An Exaltation of Larks

by Suanne Laqueur

  “Residential details aside, is Guelisten an acceptable place? Is it close enough to Morgantown High, close enough to your work? Close to your endocrinologist who, by the way, needs to see you in a week. Right now I’m most concerned about your safety, your health and your education, in that order. What’s the most pressing concern you have right now?”

  “I want to be near Roman.”

  “Staying at Lark House solves that problem.”

  “I want to keep working. I have to keep working. I want to be near Roman. I want to graduate and go to college.”

  “And be safe.”

  “I guess. Yeah.” All the poised maturity dropped from his face like flakes of dead skin and now he looked young and frail.

  “I’m sorry. You’re wiped out,” Jav said. He caught the waitress’s eye and signaled for the check. “I’ll stop asking you questions and take you back.”

  “Thanks,” Ari said. “And thanks for dinner.”

  “Qué onda, cosita?” Deane’s father said as they were driving home from the shelter. He always spoke Spanish to her when they were alone. Deane’s fluency was excellent, but reluctant. She knew it made Alex happy when she used his native tongue. Deane wanted to make him happy, but being able to speak a language exclusively with Alex wasn’t fair to her mother.

  As an athlete, Deane held fairness in high regard.

  “It was so sad about that boy,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “His mother just…fell down the stairs.”

  “Unbelievable, right?” He had one hand on the wheel. The other elbow rested on the window ledge and his fingers tapped his mouth. In the last, slanting rays of the sun’s light, the lines in his face looked deeper.

  Stella always said Alex was a hottie. Personally, Deane thought he was kind of dorky-looking. Especially with his glasses. Clark Kent on the other side of forty. His ears stuck out a little and he had deep dimples. As he’d gotten older, those dimples lengthened, framing his wide smile like parenthesis. He still had all his hair, but lately it showed more grey than brown. If he didn’t shave a few days, his beard came in full of silver.

  On the other hand, he had beautiful, intense green eyes. He went to the gym before work every morning and ran with Deane on the weekends. His stomach was flat, his shoulders broad, his arms strong, defined and tattooed. When he walked away, Val always stared after and murmured, “Look at that butt.”

  Sometimes, he took off his glasses and glanced up at whoever was speaking, the lines around his mouth blurred by beard growth, his hair tousled just the right way. And Deane would be filled with a possessive pride, thinking yes, her father could, objectively, be considered hot.

  Ari, the boy whose mother died and whose dog was poisoned, was unquestionably hot. Dark hair tumbling over his forehead and eyes the color of milk chocolate. Long lashes and eyebrows so smooth, Deane kept wanting to run her finger along them. But God, he was thin. Uncomfortably thin. With such a maelstrom of sadness and fear and shock in his face, it tore Deane in two. Half of her wanted only to look at him while the other half couldn’t bear what she saw. For a brief moment, when their fingers touched within the dog’s fur, she felt his pain crackle up her arm. Then she wanted to run away while only wanting to stay and guard him.

  That hurt like hell.

  Let me feel it again.

  Empathy, she thought, wondering how she could collage it. A hand on someone’s shoulder. But not on it. In it. She shuffled imaginary pieces of paper, layering them. Human touch sinking beneath the skin to become one with someone’s experience. In her mind she touched Ari’s shoulder, felt bone and muscle and sinew and pain. All sharp-edged and skeletal.

  “He was so thin,” she said.

  “I saw that. I don’t know if that’s his build or if something else is going on. Poor kid.”

  He hurts to his bones.

  Deane imagined walking through her front door and finding her mother dead. Val drove her batshit, but it didn’t mean Deane wanted to discover her flung on the floor like a rag doll. Her blonde hair spilling across a grey, frozen face, catching in a half-open mouth. Blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. Victim of a stumble.

  One misstep, one stupid trip and everything could change.

  “You all right, cosita?” Alex said.

