The Mourning After (27 page)

“It was her book they gave me.  Her diary.”

Levon recites Anne Frank’s words aloud.  Lucy’s eyes are pressed shut, and she mouths them as he speaks.  She remains clutching his hand, and its hold implies she doesn’t want to let go.  She leads him away from the statue and back to the pond.  They take their respective seats and watch the lily pads float along the water.

Lucy begins.  “My mom got the call about Nate.  He had been depressed, holed up in the house.  Despite what everyone thinks, there was nothing gratifying about it.  Even though I didn’t provoke him, even though I didn’t ask for it, I felt responsible in some roundabout way.

“He came to see me once, after the media circus died down.  He wanted me to know he was sorry.”

“What did you say?”

“I knew in my heart he was going to carry around a regret that would never go away.  He needed to let it go.  I wish that were enough for him. When his parents showed up with the book, I understood what Nate wanted from me.  I chose the color white that afternoon.  The same white as those lilies.  Look at them, Levon.  Proof that life goes on.  Evil will never prevail.”

“Namaste.”

This word forces Madeline to halt as she steps out the back door of her home and through the short distance onto her patio. 

It’s a glorious day in Miami and, with status updates on Facebook, the locals are reminding their friends in the snowy North why they live in South Florida.  It’s cool enough for pants and warm enough for short sleeves.  A mild breeze rattles the leaves on trees, and air, once dense, is clean and dry.  Madeline has come outside to escape the tomb that was at one time her home.  At the center of it is her son David’s room. 

Her legs cannot carry her fast enough to the door that leads outside. She promised herself and the rabbi and Dr. Lerner that she wouldn’t visit the shrine this week, but she was never good at self-control.  She has forbidden the others to enter. As his mother, though, she has the right to wipe the growing dust off the bookshelves and touch the clothes hanging in the closet.  It is
her
right because he was
her
son. 

Today, she opened the dresser drawers and was greeted by the smell of David.  It was everywhere at once, the cologne he had recently begun to wear, the wholesome scent of a boy on the verge of becoming a man.  The T-shirt on top was one of his favorites.  She brought it to her face and buried her cheeks in it.  She took a deep breath.  Then she began to weep.

“Namaste,” she hears again.

The lingering scent of David escapes her.  She peers over her right shoulder—past the fence, and beyond the hedges and foliage that she often calls the spiky, death plant—and spots the neighbor, Lucy Bell, sitting cross-legged on the grass, eyes closed, palms pressed together beneath her chin.  As a teacher, Madeline is accustomed to being around teens, she understands what makes them tick.  Lucy Bell, though, is unfamiliar territory. Madeline has always prided herself on her objectivity when it comes to kids. Madeline has a feeling that Lucy is different from other girls her age. Something about her peaceful aura sets her apart. No longer privy to the gossip at school, since she hasn’t been there since David’s accident, Madeline hasn’t heard what the other teachers make of the young girl.

Madeline’s distorted picture of Lucy is fragmented. The unique position that Levon once held in the household—irresponsible and blameworthy—he now shares with his partner in crime.  She was there when Levon siphoned the leftover wine and threw up all over himself.  She was the reason Chloe’s feeding tube got ripped from her belly by her unruly dog.  She is the diversion responsible for Levon’s defiance and sudden secrecy. Madeline can’t help but ask herself why the gregarious, charming Lucy Bell chose Levon when she could have had her pick from the hundreds of boys at Beach High?

Madeline gazes at the girl and wonders if she stares hard enough, will Lucy’s eyes open.

And yet, as Madeline peers over the fence and beyond the trees, her admonishing hands pressed on her hips, she is overcome with a gnawing emotion.  The disgraceful feeling ricochets around her bony frame. A mild dizziness overcomes her, and she tries to find her footing.

Madeline is thinner than ever, though that isn’t the reason for her fragility. 

Lucy’s flowing blonde hair is blowing in the breeze, and Madeline is sure she doesn’t notice the wisps brushing against her cheeks.  She is intent on her yoga pose, free and light.  Watching Lucy Bell is painful.  They are the antithesis of one another.  Her youthfulness makes Madeline want to cry.  Her serenity leaves the older woman feeling inadequate and alone.

