“He paid the highest price, Jake!” Ray’s fist crashed down like a gavel among the letters.
Jake leaned into the table once again, his head back in his good hand as his icy gaze bore into his father. “That was no mistake, Dad. Robbie knew exactly what he was doing that day in Afghanistan. He took a calculated risk in which the odds were totally against him and he lost outright. But he knew exactly what he was doing.”
Silence settled between them then. It fell like a silken scarf picked up on the wind that drifts to earth with the calming breeze.
“Let me tell you something,” Jake continued as the late afternoon sun found its way through the trees. “I don’t know what it was like when you did your tour of duty. I don’t know what sort of fear you faced, what sort of courage you had, what stupid acts of bravery you performed. But Iraq these days can’t be much different from serving in Afghanistan…and you’re numb there. You run on a sort of auto-pilot. You make sure all that training you had pays off, that you just know damn well what you’re doing out there. You try to shut out fear, you count on your buddies to cover your back and you cover theirs, you look forward to the next bit of news from home, and you get on with your life and take each day as it comes. And when that split-second happens, that…that incident in which you have no time to think, that’s when your real character comes out, that’s when everything you are is laid bare on the slab. So, if you want to know who Robbie was, that’s who he was, Dad. Everything he was, every last bit of Robert Andrew Ryder, was distilled down to that moment. That one moment said everything about Robbie you’d ever need to know.”
Ray stood immobile and, not for the first time, his eyes burned with unshed tears for his lost son. The merest shake of his head was all the acknowledgement he could give Jake, but he knew his son would comprehend his acceptance of those words. He could see the truth of what Jake had said.
His son slid back from the table as Mabel clumped out of his room with the silenced vacuum and grumbled down the hall at them. “Mr. Ray? You gonna get outta there or you still taking a trip down mem’ry lane?”
His gaze met Jake’s as he, too, rose to his feet and shuffled the letters back into a pile. “You can come on in now, Mabel. I think I’m done in here for now, thanks.” He removed his glasses and tapped them into his shirt pocket. “If there’s anything you ever want to tell me, Jake…” He let his statement hang there.
Jake’s mouth spread into a sly smile as he scratched his head in a semblance of thinking. “You know, Dad.” He met his father’s glance. “I may be livin’ at home now and working here, but outside of that, I sorta feel the rest of my life might be headin’ into the category of ‘none of your dang business.’”
Ray shook his head in compliance. Then his own mischievous smile curved his lips. “Paige?”
“Like I said, none of your dang business.”
****
Some of the photos in the older albums curled at the edges, their glue or corners gone, nothing much to hold them, while their occupants stared up at Carrie accusingly. You haven’t cared for us, they shouted. You left us here unseen, untended. Those Kodak moments were fading fast, both from her memory as well as the physical page, yet they still made a storyboard for her life and that of Paige.
Her daughter’s baby pictures, the smiling, joyous parents, snapshots displaying the typical young American family, these were what took up the first album. Had she ever been that young? That happy? She remembered how David had proposed to her, during a moonlit walk on the beach near his parents’ Southampton home, when, in the stillness of a late evening, he had suddenly got on bended knee and produced the ring. Had there ever been any doubt in her mind? Had she ever had second thoughts prior to the ‘Big Day?’ And what was it she had missed, obscured about him, about his character, in her rush to tie the knot? Aged just twenty-three, had she known what she was doing? Had she known anything? It must have been there, the fault line; he could not have changed so in just three years.
She closed the album carefully, so the loose photos would not fall out, and shoved it back on her shelf. The next one was their last year. Somewhere along the line, somehow, the photos showed a subtle change. Still young, Paige still happy, she and David began to look like separate beings, people thrown together for a momentary shot. She could see it in the body language, the way she and David drew away from each other, the way he no longer leaned in, the way her smile was more tentative as if it would fade in the very next instant. Nowhere did she look at him or David at her. And toward the end of the album, poor Paige appeared to understand what was happening in her life, as if she had made a conscious decision to ‘go it alone.’ Aged just three, she stood as if she were ready to take on the world, a scowl on her face and her little hands in fists.
