by Leslie Pike
He turns on the radio but quickly turns it off when a Sinatra song comes on. I don’t say a word. I look at the Christmas lights and decorated yards. It brings me no joy.
“Here we are,” he says.
We pull up to the curb of a lovely white Victorian home. Tiny white lights hang across the eaves and porch rails. Red poinsettias are bunched on either side of the front door in white glossy pots. Christos turns off the engine.
“How beautiful,” I say, looking out the window.
I’m waiting for him to get out and come around to my side, like always. But he’s still. I feel his hand reach out to mine. My heart starts pounding.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
I turn to him and look into eyes filled with tears. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
I thought I wanted him to say it. But in reality it only hurts. Tears that can’t be controlled run down my cheeks. Letting go of my hand he wipes his eyes. I do the same. But it does no good, they just reappear.
“Let’s get this over with,” he says opening his door.
Making our way up the walk, I see Max peeking out the glass side pane, and then someone’s hand pulling him back. I expected the door to open, but it doesn’t.
“Let’s make this a short visit. I’m not in a festive mood,” Christos says. “Okay?”
Vapor escapes from his lips. I want to catch and hold it in my heart, proof he’s a part of me. But it’s as elusive as our happiness.
There’s just a nod from me because I’m about to start crying. We climb the stairs, he rings the bell then takes my hand. Fingers entwine and hold tight. The door swings open.
“Ho, ho, ho,” two voices ring out.
Dion and Max are our greeters and both wear happy smiles. But only Dion picks up on our real mood. We’re wearing smiles, but I’m certain our eyes are telling a different story.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” I say.
“Come in. Everyone’s here,” he says avoiding our eyes.
Max gives us each a hug and I welcome it. If I could keep holding on I would. I’ve got to do whatever distracts me from what’s really happening. I hear the strains of Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”. It’s wildly out of place in its contradiction of my mood, but perfectly suited to the party. The living room is filled with Santinis. Three couples are dancing, Sophia and Valentino, Alexander and Joseph, and Nikos and Lana. They’re all laughing as they switch partners every half minute or so. Joseph and Valentino dance well together.
We get a wave from Sophia and acknowledgements all around the room. Nash comes to us with two mugs.
“Egg-nog?” He hands us the cups. “I think I made it a little stiff. But we all need to loosen up tonight, right?”
His eyes go to our faces and it’s obvious he can see we’ve been crying.
“Good thinking,” Christos says.
He downs half of it in one gulp.
The next hour is torturous. Everyone is trying to be in the spirit. We’re sitting on the couch, giving it our all, with stupid smiles plastered on our faces. They’re acting like nothing’s off and it’s just a celebration. Doing their damnedest to not stare at the elephant in the room. But we all know better. Especially the two of us. All parties have attempted to make cheery small talk, with us and each other. But no one’s buying it. There’s a few beats where everyone’s silent. We’ve run out of ideas to distract ourselves. Awkward. That’s when Nikos chimes in.
“Shit, somebody tell a joke.”
The Santini chorus weighs in. Valentino smacks him in the arm, Nash shoots him a pissed off stare and Farrah starts passing out Italian cookies. At least it’s not quiet anymore. Christos leans in to my ear.
“Let’s get out of here. Ready?”
“Yes.”
We get up and before anyone can object he says, “We’re gonna be going.” He gives them a look that quiets any objection. Their faces are filled with unspoken affection. For both of us I think.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Sophia says. “We’ll see you two tomorrow.”
Neither of us answer. We kiss our goodbyes.
“Thank you, Farrah. Sorry,” I say in her ear.
She squeezes my hand.
Once outside, we walk silently to the Porsche and get in. Looking at each other with a question in our eyes. Is this really happening?
“We’re still going to the house?” he asks.
“Yes. Auntie and I already said our goodbyes. She’s on her way to her friend’s. We’ll have the place till . . .”
I can’t bear to say the words.
“Good. I’m not interested in going anywhere but there. Even tomorrow. If I only have you for another day and night, I want us to spend it alone.”
I couldn’t agree more.
As soon as we walk through the door, he puts his duffle down and we melt into each other’s arms. There’s no need for words and not much to say, anyway. Why waste time going over what’s already been decided? He threads his fingers in my hair and kisses me tenderly. Those next fifty years he spoke of? They just showed up in his kiss.
He pulls back and looks in my eyes.
“Upstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
He picks up his bag, takes my hand and we climb. It bears no resemblance to the first time we headed towards my bedroom. There’s no passionate urgency or peeling of clothes. It’s a slower march that brings us that much closer to our goodbye.
United comes out of Auntie’s room and watches as we approach. He calls to his favorite human. Meow.
Christos stops and bends down. To my surprise, he picks the cat up.
“Hey. Hi, buddy.”
United’s as shocked as I am. At last he’s got the attention of his human. There’s the funniest look on his face as he pulls his neck back. It breaks the dark mood we’re in for a moment. We both laugh.
“Now that I didn’t expect,” I say. “You, I mean.”
“I want to give him a proper goodbye. He deserves that,” he says kissing the cat on his head. United doesn’t like this change of behavior and wiggles out of Christos’ grasp. Off he runs. “Good. I’m glad he didn’t get tamed. That’s how I want to remember him.”
