by L. Duarte
I’m heartbroken. I’m shattered. My body feels more decayed than the underground habitants of this cemetery. However, I’ll not condemn Mel to a guilt-ridden life. I love her too much. She deserves better.
“Hey, Tim, I’m Tarry. This might feel weird to you, considering that you were married to Mel and all, but trust me, it is weirder for me to be talking to a dead dude.” I pause, but there is no answer. I proceed. “I love Mel to the point of madness. But shit has happened and now I’ve lost her. The truth is I can’t live without her. I can survive with the hope of getting her back, but beyond that, I have no reason to go on. I don’t know what to do, man. If you’re in heaven as Mel says you’re, I hope you can hear me, and put in a good word or two on my behalf.”
I wait for a moment. No response. What am I expecting—trumpets, angels, or a personification of Tim?
The limo arrives. I turn to the grave and make my last appeal. “If you help me, I promise to take good care of her and I promise to raise Ella as if she was my own flesh and blood.” I know I sound desperate. But I am. “Please.”
Knowing silence will follow my plea I turn and leave. I go to my second stop.
SITTING IN THE living room across from Dan, I tap my fingers on my thigh. I just confessed to him about my relationship with Mel, my intentions with her, the news about the baby, and, of course, Mel’s reaction. Now a dead silence follows. Shit, silence follows me everywhere.
“Youth is fascinating,” Dan finally says. Whatever he means by that, I’m about to find out. That’s how Dan is. There is always a lesson, a deeper meaning to everything. Though the funny thing is that most times, okay, all the time, he is correct.
“When we are young, we think the world revolves around our lives. And in a way it does. A giant flaw of youth is to underestimate older generations, thinking you get away with lies and deceits.” He pauses. There is no anger in his eyes. But they’re not friendly either.
“From the first time I saw you looking at each other, I saw the zing. Mel was married and in love, but nevertheless there was a connection. Then fate reunited you. Why do you think I returned early from Colombia, Tarry? I heard you were coming, that you needed of therapy, and I heard Mel was going to be interacting with you.” He is serious. The ever-present grin is absent. “That Sunday when we returned from the hike, I saw the way you looked at Mel, son.”
“You’re saying you knew we were together?”
“Of course I knew, son. Mel is my little girl. No one gets near her if I don’t approve of him first.”
“But you never said anything, you never… Wait, you’re saying you approve of me?”
“No.”
“I’m confused.”
“No need for confusion, son, it is very simple. You’re a deeply troubled young man and you have a disturbing history with women. When you came to us, I feared you were beyond repair. And though I hoped you could pick yourself up and move on, you are probably one of the last men on earth I would want for Mel.”
“Why did you never say anything then?”
“First, because of the way you looked at her. Oh, son, years make the joints hurt, the bones ache, and the skin wither. But years also give us a sharper vision. I saw in your eyes, before you and Mel knew it, that you two were deeply connected. And, son, I’m wise enough to know nothing gets in the way of true love.”
“Will you help me then?” I ask.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t need me too.”
“I do.”
“If you do, then you are unworthy of my daughter.”
“I never understand you, Dan. You’re so confusing.” I finally have the courage to say.
“Today, I’m not your counselor, Tarry. I’m the father of the girl you’re sleeping with. My grace toward you, let’s say, is somewhat limited.”
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you, Dan.”
“I hope you didn’t, son. Though I don’t know details of what happen prior to the day you relapsed—and please spare me—I do know that’s when you became intimate.” He clears his throat and pauses. “Did I approve of it? No. Did I feel betrayed by you? Yes. But see, son, with age comes self-control, maturity, and wisdom. I believe you are at a crossroad of your life. I believe I did a decent job of counseling you. But, above all, I believe the good inside you will guide you to make the right choices. You have to weather this storm in your life. Count on my prayers. But that’s the extent of my help, son. The rest is up to you.”
“There is nothing I want more than to get Mel back, Dan. I love her. I don’t want to risk losing her.”
“Then, fight, son. Show her, you’re worthy of her. Mel is a strong woman, she will not settle for less than the potential that is lying dormant inside you.”
“I might well need a miracle to convince Mel to get back to me. She thinks I should be with my child.”
“Mel has a quality that is also a flaw. She is self-righteous. She’s been like this since childhood. She always followed rules, obeyed us, and colored within the lines.”
“I won’t be with Nola, Dan. Do you understand that? I can still be a good father, if this child proves to be mine. What I can’t be is a father without Mel. I fucking love her too much, Dan, too much.” I finally succumb to unbidden tears.
“Mel lost Tim five years ago, Tarry. Not once has she glanced at another man. Do you think with you alive, she’ll ever be with someone else? In a way, son, if you don’t get Mel back, you’ve condemned her to a very lonely existence.”
“Do you think she is right? That I should be with Nola, when I love her?”
“Oh, Tarry. How I wish to give you a straight answer. But life is not black-and-white. There is a rainbow in between. I’ll tell you, don’t push it with Mel. Thanks to you, she just began healing from Tim’s death. Now you’ve devastated her life. You placed her in a dilemma that deals with the essence of what she considers right and wrong.”
