Lies You Wanted to Hear (25 page)

“Yes, I’m in Boston.”

“And you’ve come to see me.”

“Yes, but…I have to…I don’t want you to call the police or anything. I don’t want to get my dad in trouble.”

“Oh no, no, don’t worry. I won’t do that.”

“It’s just, I mean…I couldn’t stop you if you did, but…”

“It wouldn’t be much of a reunion then, would it?”

“No, ma’am. I guess not. But Sarah said she…”

“You can trust me, Nathan. Would you like to come here to the house? Or we could meet someplace? Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“I’ll come to your house. I know the address. I could be there in about half an hour.”

“That would be wonderful.” I wanted to tell him to be careful, take your time, look both ways before crossing the street. “Would you like me to make some coffee? Or tea? I could walk up to the bakery and get some sweet rolls.”

“Just coffee.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

I hung up the phone. Out in the kitchen my hands shook so badly I got coffee grounds all over the counter. I called William’s cell phone, and he picked up immediately.

“It’s him,” I said. “It’s really him. He’s here in Boston. He’s coming to the house in half an hour.”

“Oh, Lucy, that’s fantastic.”

“I have to go get ready.”

“Of course. Call me afterward.”

I ran up to the bedroom, looking at one outfit then another, as conflicted as a teenager about to go on her first date. I settled on a white sweater and black slacks. “Nathan,” I said aloud to the photograph on the mantel. This was about today, not all those lost yesterdays. But I would tell him about my journals, show him how I never stopped counting the days. I brushed my hair, took off the sweater and changed into a beige one, took off the slacks and put on jeans, pulled the sweater over my head and got a red Western shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, ran a leather belt through the loops of my jeans and cinched it tight. I looked like a desperate divorcée in a honky-tonk bar. I went back to the white sweater and black slacks, brushed my hair again, and pulled it back with tortoiseshell hair combs. Lipstick? Something pale. No mascara, though my eyes looked puffy. I tried on a bunch of shoes and ended up in plain black flats, then went downstairs and peeked out the front window to see if I could see him coming up the street. I ran back up to the bedroom and got the photograph of him and Sarah to put it on the mantel in the living room.

When he knocked on the door, I opened it and smiled and said, “Come in.”

He stepped into the foyer, a tall, thin boy with a backpack over one shoulder and a watch cap in his hand, a few nicks on his handsome face from shaving. My eyes were filled with tears and his with questions.

I said, “Did you have any trouble finding the house?”

He shook his head. “I took a cab.”

He stuffed his cap in his pocket, and I hung his parka on the coat tree. Neither of us said more until we were in the kitchen and I asked him how he liked his coffee.

“Milk and sugar,” he said.

“Just like your dad.”

He nodded hesitantly, wary at the mention of his father, his eyes darting around the room as if he were looking for something he could remember. I put the milk and sugar on the table and watched him stir it in his coffee.

For the first few years after they were gone, I saw Sarah and Nathan everywhere—in playgrounds, in the lines of schoolchildren holding hands as they crossed the street, in shopping malls and movie theaters—embarrassing myself and scaring others as I’d stare and move closer, trying to get a better look. Intellectually, I knew that their faces would change as they matured. Still, I was convinced that when I saw them, really saw them, I would know them in an instant. Now, searching the boy’s face, I could find only the slightest traces of the child I remembered: the green eyes and small mouth, Matt’s coloring and dark wavy hair.

I said, “Let’s take our coffee into the living room. We’ll be more comfortable.”

As I led him through the dining room, he paused and looked up at the ceiling. “I think I…”

“What?”

“I remember that fruit basket around the chandelier.”

“That was one of first things I fell in love with when we saw the house. I repainted it myself.”

“My roommate’s family has one like it in their home. I had a feeling of déjà vu when I saw it there.”

“Where does your roommate live?”

He hesitated, uncertain how much he wanted to reveal, then said, “Providence.”

We went into the living room. He sat in an armchair, I on the sofa.

I said, “Have you…?” at the same time he said, “What do you…?” and we both laughed nervously and tried again. No one had invented a vocabulary for a moment like this. The two of us would have to make up new words and fumble with the old ones, as if we spoke different languages or came from different cultures, trying to discover what was acceptable and what was taboo.

I said, “It’s hard to know where to start, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not sure you can trust me?”

