chapter Eight
We christen the new couch, knocking the throw pillows to the floor and testing the suede’s stain-resistance. She comes hard, moaning my name over and over. That’s when it hits me—I know what she needs to hear.
“Heather, God, Heather, you feel so good. So tight and sweet, just like before. Nothing’s changed.” She needs to know I’m seeing her, not Juli or some hallucinated hybrid.
“More,” she says.
“Can’t count all the nights I dreamed of doing this with you again. Never imagined you’d turn into such a beautiful little slut. My slut.”
“Isaac, I can’t stop…”
“Go ahead. Come for me, sweet pea.”
She does, right on command. It’s glorious to see, right up until tears streak the leather under her cheek.
“Shit, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head but remains silent. The longer this goes on, the more panicky I get. “Talk to me.”
She shakes her head again but makes no move to get up or push me away.
“Heather?”
“Shhh,” she says.
“Why are we whispering?”
After a few more torturous minutes, she reaches out for my hand and I help her sit up. She doesn’t look upset, so the tears make no sense. In fact, she looks completely…sated.
After settling herself in my lap, she nuzzles my neck. “Have you ever been so thoroughly and completely well-f*cked that you can’t speak?”
“I suppose, but what’s with the tears?”
She shrugs. “Didn’t realize I was crying. Take it as a compliment, because that doesn’t happen very often.”
“I sure hope not.”
“No, you’re looking at it the wrong way. It isn’t always a bad thing. Didn’t you learn that with two sisters?”
“Uh, no. When they cried, it meant I should stay in my room.”
She laughs. “Well, sometimes when you’re feeling so much that you can’t contain all the sensations, they come out in strange ways.”
I chew on that for a few seconds. “So you’re saying I f*cked you both speechless and to tears?”
“Pretty much.”
“Damn.”
She wriggles out of my lap, adjusts her clothes, and grabs her purse. The two lines between her eyes have returned. “I’ll text you during the week. You know, to see how you like the new room.”
“Heather, I was serious. If things are too difficult at your parents’, you can stay with me.”
“I know,” she says. I don’t like the sad smile that’s replaced the ecstasy that was there just minutes ago.
And that’s when the front door opens.
Both Heather and I stare in horror as Uncle Robert’s gaze travels between us. A tiny smile curls one side of his mouth before he reaches for Heather’s hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Swann. I hope you’ve been well?”
Heather’s eyes are the size of Georgia peaches, but they soften at Uncle Robert’s kind demeanor. “Yes, thank you. And you look handsome as ever. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I need to get going before the rain hits.” She glances up at the darkening sky beyond my front porch.
“Of course, dear,” he says, while holding the door. Once she’s gone, Uncle Robert’s tiny smirk turns into a full-blown, toothy grin. “Well now, I realize a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but it appears you have been busy, Isaac.”
I hold up a hand. “Don’t even–”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, son. Oh, my. Is this the surprise you mentioned?” He peers over my shoulder at the room beyond. “Goodness, that’s…that’s really something.” His cane doesn’t echo nearly so much this time as he shuffles into the parlor.
I move out of his way, pleased at his reaction. He takes in the floor, the couch, touches the pillows I remembered to move off the floor, then gravitates toward my piano. Thanks to him, it sports a fresh coat of polish.
“Am I having another stroke, or is this real?”
“Completely real, my aching shoulders and credit card can assure you. Like it?”
He nods. “I do, but more than this”—he waves his hand in the air—“I’m glad to see you making progress. You know what I mean. Well done, Isaac, I’m proud of you. Can I ask what it all means?”
Good question, and not one I can answer right away. “Guess it means I’m putting down roots. Investing in a future in Mobile.”
Uncle Robert twists his head around, noting the paintings on the walls. Finally, he taps his pointer finger on the piano. “And your self-imposed ban is over?”
“Sure is.”
“Let me hear it.”
The first thing I play is the completed lullaby I’d begun to compose the night Juli showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It bears the influences of Debussy and Pachelbel, but I hope the underpinnings of my style shine through. For me, music is always like a residual haunting—it retains the ambiance of the time and place in which I first play or compose it. This piece is quiet shadows, cold bitter coffee, and the smell of Juli’s skin. It’s a bare room with stark lighting, apprehension mixed with longing, and finally an uncharacteristic sliver of hope.
My hands fall to my lap when it’s over. Uncle Robert stands at the other end of the piano, mouth gaping. Never seen him like that so I don’t know what it means. “That bad?”
