Chapter 24
The hurt that Oliver had felt since Tucson was much worse. Being true had taken him far from everyone, had torn his connections to everything outside himself. He had always been a bit remote, distant from others, an observer; now he was completely alone. He felt an intense pain, a kind that he had never known, a gnawing and ripping internal pain from which he couldn’t escape. He was being torn apart. When he reached the parking area at The Devil’s Churn, he opened the Laphroiag and took two long swallows. He put the bottle on the front seat and got out of the Jeep.
The sun was setting behind a layer of low dark clouds. Oliver walked slowly down the wooden steps—slippery from spray at the bottom. The surf was high. Waves exploded up the fissure in the rocks, roaring and seething. The violent water matched his internal state perfectly. For a moment, he was suspended in an eerie calm between the two madnesses. He understood for the first time why people committed suicide. The pain hurt too much. End it.
He moved closer to the edge of the rocks. Large Waves Come Without Warning. So what? Owl disappeared in the Atlantic. One in each ocean, Oliver thought. Another wave bore in. He walked gallantly to the edge and turned to look back. His father was standing on the steps—stoic, concerned, non–judgmental. Come what may, he was with Oliver. A loud whistling sound came from the wave. Oliver took a deep breath, paused, exhaled, and followed his father up the steps.
At the top, he waved goodbye again as he had the last time Muni drove away. “So,’’ Oliver said. He shivered and shook himself like a dog. “So.” He didn’t know what was ahead, but he knew that he wasn’t going to kill himself. He was his father’s son; he had the same tenacity; he was going to go the distance. The knowledge came from a deeper place than the pain. It gave him secure footing, a place where he could stand and bear the hurt. His father had given him life twice. He stared out at the sea and sky, wondering at the cold dark beauty of it all and feeling deeply sorry for all those who had put guns to their heads or swallowed too many pills or jumped from bridges.
It began to rain. Oliver drove back toward Portland and stopped at the first motel. The woman on duty looked at him suspiciously. He remembered that he hadn’t shaved and that he’d slept in his clothes. It seemed a long time ago. “I’m all right,’’ he said. “It’s been a long trip, that’s all.’’
When Oliver awoke the next morning, he was sober and hungry. The intense pain was gone. Only a residual ache reminded him of the storm that had almost gotten him. He took a long hot shower and dressed. Once again he had no plan, but he had something much more precious—time. He ate a large breakfast in a café and thought things over.
It was better, he decided, to stay away from Maine for a while. Let things settle down. He could help support Emma. He could see her when she was a little older—be at least a small part in her life. Jennifer would be up for that. He didn’t have to work in a bank, for God’s sake. He could find a part–time job or a project with some smaller group. Maybe he could set up a wood shop and make a few things. Thanks to Myron’s investing, he still had most of his original stake. It was there for Emma and for Francesca, if she should need it.
Oliver paged through his atlas. He liked New Mexico. Portland, Oregon was pleasant. Seattle seemed more interesting. Honolulu? Maybe even Japan… But, here he was in the Northwest. He wasn’t ready to see his father or his uncle. He needed to get settled first. He needed to work, to make some money. Maybe even have some sort of relationship, although he was in no rush. Sex was great, but it wasn’t going to rule him any more. Sex got the job done, got the babies made. Aside from that, it mirrored the relationship—whatever the relationship was. He didn’t think there would be any big surprises there. He’d been around that barn.
“Where you headed?” the waitress asked.
“Seattle,” Oliver said. At least he’d have one friend there. He smiled broadly, pleased with his decision, and left a large tip by his plate.
“What’cha doing up there?”
“Starting over.”
“I done that once or twice.” She swept up her tip. “You’re young enough. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks,” Oliver said. “Thanks a lot.”
He stopped on the outskirts of Seattle and called Francesca.
She answered, “Hello?’’
“Hi, Francesca.’’
“Oliver?’’
“Yup, how’re you doing?’’
“Oliver! What a surprise! I’m fine.’’
“I’m in Seattle.’’
“No!’’
“Yeah. I wondered if you wanted to have coffee or something. I don’t want to be in the way or anything, but I’d love to see you. Lots to tell you.’’
“Oliver, of course. How could you possibly be in the way?’’
“I have a confession. Actually, I came to see you a couple of days ago. It was late in the afternoon. You were standing outside your house, with your guy, and I turned around and left. I’m O.K. about it now.’’
“Oliver, that was my brother!’’
“What?’’ His mind reeled.
“Yes, my brother, Giles.’’
Oliver vaguely remembered Francesca telling him about a brother. “Oh yeah, Giles,’’ he said.
“He’s a pilot for Delta. He comes by sometimes when he has a layover. Can you come over now?’’
“Uh, sure—be about half an hour, I guess.’’
“I can’t believe it!’’ Francesca said.
“Me neither. Great! See you.’’ Oliver walked quickly to the Jeep and drove to Ballard, struggling to adjust.
Francesca was waiting in front of the house. They had a long wordless hug. Oliver felt immediately the familiar calm that radiated outward from them, only now he seemed to take a more active part in generating it.
“You’ve changed,’’ she said, stepping back and looking at him closely.
“I’ve caught up, I think.’’
“It’s so good to see you.”
“How are the girls?’’
“Just fine. They’re in school. They’ll be back soon.’’ She led him inside and gave him a tour of the house. He sat at a kitchen table and explained his situation while she made tea. Francesca didn’t say anything until he finished.
“Jacky called me after your housewarming. She was worried about you.’’
“I like Jacky,’’ Oliver said.
“She said Emma was a doll.’’
“Quite true,’’ Oliver said.
“Oliver, where are you staying tonight?’’
“I hadn’t got that far yet.’’ Oliver considered. “I don’t know.’’
“Well, I do,’’ Francesca said. “You’re staying right here.’’ She extended a long arm and pointed over his shoulder. Oliver turned and saw the bronze heart on a shelf, leaning against the wall. He could feel his thumb stroking the letters.
“O plus F,’’ Francesca said softly.
“O plus F,’’ he repeated, turning back.
He looked into her eyes—patient and amused, mysterious, the color of the inner heart of black walnut—and knew that he was home.
EPILOGUE
Eight years later, at this writing:
Emma speaks schoolgirl Spanish and has a half brother named Kenso.
Maria and Elena are blooming.
Oliver, Francesca, and the children go to Hawaii or to Kamakura every other year. It has been five years since they moved back to Maine. They are often seen walking on Crescent Beach, early Sunday mornings.
Jennifer is married to Bogdolf.
Jacky married a lawyer and has a stepson. They live in Maryland.
Richard O’Grady is just the same.
Mark is richer, and George is more appreciated.
Conor lives in North Carolina.
Arlen left the CPA firm. He owns and runs a bakery with Porter.
Suzanne married Harley and moved to Vermont. They have two girls and a boy.
####
Thank you f
or reading O+F.
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