chapter Three
The sun the next morning is a little brighter, a little less antagonistic than it has been lately, though my freshly laundered sheets still seduce me with their “April Freshness.” I inhale and think, again, about changing scents in order to purge dark thoughts of Juli from my mind, but can’t bring myself to let go of that yet.
Uncle Robert has always been an early riser, so I call to tell him I can’t come over tonight but will see him the following day.
“I can tell you over the phone just as easily, Isaac. I had lunch with Dr. Reece the other day. He’s head of the music department at South now.” Although I didn’t attend the University of South Alabama, Uncle Robert taught there for many years and his connections have always proven useful.
“Uh-huh.”
“He has a friend up north who’s looking for original compositions. Full orchestra, some with piano, some without. He’d like to publish them by Christmas. From what I heard last night, figured you might could help him out. Unfortunately, the pay isn’t enough to retire on, but it would put gas in your tank…and perhaps you could use date money?” The old man’s grin travels through the phone.
“You sly dog. How’d you hear about that?”
“I have my sources. Heather Swann, am I correct?”
There are no secrets in this town. Don’t mind Uncle Robert knowing, but the thought of being fodder for the rumor mill again is unsettling. “Yes, sir. We’re meeting for drinks tonight.”
“And her mother is aware of this?”
“Doubt that. At least I hope she isn’t.”
“So back to the reason for my note. Can I tell him you’re interested?”
My fingers find the stack of staff paper on top of the piano. In just a few days, there are already three complete piano solos and the start of a sonatina. “Yeah, I think I can help him out.”
“Excellent. Oh, and have fun tonight. I look forward to hearing more about it.”
“Uncle Robert?”
“Yes, son?”
“Thanks.”
“Love you too. Goodbye.”
I smile at the phone and tuck it in my pocket. Time for the day job.
***
“Wow.”
Unlike earlier in the week, I actually put a bit of effort into getting ready for this…date? No, it’s not a date, but not a business meeting either. I decide not to label whatever’s going on here.
“You clean up well.” She smiles and shakes her head.
She’s referring to my haircut, washed and ironed button-down shirt, and shorts that match. After work, I made sure to scrub the dirt from under my fingernails, and I finally busted out the cologne I got for my birthday last year.
“What’s the occasion?”
I shrug. “New beginnings, I suppose.”
She furrows her brow while I shove my presumptuous foot in my mouth.
“Uncle Robert hooked me up with a guy looking to publish original compositions. I’ve been working on them all week. Been fun.”
Heather’s shoulders relax and a genuine smile replaces the pinched one I caused with my thoughtless admission.
“You look great too. But then, that’s nothing new.” We slide into our seats at the Deaf Donkey, a quirky dive bar downtown. I discovered this place after I resolved to never again set foot in Felix’s. They have live music on the weekends and their food is a well-kept secret.
“What do you recommend?” she asks as she studies the menu.
“Everything’s good. The burgers are their specialty, but the shrimp pasta’s excellent as well. Just don’t get a mixed drink. The bartender keeps a cheat sheet taped to the counter. Never a good sign.”
“I take it you’ve been here a few times.”
“Couple. They’ve got good craft beers, though.”
“Sounds great.”
After a few minutes of idle chit-chat, Heather begins wiggling in her seat.
“Hemorrhoids?” As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I mentally kick myself in the nuts. Rusty doesn’t begin to describe the state of my “dating” skills.
Heather’s eyes bug out of her head before she bursts out laughing. “Glad to see you’ve loosened up a bit over a decade. And no, not hemorrhoids. We’re not that old.”
To my dying day, I will be grateful to this woman for covering my gaffe.
“I was just thinking about something. Wondering, actually.”
“Yeah?”
She picks at the label on her beer bottle. It now says “oodoo” instead of “Voodoo.” “I already asked you about my mama, and I believe you, but there’s someone else I need to ask you about, and I know it’s not really my business,” she babbles, “but deep down I’m just not well-mannered enough to keep quiet.”
Oh, no. Here it comes. Should have known.
“Did you really sleep with Julianne Casquette?”
