by Gina Sturino
I leaned back, racking my brain, pulling up a series of flights, schedules, hotel rooms, and rental cars.
“Oh my gosh, Dane.” I looked at him wide-eyed. “I’ve never had a vacation! I’m thirty-three years old, and I’ve never had a vacation.”
Dane chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, now that you’re voluntarily unemployed, maybe you’ll have the time?”
“Yeah, except I’m also now voluntarily not receiving a paycheck.”
“There are lots of ways you can do it on a budget. Trust me, the military isn’t that generous when it comes to pay.” He glanced to the GPS screen on the dash. “Hey, can you plug in the address? We’ll be crossing the border soon.”
The two towering, limestone pillars at the entrance to Saint Rita Cemetery loomed with the clouds. Dane pulled to the side, allowing the car behind us to pass. I stared at the life-sized, marble statue of the cemetery’s namesake saint.
“Saint Rita.” Her name slipped out in a whisper. I watched a bird land at the base of the monument. It plucked its beak into seeds that must’ve carried with the wind, then hobbled back. As if sensing my eyes on it, it looked up. I didn’t know it was possible to make eye-contact with a bird, but our gazes locked. Several seconds passed until it severed the connection, jerking its little head toward Dane before taking off.
As it flew out of sight, I released an anxious sigh. Unlike the ominous black birds that had scared me witless with their shrill caws, this little bird was silent and unassuming. Even so, it left me unnerved.
Dane placed his hand over mine. “Are you ready to see her?”
I solemnly nodded. “Follow this road. When it comes to a fork, we take a left and go straight until we see the Mother and Child statue. You can’t miss it; it’s massive.”
Dane maneuvered back onto the path and followed my directions to the impressive statue. Seeing it again took me back to that day, when wind and rain whipped my cheeks, and I stood, feeling more alone than I thought imaginable, burying the person who may not have given me life, but gave me light. A home, history, devotion. A woman who loved me like a mother when my own was taken so young.
We stepped from the car, and an intense sense of shame consumed me. I could hardly picture Aunt Lu, her face a black hole in my memory. Since the car accident, many of my memories seemed blurry, as if looking at an out-of-focus picture.
Tears already swam in my eyes. I wordlessly walked down the trail of headstones, counting to the third, stopping at Aunt Lu’s.
Edmund Pearson, Loving Husband and Father
I took a step closer, studying the words.
“It’s the third headstone,” I said into the air, then spun around to check the one behind me. “No, it’s on this side.” I ran ahead, reading plot names as I made my way down the row. “Something’s wrong.”
Dane caught up to me, taking my elbow and turning me into him. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
Humiliation and fear mingled in my belly, churning so violently I thought I might be sick.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes were soft and wide.
I closed mine, desperate to pluck images from the day I had said my final goodbyes. All I could muster was the vulnerability of the moment, feeling utterly alone, as if the world itself had turned on its axis and changed. The innocence and security of childhood had been stripped away along with Lucille, my mother-figure.
I eyed the statue. Aunt Lu’s final resting place should have been three headstones away. Mother and child.
My stomach twisted. The cemetery suddenly felt so strange and foreign, I couldn’t trust my recollection. I squinted at the statue, reaching for it with an outstretched hand, reaching for the shaky memories…
An end to your innocence, your eyes will be opened. Humanity will challenge you. Choose wisely child. You’ll be tempted, but profit and gain aren’t worth the forfeit of the soul.
Aunt Lu’s words illuminated in my blackened memory like a shooting star in a dark sky. It was the last advice she’d given before she’d left me, before my whole world had turned on its axis and changed.
Next thing I knew, I was hunched over, dry heaving into my knees.
The drive back to Milwaukee stretched on in uncomfortable silence. I kept my jaw tense and my fingers clenched into tight fists in my lap. My mind worked feverishly to understand my muddled memories.
