by C. S. Lakin
What choice did Simon have?—either he had to tell Rube or Joey would.
“All right,” Reuben said, “I agree.”
Simon looked up at the wall clock. They’d already been in there ten minutes. “This is gonna take a little time to tell, bro.”
“Just spill it, Si.”
“Okay. But it’s not gonna be pretty.”
Simon began, and the rocks started tumbling.
1996
Time
Time, why you punish me?
Like a wave bashing into the shore
You wash away my dreams.
Time, why you walk away?
Like a friend with somewhere to go
You left me crying.
Can you teach me about tomorrow
And all the pain and sorrow
Running free?
’Cause tomorrow’s just another day
And I don’t believe in time.
Time, you left me standing there
Like a tree growing all alone
The wind just stripped me bare, stripped me bare
Time, the past has come and gone
The future’s far away
Now only lasts for one second, one second.
—Hootie and the Blowfish
Jake had forgotten how beautiful the campus was. He’d been so busy rushing to classes back when he attended that he rarely took the time to meander around the spacious lawns, enjoy the flowering trees and the soft spray from the fountain outside Royce Hall. Over twenty years had passed—how was that possible?—and the campus looked just as he remembered it, as if the ochre and red brick buildings were imperious to time’s ravages, certainly impervious to the successes and failures of all the students who had trodden the concrete pathways, lunched on the lawns, studied in the libraries. Hundreds of thousands of feet tromping through hallways, shuffling into classrooms. His only two of so many feet, and only for two short years.
“What’s that building, Dad?” Joseph asked.
“That’s Royce Performance Hall. It’s got a huge auditorium for concerts and plays. And across from it, that’s Powell Library. I spent a lot of hours studying in there.”
“Is the medical center far?”
“No. I’ve never been inside it, but that’s why we’re here today—so you can look around, see what a terrific school this is—”
“I don’t even know if I’ll get in, Dad.”
“You will.” He grinned. “If they took me, they’ll take you.”
Joseph laughed. “Well, you weren’t trying to get in as premed. That’s harder than business.”
“You’ll get in. How can you not—with your test scores and AP classes, the letters of rec you’re getting? Hey, why don’t we sit over on that bench and eat our lunch—then we can check out the medical school.”
“Okay.”
Jake led Joseph to one of the smooth stone benches near the fountain, warm in the June sun and sheltered from the light breeze. Jake thought it would be nice, being Joseph’s fifteenth birthday, to see UCLA, aware that part of the reason Joseph had his heart set on attending was because his dad had gone there and often spoke so highly of it.
Jake sat, tried to untangle the many emotions this walk through the past stirred up—a mix of regret, frustration, and satisfaction that netted so many memories of his years, another lifetime, with Leah. His life as a college student was a far-off flicker in his brain, feeling so foreign, like someone else’s memories planted in there, and the dreams he’d sowed and watered likewise lacked recognition.
He opened the daypack and handed Joseph a sandwich, then unwrapped his, took a bite. He’d eaten a lot of sandwiches on benches around campus, even probably a time or two on this very bench.
“Dad? How come you never finished school?”
“I wanted to, but Leah wanted a family and I tried to keep taking classes, but it was just too hard.”
“Why did you major in business?” Joseph asked between bites.
“I had dreams of opening a wood shop, becoming an artist. But that wasn’t possible—not with a bunch of kids to support.”
“But you could go back to school now, couldn’t you? At least part-time. Finish your degree?”
Jake looked in Joseph’s bright eyes, saw the spark that had once been his own hopeful enthusiasm back in Colorado, when college loomed large and promising before him. “I don’t see the point. I’ll never open a wood shop. And I’m really not all that good at carving.”
“But, Dad, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at something—you can always get better. What matters is if it’s something in your heart, something you long to do. I know you love to carve. Maybe you don’t have to go back and get a degree, but you should take up woodworking again. You should always make time to do what’s in your heart.”
“Sounds like the lectures I used to give to you when you were little.”
“Yeah, it does.” Joseph chuckled, reached into the pack and pulled out an apple. Jake could have sworn Joseph had grown another inch in just the last week. His son’s face had broadened, lost the little-boy roundness, his chin and nose more angular, more like his own and not so much like Rachel’s anymore—a handsome face.
“I remember you carving that eagle. I saw it on the shelf in the garage the other day. You going to finish it?”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe. When I get around to it.”
“You were making it for Mom. I remember.”
“Yeah.” Jake remembered too, thought of the last time he held the gouge, how he’d slipped and cut his hand, heard Simon yelling at Rachel. That was the day, too, he’d had that extraordinary experience in her garden, the moment he felt God’s love pour out on him. He wished the sensation had stayed with him, wished he could really remember how it had felt, that love drenching him, making him feel . . . worthwhile. Worth someone’s attention. Sometimes he wondered if he’d imagined it all, due to the stress, the lack of sleep.
