13
Brandon
“Do you know why Annie turned down the job?” my mom asks over the phone.
“She turned down the job?” I’m bowled over.
This makes no sense. Annie was over the moon about the teaching job.
Or maybe I was the one over the moon. This job in Redwood City has given me new hope.
Annie and I have a better shot at working things out away from all the speculation and matchmaking of our well-meaning friends at Norland Park—and far away from the Jackalope.
“Are you sure? She was really excited about it.”
“I thought so, too. I received a lovely note from her with pressed flowers thanking me for the chance. And then this morning Susan tells me she turned down the job.”
“Huh? That’s weird. I have no idea.” Though that’s not completely true. I strongly suspect Jack has something to do with Annie’s change of plans.
“It’s not a big deal for Susan. She has two other strong candidates. It’s just I don’t like vouching for someone and then having them flake out. And she seemed like such a nice girl.”
“Annie didn’t flake out.” I don’t know why I’m defending her, but I can’t help it, even as my chest tightens with sharp disappoint.
“What would you call accepting a job and then declining it a few days later?”
“Changing your mind. People do it all the time.”
“But to be so excited about the job and then just immediately back out? That’s a little flaky. I think the school is better off without her.”
My mom is not just talking about the job, I know it.
She’s trying to reassure me that maybe I’m better off without Annie.
But I couldn’t disagree more. I love Annie.
Simple as that. To see her with Jack is excruciating.
Watching him shower her with gifts when I want to do the same but have no right to is eating me up.
And they are the worst couple for PDA—always kissing in public and holding hands.
I swear Jack loves to rub it in my face.
I’m seriously considering cutting our visit short.
It’s probably better for Pepper. She’ll be devastated when she finds out Annie is no longer moving down the street from us.
I should have waited to tell Pepper about Annie’s job, but I couldn’t keep it to myself.
Pepper was so excited to give Annie something that day, and when I read the poem she wrote, I relented and agreed to go to yet another piano performance.
It was all very sweet—almost the way it used to be—until Jack showed up and dragged her off for their date.
That was two days ago. We haven’t seen Annie since. That’s by design. I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid her since the Ex-Lax cookie incident.
But when it begins to rain after lunch, we have to rethink our afternoon plans. This isn’t the weather for kayaking. Pepper pulls out a book, and I pull out my laptop to get some work done while rain patters on the cottage roof. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon.
After an hour or so, Pepper interrupts me.
“Can we go to the lobby? I want to see everyone.” By everyone she means Annie, of course.
Most days, Annie does her piano performance at 3:30.
It’s a little past three. I want to see “everyone” too.
But also, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.
As long as Jack is around, it’s best for me to avoid her.
And lately it seems to be getting worse.
I can’t stop thinking about her or looking at her.
My hands are permanently jammed in my pockets so that I don’t reach out to touch her.
Pepper gives me her puppy dog eyes. “Please, Dad?”
I can’t say no to my daughter—or my own heart.
So here we are in the lobby of Norland Park Hotel.
I purposely chose a spot where I can’t see Annie while she plays.
But it hardly matters . . . her music floods the room.
No one plays with as much emotion as Annie.
J.J. may joke about the men who drive from Monterey just to have a look at the gorgeous redhead sitting at the grand piano, but the real reason so many return to hear her play is that Annie plays with so much feeling.
At least that’s why I first started listening.
Many musicians can execute a song perfectly, but one who makes me feel something—especially when I’m doing my best to feel nothing—that’s a true gift.
My mom insisted I learn an instrument, and I’m so glad she did.
I played piano until I was in high school, when I switched to guitar, which really came in clutch when I was a young father with a fussy baby.
The one thing that would calm Pepper was my guitar.
Some nights, after we lost Daphne, I played until my fingers bled and my voice went hoarse.
Eventually Pepper became sleep trained, and I put away my guitar.
I haven’t taken it out since. It reminds me too much of the darkest time of my life. I never want to feel like that again.
Over the years I’ve become an expert at not feeling much.
I live and die for Pepper, and I love my parents and Pepper’s other grandparents, but everyone else I’ve kept at a friendly distance.
Last year, before I met Annie, I thought I had everything I needed: a wonderful daughter, a thriving business, and two sets of parents that loved me—Daphne’s parents have always treated me like their son.
Add to that more friendly acquaintances than I could keep up with, and I had the perfect life.
It wasn’t till I sat down in the Norland Park Hotel lobby and listened to Annie play Chopin that I began to feel the first cracks in the ice encasing my heart.
Sitting in a room saturated with emotion, I felt safe enough to be sad.
I would sit and let the music wash over me, letting myself feel those uncomfortable feelings I had been ignoring for years.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but Annie, still mourning the death of her father and uncertain of the future of her home, purposely selected songs of loss and loneliness.
And somehow, listening to her music, I felt less alone in my grief.
As I sat with my feelings, my heart began to thaw.
I began to consider the possibility that I might want more.
