Playing With Fire (20 page)

Dropping the letter onto the desktop, Aleta walked behind the large wooden structure and wrapped her arms about Romeo's shoulders. Hugging him closely, she pressed her lips against his forehead, kissing him gently. Romeo clasped her hand beneath his palm, then rose quickly to let her out. He watched as she walked swiftly to her car, got inside, and pulled off, tears once again streaming down her face.

Back inside he fingered the blue envelope, afraid to read its contents. He recognized Piano Man's shaky scrawl and noted that it had been addressed to him just a few weeks earlier. As his hand shook he slipped a metal letter opener beneath the seal and opened it. Peering inside, he frowned as he pulled out a short stack of hundred-dollar bills, all the money Romeo had paid in advance. Easing the lined paper from its slim container, he unfolded the letter, smoothing it flat against the desktop, and read. The words
Dear Son
were written along the top of the paper in dark blue ink.

Romeo wept as he read the two pages repeatedly, his tears marring the dry ink into blurred spots. When the words were carved in his memory he refolded the damp paper and pushed it back into the envelope, then dropped it into the desk drawer. Piano Man's one and only request of him was simple. The words clearly defined what he wanted from Romeo. Asking as only a father would think to ask his son.

Wiping his eyes, Romeo gasped for air, filling his lungs. Outside the wind blew gently, lifting fallen leaves and scraps of trash in an intricate dance. It all flitted about aimlessly, seeking a quiet cranny to settle between and cling to. Romeo gazed out the window, into the dark sky hovering behind a half-full moon. Azure and turquoise striations touched by luminescent topaz curtained the clear sky. Its crispness seemed out of place to Romeo and he found himself wishing for a pattern of pale charcoal clouds to muddy up the darkness. He stood there for some time not wanting to move and not knowing what he should be doing.

Could he find an ounce of forgiveness in his heart to do what Piano Man had asked of him? Was there some secret place where he could tuck away his anger or perhaps lose it for good, or would it forever possess and control him? Romeo shivered, wrapping his arms about his body. As he wrestled with the challenge before him his heart raced rapidly. The noise swirling through his head was reminiscent of a torrential rainstorm. Romeo struggled to hear the clarity of the music.

Standing there for some time, he felt the warm tears falling off the round of his chin, drying somewhere along the neck of his shirt. Inhaling deeply, he suddenly wished his mother were there to whisper the answers in his ear. If only she could wipe the salty water from his face and warm the cold racing up and down his soul. A breeze seemingly rose out of nowhere, dancing past the window, tapping against the panes. Romeo blew his warm breath out slowly. Closing the blinds, he sat back down behind his desk.

Piano Man had asked for his forgiveness. He'd apologized for leaving but hoped Romeo would understand his reasons.
Don't know if we'll ever meet again
, he'd written,
but if our paths should ever cross someday, I'll be the man who loved you, your mother, and my piano more than anything else in this world
.

Romeo blew a deep sigh. He marveled at how that old man had touched him like a summer storm that had blown in as quickly as it had blown out. The ghostly memories swelled thick and full around him.

 

 

She had left the bed unmade, the imprint of his body still etched against the wrinkled sheets. Aleta stood staring at the outline of his torso, reaching a shaky hand out to caress where his head had lain the last night they'd been together. Her tears consumed her as she sobbed, the hurt of his leaving lining the walls of her heart.

Lying atop the covers, she could still smell him, the scent of his cologne and body odor clinging like a faint film against the bedding. Pulling the covers to her nose, she inhaled deeply, then wiped her tears against the pale yellow sheets.

He had known, and in some ways so had she. He had welcomed her home wrapped only in his birthday suit, a wide grin gracing his face. As she'd leaned to kiss his cheek, he'd pulled her down to the bed beside him, tugging anxiously at her clothes. She'd scolded him, slapping at his hands as they'd both giggled like school kids caught up in the fun of the moment.

His kisses had been sweet, light caresses along her face, her neck, down the length of her arms. She'd felt young, and his exuberance had excited her. She had melted under his touch and when she'd reached for the rise of nature between them, he had pushed out his chest like a peacock, pride shining all over his face.

He'd loved her slowly, reveling in his masculine prowess, fearful that it would be gone from them too soon. When the moment passed, his chest had heaved heavily, his lungs fighting for air. Concern had crossed her brow, but he had kissed her again, and had joked about catching his breath so he could do it again the next night, and the one after that. They'd giggled and laughed and then he had held her as they both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning he was gone, the two blue letters lying against the mattress beside her. She had held them both in her hands for some time before finding the courage to open the one addressed to her, and as she'd read the words, she'd known. Piano Man wasn't coming home. Running her hand against the bedclothes, she sighed heavily, wondering if she'd ever be able to make that bed again.

 

 

Taryn sat alone in the darkness, anxiety weighing heavy on her shoulders. She'd called twice, leaving a message both times, but Romeo wasn't answering. She had seen him hurt before, but never had she witnessed pain in his eyes like she'd seen tonight.

Twisting an empty wineglass between her manicured fingers, she struggled with what to do, and how to do it. Romeo's father was gone, leaving the man brokenhearted. It had barely been twenty-four hours since Piano Man had revealed his connection to the son he professed to love, and now he was gone from him, disappearing as abruptly as he'd come. Although none of them had said the word, it had been a dying man's confession that he'd spilled out of his heart that last night the two men had shared. And now Romeo was left to pick up the pieces.

