“Who tore it?”
She looked at him. He was trying to hide a smile, and she knew he was teasing her.
“Oh, all the men grabbing at me,” she said.
“All at the same time?” he asked, his eyes traveling from the skirt to her eyes.
“And I fought all the others away because it was only you I wanted.”
“Did we tear up the skirt dancing?”
She was relieved that Will didn’t seem taken aback by her comment. She wondered how long they might keep on with this story they were making up together.
“Yes,” she replied. “It was the nature of the dance.”
“In my dreams,” he said, and smiled at her. Then, as if he suddenly found himself in deep water he couldn’t navigate, he let his eyes fall back to the Testament. “So, you’ve got a lot of Bibles? What’s your favorite verse?”
“I’ve always felt that if you believe the first five words in the Bible, then you believe in something.”
“‘In the beginning God created,’” he said. “I’m right with you on that.”
They grew quiet, neither knowing which way to go now.
“Do you miss your husband?”
“Yes. And no. Mostly yes.”
“How could anybody leave you?” he asked.
“I was a mess, Will.”
“You don’t seem like a mess to me. You know, people hear I’ve got cancer and they feel sorry for me or scared for me, but I’m telling you, the past month has been wonderful. Getting to be with Abi, living part-time in Birmingham, meeting you. Aside from having poison pumped through my body, I’d say it’s been good.”
“We need some music,” Landon said, rising and walking to the table where Abi’s computer sat open. “You ever listen to Buffy Sainte-Marie? I downloaded this for Abi the other day. See if you remember it.” She turned the sound up and waited.
When the music started, Will stood up. “I know this,” he said.
“‘Until It’s Time for You to Go,’” Landon told him. “One of my favorites.”
Will took Landon’s hand, pulling her toward him. They danced and held on to one another. Landon leaned her head against his chest. She knew that, in vastly different ways, they both needed something from the other. The future was up for grabs. For both of them. They had more than survival to hope for, pray for. There were wars raging in them that had brought them together—her divorce, his cancer—yet, like Mr. Kasir and his girl in France, their time together would be fleeting. Landon knew this. It rested on his continued illness, without which his life would go back to normal. What possible reason was there for seeing him if all was well? Landon didn’t want to destroy a marriage. And more than that, she didn’t want to cause Abi any pain. She wanted only to dance. Even after the song was over, she wanted to keep dancing.
Will took Landon’s face in his hands. She kept her eyes downcast. She knew if she looked at him, it would hurt, like staring into the sun. She might cry. She might go limp; her legs might give way.
“We won’t be alone again until my next round begins.”
Landon nodded but still didn’t look up. She closed her eyes. She had no words. The music had ended. She had no map, no compass, no guide, no way to move, no clock, no metronome, no lifesaver, no eyeglasses, no song.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“Don’t be.”
She kept her eyes closed and let him lean over so as to bring his face to hers. Their foreheads touched. He was moving in tiny increments. His lips brushed her cheek. She felt thirteen, on the verge of falling, thrilled and terrified. His lips searched her cheek, then found her mouth. He kissed her like she always wanted to be kissed but seldom had been—just lips touching lips. She knew what Mr. Kasir meant by his girl’s kiss being a question. Will let his lips linger on hers.
When it was over, he led her back to the chair where she had been sitting before the dance. He sat back down on the couch.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Yes,” Landon said honestly. “Very much so.”
“I want you to be all right.”
“And I wish that for you,” she whispered.
“I need to lie down,” he said.
“Of course. Let me get you a pillow.” She hurried to Abi’s bedroom and retrieved one for him, fluffing it as she returned to the living room. “Are you hungry?”
“No, not yet.”
“Do you need to be alone?”
“No, please don’t go quite yet.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” she assured him.
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. He was still playing, but it was light fun again.
They played their game for a long time—making up stories about the past, pretending they had known one another and wanted one another back.
