by Leanna Ellis
I laugh again. With him sitting there in his shorts and baseball cap, I can’t quite imagine it. I see him more as he looked in college when he roomed with Stu. Now with tiny gray threads sneaking into his hair, he’s only a couple of years older than me. If he’s old enough to be a grandparent, then so am I. It’s a sobering thought. “No, I can’t believe it. But you’ll be a great one.”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I wanted to be a good dad but—”
“You are a good dad.” I cut him off. “The best. But I know how you feel. You think you let Ivy down in some way, but you didn’t. Your wife made her own choices. Bad ones. Or maybe not. What if she’d stayed? She was depressed, confused, disturbed.” I wipe the leftover tears off my face.
“What if she’d stayed and hurt Ivy? Killed herself, right there?”
He nods, unable to speak for a moment. “You’re right. It could have been worse. I tried to minimize the hurt, the pain. It’s not always possible though.” He meets my gaze. “Do you think you let Stu down?”
It feels as if he’s sliced right through my defenses. My eyes instantly fill with tears. I put a hand out to stop him from speaking, but he clasps my hand and simply holds it. A surprising warmth sweeps through me. “I do feel like I let Stu down. For his death. For this weekend. For living when he couldn’t. Everything. I know, I know, I’m not at fault for Stu’s illness, his death. I couldn’t have prevented it. Maybe it’s survivor’s guilt.”
“I’ve felt that, too,” Ben’s voice deepens, resonating pain. “Guilt. For enjoying Ivy’s birthdays when Gwen should have been there watching her daughter grow. For things I thought I should have done or said in our marriage. But guilt’s a funny thing. It clouds your mind and heart. It also implies blame, and there isn’t any. You are not to blame for Stu, for his death, for living longer than he did.”
I nod, unable to speak. We sit there for a long time, just holding hands. Our friendship was born of Stu, yet it has grown deeper over the years, stronger through adversity.
“You know … if I can be a grandpa, then you can be a daughter again.”
I pull my hand back, turn away. A fresh wave of tears rushes over me. My defenses have been destroyed, my emotions depleted. I’m not sure why I’m crying anymore.
He moves toward me, curses under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t cry, Claudia. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, try to stop the tears. I feel his closeness as if it’s a part of me. It’s different from when I held Ivy. This makes my insides squirm. I can’t think and move away. “It’s not you. It’s not Rae. Not really.” I face him, laugh at his dubious expression. “Really. It’s … it’s …”
He keeps his distance and just watches and waits for me to sort through my thoughts and feelings.
“I don’t want to lose someone again.” I look at him, aching for him to understand, to agree.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve already lost my mother, my father, my husband. If … if … Rae will die one day. And I’ll have to go through that all over again.”
Something in his expression shifts, and he pulls me against his chest. His arms embrace me, comfort me. “You can’t push yourself away from everyone just so you never have to let go again.”
I give in to the need to hold and be held. I wrap my arms around his body, and we stand that way for a long while. Finally, I look up at him. “You think I’m crazy, right?”
He touches my face, smooths away my tears with his thumb. “No, I don’t. I’ve felt those same feelings, too. When Gwen left, I was angry, resentful. When she died, all those emotions turned to blame. I never wanted to care about anyone, never wanted to risk loving someone … never wanted to be left like that again. But a funny thing about having a kid … that kid needs love and opens the heart.”
“But,” I venture, “you’ve never dated much since Gwen. Aren’t you open to those possibilities? I mean, a child doesn’t fulfill …”
“I know.”
His eyes darken with understanding and sympathy. Then his gaze drops to my mouth. My insides plunge to dark, unknown territory. Then he dips his head lower, breathes once, twice. My pulse pounds in my throat, my temples. I swallow hard.
Part of me wants to say, “Don’t.” But I’m transfixed, not knowing what to do, how to respond, experiencing familiar feelings that transcend time and age and new ones I’ve never imagined. My mistake comes when my gaze drops to his mouth, out of curiosity and trepidation. But he takes it as an invitation.
