“Sure.” She closed her eyes, tried to take his words to heart.
“‘Forgetting what lies behind, I press on.’ Try to drill into what God has in store for you, Kasiu. Don’t miss out on His best because you’re sifting through the sawdust.”
She opened her eyes; his were full of compassion. “Dobrze?”
If Tatuś knew everything she’d done, he wouldn’t make it sound so easy. Worse, his compassion would probably disappear quicker than cookies at Christmas. “I’m trying.”
“Small steps are still steps.” He peeked back at her over his shoulder. “And…I believe you’re right. A summer in Peru will help.” Encouragement deepened his crow’s-feet.
Her throat clamped shut at the news, and she set her coffee down to squeeze him tight around the waist. As she pressed her face against the back of his strong shoulder, he patted her hand. “You might want to go check your cell phone, Curly-Q. It’s been ringing all morning. We’ll talk more today at the garage. And file for your restraining order.”
~*~
Friday morning, Zan inhaled deeply, welcomed the smell of the briny summer breeze out on Beresford Creek. He rowed against the tide, needed the burn in his abs and shoulders to prove that effort could get him somewhere. He needed the stress of college politics and the what-ifs of his new opportunity to stay put, stranded on the shoreline behind him.
As he reached the shallows off the shore of the islet, Zan set down the oars and hopped over the side to enjoy the cool water against his sunbaked skin. He gripped the side of the jon boat and beached it.
Satisfied that his boat was secure, he flipped open the storage box and scooped out the tattered baseball, fingered the familiar tooth marks.
This was the hardest moment. He could almost hear Shoeless yipping and barking as he raced around the boat and pounced in the sand, urging Zan to hurl the ball over the rise for him to fetch. He flipped the ball a foot into the air and caught it before slipping it into his pack and pulling out his cross trainers. The overgrown path was no friend to bare feet.
Zan stepped around the scrub and walked right over the tall salt grass, made his way under the trees toward the end of the islet. The mammoth boulder stood in stark contrast to the wild vegetation around it. He set his bag on the rock and hopped up to sit beside it, enjoyed the heat of the stone’s surface against his legs.
For a long time, Zan stared out at the beach and the moving water, listened to the call of the gulls.
And he remembered.
Racing Shoeless to the boulder. Sketching with his charcoals as his dog’s head rested on his lap. Chucking the ball into the water and getting showered when Shoeless retrieved it and shook the water from his coat. Enjoying a picnic lunch with Bailey—and the deli-sliced turkey cold cuts she’d brought along for Shoeless.
And the silent, still afternoons last year when his childhood best friend, the white-muzzled golden retriever couldn’t join him in the boat for their usual trip. On top of this very rock, Zan had realized putting Shoeless down was the merciful route.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, tried to ease the ache that resurfaced too readily at the stream of images in his mind.
He reached for his pencils and sketchpad.
Within minutes, he captured the solitude of the deserted beach fairly well. Satisfaction settled in as he recorded those details most significant to him—the shadow of the pathway, the glint of the aluminum boat in the sunlight. He penciled in a thick horizon line in the east, smudged the darkness into a slab of gray clouds.
As he shaded the distant water, he left choppy whitecaps. A storm brewing.
He drew the curve of her waist and hips first, a single elbow evident at her side, arms crossed against her chest. With little effort, his pencil outlined her petite frame, standing with her back to him, head turned slightly. Waves and swirls of hair whipped back from her face in an imagined breeze as she gazed out at the rippling surface of the water. HeHe slipped the bronze pencil back into the box and chose a fiery orange for her highlights before it struck him. He meant to draw Bailey, but the girl on the beach was most definitely Kasia Bernolak.
So similar, the two seemed to him—something about Nail-in-the-Tire made him fear for Kasia the way he did for Bailey.
But Kasia was also very different from his sister, and he couldn’t quite shake her. She crept up on him at the strangest times, and he wondered where she might be. Whether she was having any luck with peace.
He wished he knew how to find her. Maybe he should try to friend her online. Just to check on her and tell her…what? To be careful?
