by Kelly Utt
Once I’m finished and have taken a minute to regain my composure, I slide out of my wife and sit down on the bed nearby. The memory leaves me. But it doesn’t feel far away. Ali stands, then walks over and sits down beside me. I put one arm around her as she leans into me.
“What was going on with you just then, Georgie?” she asks. “You seemed like you were in another world.”
Since I haven’t told her about my Greece memories yet, I certainly can’t start with this one. I need time to make sense of it myself. I won’t lie to her. I’ll have to say what is true without going into the gritty details.
“I was enjoying you,” I say. “You have always made me wild with desire. For as long as I can remember.”
“I know,” she says. “But you were pumping even harder and faster than usual.”
“Was I, really?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies. “It felt good though. I like seeing you enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I definitely enjoyed myself,” I say. “No doubt about that.”
We sit together quietly for a few minutes, naked, exhilarated, and looking out at the blue lake.
I’m a bit taken aback by the way the Ancient Greece memories are making their way into my everyday life. It felt somewhat safer when I was under the impression that I had to go to Dr. Epstein’s office to experience them in hypnotherapy. Not that I feel unsafe now. The memories feel natural. Like they were always in there. But, I guess this way, I’ll be forced to deal with them whether I want to or not. I suspect the memories will complicate things. They already are complicating things, now that I remember Isabel that way.
I was right about knowing her from somewhere. Ali and I have never felt a shared attraction to someone like we feel for Isabel. Now I understand why. I wonder if Isabel is attracted to us in the same way. She probably is. She probably feels it from us. I have no idea how the hell we’re supposed to sort all of that out. It’s not the type of thing that can simply be ignored.
“I love you, Alessandra,” I say quietly. “You know that, right?”
“Of course I do, Georgie,” she replies. “We have a grand love for the ages. It doesn’t get any better than this.”
“Agreed,” I say. “This is the best of the best right here. Nothing and no one is more important to me than you.”
She raises her head up and looks me straight in the eye, curiously. I look right back. I want to be an open book. I will be. I need to figure out how to tell her all of this though. And when. I vow to do it on this trip. It needs to happen soon. When she’s satisfied, she lowers her head back down and gives me a quick hug. I hug her back and say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever force brought us back together again. We belong together. For the ages.
“Well then,” my wife says with a chuckle, kissing my cheek and slapping one hand on my thigh. “We should really get out there to help our family unpack and get settled. We’ve been gone quite a while now, what with your insatiable sexual appetite.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“Come on,” she instructs. “Get dressed. And try to make it look like we weren’t up to anything.”
“They’re going to know,” I say. “You’re going to have to deal with that, babe. We’re grown and in love. It would be strange if we didn’t have any sex.”
Ali’s clothes go back on as quickly as they came off. Her bra and blouse slide on easily over her head. Her skirt takes a little more time to straighten, but she looks put together again in no time. I’m buckling my belt when we hear a tentative knock on the door.
“George? Ali?” Liam says.
“Yeah, what’s up?” I call out.
“Your mom phoned,” he answers. “She’s been trying to reach you but thinks your ringers must still be on silent mode since the flight. Something has happened. When you’re ready, come on out and sit down so I can tell you about it.”
7
Distance
The water looks just as blue in the living room as Ali and I sit on the leather sofa and wait to hear what news the others have to tell us. Somehow though, the sun doesn’t seem as bright. The fatigue from traveling and the time change are catching up to me. The stress of remembering Isabel that way is making me feel a little out of sorts as well. Most of all though, I’m anxious to hear what has happened. I quickly count our people. Liam, Roddy, and Marjorie are all here, safe.
“The boys?” I ask as I reposition myself to try and get comfortable.
“They’re in the next room,” Marjorie says. “We got all of their things out of the van and have them set up in the bedroom with bunk beds. Little Will’s portable crib is up and he’s napping now. Ethan and Leo are playing with some little cars out of their toy bag, making believe the top of a wooden coffee table is a racetrack.”
“No worries, George,” Roddy adds. “We’ve got them.”
“Okay,” Ali says. “Then tell us what’s going on. You talked to Linette?”
My mind turns, considering the likelihood of various possibilities as to what the news could be. It must be something about our house. Maybe we didn’t arm the security system correctly before we left.
“I did, yes,” Liam says.
“And?” I ask.
My uncle takes a deep breath and crosses his hands tightly together before he begins.
“Someone broke into your mom’s house this morning,” he says, reluctantly.
“Oh, no,” Ali says, raising one hand to cover her mouth.
“What?” I ask, trying to process the information.
I’ve been so worried about keeping Ali and the boys safe. I didn’t even think about there being any danger to Mom.
“She’s okay,” Roddy adds. “She wasn’t home when it happened.”
“Right,” Liam says.
“You could have led with that,” I say, a little annoyed.
“Sorry, buddy,” Liam says.