His lips touch mine, testing at first. Automatically, I close my eyes. To block him out? Or to absorb his strength? I’m not sure. His mouth is warm, his lips surprisingly soft. I think of kissing Stu the last time, his cracked lips cool to the touch.
I lean into Ben, suddenly needing him, his aliveness. He eases away from me slightly, repositions us, then slants his mouth more fully over mine. His tongue touches the seam of my lips, teases and tempts me. Startled by the need welling up inside me, I push against his shoulders, step back.
He releases me. “I’m not going to apologize.” His voice sounds tight. “So sue me.”
Uneasy, I laugh. “I won’t. But …” Uncertain, I don’t know what to say. “Ben, I, um …”
“We should head back to Dallas tomorrow.” His tone remains flat.
I nod, at a loss for words. My emotions jumble and tumble inside me. “Okay.”
He turns away, stops and looks me in the eye again. “What if I accepted this grandbaby, loved it, cradled it, and then Ivy decided a few months down the road to give it up for adoption? I’d be crushed. Devastated. Hey, I’m already wondering if I should get it a baseball cap or one of those pink frilly dresses.”
My heart goes out to him. I know how helpless he must feel, the same way I felt when I looked at Stu, wanting to help, knowing I couldn’t heal him.
“I’d have to let it go, right? Should I push away the joy of holding a newborn baby? Should I reject the baby before I can feel any loss?”
I want to say it isn’t the same. But in many ways I know he’s right.
“Look, Claudia, it comes down to this: Are you going to reject Rae because one day she’s going to die? Are you going to refuse to ever love someone—maybe me—because one day I’ll die? Sure, you’ll keep from being hurt. You won’t feel any pain. But you won’t feel anything else either. No joy. No love. That, to me, is a wasted life.”
“But you …” I accuse. “Don’t point fingers at me. You haven’t dated. You haven’t loved anyone else … not since Gwen left. And that’s been—”
“You’re wrong. I’ve loved you, Claudia.” His voice wraps my name in thick emotion. His words are as big and bold as the Elvis bust, undeniable, unavoidable, unmistakable. With that he turns and walks out of the hotel room.
* * *
“WHERE’S MY DAD?” Ivy asks sometime later when it’s getting close to dinnertime.
Since Ben’s so-called declaration, I’ve been sitting in the darkening room, getting my bearings on life. When Ivy came out of her room, her door banged back against the wall, startling me.
The noise unearthed Rae from her room. “Everything all right?”
Unsure whom to address, and still in shock over the weekend’s many 24-like revelations, I say, “I don’t know.”
Rae comes fully out of her room and flips on a table lamp. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“My dad! Where’d he go? He never goes anywhere without telling me.”
“I’m sure he’s okay.” I shrug, unable and unwilling to explain. “Everything is f—” I stop myself from saying fine. It doesn’t fit. “Everything’s okay,” I correct. “And your dad … well, I don’t know where he is. He’s around, I’m sure. Couldn’t go far without keys.” I glance at the Cadillac’s keys on the glass coffee table. “Did you call his cell phone?”
“No.”
I laugh. How could a teenager not think of using her cell? It seems a bit ironic for a teen
to be checking up on her dad using the same tool he’s often used to keep tabs on her. “Well, why don’t you try?”
She walks back into her room, and I hear the familiar beeping of her cell phone as she punches in the numbers.
Rae looks intently at me. I feel a slight bobble in my equilibrium. “You sure you’re all right?”
“We should think of dinner,” I suggest.
“Did something happen between you and Ben?” Rae asks.
Her question makes my skin contract, my face burn. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Rae narrows her eyes at me, then says, “Why, of course. Our last night in Memphis should be grand.”
I don’t think it should be a big celebration but more perfunctory—something we have to do, especially with Ivy in her condition. It feels awkward, considering all the things I suddenly know about my companions. I find myself staring back at Rae, watching her move, studying her nose and chin, wondering if she’s simply an older version of myself and if I carry any of her traits that I’ve never noticed before.
