by C. S. Lakin
I saw . . . shrapnel rain down from the sky, little bitter bullets. / The mosquitoes tried to feed; / the bullfrogs hid and stopped croaking. / I thought I heard the sound of wings weeping.
Jake put the bread and meat and cheese and mustard back in the fridge. The door snapping shut startled Reuben. He let out a wail. Leah lifted him, noticed his face was pink and damp with sweat. She hefted him on her hip, got a washcloth, ran it under the faucet and dabbed his cheeks, his neck.
“Does he need to eat?” Jake asked between bites. She watched him make short shrift of his sandwich, then he reached for his son. She handed him over, smiling at the way Jake drew Reuben in close, smoothing the wayward wisps of hair, soft as goose down.
“He should be okay for a while,” she said. “Do you want to carry him?”
“Sure.” Jake rigged up the cotton carrier, strapping it across his chest, tying it in back. He slipped the baby in with care, untangling a few fingers that caught on a fold of cloth. His tenderness toward Reuben stirred her love, reminding her of its unobtrusive slumber. She smoothed out her tank top and shorts, slipped on her flip-flops, grabbed a towel off the floor that didn’t seem too dirty. When Jake had Reuben all arranged and packaged, she kissed her husband, smelled mustard and sourdough bread. Ran a hand through his hair sticky from LA heat and smog and the tiresome bus ride from campus.
“Jake, let’s move to Hawaii.”
He laughed as he opened the door for her. “What?”
“They have these communes there, all organic food; they even sleep in hammocks under the stars. The ocean is crystal clear, warm as a bath. Wouldn’t that be divine?”
She walked down the stairs in front of him, craned her neck around to meet his eyes. She had to make sure he was taking her seriously.
“We can’t just pick up and move to Hawaii. I’ve got school. We just signed another year lease on the apartment—”
“We could find someone to sublet. You know how hard it is to find affordable places—”
“Leah, I can’t just drop out—”
“You could attend the University of Hawaii. I’m sure they have one.” Her voice sounded whiny, even to her.
Jake sighed and moved to walk alongside her on the sidewalk. He rested a hand on Reuben’s head. “Leah, you need to stop this.”
“Stop what?” She kept walking, but Jake grabbed her arm and pulled her to face him. Her eyes snagged on heat waves rising up from the concrete and asphalt, distorting the intruding world the way water bent light. Maybe she was the mirage.
“This! This . . . avoidance of reality. You’re always restless, dreaming. Why can’t you just be here now, enjoy the life you have, with me?”
Leah almost missed the edge of desperation in Jake’s voice, the need for reassurance. He was right; she’d been swimming in deep, dark waters, rarely coming up for air.
“Look, I’m trying hard to make a life for us, to prepare a future that will support us. I don’t want to depend on your parents’ monthly checks. But you have to realize dreams can’t materialize overnight. You have to work hard, plan—”
Leah’s brain shut down. She resisted putting her hands over her ears. She swept her arm in an arc, showing him the traffic and ugly buildings and smog. “Don’t you want more than this?” she asked, feeling tears pushing out her eyes again. “Want more for your son? A place where he can breathe clean air?”
He took her arm, pulled her close, the baby between them gazing vacantly at the blur of color and shapes delineating his infant world.
“Oh, Leah, I want so much for us. We’re a family now. I want Reuben to have a great life, every opportunity. And we can give that to him. You have to trust me, let me have that time to reach my dreams too. What’s a few years when we have the rest of our lives spread out before us?”
Years? His words choked her; she felt the need to escape from his embrace, run into the sea teasing her with its tantalizing dance on the horizon. Instead, she drew back and took his hand, averting her eyes as he whistled while they walked on.
She finished the poem that clamored in her head.
I was . . . hovering above the silty bottom, / waiting for the squall to pass, / fighting the current. / Sometimes fish try to hide in the shallows unmoving, / but the fear in their eyes is apparent.
1973
Reelin’ in the Years
Your everlasting summer
You can see it fading fast
So you grab a piece of something
That you think is gonna last
You wouldn’t know a diamond if you held it in your hand
The things you think are precious I can’t understand
Are you reelin’ in the years?
