Mollywood (Carved Hearts #2)

by L. G. Pace III

  Jack was alive for twenty seven minutes outside of Jessica’s body. Twenty seven minutes of desperate struggle for life. I remember one of the doctors telling another that he was shocked the baby had been able to survive as long as he had. They tried to keep me from hearing the truth, but Tamryn fought for me to get a copy of the autopsy. I got to see it in the end and it seemed to confirm my worst suspicions. Hypoxia. Lack of oxygen. I did that to him. I fucked up and because of it my boy died. I picked his lying mother when forced to choose between them. I made the worst mistake of my life that day and because of that the son that might have been right here sitting beside me died in an antiseptic smelling hospital room.

  The day replayed itself as it always did when I allowed myself think about it. Jessica had severe brain bleeding. The doctors had needed to act. The choice was made pretty clear. They operate and save one at risk to the other. I thought if Jess was okay the baby would be too. Part of me knew what I was doing. The chicken shit coward that was afraid of being left alone with a baby, that pathetic coward, made the call; and because I let him I was left without either of them.

  Sitting on the roof looking out at the city, I let tears flow down my face while I drank the beer. I could see Jack in my mind just as clearly as if he’d lived. Dressed in a little league uniform, a Halloween costume, Boy Scout camping gear.

  For years, I’d be minding my business, at the park or in the mall and I’d encounter other children and imagine my son’s face. I had told the doc about it and he’d pressed me to talk about it at length. He never really said anything more about it, just asked questions. Most of the work we did at his office seemed directed toward getting me to deal with my shit with varying results.

  The private visit between him and Molly set my god damn teeth on edge. Part of me wanted to know what they talked about. Another part dreaded knowing, and I was glad I’d left the room. Was she finally getting a pictured of what damaged goods she was stuck with? If so, that might explain why she seemed to have no interest in getting married. I can understand not wanting to get married right away. But to just flat out refuse and act like it was a stupid idea…how the fuck was I supposed to take that?

  My beer was empty, but I didn’t feel like going back downstairs. Being in the apartment with Molly felt too intimate just then…too claustrophobic. I needed to decompress a little. Up here, at least for a bit longer, I could pretend that my life was less complicated. That the woman I loved wanted to marry me and was happy to be having my babies.

  The way I felt about Molly was beyond what I had ever imagined love to be. The fact that she made comparisons, and somehow felt she was inferior to my dead wife, was crazy to me. My relationship with Jess had been childishly uncomplicated and I realized that part of me mourned the simplicity of what we had. Thinking about Jess like that irritated me. It was like part of her was stuck in me like a jagged shard of glass. A sliver of pain that twisted from time to time just to remind me it was there. Pain laced with shame and self-recrimination.

  The guilt that haunted me was shoved rudely aside by something far worse, truth. The painful realization that I had never really known Jess, at least not like I knew Molly. The difference was that I wanted to know Molly better every day. We had learned more about each other in the time we had been reacquainted than I had ever known about Jess.

  I could lie to myself and say that my marriage to Jess, all of our happiness, had just been a delusion. But it wasn’t true. The truth, as hard as it was to swallow, was that I hadn’t been in love with Jess. At the time I had thought I was in love, that we were in love. We had fun together, were compatible, and had a good relationship. But when I compared it to what I had with Molly it was a feeble candle next to a roaring bonfire.

  Molly and I were equals. She didn’t bullshit me or try to handle me like Jess had. She was honest and let the chips fall where they may. Life was more tumultuous with her, but better than it ever had been.

  The view from the roof suddenly was a lot less appealing. I had the overwhelming desire to hold Molly in my arms. Things might not be perfect between us. Hell, they probably never would be. But I would take the most fucked up day with her versus the best day without her. Tossing my beer in the trash near the stairs and headed back inside to take Molly to bed.

  A few days later, I had been work in the shop trying to perfect a hand carved buffet table when Francis called back to tell me that I had a visitor. I thought this was weird, because most people I know would have just come on back to where I was working. The pointed way that Francis announced this, coupled with the fact that Mac had suddenly disappeared put me on high alert. When I rounded the buffet and got in view of the counter, I could see what had everyone on edge. The man standing at the counter looked as out of place in my shop as a banker in a stockyard.

  My father was dressed in what he considered ‘business casual’. Tan slacks with a crease you could slice bread with, paired with a button down starched cotton shirt. He had a red handkerchief stuck in his breast pocket and was holding a tan hat in his hand. Though I’d rarely seen him costumed in this manner, I understood that for my father this was authentic, traditional apology gear. He was literally showing up with a hat in his hand. I was instantly annoyed at his theatrics, and I suppressed the urge to turn on my heel and walk back to my workstation. Regardless of what he wanted to talk about, it was better to get it all out of the way. I had enough rubble to sift through without adding parental bullshit to the mix.

  “Hello, dad. What can I do for you? Looking for a custom desk perhaps?” He smiled ruefully and though I was totally validated for calling him out, I felt like a dumbass. He shook his head.

