by Ada Winter
I had never been in Portland at night and everything seems to twinkle in its own light. In Bar Harbor, the equivalent is the hundreds of lightning bugs that fill my field night after night during the summer months. I still enjoy chasing them around, sometimes naked, and seeing how many I can catch.
The country is more my speed, but I could get used to this for a change. We pull up to the valet and a man with black suit pants and a white tuxedo top opens my door for me. Lane palms the man some cash, and he touches his hand to the soft flesh of my lower back to guide me toward the door. His touch is intoxicating.
He reaches with his right hand and opens the darkened door to reveal a treat for the senses on the other side. Jacques Bistro is lit dimly by soft candles suspended from wrought-iron candelabras hanging from exposed beams in the ceiling. Live violin music echoes through the small space in an acoustical extravaganza. Mostly couples lean into one another amid light laughter, smiles, and good cheer. The wonderful smells that emanate from the kitchen and surrounding tables stimulate my taste buds, and I know I am in for a treat.
The maître d’ greets us with a “Monsieur and mademoiselle. Welcome to Jacques. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. Lane Astor, party of two.”
He nods without having to look down at his reservation sheet. “Of course, Mr. Astor, let me show you to your table.” The man walks off to the left and Lane guides me in front of him to follow.
We are led to a corner table not far from the musicians. It is free-standing and covered with a pressed white tablecloth and adorned with a crystal vase housing one red rose. Red, the color of love. This is perfect. Lane pulls out my chair for me and guides me to my seat. We are handed menus and I decide on the scallops with white clam sauce, cooked in white wine, and served on a bed of linguini. Lane orders the filet of bass with creamy country mustard sauce.
The wine comes first, and as Lane lifts his glass to mine, looks me squarely in my eyes and says, “To us. May our days be filled with as much happiness as we’re experiencing now. May love be our guide and our strength for many years to come.” We clink glasses and sip.
Wow.
He’s thinking long-term. My heart is fluttering now and I feel all warm inside. Love, rising and bubbling to the surface. Love, unhindered, pure and all ours.
We both take another sip, eyes locking on one another as Lane is searching me for a hint of anything that will clue him in to my feelings.
“You have my heart, Lane. I am yours through and through.”
His eyes light up with satisfaction as I smile back. He leans across the table to kiss me deeply and briefly, considering the public setting. A kiss brimming with love.
We make small talk for a while as he asks me about my work. I communicate my passion about working with horses and the special feeling I get knowing that I am helping create memories for people who are getting away from the stress of their lives. He listens intently and I can tell he really wants to know about me, the true me.
Dinner comes, and to say it’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten would be an understatement. Lane runs in different circles than I do, not only growing up, but even now. He comes from money and is used to the expensive pleasures that come with it. We are opposites in that respect. They do say opposites attract.
Everything is perfect right now and I don’t want it to end. There is the messy business of being honest with my thoughts, opinions and feelings so I broach the subject carefully.
“Lane, I’ve been curious about something.”
He raises his eyebrows and listens attentively.
“That night you came to see me. It was late and I didn’t know you were coming. What made you visit me at that hour and without telling me that you were coming?” He delves inside his thoughts, seemingly in no rush to answer. After a few moments, he speaks.
“I just wanted to see you…. I missed you.”
There was more to it than that. He was troubled that night by something, but he was reluctant to share so I didn’t push. With great care and paying attention to my tone, I add, “Are you sure? You can be totally honest with me about anything, Lane.” I’m glad I added that last part.
His audible sigh broke the silence as he paused to consider his words for a few moments before speaking. “It was about my father. He said something that made me upset.” That was all he was going to give me unless I dug a little.
“What was it he said?”
“I don’t want to bother you with this, Celia. I can handle it.” Lane is firm, but I need more. He had to open up to me the same way I was about to open myself to him.
Serious tone now. “I need to know Lane…maybe I can help.” I feel us going down a road that I only half want to travel, but know is necessary. It's uncomfortable.
“Not with this, Celia. It’s big.”
Reaching for his hands now, I pull them into mine reassuringly.
“You can share it with me, Lane. I want to know.” Looking deeply into his eyes, I can tell he is breaking down barriers.
“He’s going to shut me down. I can’t operate the youth center without his funding.” The hurt wells up in his eyes. I know how much he loves that center, but more importantly, those kids.
“Oh, Lane…I’m sorry.” My eyes are solemn now and my voice has changed. I squeeze his hands a bit tighter and pull them to my chest.
“What are you going to do?”
He looks flustered now. “I don’t know. That’s not the worst of it. He wants me to head up a satellite office in Boston.” Lane watches me for my reaction now.
Feeling my heart sink into my chest, I feel a wound beginning to form as it squeezes the incredible love inside my heart. This will put Lane more than five hours away from me. This could end us. Trying to hide my emotions, I ask another question to redirect the attention away from me.
“Are you considering it? I mean, is that something you would want to do at this point?” Without intending to, I had let him off the hook in our relationship. Regretting what I said the moment it came out, I hope he understands that it isn’t what I want.