“Remember the time we were playing football and I tackled you and straddled you, pinned you to the ground with your hands over your head, my hands pressing yours?”
“Remember that party when we left our dates on the dance floor and ran to the parking lot to make out?”
“Remember the night you told me you used to be scared of losing gravity, so I got on top of you so you wouldn’t fall off the earth?”
When this was over and Will felt like he could eat, Landon ordered a pizza and got him a beer from the refrigerator. It was time for her to go, but she sat on the floor. He was stretched out on the couch. She got on her knees so her face was next to his. This time, she looked him straight in the eye as she touched his lips with her finger. He did the same to her, each of them tracing something on the other’s lips.
“What did you write?” she asked.
“My initials.”
Whatever was happening was nothing to fear. She was back in familiar territory again: taking care of somebody. But the kiss was tucked away inside her. There, they were on the dance floor, basking in what could never be, would always be, theirs for the remembering.
JET
The lawyer Stephanie hired for Jet was reassuring from the beginning. He explained that the cops were outside their jurisdiction, so the arrest couldn’t stand. He’d have it resolved quickly.
Jet had called Abi to let her know what was going on, and to tell her she was staying on for a week but would be back to Birmingham. She chose Abi because she had known her longer than the other neighbors.
Stephanie offered to drive her home, but Jet insisted that she’d done enough. She took the bus.
When the bus pulled in, Jet spotted Abi leaning against a concrete wall, smoking a cigarette. She reminded Jet of Paul Newman.
When Jet got off, Abi smiled and embraced her. They walked through the station and out to the curb, where Abi’s Volvo was parked unapologetically in a no-parking zone.
“I’ve always thought of rules as suggestions,” Abi said.
Jet threw her tote bag into the backseat. Because Jet’s clothes had been in her car at the time of the arrest, Stephanie and Caroline had taken her shopping—a new pair of jeans and six tees of varying colors.
Once inside Abi’s car, Jet sighed.
“How bad was it?” Abi asked, and lit another cigarette.
Jet shook her head. “I panicked when they arrested me. But that’s not what I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been chewing on how it all worked out for me. Getting to know Stephanie for who she is—my mother. That was like heaven. And Caroline, too. Knowing I have a sister. They tried to make it like a vacation for me—lying by the pool, wading in the Gulf, telling bad jokes.”
“Oh, sweetie, that is wonderful.”
“How something so good could come out of . . .”
“I understand,” Abi replied. “In a way, that’s how my daddy’s illness has been.”
“How’s he doing?” Jet asked.
“We’ll know Monday. He has an appointment with the oncologist. He’ll let us know whether or not the chemo has worked. And depending on that outcome, we’ll discuss the next step.”
Jet stared at the people on the sidewalk by the Greyhound station. Many of them held up signs that read, “Homeless” or “Hire me” or “Feed me.” Then she spotted a woman who held a sign that read, “Heal me.” The words caused a quickening in Jet. The woman reminded her of Violet. The Birmingham police had brought Violet to the shelter on Jet’s first night there. It turned out that everyone there knew Violet well. That night, she wore sunglasses, even though it was dark out. She said a man beat her with a gun. The volunteers checked her out and didn’t find any injuries. But they didn’t turn her away because, for whatever reason, she needed to be sheltered. And she never left. She was Jet’s guide in the underworld.
“Look at that woman’s sign,” Abi said. “Are you going to get Father Patrick to come save her?”
“She doesn’t need saving,” Jet replied, rolling her window down.
“Don’t say anything to her,” Abi said.
“I won’t, don’t worry.”
Jet wasn’t in a hurry to get to Lenny’s apartment to pick up her car. She needed time to adjust to being back, time to think. Abi turned on the radio, searching the stations for a song she might like. A breeze picked up. Jet leaned toward the door, hung her head out the window, and let the sunlight take her face. She closed her eyes as if she were still at the beach, tanning.
Then, without opening them, she said, “How’s Sam?”
Abi took her hand, and Jet opened her eyes.