Dane glanced my way every so often, his concern palpable. Even worse, his obvious pity. He put on classical music, turned it low, and gave me space to decompress. Halfway through the trip home, I groaned. It just kind of slipped out.
“Nov?” His eyes remained on the road. “You want to talk about it?”
No, I don’t, my inner voice pouted. I didn’t want to talk about the two hours we spent searching headstones or the near-breakdown I had as I desperately tried to remember one of my life-defining memories.
Opting to change the subject, I said, “I just remembered, we were supposed to stop at that bar. You were going to deliver some sample bottles.”
“It’s no biggie. Are you hungry?”
I shook my head back and forth.
“I know you’re—” Dane snapped him mouth shut. He gave an assured, gentle smile. “You’re upset, but we’ll figure this out.”
What was there to figure out? I knew the spot, the exact spot. Saint Rita’s Cemetery. The Mother and Child statue. Three markers. There was no figuring it out.
“When we get back, check your records.” His voice trailed off, and he remained silent for a few minutes before offering a last piece of advice. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nova. You suffered a serious accident, a severe concussion. You’re not yourself. I may not know you well, but I know you well enough.”
Again, silence consumed the car. It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking garage that I offered an explanation.
“Thing is, I don’t have anything else to go on. No records, except my birth certificate. Everything else is gone. I was only nineteen when Aunt Lu died. I lived in Milwaukee, was in college at Marquette—I didn’t have a car. I had to take the train to get to her funeral. An auction house came and cleared everything away. Maybe it was my own way of grieving, just to let go, forget, and move on. I have nothing tying me back to her. I have nothing tying me to my family.”
And then, for the umpteenth time, I cried in Dane’s arms.
Thirteen
The next afternoon, I yanked open the suitcase and began pulling out its contents. After the last few weird days, facing the luggage felt miniscule. As I sorted through the clothes, making separate piles for donation and laundry, I found it surprisingly therapeutic to put that part of my life to rest.
By late afternoon, I had the emptied suitcase tucked back in to my closet, a garbage bag ready for Goodwill, and a vow made to never, ever wear a suit again. I then canceled cable, meditated in the living room, checked in with the insurance company, and reviewed my finances.
The busy work kept my thoughts off Aunt Lu and the trip to Chicago, but as night fell, my mind wandered back to her. I sat at my desk, nervously strumming my fingers over my computer keyboard. Why couldn’t I find her grave? The one tangible link to my family was nonexistent.
I’m wrong. My head’s messed up. The wreck caused some serious damage to my long-term memory recall.
If only I could contact Neal. To my knowledge, he never owned a cell phone. My last email to him years ago had bounced back as user unknown. He’d not only stopped responding to my messages, but had closed the account, destroying our final link in communication.
I doubted Neal had social media accounts or an online presence, not with his vagabond, off-the-grid lifestyle. Regardless, I pulled up Google and typed his name. Nothing populated.
“Where are you, Neal?” I whispered, leaning back into my chair, absently gazing at the computer screen. Last I knew, he was in California. I had received a postcard around our shared birthday—the first one we’d spe
nt apart since birth.
The postcard! I’d kept it, cherishing his words, not knowing they would be the last he’d write to me.
Popping up from my desk, I searched my closet, finding the small, floral-printed box tucked away on the highest shelf. Instead of getting my desk chair, I stood on tip-toes and swatted at the box, watching it skid sideways with each jab until it inched over the edge and fell to my feet. The lid popped off, and its meager contents spilled out.
I gathered the measly reminders of my childhood and clutched them like precious jewels. Aunt Lu died before digital cameras and email were prevalent, and she didn’t waste money on frivolous things such as film and stamps. There were only a few pictures of Neal and me.
As I flipped through them, memories flooded my head. The outside of a house, rose bushes lining the driveway. Neal and I wearing plain dress clothes and wide grins. Then I came to a weathered postcard, its edges rubbed raw. On the back of it was Neal’s handwriting, his first message after hightailing it out of my life. When the sea goes still, you’ll find me here, singing under a half moon bay.
