Starting Fires

by Makenzie Smith

  Chapter 32

  The dark sky filled the window of the plane. Down below I could see the twinkling lights of distant cities. Getting to the airport and boarding felt like a blur. I wasn’t sure who drove me. Charles? Lucas? I had no idea. From the moment my phone call ended, I’d felt numb.

  And I felt numb through every layover. And every new plane. And the taxi ride. I felt numb as I walked into my father’s house. When I first heard the words, it had been a struggle not to cry. Now it wasn’t even an issue. I felt nothing. Juanita ran to me, wrapping me in her arms and crying into my shoulder. She may have said something sweet, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Before I did anything else, I wanted to see him. Juanita said that visiting hours had ended and they wouldn’t let me. Without speaking to her, I went to his office and grabbed one of his spare keys hidden in the desk. In the garage, I discovered that it belonged to a new Lexus. My old one was nowhere to be seen. Feeling nothing, I drove to the hospital.

  The nurse at the station wasn’t going to let me in. She said he was resting, and wouldn’t be able to speak to me, that I should wait until morning. I leaned across the counter and said through gritted teeth, “I’m his only family and I flew all the way from Louisiana to see him. I’m going in that room whether you let me or not.”

  She let me.

  His body looked worn, sleeping but not peacefully. The monitor to the left of him kept beeping. A cuff on his arm periodically expanded. Had he been taking care of himself? Had Juanita been taking care of him? I sat in a chair next to his bed and watched him sleep. There was so much that needed to be said.

  Don’t leave me all alone.

  After a good fifteen minutes of silently watching him, I stepped into the hallway. A doctor standing at the nurse’s station shifted his eyes to me as I pulled the door closed. “Miss Duncan?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Wade Jacob. Do you remember me?”

  He was young, but older than I was by at least few years, maybe more. His shaggy brown hair and green eyes weren’t recognizable. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s okay,” he laughed and walked over, outstretching his hand. “We met at my father’s quite a few years ago. I was only an intern then.”

  “Who is your father?” I asked, still shaking his hand.

  “Dr. Gavin Jacob.”

  Gavin Jacob. Maybe. “Did he have the house overlooking the lake?”

  “He did,” he smiled. “Listen,” he said, looking over my father’s chart. “He asked me to take a look at your dad. I believe someone named Juanita called him. Give me a minute and I’ll be able to tell you a little about his situation.”

  “Okay.” I sulked over to the nurse’s station and stared at a bright, happy poster on the wall. A pair of cartoon hands were full of suds, and comical, goofy looking germs were falling dramatically from them. Don’t let germs freeload off you! Wash your hands! it said.

  After what felt like only a moment, he came back to my side. “He really needs a bypass, Marlowe,” he said. “According to his records it was recommended months ago, but he refused.” There was a long pause as he reviewed another section. “I won’t lie to you,” he sighed. “He’s considered high risk. He doesn’t take his medications as recommended and ignores all of his cardiologist’s orders. If he doesn’t start listening to his physicians, there isn’t much they can do for him. But if he consents to the surgery, there’s hope. Otherwise…” He didn’t need to continue for me to know what would happen. Dr. Jacob cleared his throat. “It looks like they suggested he undergo the surgery as soon as possible, but he hasn’t agreed.”

  Why would he do that? “I understand,” I said. “I’ll talk to him when he’s more able.”

  “I’m on call this week. Not in this unit, but my colleague is. I’ll make sure he knows that Harold is a family friend, and to call me if anything happens.” He smiled and walked away.

  At home, everything was quiet. There was something about a big house being silent. It felt heavy, as if it was pressing down on you, pushing into your shoulders as soon as you crossed the threshold. I found Juanita sitting alone in the living room. A cup and saucer sat on an end table underneath a dim lamp. Around her body was a thick throw blanket, and she was staring off into space.

  I wanted to walk on by, but something pulled me to her. “Why didn’t either of you tell me about his health problems?”

