“Yeah.”
“Okay. How long will you be there?”
I ran a hand through my hair. It was longer than I usually kept it, but then, I didn’t get to choose my haircut when I was working. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. “I can’t even think about coming back.” James and I shared a house. Used to share a house. I supposed it was mine now, but I didn’t know if I’d ever return to it.
“I know, but Jesse,” she paused a moment, and when she spoke again, she was speaking around tears. “The memorial service is tomorrow.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t do this. The weight of all the expectations on me was making it hard to breathe. I thought of James’s mom. Of his sister. I should go. I should be there to say goodbye. Then I thought of all the crying faces. Now that the news of James’s death had leaked, there would be cameras there, vultures trying to record a scrap of emotion that wasn’t acted for the screen. “Mom, I’m staying here. I have to go.”
“Jesse, wait.”
I needed to hang up before I lost it. I couldn’t think about this. I had to get my mind on something else. But she sounded desperate. “What?”
I heard her shallow breathing. “How’s Dad? Is he...healthy?”
Tears stung my eyes. She never had felt like Grandpa was proud of her, like he loved her and accepted her the way she was. She once told me he thought she was a foolish girl who made foolish choices. I wasn’t sure if those were his words or hers. “He’s good. He’s healthy. Still working. He’s all the way gray, now, and thinner.”
She released a relieved breath. “Okay. Will you tell him...never mind. Don’t tell him anything. I love you, Jesse. Answer my calls, okay?”
“I can’t answer ten calls a day, Mom.”
“If you answered the first one, I’d only call once.”
We were trying to tease each other, trying for normal. I swallowed around the emotion building up in my throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. It’s hard for me to talk, Mom. I’ll answer when I can.”
“Okay, baby.”
“Okay.” I set the phone on my dresser, relieved that was over, but was stirred up like I expected I would be after her call. I didn’t like feeling stirred up. I liked being in control of myself, something I didn’t feel capable of at the moment. Truth be told, I felt a little crazy. I wondered if I was losing my mind. Having a breakdown. I stuck my fingers in my hair and pulled at its roots. The fist of pain hit me right in the center of my chest.
No, I wasn’t going crazy. It was just grief.
Just grief.
There was no just about it. I was capable of standing, so I did. I was capable of brushing my teeth and putting on clothes, so I did. I would do the things I was capable of, and that would be enough.
I descended the stairs and went to the kitchen. Grandpa sat at the table reading a newspaper and eating a bowl of oatmeal. A second bowl sat across from him. “Thanks,” I said, sitting down and spooning it into my mouth. It tasted like nothing.
“You’re up at a reasonable hour,” he said, a small smile on his face.
“I was capable of it,” I said.
He nodded, as though that were a normal thing to say. “You called your mother.”
I looked at him.
He shrugged slightly. “Sound carries in this house. Paper thin walls.”
I knew that. From his and my mom’s many arguments when I was a kid. I tapped my spoon on my bowl. There hadn’t only been arguments. There’d been long, winding conversations. One time I heard them laughing and talking about Grandma, and I crept out of bed to find them looking at old photo albums. They didn’t send me back to bed. They let me look, and they told me stories of my Grandma, who had died when my mom was a teenager. I’d wound my arm around my mom’s, squeezing it tight, unable to even imagine her dying.
“How is Poppy?” Grandpa asked, dropping my eyes and looking back at his newspaper.
“She’s fine. Worried about me.”
He frowned. “She always worried about everything. Neither your grandmother nor I worried about much, but Poppy was full of worries.”
I didn’t say anything, just kept spooning the tasteless oatmeal in my mouth. Mom felt like her father minimized her anxiety. He tried to talk her out of her feelings. He didn’t want to see it, so he swept it under the rug.
I shoved my bowl away, feeling a little sick. Eating was hard. It was nearly impossible to swallow past the fist. “What’s on the agenda today?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
Grandpa set down his paper. “I liked your suggestion that we repaint the sign.”