He suddenly missed Rachel terribly, the ache not starting up in a small spot and spreading but smacking him like a board across his face, the pain of it making him gasp. He hadn’t thought about her in weeks, not really. Not the way he used to—pausing each day in the middle of doing something, savoring a memory, an expression on her face, her floral, earthy scent that she exuded after working in her garden. He’d open a drawer and find a piece of paper with her writing on it, find himself watching her sitting at the kitchen table making a grocery list. Simple things, unimportant things that now seemed important to remember so that he didn’t lose them, any of them, like a box full of photographs growing yellow and brittle with age, needing care and preservation or they would crumble.
“I miss her too, Dad. A lot.”
Jake set down his half-eaten sandwich, put his arm around Joseph, pulled him close. He fought back tears. “I know you do. She’d be so proud of you . . .”
“I hear her sometimes,” Joseph said in an almost whisper. “At night, when I’m falling asleep. I think she’s watching over me.”
Jake gave Joseph’s shoulder a squeeze, dropped his arm into his lap. “I’m sure she is. She loved you so much.”
They both grew quiet, Jake wondering what Joseph was thinking about but feeling he shouldn’t ask.
He thought about Joseph starting college, leaving home to live in the dorms. Thought how his house was slowly emptying, one child at a time, each going off to pursue their dreams—or run away from their nightmares. Here he was, almost fifty, and he couldn’t fathom how he’d gotten so old this fast. The last time he spoke to his mother, she was practically the age he was now. He waited for that twinge of guilt to pinch him but felt nothing. For years his mother had sent polite cards, short notes, sometimes on Reuben’s birthday. She probably didn’t even know the other children’s birthdays, but that was all Jake’s fault. He knew he’d been wrong to cut off communication with his parents, but at the time it seemed a matter of emotional survival. And then too many years had slipped by and the silence settl
ed into a comfortable place of excuses and justifications. He’d almost taken the youngest kids to see their grandparents—that time he took a leave from work and they drove out to the Rockies. They had been only a handful of miles away, but the closer Jake had gotten to the Colorado border, the more his heart resisted. Dropping in unannounced at his parents’ home would have opened a door Jake might not have been able to close, a door that had taken him way too much effort to close in the first place. He wasn’t prepared for the dump of guilt his mother would have unloaded on him, not his idea of a relaxing vacation.
Is that what would happen with his own children? Would he spend his last years wondering why they didn’t visit, didn’t call, didn’t care? He wanted to believe he’d been a better father than Isaac Abrams, but was he? It seemed his kids either yelled at him or lectured him. Although Ben and Joseph still showed him affection. Yet maybe in time they too would drift away from him, look at his life with disdain, weigh him in the balance of life and find him wanting.
He looked over at Joseph, who watched the students milling around the campus. His son, who embodied everything he wasn’t—confident, focused, ambitious, smart, gifted, hopeful. Rachel had been right—Joseph was special, a gift, an answer to her prayers. She had dreamed him into existence, and now he followed his own dreams, ones he claimed God put in his heart.
He grunted, recalling what Rachel had told him, how God wasn’t finished with him, had a plan for his life. Those words came to him from time to time over the years and he tried to fit them like a puzzle piece into the picture of his life, but he saw no plan, no purpose. Maybe his only purpose was to ensure Joseph’s dreams came true, that he was to pave the way for his son to fulfill God’s plan. Jake could live with that. That was a noble purpose he could embrace, and maybe that was what Rachel meant after all. How could he know?
The thought brought a wash of comfort into his heart, stilled the restless stirrings, the surging frustration always churning inside him. Something that felt like peace came over him and a deep, desperate love for Joseph made him reach out and hug his son in a tight embrace.
“What’s that all about, Dad? You getting all sentimental on me in your old age?”
Jake chuckled. Yeah, he was. “Sorry, I know I’m embarrassing you.” He pulled back, wiped his eyes.
Joseph smiled and it seemed his smile lit up the entire sky. “It’s okay. I love you too, Dad.”
Those words fell like rain upon Jake’s thirsty soul. He sat there, basking in his son’s light, and soaked it up—every drop.
1997
How Do I Live?
How do I get through the night without you?
If I had to live without you,
What kind of life would that be?
Oh, I need you in my arms, need you to hold,
You’re my world, my heart, my soul,
If you ever leave,
you would take away everything good in my life,
And tell me now
How do I live without you?
I want to know,
How do I breathe without you?
If you ever go,
How do I ever, ever survive?
How do I, how do I, oh how do I live?
— LeAnn Rimes
It took every ounce of self-control to keep the smile plastered on his face, to keep his lips pressed hard together so he didn’t say the things he needed to say, what had to be said, but no one would bring up. He didn’t know what to do, but one thing Simon did know—something had to be done, and tonight was the night.
He looked around the table at the fancy restaurant—the spotless, ironed tablecloths; the silver candlesticks; the expensive china dishes; the waiters in their dressy attire. Simon couldn’t even begin to guess the cost of this dinner—this celebration dinner for Joey—who drove him crazy with his insistence on now being called Joseph— for getting accepted into UCLA, like it was such a big deal. The menu didn’t even show any prices! Did his dad ever lavish money like this on anyone else? Take any of his other kids out to dinner in freakin’ Beverly Hills, for crying out loud? Not a chance.
