So, instead of knocking, I slid down the wall next to the door and listened to her quiet sobs.
We were brought into this world pure, untainted by life, full of love, naive, and unassuming of the world. Then, somehow, we changed. We saw things. We heard things. We were told things. We felt things. And then we changed slowly, day by day.
And by the time we were taken from this life, pieces of us were so tainted, so jaded—some of it brought on by our own decisions and some of it completely out of our control—that it was hard to see the good in the world.
Julie was my decision. Her heart was broken, not by the choices she’d made or we’d made, but by things out of our control. A heartbreak was a real hard thing to watch. I wished I could take the pain away. I didn’t wish it were me in her spot because I’d rather her not watch me suffer because it was probably hard to watch the heartbreak than have the broken heart and feel completely helpless.
I didn’t believe we could tell our hearts who to love either. That we just fell sometimes when we were completely unaware of it.
Julie just opened the door, and she looked down at me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I looked up at her.
Her puffy red eyes stared down at me. The beautiful green eyes I had fallen in love with.
She slid down the wall next to me, wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m sorry, Luke.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said with a lump in my throat. Emotion stuck where I should be gathering strength for the both of us. The pain in my chest was almost unbearable.
“I really want a baby.”
We’d done all the testing. Paid for fertility drugs. We’d exhausted all avenues. There was nothing wrong with either of us. We just couldn’t make it happen together.
“I know.” I kissed her head. Rested my cheek against her forehead. “I love you, Julie.”
“I know,” she said. She got up, went into our bedroom, and shut the door behind her.
Sometimes, we had to let go, even when we didn’t want to. That was what Uncle Al had said to my mother after Ella died. She’d had one of Ella’s favorite T-shirts in her hand and been hanging on to it for days. Wouldn’t let it go. My dad had stayed in the garage. Gone out first thing in the morning and not returned until dinnertime.
I guessed loss was universal, and grief was the same. I’d lost my sister, and I knew I’d already lost my wife. I was just waiting on her to say good-bye.
2014
I feel movement, as if someone is cradling me like a baby. Barely, I open my eyes and see that my head is resting on Luke’s chest. He’s carrying me in the direction of the bedroom.
I feel his shallow breaths against my ear and close my eyes again, pretending to be asleep.
He reaches the bed and draws back the covers, gently laying me between the sheets. My eyes stay closed, maybe out of fear that I’ll somehow mess this up or maybe out of curiosity, as I wonder what he’ll do next.
Luke pulls the covers over the top of me, and it’s silent for a long moment.
But in the stillness, he kisses the side of my head and lingers there only for a second before turning off the bedside light and gently shutting the bedroom door behind him.
I should go out there, tell him to sleep in bed with me. That I won’t touch him or ask him to hold my hand. That I’ll be still and not move and he can sleep. That I don’t snore.
Don’t be stupid, I tell myself.
Listening, I try to quiet my breathing, to hear what he’s doing. The darkness surrounds me, tries to swallow me before I sit up and gasp for air.
Get water, I tell myself. Breathe, get water, and then go back to bed.
I look up at the ceiling and trace the small grooves in the pine. Carefully, I get out of bed, walk through the room to the door, and open it.
It’s dark in the house.
“Catherine?” I hear Luke say.
“Yeah?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I just need some water.” I walk toward the living room, the only way to get through to the kitchen.
My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, and I make out his silhouette on the sofa.
His shirt is off, and I notice this because I see the reflection of the light over the stove on his bare chest. He gets up and walks toward the kitchen.
I hold my breath, as if it will help me to control any temptation I feel in my body.
He doesn’t say anything more when I reach the kitchen. I find a glass in the cupboard to the left of the sink and fill it with tap water.
I drink it. Chug it in fact to cool my body, praying it will take away the nerves in my stomach.
But I see him watching me in the reflection.
He’s still and unmoving.
I drink my water, praying it doesn’t go down the wrong pipe.
He rests his fingertips on the top of the doorframe, watching me.
When the water is gone, I panic, unsure of what to do next.
Before I turn around, I set my glass in the sink.
“Thank you for taking me to bed,” I say, turning, leaning against the sink, crossing my arms.
I smile, laugh. He laughs, too, and a small dimple appears to the right of his chin, below his mouth.
“That came out wrong,” I say, running my hands through my hair, my T-shirt exposing my lower stomach.
Luke’s eyes narrow on mine, and I see the conflict in his eyes.
“Do you know your eyes have flecks of green in them?” I ask, reaching for anything to keep me in this room with him.
“They do not.” He tilts his head to the side, looking at me. “Do they?”
“Yeah. The right one has a few more than the left one, but you can definitely see them.”
He leaves the room. Turns on the light in the dining room and walks to the mirror. Stares into it. “You’re right. I’ve never noticed that before.”
Luke turns and looks at me from the dining room, walks to the light switch he just turned on, and flips it back to off, so now, it’s just me and him and the darkness and the tiny stove light.
