by Alexa Land
Cole was making a point of looking at nothing but the forest green carpeting. That was probably a good thing. I dropped our bags in the hall, guided him into a green and white bathroom, and got the water running in the tub. He blinked and looked in my eyes as I took off his glasses and placed them on a shelf above the sink, and then he shrugged off his suit jacket. I took it from him and hung it on a hook on the back of the door, and when he absently pulled at the knot of his tie, I removed it for him and unbuttoned his shirt. His thoughts were a million miles away, so I helped him finish getting undressed, then checked the water temperature and shut off the faucets.
He climbed into the tub, slid down in the hot water, and exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes. After a few moments, he whispered, “Thank you, River.”
“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” I hung my suit jacket beside his and rolled back my sleeves. Then I sat on the edge of the tub and gently stroked his hair. It was a relief to watch him relax a bit.
Eventually, the water started to cool, so he got out of the tub and I helped him dry off. I found a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt in my bag, and after he put them on, he wandered out of the bathroom and down the hall. Cole didn’t turn on the light when he reached his room. Instead, he just went straight to bed. I slid my shoes off and joined him. He curled up on his side, facing the wall, and I wrapped myself around him and held on tight.
After a moment, he started to sob. His slender body shook in my arms, and I buried my face in his hair. I would have given absolutely anything to be able to take away his pain. The fact that I couldn’t wrecked me.
Even though I was beyond exhausted, I remained agonizingly awake long after Cole cried himself to sleep. I cradled him, and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, and brushed my cheek against his hair. I had an overwhelming need to comfort him, to take care of him and make sure he was okay, even if he was unaware of what I was doing.
There was a large, hand-painted mural on the wall beside the bed, and I ended up studying it in the light from the hallway as the minutes and hours ticked by. Cole had painted himself a view of Chicago, the city where he’d spent the first twelve years of his life. He’d signed and dated the mural, and when I realized he’d completed it three months to the day after his dad died, my already tattered heart bled for him.
*****
It was light out when I awoke with a start. Cole was fast asleep in my arms. I was so grateful that both he and I had gotten some rest, even though I hadn’t drifted off until just before dawn.
After a few minutes, the need to pee drove me out of bed. I carefully untangled myself from Cole and headed down the hall. When I checked back in on him a couple minutes later and saw he was still sleeping, I returned to the bathroom and took a shower, then got dressed in a clean T-shirt and an old pair of cut-off jeans.
Rather than risk waking him by climbing back into bed, I grabbed my phone and headed outside, admiring Gram’s bountiful vegetable garden on my way to the shaded part of the backyard. A metal porch swing with a collection of faded pillows was tucked under a big oak, and it creaked as I settled onto it. When I checked my voicemail, I found I had over two dozen messages. Most of our friends had been with us when we’d gotten the news at the Fourth of July party, and they were understandably concerned. Had that really only been two days ago? It felt like weeks had passed.
I called Dante first and said, “I’m sorry for taking off on such short notice. I know there are a million things to do before Remmy leaves for France, but I had to go with Cole. He needed me.”
“Of course he did,” Dante said, “and you’re exactly where you need to be. How’s Cole holding up?”
“About like you’d expect. We’re not leaving right away, because there are some things he needs to take care of. So, between that and the drive home, I guess it might be sometime next week before I make it back to San Francisco. Is that alright?”
“That’s fine. Please don’t worry about the restaurant, River. It’ll be waiting for you whenever you return. If that’s in a week, great. If it’s a month, that’s also not a problem. What you’re doing is much more important than reopening by some arbitrary deadline.”
“Thank you, Dante.”
We spoke for a few more minutes, and after we disconnected, I returned several texts. One of them was to Dmitri, letting him know Cole wouldn’t be back to work for a few days. Then I called my brother, who’d left several messages over the last twenty-four hours. Skye answered with, “Are you and Cole okay?”
“No, not really. I mean, we made it to Idaho, but Cole’s devastated. It’s breaking my heart, Skye, because I don’t know how to help him.”
“You’re helping just by being there.”
“I wish I could do more, though. It hurts so much to watch him struggling. Gram’s funeral was yesterday evening, and I think he’s barely begun to process it. On top of that, we’re here at her place, and he’s supposed to go through his room and his grandmother’s belongings and take what he wants, and I don’t know how he’s supposed to deal with that right now.”
“He shouldn’t have to face that so soon after losing his grandmother,” Skye said. “Why don’t you make plans to go back in a few weeks and sort through everything?”
“This is our only chance. Cole’s never coming back here, I’m sure of that. Besides, his mom wants to empty the house so she can put it on the market, and I think she wants to do that as soon as possible. She’s going to be moving in with her fiancé, who Cole knew nothing about until yesterday.”
“Why would she keep that from him?” When I explained who Glen Bowmer was, Skye muttered, “Shit. Poor Cole.”
