She heard Evelyn repeat that to her son. He said something back, but it was too far away for her to understand.
“Is he okay? Put him on.”
“You’ll be home soon,” Evelyn said. “We’ll be okay until then.”
Julia noticed that Evelyn would not put her son on the phone. That meant Evan wasn’t okay. No one was. No one ever would be.
“I need to be strong,” she said to the emptiness.
Oh, Michael, is what she thought.
FREEDOM
It is funny how, when times are good, memories paint the past in shades of perfection. We think back to Christmas mornings and see ourselves all smiles, surrounded by bounty and adoration. We remember a single soccer game, one of dozens played in our youth, and we replay the perfect shot, the exhilaration of the small band of parents cheering us on. At the same time, we file away the disappointment of unmet expectations and embarrassing failures. Those memories only rise back up in the low moments, those times when we find ourselves questioning everything.
Driving home, Julia’s mind seemed to finger through the tabs, finding one of those moments. One day, not long after her campaign work ended, while sitting in her new office at the housing authority, she had gotten the call. It started out normally. Someone she’d worked with at the US senator’s office wanting to touch base. In no time, though, Julia knew this conversation was different. When the woman—her name was Geri, and she was the director of the state office—asked where Julia saw herself in five years, her life shifted. Not drastically, at first. More like an earthquake in agonizingly slow motion.
“Me?” she asked.
“Um, yes,” Geri said.
Julia paused. Her mind moved like an old-fashioned typewriter. It jerked forward, rumbling to a point, but something kept sending it slamming back to the present.
“I don’t know,” she said, more buying time than anything else.
Geri jumped on that. She was a powerful woman in her late thirties. Unmarried, she loved her job like family and was known for being on the clock 24/7. She also scared the crap out of most of the people who worked in government, at least those in Delaware.
“Really,” she said. “I’d expect an up-and-comer like you to have a pretty intense plan.”
She laughed. “I have several.”
“Like what?”
Julia froze up. She had no idea why, though. Most likely, it had just been the moment, the surprise of the call. She surely had plans. Within a week after the campaign ended, she had been hired by the housing authority. She’d held the job for a couple of months, and everything still felt so new. She’d plunged into learning everything she could. And maybe that had distracted her ambition for a moment. Nothing more, though.
“I . . .” The words still wouldn’t come. She cleared her throat. “I want to help people. I mean, I love politics. I loved the campaign, the speed of it. The energy.” She laughed, nervously. “Does that make sense?”
“Totally,” Geri said. “Totally.”
I’m striking out, she thought. She didn’t know why, or for what, but she felt it nonetheless. And once the thought crossed her mind, another followed. She’d never used a baseball analogy before when thinking about work. What could that mean?
The conversation continued for a couple of minutes, but Julia never felt like she found her balance. She sensed Geri’s impatience. At the same time, she wanted the woman to at least hint at why she had called in the first place. Unfortunately, that never happened.
“Okay, then,” Geri said. “We should get coffee sometime.”
“I’d love that,” Julia said.
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
When the call ended, Julia doubted that would ever happen.
* * *
—
That afternoon, she sat outside the state building on a retaining wall, waiting for Michael and watching three women, all between forty and sixty, smoking cigarettes. One did all the talking. Though Julia couldn’t hear, the woman’s lips moved with the beat of familiar anger as her hands waved in the air as if conducting the music of discord. Her head tilted slightly as she watched, and the thick feeling that pressed against her breastbone made Julia wish she could jump out of her skin.
Striking out? That thought kept rolling in her head. The phone call, and her performance during it, had put Julia on edge. She felt like she’d just bombed an interview for the best job on the planet. At the same time, it was as if she had barely survived some awful ambush, or lost a game she didn’t even know she was playing. Every statement she made during the conversation replayed in her head like a false start or a wrong turn. She regretted everything.
These feelings were new to her. Julia had glided ever forward when it came to school and work. She’d been tested multiple times. Certainly during the campaign. Yet she’d risen to those challenges without premeditation or scheming. Instead, she did what she’d always done, worked twice as hard as everyone else. For some reason, though, this one call had somehow erased her store of confidence like a flash flood. And she was left wondering what had changed.
Distracted, she didn’t notice Michael’s arrival. She looked up and he stood before her, all smiles.
“Hi, beautiful,” he said.
“You’re late,” she answered.
Her attitude hadn’t been intentional. Nor did Michael react to it. Instead, he put a hand out to help her up.
“Sorry. How about I buy you lunch to make up for it.”
She smiled, accepting his apology. Yet as they walked to the restaurant, the same pizza place they’d gone to on the day they met, that thought returned again and again. Striking out. By the time they found a table and ordered, her mood had darkened even further. When Michael started talking about their weekend plans, her teeth clicked together.
