My mouth flops open a couple times. It’s reaching back a bit, but I remember. “Thought those were from my mama or one of my sisters.”
Heather tilts her head and flashes a triumphant grin. “I was willing you to contact me. I hoped you’d use the phone card to call or the stamps to write.”
That explains why they always smelled of Heather’s perfume. Figured it was my guilty conscience or wishful thinking. “I–I don’t know what to say. Thank you?”
“You’re welcome, Isaac. Now will you let me help you?”
“Not convinced I can be helped.”
“Let me try.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out together. You can start by making things right with Julianne. You owe that girl an explanation and an apology.”
“I do. I know that.” Been telling myself otherwise, but the truth of Heather’s statement settles over me like a pall.
“Then start there. I understand she’s with your friend now, but if you still have feelings for her, you need to declare yourself.”
“You sound like one of our grandmothers.”
“Wisdom stands the test of time, and so does chivalry. It’s not dead, you know.” She winks, knowing she’s just quoted Uncle Robert to me. “Figure out if you’re going to fight for her or let her go. Either way, you need to decide and she needs that closure. An apology will go a long way toward that.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re a little scary, you know that?”
“I do, but I use my powers for good—not evil.”
We part with plans to meet again. The prospect is both confusing and frightening, yet I find myself looking forward to it just the same. Tragedy has made her stronger—tempered her resolve and absolute belief in right and wrong with the fire of sheer willpower. My mould was defective. Either that or someone left me in the heat too long and I melted into the weakest, saddest excuse of a man.
If nothing else, Heather’s made me realize one thing. It’s time to start from scratch.
***
I hit the “end” button on my phone and stare at the contact picture I can’t bring myself to delete. Snow had been gently falling from the black night sky after we left the concert at Jordan Hall in Boston in February. Julianne was grinning at the snowflakes so foreign to our Alabama sensibilities. I snapped a picture of her upturned profile just as a single flake kissed the tip of her freckled nose.
My latest call goes unanswered, just like the other ones I’ve placed every day this past week. Each time I swear I’m going to leave a message, until it gets to the part of the automated message that says “Juli Casquette is not available,” and hearing her voice sends me back to the dark place I’m attempting to escape.
Before I chicken out again, I hit redial and hold the phone away from my ear when the message gets to that part. When I hear the beep, I say whatever tumbles out of my stupid mouth.
“Julianne, we need to talk. I owe you an apology. Need to explain some things. Sorry. I’m an idiot and a coward and I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. No excuses for what I did. If you’re up to it, please call me back. Okay. Bye.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out, wondering what the hell I’ll say if she really does call me back. Right then, my phone rings. Shit. Time to find out. “Hey, there.”
“What.” She doesn’t ask it, like a question.
My leg begins bouncing of its own accord. “Um, can we, uh, can you meet me somewhere? Need to talk.”
“So talk.”
“I owe it to you to say it to your face.”
“Hmph.”
“Realize that’s ironic considering how poorly I’ve behaved. And if you’re not…I mean, if your doctors think you shouldn’t see me–”
“I’m fine.”
“Right. I know. You’re strong. So, tomorrow evening?”
“Yeah.”
“Felix’s?”
“No.”
Shit. What was I thinking, suggesting our old hangout? “No, of course not. Sorry. Um…”
“Mr.Cline’s house.”
“Okay. Good thinking. Seven?” A few seconds go by, so I press the phone into my head, willing her to say she’ll meet me. Finally, she sighs.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Tomorrow at seven at Uncle Robert’s. See you then.” She doesn’t even say goodbye before ending the call, though I can’t blame her. Lord only knows what’s running through that pretty head of hers, when I don’t know what’s running through my own. I push the phone away before leaning forward on my kitchen stool to lay my head down on the cold marble of the island. The rest of the house is a shithole, but the marble in the kitchen remains a reminder of the neighborhood’s former glory. Both of us need major renovations if we want to regain any sense of worth.
***
“I’m proud of you, Isaac.” Uncle Robert gives me the only look of approval I’ve seen in months. “This is the right thing to do.”
“I know.”
“However, Julianne is as much a granddaughter to me as you are a son, and I will not hesitate to separate you should you mistreat her again.”
“I know.”
“Both your mamas would have my head on a platter if they knew I agreed to let you meet here, but I’d rather broker this truce under my roof than some shady establishment downtown.”
“I know, okay? Jeez.”
“Here she is. You stay put.”
A starving caged lion presented with a juicy antelope would be more likely to hold still than me. I pace the cozy room I once thought held all the comfort a cold world could offer a misfit. Many afternoons were spent with Uncle Robert in here, often at his baby grand piano tucked in the corner, but others I spent sprawled out on the plush carpet while he read me the classics. Only Uncle Robert’s authority could make me sit still long enough to absorb the wise words of the tomes he read. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention to Grimm’s dark fairytales, I wouldn’t have committed sin after sin with no forethought of the consequences—consequences I must acknowledge if I expect to move forward.
