by David Lewis
The door burst open. I jumped backward, and a brunette girl leapt into the room, her face beyond my vision. Her head was turned away from me toward the shower area. She whipped her hand behind her to grab my hand, whispering frantically: “C’mon!”
With my hand now in hers, she was pulling me out the door and down a hallway. “That was close, Dad!”
I tightened my grip, resisting her forward momentum. I hadn’t gotten a good look at her face. She twisted around and faced me. “Dad! C’mon, we have to get in place!”
Alycia.
She frowned. “What?”
Speechless, I stared into her face.
“What’s the matter, Dad?”
My throat closed up. Instinctively, I reached for her and pulled her to me, hugging her near, and reluctantly she hugged me back. “Da-ad! We don’t have time for this!”
She fit in my arms just as I remembered. She’d never gone to Melgaard Park to meet Sean. She’d never cut her wrists in Sally’s bathroom.
She pushed away from me. “Dad … are you okay?”
Swallowing, I nodded. “It’s just so good to see you, honey.”
“Parents are so weird,” she muttered with some expressive eye rolling. “You’d think I died or something.”
My grin felt wobbly.
“C’mon, Dad, we have to go!”
I released her, and she gave me her get-it-together expression.
“She’ll be walking out any minute,” Alycia whispered urgently. “You left the note, right?”
“The note.”
She stopped. “You forgot the note?”
“Uh, I don’t remember,” I said.
“Da-a-ad!”
“Sorry.”
Her mouth was working vigorously from side to side. “Okay,” she said, heading back through the hallway. “No problem. I’ve got everything under control.”
I watched her sneak to the door. Slowly she pushed it open, then peeked inside again. She glanced back, and made a so-far-so-good face. She slipped inside.
I waited, and it seemed to take forever. Looking around, I noticed the balcony railing, the elaborate windows. Leaning over, I noted the entryway, just downstairs. Glancing to my left, I saw a large framed print, a Broadway poster of Titanic, the Musical. A brunette woman stared rapturously into the face of another man.
Only his love could save her … the headline intoned.
The woman was Alice.
Suddenly, Alycia burst out of the room, her face ablaze with excitement. She giggled loudly and grabbed my hand again as she passed me, as if my hand were a baton. “C’mon!”
This time I went willingly. She pulled me down the steps, and when we reached the bottom, a hardwood floor, she turned to me, “Mom was dressing in the closet. I wrote it on the mirror!”
“The mirror?”
“It was foggy. C’mon, Dad, keep up.”
She took me around a corner, released my hand, expecting me to follow, and headed through another door. We ran down another set of stairs, and when we reached the bottom, Alycia giggle-sprinted across the darkened room and disappeared behind a long wooden bar.
I hesitated. Was I supposed to follow? A tiny whisper erupted from the darkness. “Oh, Da-a-ad. Over here.”
I followed and, despite the blackness, spotted her leaning against the wall. She held up a small electronic device that resembled a TV remote control. “I programmed it,” Alycia whispered. “When I press this button … Voila! … the lights come on.”
She rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be so cool,” she said excitedly. “So she really thought we forgot?”
“What?”
“You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No,” I said, still unsure of the occasion.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Stick a needle up your nostril?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m old,” I whispered.
“No kidding, but that’s nothing new.”
“Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” she said, and then tensed. “Did you hear that?”
“No.”
“Are you listening?”
“Of course.”
A moment of silence passed. “You forgot the presents, didn’t you?”
I had to think fast. “No … but I forgot where I hid them.”
Alycia sighed with supreme exasperation. “In the downstairs closet?”
“Well, then. They must be there.”
She expelled a breath. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I guess we were up late.”
My eyes had acclimated to the dark, and I saw her eyebrows merge into a frown. “Oh, gross. Information overload.”
“All I said was—”
Her hands flew to her ears. “Ewww. La la la la … I can’t hear you … la la la la la.”
She dropped her hands. “You and Mom have been married for fourteen years, you know. That stuff should be old hat.”
“What stuff?”
Hands to the ears again. “La la la la.” Her eyes widened. “Did you hear that?”
“How could I?”
She plastered her clammy hand against my mouth. “Ssssshhhh.”
We listened but heard nothing.
She turned and frowned at me. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“I like your face paint.”
She frowned. “Oh yeah. The makeup. You actually like it?”
“Of course not, but you did a good job. You know. For a kid.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. Acclimate.”
She reached for me, but I grabbed her hands with one of mine and tickled her. She sputtered a giggle before snatching her hands away and slapping her mouth shut with both. Through her muffled hands, she sputtered, “D-a-a-ad! Look what you made me do.”
The stair squeaked loudly, and we both heard it. Alycia sucked in a breath. “Did she hear us?”
I hope so, I thought, grinning like a fool in the dark. The ability to process this, to make heads or tails out of what was happening, would come later. In the meantime, my daughter was still alive.
“Are you ready, Dad?” she whispered.
“Ready for what?”
“She’s standing in the hallway!”
I heard repeated clicking of a wall switch by the stairwell entrance. “That’s strange,” someone murmured. “The light must have burned out.”
