Chasing Sunsets (4 page)

“I’m sure you were, Kimberly.”

My tears fell faster. Dad pulled a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his pants and said, “There, now . . .”

“Dad.” I took the handkerchief and wiped my nose. “Can you tell me something?”

My dad’s soft blue eyes looked like sapphires in the room’s light.

“Why do they do it, Dad? Why do men stray?”

The natural tan of his skin flushed. “Kim . . .”

“I’m not saying you would know from experience. But men talk, don’t they? Like they do in high school? And these days, middle school? You know, locker room gossip.”

Dad smiled at me. “I’m not sure men
gossip
, Kim. Exaggerate, yes. Gossip, no.”

I wiped my nose again. “You know what I mean,” I said with a half smile.

Dad cracked his knuckles, first on one hand, then the other. His shoulders were hunched, making his face look rounder, his cheeks rosier. “Boo, if you were my son, I’d answer you one way. A little more locker room talk, since you brought that up. But you are my daughter, and I’m just not sure how to answer this question. I can’t imagine anything you did to cause Charlie to stray much less to give up on your marriage.” He shook his head. “Your mother—God rest her soul—and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and sometimes we fought like enemies rather than lovers, but I could have never walked out on our marriage.” He looked away. His eyes shifted back and forth as though he were pondering something. When he looked back at me, he added, “Not for any reason.”

I glanced out the window. When the house had been built, two years after my parents’ marriage, Dad’s den window provided an angular view of the street we lived on. Within a month, he’d planted a long row of sago palms that kept the view tropical without blocking the sunlight. Now, with an afternoon storm threatening to come as it always did this time of year, I watched their fronds shimmy in the warm breeze.

“I know you’re thinking about a lot,” Dad said. “And I want to add one more thing.”

I turned back to him. “What’s that?”

He stood, walked over to the antique rolltop desk against the opposite wall, and pulled open a drawer. When he returned to the chair he dangled a key from between his index and middle finger.

Not just any key, a house key.

Not just any house, the one on Florida’s west coast.

“What’s this?” I asked, knowing the answer full well.

“I want you to go to Cedar Key while the boys are with Charlie.”

I stood. “What? Go to Cedar . . . why would I go to Cedar Key?”

A tap on the door brought Dad to his feet and me to swirl around to face Anise as she stuck her head in. “Dinner is almost . . . oh. I see you’ve told her already.”

She walked in, leaving the door ajar, and crossed the room to my father. Like butter over hot toast, she slipped her arms around his waist, bringing her body close to his. He kissed her temple and said, “I only got as far as telling her I’d like for her to go.”

I stepped away from the two of them and over to the bookcase where my father’s priceless collection of first editions was displayed in alphabetical order, according to author. “You’d like me to go? But why? I haven’t been to the house in years. Not since . . .” I couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say it.

“Your mother died.”

I nodded.

The kids had gone with their grandparents, but not me. There was too much of Mom there. Too many memories. Too many of her photographs.

The one thing Mom and I shared—that none of her other daughters were interested in—was photography. When she was a child, it had been the connection between her and her father, a professional photographer. The
only
thing they had in common, she told me. Mom made sure that was not the case with us.

When I was eight years old, she’d slipped a Kodak 110 in my Christmas stocking along with a package of cube-shaped flashbulbs. While the relationship between the camera and me was somewhat disastrous (I kept cutting off the very thing I was trying to photograph), Mom said I had “the eye for photography.” By the time I was twelve, I was shooting with a basic .35mm, and by age fifteen I had a case full of lenses, filters, and a bulk loader for rolling my own film. While my friends participated in a variety of sports, I stood on the sidelines and photographed them. I became the official photographer for any and all high school events, which made me feel satisfied, as though I’d participated in them. Volunteering to photograph my senior prom allowed me to say no to any guy who asked me to be his date. Mom finally demanded that I at least allow my cousin—who was a year younger than me—to escort me because “no young lady should ever go to a dance unescorted.”

It was their effort. Not to make sure I went to the prom with a date but that I continue to move forward after that past summer in Cedar Key.

And Steven.

“Dad,” I said, breathless. “I’m just not sure I . . .”

Dad crossed his arms as Anise’s arm fell from around his waist. She said, “I’ll stall dinner.”

She left the room.

“Tell me something, Boo.” His voice was firm but kind. “What’s keeping you from the beach house? You always loved it there when you were a kid.”

I shook my head. “When I was a kid, yes. But really, Dad. I’m a grown woman now. What in the world would I do there all by myself, day in and day out? It’s not like I’m a teenager killing time with Rosa or Heather.”

Or Steven.

“Good point, but what do you plan to do in Glenmuir? What do you have planned for the long weeks the boys are with their father?”

