The Sound of Light

by Claire Wallis

  But then, I wonder if Adam is watching his father suffer. And what he’s thinking as he does.

  I decide to ask Ms. Sinclair one more question before I chase the birds away.

  “Ms. Sinclair, when did Adam tell you he’s in love?”

  “Let’s see…” she says, “…it was when he brought me those flowers.” She turns and points at the daisies in the green plastic pitcher. I can’t help but smile. “He also said Winston’s gone home. And he’s never coming back here again.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Robert McGee—2008

  I spent most of my life blasting limestone for a smidge over minimum wage just so I could keep clothes on the backs of all my beautiful girls. Working for Ronald Chapman was a pretty good gig, especially for a guy who barely got his high-school diploma. In fact, the only reason I got that diploma was ’cause of Ron. I started working at the quarry on the day I turned sixteen. I’d work weekdays after school, shoveling stone and cleaning equipment. Ron told me I could move up the ranks, but to do that, I had to graduate. He said my education had to come first; the quarry would wait. It really wasn’t so bad, outside of the dust and the noise. I know how lucky I was to have a steady job for twenty-eight years. It was hard work, but it was a privilege.

  The best parts of my life, though, had nothing to do with that quarry. The best parts were my music and my girls. Growing up, all I ever wanted to do was play my trumpet. My pop played the squeezebox in a zydeco band, and he used to let me play with them on Saturday nights. I wasn’t half as good as Timmy Melton, their regular trumpet player, but they always knew how to make me feel like I was.

  The only downside to those nights was my pop letting me start to drink whiskey when I was fifteen. He said it made my lips looser, and I could hit the high notes without going all red in the face. I drank way too much, for too many years. But when Charlie came along, I cut it out. ’Cause I knew by then drinking didn’t make me a better man.

  Louise was a wild li’l thing when we first met. She made eyes at me while I was playing at Scrimshaw’s one Saturday night, and I just couldn’t say no to such a pretty face.

  She’d steal cigarettes from the Piggly Wiggly where she worked, and every Friday night we’d sneak down to the swamp to smoke and drink the beer she’d take outta her father’s fridge. We’d stay there all night long, making mayhem and love until the sun came up. It was always a good feeling to have Louise’s hand in mine.

  She got pregnant with Charlie before we had the chance to do much growing up. Louise was barely nineteen when Charlie was born. I was going on twenty-five. Neither one of us was ready to be that kind of responsible, but we did it. We got married at City Hall and brought Charlie into this world the right way. As a family.

  It wasn’t until after K’acy was born that Louise got real religious. At first, she’d only pray at night and thank God for her life, but then she started reading from the Bible all the time and taking everything so seriously. By the time K’acy was four, Louise was spending more time at the church than she was at home. When Reverend Thompson and his revival tent came to Houma, it was almost too easy for her to leave—she’d been “gone” for a long time before that. Still, I never could get over her picking religion over her girls. It just didn’t make sense.

  The girls, though, grew up real good, despite my fumble-infused fathering. Charlie’s gonna make a spectacular beautician someday, and K’acy…well, she’s gonna shine no matter what she picks for her life.

  On the day I died, K’acy was the one sitting on the side of my bed. Charlie was asleep upstairs, but K’acy wouldn’t leave my side until she knew my suffering was over. Things were real bad. There was so much pain, I’d spend my days hoping and wishing death would come and put a stop to it all. But it never did.

  For a good three weeks before I died, I was hurting so bad I’d spend hours praying to Louise’s God to just end it. I’d silently beg Him to let me go. The insurance only paid for so much pain medicine, and every day, I’d hear the chubby hospice nurse telling the girls there wasn’t anything else she could do. It broke my heart knowing they were watching me suffer. I hated seeing them cry. But there was nothing I could do about it but keep praying for the end.