The sign for Alden Caverns was nothing more than a four by three foot sheet of plywood. The paint was faded and peeling. We gathered the supplies and made our way to the entrance. The grass was short and trimmed neatly around the legs of the sign. Grandpa handed me a scraper, and he took another one, and we set to work clearing off the old paint. Maybe today would be the day I told him about James.
In silence, we scraped the whole sign, then sanded it. Sweaty and feeling dirty already, the words still wouldn’t come. We were brushing on the first coat of primer, standing shoulder to shoulder, when I said, “She asked how you were. She wanted to know if you were healthy.”
He blinked a few times. “She did?”
“She loves you.”
“Maybe, but she sure doesn’t like me much.”
I didn’t respond.
He sighed. “I made a lot of mistakes with your mother. When Emily died, Poppy withdrew into herself. She didn’t seem to want me around. So I gave her space. It was the wrong move. I should have stayed near. Talked to her more.”
“You can’t force Mom to do anything.”
He chuckled. “No, you can’t. But I could have told her what I was feeling. I could have asked her to teach me how to bake cookies. I could have invited her fishing. Instead, I let her disappear. And of course, she found other people who didn’t think she was invisible.”
He echoed things my mom had told me over the years. “You two should talk.”
He scoffed, dipping his brush in the primer again. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“I think she does.”
“She hasn’t called me in fifteen years, Jesse. Not a word in all that time.”
His voice wasn’t angry, it wasn’t accusatory. It was defeated. Still, I felt protective of my mother. I’d only heard her side of things. “You haven’t called her, either.”
“I don’t have her phone number.”
“Excuses. I can give you her number.”
Grandpa’s head snapped up, and I braced for the admonition, for him to be angry at me. Instead, he took my measure, holding my gaze. I saw respect in his eyes. He didn’t say he wanted her number, though. “I’ll write it down for you when we get back to the house,” I said.
We finished priming the wood in silence until abruptly, he said, “I need to go open the cavern. Can you give it two coats of this light gray? After lunch, when it’s fully dry, I’ll get out the stencil I use, and the red spray paint. Easy as pie.”
He walked across the parking lot, limping a little as he went, holding his lower back. I leaned down to pry open the gray paint when Cat’s car drove in. I didn't look up, determined to focus on the work before me, but when her car didn’t move forward, and instead idled at my back, my attention was fully snagged.
“Is painting all you do?” she called out.
A smile pulled at my mouth, and I turned. I drew in a deep breath, struck again by the beauty of her eyes and the brightness of her smile. That little flame inside me flickered. That I could still see beauty in the world, in this woman, when my heart felt so black and life felt so empty, was a bit of a shock. Guilt washed over me, but I was drowning in that, too, and so I allowed myself the acknowledgment. Cat was beautiful. I didn’t need to feel guilty for that. “Maybe it’s all I’m good at,” I volleyed back.
She grinned, and drove her car into the lot
.
I found myself painting faster, slapping the gray paint onto the plywood, eager to finish and follow her into the cavern. When I went to bed last night, I’d done plenty of thinking about Catherine Sparrow. I lay awake a long time, staring at the full moon out my window. Cat came alive when she taught me about the caves. I’d seen the pride on her face as she simply showed me the light switches. The way she’d stood over the blowhole, waving her hand through the air, her eyes closed, trying to sense the temperature difference, had me grabbing my phone and looking up infrared cave sensors.
I’d fallen asleep regretting most of my behavior yesterday, convinced she hated me, and with good reason. I’d hate me too, if I were her. But her smile and her teasing this morning told me that maybe she’d seen through the wall I’d erected.
The moment I finished the second coat of gray, I tapped the paint can shut and carried all the supplies back to the garage. I washed the brushes, and though I knew it was pointless as I’d likely be covered in sweat as soon as I got back down to the cavern, I took a fast shower.
