His Light in the Dark

by L. A. Fiore

  Tears that seemed to fall freely these past six months welled up in my eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Aunt Dee’s voice turned rough from her own tears. “I can’t either.”

  “A car accident, doesn’t that seem ironic that Dad should be killed in a car accident.”

  She ran her hand down my hair. “He loved you. My brother was a tough man, didn’t let much penetrate but, from the moment you were born, he loved you. Suddenly his entire life changed focus, his sole purpose for being was to be there for you.”

  “And he had been.”

  “I know.”

  “Does it ever get easier?”

  “I have to believe that it does.”

  A few days later, found me back in the neighborhood for a dedication ceremony for Dad. Carter Stein personally requested Aunt Dee, Dylan and my presence. My heart went out to Dylan because he still looked tormented about selling the garage. He needed to get over that. Dad would hate to see him being so hard on himself. The press milled around, as did many of our neighbors and friends. Carter looked elegant in his black suit, smiling at the cameras like a man very comfortable in front of them. He took the podium and the voices hushed.

  “It is with a heavy heart that I appear before you today. Mace Donati was a well-respected and loved member of our community. His tragic death is one we’ll feel for a long time. Purchasing his garage, I did with a heavy heart and though progress demands that we move on whether we are ready for it or not, I’d like to dedicate the Stein Business Complex to the memory of Mace Donati.”

  Everything in me tensed, my fingers curling into fists. Aunt Dee’s reaction mirrored mine. People cheered, camera flashes went off, but I just stood stock still, staring at the man in anger because despite the appearance he effortlessly portrayed, his altruism was no more than an elaborately played publicity stunt. Asshole. My attention pulled from Stein to the lone figure standing across the street. Cole. His expression was completely wiped, his eyes dark. For a second, his focus shifted to me, my entire body responded as welcomed warmth danced along my nerve endings. He bought Stein’s bullshit as much as I did. In the next minute, Cole turned and walked away.

  Aunt Dee pulled my gaze from Cole. “I can’t watch this. Dylan and I are going to Vincent’s for a drink, want to come?”

  I wanted to follow Cole, wanted to demand that he explain himself. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  Knowing me as well as she did, she asked, “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, Cole’s here. I want to talk to him.”

  Skeptical described the look on her face, but she didn’t put to voice her thoughts. “Okay, we’ll see you later.”

  “Absolutely.” Before she could join Dylan, I reached for her hand. “Are you okay?”

  Her response surprised me. I thought I sensed sadness, but it was fury that turned her eyes bright. “If Mace were here, he’d punch that fucker in the face.”

  “Yeah, he would and I’d be cheering him on.”

  “You and me both.” She hesitated a moment before she added, “Have you spoken to Cole since Mace…?”

  “No.”

  “What makes you think he’ll talk to you now?”

  “I’m not sure he will, but I’m going to try because as hard as this has been for us, we have each other to help us through it. Who’s helping him?”

  “Tragedy changes people.”

  “Not a good enough answer.”

  “Just don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t respond in the way you’re hoping.”

  “I’m not expecting much, so I’m good. I’ll meet up with you at Vincent’s.”

  “Okay.”

  Cole wasn’t in much of a hurry since I caught up to him pretty quickly. Maybe he knew I would follow him, since he always had the uncanny ability of reading my mind. Or maybe I read his mind because his destination was Dad’s house. He sat on the front stoop, the memory of Dad and me doing that very thing the day after Cole had first come into our lives, had tears burning the back of my eyes. He pulled out two cans of beer from his jacket and opened one and placed it next to him on the stoop before cracking open the second, offering a sort of salute, and chugged it. I didn’t want to intrude; it felt wrong interrupting an obvious moment for Cole, so I turned to leave but his voice stopped me.

  “Mia.”

  Turning back to him, he no longer sat but stood at the base of the stairs, his focus completely on me. He asked, “You okay?”

  “Stein’s an ass.”

  His expression turned hard. “Agreed.”