“Are we alike?” I ask, putting voice to my questions. I’ve often caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, triggering memories of my mother. I don’t want to lose that.
“What?” she looks up from the magazine.
I fling my hand outward. “Are we alike? You and me?”
“In appearance or behavior?”
“I don’t know. Both maybe.”
“Sometimes I see myself when you turn or walk, when you speak or use your hands a certain way. Other times I see Beverly. A good case study for genetics, right?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Mostly Beverly comes through in your speech, the way you respond to others, always watching and waiting. I’m not one for waiting.”
And yet I realize she waited a long while before telling me the truth. “Why … why did you wait so long to tell me?”
“There were many factors. I’ve told you of your father’s request. But also … I was afraid.”
“Afraid?” I ask, having a hard time imagining Rae afraid of anything.
“Yes, afraid. You could have kicked me out of the car. Never wanted to see me again. I feared losing the relationship we shared … not knowing what would be on the other side.
I still don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“It’s enough that we’re talking.”
“It’s going to take me a while—”
“Of course.”
“—to get used to all of this.”
She touches my arm. Her hand is warm, soft, undemanding. “Everything has changed, yet nothing has. You’ll see. Only your eyes have been opened to the truth.”
Nothing has changed, yet everything has. Forever.
My gaze turns to Ivy’s doorway where she has appeared. “Dad said for us to meet him downstairs when we’re ready for dinner.”
A lump lodges in my throat. I wonder if I’ll feel awkward around him, if we’ll act like kids in junior high, knowing one has a crush on the other. But he’s a man, not a boy. Could his love be called a simple crush?
Will he try to date me? Court me? I cringe. Will he be standoffish? Act irritated. Angry even? Make me wonder and worry about our friendship, maybe even my job? Will he pretend he never spoke those words? The words that confounded, confused, irritated, aggravated, and amazed me.
And how will all of this affect our working relationship? I don’t want to think about that now. He joked that I could sue him. Even though I know it wasn’t sexual harassment. I’d never seek litigation against Ben. I know his heart. Still, it’s awkward. I will have to take one step at a time and see how tonight goes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me
I walk into the lobby, dragging my feet behind Rae and Ivy. My gaze searches the odd assortment of colorful and oddly shaped chairs and couches. A cardboard cutout of Elvis driving a red sports car, a girl by his side, stands beside a small, old-fashioned television. I’m hoping to see Ben first. Maybe I can get an early reading on how he’s going to respond to our kiss.
Suddenly I feel a hand at the back of my waist. Although the touch is soft, gentle even, I startle. But it’s Ben. Maybe all the ghost talk has me skittish. Or maybe it’s that around every corner a secret seems to jump out at me.
He whispers in my ear, “Are you okay?”
I nod, turning only enough to see his face. “Are you?”
“Of course.” Now he sounds like Rae. “Ready, ladies?”
Nothing in his words can be construed as anything. I’m not sure what I want to find. Hidden meanings? Suggestive remarks? I don’t want to read things that aren’t there either. But at the same time I’m fully aware of a tingle that ripples down my spine at the touch of his breath on my neck. As quickly as he touched me, he moves away and greets the others with a casual smile and quick hug for Ivy. I’m left standing alone, watching him as he moves with ease. Is he too festive? Too animated? No, he seems normal. Just Ben.
But what does that mean?
He leads us out the doorway and into the sticky-warm heat of the night. He drives the Cadillac, and fifteen minutes later we arrive at a yellow, rectangular building. Bars cover all the windows.
“What’s this?” Ivy asks.
“Neely’s is supposed to be the best barbecue in Memphis.”
Ivy, Rae, and I glance at one another. “Okay,” I say, “I’m game.”
Is there something to read behind his smile? His eyes contain the same spark, nothing more, nothing less. It makes me wonder if the spark has always been there and I have only been ignorant of the facts.