The voice was familiar, and by now I was dying to stand up and yell, “Surprise!”
“Are you ready, Dad?”
“Roger, dodger.”
“We need to buy you some new lingo.”
“Someone down here?” That female voice again, so familiar.
Alycia grasped my hand. “Ready?”
“Say the word.”
“Now!”
Hand in hand, Alycia and I leapt to our feet and yelled “Surprise!” at the exact moment the entire downstairs was engulfed in lights and I heard the blaring guitars of rock music, which I immediately recognized as the Beatles’ rendition of “You say it’s your birthday…”
The room exploded with illuminated balloons and streamers and banners, and across the room a woman squealed with delight. I didn’t recognize her at first—for a completely different reason than someone might suspect: because this woman wasn’t Alice. Not even close. I watched her, now ecstatic with delight, twisting around and around, taking in the entire room. “You guys, you guys, what did you do? I thought you forgot my birthday!”
Alycia squealed, and by now the woman had crossed the room and was reaching for me. Holding out her hands, she grabbed my waist, and by then there was no doubt in my mind.
Donna kissed me sweetly on the lips, and then squeezed my cheeks. “Hey, Lover Boy, when did you plan all this?”
CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE
This was not the Donna I remembered. Her hair was cut chinlength with loose
bangs. She was wearing white shorts and a loose-fitting blouse with pink and yellow stripes. Her entire frame was thinner somehow, but shapely all the same.
“No more kisses, okay?” Alycia said, her eyes wide with insistence. Donna embraced me again. Alycia slapped her hands over her eyes. “Okay, okay, I see no evil.”
With melodramatic gusto, Donna kissed me again.
“This is not working out according to plan,” Alycia complained, coming over and grabbing our hands. “Time for presents.”
Donna caught my eye. “There’s more?”
“Always,” I whispered, but my words were coming out like echoes, as if I were talking in a tunnel.
Donna swung her hair from side to side to show off the earrings twinkling in the overhead lights. Alycia reached a closet and gave me a warning look, which I took to mean: I’d better have remembered. She poised her hand on the knob and gave me another look. I shrugged and waited, hoping I hadn’t blown it. She pulled open the closet like a magician revealing the lady who had been sawn in half. “Voila!”
There were two large gift-wrapped boxes with silver bows sitting on a small stool. Alycia flashed me a quick, well done smile.
I felt proud. Donna squealed again and wrapped my arm into hers. “Oh, Stephen…” she whispered, giving me another peck on the cheek.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Alycia muttered. “Before things get out of hand!”
Alycia loaded up my arms, and I carried the presents to the living room. Cathedral ceilings and tall windows overlooked the sandy beach leading to the cove and the ocean beyond. I put the gifts in a leather chair.
Donna was now standing in front of the windows. She caught me looking at her, and I smiled, embarrassed. A glint of curiosity crossed her features.
Taking a deep breath, I got up and went to the windows beside her. Together we looked out beyond the deck and watched the foamy waves surge against the shoreline.
Moments later, Donna opened my present first, and I wondered what I’d gotten her. It was a framed print. I took a closer look. It wasn’t a print. It was an original. Donna grinned. “It’s beautiful!” She winked at me, and in a humorous tone, designed to sound slightly melodramatic, she exclaimed, “What did I ever do to deserve you!”
Alycia broke in. “Are you kidding, Mom? He’s lucky to have you.”
I forced a laugh. Next Donna opened Alycia’s gift. It was a purse.
“I remember looking at this at the mall,” Donna exclaimed.
“I paid attention,” Alycia replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
“What did I do to deserve you?” Donna said, getting up to hug her daughter. Alycia shot me a warning glance, designed to intercept any potential sarcastic repartee.
Donna came back over and promptly sat in my lap.
“This is so totally getting out of hand,” Alycia said, jumping up. “I’m going into the next room now, and when I return, you two had better be all finished with all this kissy stuff.”
“Then you’d better be gone for a while,” Donna chuckled.
“Oh, gross, Mom,” Alycia whined. “TMI!” She headed around the corner.
Donna kissed me tenderly and began running her fingers through my hair. “You seem … a little distracted, Stephen. Everything okay?”
The whole thing was already unraveling.
She whispered into my ear. “You and Alycia, and your birthday surprises. I can’t keep up with you two.”
I took another breath.
“Am I too heavy?” She grasped my cheek lightly, peering into my eyes. “Sure there’s nothing wrong? You’re looking a bit partly cloudy.”
I stared into my former wife’s eyes.
“Wanna go upstairs?” she asked.
“You know … actually, I’m not really feeling that well.”
Donna frowned thoughtfully. “I didn’t think so. You shouldn’t pretend, you big-strong-he-man type. Can I get you something?”
“Uh … like what?”
“The pink stuff? Was it something we ate last night, maybe?”
Last night? “Maybe.”
“Maybe you just didn’t sleep enough,” she said and nipped my ear.
I shivered and she pulled back.
“Did that hurt?”
“No, of course not.”