  “I remember you two sitting in the kitchen or out back, drinking beers and chatting. Loved seeing the two of you together. I miss him so much.” I missed Cole too, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  “I do too.”

  Turning my focus to Dad’s house, my throat got tight. “I can’t believe we have to sell it. It’s Dad, every inch of that house has memories of him. I don’t think I can do it.”

  “You don’t have to do anything at the moment. Take your time and grieve. The rest can wait.”

  My attention moved back to him, a smile touching my lips because how like Dad he sounded. “You sound like him.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “So are you.”

  I actually could see the wall going up between us, brick by brick. For just a few minutes, he had been the old Cole. “Why do you shut me out?”

  “I’m not shutting you out, I’m setting you free.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Your life is just starting, your future is yours for the choosing.”

  “And yours isn’t?”

  “I’m where I want to be.”

  “So am I. Well almost where I want to be. You and me, we have unfinished business.”

  “We don’t. I’m just some guy from the neighborhood who knew your dad and you’re confusing your feelings for him with me.”

  “I loved my dad, but my feelings for you have nothing to do with him or his memory and I know you know that. If you don’t feel that way about me anymore I get it, but be honest with yourself and me. I lost Dad and then I lost you, but you lost Dad and me. Seems stupid to suffer alone when my best friend is standing right in front of me.”

  “I can’t be that for you, Mia.”

  “Why?”

  He wasn’t going to answer me; I could see that in the set of his shoulders and the clenching of his jaw. I wasn’t going to settle for a non-answer, not this time. I moved right up into his personal space, standing so close to him we were practically touching. My body responded being so near him, I felt like a flower reaching for the sun, every part of me wanted to be pressed up against him, wanted to feel the heat from his body, wanted his scent to saturate me, wanted his arms to pull me in and hold me close. He didn’t though.

  “I want an answer Cole, a real answer and not some half-baked bullshit about setting me free. You owe me that. Why do you keep yourself at a distance when you know I want you close, have begged you to stay close?”

  In a rare display of emotion, Cole’s face turned thunderous, his eyes burning with something dark and dangerous. “His death is on me.”

  “It was a car accident.” There was more than anger in his gaze; I saw guilt. “It was a car accident, wasn’t it?”

  “I was supposed to have his back and he’s gone. I failed him and you.” Looking slightly wild after that confession, he reached for me, his fingers curling around my upper arms in a firm hold. “I lost him, but I will not lose you too. If I have to stay at a distance to keep you safe, then that’s what I’ll fucking do.”

  “Keep me safe?”

  He dropped his hands and took a step back, putting distance between us. “Let it go, Mia.”

  “Cole—”

  “I’m asking you to let it go. I need for you to let it go.”

  Determination and something darker looked back at me, which was the only reason I agreed. “For now, but answer this and honestly. If Dad were still her
e and whatever is going on wasn’t, what would have become of you and me?”

  He reached for a lock of my hair, twirling it around his finger, his focus shifted. Tenderness and a bit of loneliness reflected in those magnificent eyes. Trailing his finger along my jaw, he brushed my lower lip with the pad of his thumb and then he walked away. A silent response, but I heard his answer loud and clear; he wanted me too and for now that was enough.

  Dylan and I were at Vincent’s having dinner, was happy that he actually showed up. I had been trying to stay in touch with him since Dad’s death, but his guilt about selling the garage kept him at a distance, which I didn’t understand. What else could he have done? He couldn’t keep it and there was no point in losing more money keeping the place open when Dad would have wanted him to sell.

  “You should stop by and see Aunt Dee. She was really sorry she couldn’t make it tonight but she got promoted to manager at the drugstore and had inventory to do.”

  “I’m happy for her.”

  “What about you, Dyl? How’s the new job?”

  “It’s okay. I get to still work on cars, so there’s that.”

  I reached across the table for his hand. “I’ve said this before, but I’m going to say it again. It’s okay that you sold the garage. In your shoes, Dad would have done the same.”