Nothing has changed. Except me. I have become aware. Aware of him. Aware of my own reaction to him. It makes me edgy. Even those stupid glasses I bought him look good as he studies the menu. Although Ivy complains about them. Still, I question everything I think, say, and do around Ben. I don’t want to lead him on, not when I have nothing to offer. Not when I don’t know my own feelings.
The words he spoke earlier encircle my heart, tighten with the truth. I know he’s right—I can’t just push people away. I have to open my heart to possibilities. But how? Is faith the key? Have I already taken the first step?
I try not to look at Rae during dinner, or Ben either, which leaves few options except Ivy, who finally says, “What?”
“Nothing.” I dab the napkin to my mouth, trying to cover my confusion.
“You’re staring at me. Do I look funny? Fat?”
“No, no, you’re fine.” I glance from Rae to Ben, then back to Ivy. “It’s just been a long day. My mind’s drifting, and I didn’t realize I was staring. I’m sorry.”
She grabs another roll out of the basket in the middle of the table. “It’s been a long weekend. I’ll be glad to get home.”
“You will?” Ben asks.
“I miss my friends.”
I almost laugh but catch myself. I’m not sure how she can miss them when she’s been on the cell phone to them half the time. But I understand, too. After all, I was young once. Her need to see her friends is actually a good sign; it means she still wants to be a part of that crowd.
I remember making friends during college. I didn’t meet Stu until I became a sophomore. Once we’d started dating, he’d taken me to his apartment off campus, and there I saw Ben again. I hadn’t seen him since that one date we shared. I don’t remember much about him then, just a sweaty guy coming in from football practice and downing a whole container of Gatorade in several gulps.
After that first visit to Stu’s—when I also met the Elvis bust for the first time—I got to know Ben in bits and pieces, mostly when Stu had to run out to the 7-11 to get snacks and other essentials. I’d sit on the couch waiting for Stu.
“How ya doin’?” Ben asked, flipping the channel to a M*A*S*H episode. He’d broken up with his girlfriend, … or she’d broken up with him. My memory is blurry on the details.
I crossed my legs, then st
ood and moved to a brown chair. Elvis made me nervous. So had Ben. “Okay. And you?”
“Ready for football season to be over.”
I noticed then he had scabs on his knees and elbows.
“Y’all are doing well, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “Been to any of the games?”
Embarrassed, I ducked my head. “Two.”
“I bet you watched Stu taking pictures of the game.”
A shy smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Of course.”
Rae’s laughter pulls me back to the present, to the restaurant table. I’m not sure what she finds humorous, but Ben and Ivy join her, so I give a lifeless chuckle that seems out of place. Rae’s laugh is full and robust, as if she knows how to enjoy herself. I remember it from way back in my childhood, as if it’s always been there, a part of my life. My mother’s laugh was more reserved, more self-conscious, more like my own.
My life spins around inside my head, making me question every memory. What all have I missed, been oblivious to? If I’d been paying closer attention, would I have known I was missing a mother before today? Would I have sensed Ben’s interest? Suspected Ivy’s pregnancy?
My head begins to throb, and my vision blurs from unshed tears. I realize I’ve been focused on my own pain rather than others’. I’ve turned inward, locking up my heart. It’s not that I can’t feel empathy for others, but I’ve been so overwhelmed by my own grief that I gave no time to anyone else’s. I stopped looking outward, searching, seeking God. I tried to control events, tried to handle Stu’s death, my grief, myself. And I failed. Maybe that’s the key: Faith is simply reaching out to others, to God. No guarantees. Nothing promised in return. It just starts with hope.
“You don’t like?” the waitress’s nasal voice penetrates my fog.
“Huh?”
“Your chicken? Didn’t like it, honey?”
“Oh, no.” Rae and Ben stare at me with concern. “Uh, it’s fine.” Each bite tasted like cardboard, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the food, the seasonings, or the way it’s been roasted.