For a moment, outside her window, shadows played against the deceptive sunshine in Central Park. Below, in the distance, people rushed against the cold, hats yanked down and gloves protecting against the late-November frost. She lifted another album down, one from Paige’s boarding school days, and gasped at the changes she saw. It wasn’t simply the styles and fashions so radically altered from those horrid ’80s trends, it was how she had altered. She had aged. While her daughter had blossomed into a young woman, had grown up, she had worn out. Her face had become lean, her body thinner—maybe more fashionably so but, still—her workaholic life had become evident in every line of her face. How had time passed so quickly? How had she let it slip away so fast? When did she stop paying attention to the passing days, months, years? How had she let herself get from that proposal on the beach, standing there in her red chiffon dress with that diamond on her hand and David looking for all the world as if he had just conquered the universe, to this moment, alone in an apartment, no man in her life and nothing more to look forward to each day than the next white page?
When the phone rang, it was like a shot, a moment in which Carrie’s life passed before her like a speeded up reel until the call’s persistence got her to move and grab the phone.
“What took you so long?” Paige’s voice—pissed off, in the vernacular—came at her.
Carrie let out a reluctant sigh of her own impatience. “I was busy, Paige. I had to finish something.” She lied for no particular reason except to avoid her daughter’s mocking of her reviewing photos and taking stock of her life.
“Well, you wanted me to call and let you know we’d got in all right so here I am. We’ve arrived and everything is okay.”
“What’s the weather like?”
“Cool. Fine. Dry.” She stopped. “Mother, if you want a weather forecast go online. I—”
“Sorry to waste your time, Paige.” There was a sullen stop. She hesitated. “You going to see Jake?” she asked at last.
Her daughter’s voice came more upbeat. “I hope. Though, he doesn’t know I’m here as yet. He thinks he talked me out of leaving you alone.” The statement with all its implications was left to hang there. “You’ll be all right, you know. You’ll have a wonderful time up in the Berkshires.”
“I’m not sure yet if I’m going to Diana’s. She’s planning a whole shindig, a party on the Saturday. I’m not sure I’m in the mood for such a thing.”
“Please go,” insisted Paige. “Go or phone Ray. One or the other. But stop moping around as if the greatest wrong in the world has been committed against you and you’ll never live again. Really. It was your decision to leave Texas, and it can be your decision to pick up the phone.”
****
Jake whistled as he shouldered open the door to the OST café and searched around for Paige. Of course, she would be sitting in the next room, hidden away on her own. As he sauntered toward her, she glanced up from her book and a smile that threatened to become a laugh opened up her face into a glow he didn’t remember. She looked even more beautiful, if that were possible—healthier, happier—and he guessed that made two of them.
He stood over her for a moment without saying a thing before he bent to ki
ss her cheek. An expensive perfume, like summer wildflowers, just managed to briefly blanket the fries and burger odor of the restaurant. And suddenly he was happy, just so happy—relieved might have been a better word—he couldn’t stop smiling as he creased himself into the chair opposite, gripping the table with his left hand.
“You’re smiling like an idiot.” Paige closed the book and a small dent appeared between her brows. “That’s pretty amazing. And there’s not even a vague possibility of sex, Jake. What gives?”
“Oh, I’m just real pleased to see you, Paige. Guess I never thought you’d ever be back in Texas again.” He played with the corner of the greasy menu while his bandaged hand tapped his hat with a small adjustment.
“You didn’t want me to come.”
“That’s not true. That’s not true at all. I just thought you shouldn’t be leaving your mama and all.” It was so good to see her, to just look at her. Even if she was her usual snappy self.
“Are you going to take off that hat?” she queried suddenly, her head tilting with the question.
