A Song for Julia (41 page)

Maybe, just a little, I even wanted him to say it again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Because I’m afraid (Julia)

Five seconds after I walked out of the security gates, I was almost knocked down by a brown haired blur as Alexandra ran up to me and threw her arms around me. I laughed and returned the hug. She looked up at me, her green eyes big and round. “I was afraid you weren’t coming home for Christmas.”

I knelt down so we were at eye level. “Of course I came home. How could I miss Christmas with you?”

She grinned. “I learned a new song, you want to hear?”

“How about when we get home? I’ll need something to keep Mom away from me, we can go up to your room.”

She nodded, smiling, and I looked up as Carrie approached. She was wearing a black mini and a rose sleeveless top, and looked positively gorgeous. A businessman who sat two rows up from me on the plane walked past her, his head turning as he went by, until he bumped into a cop. 

I snickered as I rose to my feet. Carrie was completely oblivious of the effect she had on men. She walked forward, and we embraced.

“It’s just us,” she said, breaking away. “Mom’s at home with the twins and Andrea. She’s got some kind of party thing going on for the younger kids this afternoon.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Plus, I bet she didn’t want to see me.”

“Well … you two have been fighting.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Do you need to pick up bags?”

I nodded. “Couple. I shipped a bunch of stuff too, I might have found some gifts for the kids.”

I took Alexandra’s hand in mine, and the three of us went off in search of the baggage claim. As we walked, I said, “Have you listened to the radio this morning?” They were playing Christmas music in the airport.

She shook her head. “No, not really, why?”

“Today’s the release day for the band’s single. Waiting to hear it on the radio.”

She grinned. “Mom had a conniption about you telling the President you were going into the music industry.”

We stopped at the baggage carousel. It was turning, but no bags yet.

“Are you really?” Alexandra asked. “Are you going to be in a band?”

I looked at her. “I’m not in the band … I’m the band’s manager. I set up their shows and get things organized, help them get records made, and … stuff like that.”

“Is Crank in the band?”

I nodded. “He is. He plays guitar and sings.”

“I like Crank. He’s really weird. Can I come to one of your shows? How many earrings does he have?”

“As a matter of fact, Alexandra, we’re going on tour this summer. With Allen Roark. And we’re playing two shows in San Francisco in August. And yes, you can come. Backstage, even.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Backstage?”

Carrie said, her voice bordering on the hysterical, “That’s so wild. I can’t wait.” Then she got a sly grin. “Do you think you can get me a couple extra backstage passes for my friends? They’ll die.”

I put my arm around her waist and tugged her to me. “Anything for my sister.”

“Do you think when I grow up I can be in a rock band?” Alexandra asked. “I could learn guitar, it doesn’t look that different than cello.”

“I think you can do anything you want,” I said to her.

“Mom would be really mad,” she replied. 

I couldn’t argue with that, but I did say, “I know. But sometimes we have to go our own way. Crank said to me one time that everyone has to have something to rebel against. I don’t know what yours will be, but mine is deciding my own life.”

Alexandra looked thoughtful. Then she said, “Mom didn’t like Crank. But I did. He called me Alex.” She smiled.

I wish she’d talk about something other than Crank. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

Carrie gave me a sideways look, and I asked Alexandra, “How is school going for you?”

She frowned. “I don’t like being the new girl. Again. They’re mean here.”

Oh, Alex. I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I went through that when we were in Bethesda. It was hard.”

She said, “I did make a friend, though. Her name’s Michelle, and she’s in my homeroom. We eat lunch together. And Mom said I can go to Michelle’s New Year’s party, if I’m good over Christmas.”

“I’m glad you made a friend,” I said.

Ten minutes later, we were headed home in Mom’s minivan. I had to shed my heavy coat and gloves, which were appropriate for Boston but certainly not here. Carrie switched on the radio and flipped it to a different station.

I froze.

Familiar chords were pouring out of the speakers, and then I heard Crank’s voice.

“Oh, my God,” I said. It was one thing to hear it live or the recording. It was something else entirely to hear it over the radio all the way across the country.

