I wasn’t sure what to do, but Sally took us at our word that we were Elton Livingston’s sons. She led us deeper into the house. Despite fans and open windows, it reeked of cat and illness. That was the first time it really hit me. Pop was a very, very sick man. Sally turned the television she’d been watching off, and took us past the living room, down the hallway to the master bedroom. There was no door—only hinges. Maybe they’d had to take it off to get the bed inside.
The room—repurposed as a sickroom—was cramped and stuffy. Besides the standard hospital-style adjustable bed there was a recliner and an old dresser. A television mounted on the wall was tuned to Animal Planet. Poor quality paintings graced the walls, along with a few pictures of what I assumed was Pop’s new family in happier times.
Sally turned the sound down. “He likes to watch the nature shows.” She said this to us, then raised her voice to almost shouting and turned to Pop. “Don’t you, Elton. You like the animals, huh?”
Her head bobbed enthusiastically, and Pop nodded back once, almost reflexively, as if he didn’t really know what he was saying yes to.
For the life of me, I couldn’t really make myself believe it was him. Internally, I knew that brittle human shell was our pop. Who else could it be? But at the same time, it wasn’t. Jake stepped closer to me, and automatically, I put my hand on his back.
I’m not sure Pop recognized us either.
“Pop.” I made a marginal effort. “It’s me, Daniel. And here’s Jake.”
Pop’s salt-and-pepper caterpillar eyebrows drew together. His cheeks had sunken into hollows beneath high cheekbones. A nasal canula fed him oxygen in rhythmic bursts. He hissed something through dry, open lips but I didn’t catch what it was. What teeth we could see protruded a little, unbrushed for the most part. A tray by the bedside held water. Sally offered this to him, and he drank greedily. It made me think the television in the living room had claimed her attention for long enough that he’d grown thirsty. Whatever I felt about him that made me unhappy, that he’d had to lie there thirsty while she watched Jeopardy or whatever.
“Dan.” His lips twisted into a rictus grin, and he extended a corpselike hand. I wanted to pull away but something made me take it. “Dani.”
“Yeah, Pop. It’s me. Dani.”
Beside me, Jake’s rigid form had gone completely still. He barely breathed.
“And ’ake.” Tears clouded the old man’s eyes. He licked his lips. “Christ. Jake.”
Jake walked stiffly to the other side of the bed and took Pop’s other hand. The old man crushed us in his grip. You wouldn’t even have thought he could squeeze a blueberry and my knuckles were white where he held my hand. Thank heavens I’d given him my left.
Jake’s gaze was fixed on Pop, filled with horror. I could see the whites around the soft brown of his irises. I could never bear to see my brother scared. I felt like I had to do something to make it better; the emotion driving me was as insistent as hunger, as relentless as thirst. A physical need. But what on earth…? This—this living corpse was the monster we’d feared since childhood, and right then all I could feel was pity. Pop was way, way too young to look like that, but he was dying and his body was ravaged by disease. Pathetic.
It was as confusing to me as it was painful.
Pop didn’t deserve my pity. I wanted my righteous indignation back. I wanted my anger. I wanted to hate this man because the alternative, the horror I was bound to feel if I gave into it, was unthinkable.
“It’s okay, Jakey. It’s just Pop. See?”
Jake nodded.
“Your daddy talks about you sometimes,” Sally said.
I frowned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. About his very smart boy who owns many, many apartment buildings.”
“Yeah.” That made it easier. I turned away, so she didn’t see my disgust. “I’ll bet he does.”
“I’ll be back.” She left us alone with him. Jake’s gaze met mine from across the bed.
Everyone always said it was best to make peace. To say what needed to be said. To get closure—but for the life of me, I had not one single clue how to even begin. I’d had Pop in my life for a lot more years than Jake—early years, I admit, that I didn’t remember too well. And what stuck out from those father-son moments wasn’t games of catch in the fading summer light. It was hiding with Jakey in the closet while my mother pleaded with my dad not to scream at us anymore.