I swear all the air in the room gets sucked out and every head turns my way at the simple utterance of her name out loud. A glance around the room confirms that in my self-imposed seclusion, I’ve become paranoid. No one here heard or would likely give a rat’s ass even if they had.
I inhale through my nose and breathe out my answer. “Yes.”
Her throat works as she swallows the information. “I see.”
I put down my fork and ball up my napkin. “No, you don’t. Trust me, you don’t.”
“Did you know I used to babysit Juli and R.J.? He was always a really funny kid, but Juli was such a serious little girl. I still remember one New Year’s Eve when her parents went to the Mystics party and I agreed to stay the night with the kids. Juli was so excited. ‘It’s like you’re my sister,’ she said. We painted each other’s nails, I did her hair, and we watched movies until midnight when the ball dropped. R.J. was still wide awake and playing some video game, but Juli was snuggled in against me, asleep on the couch.” Heather smiles. “I picked her up and carried her to her room. She was such a little thing back then, all freckles and wild hair.”
My gut twists in reaction. She’s still all freckles and wild hair.
“You know she thanked me that night? Said it was the most fun she’d ever had. Now how sad is that? I about cried when she hugged my neck. I’d never seen such a lonely little girl. The next morning she begged me not to leave, and I tell you what, I was so tempted to tuck her in my purse and bring her home with me. I always wanted a little sister instead of Geoffrey.” She stares at my untouched food. “I get it,” she says and lifts her eyes to mine. “I’m not judging you. Can’t say it was the best decision you ever made, but I know Juli and her family better than you think I do.”
I imagine Juli as a little girl and I swear my heart squeezes so hard it’ll actually break. Was bad enough watching her suffer as a teenager. Can’t handle thinking about the shit she probably put up with as a kid—and it’s funny because this is the first time I’ve ever thought of Juli as a kid. The Juli I know is more adult than half this town. Of course, they don’t see it that way, and neither did Heather’s mama…or the Mystics…or even my own family. Thank God for Uncle Robert.
“Then why did you ask?”
“I needed to know.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I needed to know if it was just a dumb move on your part or if you really cared about her. I don’t think I could forgive the former, but it’s clear you had a connection. From the look on your face and the state of your poor napkin, I think you still do.”
“I’m done.” I reach for my wallet to throw down some cash, but she grabs my wrist.
“Stop running, Isaac.”
I look down to where her pink-painted nails grasp my arm. “Heather, it’s been nice catching up, but I think we’re done here.”
“No, we’re not. You sit back down and listen to me, Isaac Laroche. I am one of your oldest friends and I know you. Sure, a lot’s changed in ten years, but I was the cause the first time you ran. You broke my heart and now you’ve broken Julianne’s. I won’t let you do that to anyone else again, especially yourself.”
“What do you want from me? Is this some sick game? A trap? Did your mama put you up to this?” A few patrons shoot me questioning looks.
Heather withdraws her hand like she’s touched a hot stove. “You know that’s not true. Shame on you.”
“Yes, exactly. Shame. Should get it tattooed somewhere prominent so people like you don’t feel the need to remind me.”
“People like me? What does that mean?”
“Perfect people with old money who get engaged to senators’ sons and then lord it over the rest of us when we don’t measure up to your impossibly high standards.”
She has the nerve to laugh. “Oh, excuse me. This coming from a man with a master’s degree from one of the world’s most exclusive music schools, who’s toured Europe and has famous musicians programmed into his speed dial. Don’t even take that tack with me, you spoiled brat. All I’m suggesting is you stop running away from your problems. Instead of getting all huffy and ugly, accept things and make them right. I don’t know what it’ll take to make them right, but I also know I can’t watch you self-destruct again.”
“What are you talking about? You weren’t there the first time and I survived.”
She quickly looks down, then back up. “Tell me, Isaac, do you remember getting random packages with no return address delivered to you at the NEC? Sometimes they had your favorite cookies, or phone cards, or stamps and stationery? That ring a bell in that thick skull of yours?”
My mouth flops open a couple times. It’s reaching back a bit, but I remember. “Thought those were from my mama or one of my sisters.”
Heather tilts her head and flashes a triumphant grin. “I was willing you to contact me. I hoped you’d use the phone card to call or the stamps to write.”