“I don’t mean to be harsh,” Abi said, “but do you think maybe you’re attracted to him because you can’t have him?”
“Boyfriends always let you down in the end, don’t they?” Jet asked.
“Girlfriends can let you down, too,” Abi replied.
“It must be nice to have a choice like you do.”
“A choice?”
“You know, liking men and women. Maybe that multiplies your chances at getting somebody who knows how to love you right.”
“Little sister,” Abi said, “that’s not really how it works.”
“I wish you were my big sister.”
“I am,” Abi replied. “Also, don’t get so hopeless about guys. The only men in your life are either taken or in their nineties or gay or priests. You haven’t met a lot of eligible fellows lately.”
“I guess that’s weird,” Jet said, cracking a smile.
“It’s safe,” Abi said, and started the car. “Relationships aren’t so great. That’s why I’m happy it’s just me and the cats.”
“Do I need a pet?”
Abi shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
LANDON
Landon was in her front yard planting some tomatoes in a space she had cleared with a hoe. Spring had not brought her the melancholy it had in years past, though she wasn’t sure why.
She transplanted the Big Girls from a flat into the ground. A bandana held back her hair, but she had still worked up a sweat. She stopped and wiped her forehead on her sleeve. That’s when she saw Mr. Kasir’s truck coming up the street.
“Mr. Kasir!” she hollered, waving a gloved hand.
He pulled over. Landon wasn’t sure if he was there to see her or not. Generally, he called first when he planned to visit.
He rolled the window down, and she walked over to his truck. She leaned forward and apologized for the way she looked.
“You planting tomatoes?”
“I am. Is everything all right?” she asked him.
“I’m fine. I’m on my way home from my attorney’s office and just thought I’d drive by Cullom to see if all is well, and I see that it is for you. How is Abi’s father?”
“We’ll know on Monday if the chemo’s working. Why don’t you come inside?”
“I don’t want to interrupt what you’re doing.”
“Don’t be silly. I need to cool down.”
Landon noticed that he had a harder time than usual getting onto the running board of his truck. He held the steering wheel with his right hand and his cane in his left. Once on the curb, he hesitated, needing to get his bearings. Landon had noted before that his arthritis was getting worse. She had never seen him have to catch his breath, though. It worried her.
Once inside, she turned on the window air-conditioning unit and got the lemonade she had made from scratch the day before. And as always when she was with Mr. Kasir, she used her good china and crystal. She dropped a few ice cubes into the glasses and took the pitcher to the table, where she poured both of them a glass.
“Homemade, isn’t it?” he asked after taking a long sip.
“When life gives you lemons . . . ,” she replied.
“Ah,” he said. “The real trick is putting in enough sugar.”
“You wouldn’t believe how much sugar is in here; it’s enough to make us feel high as a kite. I can’t drink alcohol, so it’s important for me to have my own good things to indulge in.”
“You’re a sweet girl,” he replied.
“I’m glad you think that.”
Landon waited for a clue as to what was on his mind.
“The reason I’ve been at my attorney’s office is because I’m changing my will,” Mr. Kasir said finally.
Landon nodded and moved closer, as he clearly wanted to choose his words carefully.
“I don’t want to burden you with this, but my son, Abe Jr., is in jail for possession of narcotics with intent to distribute. Oh, did you hear about our little Jet? She called to tell me. She knows I won’t judge. Anyhow, back to my son. They were strong painkillers, and I can’t recall the name of them.”
“Oxycontin,” Landon said.
“That’s it. How did you know?”
“Industry hazard. Oxy’s as strong as heroin, and just as addictive. It is easy to overdose.”
Mr. Kasir nodded. “You are a smart girl.”
“It’s just that I had plenty of patients who were dealing with addiction.” She put her hand over his. “What addictionologists tell us is that a person stops growing emotionally at the age when they began using. Like, let’s say that Abe Jr. started using at eighteen. That means that, in many ways, he’s still eighteen.”