I wanted to drop the scrawny hand that held mine onto that sheet and walk away. Then I heard Jake’s voice.
“Pop?”
The old man’s eyes turned to his.
“I’m not anyone’s fucking punching bag.”
Jake peeled the skeletal fingers from his hand and left me and Pop in the room alone. My throat burned like fire so my voice was raspy when I spoke again.
“Joyce seems nice.”
As openings go, it wasn’t very wide. I didn’t let much of my pop through, but in the ensuing five minutes or so, I think I said what I needed to say.
Because, really, all I needed to say was good-bye.
When I left Pop’s room, I was ready to move on. Oddly enough, my heart felt hollow and empty, but not sad like I thought it might. It felt…naked. I felt naked. Stripped bare and completely, totally new.
I found Jakey in the kitchen, filling the sink with soapy water. Dirty dishes were stacked high on the counters, and flies buzzed around old cat food. If Lonnie was still in school, he shouldn’t have to come home to this. What the hell was going on?
Already, I was thinking of Lonnie as my brother. I did have a big-brother complex. Cam would have laughed.
Ah, Cam.
Cam would have wept too, he was such a softy. I’d have to make this situation easier for Lonnie or Cam would never let me hear the end of it.
When Lonnie finally came home, he seemed shocked to find strange men cleaning his kitchen. Sally stayed in the living room and left us to introduce ourselves.
Lonnie and Jake looked so much alike it was uncanny. Our pop was a total idiot. Either that, or he was going to spend the rest of his limited life lying in that bed contemplating what might have been.
“Sorry. We just kind of took over,” Jake said over his shoulder. “I think it’s all my years in food service. I can’t stand a dirty kitchen.”
Lonnie blushed hotly. “I meant to clean things up before I left for school. My bad. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Lonnie held his hand out, but Jake’s were covered in soapy water. He took mine instead and gave it a hearty pump. “Joyce told me all about you.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “Good or bad.”
“All good.” He shrugged. “Well. She said she kind of messed things up. We didn’t know there were two of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. We figured.”
“What the hell was that about?” Lonnie’s young face creased into a frown. “Dad never talked much about his time before he came to California, but he’s talked about Dan a lot, lately.”
“We can only guess, but we think he didn’t believe Jake was his son, for some reason.”
Lonnie glanced at Jake, then me. He pointed to his face, which was…wow. Genetics. You just can’t fight the facts. There were three Livingston brothers and a sister, and we all looked like clones.
Lonnie chuckled. “I’ll bet he does now.”
He was so young. I realized we must seem like foreign invaders to him.
Jake only had eyes for the dishes. I think that was his way of coping.
I was numb. I was Izzie’s blank slate, so I said, “Where’s Joyce? I think we need to talk, Lonnie. We’d like to get to know you.”
* * *
Joyce, it turned out, worked in a movie theater and didn’t get off until ten. “She lives with our mom, in the apartments on the other side of the park.”
“So you live here alone with your father, and the nurses come and go?”
Lonnie shrugged and looked away. “It’s… I’m still in school, and it’
s just easier for me.”
“Are you saying you’ve been helping to take care of your father all by yourself?” I asked, incredulously.
“No. It’s nothing like that. There’s always someone here. Dad’s on hospice. I just…look in and stuff. Joyce and I both do. She comes here after work.”
Jake and I looked at each other.
“He doesn’t respond much, really. Mostly, lately, he sleeps.”
Jake let out a muttered expletive. “And your mother?”
“She pays his bills and things. Takes care of his insurance.”
“Shouldn’t you be living at home with her and Joyce?”
“I couldn’t just abandon him like that. It’s not going to last much longer.”
“Was he good to you?” Jake asked. “Does he deserve your loyalty?”
“Jake,” I warned.
“Sorry.” Jake looked away.
