by C. S. Lakin
With that remark, he nuzzled up to her ear, whispered something. Dinah’s face flushed at his words. As Shane walked backstage, Levi asked, “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing.”
Levi could tell she meant to make light of whatever had been said, but Shane’s words had clearly upset her.
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Dinah. He’s just a flirt.”
“I know. I’ve seen him, the way he is with other girls. They just throw themselves at him.”
“Yeah.”
“But I can see why. He’s really . . . well, he obviously knows how good-looking he is.”
“Yeah, well you’re better-looking.” Levi smiled and took her hand. “And a whole lot less sweaty.”
Dinah laughed and the bright sound of it made Levi glad he’d gone to the trouble to get her here, to give her a fun night out for her birthday. He was glad she’d stopped trying to be all prissy and good like Rachel had been, although he felt immediately guilty thinking like that, reminding him yet again for the millionth time of his culpability, that it had been his fault, all his fault, that she had died.
The images of him and Simon trashing their mom’s garden bit him anew with a sharp pain and it was all he could do to reach down under the table and pull out the brandy, unscrew the top, and take a large gulp. Once he allowed the memory get purchase in his head, it pummeled him mercilessly, without letup, pounding the guilt, like an iron stake, hard and deep into his soul.
Levi blinked back angry tears. He was angry at himself and at Simon, angry at life, and most of all angry that he couldn’t turn back time, undo what he did, prevent her death. He could picture God on his throne, angry too, with eyes blazing red in judgment as Levi stood before him, unable to come up with an excuse or justify what he did. What hurt most was recalling how mean he’d been to her, how so often she’d tried to be sweet and affectionate and he only pushed her away, spurned her. How that must have hurt her heart, and he never thought about it, what that must have done to her, how it made her feel. How could he have been so cruel when he truly loved her so much?
Dinah didn’t say a word as she watched him polish off the rest of the brandy. She only laid a hand on his wrist after he stashed the empty bottle in his pack, as if she knew what he was thinking, how he was feeling. She was the only one who had forgiven him, two years now past and so long ago but at this moment feeling as if just yesterday, with Dinah screaming at him and saying it was all his fault, that he killed her, he’d killed their mom.
He wished he hadn’t started thinking about her. About Rachel, their mother. As much as he needed to remember her, keep alive the love he’d had for her, he needed more than anything to erase her from his heart. It was just too painful, too debilitating.
The band started in on a song, this time Billy Idol’s “Cradle of Love.” Levi was glad for the noise and the way the band pulled Dinah’s attention away from his face. Levi sucked in the tears, glanced over at Shane, drumming with his attention clearly focused on Dinah, and blew out his breath.
“Come on,” Dinah said, rising to her feet and pulling on his arm. “Let’s dance. Dance until we drop.”
He caught her looking back at Shane and smiling, and for some reason a chill flitted across his neck. He didn’t at all like the way Shane was eyeing his sister, but what could he do about it? He was just Simon’s shrimpy brother, who, up until now thought he was one of the guys. He recalled the way Shane had told him he wasn’t invited backstage. That really pissed him off. But he could handle it. He’d spent most of his life hiding his real feelings, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Shane had probably said that just to make an impression on Dinah, thinking maybe she didn’t want to be stuck in the crowd with her brother. But Dinah had stood up to Shane, and Levi was grateful. He chided himself. No doubt he was making this into something bigger than it was. Shane probably wouldn’t even remember he’d said those things to him, was probably so high he couldn’t even remember his own name at this point. Levi knew the kind of drugs Shane took, especially before a gig.
Levi pulled his attention back around to his gorgeous sister, a whirlwind of air around him, and as she danced, the room spun with her, a kaleidoscope of color that snagged his eyes and made him forget all the troubled thoughts brewing in his head.
“My cart’s over there.”
Jake turned at the harsh voice. The customer he’d been assisting was standing next to a compact truck, his hands on his hips.
“Listen, fella, I’m late for an appointment. Get a move on here.”
Jake’s attention wandered across the parking lot, back to the woman he had spotted in the garden section, the one who looked too much like Rachel, her blond hair bobbing at her shoulders and walking with the easy gait of his dead wife.
“Hey, wake up!”
“Sorry.” Jake blew out a breath and reach for one end of the two-by-twelve PT. He waited for the man to get a good grip on the other end, then hefted the board up onto the rack, like he had done repeatedly with a thousand other boards onto countless other racks over the last fifteen years. It was all so meaningless—working hard, being the ever-so-helpful salesman, serving the building needs of the community, all to bring home a paycheck that paid the bills for another month—and then what?
Jake kept loading wood, listening to the overweight man grunt and complain about the project, whatever it was, he just had to get done for his wife over the weekend, and how he was going to miss watching his favorite football team play, whoever that was, but if he didn’t build the damn thing he’d get no relief.
Sometime during the man’s diatribe Jake felt his patience snap. He’d never said an unkind word to a customer—not in all these years, but he’d had enough. Not that he was annoyed or angry. He was just tired of hearing one more person gripe about life.