“Involuntarily, Tarry, you opened a new wound in her soul. Some wounds heal fast, some take a long time, but healing is always a layered process. You both need individual healing, so you can be happy together. You need to find your worth for who you are before you can forge a future for the two of you. If you try a shortcut, you both will get burned.”
I hate Dan’s logic, but it gives me a measure of relief. “God, Dan, won’t you help me?”
“I can’t, Tarry. You alone, are responsible for your stars. Your parents did you wrong. Life did you wrong. It’s about damn time you do it right.”
“I don’t know how, Dan.”
“Oh, son. You underestimate yourself. You came here to take the heat instead of Mel. And you’re asking me for help. You’re doing it, Tarry. You go on. Prove to Mel that you’re worthy of her. Prove to her that you’re the man to lead her. Fix yourself and your life. Do the possible and expect God to do the impossible. Have a little faith along the way. Good things happen to those who believe it.”
With my elbows on my knees, I hold my head between my hands. Silence tells me Dan’s finished talking.
I get up. Dan gets up. We shake hands. “I won’t disappoint the faith you put in me, Dan.”
“I’m sure you won’t, son.”
Without another word, I leave.
Just one more stop and I’m gone.
I KNOCK AT the door. While I wait for Pop, I think of the past week since Tarry left. I talked to Dad and he surprised me when he said Tarry had already spoken to him. I was relieved, but mostly I felt proud of Tarry. It warmed my heart.
“Hey, Pop,” I say when he opens the door.
“Oh, look what the February bitter cold blew in! A fresh breath of air for this old man.”
I hug him tight. Jeez, Pop is so frail inside my embrace. I feel guilty for neglecting him during the past few months. I barely have visited him during my involvement with Tarry. Though I made sure I bought and delivered his weekly groceries, my visits have been fast and otherwise scarce. I guess embarras
sment played a role in my avoidance. Each time Pop looked at me, it felt as if Tim knew I was infatuated with Tarry. Irrational maybe, but that’s how I felt.
“Mel, come in, dear. Sorry to keep you waiting in the cold.” I hand him a couple of grocery bags, gather the rest from the ground, and follow his slow steps. Pop is legally blind and can only see shadows. Diabetes is a hateful disease. It steals toes, vision, and kidneys. Pop endures dialysis three times a week.
“Have a seat, dear, I’ll make a good pot of that Colombian coffee you got me last week.”
“Please allow me, Pop.” Since I know this kitchen as if it were my own, I put on a pot of coffee to brew. I start putting the groceries away.
With a grin, Pop says from his chair. “Same old Mel, eager to please, eager to give, eager to help. You’re my angel.”
Way to increase my guilt for not coming over, Pop.
“Well, the good part about you being blind is you don’t have to see my embarrassment. You’re still a flirt. No wonder Tim was so charming. He took after you.” I regret mentioning Tim. Pop avoids talking about his son. I understand, but it always slips out. “Speaking of angels, I bought you the sugar-free angel cake you like.”
“Where is my rascal?” he asks.
“Oh, she is at school. I wanted to talk to you privately.” I pour coffee, cut a slice of cake, hand it to Pop, and sit at the table across from him.
“How are the kids doing in school? Good?” I ask.
“They always do. But for the past week they’ve been happy campers.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“That young fella that you’ve been going out with, Tarry, he said his name was. He came over.”
“What?” Coffee spurts from my nose and mouth.
“Christ, Mel. Calm down. I knew you weren’t going to stay alone for the rest of your life. It wouldn’t be what Tim wanted for you.”
Wondering how he found out where Pop lives, I ask. “Why was he here?”
“He asked me not to tell you.” He pauses. “But I told him that if you asked, which I knew you would, I would say the truth.”
“What did he want, Pop?”
“To buy the lake shack.”
“What?”
“He wanted to buy the shack.”
“I heard you, Pop. Please explain what’s going on.”
“I sold him the shack.” He takes a generous bite of the cake.
“You what?”
“I sold him the shack.”
“So you’ve said, but why?”
“Well, for a while now, I haven’t paid property tax. The town was going to eventually take that land away,” he says with a shrug and takes another big bite of the cake.
“And…” I prompt him.
“Tarry bought the land and paid the back taxes.”
“He did what?”
“He paid the back taxes.”
“Pop!”
“He also set up a trust fund for each of the kids.” He eats the last bite of his cake. “God, I love you, Mel. This cake is so good,” he says and sips from his coffee. “That land was worth some good change. So, Mel, I’m sitting on a small fortune.” He grins. “You won’t need to worry about us anymore.”
“Pop, why did you never tell me anything about the taxes?”
“Why? To put an additional burden on you, Mel? I knew you had to work overtime to support the kids and me.”
“But you loved the lake shack.”
“I wanted to pass it to my kids, but they’re gone. Besides, it’s still in the family.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, Tarry’s attorney took me to sign the papers. The lake shack is now Ella’s.”
“What?”
“God, Mel. How many times are you going to say ‘what?’”
“Pop, please explain.”