I quickly reconsider my words. I don’t want to talk to my uncle like that.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” I say. “I didn’t mean…”
“No need,” he replies.
I don’t go further. I know he understands.
“Where is she now?” Ali asks.
“She’s back at her house,” Liam explains. “She called Duke right away and he sent a team to sweep the place. Everything checked out okay. He has an officer stationed outside to keep watch.”
“Okay,” Ali says. “That’s good. I need to call Jenny after we talk to Linette. Maybe she can fill me in on some details.”
“How did Mom know someone had been there?” I ask.
“The back door was left ajar,” Liam explains. “She can’t identify anything that was stolen, which is definitely odd. Her jewelry and safe were untouched.”
“That’s strange,” Ali says. “Really strange.”
“I know,” Marjorie says. “I’m sure there’s more to this.”
“You think?” I ask.
“Seems that way,” Marjorie says.
I feel like a failure. I should have made sure that Mom’s house had the same security system and monitoring ours did. I knew she’d balk at the suggestion, but I feel like it’s my job to keep her safe, too. I should have made sure it was taken care of. The fact that she’s lived in Ithaca for so long in that same little stone house without incident gave me a false sense of security.
“I should have set her up with security,” I say quietly. “I messed up.”
“Don’t think like that, George,” Roddy asserts.
“Yeah, buddy,” Liam adds. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m just as responsible for watching out for your mom as you are. I’m feeling bad right now myself. What would my brother think if he knew I left her vulnerable?”
“Liam, man,” Roddy says. “You shouldn’t think like that either. You two are very good to her. You had no reason to think she’d be the target of a break-in.”
“Wait,” I say. “How does Mom know someone was in the house? Maybe she left the door ajar by accident and
the wind blew it open.”
“I admit, the same thing crossed my mind,” Liam says. “I didn’t mention it to Linette though. I wouldn’t want her to think we don’t believe her. I’ll assume that if she thinks someone was in the house, they were.”
“Her mind is good, as far as I know,” I add. “She hasn’t been herself since John Wendell died, but I don’t see any indication of her mental faculties being compromised. We just saw her yesterday. She seemed fine, right?”
“I agree,” Liam answers. “She seemed fine. Her mind was as clear and sharp as ever. Besides, she’s not all that old.”
“Did the police dust the place for prints?” Roddy asks.
“That, I don’t know,” Liam answers. “I wondered about it as well.”
“It sounds like we need to talk to Duke,” I say. “But let’s start with Mom.”
I stand and get my smartphone out of my pocket to dial her number.
“Good. She’ll be glad to hear from you,” Liam adds.
Ali stands beside me and places one hand on my shoulder as I wait for the call to connect. Mom picks up on the first ring. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to hear her voice. Our conversation is brief, but we cover all the essentials. She assures me she’s okay and that she feels safe in her home.
She explains how she walked in the front door with a couple of bags of groceries and immediately felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She says she knew someone had been there before she saw the back door open. Mom isn’t exactly the most intuitive person. Certainly not like Marjorie. When she says she knew something like that instantly, I take it very seriously. I believe her. I run through a list of valuables the intruder might have taken, and one by one, Mom confirms that she’s checked on them and everything remains in place and intact. I ask why she thinks someone would break into her house and not take anything. She doesn’t have a good answer. Neither do I. I suggest that she consider staying overnight somewhere else out of an abundance of caution, but she won’t hear of it. She insists she won’t be run out of her own home because someone came inside then left the back door open when they exited. She says that for all we know it could have been a neighborhood kid with more guts than brains looking for cash or cigarettes. She says we can’t assume that the threat is serious. I beg to differ. I’d rather assume it’s very serious until we can confirm otherwise.
We hang up after she promises to keep me closely posted. I sit back down on the leather couch and share with the others what Mom and I just talked about. I try and call Duke, but he doesn’t pick up. It’s still the middle of the workday on Eastern time. He may be tied up in something and not able to answer. I leave him a voicemail with a request to call me back as soon as possible.
“What do you make of this, George?” Roddy asks.
I lean forward, placing one elbow on my knee and rubbing my temples with my thumb and forefinger as I answer.
“I wish I knew what to make of it,” I reply. “I’m rattled, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “So, what?”
I wonder why Roddy is prodding at me like this. It feels like this morning when I told him about mine and Ethan’s shared dream. He’s not rude or unsupportive, but I get the idea he wants me to be more decisive. I certainly used to be more decisive, back before January when my entire world changed. These days, I endeavor to be decisive. It’s important that I can make decisions to keep my family safe. But it’s hard. I’m impressed by Mom’s strength and resolve to not let someone else’s actions plunge her into an existence defined by fear. It’s the same way Ali has told me repeatedly over the past six months that we can’t let fear rule our lives. I’m lucky to be surrounded by such strong women.