  I would never have asked K’acy to do what she did; I wasn’t a brave enough man for that. Nor would I have ever willfully wanted to put that kind of burden on my own daughter. She did it all on her own. Somehow, she knew what to do, without me ever having to ask. She knew when I’d had enough. She knew when it was time. I cried that night, from the pain, and she wiped away my tears with strength and purpose, humming “That’s How Strong My Love Is” as her fingers brushed against my cheek. And when it was over, I was nothing but grateful to her for being courageous and caring and compassionate enough to give her own father the peace he so desperately needed.

  I’d been telling my girls for years that you always gotta do the right thing, even when it hurts, and when it came down to it, that’s exactly what K’acy did. I looked up at her face the moment the needle entered my vein and saw nothing but love in her eyes. So much love.

  She didn’t do it because she wanted to. She did it because I needed her to.

  CHAPTER 34

  Adam doesn’t come to Pine Manor at all on Friday. He’s not there for gentle yoga or for the therapy dog session. Ms. Sinclair enjoys her visit with Heidi the labradoodle as much as ever, but Adam isn’t there to laugh with her when a glass of water is accidentally knocked over by an overzealous tail. It’s the first time he hasn’t come to see his grandmother since the day we met.

  During my afternoon break, Marie tells me about Mr. Sinclair’s accident, as if it hasn’t been all over the news. She talks to me in a low whisper, like she’s gossiping about someone’s love affair instead of a car accident. She says Ms. Sinclair’s grandson was here yesterday, and that he and Dr. Kopsey decided not to tell Ms. Sinclair about the accident. They thought it might be too much for her to handle, and they asked the nursing staff to please not discuss it in front of her.

  I’m relieved to hear Marie’s words. Not only because it confirms that Ms. Sinclair is still blissfully in the dark about her son’s suffering, but also because Adam talked to Dr. Kopsey about it first. I think they made a smart decision, regardless of how difficult it probably was for Adam to lie to his grandmother about his father’s imaginary return to Seattle.

  I spend the rest of my workday tending to the people I love. Ms. Sinclair enjoys some time watching her birdfeeder while Mr. Reizenstein naps in a wingchair. Apart from Adam’s absence, it’s a day like any other. In fact, it’s pretty much like all the days were before Adam arrived.

  But despite the calmness of the day, in the back of my mind thoughts are clamoring around, introducing new questions and doubts, and making me wonder, yet again, if there’s any way Adam will ever forgive me for taking his father’s money. I wonder if his mother told him I was there. And if she did, I wonder what he told her about me.

  Every time I step into Ms. Sinclair’s room, the daisies look back at me, giving me hope and reminding me that maybe there’s still a chance. My lone swooner may still love me. And, after tomorrow, maybe he’ll be willing to forgive.

  I STEP off the bus and walk up the stairs to my apartment feeling both tired and happy. It was so very good to return to Pine Manor. Today, I got back a good portion of my reason for being, and some of my patients got back their last remaining chance for peace. Ms. Sinclair doesn’t know it, but someday very soon, she’s going to need that chance. I saw it again today, in her blue eyes. It didn’t take my breath away this time, though, because I’m not afraid anymore. I know now everything will be all right.

  I unlock my apartment door and step inside, tossing my bag down onto the floor and closing the door behind me. When I turn around, I see the top of someone’s head sticking up above the back of my sofa. I recognize the intentional bed-head immediately. The familiar bass riff of “Soul to Squeeze” blasts through my veins and a fresh jitter s
tarts to dance around inside of me. He sits up and turns around to look at me over the back of the couch, scanning me from head to toe before offering any words.

  “Looks like you’re back to work.”

  Not for the first time in my life, my scrubs are speaking on my behalf.

  I nod, still standing by the door, music pounding inside my head.

  “How was Gram’s day?” His expression stays solid. Unfazed. Though I know he isn’t.

  “Good. But I think she missed you.” More surging notes.

  His mouth flexes into a small, closed grin at the thought of her. “I missed her, too.”

  “How’s your dad?”

  He shakes his head and the small grin drops away. There’s a long pause before he says, “My mom told me a friend of mine stopped by the hospital yesterday.”

