If You Loved Me

by Marilyn Reynolds

  “By six the next morning I was looking for a hit.”

  Chapter

  21

  We are sitting out on the deck, in the faded canvas director’s chairs, when I hear Grams pull into the driveway. She rushes through the back gate, grabbing the hoe that always leans against the back fence.

  “Hello, Frances,” Jack says, standing to greet her.

  She stops, frozen in place.

  “Jack? Jack Dillard?”

  Grams looks from me to Jack and back again, confusion written on her forehead. She stands, immobile, still gripping the hoe, as if ready to use it as a weapon.

  “The red Honda . . .”

  “It’s his,” I tell her, nodding in Jack’s direction.

  Slowly, she lowers the hoe, then sinks into the chair across from me.

  “I thought . . . I thought . . . Thank God you’re all right.”

  I can see her hands trembling, and suddenly I realize how it must have looked to her, driving up to our house and seeing the red Honda parked there.

  “It’s okay, Grams,” I tell her.

  She looks up at Jack, who is still standing, watching.

  “So much I don’t understand these days . . . you here, the Honda, Lauren’s sudden change of personality . . .”

  “I’m sorry if my car frightened you,” Jack says.

  “It’s just . . . we . . . someone has been stalking Lauren. And the car out front . . .”

  “I wasn’t stalking Lauren,” Jack says. “I only wanted to see her. But I was afraid to make myself known. From a distance I could imagine that we’d get to know each other again.”

  “You scared us,” Grams says.

  “I didn’t think anyone noticed me.”

  “We filed a complaint,” Grams says.

  For a fleeting moment Jack’s face registers something that looks like fear. Then, in an instant, the calm returns.

  Grams gets up and walks over to the African daisies at the edge of the deck. She bends down and begins pinching dead flowers off the plants. Jack sits back down in the director’s chair. No one speaks. In the long silence, my thoughts are drawn back to the fight with Shawna. I’ve never hit a person like that before, only pretended, with the volleyball. I feel funny inside. But Tyler! Tyler and Shawna! My thoughts move on to betrayal and emptiness. On to the image of Tyler and Shawna on that awful night. Another image creeps in, though. It is Tyler fighting against Jack, taking on a man twice his size in an effort to protect me.

  Back and forth the contrasting images of Tyler compete with one another, until finally Grams leaves the African daisies and stands close in front of Jack, scowling down on him.

  “What do you want with us, Jack Dillard?”

  “All I want is a chance to get to know my daughter.”

  Grams looks from Jack to me, then sits back down in the chair across from me.

  “You have no custody rights. Your name’s not even on her birth certificate.”

  “I’m talking about visiting now and then, that’s all.”

  “She’s got enough trouble right now, she doesn’t need you, with your drug habit and your sleazy past.”

  Grams keeps talking louder and louder, faster and faster. “What do you want with her anyway? Don’t think you’re taking her back to Texas!”

  “I just . . .”

  “You and Marcia! What an awful, selfish, stupid thing you did, taking this child from me and neglecting her to the point where her very health was in danger!”

  Grams is red-in-the-face mad, something I’ve never seen before.

  “You’re right. I don’t want to argue with you about the past, but I will remind you that I wasn’t the one who took Lauren.”

  “You knew it was the wrong thing for that little girl! You could have stopped it.”

  It’s as if I’m not even here, the way they’re talking about me. Sitting at the coffee place with Jack, hearing his story and the story of the explosion, I was enthralled, thinking of nothing else. Now, the Tyler emptiness is back with me, distancing me from the reality before me. I’m barely interested in their conversation, hearing it as if it were about a stranger instead of about me.

  “I only want to get acquainted, Frances. I know even that’s more than I deserve, but I’ve been clean now for over three years. I’ve got a decent job and I’m involved in a program to try to help kids avoid the mistakes I made.”

  Grams goes to the side door of the garage and brings back a large pitcher full of bird seed. She begins filling the bird feeders, first the ones outside my window, then the one hanging from the lowest branch of the walnut tree. She refills the pitcher, then takes care of the feeders hanging suspended from an iron pole at the back of the yard. Jack and I sit in our chairs, watching. The squirrels sit on two high branches, also watching. The squirrels get at least as much seed from the feeders as the birds do.

  Grams returns to her chair and starts talking, as if the long pause in conversation was perfectly natural.

  “I don’t trust you, Jack.”

  “I’m not asking you to. But if I’d wanted to kidnap Lauren, I had every opportunity this afternoon. And we’re sitting right here, with you.”

  Grams nods. “I suppose you’ve got a point,” she says.

  “If I could just visit with Lauren once a week or so. You know, stop by with some sodas and chips or something and just sit and talk. I’d only come over when you’re here, if you’d feel better about that.”

  “I don’t know,” Grams says.

  Although I’ve not been paying close attention to the conver­sation, I notice no one is considering what I might want.

  “Does anyone want my opinion?”

  They both look at me, startled.

  “You are talking about me, aren’t you?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Grams says. “What is your opinion?”

  “Well, I’d like to get acquainted, too,” I say.