“Is that it?” Carrie asked.

I nodded. Alexandra leaned forward in between the seats. “That’s your band?”

“Yeah,” I said, and she squealed. 

By the time we reached the highway, Carrie looked over at me and said, “This song is about you.”

I nodded, didn’t say anything.

Her eyes were big, and she had a huge grin on her face. In a quick, excited voice, she said, “Oh, my God, that is so cool.”

I grinned back but felt a little apprehensive. I knew it was going to be a matter of seconds now before she asked me about Crank.

Not even that long.

“So, what’s going on with you and Crank?”

“Nothing really,” I said.

She looked at me. “Talk to me, Julia. Did he do something? I just…don’t get it. I’m not trying to be a nag, but … being honest? I’ve never seen you happy before. Ever. And I want to see that again.”

I grimaced. “Harry showed up in Boston.”

“Oh, no,” she said, her voice hushed.

“He showed up at the club we were playing last night. And Crank beat him up.”

Carrie said, “I’m loving Crank more every time you mention him.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

“Then why did you break up with him?”

I shook my head. “Because I’m afraid, okay? For the first time in my life, I’m … doing what I want. I’m living a life that’s mine, one that I chose. I’m afraid of losing that.”

She was silent for a few moments. “Look, it’s none of my business. But … I think you’re making a mistake. You’re not the kid you were in China. You need to look in the mirror and really see yourself. When I look at you I see someone who cares. You’re smart, organized as hell, and you try to treat people the right way. And you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you think you are.”

“I’m a lot of things,” I said, “But I don’t think strong is one of them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Julia—”

I held a hand up. “Just … stop, okay? I know what you’re trying to do. But I’ve got to work through this on my own, all right?”

And then I felt a hand on my arm. A small hand. I turned in my seat, and Alexandra leaned forward and said, “I want you to be happy, too.”

I blinked back tears and held her hand. 

Always forgive (Crank)

I clicked on the play button, and my own personal Christmas mix started to play. It had the traditionals that everyone loved, but it also had some of my personal favorites: songs like The Vandals’ “Oi to the World” and “Hang Myself from the Tree.”  

You gotta have a sense of humor about these things.

Once the music was playing, I sat down on the couch and stretched out, looking up at the ceiling.

Sean was stressed about Mom being in the house. He was doing his best to contain it, but I could see it from the way he paced in the living room, his temper slightly shorter than normal. Mom was stressed about being in the house. Both of them stressed me out. Plus, we were all stressed wondering if Dad was going to be able to call tonight, as he’d said. It’s one thing to hope and plan, but when you’re on a foreign deployment with the military, there are no guarantees.

I hated that he was out there, living in some tent camp in Kuwait, instead of home with us. Of course, he might well have ended up being on duty tonight … he was a cop after all. But cops come home at the end of their shift. Soldiers have to wait a lot longer.

Of course, the diplomatic mission to Iraq had failed. Julia told me weeks ago she didn’t believe it was ever meant to succeed. Window dressing. I wondered how her father felt about that. Odds were, we’d never know.

I put my hand in my pocket, feeling for my cell phone, for the hundredth time wanting to pick it up and dial Julia. I would call her tomorrow for Christmas. But I wasn’t going to nag. I wasn’t going to call multiple times. I wasn’t going to do anything. And that drove me nuts, because what I wanted to do was chase her down and make her talk to me. Make her finally admit that she loved me.

Last night, briefly, I thought she was going to come around. When she looked at me from the audience, I saw her wiping her eyes. When she’d wrapped her arms around me and said, “Thank you.” But not long after that, she seemed to clam up and grow distant again. Not long after the show, she packed up and disappeared without even saying goodbye.

I was slowly beginning to accept that Julia was never coming back to me. 

We’d be friends. Colleagues. She’d keep managing the band. But what I wanted from her was so much more.

My mom stepped into the living room from where she’d been puttering in the kitchen. I looked at her, gave her a rueful grin. 