Jake leaned forward and rested his chin in his good hand, smiling steadily as his gaze continued to devour her. “Texans don’t remove their Stetsons for a mere lunch, Paige.” He kept back a laugh. Whatever the truth, he wasn’t going to be bullied by her.
She flipped open her menu, her gaze meeting his over the top before she closed it again and a stream of giggles issued forth like bubbles from a child’s blower. “It’s good to see you, Jake. How’ve you been?”
“You know how I’ve been, Paige. You call me ’bout every other day.”
“I do? Well. I mean, my goodness, you almost got killed by that bastard—the evil Ty as my mother and I called him.”
“‘The evil Ty,’ huh? That’s a pretty good name for that shit.”
“Has he been sentenced yet?”
“No. We haven’t got to court yet. I have to testify, which will be no fun, and my lawyer’s still working on a deal.”
“But you’re a free man.”
“I’m a free man,” he repeated. “Freer than I’ve been for a long time.”
Paige nodded in agreement as the waitress came over to take their order.
He played with his napkin as if he would make an origami figure of it while the girl gathered up the menus and left. “Thought you wanted me to meet your friend. Thought you had me married off to this gal.”
“I did. I do. But she was busy with family visiting, and after the Thanksgiving meal yesterday, I’d had enough of backslapping and “glad to meet y’alls,” not to mention endless questions about my mother. Texans are such an outgoing bunch. We’re a bit more reserved up north.”
Jake snorted his agreement. “And is that a good thing or a bad, do you think?”
In answer, she gave him a mysterious smile, a smile he couldn’t read. He wished something inside her had melted, that she could feel it go, could feel the core of white hot anger she’d carried around since Steven’s death dissolve and slip away like water down a drain. But it was probably wishful thinking on his part. For a moment, she didn’t speak as his gaze continued to question her, continued to take her in, devour her.
And then, with a breath, as if she had been a doll that had been wound up, she assured him, “Neither. Just different. But I guess I’m used to the more reserved.”
The meal came, and as he slathered his burger in hot sauce and salt and she picked at her salad and stole an occasional fry from his plate, he also stole glances at her. He could tell she was receding into her own separate thoughts before venturing out to rake him over as he memorized her features, her face, for a later date. It was like reeling in a fish—letting out the line, then winding it in slowly.
“We can go riding after lunch,” he offered. “I have friends with a ranch nearby.”
“No. It’s fine. I have to get back. It’s a bit of a drive, and I said I’d be back for dinner. Maybe a walk round town. It’s an interesting place, Bandera. I saw this saloon with bras hanging on the doors…”
“The 11th Street Cowboy Bar.”
“Is that it? Very un-PC. Do girls actually go there?”
His gaze met hers once more, and he wanted her. He wanted her so badly the room swam around them for a moment. “Girls actually go there,” he said quietly. His hand held the next bite poised above the plate, his gaze fixed on her. If he leaned across to kiss her, her mouth would be there waiting for him, would be sweet to his taste, her tongue would find its way in, she would respond and her hand would touch his face with a gentleness he needed. But instead, he slowly put the food back on his plate and reached across for her, found her hand and played with it like an unknown, as if he were blindfolded and had to figure out exactly what it was he held.
“Jake…” She slipped her hand out of his.
“I know—you’re still in love with Steven. And I’m just a good ol’ boy from Texas and not your style anyway.”
“That isn’t it. That isn’t it at all. But Steven is…was…” She played with her food for a moment as a bit of salad leaf fell from her fork. “I’m so glad you’re rid of that burden now, Jake. All that misery you were carrying around with you, about your father not knowing about Robbie and all, and about the stupid things you did to keep him from knowing, and about the drugs. Just everything. You must feel great relief—”
“Great relief,” he repeated.