  I glance over at Jack and see tears welling in his eyes.

  “All right, then,” Grams says. “You’re nearly grown up now, anyway. It should be your decision. But I want it the way Jack said, short visits here, in my presence.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  Grams wants to hear about the explosion. Jack tells her the story in the same manner as he told me—head back, eyes closed, monotone voice. Grams, too, closes her eyes as she listens, unmoving except for an occasional shiver. I listen to the whole thing again, too, vividly imagining the scene, seeing it as Jack describes, mixing it with dream images, wondering if memory is creeping back.

  “At least she did something good at the end,” Grams says, her cheeks wet with tears.

  “She wasn’t all bad,” Jack says.

  “God damned drugs,” Grams says.

  Jack pulls his chair closer to Grams.

  “Nothing I can say can express how grateful I am to you, Frances. I see what a wonderful young woman Lauren’s become, and I know it’s because of the security and love you’ve offered her. I’d give anything if I could go back and be the kind of father I should have been, but that’s useless talk.”

  “Being able to raise Lauren is one of the greatest gifts of my life,” Grams tells him. “I wish it had happened under other circumstances, but getting Lauren gave me new meaning. What a wonder she is.”

  Grams’ love is so kind, and so strong, it seems I should be happy with that. But my loss of Tyler keeps dragging me down.

  Twice while Jack is there, the phone rings and it is Tyler. Jack watches as I let the call go unanswered. “Please talk to me,” is always the message, and I always erase it immediately.

  “I know it’s too soon for me to be giving fatherly advice, but I think you ought to hear the guy out,” he says to me as he’s getting ready to leave.

  “You don’t know what he’s done,” I say.

  “I know one thing he’s done. He tried to protect you today. And, as far as he knew, he was putting his own life at risk in the process. That’s no small thing.
”

  “The other thing he did was no small thing, either.”

  “Well, you maybe ought to hear his side. You heard my side and it made a little difference, didn’t it?”

  I nod my head.

  “Well, then, at least think about it,” he says, standing to leave. He looks from me to Grams and back again.

  “Keep calling me Jack, if you like, because that’s how you know me. But when I finally decided to put my drug life behind me, I went back to Jacob, the name my parents gave me.”

  Before he walks out the gate, Jack, Jacob, opens his arms to me. This time, I let him hug me. “Rennie, Rennie, Rennie,” he whispers.

  As mad as I’ve been at him for most of my life, I sense a connection, some mysterious father-daughter thing.

  I walk to the driveway and watch the little red Honda drive down the street, and I think about how different it seems now than it did yesterday, when seeing the same car cast fear in my heart.

  For a little while I feel at ease within myself, but then I think of Tyler. And Shawna. And betrayal and emptiness again fill my soul.

  Chapter

  22

  It is after sixth period, in The Harp’s office. I’ve stayed away from creative writing for more than two weeks now, and can’t imagine how I’ll ever go back.

  “This is not an independent studies class you know, Lauren. We need your participation.”

  “But I’ve been doing my work. The ‘Habitat for Humanity’ article is ready to go, and my ‘You Don’t Know Me Unless You Know . . .’ piece is finished.”

  Mr. Harper shakes his head sadly. “There’s a lot more to writing than writing,” he says.

  I think that’s a dumb thing to say, but I wait for what’s next.

  “Especially in journalism. If you’re going to be a journalist you’ll be involved in editorial meetings and decisions, and in collaboration with editors for revision. It’s not just you.”

  “Can’t you give me a little more time? Let me work on my own for another week or so?”

  “Look, I know a little bit about what happened. Not the details, but the general idea. And I don’t think I’m betraying any confidence when I say that Tyler has told me you won’t even talk to him.”

  Harper turns his attention back to a tall stack of papers on his desk and picks up his red pen.

  “I need you to level with me, Lauren. I can’t give you another week out of class unless there’s a compelling reason to do that. You may have a compelling reason, but I sure as hell don’t know what it is.”

  We’re on the second floor. From where I’m sitting I can see kids milling around, waiting for the late bus. Some are weighed down with backpacks so heavy they’ll likely end up with back trouble for life. The burly security guy is out there, joking around with some gang wannabees. The huge oak tree is only bare branches now, leafless and exposed. That’s how I feel, bare, skeletal, unmasked.

  Harp reads through a paper, jotting comments in the margin. Then he sets it on top of a shorter stack of papers. He watches me for a moment. I don’t know how to explain to Harper that walking into the classroom, seeing Tyler in his front row desk, seeing Blake, and all the rest, would be like walking in without my skin, all of my precious, fragile organs exposed to harsh elements.

  “I’ve got time,” Harper says, picking up another paper from the taller stack and working through it with his red remarks.

  When he finishes that paper he tells me, “I know this sounds trite, and like some old guy who doesn’t understand, but every­one loses a love. It doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself in the process.”

  I fight back tears. How can anyone possibly understand how I feel? And what good would it do if they did?

  “Come to class tomorrow,” Harper says as he picks up the next paper.

  “Can’t I wait until Monday?”

