If You Must Know

by Beck, Jamie

  “He did.” Even now I could picture him showing up in his Loyola gym shorts and T-shirt, determined to master crow pose despite his potbelly. “Then we’d go get ice cream afterward. Pistachio, at Dream Cream.”

  Dream Cream had been one of his favorite haunts. He’d slipped into another world when he ate a cone—lick by lick—savoring each bite. “Delayed gratification,” he’d say.

  “Why would he keep that from me?” she asked of no one in particular, scowling.

  Who knew why people kept little secrets? I suspect Dad had kept to himself lots of trivial things he and I did. He’d worked in sales, which had enabled him to sneak in breaks during the day. Mom had never minded being alone in the late afternoons when she believed he was working. But if she’d known he’d left her there to come play with me, she might’ve curtailed his freedom by handing him a miles-long honey-do list.

  “I’m sure he told you. You probably forgot. It’s not like it was important stuff.” A glance at the clock reminded me to get downstairs. Rather than play telephone by asking what Amanda had said last night after I’d left, I’d get those details straight from my sister later. “See you in an hour.”

  “Erin”—Mom turned the cup in her hand—“thank you for breakfast, and for your concern. How about if I go pick up more of those mini mason jars and help you with another batch of lotion tonight?”

  I had no words. Two days ago I suspected she’d helped me only to make sure everything got cleaned up properly. Now, out of the blue, she wanted to spend more time with me? Those waffles were miracle workers!

  “That’d be awesome. And you’re welcome for breakfast.” A bit of the heaviness that had settled in my bones last night lifted as I descended the stairs.

  Before anyone arrived, I lit a Japanese-style incense stick to infuse the room with the calming blend of ginger, lavender, and clove. The colossal box of summer clothes I’d meant to take upstairs remained in the middle of the floor, so I lugged it to the bottom of the stairwell. Next, I hit “Play” on “The Light” by Sol Rising and dimmed the lights. The spicy incense’s faint aroma quickly permeated the room, so I snuffed the stick out in water.

  While I stacked foam blocks in one corner, a tap on the slider behind me made me glance over my shoulder.

  “Eli?” I jumped, unprepared to see him. Lightweight gray Nike joggers hugged his slim hips. A navy short-sleeve shirt fitted snugly around his biceps. I rolled the door open, aware that my grin gave so much away. “This is a surprise.”

  “Your invitation was hard to resist.” He stepped inside, a cautious smile playing on his lips. “Is it okay that I didn’t make a reservation?”

  “Sure! Only three women are coming today, so it’ll be intimate.” The word lingered between us.

  Eli cleared his throat and scanned the basement. “Cute house.”

  “Oh, it’s not mine. I grew up here. Moved back in this week—temporarily—thus the moving boxes.” I gestured toward the box by the stairs. “My mom’s been under a lot of stress and acting a bit off, so I’m keeping an eye on her.” To avoid creating bad karma, total honesty was required. “Plus I’m a little low on cash and couldn’t pass up free rent.”

  “Hopefully, things will improve for your mom and you.” He sucked his lower lip beneath his teeth, but his eyes remained fixed on mine.

  My body temperature rose like mercury in a thermometer. I didn’t particularly welcome this feeling, and yet it was a nice break from all the tension in my life. “Thanks.”

  Eli’s lips twitched when he glanced at my Nicolas Cage yoga pants. He seemed amused, in a good way.

  A man’s attention didn’t normally faze me, but our awkward pause made me blurt, “Can I get you some water?”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as he answered, Jessica London came through the door. “Hey, Erin. I’m so excited you’re doing this.” She took in the surroundings and smiled at Eli. “I could never afford Give Me Strength, and this vibe’s much better.”

  “Thanks, Jess. This is Eli.” The way her eyes lit up when she extended her hand toward him made me edgy. “Eli, Jess.”

  I handed him a paper cup to break up their handshake.

  While he drank and Jess found a spot, I took a Sitali—or cooling—Pranayama breath before Lucy and a woman named Christie Bell wandered in. After everyone unfurled their mats, I started class, reminding myself to make eye contact with everyone, not only Eli.

