by J. D. Mason
“Bye.”
“And stay out of my things,” Nona called back.
“Okay,” Terri lied.
Nona had the best stuff. The woman was a foot and a half taller than Terri, but they wore the same size in jewelry and handbags, and Terri admired herself in those things every chance she got.
Terri ate her soup on the lanai surrounded by palm trees. Self-examination was necessary and required solitude. She learned that from a meditation app she’d subscribed to recently.
For the first time in her life, she realized how lonely she was and how lonely she’d always been. Terri had tricked herself into not noticing that she had isolated herself from the rest of the world, even Nona and her own parents. Her career had become everything, homie, lover, friend, which was why she’d clung so desperately to it. Being clingy was hard work and she wasn’t so sure she had the strength or the interest to be that woman anymore.
She finished her soup and started thinking about the inevitable. Terri had just closed on the house and needed to go back to Devastation to pack up what was left of her things. Naturally, she was going to try and sneak in and out like a ninja. Those nosey ass town folk would work themselves into a gossip mongering frenzy when they got wind of her being back in town. She just wanted to fade away like a bad rash and leave people with the memory of that movie star who used to live in the house on Dupelo.
I’ll Bleed
“Don and them damn cigars,” Nick’s aunt grumbled, climbing out of the back of one of the limos, taking them from the gravesite to Luther’s.
The family had all made the decision to meet at his bar and grill after the funeral. It was the first time Nick had seen his father in over three months. He’d shut the place down for the day for the family to pay their respects and, of course, eat. Thankfully, Luther was busy playing host and Nick wasn’t staying long so the two didn’t have to interact.
Yolanda was there too, helping out.
“You doing all right?” She asked, setting a slice of pecan pie in front of him.
The woman had told him she loved him, and Nick was still waiting for her to say, “sike.”
“I’m alright,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. “You doing alright?”
“You still tripping over that conversation we had, Nick?” She smiled, and he’d seen it a million times, but this time Yo’s pretty smile hit different. “Don’t get weird,” she warned him. “I’m still me. You’re still you. Let’s keep it moving.”
And just like that, Yolanda flitted away like the lovely butterfly she was.
Half an hour later, Nick went around the room saying his goodbyes. “Grandma,” he took hold of her hands. “I’m about to head out.” Nick kissed her cheek.
“Tomorrow ain’t promised, Nicholas,” she told him. “Say your peace before it’s too late. He still your daddy.”
He smiled. “I can’t help that, Grandma.”
“Talk to him before you go. For me?” she pleaded with her eyes. “Please?”
If the woman asked him to snatch the moon out of the sky, he’d do it. The word ‘no’ was not in his vocabulary when it came to this woman.
She squeezed his hands. “Please, Nick.”
His grandmother knew that he could deny her nothing. She was Luther’s mother, but she’d been there for Ava in the darkest times, even more than Ava’s own mother.
“Only because you asked,” he reluctantly agreed.
“How much older was he then you?” Nick heard one of his cousins ask Luther about his brother, Don, sitting in a booth across from him.
“Nineteen years.” Luther smiled. “My whole life, he acted like he was my daddy.”
“Don acted like everybody’s daddy,” the cousin added, laughing.
“Got a minute?” Nick interrupted.
A hush fell over the room.
“Of course,” Luther said looking up at Nick.
“In private?”
Luther excused himself and led the way up the stairs to his place.
“Can I get you a drink?” Luther offered.
“Nah. I’m on my way out,” Nick sighed. “I just told grandma that I’d say something to you, and this is me saying something to you.”
Luther filled a glass with some kind of alcohol and sat on the sofa.
“Understood,” Luther responded.
He studied his father, feeling absolutely nothing for the man. Did he still have questions? Did he still care about Luther and Terri? No. Nick didn’t give a shit about either one of them. Terri’s actions had been unexpected, but Luther’s—not so much. Not that he ever believed his father would stoop so low as to sleep with Nick’s woman. But Luther never gave a damn about anybody but himself. That much had always been true.
“This will likely be the last conversation we’ll ever have,” Nick surmised.
Luther lowered his gaze to the glass in his hand. “Then I won’t waste it apologizing or making excuses.”
“Good, because we both know any apology from you is worthless. Mom knew it. Every time you said it, she—”
“Leave her out of this,” Luther said, staring hard at Nick.
“Like you left her out of your life, fucking around out there on the road?”
“I didn’t fuck around,” he said with so much conviction that, for a nano-second, Nick almost believed him.
“Right,” he chuckled. “You lying to the wrong man, dude. I’ve seen first-hand what you’re capable of.”
“I loved Ava, Nick.”
“Take that lie with you to the grave, Luther. I don’t believe it. I never did.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe,” Luther declared. “You’re a grown-ass man, Nick, not a kid. Believe what you want. She knew and I knew. Nothing else matters.”
Nick had always assumed he knew why Luther didn’t give up life on the road for his wife. “She wanted to believe in you because she loved you.”
“She knew me,” he insisted. “You”— Luther shook his head— “Never did.”