  “Not unless you want your grade lowered by one letter. We need you on the editorial board. We need you on the ads committee. You’re not the only one who’s hurting, you know? Alcoholic parents, a dad with terminal cancer, poverty, preg­nancy, you can find it all in creative writing. Take a lesson from your classmates. Gather your courage and get on with your life.”

  I grab my backpack and charge out the door, slamming it hard behind me. I never knew Harper could be so cold, like he doesn’t even care! I rush to the gym where I find Amber by her locker, already dressed for practice. I spew out my anger with Harper, how he won’t even let me wait until Monday to start back to class, how he doesn’t even try to understand, how I know he likes Tyler better, anyway. I expect Amber to be on my side, to agree that Harper is being totally unfair with me.

  She gives me a long look.

  “I’ll see you on the court,” is all she says, then sprints off to practice.

  I jerk my locker open and strip down, grab my volleyball shirt and shorts, change shoes and jam my clothes into the locker. I slam the door hard enough to hear the rattle, then go out to the courts. I’m the last one there. Coach Terry says, “See me after practice, please, Lauren.”

  God! I wish people would get off my back. Like I don’t have enough trouble as it is!

  I serve the ball, open handed, sending a satisfying sting through my hand, up my arm and straight into my head. I think of Marcia, the Marcia mash, but when the ball comes to me I’m gentle with it, using only my fingertips to get it over to Amber, setting her up for a spike. The ball is back to me again. “Marcia,” I think, and fail to return it.

  “Time out,” Coach Terry calls, then runs over to me. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I tell her, which is way far from the truth, but I don’t think she’s asking for my life story.

  “Sit out a bit,” she says, calling one of the sophomore girls in to take my place.

  On the bench I think “Marcia, Marcia,” trying to get the old fire back, trying to feel the heat of anger. Instead I feel the heat of fire, of her pushing me toward Jack, demanding that he save me and leave her behind. All of these years of anger—I can’t quite get a grip on that anymore.

  I’m more angry with Harp than I’ve ever been, but it’s not a kind of slam-the-volleyball anger, picturing his face shattering. Too much. I watch the play, wondering where Amber gets her power.

  Coach calls me back in for the last five minutes of play, but something is lost from my game. I can’t slam Marcia. I can’t slam Shawna because it was too awful the time I did it for real.

  When I go to Coach’s office, she has me sit in the standard place, on the “visitor” side of her desk. She sits in one of those big easy-on-your-back kind of reclining chairs.

  “What’s up with you, Lauren?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “You sick?”

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know,” I lie.

  “Love problems I suppose. I haven’t noticed Tyler sniffing around lately.”

  Why can’t teachers mind their own business?

  Coach Terry waits for me to talk, but, same as with Harper—what can I say? I’m lost? I’m betrayed? My soul has shrunk to the size of a raisin, and I can’t even find it anymore? Life has lost all meaning? And if I said any of these things would I be whisked off to some school counselor who’d never ever been in love but would know it all anyway? Better to stay silent.

  “Well, whatever your problem, let’s hope you get your game back,” Coach Terry says.

  I take this for my cue to leave. Amber is waiting for me by my locker. I change and we walk out together.

  “Wanna go to Barb ’n Edie’s?” she asks.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “Well, I do,” she says. “I think I’ll go back and see if Candy wants to go with me. Talk to you later.”

  Before I even know what’s happening, Amber’s disappeared back inside the gym building. Well, all right. Let her find Candy. Why should I care?

  I told Grams I’d take the bus today, since she had to work this mo
rning and then had a bunch of errands to do. But when I get near the bus stop and see the crowd of kids, I decide to walk. I’ve only gone a few blocks when Jack pulls up beside me and rolls down the window.

  “Rennie. 1 was hoping I’d see you. Want a ride?”

  “Sure,” I say, and get into the once fearsome red Honda.

  “My three o’clock appointment didn’t show, so I’ve got about an hour to bum around. Do you want coffee?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I called Frances to see if she’d mind if I took you to Stark’s. She didn’t have a problem with it.”

  “Okay then,” I say.

  We order the exact same thing we had that first day. This time we sit at a table outside, though.

  “Those people in the east where the snow is so high they can’t even go to work don’t know what they’re missing,” Jack laughs.

  He turns his face upward, eyes closed, and basks in the warmth of the sun like some kind of lizard, or maybe a cat.

  “Thank you, Lord,” he whispers, then turns to me, smiling his gentle, contented smile.

  “Are you religious?” I ask him.

  “Not exactly,” he says. “But a higher power helped me get clean and helps me stay clean. I can’t do it by myself.”

  “Like God?” I ask.

  “Well, I guess so. I usually just think higher power, or HP for short. Lots of people think God, though.”

  “How did God, or whatever, help you get clean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a mystery. But since I’ve been working this program, and paying attention to HP, I like to express my thanks for life. Like for this sunny day, and for you. For the trees and the mountains . . .”

  “I don’t believe in God,” I tell him.

  “What do you believe in?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, taking a gulp of cappuccino, trying to swallow my tears. “I used to believe in me and Tyler, but not anymore.”