  Oh… “I heard about the accident on the news. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Really?” He shrugs with exaggerated disbelief. “That’s funny, ’cause Perry, my father’s driver, told me you came for the rest of your money.”

  Perry Devine needs a punch in the throat. The music’s pacing picks up as my heart starts racing in my chest.

  “Then Perry’s a liar.”

  Adam shakes his head and stands up. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “Perry’s worked for my family for my whole life. I’m pretty sure he’s not a liar, K’acy.”

  I walk over to the sofa and stand in front of him. The key from behind the hall picture is sitting on the coffee table. “Adam, why are you here?”

  “I’m here because I want you to tell me the truth.” His face reddens as the words come out. “I want to hear it from you.”

  I stare at him, knowing no matter what I say, it’s going to hurt him. I scramble for the right words. “I never wanted your father’s money in the first place.”

  “So, you’re not denying that you took money from him to end things with me?” His arms tighten across his chest. The bass line rolls on, deep and resonant.

  “I took money from your father, yes. But not because I wanted to end us. I took it because he didn’t give me a choice.” It certainly isn’t a lie, but I have to tread carefully.

  “What are you talking about?” His hands drop against his sides.

  “He told me if I didn’t take his deal and leave you by the end of the week, he would file more complaints, just like the one he already had.” My stare moves from his eyes to the floor at my feet. The music instantly quiets.

  He’s unmoving and silent for a long time. When I look up at him, his gaze shifts to a spot on the wall behind me. “What the hell is happening?” I don’t think the question is aimed at me, so I don’t answer it. Something hardens inside of him, and his jaw tightens. “So…you’re telling me that because he couldn’t convince me to dump you, he was trying to force you to leave me instead?”

  I nod. “He told me you deserve far better than what I have to offer. He thinks I’m only interested in your trust fund.”

  He looks down at me and relaxes his jaw. “So, he decides to blackmail you? And you just do it? Without talking to me about it first?”

  “I thought it would be easier…”

  “Easier? Are you kidding me?” His sarcasm and scorn are front and center.

  “He said he would do something worse if I told you about it.”

  “Worse?” Hearing the extent of his father’s manipulation is not going to be easy for him. I know that, and yet, I don’t have a choice. I’m in too deep. And this may be my only way out.

  “He told me he would pay one of my coworkers whatever they wanted to go to the police and tell them I abused my patients, including your gram. And, if that happened, I wouldn’t just lose my job, Adam. I’d go to jail.” I close my eyes and suck in a fresh gulp of air, relaxing my shoulders with my exhalation. When I open my eyes again, the hard line of his mouth has softened a bit. “I knew if I didn’t take his money, he would make you believe things about me that weren’t true. He would make you—and a lot of other people—think I hurt your grandmother. The idea of you believing that is worse than having to walk away from us. It would hurt you even more than this mess, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk you thinking I’m the kind of person who would intentionally hurt someone I’m supposed to be taking care of.”

  He looks worn down and injured, inside and out. There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “Did my father withdraw that complaint because you took his deal, or because I talked to him about it?”

  I don’t have to say a word because he already knows the answer.

  “Jesus.” His brow wrinkles, and his chest deflates. He runs his right hand up through his hair. It stops on the back of his neck. He waits like that, for a long time, obviously trying to process everything I’ve said. “It’s bad,” he says finally. “Really bad.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I want to hug him, but I don’t think he’d let me.

  “They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “My mother’s a wreck, I had to lie to my gram, and now…I don’t even know what the hell to think.” He covers his face with his hands and smudges his fingertips against his forehead.

  I say the only thing I can think of. “You did the right thing by not telling your gram about the accident. She’s better off believing your father’s back in Seattle.”

  “That’s what Dr. Kopsey thought, too.”

  I stand in front of him, again not knowing what to do or say next. More than anything, I want us to be okay. I want him to say he believes me and he understands why I took his father’s money. I want him to forgive me. Without me having to tell him anything more.