“Well . . .” I said, pacing a few steps along the bookcase. “I thought I’d read.”

“You can read in Cedar Key.”

“And I thought I’d work on my lesson plans for next year.”

“You can do that in Cedar Key too.”

“Heather and I have talked about doing some girl things . . . you know, like manis and pedis and shopping trips.”

My father raised a brow.

“Dad, why is it so important to you that I go to the coast?”

Dad looked at his feet and sighed. “Do you remember Eliana?”

“Of course I do.” I smiled at the thought of the housekeeper and her raven-haired daughter. “Remember when Rosa and I pretended we were sisters as though there wasn’t a difference to be found?”

Dad’s eyes met mine. “There wasn’t. I always taught you girls never to look down on anyone because of their station in life.”

“And we haven’t. Well, maybe not all of us . . .”

Dad grimaced. “Jayme-Leigh. If that girl weren’t so smart and such a good doctor, I’d swear she wasn’t mine.” He chuckled as though only to himself.

I smiled at him. “So, back to Eliana.”

“She passed away recently.”

“Oh, Dad. I didn’t know . . .”

“Rosa called. Her mother still went to the property every week to clean it—did you know that?”

“No.”

“I’ve paid her year-round whether we were there or not. A house has a way of getting dusty and moldy when its owner isn’t around.”

I forced a smile. “So then? Why do you want me to leave mine?”

“I need to hire someone else now. I want you to take care of it for me.”

I blinked. “But you and Anise go for part of the summer. Why not do it then?”

“There are some things I need to take care of here before I can go.”

“What kind of things?”

“Work related, Kimberly. Not for you to worry about.”

“If they are work related, why not let Jayme-Leigh take care of them?”

He shook his head. “These are things I have to handle, Kim.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Look, sweetheart. I need you to do this for me, okay?” He sighed. “I’ve always been able to rely on you, haven’t I?”

“Of course but . . .” I put my fists on my hips. “This really has nothing to do with Eliana, does it? It has more to do with getting me to Cedar Key. Away from here.”

“Let’s face it, Boo. Remember last year when the boys spent part of their summer with Charlie? You were like a caged animal. You drove us all a little crazy and yourself even more.”

That much was true.

“And it’s only going to be worse this year,” he said.

“And you think that by doing this little thing for you—finding a replacement for Eliana—I won’t worry about my sons?”

Dad shook his head. “Oh no. You’ll still worry, but . . .” He winked at me. “Have you forgotten the magic of Cedar Key?”

I took several deep breaths, thought about the question, and answered it honestly within my own heart before answering my father. “Yes, Dad. I have.” I looked at my sandaled feet, wiggled my toes. “But I haven’t forgotten that summer. Have you?”

“No, Boo. I haven’t forgotten. But maybe it’s time to build some new memories.” When I didn’t answer, he added, “If the house goes too long without someone to keep it up, no telling what it’ll look like by the time Anise and I get there in July.” He sighed for added drama.

“It won’t be
that
bad.” We stared at each other until my resolve broke. “Okay, Dad. I’ll go to Cedar Key; I’ll find a replacement for Eliana. But then I’m coming straight home.”

Dad chuckled as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the door and dinner. “Promise me one thing, Boo.”

“What’s that?”

“That if you
want
to stay, you will.”

I stopped long enough to kiss his cheek. “I promise, Dad. But I won’t want to stay, so don’t be disappointed.”

Dad smiled. “We’ll see. Like I said, there’s magic along the marshes of Cedar Key. You just need to be reminded.”

On the way home I told the boys we’d spend the next day doing anything they wanted. I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth before they yelled, “Wet ’n Wild!”

I groaned. “Wouldn’t you guys rather stay home? Sleep late? Go to the pool and read a good book?”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Chase said from the backseat. “You know you love Wet ’n Wild. You love anything that has to do with water.”

I smiled. “It’s true.”

I was reminded of my father’s request that I go to Cedar Key, and for a moment, I thought of the marshes, the beach, the stretch of the Gulf. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad . . .

“All right. Wet ’n Wild it is. We’ll get there when it opens and leave when it shuts down. How does that sound?”

Happiness rushed from the backseat.

I spent the next day splashing and laughing with my children. When the day was over and our bodies were thoroughly sun-kissed, we headed home. The sun had nearly set, slathering the gray at the end of the day in hues of pinks and blues. I thought again of Cedar Key and its spectacular sunsets. Of how residents and visitors gathered to watch nature’s end-of-the-day show. Something deep within me—a feeling I’d long ago forgotten—stirred.

When we arrived home and I’d shut off the engine of the car, “Fun Mom” became “Just Mom.”