Before I burst in the front door, I forced myself to slow down. I wasn’t sure what had come over me, but being with Cat was a respite from everything else I was feeling, and after all, I’d come to Alden seeking respite. I smoothed my damp hair back and opened the door.
Grandpa sat behind the counter, reading a book. He looked up when I entered, watching me closely as I scanned the gift shop. “Did you take a shower?” he asked.
“I needed it, and frankly, so do you,” I said.
He laughed, but his eyes were twinkling. “Hmm,” he said. “Cat’s about to give a tour. Let’s walk over together so you can learn how it’s done. If you’re going to work here, you have to be able to give the tours.”
Work here? That was ridiculous and not my plan. But apparently my working here was his plan for me. And as I was seeking respite, I gratefully accepted this gift he was giving me—a break from making my own decisions. I nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”
Grandpa and I climbed into the flat, wide boat, taking a seat on the bench on one side. Cat stood at the back, her helmet on, smiling that breathtaking smile. There were seven other people on the boat, an older couple and a family with young children. She met my eyes for a moment, before looking at each of her tour guests. She pushed a lever and the boat moved forward, growling low and rumbling under us. It was remarkably quiet, though, once we got past the rushing of the waterfall.
The cave was well-lit here, and the ceiling high enough to afford a beautiful view. Cat’s steady, peaceful voice calmed me as she taught the group, and me, about the six most common speleothems—cave formations—we’d see. I tried to keep my eyes on the flowstone, stalagmites, columns, and drapery, but my gaze kept wandering back to her.
Grandpa cleared his throat, and I looked at him, his eyebrows raised. “You catching all this?” he asked, smirking.
I jabbed him gently with my elbow. Cat didn’t speak with a script, of course. She knew this information by heart, and had stories to go along with every spot we passed. Some places were lit with colorful LEDs. The children on board chattered and pointed at the purple lights illuminating a particularly spectacular section with a lot of columns, and the adults noted the delicate straws and drapery in one corner.
No wonder she enjoyed this. She had a hand in creating a memory for people, and she got to be right there to experience it. People had memories of my movies, too, I was sure. First dates, friend group outings, family movie nights. But I was never around to see it happen. I’d never wanted to act on stage before, until right this minute.
At one point, the ceiling got lower and lower, until it was only a few feet above our heads. I tensed, squeezing my knees and keeping my eyes on my shoes.
“If you can hang on, we’ll open up into a large room in a minute,” Cat said, her voice low. I looked up, and her eyes were on mine. She smiled softly.
The boat ride ended, and Cat docked by a damp passage leading away from the water. We climbed out, my legs a little wobbly, and followed Cat up the passage. It was well-lit here too, but I was thankful for the handrail. The passage was wide enough that it wasn’t daunting, and eventually it opened into a large, low room. I had to bend over so I wouldn’t hit my head.
“We call this the Sitting Dome,” Cat said, short enough that she didn’t have to crouch. The children in the group immediately sat, and Cat made a few noises, demonstrating the echo. Everyone followed suit, and Cat laughed when one of the children mooed loudly. “This is a wonderful spot for a picnic,” Cat said, and looked at me. Did she know I’d been hoping to see this place? How had she known? I looked around the room, picturing my mother as a girl, here with her mother. After a time, Cat beckoned us forward and we moved on.
“The passage ahead will take about fifteen minutes to travel. The Speleological Survey helped to clear it, moving rocks out of the way. It’s always been important to Otto to keep Alden Caverns as wild and natural as possible, so he hasn’t allowed any blasting. But they did do a little drilling to make areas wider and easily passable. Some stones had to be cut to be moved, and you can see them if you look to the sides. At the end, it opens up into our biggest cavern.”
Walking along the passage, with plenty of room for Grandpa to walk beside me, I relaxed. That she’d told us how long it would take helped. Like my mother, I found it a little unnerving to be down here, knowing how much earth was overhead. I’d felt the same way as a kid, and hadn’t spent much time deep in the cave system. I’d preferred to stay in the gift shop, chatting with visitors there, or playing in the woods. But now, as an adult, I could see the allure of the caves. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still a little nervous, but I could see what Cat and Grandpa loved about them.
