by Pike, Leslie
Think, Parish. Use some of that self-reflection to figure out what’s happening between you two. I know it without dissecting every moment of the scene on the beach. The guy had his arm around her. She didn’t move or take it off her shoulders. Okay. It’s possible I’ve read too much into the situation. Or maybe I’m so desperate to move into a new phase of life I’ve created a false narrative.
There’s no firm ground for me to stand on here. We’re not a couple, she had a life before meeting me. Just because I’ve been a loner doesn’t mean she has. Maybe I’m making too much of it all. The guy, her non response and most of all our time together.
Being clear about it or not, it’s making me turn towards my old standby. Alcohol. I need a distraction. Time to write. Walking to my desk I’m suddenly conscious of the fact I haven’t looked in the drawer yet today, and not at all yesterday. Hmm. No. I don’t feel like it today either. Instead I imagine Justin on that day, but when we built the sandcastle.
The muffled sound of my cell carries all the way from the laundry closet. Shit. They’re in the pocket of my running pants. I move quickly to the hallway and retrieve the phone.
“Hello?”
“Parish. It’s Gayle.”
God. My sister.
“It’s John too,” my brother says.
I’m too shocked to speak for a few beats. There’s a tightening in my throat and my eyes instantly fill with tears. I walk to the kitchen and take the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. One drink.
“Hello, you two,” I say quietly.
“Don’t blame John. He wasn’t sure we should do this. But when I found the right number I wanted him to hold my hand while I called.”
“How are you, brother?” John says softly.
I want to collapse into myself until I figure out how I feel. I know one thing though. It’s good hearing their voices again. Overwhelming.
“You still there?” Gayle asks.
“Yeah. Just trying to process what’s happening.”
I pour myself two fingers of liquid courage and take the first sip. Oh yeah. That’s good.
“We miss you, Parish. So much,” John says softly.
“I’m gonna be a grandmother. Perry and his wife are expecting.”
Gayle surprises me with that one.
“What? We can’t be that old,” I say with a touch of lightness.
“Well, John’s old as shit. He turned fifty this year. Me, I’m still in my fabulous forties,” she says with fake attitude. “We lit a birthday candle for your forty-third on March seventeenth. We’ve done that every year.”
My heart aches a little with her words. My stomach is tight and I feel a headache coming on. This is beginning to be too much. But I don’t want to hurt them anymore. I love them.
“I hope you let us call you once in a while, brother.”
“Please, Parish. I promise not to overdo it. We just don’t want to be without you. Please let us back in,” Gayle says.
“We’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. Once a month, once a week. You set the rules.”
John was always the negotiator of the three of us. I’m on the verge of actually crying as I take a bigger swig.
“Okay. I’ve got your numbers. I’ll call when…” The catch in my throat gives my shaky emotional state away.
“Call whenever you feel like saying hello. It can be a two minute conversation. We’re going to do whatever you want,” Gayle says, sniffling.
“Yeah. I will. Listen, it was great hearing your voices. I hope you understand it was never about you. I’ve been so.”
“It doesn’t matter. We love you, brother,” John says cutting off my excuses.
His voice cracks with the emotion we’re all feeling. We’ve missed each other. My feelings were tapped down, trapped under crushing grief. Today for the first time in years I’m trying to dig myself free.
My eyes open slowly to the low light in the room. It’s changed dramatically. Shit, it’s almost six o’clock. I’ve been out for two hours. No surprise. I drank myself to sleep. Not to unconsciousness, I didn’t have the will for that, but into the escape sleep brings.
Ow, my back has a kink. I wasn’t sitting right. And shit, the whiskey spilled on the couch. It won’t be easy getting that out. It stretches from one cushion to the edges of the next.
My slide backwards wasn’t worth the few hours of relief it brought. I should have toughed it out, because now I feel worse than I did before.
Getting up I try to stretch myself straight. Jesus, I feel shitty. My stomach, heartburn, head. It’s as if the effect of drinking too much has multiplied.
The phone call threw me and not just because we haven’t spoken in so long. The bigger blow is I’m beginning to see the mistake I’ve made. Neither brother nor sister deserved what I did to them. Their pain today was obvious. But I didn’t detect any sign of blame. They don’t hold it against me. Unbelievable.
The cell sounds breaking my reverie. Scarlett.
“Hello.”
“Your voice. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just woke up.” I clear my throat hoping to hide my alcohol-affected vocal cords and sit my ass back down.
“So, did you have any turkey?” she says.
“Did you get rid of yours?”
There’s a pause before she answers. “What?”
“Your boyfriend. Is he staying with you?”
“I wanted to clear that up. You left before I had the chance. Actually, I wouldn’t have done it there anyway, but the truth is he’s not my boyfriend.”
Okay. So far so good.
“None of my business,” I say not meaning it.
“Whether it’s your business or not doesn’t change the fact. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Does he know that?”
“He does now,” she says giggling.
That puts a smile on my face and something resembling hope in my heart. Hope for what I don’t know. It just feels good.