“Now what?” I whisper.
He takes a step closer to me.
The conflict in his eyes becomes clearer as he makes his way to me. There’s a change in his demeanor, as if he’s battling his own will and own thoughts.
“I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not, Catherine.” He takes both hands and places them on either side of the kitchen sink, so his body leans into mine, barely touching. His lips inches from mine.
“Don’t pretend,” I whisper, wanting him to kiss me so badly that I feel it everywhere in my body.
Again, the conflict appears, his face so close to mine. He tries to drop his face from mine, but I pick it up with my hands and crash my mouth to his.
His body, like a magnet, forms to mine as if we were melting glass.
Tonight, I tell myself as I feel his tongue against mine, quickly and then slowly, I’ll just take what I need, and that’s it.
Luke’s hand slides to my backside, and then he grabs my ass as he pulls both of my legs up to his waist.
He carries me to the bedroom just like he did earlier, except this time, I force my mouth away from his, staring into his brown eyes, and say, “You’re not leaving.”
And he nods, meeting my mouth again with his.
He slowly lays me down on the bed, my body wired and ready for whatever he’ll give me.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, Catherine,” he says as he crawls on top of me. His mouth slowly moves to my neck, trailing kisses down to my chest. He looks up as if he’s asking if this is okay.
I nod, pulling my T-shirt over my head, and he lets out a groan. He takes off his jeans, and I see what I’m doing to him.
Gently, he puts his mouth to my breast, and I unravel as I watch him watching me. He comes back to my lips as the ache deepens between my legs. His length falls against my folds
, and through our clothes, my shorts and panties against his boxers, he slowly starts to move.
Luke moves his mouth to the other breast, giving them the full attention they need.
Slowly, he makes his way to my mouth as his hand slides down around my breasts and my stomach. With hesitation and a confident stare, he slides his hand underneath my panties, and his fingers reach their destination.
I know what he feels because I feel it, too.
My legs fall to the sides.
“Catherine, you’re wet,” he says as he slides his finger against my center.
I call out in need.
He uses two fingers and slips them inside me.
“Luke, please,” I beg.
He spreads my legs with his own. He removes his boxers and my shorts, panties.
I feel as though this is familiar, as if this is the place I’ve always wanted to be.
I pull his mouth to mine as he sinks inside me.
We find rhythm and pace and oneness.
I am the moon, and Luke is Jupiter.
I am the stars, and Luke is the sky.
Lost in the abyss of feeling and love and wholeness, I find Luke, waiting, taking my hand, and guiding me.
He pushes and stretches and spreads, and I grow around him. I feel.
Opening my eyes, I find him watching me, intent, content, and everything in between.
This feeling he creates inside me, I’ve never been able to reach it with another person. A place where time doesn’t exist.
He pulls out and turns me around and pulls me back to him where he enters me again.
He cradles me from behind and eases in and out of me.
I call out loudly this time , unprepared for my own noises.
When I reach my peak, he touches down between my legs and touches the spot between my folds in a way that is both soft and rough, all at the same time.
Luke pushes and pulls, and I stare at the exquisite beauty of the images he gives me as he divides my body into two halves. One half has fallen in love with Luke, and the other half knows my heart will get broken in some way.
But when we both come together and fall against the mattress, I feel weightless and limitless and completely satisfied.
He doesn’t say another word, except, “I’m sorry,” before he kisses me on the mouth and leaves me to the darkness.
As I’m still trying to catch my breath, the darkness sits on my chest like a brick, waiting for me to admit defeat, while I wonder what the hell happened as my body feels tired and completely satisfied, and my heart begins a dull ache.
“This won’t end in your favor,” the words come to my head as if they were my own. But I know it’s my sister’s voice, and it takes me back to that night.
I stand, tired, and walk to my bag. Grab my phone.
A missed call or something, a text, I wait for Ingrid.
It’s been thirteen years, Catherine. You know the drill.
The bedroom door opens again, and it’s Luke, his shirt still off, his boxers back around his hips. He hands me a glass of water, sets his on the nightstand, and crawls into bed next to me.
I thought he’d left me to sleep on the couch, and I’d accepted that as if it were all right. As if it were okay for him to use my body as a fix. Why not, right? I’d spent years trying to use my body to hide my feelings, to fix what was broken.
He turns on his side and looks at me. “Are you okay?” he asks and kisses my cheek. “You look surprised.”
“I do?” I try to play it off, setting my phone on the nightstand. I take a sip of water.
“Yeah, you do.” He reaches up and cups my breast, gently pulling me to him, allowing our eyes to meet. Luke puts his lips on mine and slowly pulls away.
“Can I be honest with you?” I ask, my skin feeling as though it will crack if I come clean from the lies I’ve told myself about men. Honesty doesn’t always come naturally. “I thought you were going to sleep on the couch,” I say, my eyes dancing between his and straight ahead.