This is my chance to correct the heinous mistake I made at the ball with Julianne when I ran, just as Heather accused. I’ve practiced what I’ll say, how I’ll say it, and imagined her responses, though guessing how Julianne will react to something is an exercise in—
Oh, God.
Time stands still when she enters the room, as if it could collapse in on itself. Clocks stop ticking, suns in every universe pause in their skies. The walls and high ceiling of the room shrink in like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, distorting any sense of balance or confidence I may have been clinging to.
My throat is suddenly dry and my greeting lodges somewhere between my heart and my tongue. She’s all wild red hair that begs to be touched, a rosebud mouth that calls to be kissed, and smooth pale skin that demands to be stroked. Most alarming, though, is the way her chest rises and falls in quick shallow gasps while her blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity I’ve experienced neither before nor after her.
I need to say something to break this awful tension twisting in the air between us, but words won’t come. How can they, when the simple act of speaking aloud feels like a violation of the natural law that is Julianne? So I wait—jaw slack, fists clenched.
To say she looks healthy is a gross understatement. Last time we laid eyes on each other, she was all angles and sallow expressions from too much stress and drama I created—however inadvertently. There’s life and hope in her expression now, further enhanced by the curves I fell for when we first met.
Need to hear that she forgives me for being weak and reckless. All these things battle with each other in my head, but my heart says they’ll never be spoken aloud, because in the time since she’s walked into the room, I’ve realized an awful truth.
She frightens me.
How can a seventeen-year-old girl hold so much power over a man? Yet here I stand, gutted, humbled, and trembling, proving beyond a shadow of
a doubt that I’m not worthy of her affection or good opinion.
Have to decide if I’ll ever be, or if it’s a lost cause.
Uncle Robert clears his throat. No telling how long he’s been standing there observing our wordless conversation. “If you need me, I’ll be in the TV room.” He cocks an eyebrow before pivoting on his cane. His shuffling footsteps recede down the center hall.
“You–” I clear my throat and swallow. “I mean, you look great.”
She crosses her arms.
“Not that you don’t always look great, and not that my opinion matters, but you look really well. Happy. Healthy. I take it things are getting better?”
She cocks her head to the side but doesn’t answer.
“Right. None of my business. What I wanted to say is I owe you an apology. A lifetime of apologies. My behavior was completely inexcusable. Had no idea you’d…that things would turn out the way they did. I mean, what happened at the ball, I saw that coming, but afterward… I know Dave hates me right now, but I’ll be grateful to him the rest of my life for being there for you when I was a fucking coward.”
I take a tentative step forward, but stop when she parts her lips, takes a breath and holds it. Perhaps she isn’t indifferent after all. Never been good at reading people, but it seems like a positive sign that I still have an effect on her.
“Please sit. I have no right to ask, but I need you to hear me out. You once came to me apologizing for being self-centered. Now it’s my turn. Please.” She blows out the breath she’s been holding. To my great relief, she sits in one of Uncle Robert’s antique chairs, though she hasn’t said a word since entering the room. Her eyelashes flutter against high cheekbones as she concentrates on the graceful piano fingers laced in her lap.
“Heard you got into the NEC, not that there was any doubt. Hope you don’t mind that Uncle Robert told me. You’ll be great there.” I watch in horror as her lips begin to quiver. Whether in anger or sadness, I don’t know. “Okay, look, I have to say this. Probably not right, but when has anything between us ever been above the board?”
She sniffs and turns her head. Only way I figure I can get her full attention is to drop in front of her on my knees. When she presses her eyes shut, a lone tear cascades down her porcelain cheek and I’m reminded once again that I have caused this girl to cry too many times.
“No,” I tell her. “No more tears. I’m not worth a single one. Hell, most days I’m not worth the air I consume. I need you to know I am truly sorry with everything that I am for causing you so much pain and bringing my past and my problems into your life. I had no right to let all that crazy shit cloud my judgment. Had even less right to walk away and leave you to deal with the fallout on your own. I know I was wrong and an asshole.”
I watch unknown emotions play across her face, then she whispers something I can’t make out.
“Juli?”
“I’m supposed to forgive you.”
“Yeah?”
“My doctor says I have to forgive you before I can get better.”
“I see. And you don’t want to do that?”
“Not sure I can. Don’t know how, especially when I’m so angry. At first I was numb, and then I wanted to hurt you.”
“I deserve it. Would it help to know I’ve been miserable? Julianne, I didn’t even touch my piano for nearly two months. Haven’t been back to Felix’s. Couldn’t bring myself to go to church for Easter. Don’t talk to my family, except Uncle Robert.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“No, that’s not why I’m telling you. I want you to know this whole thing has flipped my world upside-down. I think about you constantly, wondering if you’re okay, if you’re happy, if you’ve been in touch with Sasha Rozum—Uncle Robert told me about his offer of mentorship, too.”
“It’s none of your business now.”