He shrugged. “It’s not…I mean…my sister’s going to kill me when she finds out I came here. She and my dad are incredibly close.”

I nodded. “She and Matt always were. Is that what he still calls himself?”

“No, it’s Adam. My name was changed too. I’m Elliot.”

“And Sarah?”

“She’s still Sarah, only she spells it without the
h
.”

He reached in his pocket and handed me a photocopy of the old newspaper clipping from the
Herald
. “This is how I found out about you. I came across it when I was doing research for a paper. Sarah still has the llama. That’s how I recognized us.”

I smiled and fought off my tears. “Thank you, Sundae. Your grandmother gave her that. Nanda. Do you remember her? She passed away a few years ago.”

He shook his head. “I really don’t remember anything. When I saw that article, I was in total shock. My dad told us the house burned down and you died. He didn’t talk about you much. He said it made him too sad, which I think was true. He never got married again.”

It was difficult not to show my anger. Over the years, there were moments when I honestly believed I could douse Matt with gasoline and never think twice about lighting the match.

I said, “You got this article from the library?”

“Yes, over Thanksgiving break. Then I found your number in the phone book. I didn’t know what to do. Sarah was in France, studying. When I got home and showed her the newspaper article, she said we should forget about it. She wanted me to pretend I’d never seen it. She’s afraid you’ll tell the police and they’ll send our father to prison. But I just couldn’t…I wanted to meet you.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded but said nothing more.

“You said in your message your dad said it was okay for you to come here?”

“He could see it was something I needed to do. He said he raised me and Sarah to think for ourselves.”

“Well, I’m glad he did. Your father and I, uh…there was a lot of bitterness between us. I don’t know what he told you. I’m not sure I want to know. But, please, believe me, I’m not going to contact the police or try to punish him. The only thing that matters to me now is having a relationship with you and Sarah again.” Relief showed in his eyes. “Would you like more coffee?”

“No, thank you…” He still didn’t know what to call me.

“What’s Sarah studying in college?”

“Art history. She’s doing her thesis on Cézanne.”

“Really? How wonderful. What about you? Do you know what you want to major in?”

“Music. I play oboe, also flute and cor anglais.”

“Classical music?”

“Sometimes. But mostly jazz.”

“I don’t know much about jazz. Do you write your own music?”

“A lot of it. I’m in a band at school. The day I found that article in the newspaper I came home and stuff just started flowing. It was kind of crazy, learning you were still alive, and I used to have a different name and all. It felt like the whole world was turned upside down. I was trying to make sense out of what my dad had done. I guess music helps me deal with things. As upsetting as it was finding that article—I know this probably sounds strange—it also felt kind of cool. Sort of like an adventure. Like I was still me but somebody completely different.”

“You must spend a lot of time alone with your music.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I spend a lot of time alone too. How does it work? The music? Do you hear a melody in your head and just start playing it on your oboe?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I use a tape recorder. Sometimes it’s almost like I can’t keep up with myself. Things start pouring out of me, and I have no idea where the piece is going. I’m just trying to get it all down. It’s kind of like being in a field of butterflies and you’re trying to catch as many as you can, but some of the best ones keep getting away. After I’ve been playing for a while, I go back and listen to the tape and I’m surprised by half the stuff that’s there. It’s almost like somebody else came into my room and put a bunch of music on my tape recorder. Of course, a lot of it is pure crap.” He laughed. “That’s when the hard part starts, trying to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of. Anyway, it’s pretty strange. A couple of hours before, none of that music existed. And now it does. I made it up, but I have no idea where it came from.”

“That’s how I feel about you at the moment. Like you fell out of the sky. Did you finish that piece? The one you started the day you found the article in the newspaper?”

“Sort of. I turned it in for my composition final. My teacher liked it, but he said I need to keep working on it.”

“Did you bring your oboe with you? I’d love to hear it.”

He went to the foyer and got his book bag and took out the instrument case. When the oboe was fitted together, he wet the reed with his lips and played a burst of warm-up notes.

“Well, here goes.” The look on his face was eager and uncertain.

“What do you call it?”

“‘Lost and Found.’”