“I know.” After a pause, I said, “I need some advice, Skye.”
“Seriously?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because I’m pretty sure you’ve never asked my advice before. You’re always the one doling it out, whether I want it or not.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I think that’s just your way of being a big brother. It’s nice to get to return the favor, though. So, what’s going on?”
“I’m worried this situation with Bowmer is going to cost Cole his relationship with his mom, and she’s the only family he has left. I met Glen, by the way, and he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. He made a terrible mistake, but he got sober and served his time, and it seems like he’s really tried to turn his life around. Not that Cole wants to hear that. He’s still so angry, even fifteen years later. I don’t think he ever made peace with what happened to his dad.”
“I’ve always gotten the same impression.”
I shifted the phone to my other ear and said, “I think it’s really important for Cole to talk to his mom before we leave Idaho, but I’m afraid to say anything. I’m worried we’re going to fight about it, and it’s going to tear down the foundation we’ve been working to rebuild. The last thing I want is to jeopardize our relationship. At the same time though, I feel like I’m the only person who can bring Cole and his mom together. What should I do, Skye?”
My brother’s voice was gentle when he said, “You can’t go through life walking on eggshells, River. If you and Cole are going to have a real shot at a future together, you have to be able to talk about everything, even the tough stuff. Isn’t that what went wrong the first time? Both of you left too much unsaid, and it all built up until you couldn’t take it anymore.”
I thought about that for a few moments, then said, “You’re right. I’m going to talk to him.”
“Good.”
“I’m waiting until tomorrow, though. Cole needs a day to grieve, and to deal with all the memories he’s going to stir up by sorting through Gram’s things. But before we leave here, I’m going to do whatever I can to try to get him to talk to his mom, even if it totally pisses him off.”
Skye asked, “Do you want Dare and me to come to Idaho? We can be there by tonight and help you and Cole pack up his stuff. I hate the fact
that the two of you are there without any kind of support system.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll be alright.”
“Okay. Well, good luck with everything. I hope it goes better than expected.”
“Thanks, Skye. Thank you for listening, too.”
“Always. It felt good knowing you wanted your kid brother’s advice.”
I said, “I guess it’s part of trying to grow up. You were less than impressed with some of my efforts, like cutting my hair and buying new clothes. But I think this is what’s really important, realizing I don’t always have to be in charge and that it’s okay not to have all the answers.”
“That’s very wise. No wonder I always come to you for advice.”
I grinned at that and said, “I love you, Skye. You know that, right?”
“I do, and right back at you. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”
I told him I would, and after we said our goodbyes and hung up, I slipped my phone in my pocket and headed back into the cozy, yellow and white kitchen. After I got the coffee pot going, I opened the refrigerator to look for some milk and was surprised to find it was stuffed with nearly a dozen casseroles. Then I remembered what Sonya had said about the neighbors bringing dishes in lieu of attending the funeral. They were all in disposable tin pans, which cut the social interaction from two visits to one, since they wouldn’t have to be returned. I lifted a foil cover and frowned at whatever was inside. It seemed to involve a green gelatin base, which suspended an array of ingredients, including cubes of ham and miniature marshmallows. I fought my gag reflex and tamped the foil down again before grabbing the milk carton and shutting the refrigerator door.
Cole joined me in the kitchen a few minutes later and murmured, “Hey.” He’d gotten dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, and a blue bandana held back his hair. He crossed the room to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, and when he took a look at the mug in his hands, he sighed. “Jesus, River, how am I going to do this? Everything in this house holds a memory. Literally everything. As soon as I saw this cup, I remembered one winter when a storm knocked out the power, and Gram cooked a big pot of soup out on the porch, using the barbeque grill. Then she and I and my mom all huddled up in front of the fireplace, and I ate my soup out of this mug while Gram told us stories.”
His voice caught, and he turned to look out the kitchen window. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, and I said, “We can take it all with us if you want. When the van gets full, I’ll go out and find us a trailer, and we’ll fill that up, too.”
“And then what? I’m sure Duke would love it if I stacked the entire duplex floor to ceiling with boxes.”
“Then fill up my apartment. Quinn won’t care. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it if we formed a big box maze in the living room.”
Cole leaned against me and said quietly, “I can’t let myself be this sentimental. Gram’s gone. Holding on to all her stuff isn’t going to change that.”
“Maybe we can take pictures of everything you want to remember and just keep the photos, instead of the actual items. Later on, you can put them in an album and write down the stories that go with each object.”
He turned to me and said, “That’s a great idea. Will you help me?”
“Of course.”
“The first thing I want to do is paint over the mural in my room. Could you get some pictures of it while I go out to the garage and find some paint?”
“Sure. I’m curious though, why are you painting over it? It’s really good.”
