Elvis Takes a Back Seat (22 page)

I sit beside the window looking out at the late afternoon shadows falling over Graceland, though it's a stretch to think I can see even the gates from here. Rae has gone to lie down, but I know she's giving me space to take in and absorb all she's told me. I don't know where Ben and Ivy are, but I'm grateful for the silence, the time alone.

Rest seems impossible. My brain feels like an engine trying to catch and not fully able to engage. Images and snippets of conversations zip around so fast in my mind that I can't lock onto anything for any length of time. I feel the empty place in my heart pulse and throb. I wonder if it's like a tomb locking away memories, sealing me from any more hurt, or if it's a doorway welcoming something new into my life.

For minutes or hours, I'm not sure which, I remain seated on the couch. I stare at nothing but the blank spot Elvis occupied. I miss him, which seems absurd. Maybe it's only Stu I miss. I don't sense any answers. There's only
silence still. Yet something has changed. Maybe it's me. Most certainly it's my heart.

I don't hear God's voice. I don't hear trumpets or angels wings. There's no miraculous sign flashing in front of me. Yet I feel peace. It's not something I can explain. It's just there like a warm blanket tucked about my feet.

I've questioned and berated myself for not having enough faith, not believing enough to save Stu. Yet maybe I was wrong. I am certain of what I don't see. And for the first time in a long, long while, I'm hopeful.

* * *

TIPTOEING INTO THE room, Ivy belches, which gives her away. I turn from the window.

“How ya doin'?” she asks.

I shrug, then nod. “Okay.”

“You had kind of a shock today.” She walks the rest of the way into the darkening room and touches her stomach. “I know how that feels.”

“I'm sure you do.” Honesty has always been solid footing between us. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as pukey as I was.”

I offer a sympathetic smile. I know those days will come and go. “How far along are you?”

“Three months, I think. Myrtle helped me figure it out with dates and stuff. Dad wants me to go to the doctor when we get back to Dallas.”

“That's a good idea.”

“It'll make it seem more real. But there's not a doctor for you to go to, is there?”

I laugh. “Maybe a psychiatrist. Think I'm going crazy?”

“You'll be okay. You're strong.”

“Stronger with good friends.”

A blush creeps up Ivy's features, and a dozen emotions dance across her face.

“You're wise for such a young woman.”

Ivy laughs this time. “Dumb enough to get myself in this situation.”

“But for the grace of God, go I.” That's what Stu must have felt when he looked at Elvis. It wasn't pride. It was gratitude and humility. And a big helping of grace on top of it all.

“Do you believe in God?” Ivy asks.

I consider the question for a long moment. A week ago, even a year ago, I would have probably answered differently. Is it easier to believe in good times than in bad? I don't know the answer. Maybe for the first time I am reaching toward God where before I would have reached for a human security blanket like my mother or Stu.

Finally, I answer, “Yes, I do.”

“Dad does, but I don't know how—what with all he went through with my mom.”

“Maybe it was the rope he clung to that got him through. I think my husband Stu believed when I had doubts.”

Ivy sits on the arm of the couch. “I don't understand how all this could have happened to me. Myrtle and Guy say God loves me. But if he does, then why would he let my life get like this?”

“I don't know the answers. But I do know it's okay to ask them. Keep asking.”

“Well, I know it's my fault I'm pregnant.”

“Yours and some boy's. Remember it takes two to tango.”

“I know.” She blushes. “But why did my mom … ?” Her mouth twists. “How come you get two moms and I don't get any?”

I go to her and wrap my arms around her. “I don't know.” I soothe my hand over her soft hair. “I think it all comes down to choices. Your mom made a choice. So did mine. And you and I had to live with the consequences.”

She presses against me. For a long moment we simply hug. Then she looks up at me, tears streaking her face. “But what about Stu?” As a toddler Ivy use to call him Tutu, which we all thought funny. I forget that others mourn him, too, when I'm caught in the grip of grief myself. “Why'd he have to die?”

