A Song for the Asking

by Steve Gannon

  “I’m just trying to—”

  “Not now!”

  Kane hesitated, struggling to control his temper. Then, glancing again at Travis’s wounds, he backed away. “Okay. But I’m not done with you, kid,” he said. “I know you, and I know you’re not telling the whole story. And I will find out what you’re hiding.”

  Travis retired to a bench on the far side of the alcove, watching as Catheryn conferred with Kane in a low voice. Minutes later she joined Travis, sitting beside him. Horror flashed across her face as for the first time she noticed his bandaged palms. “Travis! Your hands!”

  “They’ll be all right.”

  Catheryn took her son’s hands in hers, concern welling in her eyes. “Oh, Travis, Travis …”

  “Please don’t worry about me,” Travis begged, fighting his own tears. “I’ll be fine. Have you … have you heard anything about Tommy? Is he going to be all right?”

  “They don’t know yet. He’s still in surgery.”

  “He’ll be okay. I know he will.”

  “Oh, God. How could this happen?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.” Travis lowered his head in shame.

  Catheryn moved closer and put her arm around him. Together they waited in silence. Slowly, the minutes dragged past. Unable to remain still, Kane paced the confines of the room like a caged animal, moving back and forth with mechanical precision, again and again.

  At last the doors at the end of the hall swung open.

  All three watched as a tall, razor-thin man in green surgical scrubs approached the nurses’ station. He consulted briefly with the nurse Catheryn had questioned earlier, glancing toward the alcove as he spoke.

  Without a word Kane strode to the desk. Catheryn squeezed Travis’s arm and hurried after her husband. Instead of following, Travis remained where he was, watching in self-imposed isolation as the wordless tableau played out before him.

  In seeming slow motion he saw his father stop before the doctor. The surgeon shook his hand, then Catheryn’s. Suddenly, to Travis, the light in the hallway seemed unbearably bright. He narrowed his eyes as if squinting into the sun, wishing more than anything to look away. Instead, he forced himself to watch. With a feeling of bottomless despair he saw the doctor fold his arms and speak his words of regret, saw his mother’s hand fly to her mouth as she received his heartbreaking news, saw his father encircle her with his arm as the surgeon’s message inflicted its terrible hurt.

  Tommy was gone. As though examining a coin found in the gutter, Travis turned it over in his mind, numbly struggling with the reality of his brother’s death. He wanted to cry. Strangely, he discovered he could not. The tears he’d felt earlier had now evaporated, leaving his eyes hollow and empty and dry as dust.

  Desolate and alone, he sat, listening to the slow, inexorable ticking of the clock.

  26

  Travis lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sounds filtered through his walls: Allison getting ready in her room next door; Catheryn admonishing Nate to get dressed for the service; Kane stumbling upstairs from the music-room bar, where he had been drinking on and off for the past three days. A moment later Travis heard his parents arguing over how much time to allow for the drive to the church.

  What difference does it make? he thought woodenly. Tommy isn’t going anywhere, and they sure as hell won’t be starting the service without us. Rolling over on his side, he let his eyes listlessly roam the room. Tommy’s things were right where he’d left them—work clothes hung on the back of his chair, Friday’s sports page spread across his desk, a book he’d been reading open facedown on the nightstand. Over the weekend someone had made his bed.

  Mom never could stand a mess, Travis thought, surprised she hadn’t cleaned up the rest.

  After returning home, Travis had shunned his family as much as possible, preferring the solitude of his room to the guilt of accepting their comfort. Abandoned by their older sibling, Allison and Nate had drawn closer together than ever before, seeking solace in each other’s company. Catheryn had shouldered the burden of making arrangements, notifying relatives, calling friends. Throughout this time, as she’d stepped into the vacuum of Kane’s withdrawal, Travis had watched his mother impose upon herself a yoke of discipline that to him had seemed nearly superhuman. But he had also witnessed, on the rare occasions her mask had slipped, how costly this quiet subjugation of her anguish truly was. And it was during those moments, infrequent though they were, that he had realized the true bedrock upon which their family’s strength resided.

