Heart of the Country (21 page)

52

I
HUNG UP
the phone with Faith and fluffed my hair. It was a nervous habit I’d acquired before doing anything uncomfortable. And this counted for more than uncomfortable. I would’ve never believed I could do this. Would do this. But here I was, with my suitcase between my knees. I called Hardy, holding the cell phone close to my ear. It was hard to hear at the airport.

“You okay?” Hardy asked.

“I guess so.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to go.”

“Why am I going?”

Hardy knew rhetorical when he heard it.

“I mean, don’t I trust her? Don’t I trust him? Of course I do. But I should be there. It should be the three of us together. Making the decisions about what kind of treatment Daddy’s going to get. Right?”

“Can’t go wrong with another opinion.”

“If I didn’t trust Faith, I would’ve stood in front of her car and made her run me down when she told me she was taking him to New York. But I did no such thing.” I slumped. “I just can’t lose him, Hardy. I can’t. He’s my daddy.” My throat strained hard to keep my emotions all tidy. “What if the girls lost you? You’re their daddy. You can’t go. You can’t leave them. And he can’t leave me either. He just can’t.” I drew in an overly deep breath, the kind that makes you cough out the extra air. “So. I am going, just as an adviser. Just to make sure we’re all hearing the same thing, because you know how doctors can talk, all gibberishly.”

“You’re there for support. That’s what you told me. And you know they’d both appreciate support.”

I sighed. “Hardy, we both know that I’ve never been able to support a thing in my life. I’m loud and bossy and I always take over because nobody can do nothin’ right. I am fooling myself if I think I can.”

Hardy went back to listening.

“I love my sister. As much as I hate to admit that she’s affected my life like that, it’s true. I don’t want to run her
off or upset her. I can’t be having her estranged from us for another decade.”

I imagined Hardy was on the front porch, looking out into the dark sky, chewing on a dead blade of grass that he must’ve plucked from beside our concrete porch steps. “Liv, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I think, Hardy, that I give myself too much credit.”

“Now just shush and listen. You know what is good and true and right, and you’ve always stood for those things. You’ve allowed your sister back in your life, even though it was hard and you were hurt. And now here you are, willing to travel all the way to hell, just to help two people that mean the world to ya.”

“I’m going to get murdered in New York, aren’t I?”

“Like I said, just don’t make eye contact with anybody.”

“I know this sounds kooky, but I kind of feel drawn there. I don’t know if it’s for selfish reasons or not, but there’s not too much that’d make me go to a place like New York.”

They called my flight to board over the loudspeaker. “Guess I better get on with it.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to call, let ’em know you’re coming?” Hardy asked.

“Don’t want anybody derailing my plans. Besides, Faith’s gonna think I don’t trust her.”

“Can’t imagine why . . . since you don’t trust her enough to tell her you’re coming.”

“I gotta do things the way I gotta do them.”

“You always do,” Hardy said. “That’s what I love about you. You got all your directions?”

“Everything you printed off the computer, I guess. Directions to the hotel. To the doctor. All that.”

“You’re sure you shouldn’t call?”

I looked straight toward the lovely young lady taking tickets. I was certain. Nobody liked surprises, I knew. But then again, sometimes you just gotta invite yourself to the party.

53

I
WASN’T SURE
how many drinks I’d had. Enough to keep me glued to my seat talking to Trouble, yet not so many as to not see I was dancing in the dark with the devil. Maria exuded everything a man wanted in a woman . . . on the outside. She knew it, and she knew how to roll her shoulders in just the right way . . . how to play coy, protective, innocent . . . whatever mask she wanted.

And she always smelled good. And her hair, it liked to flop across her eye. She’d give it a gentle shove out of the way. It was glossy, like plastic. And that wasn’t the only plastic she was using to her advantage, either.

“Look, I love Faith,” she said, talking with her hands.
I followed her fingers, which seemed to keep pointing me in the exact direction I shouldn’t be looking. “You know that. I miss her. But she just left, Luke. I mean, don’t you think she owed it to you to talk it out?” Her eyelashes batted, waiting for an answer. Her mouth formed a tiny little O, pursed, waiting for an answer.

I leaned back, tearing myself out of her vortex. “I’m the one who lied to her.”

“You were protecting her!”

I took a long look at Maria. Her face was lit up with the exclamation. But her eyes were saying something much different.

“I’ve really got to get going,” I said. I pushed a fifty to the bartender.

“Oh, wow . . . me too,” she said, quickly glancing at her watch. Not one to be left in an awkward position, Maria followed me out of the bar, one hand touching my arm as we made our way toward the door.

But it felt a little like slow motion, and I decided I better get a cab. I whistled as Maria stepped up beside me.