This is his choice, though. His life. It might not include me after tonight. My heart hurt and I feel panicky inside.
“It’s not what I want, Celia. I may not have a choice, though.” Something in him shifts with those last words. Lane goes from soft to angry and I can see it building in him. It’s like a great force bubbling over to the point of spilling over. “That son of a bitch has me right where he wants me. I can’t afford to run the center on my own. I can’t charge people…they’re poor…beaten down already. We get most of our funding through grants. It’s just not enough without his support.”
Lane’s voice is shaking now as he removes his hands from mine. Clenching his fists without knowing, Lane is following an old pattern, his pattern with his dad. Getting put in a tough spot, not knowing how to deal with it, then running – no driving – fast away from it.
Reckless and out of control. Running away to deal with it. Fast.
The need to get away…the need for speed. Where he can be in control and vent. To take back the control he has lost.
I need to pull him back. “Let’s talk through this, Lane. We’ll figure it out together.”
His heart is racing now and he’s starting to sweat, pulling deep into himself. The armor is going up and I can’t stop it.
“That’s it, Celia. I’ll go to work for him. I can make a good living for us. We’ll move to Boston and somehow we’ll make it work. It’s a good opportunity.” His voice is a bit softer now. I can see in his eyes, though, that this isn’t what he wants.
“Listen to yourself, Lane. This isn’t what you want. Don’t settle for this. We’ll find another way.” My voice flows with passion as I attempt to motivate him to consider an alternative.
Angry and loud now. “Can’t you see it’s my only choice? Our only choice! It’s not about what I want…it never is. He gets what he wants! I’
m just a piece of the puzzle….”
People are starting to stare and the maître d’ checks in on us. In a calming voice, he asks, “Is everything okay? Why don’t you order some desserts on the house?”
Dead serious stare at the maître d’. “I don’t want fucking desert. I want to live my life. That’s all. Now get the fuck out of my sight!” The maître d’ seems shocked. He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better. He walks away.
I speak in a whispered tone. “Lane, that’s enough.”
Lane pulls a wad of cash out his pocket and throws it on the table. He rubs his hands violently through his hair. Thrusting money at me now. “I need to go, here’s money for dinner and for a cab back to my place.”
“No! I’m coming with you!” My voice trembling now.
Pushing away from the table, he quickly makes for the door. This was a major scene now and seemingly everyone in the restaurant has their eyes on us. Strangely, the musicians keep playing.
Grabbing my purse, I go after him. He has already summoned his car and is wildly pacing back and forth. It’s frightening to see him like this and I try to talk him down.
“Lane, please, calm down.” He won’t even look at me. “Listen to me. This is not the way. Let me help you!” Tears are streaming down my face now and my voice doesn’t seem like my own.
“You want to help me? Huh? No one has ever helped me. I do fine on my own!” Those last words sting me and I try not to take them personally. He’s hurting. The car pulls up as he runs across to the other side. Before he can say no or stop me, I jump in.
“What are you doing, Celia?” Angry look.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t go where I’m going.”
Questioning now. “Where is it you’re going…huh, Lane? Are you going to run away from your problems, or stay and deal with them?”
This really sets him off, but he breathes deeply and speaks in an oddly calm voice. “Okay, you want to come? I suggest you buckle up for safety!”
Before I can answer or buckle myself in, he is laying strips in the parking lot. The back end kicks out wildly as he pegs the gas and turns the wheel hard just missing a Lincoln Continental. He slides sideways out of the parking lot and into the street. The very busy street. The car bottoms out on the small ramp leading out with a great crash and scraping sound. Cars are slamming on their brakes and honking as he whizzes past them with no regard for anyone.
The Alfa Romeo, with its light body and powerful motor, quickly picks up speed as he weaves in and out of cars, never taking his eyes off the road.
I am terrified now. “Slow down, Lane…please!”
Refusing to listen, he drives even faster. I am crying now and all I can hear is my voice screaming. Louder with each. “Lane…Lane…Laaannnne!” It is almost as if I am out of my body and listening to someone else.
The street lights are a blur and the world is spinning as the nausea spreads throughout my body. Faster and faster he goes. A quick glance over at Lane, looking like a man possessed. A man on a mission to escape his world. This is his pattern and it’s reckless and dangerous.
We could die. I don’t want to die like this. Like Mark.
Screaming now, “Marrrrkkkkkkkkk! Marrrrrrkkkkkk! Marrrrkkkkkkk! Noooooooooo!”
Lane is slowing down, glancing back and forth between the road and me, seemingly out of his trance, the car coming to a stop.
“Celia! Celia! Are you okay? Celia!”
I am in another place. Another time. I don’t respond.
“Oh my God…I’m sorry. Celia?”
I am somewhere else. In the past. My own private hell.
It haunts me still. I was powerless.
Like I’m powerless now.
Chapter 51
LANE
Opening the door now, Celia steps out in a weary daze, stumbling for the sidewalk. I am there next to her, but she may as well have been a thousand miles away. The street is abandoned, theater posters wallpapering a wooden construction site wall adjacent to a tall building.