  “Thank you all for sharing your morning with me. For this flow class, you might need some yoga blocks, which you’ll find in the corner. As always, if at any time something doesn’t feel right, adjust or take child’s pose to rest. There’s no contest. It’s your practice. And remember, where the mind goes, energy flows, so focus on your breathing and position. Now we’ll start in mountain pose while we set our intention for the practice. Stand with your feet hip-width apart. Close your eyes and face your palms forward, fingers extended. Draw your first ujjayi breath—the ocean-sounding breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth, full and expansive.” I drew three as examples. “Send that breath to the spaces inside that are depleted as we come to the mat . . .”

  Teaching class was never as meditative as practicing on my own, but the focus on breath and body did take me out of my head. Oxygenation and stretching shook loose the tension carried in my shoulders and back. Deep focus on deepening a position cleared stray thoughts.

  Tons of people could get themselves off Xanax if they’d give themselves the gift of yoga. Maybe I could create a tagline around that idea.

  Class continued for the next fifty minutes with me leading a series of poses, occasionally walking among the students and tweaking their bodies to prevent injury. Touching Eli and having him watch me move around the room made me unusually self-conscious.

  The end of class brought a sigh of relief. “Namaste.”

  Jess, Christie, and Lucy rolled their mats and handed me cash on their way out. Eli lagged behind, having stayed in Savasana longer than the women and then taken his time preparing to leave.

  “You’re a great instructor.” He lowered his chin, flashing another shy smile, which in turn made me the richest woman in Potomac Point despite my empty pocketbook.

  The subtle flirtation prompted me to tease him. “Been to many yoga classes?”

  “Define ‘many.’”

  “More than one?”

  His eyes twinkled. “More than one, less than twenty.”

  “Can I entice you to make it a regular practice?” He had the right body for it—long and lean and flexible. He also possessed the patient and calm temperament required. Mostly I thought it could help him work through whatever weighed on him.

  “Done.”

  My heart squeezed. Were we flirting? I thought so, but his subtlety made me less certain.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “No way.” I clamped my hands beneath my armpits. “If you read my note, you know you’re getting free classes to alleviate my guilt about taking my albums back.”

  “But they were your albums . . .” He hesitated, then tucked the bill back into his pocket. “By the way, thank you for the soaps.”

  “You’re welcome. Did you like the scent?” A person’s body oils and odors altered a fragrance, so my products would never smell the same on someone else as they did on me.

  “It’s great.” He raised his forearm under my nose.

  One quick sniff proved it was a winner on Eli. Our gazes locked again. “I’m so glad.”

  We stood there frozen in another awkward pause. Normally, I’d bulldoze right through this stage, but Eli’s hesitant manner and my personal goals made me cautious.

  I bent to roll my mat. “Will I see you again in my class?”

  “Chances are good.” He watched me until I stood again. “So where’s my buddy, Mo?”

  “Likely upstairs lounging on the back of the sofa like the king that he is, staring out the front window to track all the
neighbors.” Mo loved lazing around in the sun’s warmth while keeping guard.

  “Ah.” His wandering gaze landed on the abandoned moving box. “May I carry that up for you?”

  “Hard up to see my dog?” I teased, recognizing his excuse to hang out longer. My mom wouldn’t be happy for Eli to traipse through the house, though—especially if she actually did walk around in her underwear. But I couldn’t think up a nice way to turn him down, so like always, I’d beg for forgiveness later. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  Eli set his mat on top of the box before hefting it and following me up the rather dimly lit, narrow staircase. Mo must’ve heard us coming, because he and his wagging tail were eagerly waiting in the kitchen, where he jumped on my legs.

  “Little Fluff, did you miss me?” I lifted him to my hip to get some kisses. “Do you remember Eli?”

  I petted his head and faced him toward Eli, whose arms were still occupied by my large box of clothes.

  “Oh, sorry.” I set Mo on the floor. “My room is this way.”