“No, he wasn’t really that good to us,” Lonnie said, an icy edge to his young voice. “He wasn’t particularly nice. My mother divorced him and took us away because it was pretty awful living with him. But he’s still a human being. He’s still our dad.”
“The best revenge is living on the high road.” I said. “I like you, Lonnie. I like you a lot.”
Lonnie shrugged.
“Are you hungry?” Jake asked. “Or do you normally eat before you come home?”
The kid shook his head, and it made me smile. He was like Jake in temperament too. He wouldn’t ask for anything. Didn’t want to show any weakness. “You could order pizza, my treat.”
Lonnie brightened a little. “Sure.”
I took out my phone and held it between my palms. “You order, whatever’s your favorite. I’m starved. I eat anything on a pizza unless it swims. Jake can pick it up if they don’t deliver. Oh, and get salad and garlic bread. In the meantime, if you give me your mom’s number, I’d like to talk to her too.”
He spouted off the number, and I entered it into my phone.
“I’ll call her in a bit.” But first… I jerked my chin at Jake and mimicked smoking with one hand. He nodded to me as I stepped outside into the now-indigo night. The crescent moon and evening star were visible, but other than that, the sky was dark blue and limitless. I dialed Cam’s cell number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Daniel?”
“Yes. It’s me. Hello. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time. Are you fighting fire?”
“Sure,” he said drily. “But I still have one hand free so I can talk. How’s it going?”
“Fine. I just… I need to hear your voice. Got a minute?’ I lit up and blew my smoke into the salty breeze.
“I can hear you smoking. We’re going to have to talk about that habit of yours, but yeah. I have time for you.”
My heart…wow. It caught fire. Cam had my back. My throat closed, and I had to swallow before I could talk. “Thank you.”
“Tell me about your dad, Daniel. I’m listening.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Jake and I stayed in Long Beach for several days, even though an unplanned leave of absence was the last thing we expected. Mary Catherine and some of the Miss Independence Pies staff filled the void at Bêtise while we were gone. Some of MC’s pie employees had been working in the bakery—some even planned to go to culinary school eventually. They did double duty, and while Jake’s highly sought-after fancy pastries were missing from the refrigerated case, they kept the patrons in pies, brownies, bar cookies, and muffins.
Al kept me posted but let me have the time for family. If something needed my immediate attention, he forwarded it to me via e-mail, and I did what I could.
Pop’s hold on life was tenuous at best, and it seemed to lessen day by day. He slept most of the time, and when he didn’t, he managed few words. Even so, our final good-bye before we left to head home wasn’t as easy as I hoped.
Jake took it hard.
I spent an hour or so in El Dorado Park—a place I’d found made a great refuge when things became tense and I needed to walk off heightened emotions—talking to Cam on the phone.
“Yeah. It rained hard last night. It’s still spattering us a little. Everything smells really fresh here. I’m at the duck pond, and some geese just charged a couple of little girls and scared the shit out of them. Geese are ferocious.”
“I miss you,” Cam’s voice was as soft as the little droplets of misty rain. I could picture him in one of the recliners at the firehouse, one big hand wrapped around a coffee mug. More than once he’d shushed some of his coworkers. It sounded like they were playing cards. Maybe Cam was watching television with the sound turned way down, relaxing.
“I miss you too.”
“Is it difficult? Seeing your pop like that?”
“Not like you mean. I don’t really have anything invested in him. I know that sounds bad, but for me he died a long time ago. Jake is more conflicted, although if you asked him, he’d tell you I was full of shit.”
“Did you ever tell him? About how your dad tried to—”
“No.”
He let the silence draw out between us. “Are you going to?”
“How can I?”
“Maybe the truth—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Cam, but I just can’t. There’s no reason he has to know that his father tried to kill him. I know you think every lie leaves a black void inside my heart, but that’s one corner that’s going to stay dark forever, and I swear to fuck if you tell him—”
“I won’t tell him.”