Here he was, barely eking it out, scrimping each week just to pay his rent, barely enough money for groceries. He’d been eating rice and beans for so long he wanted to puke. No doubt just one dessert on that silver cart cost him more than a month’s rent. Only last week Simon had asked his dad, once more, although he knew it was a waste of time, if he’d help him out and what did his dad say? He couldn’t afford it! But he could afford this? It reminded Simon of the time they’d gone to Disneyland for Joey’s fifth birthday. Always the same song—Joey got everything he wanted and the rest of them got squat.
All that fancy food churned in Simon’s stomach, threatening to come up. He could just picture how upset his father would be if he barfed all over the table. A fitting commentary to this pathetic attempt at a happy family gathering, everyone so happy, toasting to Joey—Reuben, even Dinah. The only one who shared his ire was Levi; Simon saw it raging in his brother’s eyes. Levi had to put up with it all up close and personal, living at home, working at his dad’s job, working under his dad, Levi nearly twenty-one and still being treated like he was five years old and didn’t know how to tie his shoes. But Levi sucked it up, content to be downtrodden, smothering under some paranoid attack of guilt and fear, plagued by nightmares, despite going to a therapist every week.
Well, Simon knew what plagued Levi—and knew the only cure for those nightmares, seeing that Joey was the source, the problem, and the unpredictable variable. Only an hour ago, minutes after Simon had arrived at the house as dressed up as he was willing to get, with Reuben sitting with their Dad on the couch, waiting for Dinah to finish messing with her hair, Joey had opened his big mouth and started in on his lecture. Simon couldn’t believe it, just stood there partway into the living room, noticing Levi stop like a deer frozen in the headlights in the hallway. overhearing, as Joey went on easy as you please about how it was time for them to come clean and confess Shane’s murder, that God had told him the blood would be on all their heads unless they went to the police.
Simon had looked at his dad’s face, and in that moment knew what a wimp he was, unable and unwilling to put Joey in his place, as if anyone could, and Reuben—who Simon knew had talked at length with Joey—only gaped in shock, speechless, the whole room gone silent with the weight of judgment, and Dinah waltzing in all cheerful and chatty, coming to a screeching halt upon stumbling into the somber mood, like Little Red Riding Hood skipping through the forest whistling happily, only to bump into the hungry, scary wolf. Joey—a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Her arrival broke the spell cast and they all gathered their coats and in a tense silence went out to the cars, Dinah puzzled and asking questions but their dad brushing it aside and pasting on a happy smile, trying to shake out the bad mood and create a new one.
But it had been clear that all through the dinner Joey’s pointed pronouncement lay heavy underneath their conversation, like a slumbering sea monster stirred awake and about to ravage the world above. Simon could feel it, sense it so close, it made the hairs on his neck tingle. All these years Joey had made occasional remarks, which had been quickly snuffed out, and he’d backed off, shut his trap for a while. But tonight was different, way different from those other times. The sureness in Joey’s voice, the resolute statement like a gavel smacking down on wood, made clear Joey had come to a decision. He would no longer keep silent, no matter how much lecturing, warning, or threats he received. It had turned into a godly mission, which gave it a dangerous slant, for now if Joey were opposed, he would be a righteous martyr for his cause, and even if his whole family turned on him he had God on his side, and there was nothing more perilous and inflexible than someone willing to suffer any mistreatment on his path to glory.
That was why, at the last moment before they loaded up in the two cars, Simon had said he forgot something and ran back into the house, knowing exactly the stash of drugs Levi kept i
n his room and where he kept them, Simon having given a good portion of them to Levi, to help him through his fearsome days and unbearable nights.
And now, as they all sat there with the corny symphonic music playing through the restaurant’s speakers, the waiters as stiff as boards clearing the dessert dishes from the table and pouring coffee into the delicate cups, Simon fingered the little packet in his pants pocket.
“I’ve waited to give you this present for last, Joseph,” his dad said, pulling out a white box, adorned with a ribbon, from the shopping bag positioned next to the table. Simon met Levi’s eyes and saw them simmering in pain. He nodded at Levi, the way he used to do so many times over the years, that knowing nod telling Levi he had a plan, that he had it all worked out and not to worry. Levi’s eyebrows raised a little, but the relief that washed over his face was evident.
Simon turned his attention back to their father, who was making a big deal over that stupid box. Joey took it and opened it, pulled out the contents for all to see. Simon grunted. A leather coat—black with light blue sleeves, with the UCLA Bruins’ bear logo on the back.
“Dad! A letterman jacket. Thanks so much!” Joey gushed.
If Simon had any misgivings or hesitancy about his plan, they disappeared in that instant, seeing Joey’s eyes light up and Simon understanding the symbolism of that piece of clothing. A simple jacket—costly, yes—but what it represented was enormous. Sewn up in that jacket was the culmination of Joey’s entire life to this point—sixteen years of being the chosen, favored child. Joey’s life a smooth, easy path, getting what he wanted every time, his every wish and whim fulfilled, and now the promise of a college education, what—maybe eight years to become a doctor? And that jacket a guarantee that all little Joey’s dreams would come true, that his dad would support and fund and back him in every endeavor, regardless of the cost—financially or emotionally—to the rest of the family.
