by Lori L. Otto
“Your mom did that painting after visiting Paris. Yes, she went there often,” he tells Luca as he stands in front of one of her more recent works. Liv and I did not go to Paris often, and Callen knows that. I listen from the doorway, watching has he goes to the next one. “This one was after a passionate night with your father.” He pauses. “Not that one, no. You don’t want to know about this one.”
I smile, finding it humorous that Callen’s making up stories for the paintings he’s not familiar with. It’s something Max would often do with Livvy.
“Oh, this one over here?” he says softly, still talking to Luca. “Nah, she didn’t paint that one. I’m pretty sure Granddaddy and Memi bought that at a flea market. I bet the price tag’s on the back. Should we check?” He touches my son’s cheek, wiping a tear away. “Huh? Do you want to look?”
“I’d say you’re good with him,” I interrupt, “but then I’d be reinforcing the lying, so I’m torn.”
Callen blushes. “I thought we were alone.”
“I had to see what got him to calm down.”
“Couple of Uncle Max’s Klonopins did the trick, didn’t they, Luca?” he teases in baby talk.
I look at him curiously, taking steps toward him. Putting my hand on his arm, I ask him, “My brother’s not still taking those, is he?”
“He did one day, after she died, when the building was teeming with reporters and he had to get out to go to a doctor’s appointment. It was the only way I could get him to go. I was worried we’d have to do that for the funeral, but Max was more… emotionally affected that day. He was less in his head and more in his… heart? I don’t know how to describe it.”
“I get it.” I nod. “Have you talked to his doctor? Is that normal? It’s almost been two years.”
“A swelling crowd, or a scream… it makes it seem like he’s in that moment again. And a car backfiring? Forget about it. I’m just glad I’ve been there the few times that happened.”
“Yeah.”
“But… it’s normal for him. For what he’s been through.”
“He’s just so different from the Max he used to be. Like, where is he, even now? It’s a party, and… he’s out of sight.”
“Yes.” He smiles, as if it’s no surprise and no big deal for him. “He’s out back on the patio swing, trying to maintain balance. You’re welcome to go out there. I’m sure he’d like that… but don’t try to talk to him about any of that–about PTSD. He won’t do it.”
I sigh. “I talked to him a few weeks ago about how he was doing. He didn’t mention the Klonopin, though. We talked about pot… about California… about how he doesn’t feel like he has a purpose.”
“But not about PTSD?”
“I guess not exactly, no,” I tell him. “He mentioned flashbacks offhandedly. I didn’t press him.”
“He wouldn’t have talked about them anyway. But it’s why he smokes. Why he wants to leave–well, I can’t say that. He’s wanted to leave New York for a long time, but… this just solidifies his reasoning. And I don’t blame him. He needs more space than this city can give him.”
“Is he still doing it? Smoking?” He hadn’t wanted me to monitor him, so I hadn’t. In fact, our last conversation was left unfinished, and I felt weird bringing it up again. All I knew is he didn’t want to stop–and all he knew is that I’d hoped he would eventually.
“He does it in moderation, Jon. I’m keeping an eye on him. We have an arrangement… but it helps him. I know it disappoints you, but it really does help him. And Dr. Roberts is aware, and she supports it, illegal as it is in this state. There are plenty others where it’s legal. But… if it bothers you, I encourage you to do a little research on pot and PTSD. That’s all I’m saying. He’s not high tonight. One of our conditions is that he can’t smoke when we have plans to be around family.
“We just hadn’t planned on seeing anyone the night that… we went to the hospital. But I’m truly sorry about that.” I nod, looking at the floor. “And he hates lying to you. It’s just one more reason that makes him want to leave. And he feels like he has to make a choice–lie to you or disappoint you. He doesn’t like either.”
That statement feels like a kick in the gut. “That sucks,” I tell him.
“I know. For him, too. He has so much respect for you.” Luca makes a soft cooing sound. “I know, isn’t that sweet?” Callen smiles at him and touches his nose to my son’s. Luca’s eyes open wide.
“It looks like you have things under control in here with him.”
“I’m great, actually,” he says. “Go talk to him.” He winks at me, knowing exactly what I was going to do, and what needs to be done.
“Hey, when are you guys ever getting married?” I ask him on the way to the back door.
“Not up to me,” he says simply.
“Please don’t ever leave him.”
The look on his face is one I’ve never seen on him before–it’s pure love and absolute defeat, all in one. “I couldn’t if I tried.”
I love hearing that from him, because he’s left him before. He was a runner, just like I once was. Running away from adverse situations, not wanting to deal with the hard parts of relationships. But he’s come around, finally, just like I had to–and that makes me happy and relieved for my youngest brother.
When I reach the bench in the back corner of the yard, I sit down on it, causing it to swing when it had been perfectly still for Max.
“Livvy and I had this horrible fear that she was pregnant after we’d had sex without protection once… when she was in high school… and we were on this very swing when we talked about our options.” My brother’s quiet. “Well, I bet they’ve replaced the swing a time or two, but… same place and shit. My point is, this swing is where you go for tough conversations.”
“Then I’ll go sit somewhere else,” he says, but doesn’t make a motion to move. “I just came out here for silence.”
“I’m offended by that. I can be silent, too.”
“But will you?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Not immediately… but I’ll still be a hell of a lot quieter than all that ruckus in the house.”
He puts his left hand on his shoulder and starts rotating it slowly, as if he’s in pain. If I were to ask him if it hurt him, he’d say no. It’s just a nervous habit for him now.
“You should be in there… for Livvy,” he tells me.
“I’m holding it together for Livvy. I’m afraid if I go in there with Jack and Emi’s ‘celebration of life’ attitude, I just may break down, so… I’d rather stick with my brothers. Maybe next year I’ll be ready for this, but three months is too soon for me. I appreciate their gesture, though, and their support. And the free meal–which, by the way, I’m starving. You?”
“Not so much.”
“Have you lost weight?”
He shrugs his left shoulder. “Maybe.”
“You look… lean.”
“I stopped eating meat.”
“Yeah?”
“Just… trying to feel… better. Trying everything.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Digestively, great,” he says in an attempt to be funny.
“Mascot, I don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me about anything. I don’t want that to be our relationship. We’re brothers. I’m not your dad, even though I was more like a parent to you when you were little. That’s not the role I play anymore. I don’t want that role. I want to be someone you confide in. Share secrets with.”
“But you’re a judgmental little fuck sometimes, Jon.”
“Starting today, no. So, you smoke…” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “Callen says it helps you. Can’t we just be open about it from now on?”
“Callen talked to you about it?” he asks me, agitated. “It’s not for him to talk about.”
I could lie, but I just told him I didn’t want us to lie to each other anymore. “Yes, because I want us all to have a relationship where we talk
about things like this.”
“Fuck,” he says. “The one person I can trust, and–”
“No, Max,” I interrupt. “It’s not like that. He didn’t tattle on you or anything. You’re taking this out of context. He was… going to battle for you. That’s all.”
“I don’t need that,” he says stubbornly.
“Would you rather have a relationship with me where we have walls? Where there are some topics we simply can’t talk about?”
“We were figuring that out, weren’t we?” I notice he hasn’t given me any eye contact all night. “We were doing just fine that way.”
“I’m not disappointed in you. You haven’t let me down.”
“Did I ask if you were? Did I insinuate that I thought you were? Then why even say such a thing? If you have to tell me that, then I have to think two things–one, that you are disappointed in me, and two, that you’re fucking doing the one thing you just asked me not to do–lie.”
“Max, neither of those things are true. Why are you getting so defensive? I’m just trying to talk to you… to tell you… it’s okay.”
“Because nothing is that easy with you, Jon.”