He looks at me and I hear his message loud and clear.
I hadn’t even thought of that. In all the drama going down, I forgot United and Christos won’t be seeing each other again. The ripple effect. The cat, the Santini’s, Auntie, all effected by my leaving. No, that’s not right. It’s not the leaving, it’s the us not being together. The whole future dynamics of our two families change. All dreams of friendships evaporate. In the mists of my mind I watch as every possibility of our likely joy becomes vapor.
When we walk into the bedroom, I see him spot my suitcases. They stand ready in the corner of the room. He doesn’t comment, but just starts taking off his clothes. I follow his lead.
“You hungry? I could make us something and bring it up here?” I say.
“No. I just want to get in bed. I need to hold you.”
There’s no words between us as we pull back the bedding and climb in. Outside the rain begins.
Christmas morning comes on cat feet. I held on to the dark of night because that way I could pretend. Like Romeo and Juliet, it’s not a lark but a nightingale I hear. Now with the sun rising there’s no denying our last day together has arrived. He was awake most of the night too, but finally gave into sleep a few hours ago. His soft breathing is my opus.
Gently, I untangle myself from his arms and get out of bed. Walking to the chair I reach for my carry on.
“Morning,” he calls.
I turn and look on that spectacular face.
“I’ve got a gift for you,” I say removing the gift from my bag.
“Me too, for you.”
Neither of us acknowledges it’s Christmas. He rises and retrieves my present.
Taking the flat, simply wrapped package, he brings it to me. It’s unevenly taped together but there’s a pretty red bo
w atop the white paper.
“I wrapped that myself. Can you tell?” He laughs half-heartedly.
Does he know how charming his laugh is to me? I pull back the paper to see the back of a frame. In his own hand is written the words, You’ve put a spell on me. Turning it over, my heart lifts to the heavens and then sinks to the pit of my stomach. It’s the picture we took in the photo booth that first night. I stare wordless at our images in those first hours. Both of us are staring into the lens and have expressions that say we know something magical is happening. How is it possible that we look younger? I think it’s because we didn’t know the sadness was coming.
“Oh, Christos.”
“You like it?” he says, knowing the answer.
“I love it.”
He stares into my eyes and it feels as if he wants to say more than he is.
Chapter Eleven
Christos
She didn’t want me to drive her to the airport. You were right, Kate. Why exchange our last words on a cold curb? To what end? Giving a final kiss while passing strangers rush to make their flights or greet returning lovers. No. That would never have happened.
It was better our way. Last night was the time for tenderness. Today there was no sugarcoating what was happening, no little lies told to cover the truth. We let silence speak. Neither able to say the word goodbye. All was spoken in our last long embrace. The finality of the moment stunned me.
I glance at the package on my seat. Kate asked that I not open it till she was gone. But opening it will be tough. Maybe when I’m home. Maybe then. For now I’m occupied with the replaying of her leaving. We waited to lock up the house till Uber had arrived. I stood on the porch, gift in hand, watching in the rain. She didn’t look back as she got in the car. I knew she was already gone.
Now the last ten miles to San Francisco seem like a hundred. Bumper to bumper misery. Fucking traffic. Soon I’ll be reverting to my default mood. The one I was in that first night.
I just want to hole up in the loft for a few days, not talking with anyone, not listening to music, not thinking. That’s a laugh. It happens without effort.
How I know she likes when I watch her putting on lipstick. She does it slowly for my benefit, lips parted just a little. The way she crooks her index finger to call me. That sound she makes when I kiss her neck and the fact that she blushes a little when I tell her she looks beautiful but never when I say something sexual.
She took everything from me but the memories. Those I’ll keep forever.
This fucking headache is killing me. And the incessant rain. Shit. I glance into the car in the next lane. Yeah, of course. Two teenagers making out. They thought of a way to pass the time. I want to slap them for reminding me how it is to kiss her.
My cell sounds. I have no intention of answering. The only call I’d take would be hers. And that’s not going to happen, her flight took off ten minutes ago. I let the call go to voice mail. Then there’s another call. Shit. I’m fine people. Leave me be. But this time I look at the screen. It’s Farrah. Forget it. That’s what I think but I press the voice message.
The voice says, “Call me! It’s important.”
Nope. Not going to happen. I inch up another two feet on the freeway. Now we’re stopped again. And this is the fast lane.
Again with the phone. When I press the message box, I hear the one thing that can get my attention. 911. That’s Santini code for quit your fucking around and answer your cell. This is an emergency. I hit call back.
She picks up in one ring. “Where are you?” she says.
“On the freeway. I’m almost to the City.”
“Well, turn around. Your mother’s been arrested.”
My whole body stiffens for a moment. “What? What for?”
“DUI. It’s all a big mistake. But they have her and your father’s causing a scene. We need you here.”
I’m already making my way to the next lane.
“Where’s Nash?”
“In surgery. Nikos is back in Vegas and Alexander and Joseph are on the way to San Diego to visit Joseph’s parents. They’re probably there already. I can’t reach Dion.”
“Okay, okay. But Mom was drinking?”
“No! She took a pain pill for her arthritis and then she and Valentino had a martini with lunch. She had a hair appointment and was on her way. I guess she was swerving.”
“Christ. Alright, I’m on my way. You there with Dad?”
“Yeah. He forgot his phone so don’t call him. Lana and Robert are running the deli. Valentino’s beside himself. But I’ve got things under control now. Just get here when you can. She needs her attorney.”
“I’m on my way.”
We disconnect.
These fucking cars aren’t letting me in. I make a mostly illegal move in front of a hot Mustang. Rain is making a slick surface. The Porsche hydroplanes a bit. The guy flips me off and then leans on his horn.
“Fuck you!” I scream in response.
Shit. What a mess. My mother in jail? That cop must be a rookie. I can’t see Jonah holding her in a cell. He’s been a good Sheriff and friend. What the fuck? They haven’t met pissed off Sophia. Or maybe they have by now. And my father making a scene? That doesn’t sound right either. But I know when people are afraid they act differently. That must be it.
I finally make it to the exit and off the freeway. I circle around and get back on, heading in the opposite direction. The traffic’s lighter going towards St. Helena. This is turning out to be one hell of a day. Well, at least it took my mind off my misery for a few minutes.
I glance at the freeway sign, St. Helena next exit. All right. Why aren’t Lana or Robert answering their phones? The jail is right off Main Street. I downshift and take the turnoff. Up ahead is the curve where I passed Kate’s empty car that night. Today it’s only a muddy patch on the side of the road where a few boys in raingear are messing around. Their bikes are resting under the trees up ahead.
Funny, it’s raining just like it was on Halloween. That seems like another life. I look in my rearview mirror and see the boys have stopped their play. They’re headed in a pack towards town, and shelter I suspect. That kid in front looks kinda like Max. It’s hard to tell as I move away.
Main Street looks nearly deserted. There’s just one drenched figure standing in the street, braving the storm. What’s she doing there? Is she looking this way? My heart starts to pound and my hands grip the steering wheel. She’s wearing a witch’s hat.
The sensation in my body is like an electrical charge. There’s a lump in my throat. The car finds the curb. I’m out of it in a matter of seconds, sprinting to her. She’s crying as she throws the hat off onto the wet street. Makeup’s running down her face. Has she ever looked so beautiful? Wrapping ourselves in each other’s embrace and kissing as raindrops wash away all our sorrow. The lips, and neck and the cheeks, all mine to love. We’re all alone.
“Christos,” she whispers.
I look in her emerald green eyes and realize my whole life just got made.
“I love you, Kate. Do you know that?”
“Yes! I love you too.”
“You’re here for good then?”
“For good and bad, forever.”
I hold her tightly, making sure I’m not dreaming this heaven.
“How did you . . .”
“I got to the airport and I couldn’t go any further.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help you keep your dream. You’ll see.” We seal my vow with a kiss.
“Look,” she says, motioning towards the St. Helena Pet Hospital.
I turn to see Nash, Farrah, and my parents in the window. All four wear wide grins. My mother’s throwing kisses and my father’s giving us the thumbs up while wiping his eyes.
“I got a call . . .”
“Your mother wasn’t in jail. That’s how we got you to come back. None of us were sure you’d buy it, but it had to be serious enough to make you turn around. Max was our point
man. He called us when you came off the freeway into town. That’s when I took my position in the rain.”
I see Max separate from his friends and head into the animal hospital.
“You’re not mad we scared you?” she teases.
Mad? There’s no room in my heart for anything other than joy. Kate’s come back. And starting now, here in the street in the rain, my real life finally begins. I entwine my fingers through hers and together we walk towards our family.
Epilogue
Kate
It’s taken over a year to realize my dream. I step back and look at the new banner hanging across the entry to the property.
CAMP SHAKESPEARE announces its pre-registry dates for the summer season in St. Helena. My heart swells with the sight. I’ve worked hard to make this reality. So has Christos. Thankfully he was right about there being a market for teaching young people the magic of the Bard, both here and in San Francisco.
As I turn to walk back to my car, I’m thinking about what has transpired. How our life has unfolded and how the pieces have fit together.
By the interest shown thus far, the camp’s going to be booked all four weeks. July will be spent teaching and playing with the six-to-twelve-year-old crowd. Our goal is fun. All I really want is to expose young minds to the words of the master. If successful, I’ll offer it every summer, if not I’ll concentrate on my focus.
September will be the start. Artistic Director of The Children’s Shakespeare Company of San Francisco. I say it to myself a hundred times a day. I’m proud, scared and excited all at once. It feels right. My school and my new direction. Students will be given instruction in voice, acting technique and stage combat. But it’s not for beginners. Membership requires auditions, and it stuns me how quickly a waiting list formed. It’s both rewarding and humbling to be recognized as an actress whose reputation precedes her.
It was good fortune to procure a few of the actors I worked with last season to make guest appearances on their break at the end of October. I was glad there were no hard feelings. Well, almost. James took my leaving personally, but I couldn’t care less. The issue of the broken contract fizzled out with time, and the people I was close to remained my friends.