She frowned and stared at me curiously. I almost expected her to say, You’re not really Stephen, are you? The moment she would begin asking me questions, I would be finished.
“I think … I need to lie down for a while.”
“Okay,” she said, and for a moment I thought I saw the old Donna, the one who carried a glint of hurt behind her eyes.
She was getting up when I pulled her back to me, and she giggled playfully. She looked at me expectantly. “We might do a little shopping? Alycia and I? While you rest.”
I nodded, and she got up again. I began walking across the room with renewed effort to appear confident. I was halfway up the steps when I noticed her looking at me curiously. She smiled again, but that questioning in her eyes persisted.
I ascended the remaining steps, past the giant poster of Alice. The moment I was behind the closed door to our spacious bedroom, I let out a sigh of relief.
I leaned against the door, staring around the room with continuing disbelief, waiting for it to suddenly waver into oblivion, after which I would awaken in some asylum ward somewhere.
I could almost imagine someone whispering in the background: Poor man, lost his mind when his daughter committed suicide. Thinks he’s fallen down a rabbit hole.
I wandered about the room, touching things, testing the sense of physical solidity as if that would convince me one way or the other. I handled the comb on the dresser. I ran my fingers along the bedspread, feeling the carpet beneath the soles of my feet, closing my eyes and opening them again. I even tried the old standard: pinching my arm.
In the bathroom, I continued to look for anomalies, little clues that would tell me the truth. The shower was still moist. The fog on the mirrors had evaporated. The beige tile felt cold beneath my touch.
Back in the bedroom, I sat on the bed.
What would it take to fully believe? To fully give myself over to this? I didn’t know, but if the hours turned into days, and the days turned into weeks, surely it would sink in. Eventually it would seem like home. Wouldn’t it?
How was I going to function in a world where I couldn’t remember the past fourteen years? I had to learn the past in a hurry. I had to ask carefully worded questions. Until I got up to speed, I had to keep faking it. Somehow I had to survive in this reality without letting on. I had to learn who I became, and then become that person.
I considered another alternative. What if I came clean? I could face both Alycia and Donna and tell them the truth.
I almost laughed. They’d surely think I was crazy.
“What happened to you, Dad?” Alycia would ask. “Did you hit your head or something?” And then she’d begin looking at me from behind scrutinizing expressions.
No, I had to play along.
First order of business—study the past fourteen years. Eventually, all my questions would be answered, including what actually had happened between Alice and me. Actually? I chuckled briefly at the irony.
I got up, went to the dresser, and pulled out the top drawer. Nestled in with spare change, pens and pencils, was a black leather wallet. The outer flap displayed my driver’s license: South Dakota.
Strange.
I heard a gentle knocking on the door.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened, and Donna and Alycia appeared in the doorway. Alycia was wearing a Patriots baseball cap.
“Are you feeling any better?” Alycia asked. “We’re going out. Wanna come?”
I considered her offer. What if they asked me to drive? What if we met people I was supposed to know? What if Donna and Alycia embarked on conversations that contained recollections I couldn’t “remember”?
No, I couldn’t
risk it yet.
I gestured for Alycia, and she came to me, grasping my extended hand.
“You’re growing up so fast,” I said.
Alycia rolled her yes. “Oh boy, the parental-walk-down-nostalgia lane. Twice in one day.”
“I love you, honey,” I said.
She nodded, smiling sweetly for me. “I love you too, Dad.”
Donna lingered by the door, observing us approvingly.
“So … are you coming or not?” Alycia asked again.
I shook my head. “Not this time.”
Alycia shrugged. “We’ll be gone for a while. Mom wants to go to Essex. And you see … that works out just perfectly for me, because I just want to shop!”
I looked at Donna, and she chuckled. I turned back to Alycia.
“Neat baseball cap,” I said. “It reminds me of when you joined the boys’ team. Remember how we worked for months?”
Alycia frowned. “Joined the boys’ team? Ick. When did I do that?”
“Just kidding,” I replied.
“Dad, your stories are getting weirder and weirder.”
I thought of her ears. “Lean over.”
She did, pushing her hair out of the way. “They’re looking good, huh, Dad?”
At first I felt relief, believing that something of our past had remained, but Alycia quickly clarified the situation. “The miracles of modern surgery, huh?”
Of course, I realized. In this reality, we could afford to pay a surgeon to flatten her ears.
Donna wandered into the room and stroked her daughter’s back. “We’d better go.”
“I challenge you to a rematch,” Alycia said. “When we return.”
“You’re on,” I said, although I wasn’t sure what game we’d be playing.
Donna leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Get some rest, sweetie. And thanks for everything.”
I nodded. They lingered at the door, waved, and left me.
CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX
I began by going through every drawer in the master bedroom. I worked my way through the spare rooms, doing the same, until ending up on the lower walk-out level.
In a downstairs closet, I caught a break. I found another one of Donna’s memory boxes, this one loaded with photo albums and diaries.
I was surprised to see them. Previously—in the other life— Donna had stopped keeping a diary after college. A full thirteen years passed with barely a mention of her thoughts and dreams.