Tears leaked from my eyes. My brother, filled with so much soul and spirit, wanted nothing more in life than to write songs and strum his guitar. Aunt Lu would have none of that, pushing him to do more, to be more. In the end, he followed his free spirit, leaving me alone to pick up the pieces.
I set the postcard aside and unfolded a fragile sheet of paper that was covered with my own sprawling handwriting.
When Neal took off, I sorely missed his soulful words and angelic voice. I’d written down the lyrics of a song he frequently sang to me. After he left, I didn’t want to forget them like he’d forgotten me.
Now, those words—the lyrics that were once my lullaby—stroked my sad soul. I allowed the memory of my brother to fill a space that had been vacant for way too long.
When the sea goes still, you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
When the stars lose their shine,
you’ll find me here
Singing under a half moon bay
Singing a song so sweet, as sweet as the fruit,
the fruit of the land
Singing a song so bright, as bright as the light,
the light of the sky
I softly sang the words out loud. And for the first time in years—since Neal’s abrupt departure—I felt him. A sadness that seemed to connect us over countless years and miles.
And somehow, I knew he felt me too.
Fourteen
Thursday afternoon, as I stretched and twisted during a session of yoga in my living room, my cell pinged. I finished the video, grabbed a glass of ice water, and sat on the couch to listen to Pete’s voicemail message.
He’d laid out a detailed agenda for our evening date, including the cocktail hour at Bar Continental and dinner to follow at a new Italian restaurant. Pete had back-to-back meetings lined up for the rest of the day and wasn’t sure he’d have the chance to check in again. I shot a text back, suggesting we meet at the bar once his last appointment wrapped up.
Pete’s voicemail drove home another fine distinction between himself and Dane. While Pete ran by a well-ordered schedule, Dane seemed more impulsive, as exhibited by his multiple last-minute invitations to me.
Dane would be at the cocktail “thingy” as he called it. Everything slid off him so easily. His cool persona, the ease in which he moved, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Or, at least a care that couldn’t be cured or masked with alcohol or a joke.
I was bound to run into him tonight. Part of me flushed from embarrassment. I’d made a fool of myself one too many times in front of Dane.
But an even bigger part of me tingled with excitement from the idea of seeing him, being near him.
Uh oh. This isn’t good. I needed to set thoughts of Dane aside, and quick. Tonight was for Pete. I should give him an honest chance.
Later, as I pulled a designer dress from my closet, my thoughts again wandered back to the two men. Dane, dark and sexy with a mysterious edge, carried himself with assurance and a protective stance. Being former-military gave him a dangerous vibe. On the other end of the spectrum lay Pete, the all-American boy next door, possessing a classic handsomeness. A well-educated professional who seemed more at home in a suit and tie, or polos with chinos.
Running a hand along the shiny black chiffon skirt of my chosen cocktail dress, I brushed away those thoughts. I couldn’t—I shouldn’t—compare them. I pulled the dress on, slipping the straps of the silk tank over my shoulders. The hem of the skirt floated around my legs, skimming my calves and showing just enough leg to be considered appropriate for a summer cocktail hour with colleagues.
Ex-colleagues. I swallowed the instant lump that formed in my throat. Associates from Loft were certain to be at Bar Continental.
By five forty-five p.m., I had my hair twisted into a neat chignon, my make-up set, and my patent-leather clutch packed. Uncomfortable, but sexy, strappy heels waited by the front door. I padded barefooted down the steps to the kitchen and poured a splash of wine into a glass.
Moving to the patio, I carefully balanced the chardonnay as I pulled the sliding glass door open. I had at least fifteen minutes until I needed to call for a cab.
Dane’s voice carried from his own balcony. “Yeah, well things are a bit more complicated now. No, you didn’t explain that.”
Although I was still hidden within my apartment, something about his tone had me taking a step back.
