed up big—but he’d been a faithful husband and father in all the years since. The revelation surprised me, but I knew without a doubt that it was the truth. I suddenly felt guilty as all hell for the assumptions I made about him all those years.
He deserved better than that from his own daughter. Why was it so much easier for me to believe the worst about him? Why hadn’t I ever told him how amazing I thought he was anyway?
I shot him a genuine smile and said, “Are you kidding? You’re awesome. How many kids have dads who are still rocking out at your age?”
He sighed before sinking back into his chair. “That’s exactly it, Livia. Where has it gotten me? Here I am, a 46-year-old bass player in a wedding band. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I never wanted to grow up and get a real job, and thirty years later, I’m still chasing the dream.”
“You have a real job. You’re a musician.”
“In a wedding band that doesn’t even get regular bookings. This wasn’t the dream.”
Just because my dreams were broken didn’t mean everyone else’s should be. “The dream can still happen.”
“If dreams were meant to come true, we’d have a hell of a lot of princesses and astronauts out there in the world.”
“And the world would be a better place for it.”
The subject got dropped once Mom called us up to the table, but I took the opportunity to give him a big hug all the same.
All was going well, according to plan. Mom had made a pork roast with oven potatoes and fresh string beans. Once Dad heard I was coming over, he took a trip to Calandra’s Bakery and got my favorite crusty bread and some cookies for dessert. It was enough to get my appetite back on track.
I was using a piece of the aforementioned bread to sop up some gravy when my dad gestured to the bottle of wine on the table. “Would you like some, Livia?”
Ugh. “No thanks, Dad. I’ll stick with Diet Coke.”
“So how was Fourth of July at the beach?” Mom asked in her usual, upbeat tone.
I cleared my throat. “Alright, I guess.”
She continued, “Who came down?”
The dinner conversation was turning out to be harder to deal with than I’d imagined. “Uh, the usual. Vix, obviously. Tess, Sam, Isla.”
“None of the boys?”
Yes. Ronnie and Tom. Stephen and Sean... Jack.
I hadn’t heard from him since our encounter on the beach, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t come to his senses yet. I knew getting in touch with me from the road wouldn’t be easy, but it wasn’t impossible. Except that the past days of zero-contact made me think he was really digging his heels in about it. He wasn’t going to come to me, and I’d started to realize it was going to be up to me to make the first move.
My head started to swim. I had to change the subject before I started blubbering. “Hey, did Vix tell you that Tess is engaged?”
My mother smiled and shook her head yes. “What a beautiful bride she’ll be.”
“I know, right? She asked us to be in the wedding.”
“Well, of course she would. Did they make any plans yet?”
“No, not yet. She’s thinking maybe Pleasantdale Chateau, but she hasn’t made any phone calls or anything.”
Okay, I could deal with talking about my friend and her wedding plans. Knowing my mother, I probably could have stretched that thread of conversation out through dessert.
But then my dad finally decided to pipe in. “Oh, you know who I ran into over at Guitar Center the other day?”
“Who’s that, Dad?”
He took a sip of his water and said casually, “Your friend, Jack Taylor.”
A lump of bread got stuck in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to pass it. “Tanner.”
“What’s that?”
“His name,” I said, my voice scratchier than I would have liked. My hand shook as I reached for my glass of soda. I took a sip and clarified, “His name is Jack Tanner.”
“Oh, that’s right. Don’t worry, I didn’t call him by his last name,” he said, giving me a wink. “Well, anyway, I saw him on Friday.”
Friday?
“Don’t you mean Wednesday, Dad? He was only home on Wednesday before he took off for his tour.” Right? Fourth of July was a Tuesday. Didn’t Jack say that he was leaving first thing the next morning?
Dad wiped his mouth on his napkin and leaned back in his chair. “I think I know my days of the week, Livia. It was Friday. Trust me.”
I almost spit out my soda. This was too much. The old man must’ve been mistaken.
My poor father didn’t know why I looked about ready to jump out of my skin.
No effin way. NO EFFIN WAY was that possible.
A thought came to me just then and the revelation made my stomach churn. I put it out of my head long enough to stammer out an apology. I probably looked like I was about to lose my dinner right there at the table, however, so I guessed my parents weren’t fooled by my attempt at nonchalance.
I had to get out of there.
I grabbed a few cookies for the road in a feeble attempt to be polite. I was eating and running, after all. I thanked my parents for a great meal and then lit out.
Once in the solace of my car, I explored my epiphany.
Jack had lied.
He lied to me about having to leave so soon. He lied because… why? To force my hand as soon as possible? Was he just using the tour as an excuse to do so? Was he even going on tour?
Maybe he was still home. Maybe there was still time to talk things out with him, make him understand. I could go to him, couldn’t I? I could talk to him. I could tell him how miserable I’ve been without him. I could tell him what an idiot I’ve been.
I could tell him that I loved him.
As soon as the thought entered my brain, I knew it was the truth. My heart slammed around my ribcage as my knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
Holy shit, I loved him. I did. How come I couldn’t see it before now? I was completely, undeniably, head over heels in love with Jack. I knew he was it for me from the first moment I saw him up on that stage, even though I tried to fight it. The days since had onl
y confirmed it.
Whether I wanted to acknowledge it to myself or not, the fact was I knew it now.
I knew Jack loved me. I mean, the day we broke up, he was a brooding mute all afternoon and evening. Why else would he have been sulking around the whole day? Maybe he knew going into his big ultimatum that I wouldn’t be able to tell him what he needed to hear, and it had been wreaking havoc on his emotions. And if he was so heartbroken about it then, maybe he was having second thoughts about it now?
When it came right down to it, though, no matter how many straws I grasped at, I couldn’t avoid the one, rational, niggling argument: If he really was so torn up about leaving me behind, then why the hell did he do it?
My revelation opened up a whole new can of worms and kept me focused while I fixated on a plan of attack for two whole days.
But then Tuesday, the mail came.
CHAPTER 39
Tuesday, April 30, 1996
???
Lenape Lake
Norman
I stop jogging when I make it to the end of the dam, too overcome by the memory of that otherwise indistinct Tuesday when things turned from bad to worse. Putting my hands on my knees, I bend my body in half, but that just adds to my aggrieved brain. I start into a canter again, trying to clear my head.
And yet, I make myself think about it. I make myself remember the pretty cream envelope addressed to me in some imitation of calligraphy. Some scratchy, self-taught version of what was meant to look refined and elegant but fell short by a mile. I remember thinking that it must’ve been a note from one of Monty’s nieces, trying to appear all grownup with her fancy writing. I ran my hands over the childlike printing with a smile on my face.
A smile that disappeared once I opened the envelope.
There, in my hands, was an ordinary-looking card embossed with an image of a dove. Upon opening it, I saw the engraved words I’d since committed to memory:
