Fear of Heights

by Mara White

  I admire how her experience has transformed her—she left her safety zone and somehow fell fully into herself. Her new self is luminous. I’m lucky to have her.

  I lean in to hug Emily, and when I look over her shoulder to the stairs, Robert is standing in the shadow watching us. I wonder how long he’s been there? I look into his eyes and he smiles at me. I flash back a smile at him; it’s an automatic response. A smile to mask fear, the kind that women reserve for contact with a strangers, on a subway train, alone at night.

  Women flash millions of these smiles at men every day. I hate that we make them, the dreaded fear grin. I can feel legions of women smiling like this at their boyfriends and husbands. By some scattered miracle, I pull strength from this idea. I won’t be intimidated by Robert. I can rise up for this challenge.

  “I got some rubs and salts, and a few heating pads. The delivery truck just pulled up out front….” his voice trails off.

  Robert has momentarily lost his self-command; he’s suddenly realized that perhaps heat and salt won’t be enough. I’ve been lying here like a dead person, immobile, hour after hour.

  I’m no stranger to inadequacies or the tendency to fuck up. Robert may have killed my lovers, but right now I only feel pity for him and an underlying vein of disgust.

  But Robert is obsessed with retribution. He’s got an undying lust for the win. His lawyering extends into his home. I don’t think he can help himself.

  He pays the deliveryman and approaches with his fixes. Emily shrugs at our tension and starts to gather her things.

  “Stay, Em. Please. Stay in the guest room.” I look at her. I’m afraid of him and I’m scared to admit it.

  “Okay.” She nods at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Robert helps me up the stairs. We go slowly, my body overwhelmed with even this exertion after remaining inert for so long. But bodies function despite their emotions; my legs agree to hold my weight and walk, after some protesting and the snapping pop of my tendons. My blood agrees to circulate through my extremities and resume its monotonous task: blood out to limbs, then back up to heart again. Ideal no longer has this simple privilege. And as we move, my sweet Jaylee is fighting for his life.

  I look at Robert and see that his eyes are twinkling. He’s excited now for some reason, and it unnerves me.

  “Was Pearl okay? She’ll need some kind of therapy,” I say, hoping to direct his attention away from me.

  “Pearl is strong, but yes, I do believe she’ll need something. I think it will help to get out of this house.”

  In the bedroom, Robert has turned the sheets down. His laptop sits open on his pillow. He helps me into bed and removes my soiled clothes, stripping me bare and putting the clothes straight into the trash bin. He then draws a bath and brings me my robe, unpacking arnica salve and other muscle rubs. He’s got a mind to massage me, and I’m too weak to refuse his hands, though I don’t want him to touch me.

  I absentmindedly reach out and run my finger across his laptop’s mouse pad, and images of townhouses pop up. Among them is our home, the one we built together: it’s for sale.

  I turn and look at Robert.

  “I went ahead and got us a place in Connecticut. Fairfield County. The schools are great and the commute isn’t bad.”

  I frown at him: has he lost his mind?

  “You didn’t even think to ask me? I mean, what if I don’t even want to stay together, or—”

  “Come now, Kate. Let’s be realistic. It’s not safe for us here.”

  “What about my family, my friends—and won’t it be more upheaval for the girls?”

  “Please, darling, you’ve hardly had any friends besides Sarah, and suddenly now you’re close to your family? What would you suggest instead? Have them grow up afraid of their own neighborhood? I think the answer is pretty clear. What you’ve done has endangered all of us. The sooner we get out of here the better.”

  “So we get to leave, but everyone else has to stay.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean we up and go, and wash our hands of this, but everyone else has to stay and deal with the consequences?”

  “If that’s some meant to evoke some bleeding-heart sympathy for class inequality, I suggest you sell it to another ear. I’ve got no affinity for these people or this neighborhood. Remember, you were the one who wanted to move here.”

  I let Robert touch me with his corrupt hands. What irony that I thought Jaylee was the bad boy. It’s starting to become clear who the real gangster is here. I’m repulsed but I swallow my objections.

  “Kate, those gunmen were obviously coming for you or me. Or maybe even our daughters. What’s to say they won’t be back?”

  He digs deep into knots, forcing the tension from my flesh with borderline aggression.

  My wounds are on the inside, Robert. But, I’ll never let you see.

  “But—what about Jaylee?” I stutter. “Do you think he’ll finally give up information in exchange for a plea?”

  “I couldn’t tell you what he’ll decide, Kate. That is, if he even recovers. But I think that would be the best bet for him. Don’t you agree?”

  His hands stop moving as he asks the question. As if somehow daring me to defy his absolute control, his perfectly executed plan, which lets nothing stand in its way. Even the lives of our children.

  “It would keep him safe from retaliation. He’d be a pariah in this neighborhood either way.”

  “In the witness protection program, he could disappear. Almost like he never existed.”

  Robert’s hands slide through the salve on my shoulders up to encircle my neck. His grip is tight. It feels threatening. Is it my imagination?

  I won’t let his power intimidate me. I grab his hands and slide them back onto my shoulders. Jaylee’s mark on me cannot be eclipsed. Just thinking of him gives me strength. I long to go to him now, to hear his heart, his breath, give him just one last kiss. To whisper goodbye—because this is goodbye, either way, whether he lives or he dies.

  I push up on my elbows and pull my hair out of my face.

  “How are you going to get him to do it?”

  “I’ll go through his mother, as well as Janinie. Jaylee will ultimately do what’s best for his family. And if I’m not mistaken, he’ll do what’s best for you too.”

  I pull the bathrobe around me and sit up on the bed.

  “He’s willing to make sacrifices,” says Robert.

  Guess what, Robert, I am too.

  Chapter 25

  The girls and I are staying with Emily and Doug for the remainder of the week. We’ll be there until the Connecticut house is ready. Carmen is coming with us too: after much negotiation with Robert, she’s given up her apartment in Queens. I’m so happy she’s staying with us; it would be another trauma on the girls if she were to leave.

  I’m back at the house packing jewelry and small things; the moving company will take care of the rest. My other plan is also to see Jaylee today. The only way for him to survive, if he makes it out of the hospital, is to comply with authorities. It would mean that he gives up his family, his friends, everything that he knows. But in exchange, he keeps his life.

  I’ve boxed the important things: my favorite books, my journals, the jewelry and heirlooms handed down from my family and Robert’s. There’s a box of baby books and pictures, and so many tiny shoes and dresses that I couldn’t bear to give away. I have them spread all around me in a giant pastel rainbow. I still can’t give them up, and I decide to pack them all back into the box. I’ve also saved every single drawing. It’s excessively sentimental, but I love how I can see their personalities in the things they draw and paint. I’ve been laughing and crying for hours, just looking at them, as I attempt to sort them into folders by age.

  I spoke with Gladys, Jaylee’s grandmother, by phone this morning. They’ve removed the breathing tube and he’s shown some signs of responding when she talks to him. The doctors are hopeful about his recov
ery.

  I change my clothes and go downstairs to retrieve my shoes. Robert is standing outside in front of the house. He’s hired a specialist to move his paintings. He’s decided to have a few appraised and sold. New beginnings, he told me: we can buy more art together, and have fun collecting, he said.

  I meet him out front, and quickly walk past the spot where Jaylee was shot. It’s enough of a reminder just being here. Robert stands in the shadows, finalizing things with the mover. I notice his shoulders are slumped forward, like he’s in a fight with gravity about standing.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, walking over to me.

  “I’m going to the hospital to see him. The girls are with Emily. If anyone can get Jaylee to comply, it’s me.”

  “It’s not safe for you to go alone. Let me call you an escort.” He pulls his phone from the pocket of his blazer, and turns away as he speaks on the phone. He looks forlorn, and without thinking, I rush into his arms.

  “I’m sorry. I really am sorry, Robert.”

  “Just to warn you, Katie, I’ve been up to see him. Don’t expect too much. He’s been seriously injured. He may be unfit to stand trial. His brain was deprived of oxygen. He may not be the same.”

  I hug him again, this time even tighter. One part of me hates him, but another wants to believe that the father of my daughters is a decent man.

  “Gladys said Jaylee was responding. I need to see him. Then we can pack up our stuff and put this all behind us.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Robert whispers as he holds me. I hold him back, embracing him not as a lover, but in truce, wishing this war over. Hoping with every part of me, with every single fiber, that I’m married to a man who would do anything to protect his family. That he’s not the kind of man who could be responsible for almost killing his own daughter.

  Gladys is sitting beside Jaylee when I arrive. She’s holding his hand and softly singing to him. She rises when she sees me, but continues her sweet song. When she finishes, her embrace is robust and heartfelt: she’s a woman who knows how to give a reassuring hug. I’ve never seen her less than photo-ready, but today she shows signs of the toll this is taking. Her slacks and blouse are creased with the hours spent sitting. She’s makeup-free and wearing the dark circles of vigilant nights. I know how much Jaylee means to her. I know he reminds her of her son.

  The nurse comes in while Gladys updates me on Jaylee’s condition. His eyelids have been fluttering, and he can squeeze his hands in response to most yes-no questions. One squeeze for yes, two for no. The nurse assures me he can hear us, but they won’t be able to tell how much he understands until he wakes more fully.

  The nurse leaves to give us time alone together, but Gladys won’t budge without some serious fussing. First she tucks Jaylee in and kisses his face, then more kisses and hugs for me, along with multiple mumbled and patted reassurances.

  She rummages deep in her purse, then shakily applies bright pink lipstick before leaving to face the world. I’ve always loved Gladys’ joyful presence. It’s hard to see her shaken like this. It’s harder to imagine what she’d say to me if she knew I were here to convince her beloved grandson to go underground forever.

  I move to Jaylee’s side slowly, and take the warm chair where Gladys has sat vigil for God knows how many hours. Her love for Jaylee can still be felt here, filling the sterile room with something soft and tender.

  I take his hand tentatively, mine shaking with nerves. I’m scared of everything about us. I’m up against the biggest fighter I know.

  He looks as beautiful as ever, a deep mahogany against the shockingly white hospital sheets. He’s hooked up to a million monitors, but no breathing tube. He’s so unmarred I half-expect him to sit up and walk out of the room.

  “Jaylee, it’s me,” I whisper to him, and give his hand a light little squeeze. He squeezes back instantly, harder than I’d have imagined he could, hard enough to make me jump a little in my seat. The beep of his monitor speeds up. And my tears come—hard and heavy, holding nothing back with their assault. I love this man and I can’t stand to see him hurt.

  “God, Jaylee!” I choke out on a sob. “I would take all of it back if I could!”

  Two hard squeezes.

  “No.”

  I lower the side of the hospital bed and crawl in beside him, holding him close to the length of my body. I clutch his hand to my chest, his fingers interwoven with mine. I pull his hand close to me so that he can feel my heart. In a way, I wish we could both just end it all here together. That we could Romeo and Juliet our way into staying connected forever.

  But no matter what men come into my life, and no matter how much I love Jaylee, I will always be first and foremost a mother. I choose my daughters over my heart.

  It doesn’t mean I don’t love Jaylee. It doesn’t make the sacrifice any less brutal.

  “Jaylee, I want you to give them the information. Tell them everything you know. For my sake, for my safety, and for Ada and Pearl’s. Please.”

  A quick and forceful squeeze. I press my body closer into his, and touch my lips to his cheek.

  “You might be able to get your whole family into witness protection. I talked to Robert about getting your father transferred to a minimum-security facility while they negotiate his release. You can actually choose who you bring.”

  Another quick hard squeeze.

  “I want you to do it for me. I promise you, Jaylee, that I’ll never stop loving you. This is how I want you to prove your love to me.”

  He squeezes my hand incredibly hard. I lean into him, careful not to put my weight on top of him, and place my lips on top of his. He smells and tastes like antiseptic, but it’s such a relief to me that his lips are warm.

  “Do you remember when you met me?”

  He squeezes my hand so hard I yelp, and he quickly releases it. I think I see a phantom flutter of his eyelids, but maybe it’s just because I want it so badly.

  “God, you were the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. Do you remember what you said to me?”

  Another long, hard squeeze.

  “Jaylee, you’re the one—” and now I’m crying again. He’s holding onto my hand with a constant light pressure. It feels so right to hold him close to me.

  “Jaylee, you deserve better than this.”

  With a forceful yank, I wrestle my hand free from his grip. On the monitor, I see his heart rate accelerate, and the soft beeping speeds up again. I hate to confront him when he can’t defend himself, can’t say what he thinks. But it’s not safe for us to ever be together. So this is it. Whatever he can hear from me now is the last it will be.

  With a final kiss on his proud brow, I set us both free.

  Chapter 26

  One month later...

  What color do you wear to your lover’s funeral? Is it most honorable to wear black, the traditional color of mourning that everyone expects? But he was your lover, not your husband. You’ve got no right to mourn him. What about a veil and a hat to hide the tears, and a black shawl and gloves to make the skin disappear? What about a black cloak over your whole life to prevent you from being stupid, from ever letting anyone in again? What about white, for the purity of love, the inability to ever consummate it fully? What about red? The color of bloodshed—fitting for all that’s transpired.

  I decide to wear yellow—buttercup yellow, to be precise.

  Because of our friendship. The joy you gave me.

  It’s been a while since I’ve set foot in the Heights. I’ve longed to come back and just wander the streets. Connecticut is sound asleep; I could use some people-watching, some human interaction.

  Will going there trigger the memories, both the good ones and the bad? Yes. But wanting him is still a way of having him. It’s worse when I try to accept that he’s gone. The wanting keeps me close to him. He owns a part of me, and wanting him is something no one can take away from me.

  The music welcomes me first, as I step off the train and make my way through th
e crowded platform with hurried commuters. There’s no shortage of action aboveground as I emerge from the station. The corner is packed with its regular dealers. They’re like exotic birds, adorned as they are with their rhinestone-studded hats, and flashy jewelry and watches. Most of them wear diamonds bigger than I do. For some reason I still find the aesthetic charming. Old men are arguing under the bodega’s awning; they’re packed in tight between crates of root vegetables and green plantains.

  Emily and I have arranged to meet at Trinity Cemetery, a beautiful, historic site attached to the very same church Jaylee first brought me to. Sarah’s coming too; she’s just spent the week in Long Island helping her mother recover from hip surgery. It will just be the three of us to lay him to rest.

  I have an urge to go to Jaylee’s house. My body pulls me in that direction. It’s a compulsion that I may have to fight for the rest of my life: an instinctual drive to return to that comfort. To lose yourself in the arms of someone who can hold the weight of the world for you.

  No one gives me a second glance as I walk down Broadway. I’m anonymous. They’ve all moved on to another chapter, perhaps to another love story that ended more sweetly than ours. Some of the men remind me of Jaylee—the swagger, the confidence—but none, I know, would ever hold the intrigue, the magic—that singular, explosive spark. No one could love me like Jaylee did. Ever. And that hurts. But I hold my chin high; I’m joyful that I had him. Although we never had much—Jaylee and I spent more time breaking up than we ever spent together—I’m thankful for every second of it, for every touch, every look.

  But this is also Ideal’s stomping ground. I bring my thoughts to the present, and the reason we’re here today: my rough angel, Ideal, who saved me when I was in need. He accepted my self-destructiveness and embraced all of it. He never tried to stop me from being myself. Ideal kept up with me and held my hand to the finish line—or as long as he could.