“Please, buddy, I don’t want to fight.”
“Then we don’t have to. I’m out.” He stands from the swing, leaving it wobbling with his absence.
“Max!” As I sit here pulling at my hair, I try to think of the moment when this conversation went south, but I can’t pinpoint a word or phrase that I would have said differently. I feel like he’s just overreacting.
When the back door opens again, I look up, hoping he’s had a change of heart, but it’s Callen, walking toward me with Luca.
“I’ve got to give him back to you. We’re leaving.”
“What happened?” I ask him. “I didn’t say anything wrong.”
He shakes his head. “You gave him an out. A reason to leave the party… which is what he wanted to do all along.”
“Where is he? I don’t want him to leave…”
“He’s in the car. Don’t worry about it. I’ll calm him down. He’ll be okay. I should have known that’s how it would go, but… I didn’t know he wanted to leave that badly.” He looks at me apologetically. “Some days are worse than others. He is getting better…” Callen doesn’t look me in the eye when he says it though, so I’m not sold on his line.
I follow him back into the house and watch as he quickly tells everyone goodbye, making excuses for Max–that he doesn’t feel well. He hugs my in-laws, and by the looks on their faces, I can tell that they don’t believe the lie he’s feeding them, either. Still, they let him go without pressing him, just like I did.
When I open the front door, beating him there, a swarm of photographers is surrounding Callen’s Tesla. “Trey?” I call back into the house. My brother-in-law is there quickly and takes Luca from me. With authority, I walk toward the car, hating what Max is going through.
“Get out!” I shout, having no patience. The cameras turn to me. Regardless of how they capture me–the image they portray of me–at least the focus is off my baby brother. “This is private property. Or have you forgotten? The Hollands own both houses on either side and all the property from here to the middle of the street. That’s the deal they made with the city. The cops are two blocks away. You can spend a night in jail and pay the five-grand fine or you can get the hell out of here.
“We’re having a private event… to celebrate my wife.” My voice shakes as I speak through the lump in my throat. Callen stands behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “Please leave us alone.”
Most of the photographers leave in cars that were parked down the block; a few of the more invasive ones stand at the property lines on the other sides of the houses next door. Still, they’re away from Max, and that’s all I wanted.
Callen and I walk to the car together. He gets in on the driver side as I tap on the glass of the passenger seat, squatting to its level. Max rolls down the window so I can see him.
“Buddy, I love you,” I tell him softly. “That’s all I wanted to say.” I reach in and ruffle his hair. As I pull my hand out, he grasps for my fingers, then releases them and forms a fist with his left hand. I smile, bumping mine to his. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”
He nods, a smile barely forming on his lips, but sadness is still the prominent expression on his face as it radiates from his eyes.
Once inside, everyone is waiting for me to say a prayer before dinner.
“Where are the girls?” I whisper to Emi.
“They’re downstairs with Elizabeth and Lexi. They already fixed them plates.”
I remember when Elizabeth was born, right around the same time Lexi’s son, Holland, was. Livvy was still a senior in high school… younger than Elizabeth is now. I shake my head, surprised at the quick passage of time.
I step out of the kitchen hastily to check on Trey and Coley with Luca, but they’re doing great with him, so I rejoin Jack and Emi, and hold the hands they offer me while I bow my head. I’d never been one to pray, but I know they’ve found peace in their faith, and I’m still struggling, so I’ll take whatever little bit of help I can get.
I glance up, looking for Will, and even he and Shea are taking part in grace. Shea’s got Charlie strapped to her in a sling. Will winks at me before Jack begins speaking.