“Good.” That was one relief, anyway. “I know how fucked-up you think I am, and if that’s a deal breaker then… I know my brother, Cam, and I’m begging you, please, don’t tell him.”
“It’s all right, Daniel. I was going to say maybe the truth is better left unsaid, this time.”
“Yeah?”
“Before you went off on me.”
“Sorry.”
“Is it going to burn a hole in your gut?”
“I’ve been carrying this around for a long time. It’s like a sick gray fog, but it’s mine.”
“I know.” The phone went silent for so long I thought maybe he’d hung up. Then I heard a door close and less background noise. “You’re not carrying it alone anymore.”
Ah, Cam. There was so much I could have said—wanted to say—right then. I could have filled the airwaves between us with all the shapes of words: of relief, of grief, of longing and hope and loneliness, and most of all, of love. What I felt for Cam was so big I couldn’t dislodge it from my heart right then.
I held the phone with both hands and clenched my teeth against everything I wanted to say. Lies hurt. They fester. There’s an unexpected weight to secrets I never realized existed until I started to let go of them. I had no idea what this secret—this last lie of omission—would cost me. I’d never tell Jake our father had tried to kill him. If he remembered…Maybe I’d rethink that.
But I wasn’t going to carry it alone.
I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you.”
Cam chuckled. “Anyway it sounds like you have a pretty good family. The younger generation anyway.”
I felt awkward talking about them all the time. “Have you thought any more about talking to yours?”
“No.”
“Will you?”
“Trust me when I say it’s futile.”
“Tell me why.”
“My brothers said if they ever saw me near their kids they’d put me down like a rabid dog.”
“No.”
Silence fell between us until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m a better man because of you, Cameron Rooney. You enrich—you bless—every life you touch. I don’t think even God can ask much more of you than that.”
I heard a shuddering intake of breath, and I’d have given everything—all my worldly possessions and the balance of my time on earth—to put my arms around Cam right then.
“Just come home, Daniel.”
“I
’ll be home soon.” Ah, great. Home. Carl would have a good laugh over that.
* * *
Sometimes I think I will never understand family. Then, other times, I believe I understand it all too well. It’s not rational, and you can’t get around it. You get the family you get, and then if you’re lucky, you get to choose the family you want.
Jake was on his way to happiness. We just had to see this through.
St. Nacho’s and JT were waiting for him.
For a lot of different reasons, the biggest of which was having to stand at Pop’s bedside and look into the abyss, I drove Cam’s truck back to St. Nacho’s wearing a nicotine patch and a pretty unhappy, I’m-quitting-smoking-so-fuck-off-and-die scowl on my face. Jake drove my car.
We arranged to meet at the Boathouse in Santa Barbara for lunch on the way back up the coast. Neither of us had been sorry to leave Long Beach, but I know returning to business as usual filled me with a kind of dread, as if from this moment on everything was more important, or it had to be more perfect. Maybe we stopped more to slow our reentry.
I tried a smile on for the hostess who seated us and handed us menus while the bus boy served us water. Jake wrapped his hand around his glass, but didn’t drink right away.
I asked him, “Do you ever feel like your life has gone into sudden-death overtime?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“I feel like everything I do now counts. Like I’ve had my very last do-over.” I glanced through the menu quickly, but when I saw the faraway look in Jake’s eyes, food became the last thing on my mind. “What?”
“What, what?” Jake finally opened his menu. “Nothing.”
“Come on. Something.”
Jake closed his eyes. “I was scared of Pop my whole life. And he turned out to be just an ordinary old man. Even if he’d been healthy, he’s not—”
“Not a monster?”
“Not a monster.” Jake rubbed a damp spot on the tablecloth.
“Jakey, he terrorized us, then made it seem like it was all our fault, remember? Or he’d be all nice one minute and then explode the next. Pop’s the worst kind of monster—the kind that makes you afraid of everything. The kind that makes you afraid to trust yourself.”
St. Nacho's 4: The Book of Daniel Page 18