“You killed Mark, you fucking asshole.” Tears are streaming down her face, soaking her chin and shoulders. She is staring off into the distance and her voice is icy cold.
“What? Who’s Mark?”
Fondly, she whispers, “My first love.”
First love? Wait, that dream Celia was having that time. She called out Mark’s name.
Oh my God. He must have died in a car crash.
Searching for words now and in the calmest voice I can muster, I say, “Celia, it’s me, Lane.”
She walks over to a bench and sits down. My car is still running and half blocking a lane of traffic, but I don’t care. “I need a minute.” She puts her face into her hands, sobbing softly, unable to breathe.
I attempt to put my arm around her shoulders, but she shakes it off. Escalating her voice now, she shrieks, “Get away from me!”
“Celia…I…I was wrong.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“I….”
She cuts me off. “Go!”
I reach my hands out to hold her, but she moves away. Sitting next to her is the best I can do, so I sit and wait for her to regain her composure for a good fifteen minutes. My mind is racing as I pull at my hair, tugging it, to feel the pain of this moment more completely. What have I done? Shit, Lane. You fucked up. I don’t know if I can fix it.
Time. Give her time.
Finally, Celia rises and walks away from me without a word.
“Celia. Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Let me take you there.”
“No. You’ve done enough.”
Cold.
And with that, Celia walks out of my life. She makes her way down the street away from me and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. She hails a cab at the next corner and is gone.
Gone from my life forever.
Chapter 52
CELIA
I feel like I’m in a daze as the taxi takes me back to where I parked at Lane’s. I can barely remember the address, but luckily the cabbie knows the area well, or I might be lost.
Lane was like a man possessed. His life — my life — was in jeopardy and he wouldn’t as much as glance my way despite my desperate pleas. It was like reliving a hell, still fresh in my mind after eleven years of burying the pain. I thought I was past it, but you can never bury that type of pain and loss.
It’s not possible.
When Mark died, my mom tried to get me to see a psychologist. Being pretty messed up, it made sense, but at the time I wanted no part of it. I prided myself on my independence and possessing a maturity beyond my years. Even though my heart was ripped from my chest, stomped on and reinserted too quickly for proper healing, I dealt with it in my own way.
It started with disowning my brother. He was trying to protect me, to scare Mark away from taking away his little sister, but instead he killed him. He was protecting my innocence.
It was an accident and unintentional. That much I know. But he still killed Mark and he would pay with my shunning. He lost me then and he would never gain my love back. Sid would pay with the hurt from a sister who previously adored him, who now hated him like a cancer that eats away all that is good and whole.
My time with Mark was innocent. Who knows where it would have led? I did feel love spark in my heart. He was my first love and I was his.
Burn, burn, burn…
Sid was able to drag me out of the burning wreckage despite having a broken leg and a fractured collarbone. I kicked and screamed to get back in there. Back to Mark. Sid lay on top of me with his lanky 200-pound frame and I couldn’t move. The flames were too hot and I would have burned with Mark. Burned alive.
He was never charged. It was an accident and I never spoke against him. How could I? Sid left shortly after that and I never saw him again. Just packed up a suitcase and a guitar
and left with his friend for an unknown future. Where do you go after you’ve taken someone’s life? How do you sleep? Can you still live?
Why did I live?
If it were me that died in that car crash, then at least I wouldn’t feel the pain I do know.
First love. Lost.
Second love. Lost.
“Are you okay, lady?”
My trance is broken. The cabbie is looking back at me over his shoulder with a look of concern while we’re stopped at a red light. I don’t realize until now the tears streaming down my face and the soft sobs coming from deep within my chest.
“I’m okay, thanks.” My answer is weak, but it’s all I can manage.
“You know the same things they say about bartenders is true about us. We’re good listeners.” His sentiments are thoughtful.
“No, really, I’m all right. It’s been a long day.” He nods reassuringly and I am grateful that he said nothing more for the rest of the ride.
We pull up in front of Lane’s apartment and I feel a pang of pain in my heart. It’s a physical reaction to a feeling of emotional helplessness. My car is just a half block away from here, and after paying the cab fare, I plod in that direction.
Sitting in my car now, I think about how convenient they make our lives, and also how they can be instruments of death. Feeling weary, I put my head in my hands and rub my temples. Who am I kidding? Nothing will make this pain go away.
Chapter 53
LANE
Any bar will do, Lane. Just pick one.
I slowly drive the backstreets of Portland in search of some relief from the incredible pain that threatens to tear me to pieces. I pull over at a place named Clancy’s. A single shamrock illuminates the backdrop for the sign and I figure it will be as good a place as any. It looks like someone designed the logo on their computer using Word as evidenced by the Brushed Script font.
The bartender takes one look at me and realizes I will be here for a while. I throw a fifty-dollar bill down, and after asking for a bottle of Jameson’s Whiskey, he immediately complies. I request some ice and pour a generous amount of the liquid into a small glass. It's one of those deals where I know I’ll be crawling out of this joint, but I don’t much care.