He stopped midway to loading the last board, leaving the man bent over and sweating in the hot sun. “What the hell are you doing?” the man demanded.
“Do you love your wife?” Jake asked in all sincerity.
“What?”
“I said, do—”
“I heard you the first time. Idiot! My marriage is none of your business. Now get the wood on the truck before I burst a hernia here.”
Jake set down his end of the board, watched the man’s face turn dark red. “Well, you seemed to be making it my business, talking about your wife. If you love her, why don’t you want to make her happy—”
The man shook his head, threw down the two-by onto the asphalt, waved his arms in the air. “I don’t know what your problem is, fella, but I’m reporting you. Nosy, lazy people like you shouldn’t be working here.”
Jake watched the man storm off into the store while swearing under his breath. He turned and searched the parking lot, caught sight of the Rachel look-alike getting into a passenger van, let his gaze follow the vehicle as it turned out onto Vanowen and cruised past the parking lot.
There was no way to describe the emptiness he felt. He pictured his body as some dried-up seed pod, with shriveled dead seeds rattling around inside, good for nothing. As he stood there beside the man’s truck letting the summer heat pound his head, he thought about Rachel’s lectures, her insisting God had a purpose for his life. “He’s not done with you yet. We are all a work in progress.” Yeah, well, maybe God’s not done, but I am.
Jake grunted, walked back toward the store, leaving the last board on the ground sticking out into the lane. If one of his clerks did something like this, they’d get a big scolding, but right at this moment Jake couldn’t care less if he got fired. He was walking dead, tired, so tired, of living this life, but he was trapped.
Bill Hodgeson came up to him, the irate customer at his side. Before the man could mouth off again, Bill turned to the man and said, “Charlie’s gonna help you finish loading.” He pointed to the young new employee with the eager grin and his whole unwritten life ahead of him who was rushing out the front doors, meaning to please, and who fell in st
ep alongside the customer as they both hurried out into the bustling parking lot.
Bill looked at Jake, frowned. “I told you to take some time off, Abrams.”
Jake wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead as they stood there off to the side of the entrance. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Come to work every day, do the same thing week after week. How many years have you been here anyway?”
Bill laughed. “Too many. But, see, I got retirement coming up, with three-quarter bennies, so that’s what keeps me going.” He cocked his head. “Look, let me take you out to lunch. I could go for a bacon burger at Hamburger Hamlet.” He pointed over at Charlie busy tying off the load on the man’s overhead rack. “Let the kid handle the floor for an hour.”
Jake studied Bill’s face, trying to suss out the secret, understand how a man could be content and unruffled working the same boring job every day, the routine of going home, watching TV, mowing his lawn, eating the same boring meals. Other people suffered tragedies from time to time too, Jake reminded himself. Someone always died. People were killed in car accidents by the droves each day. There had to be a trick to it—surviving. Getting to where it felt meaningful.
“Do you ever . . . feel regret? Like you’ve wasted your life. I mean, can you really look back on it all and say this was your purpose in being here on the earth—?”
His boss chortled and slapped Jake heartily on the back. “Back to all that religious nonsense. I tell you, Abrams, that is what will steal your joy—dwelling too much about your purpose in life! People have been living, eating, sleeping, working, and dying since time began. That’s all there is to it. You make your way in the world, find time to have fun, accumulate a few toys. Does there have to be more than that?”
Jake sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”
Bill waved Jake along. “Come on. I gotta get my keys.” He stopped abruptly. “You know what your problem is, Abrams? You think too much. You gotta stop thinking and just find ways to make you happy. Sure, life’s handed you some tough knocks, but you bounce back. Just move forward. Forward’s the only way to go. Like they say: if you’re going through hell, don’t stop.”
Jake only nodded and followed his boss into the store, oddly thinking back to something Leah had said to him years ago, how if he wasn’t careful he’d be like wood that petrified over time, his heart growing hard, unresponsive. She’d been right; that’s exactly what was happening to him, but what could he do? All his joy was buried six feet underground. His kids had slipped from his grasp, Reuben and Simon moved out, Levi barely ever home, and now Dinah acting the way Leah used to, sneaking off to party with her brothers—thinking Jake didn’t know what she was doing. He didn’t get it. Dinah had been such a sweet, honest girl—and she still was, in many ways. Just look at how she cared for her younger brothers. But Jake knew her hanging out with Simon would only bring heartache and trouble, and he wished he could forbid her from going over to his apartment.
He went to his desk and picked up his sunglasses, checked to make sure he had his wallet. The sense of failure crushed him, and as he walked with Bill out of the store his legs felt as thick as stone; it took such effort to put one leaden foot in front of the other. He thought about Joey, so opposite of him, his little boy so sure God had a purpose for his life, knew he was meant to be a doctor—no doubt, no second-guessing. Maybe Joey was special; maybe God was singling him out and leading him through his life. But Jake could not, would not, believe God really cared about Jake Abrams. Why should he? Rachel’s logic—and faith—was just wishful thinking, what people wanted to believe, to give life meaning. He reminded himself for the millionth time—you could talk yourself into believing anything. It didn’t make it true, though. Rachel once quoted some Scripture at him—how without faith it was impossible to please God.