“Well, your Don Juan convinced me to sell him the land. I agreed, after all, I need the money. The contract stipulates that he will be responsible to pay all the taxes, but while I’m alive, I’m responsible for the property. In other words, only when I kick the bucket will it officially be Ella’s.”
“Why did you accept it?” If there is someone more full of pride than me, it’s Pop.
He sighs, pauses for a while. “I’m old and tired Mel. The kids are still young. This disease is chewing me up, one bite at a time. God knows how long I’ll be around. I have my pride, but I can distinguish charity from a blessing. That young man loves you, Mel, maybe as much as my Tim loved you.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me first, Pop?”
“Because I know you wouldn’t let me do it. Young Tarry told me how much you did for him. He said he wanted to give it back somehow.” He smiles.
I look at Pop’s face. His eyes, which were once clear blue, have a glazed layer of white. He’s right. Time passes and values change. There is wisdom in molding to the changes.
“Do the kids know? Are they okay with it?”
“Mel, they don’t have to wear Salvation Army clothes anymore—not that there’s anything wrong with that. They can go to any university of their choice and they have cell phones. How do you think they’re doing?”
“How does the trust fund work?” I ask, drinking from the cold coffee.
“They’ll receive a specific amount of money monthly and college tuition until the day they graduate from college. For now, I’m the one to control the money. Once they are eighteen, the attorney will deal directly with them. Of course they’re aware of stipulations such as having to maintain a high average grade while attending college.”
“I don’t know what to think or say.”
“Take it as it is a blessing,” he tells me. “And please bring my little rascal to see me; I haven’t seen her in almost a week.”
I OPEN MY eyes. It is five thirty and I have a half hour to think about my life. It’s been a hundred and forty-two days since Tarry left.
I look at the shiny new picture frame at my nightstand. It has the image of Tarry with a buzz cut and a short beard, standing by street vendor’s flower cart. The cart spills chamomiles.
I get out the envelope he sent with the picture. The pressed and dry chamomile petals still carry their delicious scent.
I miss Tarry so much it hurts my bones.
A postcard attached to the picture reads:
Hey, Mel, Today was a bad day. I missed you so much that nothing could make me feel better. I took the train, and traveled to Amsterdam. I told myself that all I wanted to do was to get away. But the truth is, I was surrendering to the cravings and I knew just where to go. The best joint place. (It’s legal to smoke pot here.) Well, when I turned the corner near one of the bars where I used to get high, the chamomile scent you wear hit me. It was a high in itself. For a moment, I felt your presence so strong that I couldn’t go into oblivion and lose it. I took a picture so you can see. They are almost as beautiful as you are.
Guess what? The sales lady told me there is a field of chamomile nearby. I might check it out later.
With all my love,
T.
Tarry had sent me the envelope three months ago. A day later, I received a small bouquet of chamomiles. Attached was a note. I needed a high, today. Love, T. Since then, I frequently receive flowers at home or at work. Apparently, each time he craves, he sends me a bouquet of chamomiles. One night I got a bouquet at midnight. The delivery guy held the flowers as if holding a bomb. Before he could apologize, I said, “That’s okay, you can come anytime he calls.”
Brian, the young deliveryman, and I are now on a first-name basis. Some days, I get multiple bouquets. “You know he spends a fortune on this right? We have a special stock in the fridge just for you. These flowers aren’t easy to find at certain times of the year, you know,” Brian told me once. I just smiled back at him. My heart contracted and hurt it a little more.
Antoine Francis was born in London, a week ago. According to Portia, Nola refused to stay in the castle. She missed the city lights and life.
Tarry e-mailed me a picture of him holding the baby. He is so beautiful. I cried the night away. First, because of the confirmation that the baby is indeed Tarry’s—secretly, I had hoped the baby wouldn’t be his. Second, because the jealousy and envy grinding away at my heart is the ugliest feeling I’ve ever experienced. Yeah, I know I’m being selfish. I admit to it, and in my defense, I do feel awful for feeling this way.
Each day without Tarry is a day I live only half. As I’m good at it, I put on my happy face and pretend everything is all right. However, I’m back to my daily half hour of depression.
STROLLING DOWN A quiet Main Street, I admire the tulips and daffodils holding hands around the gazebo. They spread out on the green, smile under the breeze, and giggle under the kiss of hummingbirds. The spring flowers proudly create an intricate tapestry of colors.
Tarry and Antoine are visiting Portia for the weekend, so I came to the lake shack so I wouldn’t have to face Tarry. Since the desire to go home and see Tarry was on the verge of winning my internal battle, I decided to distract myself by walking through the streets of Green Hill. I lick my strawberry-flavored ice cream. Memories. My life is filled with memories.
Browsing pictures of Tarry and Antoine, I barely noticed winter following its course. I miss Tarry more than I need air.
Ella calls Tarry frequently. But I refuse to speak to him. I can’t bear to hear his voice. The delivery of chamomiles has become less frequent, almost nonexistent. I assume Tarry’s craving is diminishing as well. He continues to send pictures of him with Antoine. I saved the most recent and my favorite to my home screen. Father and son are wearing matching beanies that Portia knitted. Seeing the pictures he continues to send me is the only contact I have with him.