That explains why they always smelled of Heather’s perfume. Figured it was my guilty conscience or wishful thinking. “I–I don’t know what to say. Thank you?”
“You’re welcome, Isaac. Now will you let me help you?”
“Not convinced I can be helped.”
“Let me try.”
“How?”
“We’ll figure it out together. You can start by making things right with Julianne. You owe that girl an explanation and an apology.”
“I do. I know that.” Been telling myself otherwise, but the truth of Heather’s statement settles over me like a pall.
“Then start there. I understand she’s with your friend now, but if you still have feelings for her, you need to declare yourself.”
“You sound like one of our grandmothers.”
“Wisdom stands the test of time, and so does chivalry. It’s not dead, you know.” She winks, knowing she’s just quoted Uncle Robert to me. “Figure out if you’re going to fight for her or let her go. Either way, you need to decide and she needs that closure. An apology will go a long way toward that.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re a little scary, you know that?”
“I do, but I use my powers for good—not evil.”
We part with plans to meet again. The prospect is both confusing and frightening, yet I find myself looking forward to it just the same. Tragedy has made her stronger—tempered her resolve and absolute belief in right and wrong with the fire of sheer willpower. My mould was defective. Either that or someone left me in the heat too long and I melted into the weakest, saddest excuse of a man.
If nothing else, Heather’s made me realize one thing. It’s time to start from scratch.
***
I hit the “end” button on my phone and stare at the contact picture I can’t bring myself to delete. Snow had been gently falling from the black night sky after we left the concert at Jordan Hall in Boston in February. Julianne was grinning at the snowflakes so foreign to our Alabama sensibilities. I snapped a picture of her upturned profile just as a single flake kissed the tip of her freckled nose.
My latest call goes unanswered, just like the other ones I’ve placed every day this past week. Each time I swear I’m going to leave a message, until it gets to the part of the automated message that says “Juli Casquette is not available,” and hearing her voice sends me back to the dark place I’m attempting to escape.
Before I chicken out again, I hit redial and hold the phone away from my ear when the message gets to that part. When I hear the beep, I say whatever tumbles out of my stupid mouth.
“Julianne, we need to talk. I owe you an apology. Need to explain some things. Sorry. I’m an idiot and a coward and I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again. No excuses for what I did. If you’re up to it, please call me back. Okay. Bye.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out, wondering what the hell I’ll say if she really does call me back. Right then, my phone rings. Shit. Time to find out. “Hey, there.”
“What.” She doesn’t ask it, like a question.
My leg begins bouncing of its own accord. “Um, can we, uh, can you meet me somewhere? Need to talk.”
“So talk.”
“I owe it to you to say it to your face.”
“Hmph.”
“Realize that’s ironic considering how poorly I’ve behaved. And if you’re not…I mean, if your doctors think you shouldn’t see me–”
“I’m fine.”
“Right. I know. You’re strong. So, tomorrow evening?”
“Yeah.”
“Felix’s?”
“No.”
Shit. What was I thinking, suggesting our old hangout? “No, of course not. Sorry. Um…”
“Mr.Cline’s house.”
“Okay. Good thinking. Seven?” A few seconds go by, so I press the phone into my head, willing her to say she’ll meet me. Finally, she sighs.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Tomorrow at seven at Uncle Robert’s. See you then.” She doesn’t even say goodbye before ending the call, though I can’t blame her. Lord only knows what’s running through that pretty head of hers, when I don’t know what’s running through my own. I push the phone away before leaning forward on my kitchen stool to lay my head down on the cold marble of the island. The rest of the house is a shithole, but the marble in the kitchen remains a reminder of the neighborhood’s former glory. Both of us need major renovations if we want to regain any sense of worth.
***
“I’m proud of you, Isaac.” Uncle Robert gives me the only look of approval I’ve seen in months. “This is the right thing to do.”
“I know.”
“However, Julianne is as much a granddaughter to me as you are a son, and I will not hesitate to separate you should you mistreat her again.”
“I know.”
“Both your mamas would have my head on a platter if they knew I agreed to let you meet here, but I’d rather broker this truce under my roof than some shady establishment downtown.”