What would his sister want him to say?
~*~
Kasia pulled a piece of gum from her purse, because mint had to be better than axle grease and new rubber. Friday afternoon, Kasia sat in the hard plastic chair at the back of the body shop. The replacement window should’ve been in already.
This trip would’ve been easier if it had been.
Her dad winced as he took a swig of his burnt coffee, and she turned to study the plethora of dingy business cards tacked to the corkboard next to her.
“I’d like to take you down to Huntington today for lunch, if you’re up to it.”
Lunch with Tatuś. Across the table from her, gentle eyes boring right into her. Right into her mistakes. If he found out, if her choices did anything to risk his ministry, she’d have a hard time forgiving herself.
“Today? I thought I could get some packing done.”
His forehead crinkled. She wanted to reach up and smooth the lines away. To smooth all of this away.
“Mama said you needed a few bigger items for Peru, and I thought we could run by the sporting-goods store and pick them up.” He rubbed his chin. “Before we stop by the police station.”
Her spine went rigid at the thought of the restraining order. “About that last one. Can I not? It won’t do me any good in Peru.”
His jaw tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed.
“I’ll get one as soon as I get home if you want. The day I come back to Huntington.” She didn’t know if that’s how it all worked, but she’d say just about anything at this point. “I don’t want all of this to taint my last weeks here. I want to spend every moment with my favorite people. I promise not to go anywhere alone.”
Tense and relax. Tense and relax. His jaw jutted forward, angry.
“Dlaczego nie?” Why not? It was a fair question.
“It’ll make things worse. I’m sure things will blow over before I get back. I just want all this to go away. Please, Tatusiu.”
After what felt like years, he cupped her cheek in his rough carpenter’s hand and stared into her eyes. “You will not go back to school without taking care of this. We can’t trust that it’s blown over. And if he so much as texts you before you leave, you tell me. I’ll…” He blew out a powerful breath and pressed absently at a callus on his left hand, eyed the clock on the wall. “I won’t discuss what I plan to do to him. Coś złego.” Something bad.
She squeaked out a mousy, “Dziękuję, Tatusiu.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He practically growled his answer. “And don’t you dare keep anything from me.”
But she was already keeping so much. She shook her head.
No more allowing the worry to call the shots. The only thing that could convince her dad—herself—everything would be fine was forward thinking.
“So…‘bigger things,’ you said. How do you feel about buying a hard guitar case? I want to take it with me. Start writing and singing again.”
“That sounds just about perfect.”
14
Oh, how Zan could do without all the silk, starlight, socialites. He hadn’t seen Tasha since the frat party, and it’d be pretty fantastic to keep it that way.
Black-aproned kitchen staff hustled all around their home, inside and out, arranged centerpieces and prepared serving trays for his mom’s annual summer soirée. Zan stepped to her side and waited un
til she’d gone over her checklist with the caterer.
“…finish with the mint juleps. I’ll swing through to sample the ceviche at quarter till. Everything looks fabulous, Bryan, as always.”
“The fact that our client lists overlap has never hurt.” He smiled, then turned to shout instructions.
When Zan caught his mother’s eye, she slipped her hand around his bicep and escorted him to an out-of-the-way spot. “Thank you for all your help, Zan. Did you decide to have anybody special join you tonight?”
He scratched his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Why ever not? There are scads of young ladies who’d be thrilled—”
“Don’t want to run into Tasha. I’d rather hit the batting cages. Would you mind terribly if I skipped out?”
“I love your handsome face in the crowd, but if you need to sneak away…”
He bent to kiss her forehead. “You’re the best Li’l Mama in the world.”
She smacked his leg with the clipboard. “Don’t you forget it.”
Backpack loaded, Zan picked up his shades and keys off the mosaic table in the foyer. He slid his sunglasses on and headed out.
It took him ten minutes to navigate his way off the property with all the trucks and staff. As soon as his tires hit I-526, he slipped a hand up on the roll bar. The wind whipped at his hair and the side of his T-shirt, and Zan let himself relax as he drove up and over the Cooper River. Sunshine and sailboats dotted the surface of the rippling water below him. He hadn’t gotten a chance to wander down by Waterfront Park or jog on the beach at Sullivan’s Island. But with only one night free, he’d rather spend it getting his head back in the game.