When I was in high school, Mom and I had a black and white cocker spaniel named Biscuit. Grandma had given her to us not long after Dad died when we had just moved from Brooklyn to Ithaca. Having a puppy to hold and nurture gave Mom and I an anchor. She was a furry bundle of life, which we sorely needed as we nursed ourselves back to some semblance of normal after the shock of Dad’s untimely death. Seeing her pretty, black and white little body curled up near us and her sweet, loving eyes looking back at us with unconditional love was enough to make Mom and I feel like we weren’t all alone in the world. I imagine that’s what Grandma had in mind when she picked her out as a pup. That dog is still one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.
When I left for college less than two years later, Biscuit kept Mom company. I was sad to leave them both as I chose to attend college out of state, but I felt better knowing they had each other. Biscuit would sit in Mom’s lap as she read a book or watched TV, she’d lay by her feet as Mom cooked dinner or washed dishes, and she’d even follow Mom into the bathroom and lay nearby while Mom did whatever business she was there to do. I remember calling to check in and hearing Biscuit bark from somewhere off in the distance. It gave me comfort to know our pup was there. She was a part of home. And a part of Mom. It’s been twenty years, yet I found myself almost waiting to hear Biscuit’s bark in the background as I talked to Mom today. It’s striking what a heightened emotional state can make us remember. Certain things are seared into our consciousness, for better or for worse.
When I was a sophomore in college, I went back home to Ithaca for Thanksgiving to celebrate Turkey Day with Mom, Grandma, and John Wendell. The four of us had eaten a big feast of tasty, traditional dishes and were saying our goodbyes on the front porch when sweet Biscuit heard something outside that intrigued her. She had been out in the front of the house countless times. In fact, she often sat by the car in the driveway as Mom loaded things in and out. Biscuit had never, ever tried to leave the yard or approach the busy street out front. That Thanksgiving Day, unfortunately, whatever piqued her interest caused her to run right out into the street in front of Mom’s house. The four of us watched in horror, scrambling towards the road and calling Biscuit’s name as she ran. But it was too late. She was immediately hit by a car and we knew her injuries would be fatal.
The driver who hit our pup was a teenage girl who had just gotten her license the month prior. I’m not saying she was at fault. Biscuit was moving so fast that even the most experienced driver wouldn’t have been able to avoid her. But the unlucky young girl who couldn’t felt terrible. She sobbed dramatically between words of apology as we watched Mom scoop Biscuit’s broken body off the concrete. I was deeply moved to see my mother cradle her ever-faithful companion like a baby as the poor creature took a few final, labored breaths. Three times in the span of five minutes or so, I tried to move my muscles forward to help Mom and to comfort Biscuit. I used my best physical effort to lunge forward, once to help pick Biscuit up off the ground, once to stroke Biscuit’s little head, and again when Biscuit left her body and Mom needed a hand standing up without dropping her. Each time, I remained frozen. Paralyzed by a force I can’t name and don’t understand. The same thing happened to me the day Dad died.
On that day, I arrived at the hospital emergency room before Dad’s ambulance did. I had been at a friend’s house when I got the call and I just so happened to beat both the ambulance and Mom there. I arrived alone and was all by myself, a sixteen-year-old kid standing outside the double doors at the entrance to the E.R. waiting on paramedics to arrive with my beloved dad who I’d be told was having a massive heart attack. As I stood there waiting, I barely felt the November wind whipping around me even though I knew it was cold because I could see the condensation from my warm breath. I was agitated, nervous about what came next. I was also in denial, pleading to a God I felt like I didn’t even really know to somehow save my daddy.
My legs twitched and jumped, wanting desperately to do something with the adrenaline coursing through them. Yet, when the ambulance finally pulled up and I saw my big, strong dad’s legs and feet lying horizontally on the stretcher, I froze. My body was as heavy as lead. It would not move me despite my fervent efforts. As the emergency medical personnel wheeled him into the hospital,
I wanted to run to my dad.
His face was a deep color of purple that I’d never seen on a human before. His mouth and nose were covered by an oxygen mask which seemed to be creating a white tone to the skin nearby. His eyes were closed and I think he was unconscious. As strange as it sounds though, I could feel his spirit present, even from a ways away from where I was standing. It felt like Dad was up above his body rather than tucked down into it like normal. The thought occurred to me that this might be my last chance to talk to him. I wanted to say that I loved him. That he’d been the very best dad to me. That I wanted him to fight to stay alive and to stay with us. And that I’d never ever forget him. Tears began to fall on the ground below me, even though I didn’t realize they were coming out of my own eyes. No one came to comfort me. No one stood beside me as I gazed upon my daddy, alive on this earth for the last time. I pleaded with my legs to walk me. They did not respond. I wanted one last word. One last kiss on his cheek, maybe. Neither happened. The paramedics were too busy tending to Dad to pay me any attention. They took him into a back entrance and with a hard slam of a metal door, he was gone.