“I think we should tell Jen we can’t make that fund-raiser on Saturday. We could just rent a movie and chill.”
He said it with a smile. In fact, on any other day, she might not have been able to imagine a more innocuous sentence. Instead, though, Julia snapped.
“Have you even thought that maybe I need to go? That the fund-raiser is important?”
Michael blinked, still smiling. “It’s just Charlie. Even he knows no one under the age of sixty is going to show up. Plus, I already told him and he doesn’t care at all, as long as I still give him the check.”
She glared at him. “You told him? Without talking to me first?”
“Well, yes.”
“So you’re speaking for me now.”
“Um, no. I told him that I wasn’t going.”
“God, Michael. Not everything is funny, you know. I have to go.”
She got up. His eyes widened. “We already ordered.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I just need a little space.”
Julia walked out of the restaurant without looking back once.
* * *
—
An hour later, she called Michael.
“I am so sorry,” she said before he could speak.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just a rough day. And I took it out on you. I don’t—”
“So you’re not mad at me?” he interrupted.
“No, I—”
“Thank God!”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I have to go,” he said.
“Um, okay.”
Michael hung up. Julia spent the next five minutes feeling totally confused. Then, out of nowhere, he appeared at the door to her office. His hand reached out for her, and the smile on his face outshined everything that had happened that day.
“Come on,” he said.
“What?”
“Let’s go.”
She stared at his outstretched hand but didn’t move. “Are you feeling okay?”
He reached out a hand. Slowly, somewhat confused, she took it. Michael nodded to Julia’s secretary, who was all smiles.
“Um, okay,” Julia said, sensing she alone had no idea what was going on.
Michael’s smile just grew larger somehow. “I’m whisking you away for the weekend.”
He tapped the down button when they reached the elevator. She squinted up at him.
“Oh, are you?”
“Yup.”
It wasn’t until she sat in the front seat of his car as he headed south on I-95 toward the Maryland line that Julia had time to think again.
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, thumbing toward the backseat.
She turned and noticed her overnight bag sitting next to his. “You packed for me?”
He nodded.
“So, this was all before our fight?” she asked.
“Our first fight,” he said. “Yup.”
She laughed. “Thank God. That would have been creepy.”
* * *
—
Julia sat on the bench near the back of the boat, her head on Michael’s shoulder and the sun setting behind the Chesapeake Bay. Michael had planned the entire weekend in St. Michaels, Maryland, down to the sunset tour aboard a single-mast skipjack. They had sat with the small group aboard for the tour as the captain talked about the bay and fishing for oysters. After his presentation, though, they had slipped away, as far as they could on such a small boat, to just enjoy the beauty of the evening.
A cool, salty breeze rippled the sparkling water, and Julia snuggled in closer. Michael wrapped her in his arms. But they said nothing for a while. Instead, the moment seemed to gently brush away the stresses of the working world, so by the time they docked, Julia felt loose and strangely free as they stepped out onto the pier. Michael nodded to the crab shack sitting right on the water.
“Should we get a drink?”
“Sounds great,” she said.
Michael found a small table right on the water. The breeze rustled the awning above them, and he gave her his fleece to wear. She slipped it over her head, pausing for just a second to take in his smell.
“I am so sorry,” she said.
“I know, you said that already,” he said.
She shook her head. “It had nothing to do with you.”
He nodded. And she told him about the call. He listened without a word until she got everything out, except the baseball analogy.
“Geri’s a piece of work,” Michael said.
“I know, right.”
He took her hand. “I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I’ll never hold you back,” he said.
“I know that.”
“No, really. If you want to head to Washington, go for it. Maybe I’ll go with you. Sounds like an adventure.”
A twinge followed his words. She looked up at the fading colors of the sunset.
“Who knows?” she said. “It’s crazy. Maybe it was the way I was raised, but I’ve always just done what I wanted to do. I mean, I thought about my parents and everything, sure. But that’s different. It was always my life. You know?”
“It still is,” Michael said.
Maybe a little part of her wanted that to be true. Maybe she had felt held back by her relationship. Maybe that was why she’d stumbled during the call. Maybe responsibility had already crept in and wrapped its long fingers around her freedom.
“Maybe,” she said instead.
And they both turned to look out at the water and the sky.
* * *
—
On the drive home, Michael tapped the wheel while softly singing along to a Pearl Jam song. At one point, Julia watched him. Her mind slipped back to the call. It was as if she could hear Geri’s voice again. But this time, it sounded shrill and suffocating. Maybe she didn’t want to work with her anyway. She couldn’t even fathom why she had gotten upset with Michael in the first place. Instead, she felt a surge of love as she looked at his profile and was amazed anew by how deeply he already understood her.