I ran the duster along the display cases, taking extra care, and perhaps a little more time than was strictly necessary, working up the courage to talk with Cat. After the tour ended, Cat went back around to host another one, and then two more after that. I found myself irritated with the tour groups. Why was the cave so busy on a Monday in the spring?
But now she with here with me, in the store. Grandpa had gone home to start dinner a little bit ago. “Help Cat close up, won’t you?” he’d said, as he scooted out the door.
I’d seen Cat off and on through the day, exchanging glances and a few smiles but no words. I wanted to put to rest what happened yesterday, and now that we were alone, I would attempt it. She was across the shop, sweeping the tile floor. I watched as she lifted the door mat, swept beneath it, and resumed her work. She hummed lightly.
I decided I’d make small talk first. “Do you have any hobbies?”
She looked up, not letting her eyes settle on mine. “Other than the caves?”
I nodded.
“I like to read. Science fiction, mostly. How about you?”
It was such a gift that she didn’t know who I was. She could have looked up my hobbies easily, but instead, she was asking. I felt a little guilty. Should I tell her? I dismissed the idea. I wouldn’t be here long, so what did it matter? I’d take this gift and enjoy it while I was here. “I skateboard some. I’m thinking I need to learn to cook. I think my taste buds might atrophy, living here with Otto.”
She laughed softly.
“And you’ve been working here a long time?” I asked.
She grinned. “Since I was eleven. I sold crinoid fossils to Otto to sell in the shop.” She walked over to a case and pointed inside. “I still do.”
I looked into the case. “What kind of fossils are those?”
“Crinoids. They’re a marine animal that looks more like a plant. They move through the water, looking almost like butterflies. They’re actually still alive as a species, but these fossils are hundreds of millions of years old.”
Her eyes were doing that thing again—sparkling and widening as she spoke, brimming with interest. I bit my lip, hoping she’d never stop talking. But she did, to look at me. Her gaze darted down to my mouth. She lo
oked quickly away, her cheeks pink, and a delicious fullness occupied my chest, briefly replacing the pain that has lived there lately.
“What was your first job?” she asked, resuming her sweeping.
My first job was acting as a troubled teenager in an independent film that ended up doing really well. Guilt coursing through me, I answered, “Otto paid me to paint the fence when I was a kid. I guess that would be it.”
She smiled. “And your mom never had other children?”
“No it’s just me.”
“I have two sisters. They’re twins, younger than me by two years. Audrey and Valerie.”
“Are they identical?”
She turned from the corner she’d been sweeping to face me. She propped her chin on the broom handle. “No, but they look a bit alike. They both have blue eyes and blonde hair that looks like sunshine.” She laughed lightly. “They’re much prettier than me.”
“I doubt that could be true.”
She blinked.
I swallowed. I hadn’t meant to be so bold with my words. But Cat spoke so freely, it was hard not to do the same.
“Well, it’s true.” She laughed again. “They’re also way more fun.” She grinned up at me, obviously letting my earlier comment slide off instead of burrowing in.
“Anyway,” she said, “I love my sisters. We’re very close. I think family bonds are the most special thing there is, which makes me wonder, is there any chance we can get Otto and and your mother to make amends? I want that for him.”
I tried to keep up with her rapid change of topic. Shaking my head to clear away thoughts of Cat’s beauty and get myself on track, I said, “I’d love to do that, but I don’t know if it’s possible. They’re both pretty stubborn, and they’re both still hurting over it.”
“Is there any way your mom would come visit you here? Is she within driving distance? We have to find a way to get them to talk.”
Ignoring the questions about Mom’s location, I said, “I agree. But Grandpa is a man of few words. I don’t know if he’ll make the first move, and I know my mom won’t.”
Broken Hollywood (Sparrow Sisters Book 1) Page 6