“Drop me off in Murray Hill?”

Ugh. I really hoped I hadn’t said it out loud, but by the sour look suddenly emerging on Maria’s face, I might’ve. “Sure,” I sighed.

Inside the cab, it was relatively quiet. I stared out the window, and Maria stared at me, and that took the entire seven-minute cab ride. It pulled in front of an apartment building, trendy but older.

Maria’s hand slid from my shoulder down to my forearm. “Thanks for the ride.” She started to take money out of her purse, even though she knew good and well I’d never let her pay.

“I got it.”

“You’re sure?” Surprised eyes.

“Yeah.”

“It was so great to see you.”

“You, too.”

“Good night, Luke . . . and, um, if you need to talk, call me. You know where I am.” She said it like she was out of breath . . . or wanted to be.

“Thanks.”

She opened the cab door, kicking her long, bare legs out first, then slowly standing. She shut the door and the driver waited for her to walk in front, even though the back would’ve been faster.

And we were off.

The cab was just pulling up my street when something shiny on the seat beside me caught my eye. When the next streetlamp’s light passed through the window, I realized it was Maria’s sequined purse.

“Oh . . . great.” I sighed and pulled out my phone, working my way through my contacts to find her, wondering how evil her plotting was. Before I could think much further about it, her purse vibrated, then started in with some techno-dance song.

Part of me wanted to just leave the purse there, pretend
I didn’t see it, but I knew that could open her up to all kinds of problems. And I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t been blessed by somebody’s good graces myself. So I paid the cabbie and took the purse as begrudgingly as when Faith used to make me hold hers in public. I tucked it under my arm and looked up at the dark, fifth-story window of my home. The empty sidewalk seemed warmer than what I’d find when I opened the door to my apartment.

But I didn’t have any other options.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. I stared at the purse. I could just run it back to her . . . just . . . talk . . .

I took a breath
 
—a gasp, really. It was getting to me. It was all getting to me. How could I even conceive of doing that to Faith? I hurried to my apartment, took the elevator, and let myself in. I closed the door, locked it, turned my back against it. Caught my breath. I’d leave the purse with the doorman tomorrow and hopefully never see Maria again.

I didn’t want to think about Maria anyway. I wanted to think about how to face Faith. Or how to even get near her. Was it possible to feel like a bigger failure? I’d messed up everything between us and still couldn’t even do a simple favor for her.

I plopped down in my usual chair these days, the one that I stared out into space from, and wondered how badly I’d damaged the family name. When I couldn’t even summon a return phone call from a man I’d known since I was a teenager, things were looking pretty grim.

From my chair I could see the dimly twinkling lights of
the city. Before, I’d gaze at them and see all the possibilities the city had to offer. Now they just reminded me that my light had gone out.

I had to face the idea that my marriage was probably over. Even managing to get out of my predicament couldn’t change the circumstances in which I found myself. I rose and walked to the window, gazing out at skyscrapers that many men had jumped from. Before, I couldn’t conceive of what would drive a man to fall to his own death. Then I wondered what might stop a man who had nothing left. Now I had . . . hope.

I decided to write Faith a letter. I figured she wouldn’t take a phone call from me. Besides, there was a lot I needed to say and it couldn’t be said in the middle of a heated argument, which I guessed ours would turn into.

It took me a while to find stationery. I guess we just don’t write letters much these days. I found some in the top of the closet, a boxed set my dad had given me when I’d decided to leave his company and go out on my “new venture.” I hadn’t appreciated it back then like I should have. It was a gesture from Dad that I didn’t see because of my own blind ambitions.

Sitting at a desk we’d had imported from Spain, I stared at the blank sheet of paper. It kind of reminded me of a fresh start. Lots of possibilities. If only life were that simple.

Dear Faith,
I wrote in my best penmanship. I’d always had nice handwriting, to the point that I had to scratch it up a bit in high school to keep the taunts away.
I am sorry.
More than you’ll ever know.

How could I express in words what I was feeling, what I would give to have her back? I’d give all of this up. Every cent of what I had left, anyway. But I was afraid to say it, afraid she’d think I thought it was about the money I’d lost, and it wasn’t. Maybe it used to be, but walking through the fire can scorch off a lot of excess.

After a few more moments of staring at ten words, I dropped the pen to the desk and returned to my chair, where I turned on the TV only to find myself standing on the courthouse stairs, my face distorted by the wide-screen TV effect. Behind me, towering though he wasn’t much taller, was my father, Austin Stanford Carraday. Had he aged? How had I not noticed him hunching more? Squinting more? They cut to a closer picture of us, and I noticed his eyes shimmering with emotion I hadn’t caught before. And his hand was on my shoulder, too. I suspected it had been there all along, but I chose not to feel it. I didn’t unmute the TV. I didn’t really want to know what they were saying anyway. I just watched the two of us, and my mind drifted to the time when he was strong enough to pick me up and toss me into the sky, as if I weighed nothing. I thought he hung the moon. There stood the man I thought took everything from me, but the truth was he’d already given me the world.