“Okay, young men of mine. Upstairs to shower.”

“We know, Mom,” they both said.

“We’re not two anymore, you know,” Chase said.

My sons. When did they think they’d grown up? “Uh-huh. Okay, then. Who’s up for popcorn and a movie after your showers?”

Chase and Cody scampered toward the back door, each one carrying part of our day’s gear. I gathered what was left and followed them. Max met me at the top of the stairs, tail wagging, eyes expectant. I reached down to pet him. “Who left you in the house?” I asked as though he could answer. I looked toward the boys’ rooms and called out, “Whoever is not in the shower, Max needs to go outside.” Max immediately bounded down the stairs to wait for his savior.

Upstairs in my room I started the shower. The phone rang as I peeled my bathing suit from the stink of my skin. I was content to ignore it, but a minute or so later I heard a loud knock on the bathroom’s closed door. “Mom!”

“Yes, Cody.” I reached for a towel, wrapped it around me, and opened the door just wide enough to peek out.

“Dad is on the phone for you.”

Expectancy was in his eyes, a look I never quite got used to. As if, with every call, there lay the possibility of reconciliation. Perhaps, I imagined his mind wondering, if they talk long enough, and the conversation is friendly enough . . . perhaps . . .

“Did you tell him I was about to get in the shower?”

My son’s face went blank. “No.”

I smiled in hopes of easing any negative feelings I had about this moment. Charlie was the last person I wanted to speak with. “Well, did he say what he wanted?”

Again the eyes brightened. “No, but I told him we went to Wet ’n Wild today.”

I nodded. “Okay, well . . . tell him that I am in the shower and I’ll call him back.”

Cody shook his head. “I can’t. He said to tell you it’s important. And he sounds really serious.”

A sudden fear overtook me. What if one of his parents was sick? Or worse? “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Cody nodded and started to back away. “Oh, and Cody . . .”

He looked at me, then blinked. “Yes, Mom?”

“Close the bedroom door on your way out.”

“I know, Mom,” he said.

I closed the bathroom door, turned off the shower, and dashed into the bedroom, where I picked up the bedside phone. I heard Cody on the extension, happily telling his father about the day and about how many times he’d ridden and conquered the Storm, one of the thrill rides the park offers.

Charlie replied with, “Buddy, that sounds great, and I promise we’ll do that when you come for your visit, but I think I hear your mom on the other line.”

I squared my shoulders. “Cody, you can hang up, sweetheart. Get your shower, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. Love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, buddy.”

My heart twisted. When I heard the click of Cody disconnecting his extension, I said, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“Cody said it was important. Is it your parents? Has something happened to one of them?”

“Good grief, Kimberly. Calm down. I just want to talk to you about picking up the boys and—”

“What’s so important about that? You get them on Monday. Just like last year; pick them up at 9:00 in the morning. They’ll be ready.”

“Whoa there, Miss Attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude, Charlie.”

There was a chuckle from the other end. Sarcasm dripped all over it. “I believe you do,” he said.

“No. I don’t.”

“Is this the way it’s gonna be?”

I was quiet before asking, “What are you talking about?”

“Are we going to act like this? Like children talking about our children?”

My body went rigid. “Don’t you dare, Charlie. Don’t you dare talk to me about acting like a child. Don’t you . . .” The knot I’d grown accustomed to swelled in my throat. I kept my teeth clenched, both out of anger and to keep the boys from hearing me scream. “Don’t you dare say I’m not acting like a parent when you . . . you know you lied in that courtroom, so don’t you start with me.” My last words twisted around the knot.

“Kimberly, stop it. It’s just like the judge said. You’re jealous. You want me. You can’t have me. And someone else does.”

“From what I understand, a whole lot of someone elses.” I heard him snicker and I closed my eyes. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“I want to pick up the boys tomorrow night rather than Monday morning.”

“Why?”

“Because I work on Mondays, Kimberly. Not all of us get the summer off.”

I could hear my heart hammering in my chest. “No.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“Because Sunday is mine. And, by the way, what do you plan to do with your sons while you are at work? Because, Charlie, if you tell me that one of your little bimbos is watching my children—”

“Stop it, Kim. Stop it now.”

I knew that tone in Charlie’s voice. I’d crossed a line. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t seem to stop the venom when Charlie was around. Still, for the sake of my sons . . . “What are you planning to do?” I asked again, this time keeping my voice calm.

“I’m taking them to work with me. I was working the business by Chase’s age, and Cody is not that far behind him. I think it will be fun for them both. I’ve already talked to Mom and Dad about it, and they think it’s a great idea.” He took a moment, I knew, to let it all sink in. Hard as I tried, I could find no fault with anything he said. “Now before you try to drag my mother and father into a battle . . .”