He smashes his lips together. “Oh, hush, you know it’s not. Not sure what to say, that’s all. It would be trite to say magnificent or stellar. Welcome back, son. Bravo! If that’s any indication of what else you’ve written, I’d say you have a new career waiting for you.”
“Other than digging ditches, you mean?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to hold on to that one a bit longer, but I’m sure the publisher will be very pleased with that piece. May I ask if it has a title?”
It does, but I can’t tell him I think of it as “Juli’s Nocturne”. “Uh, maybe ‘Night Shadows’?”
“Good, good. What else have you got?”
The next piece is much more frenetic and a challenge for my already arthritic fingers. It’s not the most original piece, but it captures something valuable, I think. So far, all the pieces are strictly piano.
“The publisher also wants some full orchestra pieces. Do you have any of those?”
“Not yet. Wanted to get your reaction to these first, before I moved on to such a big project.”
“Understandable. I certainly think you’re headed in a fantastic direction. So, where’s that lunch you promised?”
Shit. “Still have to put it together. Let’s see what we can scrounge up.”
Over a lunch of bachelor gourmet, Uncle Robert conducts one of his legendary informal interviews. He pretends to be making innocent small talk, when really he asks leading questions, strategically employs silence, and reads your face like a professional investigator. If he’d ever had children, they would never have pulled the wool over his eyes. Lord knows I’ve been on the receiving end of his methods more than I care to admit. By the time I was in high school I knew some of his techniques and could dodge him a bit, but I’m rusty and before I know it, I’ve spilled the basic details of whatever Heather and I have going on.
“So I have her to thank for this?” he asks.
“Suppose so.”
“I see. And has she suggested you begin mending fences with your family? If you’re going to stay in Mobile, you’ll have to eventually face them.”
“I have faced them, and they turned away. What am I supposed to do, open a vein?”
He shakes his head. “They needed time. They’ve had it. If you make an effort, they’ll reciprocate.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. In fact, why don’t you come over to your mama’s for dinner tomorrow after church? Bring Heather if you like.”
I swallow my iced tea before it has a chance to spray out. “Are you insane?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, first, she’s the daughter of our family’s mortal enemy. Second, we’re not dating but everyone would think we were. And third, if her mama ever found out she was in the enemy’s lair…I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Isaac, please channel your flair for the dramatic into your music.”
My mouth pops open but nothing comes out. My thoroughly proper seventy-five-year-old uncle has basically told me to stop being a drama queen. I shake my head and laugh. “Point taken, Uncle Robert. What would I do without you as the voice of reason?”
“So you’ll come?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s a start, I guess. Would it help if I told you she was fixin’ to make fried chicken and greens with bread pudding for dessert?”
“You,” I say, pointing my fork at him, “don’t fight fair.”
“Just stop by. I’ll tell them you’re coming so there’s no extra theatrics. Your mama misses you. Every day is precious and you never know when it could be the last time you see her.”
“Way to send me on a guilt trip. Is she sick or something?”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking about your Aunt Angela more than usual. I lost her in the blink of an eye, and even though we made the most of every day we had together, it wasn’t nearly enough. I’d hate to see you waste the time you’ve been given. You’re young now, but time has a way of slipping by when you’re not paying attention.”
“Point taken, Uncle Robert.”
“See you tomorrow, young man.”
I don’t answer, but I do walk him to the front door and watch him pull out of the driveway. I wave, but he’s already lost in a world of his own, no doubt listening to Mobile’s classical station. There’s not another human being alive who knows me as well as Uncle Robert, not even my mama. After Daddy died, she had her hands full with three kids and a job. Sure, she knows everything about me and tries to understand her black sheep, but it’s only my uncle who knows what it is to have a dark heart and heavy conscience. I honestly do not know what I’d do without him. If he wants me at my mama’s tomorrow, I owe it to him.
I saunter back into the house, clean up our lunch, and then wander into my new living room. I spend the rest of the afternoon composing, and well into the night. When it comes time to flick on my new lamps, I’m amazed once again at the new ambiance of the room, how just a few pieces of wood, animal hide, and paint can so completely transform a space. But then, that’s an oversimplification.
The truth is that the room is now imbued with the essence of Heather Swann who, for better or worse, has wormed her way into my life. Not sure what to make of that. Are we dating? Surely not. Friends? I guess. F*ck buddies? Definitely. I’m honestly not sure what the protocol or proper etiquette is on taking one of those to your mama’s house for Sunday dinner. Better to not complicate things when I don’t even know how I’ll be received. On the other hand, she could act as a buffer. No, that would be using her and it would be the cowardly thing to do. The old Isaac would use her as a human shield, but this new thing emerging from the wreckage needs to stand on his own two feet.