Chapter 6
Calliope
I’m exhausted, having pulled a double shift to cover a co-worker struck with the stomach bug. I’m a big believer in stepping up to help out with things like that because well…karma is out there floating around, and I don’t want to offend her.
The hot shower I just took didn’t refresh me but instead made me feel drowsy. My bed is calling, and I should listen.
Instead, I pull on a pair of worn jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sandals. I give my hair a quick, rough dry and, because there’s a chance that Rafe will be there, I put on some mascara and lip gloss.
Yes, I’m going over to his parents’ house because I want to check in on Brenda and Jim.
I want to see how hospice got everything set up and make sure they’re adjusting.
The fact that I’m putting on lip gloss and mascara because Rafe will probably be there is like a pebble stuck in my shoe.
It’s annoying as hell that I even care what he thinks about my looks because I’m absolutely not interested in him in that way.
Not really.
I mean…I appreciated his intervention with Grant the other day, even though I was equally annoyed that he thought it was his place to step in.
And I have to admit to being swayed by sympathy a tremendous amount.
Knowing what he’s getting ready to go through with his dad makes my anger toward him seem silly.
We broke up a long time ago, and while I hated everything about that experience, it did help me become the woman I am today.
I’m independent, strong, and when a man doesn’t treat me right—hello, Grant—I cut that shit out of my life because I know I’m better than that. I deserve more than the way Rafe dumped me or the way Grant treated me—as if I was a lesser, second-rate person merely because of my gender.
Mostly, though, I’m softening to Rafe—potentially being a friend to me again—because we are getting ready to share a loss together.
I love his dad, not as much as he does and in a different way, but the Simmonses are part of my family unit.
I’ve been involved heavily in Jim’s most recent medical issues, they’ve turned to me for explanation and comfort, and I intend to be there for them going forward.
In my heart, I want to offer the same to Rafe because I can’t bear to think of the pain he’ll be facing and thus…
I have to put aside the bitter feelings I’ve clearly been harboring all these years.
So I leave my apartment and make the short drive to the Simmonses’ house. Because I want to be there for all of them through this, and it has nothing to do with karma. It has to do with love.
I pull into my parents’ short driveway, unconcerned with blocking them in or out. They went on a short trip to Wilmington for the weekend. Both of them have semi-retired, and they love taking weekend trips to the coast. I’m thinking they’ll want to fully retire there before long.
I make a mental note to grab today’s mail for them before I leave and head into the Simmonses’ house. As usual, I give just a short knock to announce my presence, but I walk right in.
“It’s me,” I call out, not overly loud but enough to drift up the stairs.
“Come on up,” Brenda responds. I can tell from the direction of her voice and the slight echo that she’s in the kitchen. They have a big skylight over the sink area and over the years, I’ve come to recognize the way voices carry from that part of the house.
I come around the banister, my gaze going to the hospital bed in the middle of the living room.
Jim is in it, and I’m struck by how small he seems all of a sudden.
I know he went to the hockey game last night to watch Rafe play, and Brenda was so happy with how well he did.
He insisted on walking, declining the use of the wheelchair that had been supplied by hospice.
But now I can see him sleeping deeply, undisturbed by my entrance into his home. He makes a slight snoring sound, and his chest rises and falls deeply.
I look away and move into the kitchen. Brenda’s at the sink, rinsing out a cup. Her gaze lands on me, and I see the worry there.
He was good yesterday, and now today…
“This is typical,” I remind her, answering the question in her eyes. She knows he’s going to have good and bad days. The hospice nurse was very clear about that and soon, the bad will outnumber the good. “Take the good days and treasure them.”
Her eyes mist up, and she nods.
“Where’s Rafe?” I ask her. Since they clinched this round of the playoffs, he has the next four days off, and I just assumed he’d be by his dad’s side.
Brenda’s gaze shifts to peer out the window over the sink that overlooks the back yard. “He’s out there, weeding.”
I move over to the sliding glass doors on the other side of the small kitchen table and look out past the deck.
Sure enough, Rafe is on his hands and knees in one of Brenda’s flowerbeds, now only sporting daffodils that lost their blooms a few weeks ago.