  I’m upset, she thought, trying to distill her emotion down to a single word. The world was tenuous and uncertain tonight. Ari’s plight now all tangled up with her confusion about Casey and sticking in her throat.

  She reached across the console to Alex’s arm, tracing the two bands tattooed around his right bicep. Her name and her mother’s name inked into her father’s skin.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “When did you first fall in love?” she asked in Spanish.

  Alex’s head turned toward her, then back to the road. “With your mother?”

  “With anyone.”

  He drew in a long thoughtful breath, then exhaled it. “I guess it was Amanda. I was with her most of college.”

  “You loved her.” Her fingertips traced the long scar across his elbow, then she took her hand away.

  “Well, she wasn’t the love of my life, obviously. But your first love is important. It goes in your Hall of Fame. Looking back now, it’s easy to dismiss it and say I didn’t know what I was doing or didn’t have a clue what love was. My opinion now doesn’t change what I felt then. Back then, I believed it was love. It felt like love.”

  Deane hummed.

  “That’s all that matters, cosita. What you believe and what you feel now. Later on, you might feel differently. Later you might be able to explain it better. But it doesn’t ever change how you felt at the time. Cachai?”

  She didn’t get it. What she felt now was ten kinds of shitty and she couldn’t explain any of them, in any language. Her throat squeezed the tears out of her eyes.

  Alex leaned back long in his seat, reaching in his pocket for his handkerchief. It was another of his dorky ways, one Deane found slightly gross, especially during cold season. But this handkerchief was clean, pressed neatly into a folded square. It smelled a little like spearmint from hanging around the gum Alex always carried on him.

  This was her father. He had her name on his arm. He carried a handkerchief and gum. He called her cosita, “little thingy.” He answered her questions about love. And when she cried for no reason, he didn’t ask what was wrong. He only reached to wrap her ponytail around his hand and said, “Hoy ha sido duro.”

  Today was hard.

  Jav helped Ari unpack, putting clothes in drawers and lining books on top of the dresser. All ten volumes of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. A compilation of Marvel comics. An illustrated atlas of Tolkien’s Middle Earth. A Peanuts treasury and a thick tome on the art of Maurice Sendak. He sensed Ari had more books at home, but these were the essential favorites he needed close by.

  Ari put pencils and markers into jars, stacked pads of paper and sketchbooks on the desk. Jav wanted to see his nephew’s artwork, but decided to wait. The kid needed sleep.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” he said. “You, me and Lauren will have a meeting to figure out how you’re going to get to school. You’ll probably have to bus it a while until we can get the deed of your mother’s car transferred. Take care of the registration.”

  “What about insurance?”

  Jav paused. “Good question. I don’t have any.”

  “Whose car are you driving?”

  “A friend’s,” Jav said, adding yet another post-it note to the thousand stuck around his brain. “I don’t own one. I’ll have to call the agent, talk about getting the policy transferred into my name. Or opening a new one. Or buying a car. Maybe leasing one. Never mind, I’ll figure it out.”

  Slowly Ari nodded, as if finally realizing how dozens of logistical details of his life were now being transferred, his personal deed changing hands. “Thanks,” he said.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Jav said.
“None of this comes at a price.”

  The air in the room swelled, looking from one man to the other, not sure what to do.

  “You have my cell number?” Jav said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Call if you need anything. I’m here.”

  Ari took two stumbling steps toward his uncle. He didn’t put arms around Jav, only lurched against him and put his head down, hands by his sides. Jav caught him tight, spread his palm wide on the back of Ari’s head and held him.

  This is my sister’s son.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll get it figured out.”

  Ari exhaled ferociously. His body trembled once, then went still. “I’m so fucking tired.”

  “Come on,” Jav said, rubbing the boy’s back. “Brush your teeth and put your head down. Today’s finished.”

  Ari stepped back, dragging the heel of his hand across an eye. “Going to bed at seven,” he said. “I haven’t done this since I was five.”