“Dear Lord. We are grateful that you brought Livvy into our lives. Thirty-six years ago, Olivia Sophia was born to Simone DeLuca, who loved her as much as any mother could while she was alive, and made sure she was cared for when she knew she would no longer be able to. Thirty-two years ago, the majority of the people in this room were witnesses to Livvy becoming an official member of this family. We had a party, not too different from this one, in this very house, celebrating the joy that she had brought to our lives–and that she would bring in the years to come. At the time, we didn’t dream we’d have any biological children of our own, but Jackson surprised us a few years later, rounding out our small family, and showing us what a wonderful sister my Contessa would–eventually–become.”
“Eventually,” Trey echoes jokingly from the kitchen doorway. I look up at him as he continues to hold my baby into his chest, doing an excellent job at caring for his nephew.
“Then, twenty years ago, a brash and overly confident 17-year-old boy took her on her first date.” Everyone laughs at this. “And ten years later, he would marry our Livvy.
“We couldn’t be happier with the family that Jon brought with him: Will and Max, and then Callen, Shea, and now Charlie. Our lives are richer having you all in them. And not to leave out Coley–we’ve loved having her in our lives these past few years and can’t wait for the wedding in a few months. I know we’ll be a couple family members short,” Jack says, his emotions audible, “but we’ll be sure to include Martin and Liv as if they are with us. They definitely will be in spirit.”
I can hear Coley sniffle from across the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone move toward her. I look up again, curious, catching a glimpse of Matty taking her a tissue and putting his arms around her.
“We have so many unforgettable memories of my Contessa, and we hope to never let one slip away. We thank you, Lord, for giving us three grandchildren who will continue her legacy–who will deliver the joy that Emi and I always expected Livvy would bring for the length of our lives.
“We are blessed to know that our daughter, sister, wife and mother has a mom, a dad, a mother-in-law and Granna up in Heaven to keep her company. Thank you, God, for ensuring that she will never be lonely. For giving us peace of mind that she will always be loved and be happy. It would be so much harder imagining her up there alone.
“We also thank you for giving her a creative companion–a kindred spirit. None of us knows what awaits us, but if we get to do what we love, then Livvy will continue to paint. And there’s another artist up there that I know she’d wanted to meet for a long time.”
Emi lets go of my hand and switches places with
me so she can be next to Jack. She’d been silent up until then, but she falls apart at this. I watch as she hugs her husband, putting all her strength into the embrace. He does the same and places his lips to the top of her head.
And then half the room is in need of those tissues.
It’s something I hadn’t thought of. The whole concept of Heaven still seems a little strange to me. I want to believe there’s a beautiful afterlife, and I certainly want my children to think that’s where she is, but logic is always a barrier that stands in the way of that kind of faith for me.
The idea of Livvy meeting Nate seems strange. He’s someone we hadn’t really discussed more than in passing in over 15 years. She was a teenager when she idolized him–painted him, cherished his sketchbooks. I think he was around 30 when he died.
And now she outlived him, but only by a few years. It’s odd to think of them as contemporaries. As peers. It’s even weirder to feel a tinge of jealousy about it, but I do. In the end, she and I inspired one another, pushed each other further, creatively. Our art was so different, and yet so closely intertwined. True art scholars could see the similarities. There had been a few articles about us before, and, of course, Liv and I could see them, but 99.9 percent of people had no clue. Even after reading the articles, they couldn’t understand the intricate details. That’s just how scrupulous we were.
Emi takes both of my hands once she’s composed herself.
“Please watch over her. Watch over us. Watch over her husband, Jon, and her children, Edie, Willow and Luca, as they begin a new chapter of their lives where she may not be a physical presence anymore, but she will always be a part of them.
“In your name we pray. Amen.”
Jack and Emi encourage me, Shea and Will to get our food first. After we prepare our plates, we go into the living room, where we’re by ourselves for the moment.
“Do you believe that stuff?” I ask, my mind still stuck on Jack’s fanciful ideas of where Livvy is now. “That she’s with her biological parents, and being all chummy with Nate?”
My brother glares at me just before he takes a bite of lasagna, my absolute favorite dish of Jack’s. “Dude. You’re asking the wrong guy.”