  Turning, Travis shifted his gaze out the window. A marine layer had moved in overnight. A blanket of fog now hung low in the sky, shrouding the coast in a cloak of damp and dismal gray. He watched for several minutes as a lone dog progressed with measured purpose along the water’s edge, exploring his invisible world of smell and leaving his mark when the occasion arose.

  Down the hall, he heard his parents’ argument shifting from the entry to their bedroom. He tried to shut out their conversation, detecting the soft slurs of alcohol embedded in the meter and syntax of Kane’s staccato phrases, feeling his stomach lurch at the harshness in his father’s voice. Kane hadn’t spoken a single word to him on the private plane ride back, and it had been that way ever since. For a while Travis couldn’t decide which was worse: his father’s glacial, impenetrable wrath, or the pit of inebriation into which he’d descended. Finally, as the days wore on, he had told himself he didn’t care.

  Outside, a squeal of brakes sounded as a car pulled up, then the muffled clunk of a door slamming shut.

  “Mom, the car’s here,” Allison called.

  “Please tell the driver we’ll be out shortly,” Catheryn called back.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell him.”

  Ten minutes later, as the rest of the family gathered in the entry, Travis left his room. Head down, feeling as though he were stumbling through a dark and terrible dream, he followed them out to the limousine and took his place in the backseat beside his mother.

  The family made the short journey up the coast to Our Lady of Malibu Church in silence. The limo parked in a lot adjacent to the chapel. Travis stepped with the others from the car, following them up the steps to the small, stone-faced building. Inside, mourners filled the pews. Heads turned as they entered. Present among the immediate family were Catheryn’s mother, who’d driven down that morning from Santa Barbara, and Kane’s younger sister, who at the last minute had flown in from Austin, Texas. Christy and her younger sister, Nancy, sat with their parents behind Petrinski and members of the USC Music Department. Adele and a number of musicians from the Philharmonic were also present. Tommy’s friends from school took up four complete rows. But by far the largest group there consisted of members of the Los Angeles Police Department, with a wall of broad-shouldered, thick-necked men in dress-blue uniforms occupying most of the benches on one side of the nave. Conspicuous in his civilian attire, Arnie sat in their midst.

  Tommy’s casket lay at the head of the congregation, just inside a low Communion rail running the length of the altar. The casket was closed, at Catheryn’s request, for she had maintained that she wanted to remember Tommy as he’d been in life, not death. At the time Travis hadn’t seen what difference it made. Now, as he regarded the polished wooden box, he understood. More than anything, he wished his own final images of his brother could be expunged from his mind.

  Travis sat with his family in the front row during the requiem Mass that followed. As the service droned on, his mind drifted back to earlier, simpler times, remembering the brother who had always been with him, always been his touchstone, always led the way. At the midpoint of the long Mass, after a short summation of Tommy’s life and a lengthy sermon concerning the immortality of the spirit and transience of the flesh, the priest asked whether anyone wished to speak. Travis forced his attention back to the present.

  Seconds passed, yet no one stepped forward. The congregation shifted uneasily. Many looked toward Kane. Travis, too
, glanced at his father, realizing from his scowl that he didn’t intend to rise. Fleetingly, Travis considered ascending the pulpit himself. He hesitated, wondering how to speak of a brother for whom his feelings of jealousy and envy had always run nearly as deep as his love. In that instant, in a crystalline moment of clarity, Travis suddenly realized what he truly felt. Inside, in a secret place he seldom dared to look, he felt … empty.

  “I have something to say.”

  Everyone turned. There, in the ranks of the LAPD officers, stood Arnie. Angrily, Kane started to rise in his pew. Catheryn pulled him down, silencing him with a glare. Missing this interplay, Arnie edged his way to the center aisle. Then, looking neither right nor left, he proceeded to the front of the congregation and entered the chancel through a low gate in the Communion rail. The priest stepped aside, and Arnie took his place behind the lectern.