She hesitated as she swallowed a mouthful of salad and took a sip of her diet Coke. “But it doesn’t mean I’m about to—”
“I know what it doesn’t mean, Paige. I know you’re not going to fall in love with me jus’ ’cause everything else in my life seems to be sorting itself out. I know all that.” He took a bite out of his burger. He chewed for a while and, after he had swallowed, said, “All it means is, I’m looking forward now, I’m not looking back. I’m not looking to Robbie or to run my life in trying to cover up things or please my dad or anything else like that. I know all that. Iraq is behind me. I’ve done my service and pleased my dad. I’m my own man now. And forever.” He took another bite and picked at some fries. “We prob’ly have nothing in common, you know. I know that as well as you. We hardly know each other, truth be told. But I think…there’s something there. I can’t put my finger on it. And maybe it’s my imagination—just because I like to look at you. Just because you are so different. And smart. And sassy. Unpredictable like. Or maybe it’s the same thing my dad sees in your mom. Have. No. Idea. But there’s something between us that’s real. And good. Real good.” He smiled at her as he took another bite of his burger, a splotch of sauce oozing out just below his lips.
Paige reached across and wiped it away with a finger. And smiled.
****
Carrie rather liked the way the Shawcrosses called their home ‘a farm,’ although it was hardly a farm in the true sense of the word. Yes, there was a barn and, yes, they had horses, but that was about as far as the similarities went. She liked being there; it was quiet country—rolling hills and babbling streams with beautiful prospects from every window—and it reminded her of Hill Country, Texas.
The people invited over tonight, however, were anything but Hill Country folk. Diana’s local friends were other displaced New Yorkers, and these were supplemented by those who drove up from the city or such outposts as Greenwich, plus houseguests like herself who filled the spare rooms. The hum of conversation and the chink of glasses found its way into her awareness as she leaned over her dressing table for a slight adjustment of her necklace. She flipped open her laptop for a quick catch-up on emails before heading downstairs. And that is when she saw the note.
Dear Carrie,
I guess that sounds kind of formal but then if I just put ‘Carrie’ it would sound like I was mad at you or something and I’m not. Then again, if I put ‘Carrie dear’ you might take offense, probably being still mad at me, so… What the heck. Look. I’m writing to let you know how things are at the moment because I thought you should know, would want t
o know. I’m not trying to inch my way back into your life. Don’t think I could, though the good Lord knows I want to. But more on that later.
So. I’m writing to let you know I got the whole story from Jake in the end and it’s thanks to you. And I mean that. Thank you. Don’t know why my own son felt he couldn’t tell me himself, but he didn’t feel he could tell me all that business about Robbie and Ty and the rest of it so, as painful as it was at the time to hear those things from you, I appreciate knowing and appreciate the fact it led to a burden being lifted from Jake he needn’t have carried. Of course, he’s in a right mess now with the police but we’re sorting that out and, hopefully, it’ll all come right in the end. I doubt he’ll have to go to prison. Seems more like a fine and suspended sentence. So, thank you for telling me. And I do mean that. Even though I sort of guess your intentions weren’t particularly friendly at the time.
As for what I said to you, well, I had no right and I didn’t mean the half of it. Actually, I didn’t mean any of it. Fact is, I get angry and any old thing can come out of my mouth. I just didn’t see—at the time—how one white lie about the divorce could’ve done so much damage. Maybe I was wrong to think that and, then again, maybe I wasn’t. Depends really. But the divorce is now going through and Leigh Anne is gone up to Wyoming with her boyfriend and so that, too, is finished.
Listen, I could rush up north there again and try to whip you off your feet or something, I could try phoning you, I could try a dozen different things to win you back. Which, of course, is what I’d like to do. But I don’t really think I’m the problem, Carrie. I think you have to decide what you want. And how much you want it.
And if I’m ‘IT’ then, well, then I’m here for you. As I always will be.
Ray
Carrie finished reading, then slipped on to the stool in front of the dressing table and read it again. She drew a tissue from the mother-of-pearl box and dabbed at her eyes before reading it one last time.
Dances of the Heart Page 25