“I knew home, Luther. I knew what she went through,” Nick responded with a shrug. “You don’t have a clue. While you were out there fuckin’ around, strutting around on stage, I saw what she went through. I watched her suffer.”
“And I felt it.” His chest heaved. Luther’s eyes bore into Nick’s. “I felt the pain you couldn’t see. I felt it and I ignored it, Nick. But ignoring it—her— it didn’t have shit to do with another woman.”
“Then why didn’t you bring your ass home?”
“Because I chose, Nick,” he bellowed, his voice cracking. Luther collapsed onto the sofa, looking fuckin’ defeated. “She kept telling me that it was okay. She was fine, and I didn’t need to come home.”
“She was lying.”
“Ava knew what music meant to me.” Luther became lost in introspection, talking more to himself than to Nick. “I loved her. I’d loved her for as long as I can remember. But when it came down to it—when I had to choose between her and music” — he looked up at Nick.— “I chose.”
Nick sat down and raked his hand down his face. “That’s some selfish shit, Luther. It was just music. It was a job.”
Luther’s eyes widened. “Is medicine just medicine, Nick?”
“If it came down to medicine or someone I love—then yeah.”
“Then you’re a better man than me,” Luther admitted, pausing for several moments to gather his thoughts. “I heard what I wanted to hear,” he confessed. “And then lied, telling myself that she was my heart and soul, all while resenting her for being sick, and making me feel guilty that I’d rather be playing music than sitting at home with her.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Nick retorted, disbelief over Luther’s confession engulfing him.
“She wanted me to choose,” Luther continued. “Every time she told me that I didn’t have to come home, that we needed the money—that she was fine—she wanted me to choose—her,” he looked at Nick. Tears filled his eyes. “I knew it and told my
self that she was my everything.” Luther paused again, looked down at his clasped hands, and sighed. “By the time I came to my fuckin’ senses it was too late. By the time I crawled out of my ego—”
A cold silence settled between them. Nick’s version of why his father stayed away made more sense than this confession. If Luther was selfish enough to choose music over his wife, then…
Nick swallowed the lump swelling in his throat. “Did you ever give a shit about me?” He shrugged. “I mean, if you didn’t care enough for her to come home, did I matter?”
Luther reluctantly raised his gaze to meet Nick’s. “I didn’t know you, son. You were hers. Your whole life I’d been on the road, Nick. We’ve always been strangers.”
“I was a kid. I was your kid, not just hers, Dad.” Nick’s eyes clouded with tears. “I needed you, too.”
Luther pursed his lips. “I know.”
Nick leaned back, staring at the man like he was seeing him for the very first time. This was the most honest conversation they’d ever had, and Nick had no idea what to do with it.
“I sacrificed her for music,” Luther continued. “I abandoned you both because my dream meant more to me than my own life. When I came home the last time,” he choked back tears, “I saw my beautiful wife, withered like some dying flower, and looked into the empty, hollow eyes of my son, who hated me.” Luther leaned back, too. “There was no fixing it, Nick. I’d lost my chance. I blew it. I let you both down and had no right to call myself husband or father. That’s my penance, son. I’d sold my soul to music, and the price I paid was her and you.”
“You’re saying you’re cool with all that?”
“I’m saying, I never deserved either one of you.”
Nick paused. “I agree.”
Again, the two men sat silently until Nick realized there was nothing more to be said and stood to leave. He stopped.
“We were on our way to—something,” Nick said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It wouldn’t have ever been perfect, but better.”
Luther hung his head. “I know.”
“So, why risk it, Luther? Even a mediocre relationship with your son should’ve meant something. We were on shaky ground, man,” Nick reminded him. “So, why would you risk our relationship for a woman?”
Luther didn’t answer right away, and Nick didn’t push. But he needed to know, not because he cared for her. Terri never owed him anything, but, Luther did.
“She reminded me of the things I promised myself I couldn’t have,” he said.
“Not good enough,” Nick argued.
“Of course, it isn’t, Nick, but you asked, and I’m telling you.” Luther stood and walked over to Nick. “Terri resuscitated that part of me that died with Ava.”
“You didn’t die with Ava. You felt guilty over her, but like you said, that’s your penance.”
“Nothing with Terri was planned, but when I was close to her, whenever we spoke, my heart beat, Nick. I mean, I’ve been the walking dead since your mother died. I thought that no other woman could impact me the way Ava did, but—and I know you don’t want to hear this—”
“Terri did?”
“It was wrong,” he blurted out. “And I—I tried to push past it. I tried to ignore it and move on, but— She ignited a light in me that had been put out for years. Like the night I played with Cleo in New Orleans,” he said, raising his brows. “I hadn’t felt that good in so long, son, that I’d even forgotten to feel guilty about it.”
Nick remembered that night. He had never seen his father in that light, and it was something he would never forget.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” he finally said. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. But I will love you for the rest of my life, and I am sorry that I was not the father you needed, son.”
Every son looks up to his father expecting to see perfection. Nick stood there, looking at his, and saw a husk of man he’d never known. A man so immersed in living his dream that he’d lost sight of the people who’d loved him despite himself. Nick stared at a tortured man who, too late, appreciated what he’d had and lost.