  “I tried,” she whispered. “In September. That was after he had his first heart attack.”

  “What?” I gasped. “You kept that from me?”

  There were tears in her eyes as she shrugged. “He didn’t want me to tell you. It was only a mild one, and he didn’t want you worry.”

  “Juanita, this is my father. The only family I have left. I had a right to know.”

  “I was going to tell you,” she said, crying. “I was, but then you got so mad. I thought that your dad told you about us, but when you became so angry, I knew he hadn’t. When I confronted him, he said he didn’t want you to know how long we’d been together or about his health issues. I stayed silent, because it wasn’t really my place to share any of it.”

  Everything she’d said bothered me, but I didn’t want to argue with her about what I did or didn’t deserve to know. She was right, I guess. My father should have been the one to tell me, not her. “The doctor told me that he hasn’t been following their recommendations. Why?”

  “He’s a stubborn fool,” she said angrily. “Thinking that he was fine and healthy. That they didn’t know what they were talking about. I tried. I did try, but then he would just get angry at me.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t going to pretend that I suddenly felt some bond to this woman just because a man we both cared about was sick. “Goodnight, Juanita,” I said and walked out of the room.

  “Marlowe,” she called after me. I stopped and turned over my shoulder. “Tomorrow… do you think I can have that day to myself? I haven’t seen him since he went into the hospital. Just tomorrow. You can go visit him the next day.”

  Who did she think she was? “I’ll call my dad and see what he wants,” I said. “If he wants to see me, I’m going.”

  I didn’t wait for her to say more, and went to my bedroom.

  The next morning I called Mr. Yudeski and informed him of my father’s situation. He was less accommodating and gave me only a few days. I hoped that I would be ready to leave by then. When I called my father’s room, his voice sounded too soft and frail. Hearing it was depressing. After I talked with him about everything that Dr. Wade had told me, he said he was sorry for keeping it from me. With some chastising, he agreed to get the bypass. It was scheduled two days from now. I was grateful, but then he said Juanita had called him too.

  “Maybe it will be best if you stay home today, darling. I don’t want you to see me this way. Give me a day to get my strength.” Even though it hurt to know he didn’t want me there, I conceded. Juanita could have her day.

  With the house empty, I walked from room to room, trying to discover who my father had become in his later years. I didn’t even know him anymore. Only the basics. He worked often. Slept little. And enjoyed the finer things in life.

  The day was overcast, the sun hiding behind a blanket of clouds. I didn’t bother turning on any lights as I walked around, letting the soft, grey day creep in from the windows. Most rooms told me nothing about him. The decorations probably weren’t even his choice. Books on the shelves were popular editions that most people owned, but I doubt that he’d read.

  Nowhere, not in one room, was a picture of my mother or sister, not a memory or a keepsake. It was as if they never existed. Was this my father’s doing or Juanita’s?

  His office was the only place that held any part of him. Though, it felt sterile and sharp, no comfort to be found. I sat in his high back chair and twirled, eying the massive bookshelves that lined both walls. Why did he need so many books? Did he feel
like they made him look more cultured?

  On his desk was the last contract he’d been working on. The legal writing made my head hurt and I pushed it away. Determined to find out more about who he’d become, I started opening his desk drawers.

  The middle held nothing but pens and business cards. The right side was only old files and junk, things that really had no place anywhere. The left was even more files, a grooming kit, and templates for potential clients. Every file was neatly labeled. All but one. A piece of loose-leaf paper was sticking out of its top.

  I pulled it out and gasped at the familiar handwriting. It was my sister’s. The date told me that it was a letter she’d sent my parents during her freshman summer abroad.

  Mom and Dad, France is beautiful. I’m still struggling with the language, but luckily, many people in the city speak English. You’d love it here. Sometimes I go to the park to finish homework and can see the Eiffel Tower! Can you believe that?