He closed his eyes and began to play a slow, melancholy song. I sat on the edge of the sofa watching him, drinking him in. The oboe looked tiny in his long-fingered hands. I thought of all the things I had missed—first day of school, first lost tooth, first home run, first oboe recital, first crush. Matt took all that for himself. I wondered if I could ever forgive him. It was hard to imagine ever wanting to, but I would have to try. It might be the only way I could keep Nathan and find my way back to Sarah. I’d been broken for so long that I wondered what it would be like to feel whole again. A sudden trill of the oboe startled me. The tempo was quicker now, the melody sweet and airy; my son had found his way home. I had never felt so happy, or so afraid.

Adam

The night Elliot left to go to Lucy’s, I drove him to the airport to catch the red-eye to Boston. Both of us were quiet, but there wasn’t any tension between us. He put on a jazz tape and fiddled with the snaps on the parka he’d draped across his knees. I assumed he was thinking about his mother, wondering what would happen when he knocked on her door. He’d said he thought she was still living in our old house in Jamaica Plain. I remembered what a cool place it was, with the marble hearths and the dentil crown molding. The way the light shone through the stained-glass windows by the front door. But Lucy ruined everything about it for me. To this day I could still see her coming down the hall in that kimono, looking like a hooker carrying a wineglass and beer bottle. It was hard to imagine her still rattling around in that big old house alone.

I wondered if she and Griffin had gotten married and had more children. That seemed unlikely. He wasn’t the marrying kind, and she wasn’t cut out to be a mother. But maybe the two of them had gotten caught up in the charade they’d been playing and decided to start a family of their own. The more I thought about that possibility, the more I hoped it wasn’t so. I had a strong feeling that Elliot was going to develop a relationship with Lucy. Maybe, eventually, Sara would too. Discovering a younger half-brother or half-sister would only draw them closer to her. It made me wonder how our lives would have changed if I had gotten married again myself. Elliot might not have felt so different growing up. He probably wouldn’t have gone looking for information about Lucy if he’d had another mother. Sadly, that hadn’t been something I could give him. I’d met some fine women along the way, even came close to falling in love a few times. But marriages are built on honesty and trust, and I could never risk telling my secret to anyone.

Elliot and I got out of the truck at the airport and gave each other a hug. As I stood on the curb watching him walk into the terminal, he lifted his hand to wave goodbye without looking back. It was just past eleven when I got home. Sara was back from her date, warming a piece of apple cobbler in the kitchen.

“Where’s El?” she said.

I hung my keys on the hook by the door. “Gone back to Boston. I just dropped him off at the airport.”

“That’s insane, Daddy! Why did you let him go?”

“What was I going to do? Lock him in his room? He’s going to have to figure this out for himself. You will too, honey.” That last line seemed to catch her off guard. She wanted me to tell her to hate her mother and never have anything to do with her. “I meant it when I said I taught you guys to think for yourselves.”

“What if she tries to get you sent to prison?”

“I don’t think she’ll do that. It’s not a pretty story. She’s not going to want to air all the gory details for you and El to hear. But if she does…I’ll just get up on the stand and tell my side to a jury.” I set my jaw in defiance. “I’m proud of what I did, Sara. The only thing I’m guilty of is trying to protect you and your brother. Nobody’s going to send me to jail for that.”

She didn’t look convinced. For all my bravado, I wasn’t entirely convinced myself.

She said, “When is he coming back?”

“Saturday around noon. We’ll have Christmas dinner and open presents together.”

“Terrific,” she said sarcastically. She tried to take the cobbler out of the toaster oven and muttered, “Shit,” as she snatched her fingers away from the heat. “I can’t believe he couldn’t wait till after the holidays.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Sara. This was something he needed to do. He’s been carrying it around for over a month. I’m just glad he came home and talked it over with you and me before going to see her.” I poured a cup of cold coffee and put it in the microwave. “Where’d you go tonight?”

“Out with Ajit. I didn’t tell him what’s going on.”

“I suppose you’ll have to, sooner or later.” I hadn’t begun to process how this whole thing would play out beyond the three of us. It wasn’t something we could keep secret for long. “What’s up with you and Ajit?”

“We’re okay, I guess.” The look on her face said something different. “He just found out he won a two-year fellowship to Oxford.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic.”

“It is. But I’m tired of us always being apart.” She’d been accepted into a prestigious apprenticeship program at the Getty Museum in L.A. starting in the fall.