A week later, Geri’s secretary called and set a time for coffee. Julia showed up in her best outfit feeling as nervous as she ever had before in her life. Geri swept into the shop like a golden-age movie star. She got right to the point.
“I was wondering, we are looking to hire a new press secretary. Do you know anyone that would be great?”
Julia gave Geri a couple of names, though she knew neither of them would even get an interview. Geri’s question had, instead, been a condemnation. It said that Julia was officially off her radar. As she left the meeting, she felt sick to her stomach. At the same time, she felt a competing sense of utter relief.
17
Dread followed Julia into the garage. Getting out of the car was an effort. Without realizing it, Julia held her breath as she opened the door into the family room. She saw Evelyn first, sitting in a chair against the opposite wall. Her friend’s eyes flashed to the couch on the far wall, where her son sat. His shaggy red-blond hair was a mess, wisps shooting out in all directions. And the red around his big eyes turned them an even deeper shade of blue. He stood as the door opened.
For just an instant, Julia felt a flood of relief. She had expected to find her son hysterical. At first glance, he appeared calm. Fine, really. He didn’t take a step; he stood across the room looking at her, waiting.
Then she noticed. He looked peaked. His skin was too pale. His eyes glassy. He swayed gently, like the last dangling leaf of fall before the icy wind harboring the oncoming winter tears it free. His mouth opened, and she never had felt such dread before. Not for how he looked, but for what he would say.
“He’s dead,” Evan said, flatly.
A lump rose inside Julia, like a plug holding in raging emotion. A tingle vibrated behind her forehead and her eyes burned. She couldn’t breathe. The true weight of being a parent, that utter responsibility that makes you forget everything, most of all yourself, took over. Her movements took on a thick calm. And the strength behind Julia’s voice surprised her.
“We don’t know that,” she said.
Evan quivered like a current had run up his spine. “He is.”
She went to her son. There were no words she could say. Nothing else she could do. Holding him to her, letting him shake her, all her worry shed away. Her questions vanished. Her fears dried up. They would return, tenfold, but in that instant, Julia remembered the most basic of truths. She was a mother. And her son needed her now more than ever.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said, stroking his thick hair.
She meant it, too, at least in the moment. It would be okay. They would be okay. She’d get them through this. Holding Evan, she understood that now. There were no other options. She had no choice in the matter, really. Her decision to run off, to try, for some incomprehensible reason, to find Michael, haunted her. It seemed so selfish now. So thoughtless. But in truth, it wasn’t. She wouldn’t understand that then. Maybe she never would. But in that moment of crisis, as the crushing potential for tragedy suffocated her, she acted. It was real, primal. And she should have felt no guilt. Yet she did nonetheless.
“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated.
A keening came from Evan then. It filled the room. Evelyn stood but didn’t come any closer. It rose in pitch. His balled-up hands struck his mother’s back. Not hard and not out of violence. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe. The shrill sound of agony faded.
“No,” he gasped, his entire body heaving. “No.”
The tears threatened to rip their way out of her face. Fighting them back, she pulled her son even closer.
She needed to say something. There had to be a word she could find that would help him. Some em
otional bandage she could wrap him up with. But what? She could . . . That’s when Julia remembered. And that’s when Evan reminded her.
“You talked to him, right?”
Julia froze.
His eyes somehow grew even wider. “You did, right?”
No matter how she tried, Julia could not summon up the lie a second time. That look on her son’s face made such a thought utterly impossible. The first time, it had burst from her without a thought. This time, it lodged in her throat, like a cap atop her breaking heart.
“You lied,” he screamed. “You told me he was coming home. You lied!”
And the weight of it all threatened to crush Julia to oblivion.
18
As I walked slowly along the darkened street, the sounds of chaos filtered down every alley and around every corner. I heard sirens and loud voices. Traffic on most of the streets had been blocked off, yet police and emergency vehicles moved up and down blocks, alternating between a slow crawl to sudden, engine-screaming acceleration.
Bodies pushed against me, penned me in, as waving arms seemed to appear out of the darkness, directing the crowd forward as if we had all merged into one slow-moving animal. Some officers held flashlights, and the beams cut through the dust like searchlights. My eye caught a different color, a greenish-yellow glow that tugged at something inside, some innocent yet lost memory of long ago. I turned to see one emergency worker waving a glow stick, the type a child might carry on Halloween. I whipped my head back around, unable to look at it for even a second. And the press swallowed me anew, pushing and prodding us down the street like cattle.
Every few steps I looked at the bag. It was my only clue. I saw it as a key, one that might open up whatever door had closed off my brain. Although I could not have formulated the thought at that moment, I felt like a balloon slipping out of a child’s hand. I floated up and up, knowing that at some point I would get too high, out of the reach of any help. That bag was the single string dangling down, the last hope of stopping me from drifting away to nowhere.
The Real Michael Swann Page 7