The knot had grown so large I could scarcely speak at all. “I’m not,” I whispered.

“Good. Now, back to my picking them up on Sunday evening.”

“No,” I repeated. “I want my last night with my sons.”

Charlie shot an expletive into the phone. “They’re not dying, Kimberly. I’m bringing them back in five weeks.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Charlie Tucker. Don’t use words like that with me.”

“Do you ever hear yourself, Kim? Don’t do this. Do that. My way or no way.”

I felt myself reeling. I stepped back, leaned against the mattress of the bed. “Is that it?” I asked. “Is that why you left? Because you think I have to have my way all the time?”

“For crying out loud. I’m not in the mood for this. I just want to pick up the boys, spend some time talking with them about what we’ll be doing before work starts on Monday morning, have a little summer celebration like we used to. That was it. But if it’s gonna be like this . . .”

Like we used to . . . before. Before the separation. Before the divorce. We’d made such a big deal about summer break. The boys picked the restaurant we’d eat at. Around a booth’s table we’d talk about vacation plans, what we’d do for fun on weekends, game nights, and the challenges and laughter that came with it. Like we used to.

My heart was throbbing. “No,” I said. “It’s not going to be like this. What time do you want to pick them up on Sunday evening?”

“You’re sure?” Charlie’s voice sounded like that of a young boy. Like, oh-golly-gee Mrs. Cleaver.

No. I want one last night with my sons . . . I want my marriage back . . . I want to know why my husband found me so unlovable that he walked out on a good life and two fine boys . . . I want . . .
“Yes. I’m sure.”

“All right. I’ll pick them up at . . . what time is best for you?”

Best for me
 . . . “Seven?”

“Seven it is. Tell the boys I love them.”

“I will.”

I started to hang up without saying good-bye when I heard “And Kim?”

I returned the phone to my ear. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

By 6:45 on Sunday evening, the boys were packed, their stuffed backpacks tossed by the front door, and they sat oh so casually watching some nonsense television in the family room.

I walked from the kitchen—where there was really nothing left to clean—and the door leading to where my sons sat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of them, breathing in their scent. “Did you pack your toothbrushes?” I asked.

Chase looked up at me. “Mom, we have toothbrushes at Dad’s.”

“Oh. Right.”

I walked back into the kitchen, made a cup of hot tea in the microwave, then returned to stand and stare again. Chase looked up at me, gave a crooked smile and winked.

So much like his father
 . . .

I smiled back. “Don’t forget to call me, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

My son. My nearly grown son, sitting straight back in an overstuffed chair, ankle resting on knee. The flip-flop hung from his foot, and every so often he jiggled it to bring it back to rights. They both wore dress shorts and polo shirts and their hair was haloed by the sunshine pouring through the window. So handsome. And in five weeks, they’d be older. Wiser, perhaps.

And I would have missed the transition.

A commercial interrupted the boys’ show. Cody looked at me. “Are you really going to Cedar Key while we’re gone?”

I nodded. “Looks that way.”

“Man, I wish I could go. Don’t you, Chase?”

Chase gave his brother a look that read “Proceed with Caution.” He leaned forward and said, “Well, we’re going to Dad’s, Code. We’ll learn the business and spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Do you think Dad will pay us?” Cody asked his brother.

Chase and I both laughed. The question was so typical of Cody.

“Maybe,” Chase said.

I heard a car pulling into the driveway. My head felt light, my body heavy. The dread I’d been waiting for finally fell on me. I hated these moments. This was more than a weekend visit where I could tell myself that at least I had time to shop, take naps, or go to the movies, which I rarely did. But at least I could tell myself I could if I wanted to.

This was five long weeks. Thirty-five days.

And all I could think as I watched my sons stand and walk toward me—toward the front door—was that I was not the one who left and yet I was the one who had to let her sons leave for an extended period of time.

Cody shot past me, but Chase stopped long enough to kiss my cheek. “We’ll miss you.”

The knot returned. I could only nod.

I heard the front door open, Cody exclaim, “Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, buddy!”

From my position I could watch or not, my choice. I chose not. But I could picture them hugging. Then I heard Chase say, “Hey.”

“Hey, bud . . .” A pause. Then, “Got your backpacks ready, I see. Wanna put them in the car for me?” A scrambling at the door, followed by, “Wait up, boys. Tell your mother good-bye.” Backpacks dropped to the floor.

I turned then, my cup of now cold tea still in my hand. Both boys walked to me, hugged me one at a time. We said “I love you,” and then they were out the door, lugging their summer necessities on their backs.

Charlie remained in the doorway. I looked at him, forcing my eyes not to leave his. He jiggled his keys, nodded once, then turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.