“I know, okay? Jeez.”
“Here she is. You stay put.”
A starving caged lion presented with a juicy antelope would be more likely to hold still than me. I pace the cozy room I once thought held all the comfort a cold world could offer a misfit. Many afternoons were spent with Uncle Robert in here, often at his baby grand piano tucked in the corner, but others I spent sprawled out on the plush carpet while he read me the classics. Only Uncle Robert’s authority could make me sit still long enough to absorb the wise words of the tomes he read. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention to Grimm’s dark fairytales, I wouldn’t have committed sin after sin with no forethought of the consequences—consequences I must acknowledge if I expect to move forward.
This is my chance to correct the heinous mistake I made at the ball with Julianne when I ran, just as Heather accused. I’ve practiced what I’ll say, how I’ll say it, and imagined her responses, though guessing how Julianne will react to something is an exercise in—
Oh, God.
Time stands still when she enters the room, as if it could collapse in on itself. Clocks stop ticking, suns in every universe pause in their skies. The walls and high ceiling of the room shrink in like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, distorting any sense of balance or confidence I may have been clinging to.
My throat is suddenly dry and my greeting lodges somewhere between my heart and my tongue. She’s all wild red hair that begs to be touched, a rosebud mouth that calls to be kissed, and smooth pale skin that demands to be stroked. Most alarming, though, is the way her chest rises and falls in quick shallow gasps while her blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity I’ve experienced neither before nor after her.
I need to say something to break this awful tension twisting in the air between us, but words won’t come. How can they, when the simple act of speaking aloud feels like a violation of the natural law that is Julianne? So I wait—jaw slack, fists clenched.
To say she looks healthy is a gross understatement. Last time we laid eyes on each other, she was all angles and sallow expressions from too much stress and drama I created—however inadvertently. There’s life and hope in her expression now, further enhanced by the curves I fell for when we first met.
Need to hear that she forgives me for being weak and reckless. All these things battle with each other in my head, but my heart says they’ll never be spoken aloud, because in the time since she’s walked into the room, I’ve realized an awful truth.
She frightens me.
How can a seventeen-year-old girl hold so much power over a man? Yet here I stand, gutted, humbled, and trembling, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m not worthy of her affection or good opinion.
Have to decide if I’ll ever be, or if it’s a lost cause.
Uncle Robert clears his throat. No telling how long he’s been standing there observing our wordless conversation. “If you need me, I’ll be in the TV room.” He cocks an eyebrow before pivoting on his cane. His shuffling footsteps recede down the center hall.
“You–” I clear my throat and swallow. “I mean, you look great.”
She crosses her arms.
“Not that you don’t always look great, and not that my opinion matters, but you look really well. Happy. Healthy. I take it things are getting better?”
She cocks her head to the side but doesn’t answer.
“Right. None of my business. What I wanted to say is I owe you an apology. A lifetime of apologies. My behavior was completely inexcusable. Had no idea you’d…that things would turn out the way they did. I mean, what happened at the ball, I saw that coming, but afterward… I know Dave hates me right now, but I’ll be grateful to him the rest of my life for being there for you when I was a f*cking coward.”
I take a tentative step forward, but stop when she parts her lips, takes a breath and holds it. Perhaps she isn’t indifferent after all. Never been good at reading people, but it seems like a positive sign that I still have an effect on her.
“Please sit. I have no right to ask, but I need you to hear me out. You once came to me apologizing for being self-centered. Now it’s my turn. Please.” She blows out the breath she’s been holding. To my great relief, she sits in one of Uncle Robert’s antique chairs, though she hasn’t said a word since entering the room. Her eyelashes flutter against high cheekbones as she concentrates on the graceful piano fingers laced in her lap.
“Heard you got into the NEC, not that there was any doubt. Hope you don’t mind that Uncle Robert told me. You’ll be great there.” I watch in horror as her lips begin to quiver. Whether in anger or sadness, I don’t know. “Okay, look, I have to say this. Probably not right, but when has anything between us ever been above the board?”
