Need
Stephanie Lawton
Dedication:
To the U.S. Coast Guard servicemen who died Feb. 28, 2012 in a tragic helicopter crash over Mobile Bay.
Semper Paratus:
LCDR Dale T. Taylor
LTJG Thomas John Cameron
Chief Petty Officer Fernando Jorge
Petty Officer 3rd Class Andrew Knight
Chapter One
“Isaac, what’s happening?” She always asks this question.
Before it all fell apart, I’d tell her, “I’ve got you.”
I knew it was a lie, even in the dream—like my subconscious was trying to will it to be true. Didn’t work. Now I lie there, mute, trying to hold on to her perfect image while she searches my face with wide, frightened eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, just before I kill Juli with my bare hands.
I woke up gasping the first time. Now I pull the musty pillow over my head and groan, knowing the nightmare will follow me the rest of the day. After everything fell apart at the Mardi Gras ball, word spread quickly. The city of Mobile is no stranger to scandal, but scandal usually of the political sort, not the lurid kind. I’ve been cast out from my job as organist at my life-long church. Within twenty-four hours, all my students’ parents called to cancel their lessons. The Mobile Symphony asked that I remove myself from the committee for the Mobile Sonata Contest.
Only Uncle Robert had a sound suggestion—that I take a break from music for a while and do something physical, something that leaves me too tired in the evenings to act on any urges I might have. I believe his reasoning was twofold. Doing landscaping work for hours in the hot sun also gives a man time to think, even when you’ve exhausted everything there is to think about.
You want to know the sad truth? I only think about the pain I caused her, the innocence I stole, the way I willingly put her at risk. As God is my witness, I will never forget the look on her face as she stood in the spotlight at that ball with the devil’s harpy at her elbow, spilling our sacred secret.
I’ve analyzed this thing from every angle possible, and still I don’t know where I’d change our course. All I can do is keep trudging forward through each day, and then the next. So that’s what I do.
After a quick shower in my toxic bathroom, I pull on heavy workpants, over-the-calf socks, and a dark green T-shirt with the landscaping company’s logo on the pocket—Southern ’Scapes. After a quick swig of coffee, I pull the door shut behind me, lock it, and click the key fob to unlock my Charger. I’m surprised it hasn’t been repossessed yet. I’m sure that day is swiftly approaching.
“Be careful today, Mobile. We’re tracking a high-pressure system that’ll keep us upward of ninety-five degrees for the next week, with humidity holding steady at seventy percent. With those numbers, you can count on pop-up thunderstorms in the afternoon.”
I punch a button on the radio and it brings up Rachmaninoff. “Figures.” I punch another one and get heavy rock. That’s more like it.
Our first job of the day is digging out a lady’s ancient, unkempt azaleas and replacing them with new ones. It’s hard, dusty work that threatens to break my back. I like it.
“Hey, Romeo. You think you could gimme a hand with these roots?” Most of the time I get along just fine with my boss, Herman. Don’t really care for the nickname he’s given me though. Still, I’m grateful he gave me a job.
“Sure. I’ll get the Sawzall.”
“Nah, we don’t need no power tools. We’ll just dig ‘em out.”
“If you say so, boss.”
He grins at me and I know he’s throwing down a challenge. None of these guys know about what happened and I’d like to keep it that way. They think I was in construction or some other blue-collar job since I’m bigger than most of the other workers. They’d never believe I was a classically trained pianist, so I let them draw whatever conclusions they want.
At the end of the day, I’m filthy and hungry but satisfied that I put in an honest day’s work. Barely even think about her. That changes when I pull into my driveway and Uncle Robert is sitting on the porch tapping his cane to a tune only he can hear. Can’t look at him without picturing him in his tux, Juli on his arm. In my head, she smiles and beckons me with a crooked finger.
“Good grief, Isaac. Did you roll around in the dirt like a common pig?” He winks and smiles.
“Close. Come on in. Just gimme a minute to shower and I’ll be right with you. Tea’s in the fridge, help yourself.”
“No hurry, boy. I’ve got time.”
His visit worries me. Lately, he’s been conducting our conversations over the phone. A personal call means something’s up.
“Stop scowling, Isaac. Here, I fixed you a sandwich while you showered. You’re a little low on…everything. It’s the best I could do.”
“Thanks.”
“Sit. Eat. I’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod at the small bag that’s appeared on the counter. “What’s that?”
“A small present. Here.” He pulls out a can of furniture polish and a cleaning cloth then laughs at my raised eyebrow. “No, I’m not telling you to clean your room, though I suspect it would also benefit from this.” He nods toward the other room. “I think it’s time you dusted her off and began again.”
My sandwich turns to sawdust in my mouth, sticking in my throat as I struggle to swallow it down past the lump that’s suddenly formed. “Came here to tell me to dust my piano?”
“It’s not a joke, Isaac. You can’t stay away from it forever. It’s part of who you are.”
A snort escapes before I can stop it. “Don’t want to be who I am.”