  “Hello, Joe. No, I don’t need any wood work done, thought from what I keep hearing, it sounds like you would be the best one to do it.” The compliment was unexpected and his humble demeanor was off putting. He defied every notion I’d formed of him, and it actually pissed me off. I’d grown comfortable with my father being a dark and distant figure in my life. Any alternative meant retraining my overburdened brain, and I was pretty sure I didn’t have the reserves for that.

  He seemed nervous. My father had never been anything other than confident. Seeing him off balance had me concerned.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He looked up at my alarmed tone of voice and waved his hand with a small shake of his head.

  “What? Oh, no…no there isn’t anything wrong.” He paused, and took a deep breath. “I know you’re busy, son, but I wondered if you might have time to grab a little lunch with me?” His fingers tightly gripped the hat in his hands, seeming to unconsciously clench and unclench. It was obvious that being here took real effort.

  I glanced over at Francis who gave me a meaningful look. It was no surprise that a guy working so diligently to patch up things with his daughter would encourage me to do the same with my estranged dad. Rolling my eyes and shooting Francis a knowing glance, I dropped the tool I was holding on the table.

  “Francis? You mind putting that back for me? Just put it on my workbench. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He dutifully scooped up the chisel.

  “Sure thing, Joe. Take your time. We’ll hold down the fort.” Francis responded. Turning back to my father, I motioned toward the door and followed him out onto the sidewalk.

  I led him down the block to the bakery. They did a decent lunch, so we placed our order and took a number and our drinks outside. Without discussing it, we chose the covered patio for a modicum of privacy. My father was famous for his showboating, but when it came to family, he was private like me.

  We banded around some small talk until the food arrived.

  “So this dinner with Molly’s family.” He suddenly shifted gears, “I hope you’re okay with it. Tamryn is a bit zealous about the entire thing, which naturally comes as no surprise.”

  Tamryn never shied away from what she wanted. Hell, it was her need to explore our Jewish heritage that spurred us to enter public school her senior year, I wa
s in eighth grade, and all I cared about was that my Lacrosse buddies said the girls in public school were all easy.

  “It’s time y’all met.” I agreed, trying to hide my distaste at the thought that Molly and I might not end up having a wedding for them to toast at. “Better now than at the babies’ graduation.”

  “I must confess, I’ve been dying to meet the Hildebrandt’s since you started getting into trouble with the twins in high school.” He continued, seemingly oblivious to my stilted response.

  “They’re good people.” I replied, sipping my sweet tea. We ate in silence. I started to wonder why exactly he’d bothered to ask me to lunch. I waited and waited for the dreaded ‘serious talk” and it never came. My mind wandered to Molly, and I wondered if my constant silence left her with the same exasperated feeling I was presently consumed by. It was a disturbing thought. Finally, I decided I’d had enough and it was time to head back.

  “Well dad, thanks for lunch. I probably should get back to the shop…”

  “Joe, wait. Please.” His sudden, pleading tone took me by surprise and I collapsed back in to the chair. Taking in my father’s appearance, I was struck for the first time at how he was beginning to look old. There were soft edges to the hard man that I had always faced off against.

  “What is it, dad?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended it to be. He flinched a bit and I saw the flare of anger in his eyes. I’d seen that look many times in the mirror, and the realization sickened me. Then he sighed heavily and the tension went out of his frame.

  “Joseph, I know I’m not the easiest man to love.” His woeful eyes cut me to the quick and my jaw hit the floor. This was not the way my father talked. My father talked about fiscal responsibility and the importance of serving the public. Love wasn’t a word I’d ever heard him say. “I had a hard life growing up. We were poor. So incredibly poor. I determined that I would make something of myself and that my children would never go to bed hungry…or want for anything. However, in my pursuit of success, I failed to give you and Tamryn the one thing that I now realize you two most likely wanted from me. My unconditional love.”

  I sat there, immoveable and as used up as a crash test dummy at the end of a long shift. I had been prepared for an argument. Our usual squabbling. Some sort of backhanded compliment about my “little” shop or a lecture in regards to my pregnant girlfriend and the lack of a ring on her finger. The last thing I’d expected was my father going sentimental on my ass.

  “Your sister has grown into a remarkable woman. But she’s god damn relentless. She called me last week at the behest of your mother. The two of them have been conspiring against me and they both are lobbying for us to sell the house in Naples and move back to Austin. She said it was time for me to ‘be the bigger man’ and cross the line that you and I had both drawn in the sand.”

  I gaped at him, utterly astonished. I couldn’t imagine my parents in Austin again after all this time. The prospect of this was stressful in its own right, but from my vantage point on the hill I was already dying on, it had me teetering on the edge.

  “I know it must sound absurd, but I never wanted anything but the very best for you. Just for you to be happy. When you told me that you were not going to follow me into the practice of law, I was blinded by my anger. I felt slighted, somehow, and I now realize that my wounded pride has cost me you. I was never there for you in the ways that I should have been. I thank God every day that you found such wonderful people to support you where I failed.”