  I grabbed the folder and put it onto the desk. Inside it I found more letters, some from my sister, some even from me, small things from school throughout the years, pictures of my mother, pictures of my sister, pictures of our entire family.

  Carefully, I held every item, reviewing it, analyzing it, trying to remember what it had felt like to have them alive. Had my father done the same thing? On nights when he felt the loneliness, the emptiness, the great void they’d left, did he hold the pictures in his hands and grasp for the memories, hoping that maybe, for just one second, he could give life back to them?

  I stared at a picture of us standing in front of a cabin, and a tear slid down my cheek. It was from a vacation we’d taken just before I started high school. My father was wearing blue wind shorts that went too high on his thighs and socks up to his calves. My mother’s hair was in a messy ponytail, and her face was tilted back on a laugh. My sister and I were each hugging a parent—her arms were around my father and mine around my mom.

  I wiped the tear away as I placed the picture down. The only thing I hadn’t touched was a folded up letter. It was worn and obviously read many times. With care, I brought the edges back.

  Caroline, the first word said. Seeing her name, my mother’s beautiful name made my heart seize. The crisp script was clearly in my father’s hand. At first, I considered that maybe I shouldn’t be reading it, but couldn’t stop myself.

  Caroline, I miss you. God, do I miss you. You’ve been dead for two years, but I can’t let it go. We were supposed to die old and happy. Maybe in a beach house overlooking the ocean or a garden in Tuscany. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you. Sometimes I wonder, Would she have been able to do it? I know that you were stronger. Wiser. And I realize that somehow you would have found a way. But I can’t. I’m failing. Our daughter sees it, and I feel so ashamed that she has to watch me crumbling, barely able to glance at her. She has your eyes. Your same beautiful eyes. Every time I look at her, I see you. And I’m pushing her away. But I don’t know what to do. She needs you now. So many things in her life are about to change, and I haven’t the slightest idea how to help her.

  I love you still, Caroline. It’s never left me. Not one ounce of it. Some days I’m happy that I still carry it with me. It makes me feel connected to you. But others I just wish that I could move on and let the pain go. On the bad days, I find myself listening for you in the other room, trying to hear you rustle through your closet or making the bed. Sometimes I nearly can, but then it’s gone. I’ve been drinking too much. I hide it from Marlowe and take trips to my parents’ summer home when I need to be alone. How are we supposed to go on when our heart is shattered? Not just broken. Shattered. It seems impossible. I don’t think I can do it Caroline. I truly don’t think I can.

  Old water stains had settled near the bottom of the page, and I wondered if they were his tears. I folded the letter and I sat back in his chair, staring at the folder. I was more confused now than I’d been before. Juanita had told me how long they’d been together. It was before my mother had passed. How could he have been with her if the love he felt for my mother was still so prominent? He talked about dying old and happy with her, but he’d already soiled their marriage by having an affair. I put the folder away before Juanita came home to find me with it.

  This time, I was the one sitting alone, staring off into space when she came in. Her heels clicked and clacked across the floor as she made her way into the formal sitting room. “He’s doing better,” she smiled. “And I convinced him to have the bypass. I think he’ll pull through.”

  Funny, I thought I convinced him this morning. “That’s good, Juanita,” I said, my voice sounding thick, having not used it all day.

  “Some friends of mine are coming by tonight,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll just be up in my room.” So I wouldn’t feel quite so alone, I turned on the television as I curled onto my bed.

  Hours later, I heard a knock at my door. “Yes,” I called.

  “You have a phone call,” Juanita said. “On the house line.”

  I realized that my cell was probably dead. Not once had I even thought about charging it. I opened the door and heard the distant laughing of her guests. “Thank you,” I said, taking the phone from her. Thinking that it was one of my friends calling to check on me, I put it to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” I heard, and my brow furrowed. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “I’m sorry, who’s this?”

  “It’s Mark,” he said, sounding a little offended.