“Is he still there?”
“No. He decided to fly back tonight. He left about ten minutes ago.”
“Well what’re you waiting for? Get your ass over here.”
“I can’t. My whole family’s here for a few days and we’re gonna play some game in a few minutes.”
“You and I should be playing our games.”
“You’re very naughty.”
“You can spank me if you’d like,” I say chuckling. “I’ll pull my pants down as soon as you walk in the door. Come on, can’t you sneak out for twenty minutes?”
She starts giggling and I love the sound. “Twenty minutes? Slam, bam, thank you ma’am, much? Is that all the foreplay I’d get?”
“Listen, I’ll spend as long as your body can take. I’ll go down on you for five hours if that’s what you love.”
The giggle again. “Are those my choices? Twenty minutes or five hours?”
“Scarlett, I liked having you in my bed. I want you to be there again. For as short or long as you want.”
There’s silence for a few seconds. Then she sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m here for the night. But if you look out your window you should see Sam. He’s on his way with a plate and goodie bag for you.”
Before I have time to respond, I hear his steps. I turn to see Sam with the goods, ringing the doorbell. Shit. I look like a drunk.
Getting up, I run my hands through my hair. That’s all I have time for before opening the door.
“Hey, Sam. What’ve you got there?”
He walks inside not waiting for an invitation. I’m handed the goods.
“Aunt Scarlett made this for you. There’s cookies in the bag.”
The way he’s looking at my face says a thousand words. I must look like shit.
“Thanks. Come in. Tell me about your day. Having fun with your family?”
As we sit on the couch I spot the half-empty whiskey bottle on the edge of the coffee table. Crap. He spots it too.
“I guess so.”
“You have that book you told me about?”
Thank God for diversion. “Oh yeah, let me get it.”
I walk to my desk and take the book in hand. “This is my first in the Daniel Dustin series. Your aunt gave me the go ahead for you to read it, as long as we discuss it when you do.”
“Yeah, she told me.”
“You could make notes if you have questions. Or we can talk about each chapter. Whatever you want.”
But he’s not paying attention. His eyes are on the whiskey bottle.
“You don’t drive when you have that, right?”
Fuck me. The kid’s thinking of his parents’ accident. The drunk driver who ended it all.
“Never, Sam. Promise.”
I don’t get a smile or nod or any hint of what he’s thinking. Except for the reflection of pain in his eyes.
“It’s a crutch I’ve made the mistake of using to help me through. It fails miserably. I’m trying not to do that as much anymore, but today I slipped back.”
It’s unnerving when a child looks into your soul and sees you for what you are.
“Can I sit on your porch and read?” he says softly.
“Really? What about your family? They’re here for the holiday, right?”
He dips his chin and his mouth twists. “I don’t want to celebrate any of the holidays this year.”
“I understand that. I bet they’d all give you a pass to feel whatever way you want. Have you told them?”
I get a shake of the head.
“They’re just trying to be there for you, Sam. Take it from me. When you’re ready they’ll be waiting. In the meantime, do whatever you want. Just remember they’re suffering too.”
He takes a seat on the couch and I follow his lead.
“Grandma and Aunt Scarlett ask me too many questions. They always want to know how I’m doing.”
“It’s coming from a kind place. Women are usually more expressive than us guys. But I hear ya. What about your uncles? Are you close?”
“Uncle Aargon is kind of serious. But he’s nice. Nobel is good, he sends me music he likes. Van is the funniest. He’s my favorite I guess. He’s kinda wild. They all live in Montana so we don’t see each other very much.”
“What you need is to have a guys’ night. Play cards maybe. No girls allowed. Ask your grandpa too.”
He rolls the idea around.
“Can you come?” he says with hope in his voice.
I didn’t think this through. I see no way out.
“Yeah, of course.”
Damn. The kid looks happy.
Chapter 10
Scarlett
Raucous male laughter carries from the dining room all the way into my bedroom. The night after Thanksgiving is turning into a party. For those in the other room, that is. Mom and I are stretched out on my bed looking through the box of precious photographs Kristen had tucked away in her closet.
Every so often we eavesdrop on the men. It’s always interesting hearing how they talk to each other when they’re alone in testosteroneville. According to Sam, there’s a strict No Girls Allowed policy tonight.
It’s true, men are better than women at accessing their younger selves. They revert as soon as they’re in a group. There’s teasing and smack talk, and a few minutes ago we heard a burping contest. Somehow it makes them happy. I’m not sure they ever completely leave being twelve behind. Tonight Sam gets initiated into the club.
“Somebody said something funny. Your father’s having hysterics.”
“No doubt Van’s offering something inappropriate.”
“I hope they use common sense and don’t say anything too mature in front of Sam,” my mother says.
My head turns to her and our eyes meet. I’m looking at her like she’s crazy. We burst out laughing at her statement.
“You’re nuts if you think Van’s going to hold back anything.”
She hangs her head in mock despair. “I know.”