  His face lost color and his eyes looked oddly moist, but he made no verbal response to that and instead said, “I miss your dad.”

  “Me too.”

  Dyl’s face changed again, turned hard when his gaze collided with something behind me and curious as to what would make him look so pissed, I followed his stare to see Cynthia, my birth mother. I knew he didn’t like her any more than my dad and Aunt Dee. I’m sure he liked even less her being in Vincent’s since this had been Mace’s place. More interesting, her reaction to seeing Dylan with me, she looked nearly as annoyed as him. She didn’t stay, turned on her heels and walked out the door, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she was there at all since in all the years we had been dining at Vincent’s, I had never once seen her darkening the door.

  Friday afternoon found me in my boss’s office. As I sat there, I wondered—and not for the first time—if the window was sealed because if not, one good push and my boss would be learning how to fly. It’s a good thing that thoughts weren’t monitored because if they were, I’d be in jail. The amount of time I pondered offing my boss was surely unhealthy.

  I worked for a mid-size accounting firm in Center City Philadelphia. I liked the job and though I wasn’t breaking any ceilings with my salary, I made a decent living. What I didn’t like was my boss. When hired, he seemed like a nice guy and a fair boss. This belief lasted for about a month before a switch flipped and the fun, easy-going guy turned into a jackass. Always riding my ass, always getting up in my business, constantly looking over my shoulder. He gave me complicated assignments and then got impatient when I didn’t complete them fast enough. I didn’t think anyone could complete the work as fast as he wanted, not even him. His attack felt personal, like I had pissed him off in some way, and yet I hadn’t a clue what I had done.

  Frederick Nathaniel Tatum Jr. was the son of one of the partners of the firm, the only reason he held his position. Well, I told myself that despite the fact that I knew the man did have a brain in his head. Working in a hostile environment was not for me, so I had put out feelers for a new job. I was doing so on the down low because I had only started three months ago and I didn’t think it boded well for me to want out after only three months. In the meantime, I tolerated his hovering, stayed late, and worked my ass off, but I did plot his death—the more varied and inventive the method the better.

  “Mia, I’ll need that by five.”

  “I’ll have it for you.”

  “Double and triple check your numbers. I don’t want any errors.”

  Right, because I made a habit out of turning in work riddled with flaws. Infuriating and insulting, his subtle dig, but so very Freddie.

  “I’ll check it and check it again.” My tone extra sweet even as I stared daggers at him, but he was too busy looking at himself in the reflection of the very window I hoped to push him out of, so he hardly noticed.

  “Very good. You’re dismissed.”

  Oh, was I? I’d love to sink his letter opener into the back of his head, asshole. I stood. “Hope you have a nice weekend.”

  He didn’t respond, but I wasn’t expecting one. Closing the door of his office, I moved down the hall and sighed in relief. It hadn’t been as terrible as some of our meetings…the ones where he dumped six days worth of work on me and told me to have it done in two. I’d already finished what he asked for, which meant I was out of here at five. I had somewhere else to be.

  Walking through the quiet graveyard, I inhaled deeply the smell of freshly cut grass. Brightly-colored flower arrangements graced the front of most of the gravestones, adding a kind of cheerfulness to the solemn gray stone. My father’s plot sat under a large oak tree, the stone simple: Mace Donati, Loving father and brother. I visited often, probably way more than was healthy, but I wanted to continue to share my life with him and I hoped that wherever he was now, he could hear me.

  I missed him, every day. Pulling the weeds from the small garden I had dug around his grave, my thoughts turned to Aunt Dee. Dad’s death had been especially hard on her because Dad and I were her only family. My grandparents had died when Dad and Aunt Dee were just kids. She felt his loss as strongly as I did. My grief, sometimes it welled up and crashed over me to the point that I couldn’t see past a time when I wasn’t mourning.