“This was supposed to be an easy job, that’s what you said. Well, I have it on good authority there’s another agent in town.” I couldn’t see him, but his voice grew angrier with each word. A different side of Dane emerged as I continued eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation. “Lots of shit going on. I have that thing tonight. Yeah, I’m keeping an eye on her. Pretty easy considering the proximity.”
Another agent? Keeping an eye on her? I put a hand over my lips. Pretty easy considering the proximity. Did he mean me?
“No, she doesn’t know a thing.”
My heart thudded, and I took another step backward, but my trembling hand caused wine to slosh over the side of the glass. I grabbed a towel from the kitchen just as my phone lit with a text from Pete.
“Shoot,” I mumbled, dropping the towel over the wet stain on the carpet. I snatched my phone from the countertop and quickly read Pete’s message. His meeting was wrapping up and he’d be to Bar Continental shortly.
Slipping the strappy heels on with one hand, I grabbed my clutch with the other. Hurrying out of my apartment, I locked the door then pivoted around in such a rush I didn’t notice the dominating second body in the hall. My face smacked into a tower of muscle.
“Whoa!” Dane laughed, his eyes twinkling from a wide grin. “In a hurry?”
I peeled myself from his chest. My heart pounded, and a tingle shivered over my skin—now caused by anxiety instead of desire.
I’m keeping an eye on her. No, she doesn’t know a thing.
I nodded, unable to find my words.
“Where’s Pete?” Dane pointedly looked over each side of my shoulders.
“I’m, um, meeting him there.”
“Ah, on your way now?” he asked, motioning toward the clutch. I nodded in response. “Me too. Wanna share a cab? Mine’s here.” Dane waived his phone, flashing his confirmation from Uber.
“That’s okay, I, uh…”
“Everything all right?” His eyes softened. “You okay? Hey, I hope you don’t feel weird about Tuesday, really, Nova.”
Dane’s entire face transformed—the sharp edges rounded with compassion, his head tilted protectively toward me—and my fear quickly faded. I’d spent most of the last week with him, and other than the yo-yo signals, he’d shown nothing but kindness and compassion.
Why would overhearing a private conversation make me think something sinister? Maybe “her” referred to a competitor?
I shook my head again,
looking more and more like a bobblehead. Forcing myself to make eye contact, I smiled. “Sorry, yes, sharing a cab would be great. But my treat this time.”
Dane gave a firm nod, took my elbow, and guided me into the elevator where we stood side by side. I caught his appraising glance in my peripheral.
“You look stunning, as usual,” he said softly.
I bit my lip. Having no good read on him, I couldn’t distinguish between friendly chatter or flirtatious vibes. We exited the building, and Dane’s hand again went under my elbow as he led me into the waiting cab.
Minutes later, the taxi pulled up to the curb outside of Bar Continental. We easily could have walked. Well, not in these shoes. My heels clicked along to match Dane’s stride as we entered the crowded lounge. I recognized a few faces, nodded and smiled, but made no effort to mingle. No, then I’d possibly have to explain why I’d left Loft.
What would I say? The truth? A near death experience made me realize being unemployed was better than working my life away for a jerk boss, and I wanted more from life.
“So, where’s Peter?” Dane leaned in, his warm breath tickling my neck. He turned to fully face me. “Can I get you a drink while we wait for our friend?”
“White wine, please,” I replied flippantly.
Dane strutted to the bar. I took the opportunity to check my cell. Pete should’ve been here by now. He’d messaged that he was on his way, and his hotel was practically attached to Bar Continental. I sighed, wishing I was anywhere other than here.
Maybe I’ll feign sickness. But Dane was to my side seconds later, two drinks in hand.
“Your wine, madam,” he said, giving a slight bow as he handed over the stemware. He straightened, took a sip, and nodded toward my clutch where I’d hastily stashed my phone. “Any word from our friend?”
“He’s on his way—” my voice faltered as the air suddenly thinned. An instant dizziness had me leaning into the strength of Dane. His free hand flew to my waist.