There was a knock at the door suddenly, jolting me from the quiet habitat of regret I’d created for myself.

God, please!
That same feeling of relief, freedom, pure joy that I felt at the courthouse shot me straight out of my chair. I stumbled into an end table and knocked over a vase rushing
toward the door. I am not sure why I thought she wouldn’t give me two seconds to open the door, but just in case, I killed myself getting there. Lunging for the knob, I yanked it open, startling the woman on the other side.

Maria.

“I am
such
 an idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders while managing to look not the least bit regretful.

“Your purse.”

“Bingo.”

I waved her in and walked to the kitchen counter to retrieve it.

“I always loved this place, Luke.”

“It’ll probably be up for sale soon. Wanna buy it?”

“In a second. Just need some money.”

I held the purse out to her, stretching my arm a little further so I didn’t have to step closer.

“Thanks.” But she set it right down on the arm of the couch. She gazed about, like it was a starry night or something. “It still feels like a home.”

“I haven’t changed anything.”

“Still have that silly old painting, don’t you?”

We both stared at it for a moment, resting awkwardly against the fireplace.

Then, “Luke, do you remember the night you met Faith and me?”

“Sure.”

“I wanted you to talk to me, but you chose her.”

She stepped closer. Caught my eye. Lowered her tone to a whisper. “Here’s your second chance.”

There’s a lot that goes through the mind of a guy when he’s being tempted. Through the fog of her perfume, I wondered if I could actually be alone. If Faith and I never got back together, could I do it? Would I want to? Would I be too much of a train wreck for anyone else to love?

I looked at Maria. She had this intensity about her, a wild-animal-stare kind of intensity. You weren’t sure if you were interesting or about to be eaten.

But all I could see was Faith. That’s all I wanted to see. At that moment, when I pretty much wished Maria would just eat me alive, I knew there would never be anyone but Faith.

I put my hand between us. “It’s time for you to go home.”

And it was just as I said it that a key rattled in the front door. Before I could really identify the sound and believe it was what I was hearing, the door swung open and there stood Faith, staring at the most awkward and regretful moment of my life.

“Faith?” I gasped, and the gasp wasn’t for the fact that I was engaged in something I shouldn’t be, but because I was so surprised to see her. I think I elbowed Maria out of the way as I walked to the door.

She said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her face told the whole story . . . at least the story she thought she was seeing. Before I could reach her, she closed the door. I ran out to the hallway, but she’d taken the stairs. I followed after her, down the concrete, echoing stairwell, calling her name.

I didn’t catch up to her until we got to the street.

“Faith, wait! Please!” I said as we reached the sidewalk.

Finally she turned. In the four years we’d been married, I’d never seen that expression on her face, and it shocked me. Disdain. But in her eyes, there was a sorrow that I could barely look at. And that sorrow made me realize she hadn’t shut me out yet. I reached for her arm, then thought better of it.

“Let’s not have this moment,” she said, breathing harder than she should’ve been. I knew adrenaline was shooting through her, that fight-or-flight mechanism kicking in like her life was at stake. I knew it was.
Our
lives.

“There is nothing there!” My voice was shrill, panicked, my fists clenched as I gestured toward the apartment. “Go ask her. I swear, nothing is happening. Nothing happened.”

She stood perfectly still, her nostrils flaring, her voice growling and low. “I am not asking her anything. Ever.”

That had been a mistake. Of course I shouldn’t have told her that. But there was a desperation inside me that seized any sense of self-control, any sense of self-respect. I was not far from dropping to my knees. She turned suddenly, walked with an assuredness that told me she had no intention of turning back.

“I wasn’t with her! I’m not with her!”

I chased after her, grabbed her arm this time. Faith swung around, yanking it back. She took a few steps, gazing into my eyes like she was hoping to find some humanity there. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “for helping my father.”

Her fingers rose, hailing a cab.

“Wait . . . what?”

“Thanks for getting him in.”

“But . . . Faith, I didn’t . . .”

The cab arrived and she opened the door, giving me a long look. “Then never mind. Good-bye, Luke.”

She disappeared and the cab sped off as if it knew she was fleeing.

“I’m sorry . . .”

I whipped around. Maria stood there with her purse tucked under her arm, shaking her head like she’d just witnessed a car wreck.

“No, you’re not.” I stormed past her.

She reached for me. “Luke, I
 
—”

“Get away from me. Leave. Now.”