Besides, downtown was Tasha’s summer stomping ground. And on the off chance she was out clubbing with her friends instead of making an entrance at his house, North Charleston was a safer bet.
By the time he reached the sporting complex, the sky was already a lavender haze.
Duffel at his side, he snaked around the throng of parents watching soccer practice and bought ten bucks’ worth of tokens.
He claimed an empty cage near the back, pulled out his old bat, tugged a worn glove onto his right hand, and took a few dry swings. Zan warmed up with the first set of balls, twelve easy grounders, stretching his back and arms. Then game on.
Four dollars in, Zan hit his stride. Nothing but him and the ball. Five dollars. Six. He reached over to drop another couple tokens in the slot.
Auburn flashed into his mind as he swung again, and a genuine smile came out of nowhere.
Zan dropped in his last two tokens. He gripped his bat, took his stance, and connected with a solid ping. The ball hit the back of the net. An easy home run.
This ticket to Oconee State could be just the change he needed. Auburn didn’t have to like baseball; he’d take it as a personal challenge to win her over himself.
~*~
Samson bounded out of the house—as excited to meet Kasia’s friends as she was to bring them home. When Tatuś had suggested they come up for an impromptu cookout, they all jumped.
Kasia called Samson back and knelt to pat his belly. Her guests could do without wet dog kisses. Tatuś came outside, and Kasia introduced him to everyone. He reached for the cases of soda they’d brought. “Witajcie. Please, be at home.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Kyle stuck out his hand.
Tatuś glanced down at it. Smiling, he set down the drinks he’d just picked up and then shook Kyle’s hand.
“Why don’t I get those for you?”
“That’s all right, son,” Tatuś said.
Kyle looked as if he could kick himself.
As Jayce reached out to greet her mom, her eyes widened just a touch. “Jayson McEwan, Mrs. B.” His voice softened a bit as he leaned in. “Listen, I’m, ah, real glad to be here. I like that ya keep your family tight.”
“Glad to have you, Jayson.”
He grinned sideways. “If ya like me, call me Jayce.”
Laughter was the soundtrack to the next half-hour as her new friends swapped stories with her parents.
Whenever Kyle spoke, Lenka caught Kasia’s eye. What? Was falling for someone new supposed to be easy? Kasia’s heart still just felt…unresolved somehow.
“A.J., do you live on campus?” Mama asked.
“No. I live over my Uncle Frankie’s garage for now. I do detailing in his body shop.”
Mama shaped a ground-beef patty and set it on the plate. “Where’s home?”
She met Jayce’s eyes for a beat. “Here.”
Jayce’s brow furrowed. “Her parents live in Manhattan,” he added.
“Oh? What brought you down South?”
A.J. scowled at Jayce for half a second before he turned in Kasia’s direction. “Actually, Kasia, I plan to move on campus next semester. Need a roommate?”
“I do.” Kasia swirled the ice in her glass, wondered why A.J. had dodged the question.
“Cool. We should take care of that before you flee the country.”
Jayce reached for a slice of bell pepper and scooped up a full tablespoon of dip with it. “I thought maybe you’d make your slammin’ southwest snackers.” He pointed half a stick of pepper at Kasia. Smooth subject change.
“Nope. I made dessert though.”
A.J. never did come back to life-before-Uncle-Frankie. She artfully maneuvered the conversation away from herself every time, changed the topic with questions and jokes. Her crazy guffaw kept everyone laughing.
But Kasia wouldn’t pry.
Girls were entitled to their secrets.
~*~
Kasia stood by the sink, slicing fresh sweet onions for the burgers. Kyle came in from the yard and leaned against the counter. “Your dad’s got a decent arm.” He wiped his forehead with his bicep.