Lucy doesn’t feel the threat of Madeline Keller’s disapproval while she’s humming
namaste
and freeing her mind of recent clutter.  Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, the cleansing both tickles and relaxes.  Today is January 27, her sixteenth birthday, and she and her mother are going to drive to Lincoln Road with George and bask in all that Miami has to offer.  Lucy notices she is humming.  She does that when she is really happy.

Ricky eventually came home after his ski trip, and he, Lucy, and their parents spent a few days in the Everglades, hiking and camping.  It was a nice reprieve from the congestion and crowds of South Beach.  When they returned, they celebrated Carol and Andy’s anniversary at Il Migliore in northern Miami, which has become the Bell’s favorite place to dine.  The managers know them by name, and to commemorate their special night, they etched their signature into the restaurant’s walls, a treat reserved for the regulars. 

It was a wonderful week—carefree and harmonious.  Lucy, Ricky, Levon, and Chloe spent a fair amount of time together.  Having her brother join their threesome made her aware of how much she has missed hanging out with a group of friends. Ricky was amazing with Chloe, just as he had been when she was the little girl’s age.  He would hoist her on his shoulders, and they would chase George up and down the sidewalk.  By week’s end, he could recite all of Chloe’s safe snacks: popcorn, pretzels, and plain Cheerios.  “That means plain, not honey-nut and not cinnamon-apple flavored,” she shouted in his ears.  “Dangerous, very dangerous.”  He would wink at her, and then they would high five each other in a playful manner. The fun wasn’t limited to just Chloe.  Ricky and Levon snuck off to play a long-awaited game of golf.  “He’s not very good,” Ricky laughed, when they returned from the acclaimed Doral course.  “Actually, he’s terrible.”  Lucy chuckled.  “Poof. My Tiger Woods fantasy evaporates.”

The group, along with the elder Bells, spent New Year’s Eve huddled on the couch in Lucy’s playroom watching Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest count down the seconds to 2008.  They brought in Joe’s Stone Crabs, and as tradition dictated, they completed a 1,000-piece puzzle while the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus took to the stage.  None of them were saddened by the passing of 2007. Moving forward was on everyone’s mind.  Which is probably why Madeline Keller had declined an invitation to her neighbor’s home.  The woman, understandably, was stuck in the past.

Saying goodbye to Ricky at the traffic-infested Miami International Airport was tough.  Her parents had agreed to let her drive him; the melancholy deepened as they got closer to the airport. “I wish you didn’t have to go back,” she said.  He took the hand that wasn’t on the wheel of their Volvo and squeezed it.  “You’re in good hands,” he whispered.

Now, reciting the final salutation,
namaste
, Lucy is reconciled and at peace.

And that is when an image of Levon pops into her brain. 

Lately, it has been hard to ignore him pushing his way into her thoughts.  Attempts to get him to participate in her Saturday morning yoga ritual were thwarted by Cruella de Ville who always has some type of
task
for Levon to do.  Last week, it was accompanying her to their storage facility to sift through pictures.  The week before, it was organizing the garage.  “Yoga’s good for you,” she told him.  “It’ll clear the muck from your head.”

“I’m not sure it’s for me,” he said, at once thankful for the tedious tasks that excused him from bending over and allowing Lucy to see his butt crack.  Today he was working diligently on birthday preparations.  There was no time for stretching and holding in the occasional fart.

Levon would sometimes have Lucy in stitches, laughing harder than Nate ever made her laugh. When Levon told her he loved her, it took all her strength to hold in a loud, hysterical chuckle.  And not because the idea of love and Levon in the same sentence were not possible.  She cared about Levon, deeply, and she was well aware that he cared about her, too.  But love?  Neither of them were capable of giving away their heart.

Lucy is smiling at the thought of that first afternoon she sat on the dryer and the many that preceded it.  Theirs was a friendship that defied high school logic.  Lucy was immune to the way in which she and Levon broke from tradition.  Levon restored her faith in humanity.  With him, innocence was not yet lost.  People, as Anne Frank suggested, were quite possibly innately good. 

Did it matter that he did not sport a six-pack or have the presence of Josh Duhamel?  She remembers the way her fingers tingled when his hands found hers on the dryer.  It was not the rumbling of the machine that sent the signal to her brain.  She had thought her body was numb to touch.  Suddenly it was awake.