She sniffs and turns her head. Only way I figure I can get her full attention is to drop in front of her on my knees. When she presses her eyes shut, a lone tear cascades down her porcelain cheek and I’m reminded once again that I have caused this girl to cry too many times.
“No,” I tell her. “No more tears. I’m not worth a single one. Hell, most days I’m not worth the air I consume. I need you to know I am truly sorry with everything that I am for causing you so much pain and bringing my past and my problems into your life. I had no right to let all that crazy shit cloud my judgment. Had even less right to walk away and leave you to deal with the fallout on your own. I know I was wrong and an a*shole.”
I watch unknown emotions play across her face, then she whispers something I can’t make out.
“Juli?”
“I’m supposed to forgive you.”
“Yeah?”
“My doctor says I have to forgive you before I can get better.”
“I see. And you don’t want to do that?”
“Not sure I can. Don’t know how, especially when I’m so angry. At first I was numb, and then I wanted to hurt you.”
“I deserve it. Would it help to know I’ve been miserable? Julianne, I didn’t even touch my piano for nearly two months. Haven’t been back to Felix’s. Couldn’t bring myself to go to church for Easter. Don’t talk to my family, except Uncle Robert.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“No, that’s not why I’m telling you. I want you to know this whole thing has flipped my world upside-down. I think about you constantly, wondering if you’re okay, if you’re happy, if you’ve been in touch with Sasha Rozum—Uncle Robert told me about his offer of mentorship, too.”
“It’s none of your business now.”
“I know, but I want it to be.” A headache forms behind my eyes so I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I miss you, Juli. I even dream about you. Every goddamn night, you’re with me. I know you and Dave are close now, and that’s great, but please leave room in your life for me, even if it’s only as a friend. I need you.”
I almost fall over when those words come out, because they’re true. She finally raises her chin and pins me in place with a frosty glare. “You need me, huh? Were you expecting me to fall back into your arms? Your bed?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Right, because what we did was wrong. I was wrong, and one giant mistake. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“Juli–”
“I accept your apology, but I don’t think we can be friends. If you’re able to turn off your feelings that easily, then clearly I was much more into you than you were into me. I get that. What I don’t get is why you made me come here when you could have just left things alone after you called and apologized on my voicemail. Why are you doing this to me?”
Not sure I know the answer to that. When I first called Juli, it was because Heather pointed out that I needed to apologize. Thing is, I already did that over the phone. So why did I ask her to meet me in person? The reality is a two-sided crushing blow to the progress I thought I’d made lately. I haven’t learned from my mistakes and I haven’t gotten over her.
“Because I’m a selfish bastard and I love you.”
Her eyes flash. “Hah! You have no idea what love is. For being ten years older than me, you sure don’t know very much. That was my first mistake—thinking you were wise and worldly. What a joke.”
I never know how she’ll react, but her reply to my monumental confession is certainly not what I’d hoped. “I deserve that, but you’re wrong.”
“Yeah? About which part?”
“I know what love is.”
“No, you know what lust is. Big difference.”
I nod. “True. I do know what lust is, and I’ve let it guide me for too long, but I’d be lying if I said I regretted that it brought us together.”
This time I get the response I was aiming for as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks. It makes her freckles stand out even more, including the one at the corner of her lower lip that I’ve kissed a hundred times.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she says. “Thank you for your apologies. I’ll discuss them with my doctor and work hard to forgive you.”
“Will you forget, too?”
She presses her lips together in a thin line as a tiny tremor travels the length of her body.
“Not likely,” she whispers.
The antique glass in the front door shudders when she slams it behind her. I watch her race to her car in the driveway, throw herself in, and lean her forehead against the steering wheel. I said before that I’d made her cry too many times. I lied. I’m relieved she still harbors enough feelings toward me to sob for several minutes before she pulls herself together and drives away.
“Well?” I jump at the sound of Uncle Robert’s voice over my shoulder. Genuine concern is written into the wrinkles of his face. I turn and plant my hands on his shoulders so I can look him squarely in the eye and make him understand just how serious I am.
“I have my work cut out for me, Uncle Robert, but I think I still have a chance.”
He nods, but it doesn’t look like approval. It looks more like resignation.