There was so much sadness in his dark eyes, and he looked away, as if to hide it from me as he said, “Because that mural is mine, and I don’t want anyone else to have it. I also don’t want the assholes who live in this town to come through here and gawk at all my stuff when the house is on the market. In fact, I don’t want any part of me left on display, including those pictures in the hall. By the time we’re done here, I want this place, and especially my room, to be as impersonal as a hotel.”
“Totally doable.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
He tried to step away, but I caught his wrist and said gently, “Let me make you breakfast first, Cole.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are.”
“But I have to get started. There’s so much to do.”
“Please? It’ll only take a couple minutes. Let me feed you, so I know you’re okay.”
He studied me for a moment, and then a little smile turned up the corner of his lips. “I know for a fact you won’t let this one go, so okay, fine. But I’m going to go out to the garage and find some paint while you cook.”
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes.”
He looked skeptical, but he said, “Okay. I’ll be back by then.”
As soon as he left, I got to work making breakfast sandwiches. It wasn’t the time or place for anything fancy, I just needed to get some food into my boyfriend before he passed out, since he hadn’t eaten in a day. I fried two eggs, then topped them with slices of cheddar cheese while I toasted a couple English muffins. When Cole stepped back through the screen door with a can of paint and a couple brushes, I held a plate out to him and smiled. He thanked me and grinned a little, then picked up the sandwich and headed to his room. I took mine along too, and we sat on his bed studying the mural while we ate.
I said, “I never knew you could paint.”
“I can’t. I spent days with a ruler and pencil, drawing all the buildings. Then I pretty much just did a color-by-numbers and filled in the shapes. It looked messy, so I traced everything with a thick, black marker to clean up the lines. You know, I should probably find some primer, so all of that doesn’t bleed through.”
As soon as we finished eating, we pulled the bed away from the wall, and I took a series of photos with my phone. I made sure to capture every detail of the mural, and there were a lot of them, including a cat in one of the windows, people on the street, and a pretty little park between the buildings. It made me sad to think about obliterating something so beautiful, especially since it was a part of Cole, but I got why he wouldn’t want to leave it for anyone else.
He soon returned with some newspapers to use as a drop cloth and a small can of primer with a rusty lid, and we both got to work. It only took a few minutes to prime the six-foot-wide section of wall. I opened the window when we were done, because the primer smelled terrible, and Cole turned to his closet and started pulling everything off the hangers. “At least the outgrown clothes are easy,” he said. “They can all get packed up and donated to charity. Could you please bring me some garbage bags? They should be on the bottom shelf in the laundry room.”
I did as he asked, and then I pulled a couple file boxes from the bottom of the closet and stacked them on the bed. He lifted the lids and said, “The good news is, I brought most of my important stuff with me when I moved out at nineteen. I didn’t want these old school papers then, and I don’t want them now, either. This can all be thrown out.” He dumped the papers onto the bed and handed me the empty cardboard box. “Could you please go around the house and gather up every photo you find, including the ones hanging in the hall? My mom will probably want them, but I’m not going to leave them on display.”
“Consider it done,” I said, and headed off on my assignment.
*****
We both worked nonstop until early afternoon and made a decent amount of progress. Since it was a warm day, the primer dried quickly, and Cole was able to paint the wall before I made him come to the kitchen with me and eat some lunch. “My room’s almost done,” he said as he ran a fingertip over the subtle pattern in the linoleum tabletop. He’d stripped away every bit of personalization and sorted everything into keep, donate, or burn piles. “I just need to do one final sweep and put the bed back in place before I move on to Gram’s room.” After a pause, he added, “I don’t know how literally to take my mom’s instructions.
She said I should take whatever I wanted, but doesn’t she want any of Gram’s things for herself?”
“Maybe you could call her and ask for some clarification.”
“I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Well, I could call for you.”
“Thanks, River.” He’d been focused and determined all morning as he went through his room, but as he sat there with slumped shoulders, he looked so young and vulnerable that it made my heart hurt. He pushed back from the table and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” When I nodded, he went outside and headed toward the back of the property.
I watched him through the screen door as I spoke to his mom, and when the call ended, I hesitated for a few moments before following him. Cole had climbed the huge oak in the backyard and was about fifteen feet up, nestled in a ‘V’ between the thick trunk and one of the main branches, hugging his knees to his chest. I asked, “Mind if I join you?”
“If you want.”
I grabbed an overhead branch and hoisted myself up. When I reached Cole, I sat beside him and grinned a little as I said, “You’re rewriting history.” A faded-out heart was carved into the trunk. It had surrounded ‘C+H’, but Cole had carved a fresh half-circle over the top of the H, so it now read ‘C+R’.
He still had his compact multi-tool open in his hand, the one he kept on his keychain, and he wiped some wood pulp from the two-inch blade. Then he went back to carving over the faded letters, deepening and refreshing them as he said, “I am. I didn’t get it right the first time. I loved Hunter, but that’s not what I want to commemorate forever. You are.”