“Ah, don’t worry. You guys’ll work it out.” Or not. I wanted to be supportive, but I’d never seen two people in love who could make each other so unhappy.

She sat down at the kitchen table with the apple cobbler and a glass of milk. “What would you say if I went to England with him?”

“And gave up the job at the Getty?”

She shrugged. “I could take some grad courses. Try to get something at one of the museums over there.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you, hon. It’s your life. I could make a good case one way or the other.” I retrieved my coffee from the microwave and sat down with her at the table.

“I think Ajit’s going to ask me to marry him.”

“Wow.” I snapped to attention. “Really?”

She gave me an impish smile. “He’s been hinting around.” Her question about moving to England was just a way of leading up to a much bigger topic.

“What will you say if he does?” I hoped it would be something like,
Are
you
out
of
your
freaking
mind, Ajit?
They were too young. What would they live on? All they ever did was fight. I tried not to let my concern show on my face.

“I don’t know, Daddy.” Tears came to her eyes. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“Couldn’t you guys just live together?” I didn’t want to come right out and tell her I thought the whole idea was crazy. “Is this all because of his parents?”

She nodded. “They’re starting to put the pressure on him.” Ajit’s parents were always kind to Sara, but he knew he was expected to marry a nice Bengali girl someday, just like his two older brothers. Now that he was about to graduate from college, his parents probably wanted to start making introductions. They probably had a list of candidates lined up and waiting. But Ajit, for all his academic achievements, saw himself as a rebel. Perhaps he was truly in love with Sara, but I was afraid he might be using her to make a point with his parents. The more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off. But I wasn’t ready to say that to her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said. “These things are never easy. The course of true love and all that crap.”

She tried to smile. “How are you supposed to know when it is true love, Daddy?”

“Good question. People have been chewing that one over since the beginning of time.”

“You used to say you fell in love the instant you met Lucy.” It was interesting that she’d used her mother’s first name instead of saying
Mom
the way she did when Lucy was still a ghost. For Sara, Lucy had become the enemy until proven otherwise.

“Yeah, I did. And to this day I still don’t know if it was the best thing that ever happened to me or the worst.”

***

I met with my new client the next morning and got the contract signed. It looked like it was going to be a great project. She didn’t quibble about money and was already talking about other things she wanted to add. I spent the rest of the day working at another job site. All day I kept checking my cell phone to see if Elliot had called. When I got home, Sara and Ajit surprised me with the Christmas tree they’d put up and decorated. I showered and changed my clothes and took them out to dinner. Ajit talked enthusiastically about his fellowship. He had a great smile and his accent always got a little more pronounced when he turned on the charm. I didn’t know if Sara had told him about Lucy yet or how she had explained Elliot’s absence, but I was glad the subject didn’t come up. She and Ajit were happy and playful with each other, touching hands and taking food from each other’s plates. Neither of them made any hints about getting engaged. During the course of the dinner, it dawned on me that Sara might actually be the one who was pushing the idea of getting married. Maybe she was testing him, which wasn’t a bad idea. Better to find out now if he would take a stand against his parents rather than being disappointed in a year or two, after she’d followed him to England.

After dinner Sara and Ajit went off to meet some friends. When I got home there was a message from Elliot on the machine. “Hey, guys, just checking in. No contact yet. I left a message on her machine. Guess I’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact but was clearly disappointed. He was going to feel like a fool if she was away for the holidays and he had made the trip for nothing.

Christmas Eve was a day off for me and my work crews. Sara and I went to the driving range, then out shopping. I had always made a point about not going overboard on Christmas presents. She and Elliot and I often told each other exactly what we wanted, then made a joke out of being surprised by what we got. Later in the day we stayed busy wrapping presents then got some Mexican takeout for dinner. Neither of us had heard any more from Elliot, and we seemed to make a point of not talking about it. I watched a basketball game on TV, the Lakers and the Spurs. Elliot called about nine-fifteen, past midnight in Boston.

“Hey, El,” I said. “I was hoping you’d call. Everything go all right?”

“Yeah, fine. It was pretty emotional. We talked for a long time.”

“Tell me about Lucy. Did she remarry? Have any more children?”

“No. No children. She said she…She has a boyfriend. William. Real nice guy. He knows a lot about jazz. The three of us went out to dinner and talked.”

“You back in your dorm now?”

