Chapter 14 #2
“No,” she said, shifting so that she had the railing at her back. “I had no idea.”
“Eight years, ten months, and four days to be exact.” He smiled a wry smile. “I don’t even remember what our last conversation was about. It’s pretty fucked up.”
Frankie tried to recall an image of Mr. Novak Sr, but high school was a long time ago, and the best she could do was a deep voice calling out, “Drive safely!” whenever she and Owen left his house.
Maybe he’d had brown hair, she thought, more because she remembered Owen looking like his mother than because she was certain it was true.
“But you guys were close,” she said. “Wasn’t he assistant coach for the team?”
Owen nodded. “He was. And my hero when I was little. He never missed a layup shot, could juggle four tennis balls while standing on one leg. Important stuff.” A genuine smile transformed his face for a second, but it twisted into a grimace too soon.
Frankie thought about her conversation with Kayla earlier. Owen was finally talking—the opportunity she’d been waiting for. “So what happened?”
He fiddled with the collar of his T-shirt as if it was too tight as he looked out across the yard. Then he flattened his hands together and lodged them between his knees. Rocked forward. Sighed. Looked at her. Blinked.
Frankie held her breath, sensing the possibility of revelations if she played her cards right. He needed a moment. She could give him one.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he said finally, the words bursting from him on an exhale. “Recovering, but yeah. Eighty-four days sober.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t an eloquent response, but his confession was so unexpected, Frankie wasn’t sure what else to say.
“It’s one of the reasons I’m here,” Owen continued. “I got out of rehab, and I didn’t want to go back to Nashville—that’s where I was living—so Grams offered to take me in. It was good timing anyway because of her surgery. Keeps me busy.”
“That’s what she meant by you needing things to do?”
“Right.”
“But so… How… um… I mean, when did you…?” Frankie scrunched up her forehead, trying to turn a cascade of new questions into words.
When she failed, she switched gears. Maybe it was none of her business.
“Ugh. Never mind. But I am really sorry you’ve been dealing with this. If there’s anything I can do…”
“Nah.” He rolled his shoulders back. “I’m okay. I didn’t tell you for sympathy. I told you because I can see you’re on this path right now, this quest—and I suddenly remembered that about you from back when we were dating. How you’d get hung up on something and be relentless about it.”
Frankie smiled, ignoring the casual way he’d mentioned their past. “Remember Beethoven?”
“Oh my God, Beethoven. The project without end. You must have spent months reading everything you could on the guy for one stupid poster.”
“What can I say—he was seriously impressive. Composing without his hearing?”
Owen rolled his eyes, but he was unable to hide his amusement. “I’m sure you’re right, but that’s not my point.”
“Yeah, what is your point?”
“My point is this.” He paused as if weighing his words.
“My dad was this solid entity in my life, much like Estelle was for you. Never faltered, right? But what I never realized was that he was only steady because I didn’t push up against him.
Hell, I think he probably wasn’t aware of that either.
” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
“And I know our situations aren’t the same—believe me, I’m very aware I made my parents’ life hell when I was drinking, and you didn’t do anything of the sort to Estelle.
But I would give anything to go back to a time when he was my rock, back before I discovered he had fault lines and that something I did could trigger a quake.
Call it denial or what have you, but I would rather never have learned he had it in him to look me in the eye and tell me I wasn’t welcome in his house anymore. ”
The quiver in his voice at that last word made Frankie reach for him, her palm covering his knuckles on the deck. “You don’t think he’ll come around?”
Owen’s gaze went to their hands, lingering there before he pulled his away and into his lap.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve sat with this a lot in therapy, and I’ve written him apologies, but I think he’s still too scared of aftershocks to let me back in.
This is something I have to accept—that I can’t undo the past. I can’t go back to ‘before,’ no matter how much I want to. ”
Frankie nodded. It was a lot to take in, and she still wanted to know more—what had happened to him, how his life had taken that turn.
Before she could ask, he stood and walked down a few steps before facing her again.
The sky was a deep cerulean behind him. “All that to say—you asked me if I would keep looking into these things you’re learning about Estelle, and my answer is, I don’t know.
You’re still in the ‘before’ stage. Estelle is still mostly solid.
Are you sure you wouldn’t rather keep it like that than risk”—he gestured around them—“everything?”
Frankie watched the earnest set of his jaw, the somber depths of his eyes. “You’re saying what if I find faults I’m not prepared for?”
He chuckled drily. “I know that sounds hypocritical as I stand here before you a self-confessed flawed man, but yes.”
She wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the chill his warning had triggered inside her. “Never underestimate the power of denial?” she asked, referring to a quote that had adorned a wall in one of the high school social studies classrooms.
“I guess,” he said.
“No. I don’t believe willful ignorance leads anywhere good. And besides, it’s too late.”
He cocked his head in question.
“Do you know why I did that project on Beethoven instead of Mozart or Chopin?” she asked.
“It was because of all the greats, he was the biggest enigma—a deaf composer was such an oxymoron. I needed to understand. It’s the same with Mom; none of this makes sense.
So you’re wrong—I’m already past the before stage.
” Well past it, she thought. But Owen didn’t know about the card, or the school’s dire finances, or the suitcase full of lavender tea, so she’d forgive him for believing otherwise.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“I can’t just stop this overwhelming feeling that something is off. You get that, right? I can’t shove it back down and pretend.”
Owen nodded, a look of resolve coming over him. “No, you’re right. And the reality is—my dad is human. He isn’t perfect, and I shouldn’t wish for him to be even if things were easier when I could pretend that was the case.”
Frankie had always thought of Estelle as faultless. Was that a universal only-child thing—to put their parents on a pedestal? Clearly Owen had done it too. It had been such a natural spot for Estelle to inhabit that Frankie had never thought twice about it.
“Well, Mom is gone now,” she said, pushing up to standing. “So what’s the worst thing that could happen if it turns out she had a few flaws?”
Owen lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug as if to say, “You tell me,” but he didn’t contradict her logic.
“I should get going,” Frankie said. “Will you tell Thora thanks from me?”
“Sure. And if there’s anything else you need help with, let us know.” Owen walked back up to the porch as Frankie descended to the path leading to the driveway.
“We could probably use a hand with the auction when we get closer,” she said, remembering Kayla’s suggestion. “If you need busywork.”
He smiled. “Count me in.”
She lifted a hand in farewell, but just as she was about to turn, he spoke again.
“Hey, Frankie?”
“Yeah.”
“Whatever you find, I’m here if you want to talk about it, okay? Nothing too big or small.”
She nodded, struck by how sincerity had replaced the glibness of youth on his features. “Thanks.”
She almost asked him, then, why they’d lost touch. How he’d moved on so easily. Her lips parted, preparing for that first vowel, but nothing came out.
“Have a good rest of your day,” he said, retreating to the door.
She bit down on her question. “You too.”
Saving it for another time was probably for the best anyway. They’d had enough truths for one night.