  Not at all the person I expected. How did he even know I was here? “Um. Hey. What’s up?”

  “I heard about your dad.”

  “How?”

  “Juanita’s status update. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  It was completely strange that he and Juanita were social media friends, and made absolutely no sense at all. They weren’t friends in real life. Why would they be on the internet? “No. Everything is fine. But thanks for checking. How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I didn’t, but thought it was worth a shot.”

  “Okay, well I need to go,” I said, not wanting to talk to him longer than I needed to.

  “Wait,” he said. “Can I just…” he sighed long and hard. “I’m sorry for everything Marlowe. I know how bad I messed up. You were right.”

  Him messing up had turned out to be a good thing for me. Granted, I still carried all of the insecurities and doubts, but I would never have moved. I would have never met Wally, or Nicole, Lacey, Ian. Or especially Lucas. “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s all turned out for the best, I think.”

  “Still, I hope you can forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but I hope that one day you can. And I hope your dad recovers.”

  “I can forgive you,” I said. “What’s done is done. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Alright. Bye then, I guess.”

  “Goodbye, Mark.”

  After I hung up, I tried to decide if I’d forgiven him or not. I guess I had. As much as I could. I didn’t want to be friends, but I didn’t want to hold on to the anger anymore.

  That night when I fell asleep my shoulders felt a little lighter.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked my dad, because that was what you were supposed to ask someone who was sick and in the hospital.

  “I feel fine,” he said. “Absolutely fine.”

  If I was being honest, he did look better. Still a little pale and his lips were dry, but otherwise better. “Your bypass is tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

  “No,” he said. “Why would I be nervous? The doctors here are excellent. It will all go well, you’ll see.”

  Was he trying to convince himself or me? “I’m sure you’re right.” I wanted to ask him so many things. What had happened between him and my mother? Did he truly love her as much as his letter had claimed? But I didn’t. I didn’t ask him anything. I wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share with me, and ma
ybe it would be better to discuss it after he’d recuperated.

  Even though we barely spoke, I didn’t leave the hospital until the nurses made me. Seeing him in that bed, knowing that inside his heart was failing made his mortality something real, not an idea at the edge of my mind that I never allowed myself to contemplate.

  I was due back at work the next day, but knew that I wasn’t leaving. My father’s chest was going to be open as he laid on operating table. No way would I be hundreds of miles away. Some things were more important than keeping a job. Mr. Yudeski informed me that if I wasn’t at work on Monday, I needed to find other employment. This was my fault. If I hadn’t acted like a child and fled after Lucas had hurt me, then this wouldn’t be such an issue.

  His bypass came and went. After spending 24 hours in the Cardiac Care unit, he was moved to the regular floor. The doctors assured us that he was healing well, and the surgery was a success. He’d be home within a week.

  In his hospital room, Juanita sat next to him on the bed, holding his hand and monopolizing all of his attention. It was getting late. I could probably go home. Now that I knew he was okay, I should book a flight back to Louisiana. “I’m going to head out,” I told him.

  He pulled away from Juanita and stretched his arm out to me. “Okay, darling,” he said. I went into his arms and accepted the hug he gave me. It had been so long since I’d received one that felt this real. His arms were tight and loving, holding me for longer than usual. “I love you,” he said softly. Hearing those words nearly made me cry.

  But I didn’t. I held him a little tighter, and said, “I love you, too.” Maybe I could come back in the morning and have some time without Juanita. Tomorrow, I told myself and gave him a squeeze.

  In my room at my father’s house, I was packing my bags. The only flight available would be tomorrow afternoon, and I planned to visit him one more time before I left. As far as I knew, Juanita had also returned. Though, where she disappeared to, I wasn’t sure.

  The house had been quiet all evening, making the shrill, piercing sound of the telephone hard to miss. I assumed Juanita would answer it, and didn’t stop packing. As the ringing continued, I realized that she must be unavailable, and raced down the stairs, trying to reach it in time.