“That’s enough of that.” Uncle Robert shakes a finger in my face. “You can’t change what happened, but you can change how you deal with it. Whatever you’re doing isn’t working. Glad to see you getting out and working hard, but you’re still moping. Hiding. If you plan to stay in Mobile, you can’t do that. It’s been nearly two months. Time to come out of your prison cell and start again. You know I’ll be there every step of the way to help you.”
“Yeah,” I drawl, “but you’re the only one.” I push my plate away.
“Your mother will come around. So will your sisters.”
“Great. That’s three people who’ll speak to me.”
“No word from Dave?”
I shake my head. No, no word from the guy who’s been my best friend since freshman year of college. We’ve been though undergrad and graduate school together, a European tour, numerous girlfriends, possible fatherhood, and everything imaginable in between. But my last bone-headed move—that was too much.
“Sunday is Easter. Come to church with me, please.”
“You kidding? Me, Daniel. Church, lion’s den. Not happening.”
“Glass houses. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
“Sorry, Uncle Robert, there’s just no way I can ever go back there. There are just too many…”
He places his wrinkled hand over mine. “Yes, too many memories. I understand. And yes, Julianne will probably be there.”
Can’t help it—hearing her name out loud sets off a physical tremor that starts at my head and ends at my toes. Not very manly, perhaps, but there it is.
“Isaac?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I meet his steady gaze.
“I won’t let you do this to yourself. Not again. It’s different this time.”
“Yeah. It’s worse.”
“No. What happened…happened. I think most people could forgive and forget what went on between you two, just like before with Heather Swann.”
“Really? Did you lose your job, your students, your friends—including your best friend—your p
rofessional connections? Do you get funny looks at the grocery store, even though you make sure to go late at night when you won’t run into so many people? Do mothers pull their daughters closer when they see you? Don’t know why I’m still here. Should be back in Boston, or somewhere else entirely. Start over.”
“Isaac, listen to me. It’s time to stop running. Yes?”
I shake my head.
“People could forgive what happened between you and Juli. What they have a hard time digesting is your reaction. You ran. They understood why you ran when you were a teenager, but you’re nearly thirty. Time to grow up, Isaac. Time to be the man your father would’ve expected you to be. The kind I expect you to be.”
I bark out a laugh. “I’ll never be that kind of man.”
Chapter Two
From the parking lot across the street, Chamberlain Episcopalian Church looks like one of those village pieces Mama collects and displays at Christmas, the kind that look cozy and inviting when in reality they’re cold, hard, and fake.
Doesn’t stop me from sitting outside like a detective on a stake-out, or more like a criminal casing a place before his next heist. I’m so lost in my miserable thoughts, I whack my knee on the dashboard when the giant front doors open and parishioners in their Easter best spill onto the sidewalk.
I spot her immediately, her red hair a beacon. My mind recalls how it felt to bury my hands in it at the back of her neck, to wrap one of her curls around my finger. I close my eyes and shake it away. Glad to see she’s growing it out again, not that it matters what I think.
Next to her, holding her hand, is the man I still think of as my best friend. Strange that at this moment I have the urge to punch him. Hard. His fingers are twined with hers, their arms close enough that they touch all the way up to their shoulders. She laughs at something he says and briefly rests her head on his shoulder as they walk away from the building. He raises their clasped hands and kisses her long, graceful fingers.
I remember those fingers. They were strong and unbending when she grabbed a fistful of my hair. Then they were soft, tentative, when she first began exploring my bare back and shoulders. They trembled the first time she took me in her hand. My eyes slide closed, and for a moment I’m there again in her piano studio, my hands on the backs of her white thighs while she straddles me on the loveseat.
When I reopen my eyes, both she and Dave are staring in my direction. Shit. I know they can’t see me through the tinted windows, but it’s clear they recognize my car. He wraps his arm around her and steers her away, but not before he lifts the other one in a middle-digit salute. A few old ladies recoil, but he’s not paying attention to them.
Despite the gaping hole that’s opened in my chest, I can’t help but chuckle. I knew Dave couldn’t hold a grudge forever. If he’s flipping me off, it means he’s angry, and if he’s angry, at least it means he isn’t indifferent. That would be worse than anything.
Someone pounds on the window near my head.
“Jesus!” My head hits the roof, but that’s the least of my worries. Standing outside my car looking like a million bucks is my high school girlfriend, Heather Swann.
“Hey,” she says and tucks a long strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Can we talk?”
“Now?”
“No, I’ve got to get home for Easter dinner, but tonight?”
I look around. Surely I’m being tricked. “Um, yeah. Sure.” Like I have any other plans. “Where?”
“What about the dive bar you used to sneak into in high school?”
She means Felix’s. No way am I going back there. Probably never step foot in there again as long as I live. I shake my head. “How about Wintzell’s? You always liked that place.”
“Still do. Sounds great. Seven o’clock?”
“Yeah. Can I ask what this is about?”
She glances around nervously. “Just something I should have talked to you about a long time ago. I can’t explain now. I’ll see you tonight. Oh, and happy Easter.”