  Once there, he paused briefly to collect his thoughts. Finally he spoke. “Eighteen years ago,” he began, his voice strong and clear, filling every corner of the church, “I was asked by a friend to act as godfather for his firstborn son. That man was Daniel Kane. The boy was his son Thomas. Of course I felt honored, but back then I was a relatively young man myself and didn’t think too much about it. But as the years went on, I had the privilege of becoming godfather to all the Kane children who followed: Travis, Allison, and Nate. And as the years went on, becoming a part of their lives grew to mean more to me than I would have ever suspected.

  “It seems like yesterday that we stood in this church and baptized Tommy. Many times, in the past few days, I’ve asked myself this question: If on that morning eighteen years ago I could have looked into the future and seen how brief Tommy’s life would be, would I have done anything differently? I’d like to think I would have spent more time with him, but I probably wouldn’t have, things being the way they are. I’d like to think I’d have told him how much I treasured his friendship, but I probably wouldn’t have done that, either. But most of all, I’d like to think I would have found the right time to tell him how much I loved him.” Arnie’s voice broke. He stopped, unable to go on.

  Travis straightened in his seat. Even from where he sat, he could sense his father inexplicably seething with fury.

  Arnie stared down at the lectern, struggling to compose himself. At last he continued, his eyes burning, his voice filled with sorrow. “Those of you who know me, and there are a few of you out there, know that one of my main regrets in life is not having children of my own. I always thought I would, along with a couple other things that didn’t work out, so being a part of Tommy’s life, being a part of all the Kane children’s lives, means more to me than I can express in words. If I could have had a son of my own, I would have wished for one like Tom. I’m going to miss him.”

  After the service Travis sought out Christy, with whom he hadn’t spoken since the accident. He found her standing near the chapel door, despondently watching her parents conveying their sympathy to Catheryn and Kane in the parking lot below. Although during the service Christy had maintained a brave façade, her grief over Tommy’s death was plainly visible in her face, her swollen eyes, the dejected slump of her shoulders. Joining her, Travis put his arm around her and stood quietly, gazing down at the mourners below.

  “I’m so sorry, Trav,” Christy said, trying hard not to cry.

  “I am, too. I …” Travis’s voice trailed off.

  Christy blinked back her tears, also at a loss for words. She glanced at Travis’s forehead. “Does it hurt?” she asked, gently touching his face. The dressing was off, but an angry black lattice of sutures still crisscrossed the stigma Travis carried from the fall.

  “Not really,” Travis said quietly, his expression tightening as he revisited the horror of Tommy’s accident.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Christy, seeming to sense his thoughts.

  “I wish I could believe that. I was so scared. I keep thinking if it hadn’t been for that, maybe I might have done something differently. Got him down faster, reached help quicker. I keep thinking if only I had—”

  “Don’t Trav.”

  Travis looked away. “Tom was barely conscious most of the time I was bringing him down,” he went on. “We talked some, though. He told me about … about you and him. He gave me a message, just in case he didn’t make it. At the time I wouldn’t accept the possibility, but …”

  Christy placed her hand on Travis’s arm. “What did he say? Please, Trav. I have to know.”

  Travis took her hand. “He wanted you to know that he was happy about the baby, that he wasn’t sorry at all,” he said quietly. “He said you and the baby were more important to him than college, or anything else. He was going to apply to the police academy and become a cop so you could all be together.”

  The tears she had fought earlier sprang to Christy’s eyes.

  “Are you going to keep it?” Travis asked softly.

  Christy gave the slightest nod.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Now more than ever.”

  “Have you told anyone? Your parents, anyone?”

  “No.”

  “What about school? What about the swim team, your chances for a college scholarship?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But …”

  “I’ll be all right,” Christy said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I’ll work things out. I don’t know how, but I will.”

  “I hope so,” said Travis.

  “I will.”