“You never had to choose, Luther,” Nick found himself saying. “It was never either us or music. It’s your passion. I get it. But you were ours.”
Luther and Nick locked gazes.
“When you know better, you do better,” his mother used to tell Nick that every time he failed a test or said or did something stupid. Meaning, if you got another chance, take the lesson from the first time, and put it to good use.
Nick turned again to leave. “I need to get back.”
Luther nodded. “Be safe.”
“You too, Luther.”
Nick started down the stairs and stopped. Permission wasn’t something Luther would ever get from Nick. Forgiveness, for anything the man had done, might not ever come. Nick would never know why he felt the need to tell Luther this, but it seemed important.
“I hear she’s in town.”
Luther cleared his throat. “I heard that too.”
“Me and you have a lot of issues,” Nick explained. “For me, she’s not one of them. I’m just saying.”
“Understood,” Luther responded.
Maybe Nick was the wrong piece of the puzzle for Terri.
“What’s meant for you will find you,” his mother also used to say.
If Terri and Luther ever managed to find their way to each other again, that was on them and had nothing to do with him.
Words I Never Said
“Hey Terri,” Lanette said, coming into the house without being invited, wrapping both arms around her in a powerful bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Lanette wore a short, sharp, jet black bob with precision cut bangs.
“Thanks, Lanette,” Terri said, pushing away from the woman who always managed to track Terri down like a bloodhound.
“Girl, I have missed the hell outta you,” Lanette exclaimed with all the warmth and sincerity of a stink bug.
“Really?”
Lanette’s eyes widened as she pushed passed Terri and started peeking inside unsealed boxes. “Got anything you want to get rid of?”
“No, Lanette.”
“What about this?” she asked, pulling out a lamp shade Terri bought from Wayfair.
Terri took it from her. “I said no.”
“Is this what you do? Move away when bad things happen?”
Terri was learning that the most grating thing about Lanette was not necessarily what she said, but how she said it. Her delivery sucked.
“We all have our coping mechanisms,” Terri responded.
“People ain’t even talking about you that much anymore. You might as well stay.”
“I’ve sold the house, Lanette. I’m sure you know that.”
“I do,” she said, pulling a throw pillow from another box. “This is cute.”
“Oh, Terri,” she said, taking a figurine from one of the boxes admiring it. “This is beautiful. Can I have it?”
“Lanette, put it back,” Terri insisted.
“But I love it. Where’d you get it?”
“Paris.”
“Texas?”
“France! Now put it back.”
“You know, I’m super busy. It was good seeing you again.” Terri took hold of Lanette’s elbow and guided her toward the door. “Might as well say our goodbyes now in case I never see you again.”
“Why wouldn’t you see me again?”
“Well, I—”
Luther!
“Hey,” Lanette bellowed at the sight of him climbing out of his car. “Man, I didn’t think you were coming. You know how long I’ve been stalling?”
“Stalling?” Terri muttered, watching Lanette hurry over to him and greet him with a high-five before leaving.
“I owe you one,” he said.
“You owe me big,” Lanette said over her shoulder.
Did the thought occur to her that Luther might show up at her door while she w
as here? Yes. He’d called a hundred times since she’d left, and Terri wasn’t surprised that he’d come to her house once he found out she was back. That didn’t mean she wanted to see the man. He’d finally stopped leaving singing messages on her phone. Terri had enough songs from Luther to make a whole album.
Terri abruptly slammed her door shut. Moments later, he knocked.
“I just want to talk, Terri. Just for a few minutes.”
Terri braced her back against the door and folded her arms. “So, talk.”
“Face to face.”
“I don’t need to see your face, Luther.”
It wasn’t just him she wanted to get away from. It was everything that’d happened between them—among them, Nick included. Terri hadn’t heard from Nick, which was as it should’ve been. Luther needed to follow Nick’s lead and let go.
“I need to see yours.”
Terri didn’t respond.
“Please,” he said.
“Take your medicine, T,” she murmured to herself, rolling her eyes. “Be a big girl.”
This confrontation with Luther was like a bitter pill she needed to swallow. Terri needed to woman-up and get this over with. Reluctantly, she opened the door and stepped away, giving him plenty of room to enter without getting too close. Bad and sexy things happened whenever he got too close.
Luther was still Luther, meaning… still fine as hell, but so what? He was still a regret.
Luther drove his hands into his pockets and teetered back on his heels a bit, like a big kid.
“It’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he said, his eyes lighting up like she was Christmas morning.
Whatever feelings she’d had for him before, which Terri had never quite named, were gone. They’d dissipated into the air like steam. Relief had settled in that felt an awful lot like peace.
“What could we possibly have to talk about, Luther?”
She felt sorry for him and embarrassed for him, for all those silly messages he’d been leaving her these last three, nearly four months since she’d left town. Luther was a shell of a man who’d lost everything and everyone who’d ever loved him and never recovered from those losses. Terri had let herself fall into the trap of his magical façade and left town a humiliated mess. So, yes. She was done.