Stowin’ away the time?
Are you gathering up the tears?
Have you had enough of mine?
—Steely Dan
Jake knew this was a mistake the moment the wild-haired bouncer reeking of pot threw open the door to the club. Blaring music avalanched out into the street, bass speakers thumping a pounding beat, followed by a blast of heat and body odors. He’d wanted a quiet, intimate New Year’s celebration with Leah, just the two of them, a bottle of champagne, a romantic dinner. They needed an evening like that to rekindle what seemed to have smoldered to ash—at least to Jake. Sure, having a baby put a damper on intimacy; Reuben always seemed to wake and cry every couple of hours at night, and Leah rarely wanted to be touched, other than to have her back rubbed. At least she’d stopped crying herself to sleep. Maybe, hopefully, that phase of depression was over.
He also didn’t feel all that comfortable leaving the baby with the neighbor down the hall—a lady named Donna. He hardly knew her, but Leah’d assured him she was a good mother, had three small kids that appeared well fed and neatly dressed. Still, it unsettled him handing Reuben over, knowing they’d be home way past midnight. Why Leah had insisted on coming to this party, he hadn’t a clue. But then, she’d been stuck in the apartment for most of last year through her pregnancy, and then tending to their new baby. He shouldn’t begrudge her a night out, and if she wanted to let loose a bit, why should he mind? It might do her spirits some good.
He sat at a high table on a stool, waiting for Leah to get back from the restroom. A DJ sat in a booth across the room spinning records and saying things into a mike that Jake couldn’t make out over the din of the club. The place was packed, barely any room to breathe. He wondered if it was like this on the nights Leah waitressed.
His irritation burned. He never thought she’d return to work at the club, not after having Reuben. She’d practically dumped the baby in his lap one night, after he’d come back from a study group past nine o’clock, finding her decked out, short skirt, those low boots and her silky black blouse. He’d been so shocked by her dramatic change in appearance, he barely muttered a few words before she was out the door. He knew he had no right to protest. She took care of Reuben most of the time, while he went to classes and studied. She needed to blow some steam, burn some energy.
And tonight, she was keen to introduce him to her friends, people whose names she regularly threw around, names without faces that often peppered her conversations with him. He supposed it was time he met some of them.
He turned at a tap on his shoulder.
“Jake, this is Summer. And Rain—he’s the club manager.” Leah giggled, a smile lighting up her face. At least she was having a good time.
Jake nodded at her friends. Summer wore a black apron, the kind Leah used for waitressing. He tried not to look at her cleavage, made an object of attention by the low-cut tight leotard she wore.
Summer gushed, “Jake! I finally get to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Jake mumbled something back. He wondered just what Leah did tell these people about him. In that moment he realized he didn’t really have any friends, not anyone he really hung out with in a social way. He’d always been a bit of a loner through school, with most of his socializing confined to the walls
of a classroom or the fences of a school field. Never joined a club, participated in team sports. His teachers had urged him to be more outspoken in class discussions; he’d tried.
The man Leah introduced as Rain held out his hand and gave Jake’s a hearty shake. “Hey, man. Glad you could come. This girl of yours—wow! She’s hot. The clientele love her.”
Jake narrowed his eyes, watching Rain slip an arm around Leah’s waist, his long unruly dark hair tickling her neck. He reminded Jake of a slimy car salesman with his cheesy smile. He didn’t like the guy’s arm resting there. Another waitress came to the table bringing a tray of tall glasses bubbling with champagne. Without invitation, Summer and Rain sat on stools, Rain relinquishing his arm that seemed pasted to Leah’s body.
“Well,” Rain said with exuberance, “here’s to the New Year! May it mean the end of the war and an ushering in of global peace.”
Leah clinked glasses with him, her eyes vibrant with joy. Jake hadn’t seen her like this in a long time. “Amen to that! Let’s bring the rest of our troops home!” she added, then reached into her bag and pulled out a Marlboro. Jake’s gaze followed Rain’s fingers as he flipped open a lighter and Leah sucked in smoke.