  The dynamic duo of distraction otherwise known as Mo and Eli had prevented me from hearing Nancy Thompson in the dining room with my mother. Mom must’ve called her for an emergency session after last night, and then hoped they’d finish before I got out of my class.

  “Oh, hello.” I’m pretty sure my attempt at not frowning failed. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Could everyone hear my sarcasm, or did it sound that way only in my head? Fortunately, my mother was too preoccupied with the handsome stranger in her living room to care.

  “Mom, this is my friend Eli. Eli, that’s my mom, Madeline Turner, and her . . . friend Nancy.” Like my mom, Nancy had also become engrossed in Eli. Who could blame them? He was by far the best-looking thing in the entire house.

  Eli nodded. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Sorry to interrupt. Just passing through.” My goal now? Keeping Nancy from explaining her presence, it being far too early in our acquaintance for Eli to discover exactly how crazy Turner women could be and that my mom paid to talk to dead people. Yet suddenly sadness hit me, because for Mom to bring Nancy back so soon reeked of desperation, which suggested she was still deeper in grief over Dad than I’d believed.

  “We’ll leave you alone,” I said, brows pinched thanks to the unhappy revelation.

  We’d taken one step toward my room when Nancy blurted, “Karen says it’s time to be happy.”

  Eli tripped, dropping the box, his face now as pale as Mo’s white fur. He stared at Nancy, lost and aghast. “What did you say?” Pain sharpened his words.

  Nancy’s gaze ping-ponged between my mother and Eli. “I’m getting a message from a woman named Karen. I don’t know who is the intended recipient.”

  Eli’s expression hardened as color rushed back to his face. Avoiding my gaze, he mumbled something that sounded like “Outta here” before bolting through the front door, leaving his yoga mat behind.

  My ears funneled sound like the inside of a conch shell. Could Nancy actually talk to the dead? And if so, who was Karen?

  I retrieved Eli’s mat and chased him outside, leaving Mo behind.

  “Eli, wait!” Dewy grass clung to my bare feet, but I caught up to him before he got into his car. “You forgot your mat.”

  His haunted eyes flashed with discomfort when he took it from me and tossed it in his back seat. “Thanks. See you round.”

  “Wait.” I reached for his arm, but he flinched, so I pulled back, raising my hands. “My mom’s paying that kook to communicate with my dad, who died last year. I’ve told her she’s flushing her money down the toilet, but your reaction makes me wonder if maybe there’s more to Nancy than sneaky Google searches. Please, can you tell me what spooked you?”

  His chest rose and fell on a heavy exhale.

  “That ‘kook’ might’ve delivered a message from my dead wife.” He’d been staring at the house when he said that, so he didn’t see my face fall.

  His dead wife.

  “I’m so sorry.” It felt like a medicine ball had landed on my stomach. “Something about you seemed sad, but given your age, I never thought widower.”

  As soon as those words emerged, I wished I could spit my foot out of my mouth. Eli didn’t show any sign of having heard me, though. He remained fixated on the house as if Karen might appear in the window. He stood like a sentinel, his hands on his hips, sorrow etched across his face.

  My gaze followed his, but my thoughts wandered. “That’s why you stopped writing songs . . .”

  He faced me then. My breath stayed locked in my lungs; he swallowed hard. Concentric circles of tension vibrated around us, holding us in place.

  Death and grief loomed everywhere. My sister, my mother, Eli . . . Even I still clung to my dad’s memory every single day. “Eli, I’m not the most tactful person, and maybe you don’t want to talk about this . . . but I know that emptiness . . . that excruciating absence of someone. Knowing you’d cut off your arm to hear another ‘I love you,’ or spend every penny you had to make them laugh. Last summer I barely made it out of bed most days. By fall, I still struggled to go to work and get through a day without tears. To make sense of why the person who most loved me was taken from me without warning.” I dabbed my eyes before massaging my throat to untie the knot that had formed. I recalled unloading my sorrow on Hannah one day when I’d first discovered her shop. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk about hard things with strangers than with friends. So if you ever feel like unburdening yourself, I’ll do my best to help you get through another day.”