  Jav’s own feet stumbled as he walked to his car. Bed didn’t sound like a bad idea but he had to get some writing done. Maybe the bookstore, Celeste’s, would still be open and he could sit with his laptop and bang out a thousand words.

  The intoxicating smell of paper and coffee wrapped around Jav as he collapsed on a stool, face buried in his hands.

  “That bad?” the androgynous blonde woman asked.

  “Today kicked my ass.”

  “Looks like it.”

  She poured coffee into a big mug. Generous and round, like a D-cup breast, and just as lovely between Jav’s palms.

  “Are you Celeste?” Jav asked.

  “No, Celeste was my aunt. This was her shop.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Trelawney Lark. No Harry Potter references, please. I was twenty-five when they were written.”

  Jav laughed.

  “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who ask if my parents named me after Sybill.”

  “Is there any significance to the name?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s the name of a village in Zimbabwe. My father was doing missionary work there and found me under a tree.”

  Jav gazed at her over the rim of his cup. “I detect some sass here.”

  “Enough about me.” She leaned on her elbows. “Tell me about your day.”

  Before Jav could think twice, he pulled the release lever on the dump truck and out spilled the estrangement from his sister, the plight of her death and his sudden guardianship of Ari. Trelawney listened with few interruptions. Then took his cup away and had a short conversation with the other barista before coming back to Jav.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  The fries he’d nibbled at the diner seemed a year ago. “Kind of.”

  “Let’s go next door.”

  He followed her like a duckling, happy for someone else to make decisions. The restaurant next to Celeste’s was a tapas winebar. And packed. Trelawney squashed her way through the crowd, a fold of Jav’s jacket in her fingers. Turning her head this way and that, smiling, waving, calling hello at everyone. They reached the far end of the bar and two empty stools with “reserved” signs on the seats. Trelawney plucked the signs away and beckoned Jav to sit.

  “Nice,” he said. “You know the owner?”

  “I am the owner,” she said.

  “Of the restaurant?”

  “Of the building.” She leaned forward on her elbows to be kissed by the bartender. “Can we get a bottle of the Cono Sur? And two orders of the Brussels sprouts to start.”

  “Not a big lover of sprouts,” Jav said.

  “You’ll love these. They’re deep-fried in peanut oil. You need one order to eat and the other to make out with.”

  She was right. They chatted with ease, licking their fingers as the bartender set plate after plate in front of them.

  “Is your nephew comfortable at Lark House?” she asked.

  “For the moment. The tree fort there is unbelievable.”

  “My brother helped build it.”

  “Really? Your brother is The Treehouse Guy?”

  She nodded as she wiped her mouth. “That he is.”

  The excellent fare filled up the emptiness inside Jav as the wine smoothed out some of the worry in his head.

  “Feel like a walk?” she said afterward.

  “Sure,” Jav said, wondering if he’d stumbled into a date. Trelawney hadn’t touched him, hadn’t leaned a millimeter into his personal space or given off a trace of sexual chemistry. He nibbled on the curiosity like an after-dinner mint as he stepped into the cold night and Trelawney made a last round of goodbyes behind him.

  “Lark’s,” he said, pointing to the sign above the restaurant. “I keep seeing that name today.”

  “This is the Lark Building,” she said. “My family’s been in Guelisten forever.”

  “Forever?”

  “Well, at least as long as the railroad has.”

  “And now you own it.” Jav stepped back from the sidewalk, taking in the brick facade. “What about Lark House?”

  “My great-aunt Billie founded it in the thirties. It’s privately owned now, the Larks have nothing to do with the running, although my brother sits on the board.”

  “And, full circle, he built the treehouse there.”

  “Well, that’s stretching the truth a bit. He worked on it during the construction but he didn’t design it. Still, it helped him find his calling. You could say the treehouse built Roger.”

  “I’m having déjà vu again,” Jav said, looking up, then down the street.