Jake tapped his glass to the others’. Summer took a long sip, then put her glass down. “Gotta get back to work—or the boss might get mad.” She winked at Rain, who gave her a playful slap on the rear. Jake cringed. “Later, guys,” she tossed in their direction.
Leah waved her off and downed her glass of champagne between drags on her cigarette. Jake stared at her, puzzled. She’d practically guzzled the whole thing down. “Hon,” he said, “do you want me to get you some water?”
She threw back her head and laughed. Then reached for Summer’s half-full glass, upending the champagne down her waiting throat. She smiled blurry-eyed at Jake. “Water? It’s New Year’s. Rain, bring us another round.”
Jake waved his hand. “Not for me, thanks.” One of them had to stay sober. Reuben still needing picking up and putting to bed proper.
“Oh, Jake, don’t be such a party pooper. We’re taking a cab home; you can have a few.”
“Want a Coke or something?” Rain asked him, getting up and gesturing toward the bar.
Jake shook his head, watched Rain leave on his mission.
Leah nudged him. “Hey, why don’t you want to party? Have some fun? We never get out and you’re acting so uptight,” she yelled over a screaming guitar solo. The never-ending riotous music was germinating a headache in Jake’s temples that throbbed in synchronous rhythm to the song playing.
“Besides,” she added, leaning abruptly into Jake, blowing her alcohol-saturated breath on his cheek, “we have good reason to celebrate!”
Jake pulled back and studied her face, bright with anticipation. “What? What reason?”
“We’re going to have a baby!” She nudged him in the side with her finger. “Isn’t that just cool beyond words?”
Jake backpeddled her words in his head. “We already had a baby. That was last year. You’re drunk, Leah.”
Rain pushed through the crowd and set another tray of drinks down on the table. He looked at Jake, then raised his eyebrows as he caught the tail end of Jake’s remark. “But not drunk enough! Here you go, sweetie.” He set a full glass before her.
“We’re celebrating,” Leah slurred.
“Yep, that we are,” Rain said. “Another year.”
Leah smiled at Jake and raised her glass. “And another baby!”
When her words loitered with no response, she reached into her bag and pulled out something that looked like a small strip of paper. “See this?” She waved the paper in the air, her smile cocky with secret knowledge. “It’s my pregnancy test—from my visit to the doctor yesterday.”
“Wait,” Jake said. “You didn’t tell me . . . you never said . . .”
“Baby, I wanted it to be a surprise. Jake, you should see your face!”
She pointed at Jake and Rain laughed. Jake suddenly felt at the butt end of a joke. Panic tightened around his neck, much like a noose. She couldn’t be serious. Couldn’t be pregnant. Shock morphed into anger, at the unfairness of this, at the dishonesty of her withholding her news, at her careless behavior that had landed them in this mess, not once but twice. Was she pulling his leg? He watched her crash into Rain, who caught her in his arms, righted her like a lopsided toy. The sight of her touching this man, ruffling his hair, meeting his eyes, ignited a wildfire in his gut.
“Let’s go, Leah.” He stood, aching for a quiet place to think. Rain was whispering something in her ear, his face lingering too long next to hers.
She wiggled her hand at Jake, snuffed out her smoke with the other. “Go hail a cab, Jake. You really are a party pooper, you know?” She made to stand but her knees buckled. Rain caught her and she burst out laughing again. Jake pushed her boss aside and took her arm. “It’s nearly two o’clock. We have to get Reuben.”
“Okay, okay . . . so . . . happy New Year, Rain. I’ll see you . . . I don’t know . . . whenever I’m s’posed to be in next.”
Rain, undeterred by Jake’s hefty push, leaned back in and kissed her cheek. “Ciao, baby. You’re the best! And congrats!” He looked at Jake, had trouble focusing. “And you too. Dad!”
The word struck him like an insult. Jake held tightly to her arm as he forced an opening through the undulating crowd and wiggled his way to the door. Cold air smacked him in the face and a few drops of rain landed on his eyelashes as he searched the busy street for a taxi. He put on his jacket and bundled himself up, closing Leah out, batting away the images of Rain’s arm around her waist. Jake scowled, afraid to let his mind absorb her news, all the ramifications and respective worries implied in her pronouncement.