Ricky picked up on the chemistry between the two.  “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she replied, even though the subtle coloring of her flesh was telling her brother all that she hoped to disguise.

Levon was changing, and it was thrilling for Lucy to witness while at the same time weird.  Timid and shy were being replaced with bold and gallant.  Tonight, he had planned an adventure. “Be ready at five,” he said.  When she told him that was early, he smiled his big, Levon grin.  “I like being with you.” 

Could the gradual shedding of pounds have been the catalyst for change? Lucy was positive he hadn’t even noticed their long walks from the bus stop and the afternoon strolls with George were turning his extra cushions into solid rails. Lucy was sure her grin had sprouted from deep within and caused her lips to turn upward and her cheeks to blush.

When her eyes open, the first thing she sees is Madeline Keller.  Adjusting to the bright sunshine, she blinks.  It is not an apparition.  Levon’s Mom is hard-core staring her down.  Lucy rises from her cross-legged sit, planning on rolling up her mat and heading into the house, though the ogling pulls her into an unexpected direction.

“How you doing, Mrs. Keller?” 

Lucy strolls the short distance to the fence that separates the two houses.  Her yoga mat is nestled under her arm.  The hour and a half on the patio renewed her energy, and she is open enough to feel plain empathy, compassion, for Levon’s mom.  But her sheer proximity has Lucy quaking inside.  There is enough sorrow in Madeline Keller to drain anyone’s good feelings.  Had Lucy known Levon’s mom prior to the accident, she might have remarked on how youthful the woman looked.  Now, the whispers around town were about how the disconsolate mother had aged twenty years.

Madeline ignores the lingering question and proceeds to wish Lucy a happy birthday.  That it has registered in her tortured mind astounds Lucy, though she accepts the wishes with a raised eyebrow.

“Levon told me,” she continues.  “I really don’t keep track of the calendar that much anymore.”  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it in one swift flick of a lighter.  “Want one?” she offers Lucy.

Lucy shakes her head.  “I don’t smoke.”

“Good, kids today are too reckless.”

She’s puffing away on the cigarette, and Lucy’s unease is beginning to replace her peace and tranquility.  She shifts her weight from one foot to the other; the yoga mat falls to the ground.

As she leans down to pick it up, she says, “Levon’s taking me out tonight.  He won’t tell me where we’re going.”

Mrs. Keller tosses the cigarette butt on the grass and steps on it.

Lucy continues, “He’s a good friend, Levon.”

Madeline Keller tightens the knot on the bathrobe around her waist.  She says, “There’s a lot about Levon you don’t know.”

Lucy finds her center again, “Forgive me for saying this, Mrs. Keller, but I think you have it wrong.  There’s a lot about Levon
you
don’t know.”

The possibility that this girl is right disturbs Mrs. Keller, who says, “Are you always so disrespectful to adults?”

Lucy says, “No, never, unless I’m forced to be.  You really don’t know Levon at all.”

“David will never have another birthday,” she says.  “Soon, all of you will pass him in age.  Even Chloe.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Lucy says.  “If Levon could change that night, he would.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Levon loved David.  He worshipped him.  Still does.”

“David was the perfect son,” she laments.

Lucy ponders this.  Since the day she sat next to Levon on the bus, Lucy knew something was not right about that night.  Nothing in life is perfect, especially not people. She already knew that David had gotten Rebecca pregnant. Maybe there were other mistakes or errors in judgment.  Lucy wants to scream at her.  Lucy wants to tell her she has a wonderful son with talent and compassion who is starving for affection.

Instead, the sorrow in the older woman’s eye engulfs her, wrapping around her like chilly air, sending goose bumps up and down her arms.  She thinks about parents losing their kids—she thinks of Nate—and says, “Levon needs you, Mrs. Keller.”

The older woman is on the verge of tears, and the sight of this spins Lucy into a spiral of worry.  She moves closer toward her house and is thankful for the wall that separates them.  She wonders if she should walk over and offer a hug.  She’s not sure she can touch her.  Yet, sitting there staring at her is driving her nuts, and it would be even ruder to turn and walk away.  Mrs. Keller’s shoulders are shaking.  She is about to say something when Levon sticks his head out the back door.  He doesn’t see Lucy standing there, and she can tell he’s worried about something.  His mouth opens, though his words fall on themselves in a jumble of regret. “Dr. Gerald called.”