  “I…I need to go,” he says, tossing the words into the air between us like they don’t mean what I think they do. He’s leaving, and I think it’s for the last time. I don’t know if he believes me or Perry Devine. I don’t know anything anymore.

  He turns his back on me and walks over to the door. As his hand twists the knob, he pauses and adds, “Take care of Gram tomorrow, please. Take her outside, if you can. I don’t think I’ll make it in to see her.”

  He opens the door and steps out.

  “Adam,” I call, before he closes the door behind him, “even if you don’t believe anything else I’ve said, please believe I will always take care of your gram.”

  He turns around and looks at me, delivering no physical or verbal indication of whether or not he believes me. He just stands there and stares at me for several seconds before closing the door between us.

  SINCE ADAM LEFT a few hours ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about what everything means. I can’t get the argument he had with his father on Wednesday night out of my thoughts. Obviously there was anger when Mr. Sinclair left the parking lot; it was the one thing Sondra was positive about. I hope Adam doesn’t think he was in any way responsible for his father’s accident. Argument-inspired road rage is a thing, and maybe Adam’s feeling guilty about the tone between them when his father left Pine Manor. He may also be second-guessing his decision not to drive his father to the airport. Maybe there’s guilt that he wasn’t in the car, too.

  Or…maybe there isn’t.

  Maybe there’s absolutely no guilt. Because, maybe, Adam learned the truth about Bradley on Wednesday from the photograph in his grandmother’s room. And maybe it only served to deepen his mistrust of his father. Maybe Adam is only feeling grateful he wasn’t in the car.

  I wish I could ask him about all the maybes.

  I’m in bed, trying to settle my spinning mind enough to get some sleep, when my cell phone rings. It’s Tasha’s number. The flat on Gravelston Street.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, sis.” There’s a long pause, during which I wait for her to say more. The silence is awkward and yet expectant. When she doesn’t continue, I start talking. I need to make sure she’s okay.

  “Charlie. Hey. It’s good to hear from you. Is everythi
ng all right?”

  “You should’ve kept this money for yourself,” she says, her voice more tender than I’ve heard it in years. “I don’t deserve all the chances you keep givin’ me.”

  “You deserve every one of them, Charlie. And you need to stop telling yourself you don’t.”

  I hear her breathing, soft and thoughtful. “You sound like Daddy.” The emotion in her voice is overwhelming.

  Another long pause, only this time it’s mine. I close my eyes and press the phone tighter to my ear, as if doing so means I won’t miss a single moment of my sister. “He believed in you, and I do, too.”

  More silence. Maybe tears. A light sniffle escapes her body and enters my ear like a tiny Cupid’s arrow meant to mend what’s broken.

  “I registered for the spring semester at Blue Cliff,” she says finally. “And Tasha got me a job at the salon again. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be the oldest shampoo girl in the history of Houma. But I’m gonna make it happen this time, K’acy. For real.”

  When our daddy died, Charlie totally lost it. First, she landed in a hospital; the doctors had to stitch up her wrists. And then, I made her check herself into a mental health facility. She said the guilt she felt about all the trouble she’d given him over the years since our momma left made her feel undeserving of any life at all. Especially since he lost his in such a horrible way. She said watching him suffer was like watching a puppy drown while your hands are tied behind your back and your feet are nailed to the floor.

  Charlie stayed in therapy for a few months after the funeral, but all these years later, she’s somehow still incapable of seeing the perfect life my father always told her she deserves. I don’t know what she and her psychologist talked about in all of those therapy sessions, but when they ended and she was discharged, Charlie went back to the real world and instantly started thinking she was nothing important all over again. She started abusing herself in different ways, and I couldn’t stand to see it. She became the puppy in the water, and I had to get out of there before I stopped believing she could pull herself back out. I was young and I was angry and I left her. Probably when she needed me the most. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay in Houma and watch her self-destruct. So I left for Philadelphia with her parting promise to use my father’s death as motivation to make something of herself ringing in my ears.