by Nancy Adams
“Yeah, with all my heart.”
“Then be better first. If she wants you to get rid of the money, then do that. It’s not like we worked all year for it. It took a few hours of fun, and, like I said, all I wanted was the memory. It’s your money and if it’ll secure your love with Sarah then I say do as she wishes; get rid of it.”
“But I can't take it back to the casino.”
“No, you can’t. You should give it to someone more deserving. Give it to some charity. There’s a place that feeds the homeless a couple of blocks from here. It’s run by nuns. Ma is always going on about how sad it is to see so many people queuing up outside and that the nuns look overrun. I say post the money into the box for donations.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, a glint of light opening up in my caged soul.
“If you want, I’ll explain to Sarah that it was all my idea.”
“You don’t have to do that, kid. I can’t plead that I was led along like some child. No, I should take full responsibility.”
“I guess this means you’ll be returning to work tomorrow night?”
“It does. If I’m gonna make this right, I need to do as she wishes. College will have to wait for another year, because I’d rather spend that year with her by my side than at college without her.”
“I don’t mean offense with this, but without her, I could see you merely slipping into your old self again. It’s her that brings the best out in you and she’s a good guide. You really are the luckiest guy.”
He said this last part with such heartfelt sincerity that I almost broke down into tears.
“However,” he continued in a darker tone, “there’s still the Amy problem. Like I said, I’d keep it from Sarah for now. I’ll give you ample alibi, and Ma not being here means that she can't contradict me, so the timing’s swell. But here’s the second ‘however.’ I think that you should eventually tell Sarah the truth. Because it’s like you said earlier when you were telling me; even if she doesn’t know, the secret will eat into you, it’ll spoil everything. In order to make your relationship whole, there can be no secrets.”
“For someone that knows zilch about relationships, you sure as heck seem to be laying on the advice!”
“I got my ma and pa as an example. They’ve been married since they were eighteen, forty-three years, and they have not one secret from each other. Forty-three years of mutual respect and love. At times when I was getting shit at school, their love and happiness was all I had to keep me going. I hear my ma at night crying at the end of their phone calls, saying how much she loves him. Their marriage is crystal clear and that’s how you should be with Sarah, crystal clear, nothing hidden.”
“But you don’t think I should tell her yet?”
“No. Let her see how much you love her first. Then when the time is right, tell her everything and hope to heck that she forgives you and the both of you can carry on with a clean slate.”
Not long after that, my clothes were washed and I changed back into them, the smell of Amy now erased. Thanking Charlie from the bottom of my heart, I left his place, taking a taxi home. Soon, I arrived and, having paid the fare, I got out of the cab and gazed up at the slightly dilapidated apartment block, the thing blocking out the sun and drowning me in its huge shadow. With a withered sigh, I made my way inside and up the stairs. As I passed the neighbors’ place, I heard them arguing in their usual full-on way. After all, it was Sunday, a day for all the family to be together as one.
I entered the apartment to find that Sarah wasn’t there, obviously at church. I was glad of this. Glad that she was with her family and hadn't spent the day mulling on her own in the apartment. Having first observed this, the second thing I noticed was that she’d made the bed and that the money was nowhere to be seen. I didn't worry about its whereabouts at all and was relieved that it wasn't on display when I came in. It would have only made my guilt expand even more. The third thing I spotted, however, took ahold of my heart and tugged on it. On the table was a piece of note paper, neatly folded into three with my name written across it. Was this a ‘Dear Josh’?
I immediately bounded up to it and prized the creased paper open. A terrible anxiety attacked me as I skimmed through the first lines. But as I read, my anxiety ceased and was overtaken by appalling feelings of regret. The note went:
Josh, I feel so ashamed for having said such spiteful and cruel words to you last night regarding your association with your father. I am deeply ashamed of what I said and hope that you can find it within your heart to forgive my bitter words.
I had to pause. My forgiveness? I thought. She was asking for my forgiveness? I can’t describe to you the feelings of utter self-hatred and dejection that traversed through me then. It went on:
I know that you were acting under honorable motives and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. By calling you a criminal I was being reactionary and misunderstanding. That’s not to say I agree with your actions, but I didn't need to denounce them so quickly. I should have waited until later, maybe today, to talk to you. Because all I did was make it all so much worse and then said those horrible things. All night long, I’ve been so worried about you, dreaming about you being hurt, and if anything happened to you I’d feel completely guilty for it. I hated fighting with you and you must understand that my angry consternation, though ill-judged, resulted from love. Please believe me when I say that I love you more than anything in the world, Josh, and it is so painful for me to know how much I must’ve hurt you last night. I hope that you can forgive me.
Love Sarah XXX
I went a little dizzy and the tears, having threatened to break all day, poured out of me, sprinkling down onto the note which I held so delicately in my hand. I deserved none of her forgiveness and none of her regret. All night she had worried about me and all night I’d been with Amy. I felt so incredibly callous then and the room dimmed further around me, plunging me into the darkness of myself. Oh, what decency she had felt for me, and what horror I had treated that decency to. I was a coward and a scoundrel.