He drops down to the pillow next to me. Picks up his head and looks back at me, a baffled expression on his face. “Why would I make love to you and then leave you?”
Make love to me?
That’s what that feeling was with the moon and the sun and the stars and the sky. Dividing my body into halves. Luke. And me. And the moments of all goodness.
I say it out loud to see what it feels like against my lips, “Make love to me?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, observing me.
I stare back. “I thought you said just dinner and movies. That was it between us.”
He laughs. “I believed that for a second. I believed I could do it, and then when the movie was over, you were in my lap, and your face looked so peaceful. As if all that was wrong in the world was finally right.”
It is. It finally is, I say to myself.
“I sat there in the moment with you and watched you. Your lips pouting as a child. Your hands curled up under your chin. I knew you were home for me.”
I sigh deeply, soaking up his words and putting them into my heart. “If you see the innocent side of me, then you’ve seen the best in me. But for a long time, Luke, I used my body as a shield to the past. A shield to protect myself. To lose my feelings. To not feel. I slept with nine men in three weeks because I couldn’t stand what was going on in my life.”
He doesn’t say anything but, “And what about now?”
“Now, I’m trying to do things to make myself happy. Making love to you makes this,” I hold my chest, “in here happy.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s my experience in life that people are people. And they come and go. But it’s what’s inside us that learns to mourn, learns to hurt, and learns to love because we love. Because we love and we get to experience heartbreak.”
“You should have saved that for a second date.”
He laughs. “Sometimes, I’m too deep.” He laughs again, and it turns into an uncontrollable cough. One where he sits up, leans forward, coughs so hard that his stomach heaves.
I jump out of bed, naked, and go to the bathroom to grab some towels.
I think of the ulcer.
The blood.
I return.
When his cough finally grows silent, I hand him his water glass. He takes a drink.
“This cough isn’t an ulcer, Cat. We need to talk, and I need to tell you the truth.”
Before
North Alpine Drive, Beverly Hills
Dear Journal,
I was released from prison yesterday. Ingrid was there to greet me just past the gates. Had the car there, waiting, too. Asked how I was. Quite honestly, I’d felt safer inside. Behind the steel. I guess I didn’t have to deal with the wreckage, the aftermath.
Mother is fine. But I worry about her, not because she doesn’t talk, but because of why she doesn’t talk. Her doctor was there to meet me when I came to her room at Alder Grove Assisted Living. Ingrid warned me that Mother didn’t speak. I knew, but I’d never seen it for myself. She takes medication, psych meds, to drown out that night. A buffer, I’m sure.
But I suppose growing up the way Ingrid and I did, it created a sense of mental toughness that Mother maybe knew we’d always need one day.
I think Mother knew Father would kill her one day; it was just a matter of time.
But not a day goes by that I don’t recount what happened that night. Every single minute. The hours before. The day before. The days leading up to it, trying to pinpoint how everything could have been prevented. But I don’t think it could have.
Father was a bubble waiting to burst. Waiting to explode and unleash his true fiery. And I know the alcohol didn’t help either.
A family that looked so well put together on the outside, so lovely and loving and perfect, was slowly dying on the inside, and all it took was time and lives lived to expose it.
Home isn’t home anymore. Not within the multiple walls layered with memories and the tragedy in betwee
n. A house built for gods, haunted by the past and loved by good people who weren’t quite enough.
Father hadn’t been enough for his father.
Mother wasn’t enough for Father.
And Ingrid and I just wanted to be enough.
When I walk through the grand entryway made of white marble, to my left and to my right are staircases that curve and meet in the middle on the second story. I always took the left, and Ingrid always took the right.
I remember that night. The eerie quiet and then Mother’s wails.
I try to control my thoughts.
This isn’t happening right now, Cat. This is you coming home to your old traumas. Just a visit. Nothing more, nothing less.
Where is Ingrid when I need her?
Through an entryway on the left is the dining room, and in the dining room sits the same maple table imported from Italy that Mother had purchased. It’s still the same table we used in the evening for dinner and for the lavish parties that Mother and Father threw. It seats twenty-four, and twenty-four open chairs that no one wants to sit in. Through the dining room is the kitchen. The white kitchen with an island as big as the sea. My voice always echoed in here as a little girl. Ingrid thought it was funny.
The drawers were as long as my arms, and into our adult years, they still seemed long. The ceiling is dome-shaped and sculpted into waves. As a little girl, I always wondered why the waves seemed so far away as a child. Now, I see it’s just perspective.
The same white marble countertops swirled with the same mix as the floors in the grand entry still fill every inch of the counters, including the island.
Everything is the same, and yet everything is vastly different.
What’s changed, I suppose, is me.
With thousands of square feet, a family of four had a hard time filling the space with anything but resonances of two children just trying to fill the void. And that’s all it was. A big space. A space held together with nothing more than material things.
I thought about what I’d do when I was released. Would I come here? I had to after all, right? There was no choice. I knew I’d have to revisit this place.
The Light We See Page 16