  “Good lord, dad. Are you dyin’?” There was an edge of sarcastic vitriol that I was unable to keep out of my voice. It would be just like my dad to decide to settle his debts if he found out he was terminal. That at least would make sense. He laughed, but it trumpeted out of him a sharp, humorless sound.

  “No, Joe. I’m not dying. Nor am I having a midlife crisis or finding Jesus. Your sister told me that you might think this was some sort of, how did she put it, ‘old man reckoning’ moment. That isn’t why I’m here. I’m here to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  Hearing the actual words come out of my father’s mouth was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. If you’d have told me that dogs could talk or that Mac could walk on water, I would have been less shocked. I scrubbed my hands over my face wearily before looking back at him.

  “Sorry for what, dad?” Instead of answering right away he sat regarding me, with a forlorn expression I’d never seen on him before. When he finally spoke, there was a decidedly uncharacteristic warble of emotion in his voice.

  “For my lack of support. I should have listened to you when you wanted to pursue woodworking. It’s obvious that you have a great gift and I should have nurtured it. Instead, I tried to force you down a path of my choosing. Then there was my lack of support when Jessica and the baby died.”

  “Jack.” My voice was ominous even to my own ears. “His name was Jack.”

  “Of course. Jack. When Jessica and Jack died, your mother and I weren’t sure what to do. She wanted to stay and help you. I convinced her to let Tamryn handle things since the two of you are so close. To be honest, I was afraid. You were in so much pain…it was more than I could bear to watch-you suffering like that.” Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and he blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

  I had no response. How do you reply to your father when he comes and apologies to you for being a dick? You can’t yell, or walk away. So I sat there and stared at him. A minute passed, then five, then ten. I just sat there. It was like the flywheel inside my brain just refused to engage so my mind spun in neutral. In the end, it was my father that rose.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, son. I know you have a lot on your plate with Molly and the twins. I just wanted you to know that your mother and I are here. We aren’t going anywhere this time. If you need to talk, you can call me. Anytime, day or night.” Pausing next to my chair, he faced away from me, staring out at the street with his hand on my shoulder.

  “Son, one day, I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. I’m not here to make excuses for what I have done beyond admitting that I’ve made mistakes. Soon enough you’ll have your own children and then you’ll start to understand how confusing and ridden with pitfalls parenting can be. However, you need to know that I love you. You’re my son and I will spend the rest of my days trying to be the father I always should have been.”

  His hand slid from my shoulder and I made no motion to stop him as he walked away. I’m not really sure how long I sat there staring at my half eaten sandwich, but when I heard someone pull out the chair across from me, I looked up and Molly was sitting there.

  “Molly?” She had a look on her face that was hard for me to identify. Reaching across the table she took one of my hands in hers.

  “Hey there, big boy. You alright?” The gentle lilt of her voice anchored me to the present and I pushed away the mental fog I had been sitting in.

  “Yeah. No. Hell…” Squeezing my hand she slipped around the table and taking the chair beside me, she snuggled up next to me. Having her pressed against me brought a simple peace to my troubled mind and I dipped my face down to kiss her forehead. “I just had one of the weirdest conversations of my life with my dad, of all people. The last person I would have expected to ever blink first. This must be what a pinball machine feels like when it gets tilted.”

  Smiling, Molly peered up at me from behind her long, beautiful lashes. Slipping my hand free from hers, I slid my arm around her and held her for a moment.

  “So,” she said finally. “Was it a good talk?”

  “It wasn’t a fight, so I guess it was. Normally my father and I end conversations by screaming at each other, at least for the last ten years or so.”

  Nodding, she stayed quiet as she nestled against me. It was a distinctly Molly move. Without my saying a word, she knew that I needed to talk and so she just listened. Moments like this made me realize how foolish I had been to think what Jess and I had was love. I often
looked back on my interactions with Jess like an actor remembering a role from far back in the beginning of their career.

  When I met Jess, she was, in my mind, the perfect girl. My American dream, blonde, poised, together. I immediately saw a future with her the minute she told me her name. She fit the mold. She was like pure sunshine, and I even called her that. I was in love with the idea of us, and did all the things I thought I was supposed to do accordingly.

  I did everything right. Everything by the book and look how that turned out,

  When she was gone I fell into darkness. Then all of her lies began to unravel, and I was humiliated and devastated. It’s like she’d been living two lives, and I realized I would never know what were lies and what were truths.

  The only thing about our life together that I’d never questioned was Jack. I held that boy. I looked at his face. He was mine.

  When I first encountered Molly last year, I existed in a fugue state of drinking, whoring, and working. You’ve heard of people having walking pneumonia? I was in a walking coma. Then she was there, and it was like I’d been struck by lightning. She shook me awake, and I promise you, it was nothing short of resuscitation.

  Molly got me. We shared a long history. She knew what I was like before, and she put up with what I was now. She wasn’t always happy with me, but she intuitively understood the important things about me. The rest of it would sort itself out, I believed that as sure as I knew the sun would rise in the east. Most importantly, I loved her. It’s not a strong enough word to express what I feel, but it’s all I have to work with. I wanted her to feel the same about me, that she could count on me. That she could tell me anything.