“You too.” Well, don’t that beat all? After the ball, I figured I’d seen the last of the Swanns. Heather’s mom, Marcie, had announced to our entire mystic society that I’d slept with a student ten years younger than me. After I’d left, Dave had grabbed the microphone and told everyone that Marcie had once come on to me, Mrs. Robinson-style, but I’d turned her down. I’d been seventeen at the time, the same age Juli was when she and I got involved.
Heather wanting to talk to me feels a little like a trap, but I refuse to think she could sink as low as her mama. Nobody but the devil himself could sink that low. I realize it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, and I would never even think it of anyone else, but I slip into a daydream where I imagine painful ways to get rid of that woman permanently.
Instead of my mama’s ham and potatoes, biscuits and beans, Easter dinner is fried chicken from the only drive-thru open between church and my house. At least dinner will be something decent, provided whatever Heather has to say doesn’t make it come back up.
I make a mental list of what she might have on her mind. Her mama, obviously. What happened at the ball, probably. The way I bolted out of the Mystics’ New Year’s party when I saw her again, very likely. She’ll probably mention her engagement to that senator’s son and make sure to flash her giant diamond, reminding me that I could never give her that kind of ring or hold on to a girl like her. No, sad, sick Ike prefers to prey on unstable girls looking for qualities he doesn’t possess. And let’s face it, I am one sad piece of shit. My daddy’s probably rolling in his grave.
I think of my conversation with Uncle Robert. The furniture polish still sits on the counter. I stare at it as I finish off my chicken. I wipe the grease on my pants, pick up the polish, and head for the piano before I lose my nerve. It’s not that dusty, but the rag makes contrasting swaths in the finish. Soon the piano sparkles. A heavy weight settles on my chest when I realize I am not worthy to sit at so fine an instrument. I misused it, abused the power it gives me over others.
No. Not yet. I’m not ready yet. Don’t know if I’ll ever be.
***
Wintzell’s is surprisingly busy for a Sunday evening, and a holiday at that. The thought of being around so many people makes sweat break out on my upper lip, but I’m determined to go through with this. Heather is waiting inside the main door when I arrive, wearing tight dark jeans and a creamy cardigan. Ten years later and she still has the same tight shape I remember too well.
“Hey there,” she says and leans forward on her toes to peck me on the cheek. We order drinks and exchange awkward pleasantries while I make vain attempts to keep my mind from wondering what color panties she’s wearing. Honestly, there’s something wrong with me that I can’t control myself for an hour or two, especially when it still feels like cheating on Juli. Heather’s lips wrap around the straw of her fruity rum Dragon Drink and I’m done for.
“So, the reason I asked you to meet me…” she begins. Her eyes flicker over the other patrons, settling somewhere over my shoulder. “This is really awkward, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time. Been following your career, you know. I knew you’d be successful.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“You were always very…driven. Intense. I see not much has changed.”
“Might be surprised. Seem to have lost my way, according to my family.”
She nods. “That’s kind of why I wanted to get together.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out, while the smell of rum overpowers the beer I’m sipping.
“Take your time. I’ve got nowhere to be, sweet pea.” We both are startled at the pet name that just rolls off my tongue like we were ten years younger. “Sorry.”
“About what happened at the ball. Was it true?” She peeks over the rim of her drink like it’ll protect her from truths she doesn’t really want to hear.
“Which part?”
“The stuff your friend said, that blond guy. He said my mama…um… God, I
can’t believe I even have to ask this. Did she come on to you when we were in high school?”
I motion to the waitress to bring me another beer. Or three. Heather blushes three shades of pink, and damn if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve seen in weeks.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Would they have believed me? Your mom, the Sunday school teacher, hitting on the gangly kid dating her daughter?”
“That’s not how I remember you. Gangly.”
“No?” I quirk an eyebrow and resist the temptation to gloat. I’ve seen the fall that goeth after pride. The waitress places another beer in front of me and brushes my fingers when she retrieves the empty bottle. I pretend not to notice.
“Shame on you, Isaac. You know what I meant.”
I do, but making Heather blush takes me back a decade. It’s definitely preferable to talking about her mama’s appetites and vices…or mine.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The wooden back of the booth is suddenly as unforgiving as her question. “Didn’t have a chance. She hid you away and I didn’t know which end was up. My mama was so mad at me, and then there were threats of charges and lawsuits and–” She cringes at the word lawsuits. “Truth is, I was scared. Hell, the woman still scares me. Half expected this to be a trap.”
Heather folds her arms on the table and leans forward. “I promise you,” she says, “this is not a trap. I feel awful about what’s happened and I know how you like to turn everything in on yourself. You haven’t changed that much in ten years. I just wish I could make things right. If I could take back what happened, I would, but you have to look at things from my perspective. After mama caught us…”
Her cheeks turn pink again, reminding me of the Georgia peaches Uncle Robert left in my kitchen. She’s just as soft and lovely as she was at sixteen, but her decidedly adult drink makes her gaze more direct. I like it, though it reminds me of someone I’d rather forget.
“I never heard from you again. I assumed you’d got what you were after and were finished with me.”
Need Page 1