“I know, but I want it to be.” A headache forms behind my eyes so I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I miss you, Juli. I even dream about you. Every goddamn night, you’re with me. I know you and Dave are close now, and that’s great, but please leave room in your life for me, even if it’s only as a friend. I need you.”
I almost fall over when those words come out, because they’re true. She finally raises her chin and pins me in place with a frosty glare. “You need me, huh? Were you expecting me to fall back into your arms? Your bed?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Right, because what we did was wrong. I was wrong, and one giant mistake. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“Juli–”
“I accept your apology, but I don’t think we can be friends. If you’re able to turn off your feelings that easily, then clearly I was much more into you than you were into me. I get that. What I don’t get is why you made me come here when you could have just left things alone after you called and apologized on my voicemail. Why are you doing this to me?”
Not sure I know the answer to that. When I first called Juli, it was because Heather pointed out that I needed to apologize. Thing is, I already did that over the phone. So why did I ask her to meet me in person? The reality is a two-sided crushing blow to the progress I thought I’d made lately. I haven’t learned from my mistakes and I haven’t gotten over her.
“Because I’m a selfish bastard and I love you.”
Her eyes flash. “Hah! You have no idea what love is. For being ten years older than me, you sure don’t know very much. That was my first mistake—thinking you were wise and worldly. What a joke.”
I never know how she’ll react, but her reply to my monumental confession is certainly not what I’d hoped. “I deserve that, but you’re wrong.”
“Yeah? About which part?”
“I know what love is.”
“No, you know what lust is. Big difference.”
I nod. “True. I do know what lust is, and I’ve let it guide me for too long, but I’d be lying if I said I regretted that it brought us together.”
This time I get the response I was aiming for as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks. It makes her freckles stand out even more, including the one at the corner of her lower lip that I’ve kissed a hundred times.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she says. “Thank you for your apologies. I’ll discuss them with my doctor and work hard to forgive you.”
“Will you forget, too?”
She presses her lips together in a thin line as a tiny tremor travels the length of her body.
“Not likely,” she whispers.
The antique glass in the front door shudders when she slams it behind her. I watch her race to her car in the driveway, throw herself in, and lean her forehead against the steering wheel. I said before that I’d made her cry too many times. I lied. I’m relieved she still harbors enough feelings toward me to sob for several minutes before she pulls herself together and drives away.
“Well?” I jump at the sound of Uncle Robert’s voice over my shoulder. Genuine concern is written into the wrinkles of his face. I turn and plant my hands on his shoulders so I can look him squarely in the eye and make him understand just how serious I am.
“I have my work cut out for me, Uncle Robert, but I think I still have a chance.”
He nods, but it doesn’t look like approval. It looks more like resignation.
Chapter Four
That week, the songs pour out. As soon as work is over, I run home, jump in the shower, grab a quick bite to eat, and head for the piano so I can commit to paper all the melodies that filter through my head in a constant stream. More than once my supervisor’s kicked the unused shovel in my hands when a daydream’s gone on too long.
Uncle Robert’s instructions about what the publisher wants me to write remain secondary to the pieces I have to write. Briefly, I wonder if Juli’s begun composing again. It’s one of her few weaknesses, but in my fantasy we’re both up late at night writing songs for each other that neither has the courage to share. My brain gets stu
ck on the word courage. That’s when I decide she needs to hear these. The old Isaac would send these off to the publisher and never let her know they’re all for her, but this Isaac needs to stop being afraid and take a chance.
In short, I need to grow a pair.
I pick up the phone to call Uncle Robert. “Hey, have a favor to ask. Can you come over tomorrow after I get home from work and listen to some pieces I’ve been working on?”
I hear him suck in a breath. “So you took my suggestion seriously? You’ve been composing?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonderful! You make an old man happy. Unfortunately, I can’t make it tomorrow evening.”
“Got a hot date?”
After a beat, he says, “No, not exactly.”
“Stop being mysterious, Uncle Robert. You got me curious now. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“It’s nothing, Isaac. How about the day after tomorrow?”
“Hmm, now you’re changing the subject. Must be really good. Bet I could figure it out if I tried.”
“Since when did you turn into a busybody? If you must know, tomorrow is Julianne’s birthday and I’ve been asked to attend a party in her honor. Do not ask me for details because I will not provide them. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I hang up the phone, stunned by his admission. Tomorrow. Juli’s birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. Its significance hits me square in the chest, ripping open a ragged hole and leaving nothing but blackness in its wake. If I had exercised patience and good sense, I could be over there tomorrow as well, possibly going public with our relationship. It would no longer be any kind of offense, legal or moral. Instead, my absence will likely be the giant elephant in the room, though I know damn well Dave is probably on a plane right now so he can be the one to stand at her side while she cuts the first piece of cake.
And after the party…How many times did he tell me to wait until she was eighteen? He even programmed it into my goddamn phone once as a joke. I grab it off the kitchen counter, scroll through my ridiculously empty calendar, and there it is staring me in the face: JC 18. You may now pass GO.
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