  As they’d talked, Travis had been marking his parents’ progress across the parking lot. They had paused occasionally to receive condolences and words of solace, but at last Kane had ushered Catheryn, Allison, and Nate into the waiting limo. Then he turned. Travis’s heart fell as he saw him start back across the lot, heading toward Arnie.

  From an arduous apprenticeship as a child in the Kane family, in which even the youngest quickly learned to decipher the ominous portents of a falling barometer in a father prone to violence, Travis recognized the aura of danger now enveloping his father: the aggressive tilt of his head, an odd stiffness in his back and shoulders, a belligerence in his gait as real and tangible as a backhanded slap.

  “I have to go,” said Travis, giving Christy’s hand a final squeeze. “If you ever want to talk, or there’s anything I can do—anything at all—please call me.”

  Christy leaned over and kissed Travis lightly on the cheek. “Thanks, Trav. I … I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Count on it.”

  By the time Travis arrived in the parking lot, Kane had already reached Arnie. Kane stood before his friend in blind and unreasoning rage, repeatedly jabbing a thick, accusatory finger into Arnie’s chest. “You knew!” Kane shouted. “You knew they were gonna climb, and you didn’t say a goddamned thing. Not one goddamned thing.”

  Arnie stood with his head down, arms loose at his sides. “Dan, I …”

  “One word from you then, and we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “I know,” Arnie said. “I’m more sorry than I can say.”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?” Kane bellowed, giving Arnie a shove. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Get out of my sight.”

  “Dan …”

  Kane shoved him again.

  “Please, Dan …”

  Another shove. Harder this time, sending Arnie stumbling.

  Driven by guilt and shame, Travis stepped between them. “Dad, stop it. It’s not Arnie’s fault.”

  Kane glared at Travis, seeming to notice him for the first time in days. “It ain’t, huh?” he said, the dark, earthy smell of whiskey heavy on his breath.

  “No. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I made Arnie promise not to tell.”

  “That’s horseshit,” said Kane, moving again toward Arnie.

  Again, Travis blocked his way. “Dad, don’t!”

  Kane hesitated, surprised by Travis’s defiance. “Outta my way, boy.”

  “No.”

>   “Don’t screw with me, kid. Move!”

  “Dad, you’re wrong about this. Blaming Arnie is—”

  With a powerful swipe Kane sent Travis sprawling. “I said move!” he warned. “I’ll deal with you at home.”

  “Come on, pard,” said Arnie, spreading his hands. “Go easy on the kid. I know how you feel, but don’t take it out on him.”

  “You know how I feel?” Kane exploded. “That’s funny comin’ from a guy with no family of his own. How would you know how I feel? What the hell do you know about anything except lyin’ to your friends?”

  “I’m just saying you’ve been drinking, amigo. Maybe you should—”

  “You’re talking to me about drinking? That’s a laugh. I’ve been carrying you at work for longer’n I can remember. You’re the one hadda retire, you fuckin’ lush.”

  Arnie regarded Kane with a look of profound desolation, but said nothing.

  “One more thing, amigo,” said Kane brutally, giving Arnie a final shove. “We’re quits. I don’t want to see you at the burial. In fact, I don’t ever want to see you again.” With that he turned on his heel and started toward the limo, pushing through a crowd of embarrassed mourners who had witnessed the ugly confrontation.

  Travis began to follow, then looked back at Arnie. “Dad didn’t mean that,” he said.

  “You don’t have to apologize for your dad,” Arnie replied evenly. “He had a perfect right to say what he did. He meant every word, and I don’t blame him one bit.”

  “He’s wrong. He’s taking it out on you because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’ll see things differently when he sobers up.”

  “Maybe,” said Arnie.

  “He will. I promise.”

  “Travis!” Kane’s voice boomed from across the lot. “Let’s go. Now!”

  “I … I’ll talk to Mom. She’ll straighten things out.”

  “Forget it, Trav. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

  “Travis! Get your ass over here.”

  Reluctantly, Travis started again for the limousine.