My therapist just about threw a party when I told her in January that I was thinking of dating again.
She said it was the next step in my healing and long overdue.
But now, as my eyes stray to Annie, I wish I had kept my heart in cold storage.
Because it feels like it is breaking all over again.
You’d think a broken heart couldn’t break anymore. Apparently, it can.
Beads of rain stream down the windows on either side of the lofty stone fireplace. Annie plays a mournful song. For a moment, I let the music give voice to my own heartache. My sad reverie is interrupted by my daughter’s grief-stricken cry.
“J.J. said you’re leaving—is it true?” The music stops.
I look up to see Pepper standing next to piano bench. Annie turns to put an arm around her. “Yes, sweetie, but only for a couple months.”
“No!” Pepper pulls away. “You were going to move to Redwood City—you were going to live down the street!”
“I . . . I . . . um . . .” Annie stammers. Every eye in the room is on her.
I stand up and head to the piano bench, something I should have done the moment I realized my daughter was causing a disturbance.
I delayed because, at the moment, I wasn’t sure I could stand.
Annie’s leaving. I still don’t trust my emotions.
The slightest spark and I fear I could explode.
And now I’m supposed to parent my ten-year-old throwing a public tantrum.
I put a hand on Pepper’s shoulder, willing it not to tremble. “Pep,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and assured. “Let’s talk about this outside.”
“How can you be so calm! Annie’s leaving!” she wails. “J.J. told me she’s going on a sailing trip with that Pampas Grass. She’s never coming back.”
“Um . . . I . . .” I turn to Annie. “Is this true?” She nods, her eyes red-rimmed.
I don’t know why her eyes are red, when it’s my world that’s crumbling.
My hand drops from Pepper’s shoulder and tightens in a fist. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath and then another.
Pepper might be talking. Annie might be too.
I think J.J. is saying something. But I need a moment to reel in my howling emotions.
“Okay, well . . . then,” I fumble with my words. “Good. Good for you.”
I lift a sobbing Pepper who collapses on my chest like a toddler. “C’mon Pep, let’s go.”
As I carry her out, I see Jack striding through the main door. “Whoa!” he says, holding the door for us. “You’ve got your arms full.” It’s a good thing I’m carrying Pepper, or I’d knock that smile off his face. I detest how angry I am. How out of control I feel.
I carry her through the rain to the shelter of the gazebo in the gardens. “Now what was that about?” I ask as I set Pepper down on a bench. “You know better than to make a scene like that.”
“Annie can’t leave. She belongs with us.
She loves you!” Pepper’s still crying hysterically.
I have no idea what to do or say to calm her down.
“You love her! And stupid Jack is going to ruin it all.” I feel all of Pepper’s hurt twice over and then some.
I feel my own hurt, plus hers, as well as a deep remorse.
I should have never let her get so close to Annie.
I knew better. There’s a reason that I’ve been so cautious about dating.
I shouldn’t have let Annie tag along on all our family outings. I’m realizing everything too late.
“I’ll never be happy again!” Pepper moans, and I feel it.
Losing Annie is like losing the sunshine.
But . . . I’ve lost someone I loved before.
I’ve been through the darkness of deep loss, and I know that eventually the light returns.
It does. I know. I keep telling myself this, but I can’t stomach the thought of going through it again.
“Oh, Pep! We’ll be okay. It’s hard when friends leave but . . .”
“You’re such a liar. You’re as upset as I am. Probably more.” She’s right. Inside, my feelings rage like a winter storm.
“Pepper!” It’s Annie. I turn around, and she’s running toward us, her hair damp in the rain. Hell! I can’t handle her right now.
“Haven’t you done enough already?” My words ring with anger. “Leave us alone!”
Annie stops in place, pain in her eyes. Good. There’s no way her bruised feelings can come close to the hole she just blasted through my heart.
“I just want to talk to Pepper. She needs to know that I’m coming back.”
“No. I’m sorry, Annie, but I’ve got to protect my daughter. She has this idea . . . that you and I—”
“I know . . .” she nods. “I understand that’s not going to happen. But we can still be friends, can’t we?”
“Friends?”
“Yes . . . you and I. And Pepper . . . I love you all so much.” My stupid heart leaps at this statement. I know she just means as friends, but she has no business saying this to me. It gives me hope when it shouldn’t. I close my eyes.
“No, Annie. I don’t think we can. I knew better than to have you spend so much time with us . . . it has blown up spectacularly.”
“I . . . I’m sorry.” And now Annie’s crying in the rain. I can’t deal with her tears right now. How dare she cry? She should be happy. She’s leaving with her “true love” and literally sailing off into the sunset.
“We’re going home,” I say to Pepper. She nods and stands up, wiping her tears with her rain jacket. We walk away, leaving Annie to cry in the hotel garden.
After a few minutes, Pepper stops. “Dad, you look like you need a hug.”
Her arms wrap around me as I say, “I do, Pepper, I really do.”