 

 

Glancing quickly at his wristwatch, Romeo hurried to his car. Aleta was waiting for him, having demanded his audience, and he didn't want to be late. He was eager to see what it was she had been holding for him all these years. She had said the answers to all his questions could be found in the old chest she had kept since he'd been born.

Aleta stood patiently in the doorway as he pulled his automobile into the driveway. Walking down the short flight of steps, she opened the car door and hugged him tightly as he stepped out.

“I was afraid you weren't coming,” she said anxiously, clutching his hand tightly.

Romeo laughed, an uneasy spray of noise that caught in his throat. “You know I wouldn't miss this for anything.”

Aleta gestured for him to go inside.

“How are you doing?” Romeo asked, settling himself in a large brown wing chair in the living room.

Aleta's head continued bobbing. “I'm just fine. I'm doing really well. What about you?”

“I don't know,” Romeo said. “I guess I'm doing as well as can be expected.”

She poured him a cup of dark coffee before moving to sit on the sofa across from him. She sipped from her own cup of cream-drenched drink, and then said, “There's a large brown trunk on the floor in my bedroom. You go bring it here for me.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Romeo rose from his seat and headed toward the back bedroom. Pausing, he inhaled deeply, suddenly nervous. He could feel Aleta's eyes on his back, watching him, and he turned to meet her gaze. She smiled, a warm turning of her lips that calmed him. Lifting her small hand, she waved him on, placing her coffee cup on the table before her.

Opening the bedroom door, Romeo spotted the old chest standing in the center of the floor, greeting him with its glistening shine, the wood-grained finish polished to a high gleam. Bending at the knees, Romeo lifted the chest into his arms and returned to the living room. He set it down on the floor at Aleta's feet.

“Sit here,” she commanded, patting the sofa beside her. “Sit yourself right down here.”

Romeo lowered himself next to her, feeling his insides clench in tension. Aleta ran her small hand along his thigh, the gesture comforting. She reached to lift the chest's lid, passing the gold-framed photo on top to Romeo.

“This was taken the summer of fifty-seven, right before your father disappeared the first time. The three of us had gone over to the carnival in Elliston. They sure made a nice-looking couple, didn't they?”

Romeo pulled the photo toward him, brushing his fingers over the glass cover. His mother's smile was as he remembered it, full and warm. Piano Man clutched her tightly, his own toothy grin broad and inviting. There was a glow in his mother's eyes that he only remembered seeing a few times, when she'd not known that he'd been watching her. A glow that had shone in shades of love and giving. Aleta stood out of place in the background, the smile on her face painfully distant. Romeo gazed toward her.

Aleta nodded her head, reading his thoughts. “I was always the third wheel with your mama and daddy, but neither one of them ever seemed to mind. They both always made me feel welcome, no matter what.” She sighed a deep sigh, the warm exhale of breath mixing with the air.

Romeo laid the photo on top of the table and reached into the chest. Three piles of letters lay neatly bundled, some of the postmarks dating back to the 1940s. Aleta brushed her hand against Romeo's.

“Piano Man wrote all those letters. These here he sent to your mother. Most of them haven't even been opened. She used to read them all the time, but after you were born she refused to even open them. Those there he wrote to me about your mother and you. Wrote them from his heart, he did. I tried to share them with your mama, but she didn't want any part of them. That last pile there are all the letters he wrote to you. He started writing when you were about a year old and he never stopped. Even after he found out your mama wasn't going to open them or read them to you, he still kept writing.”

Tears misted in Romeo's eyes as he fingered the faded stack of correspondence. Pulling one of the letters from the pile, he ripped the envelope open and pulled the aged paper out. As he unfolded it, a five-dollar bill fell onto his lap. He glanced at Aleta, who sat cautiously watching him. She smiled faintly as he began reading out loud.

The tears slipped over Romeo's cheeks as he lifted the five-dollar bill between his fingers, pressing it to his chest. Aleta wrapped her arms about his broad shoulders and hugged him tightly. Kissing his cheek, she wiped her own eyes, brushing the moisture against the back of her hand.

Romeo pulled a second letter from the other stack, ripped it open, and again read it out loud.

Reaching inside the envelope, Romeo pulled out five twenty-dollar bills, wrapped neatly in white lined paper. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Aleta, why didn't my mother . . .” he started.

Aleta shrugged her shoulders. “Your mama was just stubborn. Once she got something in her head, there was no changing her mind.” Aleta stood up, walking over to the window before continuing. “When your daddy left the first time, your mama didn't know she could hurt so much. They'd been through so much together and things weren't right between them, no matter how much they tried to make it. Your mama's heart was broken as though someone had reached inside her chest and snapped it in two.

“Piano Man used to write her and tell her about what was going on with him and where he was playing, and for a long while she used to write back. She stopped when she heard that he had gone and married some girl he met in Detroit or Philadelphia somewhere.” Aleta paused. “Anyway, it was a few years later when Piano Man came back home here. He wasn't a young boy anymore. He was a real man and you had to be blind not to see that there was still something between him and your mama. Didn't take long either before the two of them were back together like they should have been. That's when your mother got pregnant with you. She didn't want to tell him because he had this offer to go play for some big band. James begged Irene to go with him, but she wouldn't. All she wanted was to make a nice home for you.”