Yet, didn’t God have to somehow earn that faith? Jake thought of his father, now old, embittered, half blind. How Jake had spent his whole childhood trying to please his father but was never accepted, never loved. Would never give his blessing. He’d be damned if he was going to put out the same futile effort trying to please some nebulous lofty God. At this point in Jake’s life, pleasing God was not high on his list. Jake was a father, but did he demand his kids please him? He wished they would, by getting their lives together, by making good choices, taking responsibility for their behavior. But their purpose in life wasn’t to please him. God was just asking too much, demanding too much, if he expected his creation to spend all their time trying to make him happy.
Bill stopped at his car and turned to Jake. “You’re thinking again. I can tell. Jake, I’m not asking you this time, I’m telling. You’ve got gobs of vacation time piled up. Even when your wife died, you kept working, and I didn’t say a thing, thinking maybe that’s what you needed, to bury yourself in work. But starting tomorrow, I want you to take three weeks off. Go take a trip, do one of those hokey spiritual vision quests or something. Go find yourself. Maybe you missed out on all that in the ’sixties. Whatever. Just don’t show your face around here for a while, got it?”
Jake nodded, got into the car. A vacation? He’d never had one. Not a real one. He felt a sudden nostalgia for mountains, glistening peaks strung out along the Front Range. Maybe he would take Joey and Ben with him, take them into the Rockies, show them real nature. What did they know? Only the local park with trees and squirrels and lawn. The idea stirred his heart, filled him with a longing to breathe the high-altitude air, thin, crisp, invigorating. Bill was right—maybe he just needed a break. Maybe after some distance, a change in scenery, he’d see his life differently.
He surely hoped so. For if he didn’t, he knew deep in his heart he wouldn’t be able to keep going.
1992
Tears in Heaven
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Will it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong, and carry on
‘Cause I know I don’t belong
Here in heaven
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I’ll find my way, through night and day
‘Cause I know I just can’t stay
Here in heaven
Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knee
Time can break your heart
Have you begging, “please . . .”
Beyond the door
There’s peace, I’m sure.
And I know there’ll be no more
Tears in heaven
—Eric Clapton
Dinah adjusted her backpack on her back and pushed her hair over her shoulders. She startled at someone touching her arm.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
Dinah turned, found herself staring into Shane’s eyes. She stopped, took a step back on the sidewalk but he took her arm, kept her there. Dinah glanced around. A few students skipped down the library steps past her, but the campus was empty as evening approached. She swallowed past the rock in her throat.
“I’ve had a lot of homework these days. Got a report due on Friday.”
Shane’s mouth turned up in a smile, but his eyes remained icy. “Excuses, excuses. You never come over anymore.” He leaned into her, his warm breath caressing her face in the cool spring afternoon. She tried to pull back but he held fast.
“Shane. Please. I need to get home.”
“I just want to talk.”
Dinah let out a breath, realized she’d been holding it in. “About what?”
“About us.”
She smirked, finally able to pull out of his grasp, take a step back. “There is no us.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.”
Dinah just didn’t get why Shane was so fixated on her. He had girls flocking around him—wit
h his hot looks and family money, that fancy red sports car. Plying them all with drugs, liquor, ordering in food, whatever anyone wanted, the magnanimous host. Why did he care about her?
She glanced down and noticed him shaking his fingers, saw how antsy, wired he was. He’d probably just done a line of coke before coming to the school. She hadn’t told Levi, but that was the real reason she stopped hanging out at the apartment. Shane always seemed to corner her, say lewd things to her, put his hands on her in places she didn’t want to be touched. She’d politely told him no, pushed him away, made it clear she wasn’t interested in what he wanted, but it was like he never heard a word she said. At first Dinah had been flattered by the attention, this rich guy four years older, attracted to her. After a few weeks of his advances, though, it seemed clear that he just wanted to score, so he could brag. He didn’t seem at all interested in her as a person, never asked her how she felt or wanted to know about her dreams or interests. So Dinah quit showing up for rehearsals, met her brothers for burgers, or breakfast at IHOP.
When Simon had asked why she stopped coming around, she said she was getting behind in her classes, wanted to get good grades so she could graduate and go into nursing. When Simon laughed at her admission to wanting to be a nurse, she slugged him and he shut up. But Levi thought it was a great goal—maybe, Dinah thought, because he’d been sick as a child and some nurses had worked with him, helped him get better. She got the idea while caring for Ben, wishing she knew more about things like CPR and first aid.
Dinah started walking at a fast pace toward home. Shane fell in beside her.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry if I’ve said something to offend you. I’m just crazy about you, you know? You gotta give a guy a break. Let me at least take you out for a Julius or something. We can go to the mall, someplace public.”
Dinah knew it was a mistake to look in his face. Shane’s pleading expression snagged her heart. She wished he wasn’t such a fox. With him standing so close to her, feeling the warmth emanate from his face, smelling his skin, his beautiful mouth up against her cheek, it was all she could do not to fall into his arms. She chided herself for being so weak.