  The funeral home had insisted on a closed casket. Thinking about how bad the accident had to have been that they wanted his casket closed was another piece that made his death so unbearable. He hadn’t just died; it’s possible he suffered before he did and every time my thoughts went down that road, the memory of Cole taking the blame for Dad’s death made the horrible even more horrendous. I was glad for the closed casket because I didn’t want my final memory of Dad to be someone’s attempted reconstruction of his beloved face. I wanted to remember him as he had been.

  In the months since that awful night, I had learned there had been a reason my dad wanted me in my apartment; it shared an alley with a club called Tickled Ivories—a place where Cole worked. I hadn’t known he had had another job outside of the garage, but Dad clearly had. Having Cole close but still detached was difficult and I didn’t help myself because I often stopped by for a drink after work. At first I just tortured myself with the need to be near him, but I had come to really like the place: a blend between dance club and jazz bar. Every night of the week there were live bands that performed. On the weekends, the place turned into a techno dance club. Truth be told, I enjoyed the weekdays better than the weekends. But even now it wasn’t just the music that drew me there. I didn’t seek him out and most times I wouldn’t catch sight of him at all, but there were a few moments when I’d see him across the room. I’d replayed our conversation from the other day over and over again. His comment, about having my dad’s back and failing him, puzzled me. As did his proclamation about keeping me safe. He had come to me that night before even the cops, believed he had failed my father by not keeping him safe, but from what? What did he know that I didn’t? Perplexing, but now was about Dad.

  “My boss is still an asshole. Honestly, the man really does believe he walks on water. Aunt Dee finally pulled out the shag carpeting from the living room and even went so far as to have hardwood floors installed. You wouldn’t recognize the place. It actually looks like a home of a grown up.”

  The shag carpeting had been a constant debate between my dad and aunt. Every time we visited, my dad had a comment or two about the chocolate brown carpet that looked like a Wookie throw rug. I think Aunt Dee finally had it removed as a way to honor Dad but she did keep a scrap, I saw the remnant in the garage, probably because it reminded her of Dad. I was happy for that because that carpet reminded me of him t
oo.

  “I miss you, Dad. So many times I find myself reaching for my phone to call you, to share something or to just say hi. I don’t want to sell the house; you’re everywhere. Cole told me to grieve, to not worry about the house, and he’s right. Aunt Dee seems to be coping about as well as me, but Dylan…he’s having a hard time. Guilt, I think, about having to sell the garage. I hope he moves past it, I hate seeing him look so tormented.”

  A tingle worked down my spine, an odd yet persistent sensation that had the hair at the nape of my neck standing on end. I had felt that sensation frequently in the past six months. Glancing around the graveyard, surprise filled me to discover I was alone; it really felt as if I was being watched.

  A half an hour later, I kissed my fingers and pressed them to my dad’s stone. “Love you, Dad.”

  As I walked back to my car, the feeling of being watched followed me.

  Keying into my girlfriend, Janie’s, apartment just off Spring Garden Street, I called out to her out of habit since she was likely not home from work yet. Janie DeLuca and I had met at university. She was two years older than me and as opposite of me as someone could be and probably the reason we got along so well. Outgoing to my reserved and loud to my quiet, but she had also been there when my world fell apart; helping me with picking up the pieces. Janie’s family was awesome; a huge Italian family, overbearing and protective, but very loving. They adopted me almost instantly. Janie, at times, felt overwhelmed by her family and responded by acting out. Usually her outbursts were harmless, but sometimes she crossed the line into reckless. The latest drama was her sister Carmella’s wedding. With one daughter happily engaged, her parents were putting on the pressure for Janie to find a beau. Janie didn’t date. She hung out with guys, slept with more than her fair share of them, but she didn’t want committed. Well, that was until recently. There was a guy she worked with—Janie worked for social services helping kids, like Cole had been, out of bad situations—a cop named Timothy, and every time she talked about him, her eyes lit up. That freaked her out, so much so that lately she seemed to be going out of her way to sex Timothy from her mind. I didn't really get it unless she knew he didn't return the interest. I'd asked her about it, but she could be very closed-lipped when she wanted to be.