I looked at the time. It was four. She was due back any moment. A thought came to me there and then, and Charlie’s words about the soup kitchen came flooding back. I was sure that the money would still be in the apartment; there was nothing in Sarah’s message that made me think she’d thrown it down the garbage chute or taken it with her. The first place I could think of was her chest of drawers. In fact, this was obvious, as there weren’t many other places she could have put it in our scarcely furnished closet of an apartment. The moment I slid open the top drawer, I found the envelope filled with cash. I grabbed it, my fingers strangling the envelope angrily, hating its very existence and hating my own at the same time.
Having taken it, I called a cab and left the apartment. Twenty minutes later I was pulling up outside the nun’s place. It was open and I walked straight in among the motley crew of homeless lining up to receive soup and bread.
“May I help you?” an elderly, plump nun asked as she came up to me with her hands behind her back.
“Sister, I have something for you.”
“Yes, and what is that? Do you wish to volunteer your services?”
“In a way, yes. Here.”
And I thrust the envelope at her. She narrowed her eyes slightly at me, before slowly taking it.
“What is it?” she asked as she began opening it.
“A donation for you and only for you. That’s all.”
She was about to say something to this, but suddenly stopped when she saw the stacks of cash stuffed inside. This gave me the opportunity to walk straight out and get back in the waiting cab. The last I saw of her was out the taxi window as the cabby drove me away. She was calling over her sisters, a look of utter bewilderment on her face.
SARAH
Once I’d pushed my lunch several laps around the plate with my fork, it was time to clear the table. During the meal, my father and sisters had talked among themselves, though aware not to be too loud a
round me. As a close family, we were abnormally conscious of one another’s moods. They knew when and when not to approach me with questions, and throughout dinner they left off. They were satisfied with what they knew and wouldn’t want to push me any further if that meant upsetting me.
Within the clouds of silence and contemplation, I helped everyone clean up the kitchen, my own somber mood eventually infecting the others until we were all silent. As though trapped in some kind of waking dream, I finished cleaning up, before sitting with my family for an hour watching television, until it was nearly five, the day having passed me by like a ghost. I got up and began kissing my family goodbye, receiving a loving hug from each as I left the lounge. As I was putting my shoes on at the door, Lucy came up to me and asked to speak to me outside.
Once we were standing on the driveway, she said:
“Look, I know Josh was wrong for cheating the casino out of money, but I still think Daddy was correct when he said that there was some better purpose behind Josh’s actions.”
“I know,” I admitted in a sad voice. “I even wrote in the letter I left at the apartment that I believed his intentions were honorable. In the haze of the argument, I completely ignored this, disregarded his own feelings and the fact that starting college next week instead of next year would be so much better for him.”
“Have you called him again?”
“I’ve been scared. The sound of his answering machine greeting fills me with pain.”
At this last word, a tear shone from my eye.
“Oh, Sarah,” Lucy said softly, taking me in her arms, and I gently weeped into her shoulder.
“I’m so scared that he’s thrown himself into the arms of some other girl.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because I won't have sex with him and now I’ve gone and pushed him away. You should have seen how angry he was last night. When he slammed the door, I knew he’d find some bar and then…”
But I couldn’t say the words.
“If he loves you, he’ll wait,” Lucy cooed into my ear. “He probably went out, got drunk and woke up this morning on someone’s couch, and now he’s sitting at the apartment feeling as bad as you and just as eager to make things up. Just go home and apologize and I’m sure you’ll be within each other’s arms in no time, laughing about how stupid you’ve both been.”
“I really hope so. Sincerely I do.”
“I’m sure of it.”
My sister kissed me on the forehead.
I drove away from there feeling a lot better for having received her comforting words. When I reached the apartment, it was already almost six. My legs were sluggish as I heaved them up the steps, and, on reaching our floor, the closer I got to our door, the heavier I felt, the corridor shrinking around me. When I placed the key in the lock, I heard motion inside. Before I could remove my key, he was opening the door for me.
“Sarah,” he rambled in a contrite tone, his face soft and full of remorse, “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry. I should never have run off like that.”
“Oh, Josh!” I cried out, throwing myself into his arms and sobbing into his chest.
His arms instantly took ahold of my body, wrapping around me and pulling me in tight.
“I should’ve never left you last night,” he went on. “Should never have left you.”
“I shouldn’t have compared you to your father. I should have been more understanding of your motives.”
“You have nothing to be forgiven for. Nothing. It’s all my fault. You’re right. You're always right. I was wrong to commit crime to get the money. I should work for it. In your letter you said my motives were honorable, but isn't it much more honorable to do it the decent way and work for it?”
“Yes, but not if it makes you miserable.”
“As long as I’m with you, that won't happen. I was just being hot-headed.”