  He turned back toward the house, his hands now flattened against the roof of his Subaru. I didn’t dare move or make another peep, knowing I’d already probably said too much. Although his gaze didn’t waver from the living room window, he seemed a million miles away. “Karen loved the mountains and stars, campfires and guitars.”

  A couple of heartbeats ticked by while I waited for wherever that statement might lead.

  “She was a diabetic. We knew we’d taken a risk with her getting pregnant. But it’d been proceeding so well we’d let our guard down. At around twenty-eight weeks, she suggested a weekend camping trip to the Great Smokies, a few hours outside our house in Nashville. She had her meds, we’d had no signs of any trouble. Great forecast. Air mattress. Two nights . . . ‘What could happen?’ she’d said. ‘It’ll be our last chance to enjoy camping for a while.’”

  He paused, eyes misty. I almost stopped him from continuing rather than watch him relive the pain or fall apart in front of me. The grisly details of whatever went wrong weren’t any of my business, but I couldn’t walk away after inviting him to share. “She woke in the middle of that first night, bleeding pretty heavily, crying from thinking she was miscarrying. That was her only concern—the baby. But by the time we got to the nearest hospital—an hour away—she’d stopped crying because she’d gone into shock. Placental abruption, then complications from massive blood loss. Both she and our baby died . . . my son . . .” Tears welled in his red-rimmed eyes, which he dabbed with the heel of his hand.

  “I’m so sorry, Eli.” I stroked his arm, wanting nothing more than to offer a comforting hug, yet sensing from his tightened muscles that one would not be welcomed. It’d take a lifetime of yoga to work through that pain.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I could go back, I’d insist we adopt, but she was so damn sure . . . so optimistic. That’s how she approached everything. Embracing life and challenges. Refusing to be limited by her illness. We should never have gone someplace remote like that, but she’d had me believing in her fairy tale, like always.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a fond smile before his voice broke apart. “If I’d been smarter, she might still be here.”

  I knew that feeling, too. If I had begged my dad harder to stop smoking. If I had paid more attention to his huffy breath instead of teasing “the old guy.” If I hadn’t gone to Dream Cream and helped him clog his arterie
s. Jesus, the way we tortured ourselves over fates we didn’t control boggled the mind.

  If Amanda were standing behind Eli, she’d be giving me all kinds of hand signals to keep my trap shut. She’d be rightly worried, too, because despite my desire to be helpful, I had a bad habit of saying the exact wrong thing. This would likely be another of those times. “For what it’s worth, your wife sounds like my kind of person. She lived life on her terms, so she wouldn’t fault you for what happened. I bet she loved almost every second of her pregnancy, too. It’s tragic—what happened—but try to remember that she made all those decisions with you. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.”

  He dragged his gaze away from the house. “Easier said than done.”

  “Most things are.” Those words echoed through my thoughts, considering the decisions my family had to make and all the blame we passed around. My dad had excelled at taking the sting out of distress and putting life in perspective. But even if he saw us foundering without him, it didn’t mean he could send a helpful message through Nancy. “Think it’s a coincidence that Nancy mentioned a name that meant something to you?”

  “Dunno.”

  Against all reason, I allowed for the possibility that Eli’s dead wife had actually made contact with Nancy, because it might help Eli feel better. “If it’s true, it sounds like Karen can’t rest until you’re happier. Maybe you should start writing songs again. Keep living . . .”

  His breathing turned labored, so I shut up. But if her death also killed his passion for songwriting, then he needed a new muse so he didn’t shrivel up and die, too—metaphorically speaking. Maybe I—

  “I’ve got to go, Erin.” He slipped into the driver’s seat without making eye contact with me. “Sorry. I’ll see you . . .”

  I hoped so.

  “Take care, Eli.” He probably hadn’t noticed me waving goodbye. Once his car turned the bend and disappeared, I stood on the road, replaying his awful tale—imagining his beautiful face screwed with alarm, picturing him slumped over his dead wife and child, lost and angry and benumbed—and my lungs filled with sand.