Mr. Kasir pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, took off his glasses, and wiped his eyes. Landon knew his generation had been taught that men didn’t cry. She wondered where all those unwept tears were stored—maybe in the heart. And one day, the heart couldn’t take any more and just stopped.
“Tell me,” she said softly.
“It hurts me to think he never grew up and never will. All these years, I’ve tried to help him, but he would not change. A few weeks ago, when my grandson, Jason, came over to tell us that Abe Jr. was back in jail, something inside me finally broke. Or rather, was finally resolved. We even looked that word up in the dictionary. I was at peace and decided on the spot that I was through with him, that I wasn’t going to get him out.”
“Often, that’s the best thing you can do.”
“But what you said about him still being eighteen, it makes me want to reconsider.”
Landon leaned closer. “You’re doing the right thing. What does Mrs. Kasir think, and Jason?”
“Oh, they were thrilled. My wife started going to all the Al-Anon meetings and got herself to a good place. She stopped worrying over him long ago and devoted herself to Jason. She got healthy, and I was sick. As sick as Abe Jr., the way I enabled him.”
“I cannot tell you how brave you were to have made this decision,” Landon said. “I’m sorry I even said that about his still being eighteen. That can go only so far, for so long.”
“You’re a good listener,” he said.
“I’m your tenant, and I’m grateful to be. I’m also your friend, right?”
He nodded and stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket. “So that’s what I was doing this morning,” he said. “I was making some real changes before I lost my resolve. I saw my attorney and told him the properties—all of them, not just the ones here on Cullom—should go to Jason after his grandmom dies. I know it’s the righ
t thing. There is a tiny part of me that I fight, the lingering notion I can save my son.”
Landon nodded. “But this is where your faith comes in, right?”
“Right.”
“And I am also here for you. Always. Just as you are for me, right?”
“That’s right,” Mr. Kasir said, patting her hand. “But why did it take me all these years to leave it be?”
“You were trying to be a good father.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. And that’s something, believe you me.”
“I’ve been trying for a long time. I’m almost ninety years old.”
They sat quietly for a moment, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Mr. Kasir took the piece of shrapnel from his pocket. Landon knew he wanted to move the conversation back to the war, the girl.
“Tell me.”
“Every day, she came for me,” he said, picking up exactly where he left off. “The last time I saw her was like the other times. She came to get me, wearing the white cotton dress she had worn the first time. I knew my platoon was starting to pack up. I knew she’d come back the next day, and we’d be gone. I was glad we didn’t have language at that point. I didn’t want to give her the bad news—that we were moving on.”
He continued, “We were lying on the grass in the meadow. I remember a new moon in the sky, a tiny crescent so bright it looked like gold. She turned to face me. There is a difference between wanting something and needing something. I knew it then. We were so young. Maybe she knew I’d be leaving soon, because we stayed there too long. We weren’t thinking about the war. To us, just then, it didn’t matter. When we think we’re in love, we throw danger to the wind, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Landon said. She allowed herself briefly to think of Will.
“Forgive me for pouring this all out. Sometimes, it seems that the more I tell you, the more I have left to tell.”
Landon was, as always, mesmerized by Mr. Kasir’s love story.
“And before we got up to walk home . . . ,” he began. He picked up the piece of shrapnel.
“Did you kiss her?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. And this is the part of her I carry. The war would take over. I was going to see more men die. That first day on Omaha Beach had been so horrific, but war doesn’t let up. It feels endless, when you’re in it. I wanted to pack her up and carry her with me, keep her safe with me—as if that was safe. I tried to remember Mrs. Kasir and the future ahead. We’d have children. I’d work every day and come home to her arms and a warm dinner, and we’d sit on the patio of a house we’d build and study the constellations. But I couldn’t see the future. I forgot how to love Mrs. Kasir. I had nothing but the war and Carissa. War doesn’t give a damn about love. I never saw her again.”
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