Even Parish and Aargon’s laughs can be heard over our conversation. That’s encouraging. I didn’t expect it from Parish, and rarely have I heard it from Aargon. Not since he lost his wife. He was always serious, but her death a decade ago sealed joy inside him. Tonight’s fun may be helping more than one sad heart. If just for a few hours. It makes me believe in possibilities.
The only voice I haven’t heard is Sam’s. I’m sure he’s having a good time though.
“We’re banished from the party, but it’s very entertaining,” I say tilting my head to hear better.
“I don’t mind. Sometimes the boys need alone time. I’ll be back,” she says getting up and heading for the bathroom.
To think my brothers and father are having a good time with Parish pleases me a little too much. If I’m so sure he’s not boyfriend-material I shouldn’t give a damn. But I do. I mean I’m not officially dating him. Pretty sure screwing the man doesn’t count as dating.
I did let my family know he’s been a good neighbor and more importantly kind to Sam. I conveniently left out the drinking and occasionally passing out on the sand part of the story. Even just thinking of it now makes me nervous. Because, even though I haven’t seen any sign of that behavior lately, it’s still a recent reality. And the more I want him the bigger the waving red flag.
When Sam told me about plans for poker night I almost chocked on my turkey sandwich. Finding out it was Parish’s idea was an even greater shock. Then last night he explained what went behind the discussion.
It was another example of how he puts Sam before himself, even though their friendship’s new. I know it’s because he’s been a father. Could be the sense of tenderness and compassion never leaves a man.
My mother returns and reclaims her spot next to me on the bed.
“Okay, let’s keep going.”
Here in my room, Mom and I are opening the wound we share and facing how it’s hobbled us. Another difference between man and woman. We consider crying to be our friend. Tonight in between tears there’s laughter. It’s an emotional roller coaster as we navigate memories.
One picture grabs us and rips our hearts, the next brings back better days spent together, when we swam, or skied or just sat around the family table enjoying being alive together.
“Oh, look at her. She looked beautiful that night,” my mother says looking at Kristen’s prom picture, senior year.
“That was the night she lost her virginity,” I say.
“I know. She told me.”
“I’m impressed. Very brave of her,” I say lifting an eyebrow.
“She was thirty when she told me,” my mother says chuckling. “Bravery had nothing to do with it.”
“That makes so much more sense,” I giggle.
She looks at me with an expression I recognize from my teen years. Here comes a pointed question.
“So tell me about this man.”
“What man?”
“The handsome mysterious one you’re trying to sell as your friend.”
She’s so damn smart. I can’t hold my straight face. A smile lifts the corners of my mouth.
“I knew I was right,” she says. “Your whole demeanor changes when you talk about him.”
“We’re having a flirt. Nothing more.”
She just sits with my statement for a while. Her logical scientific mind dissecting the information I’ve presented.
“Now tell me the true story,” she says ignoring my denial.
I hesitate for a moment before spilling my guts.
“Okay. We’re attracted to each other, and we’ve acted on it, once. Sam doesn’t know and never will.”
“For what reason? I mean that’s a good instinct, but what’s behind it?”
I get off the bed and start pacing, my nervous tell.
“For a few reasons. Parish is still grieving the death of his child.”
“Oh, that’s a tough
one. Maybe you can heal together.”
“Mostly my hesitation is because I can’t have Sam become attached to a man who suddenly may not be in his life.”
Her head’s nodding before the words leave her mouth. She takes my hand.
“He’s suffered enough separation for a lifetime. And putting him ahead of yourself is what needs to happen. But don’t forget you need a life too. You’ll sense when it’s time.”
“But meanwhile I don’t see the harm in having a good pop pop,” I say knowing my mother will decipher the code.
She twists her mouth in response. “It feels like more.”
“You’re reading too much into it, Mom.”
“Want to know what I see?”
“What?”
“This one is all man. You usually gravitate toward men that are still half boy. Maybe you’re selling him short, Scarlett.”
My mother the former chemical engineer has gathered the evidence, observed the reaction of the tested objects each to the other and come to her hypothesis. Damn science.
* * *
Walking down the school hallway toward Mrs. Clark’s office is a flashback to my Fremont Grammar School days. The sound of chattering children, the smell of chalk. I think this is my third visit. Yeah. First time introductions, last time was to set up my schedule.
Who knew parents had to volunteer their time in some capacity. I’m not working so there was no quick excuse when told. Besides I want Sam to know I’m all in. In every way, including the ones I’d rather take a pass on. It’s a huge job trying to do everything by the book. An impossible one. Every day I remind myself to just aim for an inch better than I did the day before.
Hey, there’s that redheaded kid I used to see with Sam when I’d visit. Pete. He was always at the house. Wonder why he hasn’t been around?
“Hi!” I say as he passes me without a glance. “It’s Pete, right?”
He turns. Eyebrows knit together. There’s absolutely no recognition in his pretty blue eyes.
“I’m Scarlett. Sam’s aunt. We met at the big Fourth of July beach party. You stayed at the house. I think it was two or three years ago. Remember?”
“Uh, Yeah I think so.”