This was not how he imagined his married life unfolding. Not at all.
Saying he was uncomfortable was more than an understatement. His father wouldn’t look him in the eye, and hadn’t said more than a few words to Leah. More like grunts. His mother wouldn’t stop talking, but her run-on sentences filled in the spaces between them all, big wide spaces they could fall into at any moment, wide as the big open maw of sky above them on this June day. His parents’ sudden, undisclosed arrival sent him reeling back through the years, where he was a kid at the table, paying extra attention to his manners, tasting his words before speaking. Every sentence turned sour in his mouth, and even though the food at this outdoor café looked appealing, every bite was sand in his mouth, gritty to swallow.
“My, look out at that water. I’d forgotten how vast and beautiful it was! To think you live so close to the beach. Must be wonderful.” His mother chewed thoughtfully between remarks.
Jake took the spoon from Leah, who was flustered trying to get Reuben to eat. He scooted over and worked on getting his son to open his mouth. Reuben thought it fun knocking Jake’s hand away, but it only served to bring Jake’s irritation to the forefront.
“Here,” his mother said, reaching. “Let me.” She turned to Reuben, made a silly face at him, made him smile. “He’s what—almost a year now?”
Leah rubbed her monstrous belly. Jake hoped his parents hadn’t planned to stay in LA and wait for the birth. If this one ended up as late as the first, it’d be weeks.
“August twelfth,” Leah said, absently staring out toward the Pacific.
“And this one?” Rebecca said, nodding at Leah’s belly.
“Due July fourth.”
“Oh, a patriotic baby! Dear, isn’t that wonderful?” Rebecca looked over at her husband, but he merely fiddled with his salad.
“What are these purple things?” he asked. Jake noticed his father’s eyes still looked cloudy. From what his mother had hinted at, the surgeries hadn’t helped much. He could imagine the frustration a man like Isaac Abrams would feel being unable to see to navigate his world with precision.
“They’re flower petals,” Leah said, reaching over to clean Reuben’s sauce-smeared face.
“Well, what
are they doing in my food?” Jake’s father leaned down closer to inspect the offerings on his plate. “I didn’t ask for a salad.”
“It came with your burger, Dad. And the flowers are edible. They do things like that in California.” Jake noticed his mother was having better success landing the spoonfuls of applesauce into Reuben’s mouth.
“Hippy food. How’s a man s’posed to fill his stomach on crap like this?”
“Isaac . . .” Rebecca’s voice had an edge, but not one to match the tone in his father’s voice.
“So, why the surprise trip?” Jake asked, more to his mother, who shot her husband a sharp look.
“Well, we’d put it off too long. I mean, look—Reuben’s already so big, and now, with another on the way . . . we just wanted to see how you were holding up is all.”
Leah pulled her gaze away from the horizon and smiled at his mother. “We’re doing fine. Great. Really. I’m glad you came out to visit. But, well, with Jake out of school for the summer and working a temp job, he doesn’t have an awful lot of time to spend—”
Rebecca waved her hand. “Oh, we know all that. And with you in your condition, why, of course you could use someone around to help out, do some cleaning or shopping. Or just babysit Reuben, don’t you think?”
“Mom, it’s a nice gesture, but Leah can handle this. She’s not working—”
“Well, I want to get a little time to spend with my first grandson. And we’ve found a lovely motel not too far from here that rents by the week. Ethan’s got two interns helping out for the summer, so really, this is an ideal time—”
“Hey,” Isaac said, lumbering to his feet, holding the chair to steady himself. “Which way’s the men’s room?”
Jake stood and pointed to the French doors. “Must be inside the restaurant. Do you want some help?”
Before Jake could take a step closer, his dad steamrolled past him. When he was out of earshot, his mother whispered, “He hates to be impaired. Stubborn, to the last. He’d rather walk into a wall than have someone show him the way. Just ignore him.” She blurted out a laugh that sounded forced. Leah just smiled in polite silence. “I think he’s done,” his mother said, meaning Reuben and his lunch. Seemed most of it had worked its way into his small patch of hair. A sticky mess.