Kasia smiled. “He likes playing football almost as much as he does soccer.” Forearms and his entirely-too-handsome smile flashed into her head. Out of all his favorite teams—all Chicago—Tatuś had grown up watching more baseball games than anything. He used to wash windows for money to see his team play at Wrigley. But there was no way she’d admit that to Forearms. Especially when he lived near her.
“It’s cool to see you in your natural habitat, with your family and all, I mean. I get why you’re so real.”
She waited to see if he’d elaborate.
Jayce came in. “Mr. B’s got the grill about ready.” He grabbed two colas from the cooler. “Either of ya want me to toss over a tonic?”
Kasia shook her head and set the onions aside. She pulled a fresh tomato from the windowsill.
“You can throw me a tonic—the green one, with all the caffeine.” Kyle twisted and held up a hand.
“Absolutely. And thanks for not raggin’ me about my colloquialisms or anything, Kyle.” Jayce passed him the can and headed back out the door.
Kyle wiped the condensation off with his shirt and popped the top. He tipped up the can of soda and drank deeply. She’d never thanked him for watching over her so closely after Blake’s display the other night. Should she say something now?
The can clunked on the counter, and she glanced over. Kyle’s wavy hair hung in his eyes, dark with post-football sweat.
“I’m making you a playlist.” His voice startled her.
“For what?”
“Peru. Your being in a different country shouldn’t keep you from new genius. I’ll send you more as I get it if you’ll give me your email address.”
“Yeah. I’d like that.” She probably should’ve at least hesitated.
Kyle reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The door swung open and Tatuś strode in. He reached over her to the shelf next to the stove and gathered his burger seasonings. As he turned, he whispered, “You two should come outside with the rest of your friends. Don’t be in here alone.” He pecked her cheek and left.
Rather than sweetness, his kiss felt full of admonishment. What had her dad thought they were doing in there?
&nbs
p; Kasia carried out a tray of burger toppings and condiments. Kyle shouldn’t have touched her in such a familiar way. Too soon. Too presumptuous.
She slowed. Jayce held everyone’s attention near the grill, faced Tatuś as he spoke. “Ma sobbed in the kitchen every night for weeks. Sayin’ the same word over and over, like some messed-up mantra. Then one day nobody woke me for school. She was gone—up and left.”
Kasia glanced at A.J. and could tell the story wasn’t new to her. It wasn’t easy either though. Her bottom lip had blanched under her teeth.
“So,” her dad said, “that’s the word your mom repeated?” He pointed to Jayce’s shoulder where the thick lines curled around his arm above his bicep. Κρισις. She hadn’t seen that one.
“Yeah. I asked my old man about it, and he said it meant justice. I guess—when Ma was the most broken, she slid back into her first language. I’ve heard of that.”
Kasia wondered if she could be hurt so badly she’d revert to Polish. Her heart language.
“My Uncle Colin—runs the tattoo parlor—didn’t care that I was only eleven when I showed up askin’ for one.” Jayce quirked a smile. “It made me feel like Ma was still around somehow—and ah, you know.” His voice trailed off, and he had a far-off look in his eyes. Jayce shrugged and said quietly, “I was after justice too. Everybody in Southie’s lookin’ for justice.”
The sizzle of the grill was the only sound Kasia heard for a minute. Her stomach growled, and Lenka’s eyes teased her. She spoke up. “Um, I thought you said the other tattoo meant justice.”
“Yeah. But a different kind. Southie’s full of single moms, but people talk when a man gets left. I honestly don’t remember a day my old man wasn’t wasted for a few years there. Uncle C barely kept us alive. Then he and my dad threw down one night after some hard words, and whatever he said flipped a switch. Pops did a 180.”
As he elaborated, Kasia studied A.J. It almost seemed as though Jayce were trying to be open enough about his past to make up for A.J.’s silence.
A.J. suddenly glanced at Kasia.
Kasia dropped her gaze. She could analyze others all day long—infinitely easier than solving her own riddles. Firmly in the middle of the spectrum, Kasia wanted to be open enough to regain trust, maybe salvage her family relationships. But not so open that people would judge her.
Strains of Silence Page 11