“But you should go back to college next week. You should use that money to better yourself. It was wrong what you did, but if it’s only this once and for a just cause, then why shouldn’t you use the money?”
At these words Josh went rigid in my arms, and he made no reply. I instantly felt something permeate from him, some regret.
“I can't do that,” he finally said in a sad tone.
“Why?”
“Because only half an hour ago I handed it over to a nun.”
“A nun!?”
“Yeah. She and her sisters run a soup kitchen for the homeless. I gave it to them and ran out of there.”
“Oh, Josh,” I sighed.
“I thought you wanted me to get rid of it?”
“I did. But then I thought about it, and spoke with my family, and though I don’t agree with it morally, I have to say that if you promise not to do anything else like that and to use it for college, then…Well…I kinda came to the conclusion that it was okay, sort of.”
“Oh!” he let out. “Well, it’s gone now.”
“You gave it away for me?” I asked him, the gesture filling me with a bright shining comet of glee.
“Yeah. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“You gave up a year of your life for me,” I went on, not really hearing his answer. “I’ve never felt so loved in all my life. You sacrificed a year in that horrible warehouse for me. I thought that you’d still be mad, but here you are proving your love.”
I felt something heave inside his body and he buried his face into my shoulder, gripping me tightly and sobbing loudly.
“I deserve none of this,” he kept repeating through his tears, and I felt as though I were holding a delicate child in my arms. I felt those tears so readily. It was the same as I’d seen him that first-ever day in our chronicle when I’d held his hand in the treehouse.
For the rest of the evening, he treated me as though I were a deity and he the most pious of men. He ran me a bath and, while I soaked in the tub surrounded by scented candles, he made me some pasta sauce with tagliatelle, my appetite returning to me with a fury now that my stomach was clear of its swarm of butterflies. I sat myself down in my dressing gown, hair tied up with a towel, and ate opposite him, as he gazed forlornly at me from across a candle he’d romantically placed between us.
“You not eating?” I asked, nodding toward his empty place in front of him.
“Nah,” he softly let out. “I ate at Charlie’s earlier.”
“So that’s where you stayed.”
“Yeah. I hit some bar, stayed in there until kicking-out time and then got a cab to his. I woke up this morning on the couch.”
“You didn't hit the bar too hard did you?” I said, and with it, I slid my hand slowly across and touched the scraped knuckles of his right hand.
He instantly withdrew it and placed it under the table, embarrassed by its presence, his eyes averting themselves to the table, head hung.
“It’s okay,” I uttered benevolently. “You were angry. Bars are angry places. So long as you didn’t kill anyone, I’m not angry with you.”
“I hit a guy,” he replied ashamedly, head still down. “No, sorry; I hit two. There were three guys and I guess they took a disliking to me. I can’t really remember exactly. But they’re okay. No more than bruises.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“You’re not mad that I was violent?” he asked, turning his crystal eyes to me.
“Did you start it?”
“No. Some kid swung a punch, I ducked, hit him back, then his friend got involved so I hit him too. All in self-defense. The moment it got too crazy I left the bar.”
“I thought you said you left at closing time?”
I instantly observed the color hit his cheeks.
“The next bar, I did,” he answered. “I left that one, but went to another.”
Nothing of what he said stirred any suspicion, and I continued to twist my pasta around my fork and enjoy the food.
“How was church and your family today?” he asked.
Meeting his eyes
, I replied, “Not so good with worrying about you.”
And here I slid my free hand across, which he took wholeheartedly in his own big mitt.
“You shouldn’t have worried,” he stated.
“I couldn’t help it,” I put back, a weak smile fluttering on my lips.
“I don't deserve your worry.”
Placing my fork down, I took his other hand, leaned forward, and kissed him gently on the lips.
“Yes, you do,” I whispered to him from within the tender brush of lips.
“I don’t,” he muttered, and I saw more tears crowd his eyes.
Getting up out of my chair, I reached across the table, took him in my arms and held his head against my chest. His hands grabbed ahold of my back and I wondered why he was so upset. He was almost inconsolable, as though he imagined me to be a ghost of myself and not actually there. That he’d considered me dead and needed to throw himself into me, needed to know for sure that I was really there.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him.
“When I saw that letter,” he spluttered, “I thought you’d left me.”
“Of course not,” I stated. “Why would I leave you for a stupid argument?”
“I thought that you’d found yourself unable to forgive me for cheating the casino.”
“I forgave you not five minutes after you left, Josh. Trust me.”
He took his tear-sodden face away from my chest and looked at me with an almost incredulous expression dancing upon his features.
“I’m going to work harder than I ever have,” he stated with determination. “I’ll go back to work tomorrow night and I’ll keep my head down for another two years if that’s what it takes to earn my way back to college. No more thoughts of cheating, or scamming, or committing crimes. Only decent, hard work will I perform to get back to college. I won’t complain. I’ll serve my time, do my duty. So long as I have you by my side, I can do and suffer anything.”
Now it was my turn to cry and his turn to hold my quivering head against his wide chest.