It was so odd having her here. Odd that I wasn’t angry with her. If anything, I was finding myself protective. Wanting to shield her from Sean’s occasional blowups, which were always hard on her. I didn’t understand it really. I’d been angry so long. Angry that she was gone. Angry that she left. But when my dad told us what happened that night … it was like someone had let the pressure out, all at once, and I couldn’t be angry with her any more. It was a strange and odd feeling, and I wasn’t really sure what to do with it yet. 

I’m sure it was the same for Sean, but even more so. And for that matter, I didn’t even understand why he’d forgiven me. Because I left too. 

I just wished Dad were home, to see her here, to see us all here, together.

She watched me for a moment, then said, “When you smile like that, you remind me so much of your father. He smiled at me like that the night we met, and I thought my knees were going to melt.”

I chuckled and said, “I wish I was half the man he was.”

“You were looking kind of sad over here. Thinking about Julia?”

I sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

She walked over and sat in the chair next to me. I shifted position, dropping my feet to the floor and facing her.

“She and I had lunch a couple of times, you know,” she said.

“I know.”

She looked at me, her eyes sad. “Don’t give up on her Crank. If you love her, don’t give up on her.”

“Dad said if I love her, I should let her go.”

My mom’s eyes went red, and she covered her mouth to stifle a sob. After a second, she collected herself. “And your father was right. Julia’s a smart girl. She’s smart enough to know what a catch you really are. I think she’ll come around.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. She went through some pretty screwed up stuff.”

Mom nodded. “I know that. And she’s just now starting to really deal with it. She told me you’re part of the reason for that.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees; face buried in my hands, I gave a long sigh. The thing was, it was obvious she was working things out. Every time I saw her, she seemed more confident. She was losing that haunted look in her face. 

I grimaced. “Mom? You want to know what’s sick? I know she’s growing. I know she’s working out her issues over the past. And I’m afraid. I’m afraid she’s going to grow right past me and end up falling in love with some asshole who has it all together.”

She didn’t say anything. But she put her hand on my shoulder. And she was shaking when she did it. Which was the craziest thing. I mean—this was my mom. My mom, who I’d barely spoken with in years. It was like we’d been taking baby steps toward each other. And this conversation went way beyond baby steps.

She was shaking because she thought I might reject her. Like I had so many times in the last years.

And that made me think of the past. Past Christmases, long ago. My mother, the concert pianist. Teaching me to play piano from the time I was a toddler. 

Abruptly, I stood up. “Come on,” I said. I walked over to the piano and sat down on one side of the bench.

She tilted her head and looked at me.

“Just watch,” I said. “Sean will come running. I mean … you remember what we used to do on Christmas Eve.”

She nodded and blinked back tears, while she stood and came over to sit next to me on the piano bench.

As she sat down, I put my hands on the keyboard and played the opening chords of “Carol of the Bells”. I could play this in my sleep. When I was four, she’d done a special four-hand arrangement, based off of George Winston’s version. The opening was haunting, and she joined in immediately, the waves of sound resonating through the house. 

With each note, each measure, each stanza, I felt myself swept up, lost in memories. Memories of this house when I was younger. Happy memories. The four of us, sitting in the living room drinking hot chocolate and playing board games long into the night on Christmas Eve. My mother laughing and blushing as Dad whispered something in her ear, while Sean and I pretended not to notice. Sean sneaking in my room and climbing in the bed with me, as we speculated what morning would be like. Then the call, usually around seven A.M. on Christmas morning, when my dad would shout up the stairs, “All right, you kids, get down here!” Already awake, we’d run down the stairs and be greeted with hugs and laughter, and then we’d open presents. Each year, Dad made a huge breakfast of bacon and eggs and pancakes right after presents, and then Sean and I would play until afternoon when family and friends drifted in.

I felt a tear running down my face. This music was so damn haunting. I was in middle school when it started to fall apart. I remembered Christmas my sixth grade year. It was a slim one for us, because my parents had spent just about all of their savings on hospital and doctor visits for Sean. And I was awful. I blamed him and threw a tantrum more suited for a five-year-old than a sixth grader. Dad told me to shut up, and Mom burst into tears.