“No, I’m still at her house. In my old room. She asked me to stay over.”

“Cool. You can play with all your toy trucks.” I meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding snide.

“She didn’t keep it the same. Just saved some of our books and things.”

“I’m sorry, El. I didn’t mean…”

“I know, Dad. It’s okay. It’s late. Let’s talk when I get home tomorrow.”

“Sure. Okay. Good night. I love you.”

“Night. Love you too. Oh wait, one more thing. I changed my ticket to a later flight. It gets in at quarter to eight.” He was trying to sound casual, no big deal, just a minor change in the schedule, acting like he didn’t know he was kicking me in the balls.

“How much did that cost?”

“Seventy-five dollars. I’ll pay you back, Dad. I just want to, you know…”

“Sure, fine. Whatever. I’ll pick you up.” I didn’t wait for him to say good night again. I ground my teeth and stared out the window. He’d been with her less than twenty-four hours, and Lucy had already started to turn him against me. I imagined her sneaking out in the middle of the night, all the stores closed, desperately trying to find some Christmas presents for him. Or maybe she’d just rummage around in the basement and haul out a bunch of nostalgia. I wondered what kind of lies she’d told him about me.

I spent a restless night. In the morning, I was up around seven and went out back and inspected the rotten deck. With my pry bar and a hammer, I started ripping up the floorboards. Sara came outside in a San Diego Chargers jersey, hugging herself with her hands tucked under her armpits. It was uncanny how her body language often reminded me of Lucy.

“Jeez, Dad. What’re you doing? It’s 7:30 Christmas morning!”

“Yes, it is. And this is a present to myself. You have a good time last night?”

She pouted as if she hadn’t. Then she grinned and stuck out her left hand to show me her ring. The diamond was as big as a jelly bean.

I gave a low whistle. “Did Ajit win the lottery or something?”

“It’s fake, Dad. He got it for fun. You know I don’t care about crap like that.”

“Oh, Sara, I’m so happy for you guys.” I put down my tools and wrapped my arms around her. “I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle.”

“Thanks, Daddy. That means the world to me.” She knew I had my doubts, but there was no sense in my saying anything. People never want you to tell them they’re wrong about love.

“When is Ajit going to break the news to his parents?”

“This afternoon. We’re going out to lunch with them. Ajit figures we’ll have less chance of a total meltdown if we tell them in a public place. I should be home by the time you and El get back from the airport.”

“He changed his flight. He’s not getting in till this evening.”

“What the fuck!” She knew how I hated to hear her say that word, but she didn’t even try to apologize.

“I don’t want to talk about it, honey. We’ll deal with it as it comes.”

I wished her luck when she left for lunch with the Banerjees, and she said she’d need it. But when she and Ajit came by the house in the late afternoon, they were giddy. Ajit said he had talked to his father in the morning, and his father had acquiesced.

“I can’t say he was surprised when I told him,” Ajit said. “Maybe a little disappointed. But he’s an economist. He knows things in the real world don’t always work out the way you want them to. I guess he figured, why fight the inevitable.”

“He was really sweet about it,” Sara said. “He said we were a couple of contrarians.”

“What about your mom?” I said to Ajit.

“She didn’t say ten words. She likes being a martyr.”

Sara took his hand. “She’ll be fine as soon as we have kids.” It stunned me to hear her say it. She was still a kid herself.

When Ajit went home, I asked Sara if she’d told him about the situation with Lucy. She said not yet, she’d made up a story about Elliot going back to Boston to play with some big-time jazz musicians.

I said, “I think you need to tell him, honey. Sooner rather than later.”

“I know. I just want to hear what El says first.”

***

We picked up Elliot at the airport. Sara showed him her ring, and they laughed and chattered. I think we were all grateful for the distraction of the engagement. None of us wanted to talk about Lucy yet. We were all famished when we got home, and Sara made spaghetti for a late dinner. In the living room our Christmas gifts provided another distraction. The forced cordiality between us was growing, as if we were clinging to harmony when everything was about to come undone. There was a small pile of presents under the tree. Elliot said he’d had a chance to do some shopping in Boston but didn’t have time to wrap anything. He got me an alligator leather belt and a geode, a silk scarf and silver necklace for Sara. Expensive things, bought with a touch of guilt, I guess. I finally asked him about the trip.