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “No,” he said. “But for the second time today, I feel like I know this place.” The vague recollection buzzed at the edge of his mind, like a persistent gnat. He couldn’t swat it. Was he remembering a sliver of a dream? Something from a movie?

  They crossed the tracks and went down to the water, but the wind off the river was brutal and they retreated back to Main Street.

  Back in front of Celeste’s, Trelawney took out her keys and unlocked the narrow door next to the shop.

  “You live here?” Jav asked.

  “No,” she said. “I’m showing you something.”

  Jav followed her upstairs, eyeing her slender hips. Come to think of it, getting unexpectedly and spontaneously laid wouldn’t suck. One load blown after the awesome dinner and he’d practically go into hibernation. He had a vision of Trelawney’s white skin against his dark skin and felt things stirring in his jeans.

  Trelawney unlocked another door at the top of the stairs and led him inside an apartment. It was furnished but undecorated.

  “This is my brother Roger’s place,” she said. “Meaning he owns it, but I rent it for him. It happens to be between tenants at the moment.”

  Jav smiled. “You’re not thinking of renting it to a high school student?”

  “No, I’m thinking of renting it to you.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  One of her shoulders rolled. “I’d ask for references and run a credit check, of course.”

  Jav moved around the space, looked in the bedrooms and realized he liked it here. Not only here in the apartment but in this picturesque-as-fuck, weirdly familiar town. He leaned on the windowsill, looking over the train station and the bluff to the dark shadow of the river. The Mid-Hudson Bridge lights were like diamond necklaces. A sullen cluster of bulbs on the opposite shore, where Ari’s house stood alone and empty.

  Theoretically, he could work from anywhere. He’d need to take a few months off, for sure—get Ari settled and see what it was like guarding a teenage boy. To write, Jav only needed a laptop and WiFi access. Escorting might be difficult. Not so much to do as to hide what he was doing. It was either keep it under the radar or stop.

  Jav didn’t want to stop.

  He sighed. It would be a disruption for him, but the least disruptive solution for Ari was right here, beautifully laid out for the benefit of all. Eve
n himself.

  “Think about it,” Trelawney said. “Take my number and let me know.”

  “I’m having the weirdest day.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He turned from the window to face her. “It almost seems too easy,” he said. “All these pieces falling into place.”

  Her chin tilted and the smile playing around her full lips was a beautiful thing. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

  “Today? No.” Hands in pockets, he walked over to her. Stood still and let her look at him. “Where to now?”

  Her eyes gave him the up-down. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really, but it’s fun guessing.”

  He remained still, used to letting women get used to him.

  “I like your company and your chemistry,” Trelawney said. She looked at her watch. “And on that note, I have to get home.” She smiled at him. “Alone. But thanks for wondering.”

  He was disappointed but not devastated. He’d be content to rub one out and then crash sideways across the king-sized bed in his hotel room. His jaw split in a humongous yawn as they went back down the stairs and out on the street.

  A couple came down the sidewalk, walking a dog. The man had his hands in the pockets of a leather jacket. His breath made little clouds in the night. The woman had blonde hair peeking out from a wool cap. Her hand was tucked in the man’s elbow. They were laughing.

  The tickle at the edge of Jav’s mind became a caress.

  I know this place.

  The couple came closer. Close enough for Jav to see the dimples creasing the man’s smile and remember all the nights Jav went out of his way to see that smile. Close enough to hear the staccato peal of the woman’s laugh and remember how beautiful it sounded in the dark.

  “Hey, guys,” Trelawney called. “That’s my sister and her husband,” she said to Jav.

  “The dollhouses,” Jav whispered.

  “What?”

  “Hey,” the man said. “What’s going on?” His eyes flicked from Trelawney to Jav, blinked twice and then stared. His chin tilted. “Do I…”

  “Oh my God.” The woman Jav only knew as Valentine stepped back and put her hands over her mouth.