Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
DANNY
I might have put too much chili in the pasta sauce. Or not enough. Can’t tell. Can’t taste it. Ava made the salad and blanched the French beans. Everyone who’s left is eating and making appreciative noises. I’m eating, too, but on autopilot. All my attention is focused on what’s happening upstairs. Cam has been up there approximately four thousand years and I’ve died and been reborn way too many times over.
Thank fuck, I hear him on the stairs. Can he not walk at the speed of a normal human? We all look up the instant he enters the kitchen, so I’m not the only one who’s been on tenterhooks. I search his face, trying to work out how it went with Frankie, but Cam seems his usual reserved self. Though he does sit down a little heavily and Ava does reach her arm around to give him a quick hug. She and Cam gaze briefly at each other, and whatever he communicates is enough for Ava to smile at him and give him another comforting squeeze. Cool, great, awesome. Tell me what happened!
Finally, Cam turns my way. “I’d give her a few moments,” he says. “Let her work through it.”
“Work through what?” He’s making me insane. “What did you say to her?”
“Something I ought to have said years back.”
Honestly, I’m going to stab him with this fork. Cam’s eyes drop to where I hold said utensil in a death grip, and he nods, slowly.
“Uh, I apologized for monopolizing her mom’s attention when she was growing up,” he says. “I was a selfish asshole back then.”
Okay. Thank you. Was that so fucking hard?
“So was I,” says Shelby, glumly and unexpectedly. “Except in my case, it was Dad’s attention. I should have seen that Frankie was being left out, but she was always such a private kid; it was hard to tell what was going on with her. I could have asked, though, and I didn’t. I owe her an apology, too.”
Nate blows out a breath. “Yeah, well, we all have regrets. Mine are old friends. They like to have a good long chat with me around three in the morning.”
“I’ve had to learn not to fight mine,” says Ava. “They’re like Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you don’t give in and accept them, they just keep coming back.”
I don’t know whether it’s the stress, but I feel like I’ve been beamed into a parallel universe. Us Durants never show weakness in front of each other! Nate spilling his guts to me at The Silver Saddle was the first time he’s ever confided in me to such an extent. And Ava? Accepting she has regrets? Who is this person sitting here and what has she done with my sister?
“I don’t have any regrets,” I say. “Not major ones, anyway!”
Both Nate and Ava stare at me, each with a small, knowing smile. Now that expression I’m used to, and my defenses immediately go up.
“Yes, you do,” says Nate.
“Oh, really?”
“Sure.” Ava piles on in. “For one, you regret not having a good relationship with Dad.”
That hits me square in the guts. I am so close to saying, Fuck you. But years of sparring with my siblings have honed my determination not to give an inch. Instead, I say, “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not judging you, Danny,” says Ava. “I’m really not.”
Her expression is open and sincere and I don’t believe her for a second.
“I kept barriers up between me and Dad for years, because I thought I needed to protect myself,” she says. “From his ridiculously high expectations and his disappointment when I failed to reach them.”
Possibly unconsciously, she reaches for Cam’s hand, and he engulfs it in his giant manly mitt.
“But I put up those barriers, not Dad,” says Ava. “And they stopped me from letting me accept that he really did love me, expectations or not.”
I remember, at the end of last year, a dinner at Mom and Dad’s that got pretty emotional. Dad told us that he loved us and was proud of us. Have to confess, I didn’t believe he meant me. What Ava’s saying might be true for her, but I know Dad is disappointed in me. He’s said so often enough.
“Dad’s not great at showing love,” says Nate. “Yeah, I know, understatement of the year. But do you think you might want to give him a chance? For both your sakes?”
Give Dad a chance to show he loves me. Sounds so reasonable, doesn’t it? But – and this is true for Frankie, too – her mom and my dad were adults when they parented us. Sure, they might have been doing their best, but they must have been aware that they had choices. They chose to treat us the way they did, and I didn’t see why we should be the ones who need to do the heavy lifting to rebuild our relationships. If they want us to love and be close to them, then they should be the ones to make the first move.
I won’t say any of this to Nate and Ava. It’ll only buy a fight, and I’m not in the mood.
“I should check on Frankie,” I say, getting up from the table. “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.”
“I’ll do them,” says Nate, but he says it to my back. I’m through with this conversation.
Upstairs, of course, I realize that I’ve never been in Frankie’s room and have no idea which one it is. I wander the hallway, past closed door after closed door. Right at the end, I spy one sporting a faded hand-written sign that reads, “Don’t even think about it”. Bingo. I listen outside. Can’t hear anyone in there. I try a tentative knock. No answer.
“Hey,” I call softly. “It’s me.”
Still no answer. “I was about to come up but Cam insisted on speaking to you first,” I say. “And he’s bigger than me.”
It’s not the time for jokes, but I’m embarrassed now that I didn’t tell Cam to wait. I should have gone to Frankie first. I should have been the one who comforted her. I feel like I let her down. Regrets – okay, so I do have a few.
The door opens to crack to reveal half of Frankie’s face. It looks a little tear-stained. “I’m over talking for today,” she says. “Just so you know.”
“Me, too,” I agree. “Talking sucks.”
More of Frankie’s face appears. “You can come and lie on the bed with me if you want. But no fooling around. For one thing, I’m wrung out, and for another, it’s too creepy-weird to have sex in my childhood bedroom.”
“Lying on the bed with you sounds like heaven,” I say, sincerely. “Lead me to it.”
After all us Durant kids left home, Mom redecorated our rooms. Removed our sports and popstar posters, packed away our old toys, repainted the walls. Bought new bed linen and covered the beds with more pillows than anyone who’s not a multi-headed Hydra needs. Someone who didn’t know my mom might accuse her of a lack of sentimentality but she did it because she’s sentimental. If she didn’t have to look at constant reminders, she wouldn’t miss us so much. She stored all our stuff in boxes in the attic for us to take back whenever we wanted. Not sure I’ll ever want my Queens of the Stone Age poster again, but nice to know it’s there if I have a sudden hankering for psychedelic skulls.
Frankie has a Warhol Marilyn print and a Pink poster on her walls. Her bed is a double, with a crocheted coverlet. There are Powerpuff girl stickers on her desk. I’m swamped by a huge wave of affection, swiftly followed by a need to protect young Frankie from all the hurt she felt when she was living here.
Frankie’s already lying on the bed. I slip off my sneakers and join her. The old bed sags in the middle under our combined weight, and we slide closer together.
“Sorry I wasn’t here for you,” I say. “I should have been.”
“Cam looks like a gentle giant,” she says, “but he knows how to get his way.”
There’s an edge to her voice, so I leave the subject there. It’s remarkably relaxing, lying here next to Frankie, staring at the ceiling. No one here but us.
“Want to go go-karting tomorrow?” I say, after a while. “It’s Saturday.”
“Is it? I’ve lost track of the days.”
“We don’t have to. Don’t have to do anything.”
There’s a pause. “Is it true you’re extremely competitive on the track?”
“Is a bear Catholic?”
Frankie’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“We could go to a karaoke bar afterwards,” she suggests.
“Or”—I’m full of bright ideas—“we could go beer tasting and then go to a karaoke bar?”
“You want to get lit.” It’s not a question.
“Blazed,” I confirm. “Comprehensively shickered.”
“Cool,” says Frankie. “It’s a date.”