I imagine Brenda hasn’t been in much of a gardening mood since they got Jim’s diagnosis.
I study Rafe.
We’ve been apart for eight years, and yet I clearly recognize the frustration and anger in his posture. The way his upper back is hunched, shoulders dipped and frozen in place. His plucking at the weeds is stiff and mechanical.
“He’s been out there since his dad fell asleep a few hours ago,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness. “He sat by that hospital bed for a full hour, waiting for him to wake back up. I can tell he’s having a hard time processing all this.”
My heart cramps a bit. “He’s had such huge upheaval in his life,” I murmur to Brenda. “Finding out about Jim, moving to a new team. I’m surprised he’s not pulling your good plants out.”
Brenda chuckles. “Me, too.”
I turn to her, struck by the worry on her face for her son. She has enough on her plate without having to shoulder concern for Rafe, too.
“I have an idea,” I say, unsure how wise this will be, but committed all the same.
Without another word, I open the sliding glass door and step out onto the sunny deck. It’s elevated and several steps down. The slapping of my sandals against the weathered wood catches Rafe’s attention, and his neck twists to take me in.
I would have felt better if I’d seen some emotion on his face—irritation at me, or pain over his father. I would even feel good at seeing something like regret or longing for better days. Instead, I see nothing.
His eyes are flat, and his mouth slackens before he turns back to his weeding. I watch him as I approach, and see he’s doing nothing more than rearranging small nuggets of bark mulch. I have to wonder if he’s completely shut down.
“Get up,” I command as I reach where he’s hunched over in the flowerbed.
His body jerks as his head snaps my way. “What?”
“Get up,” I repeat. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Out of here,” I reply and then turn on my heel. I make my way back up the staircase of the deck and head into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Brenda asks softly as I slide the door closed behind me.
I smile at her, my expression reassuring and slightly mischievous. “I’m taking your son out for some fresh air. Tell him I’ll be waiting in my car.”
?
“I can’t believe this is still here…untouched.”
I glance at Rafe as he gazes out over Old Man Podden’s pond.
It sits on the back of a large tobacco and corn farm at the edge of Wake and Franklin counties.
He’s surprised because the capital city of Raleigh has been expanding outward, and all the country farms have been sold off to real estate developers.
But Podden’s pond remains, and it’s a well-protected secret.
Podden sold off most of his farm but kept a small portion of land, about twenty acres with the original homestead.
I have unfettered access to it because my dad has been Podden’s mechanic for decades.
The pond itself is a hidden treasure, secluded by a copse of pine and oak trees, an old, abandoned dirt road the only way to access it.
“Raleigh is growing so fast,” I agree before tipping my beer back to drain the rest.
I backed my Pathfinder up to a cleared spot near the edge of the pond. It’s close enough that if we had fishing poles, we could cast right from the rear where we’re now sitting.
Rafe mimics my action, emptying his bottle. We’ve always drunk beer at the same rate…not too fast and not too slow. Granted, it wasn’t like we drank a lot, but we had our ways of getting our hands on it, even back then.
He reaches behind him to the cooler we grabbed from my parents’ garage, which we filled with ice and beer from a convenience store as we traveled up Route 1 to the pond. He pulls out two more bottles—our second beer each—twists off the caps, and hands me one.
It’s weird how, without thought, we both automatically tap the glass necks together and say, “Cheers.”
It’s what we always used to do when we slipped away to the pond with a picnic basket and ice-cold Cokes.
Rafe spares me an awkward smile. I can see in his expression that he knows perhaps the fond memory might provoke more bitter feelings within me, a potent reminder of what’s been lost.
Quite the opposite happens, though.
I feel the need to reminisce. “Remember my senior skip day?”
Rafe chuckles, and his smile becomes relaxed. “How everyone headed east on I-40 to the beach, but we came here instead?”
I give him a look of faux reprimand. “You were home visiting from Green Bay and said it would be romantic, but really…you just wanted to get me alone so you could get in my pants.”
Rafe snorts. “It was romantic, and let’s be honest…you wanted in my pants just as much.”