I shake my head. I don't have the answers. Maybe I never will. Life doesn't come in neat little packages with ribbons and bows. Answers can't always be found in song lyrics. Life is messy and incomplete and awkward and difficult. “I don't know. I just know we have to keep believing.”

The questions lie between us. Unanswerable. Yet there is a fragrance of hope like a soft, alluring scent drifting through the room.

Slowly Ivy pulls away from me, stands, and straightens her clothes. There's a damp spot on my blouse from her tears. “My dad wants to talk to you. That okay?”

“Sure.” I turn back toward the window.

* * *

THE SKYLINE IS turning orange as Ben enters the room. “Some weekend, huh?” he says.

I laugh, not expecting that. “I guess we've both had a few shocks.”

“Enough to last a lifetime.” He sits on the couch. “We've both been through a lot. You've seen me face my wife leaving. I've watched you deal with Stu's death. Both shocks. But we handled it. And we'll deal with the new ones.”

Tears once more clog my throat. He's right. He makes sense.

“We've always controlled things, you and I,” he says. “We've controlled our emotions. We've controlled our environments. I tried to keep everything as calm as possible for Ivy, as stable as it could be with only one parent. And you kept things sane for Stu in the end. But I guess life isn't controllable.”

“No. You're right. So what are we going to do about all this?”

“It's not so horrible, you know,” he says, his voice craggy. “Hey, I'm going to be a grandpa. Can you believe that?”

I laugh again. With him sitting there in his shorts and baseball cap, I can't quite imagine it. I see him more as he looked in college when he roomed with Stu. Now with tiny gray threads sneaking into his hair, he's only a couple of years older than me. If he's old enough to be a grandparent, then so am I. It's a sobering thought. “No, I can't believe it. But you'll be a great one.”

“I don't know. I hope so. I wanted to be a good dad but—”

“You are a good dad.” I cut him off. “The best. But I know how you feel. You think you let Ivy down in some way, but you didn't. Your wife made her own choices. Bad ones. Or maybe not. What if she'd stayed? She was depressed, confused, disturbed.” I wipe the leftover tears off my face.

“What if she'd stayed and hurt Ivy? Killed herself, right there?”

He nods, unable to speak for a moment. “You're right. It could have been worse. I tried to minimize the hurt, the pain. It's not always possible though.” He meets my gaze. “Do you think you let Stu down?”

It feels as if he's sliced right through my defenses. My eyes instantly fill with tears. I put a hand out to stop him from speaking, but he clasps my hand and simply holds it. A surprising warmth sweeps through me. “I do feel like I let Stu down. For his death. For this weekend. For living when he couldn't. Everything. I know, I know, I'm not at fault for Stu's illness, his death. I couldn't have prevented it. Maybe it's survivor's guilt.”

“I've felt that, too,” Ben's voice deepens, resonating pain. “Guilt. For enjoying Ivy's birthdays when Gwen should have been there watching her daughter grow. For things I thought I should have done or said in our marriage. But guilt's a funny thing. It clouds your mind and heart. It also implies blame, and there isn't any. You are not to blame for Stu, for his death, for living longer than he did.”

I nod, unable to speak. We sit there for a long time, just holding hands. Our friendship was born of Stu, yet it has grown deeper over the years, stronger through adversity.

“You know … if I can be a grandpa, then you can be a daughter again.”

I pull my hand back, turn away. A fresh wave of tears rushes over me. My defenses have been destroyed, my emotions depleted. I'm not sure why I'm crying anymore.

He moves toward me, curses under his breath. “I shouldn't have said anything. Don't cry, Claudia. I'm sorry.”

I shake my head, try to stop the tears. I feel his closeness as if it's a part of me. It's different from when I held Ivy. This makes my insides squirm. I can't think and move away. “It's not you. It's not Rae. Not really.” I face him, laugh at his dubious expression. “Really. It's … it's …”

He keeps his distance and just watches and waits for me to sort through my thoughts and feelings.

“I don't want to lose someone again.” I look at him, aching for him to understand, to agree.

“What do you mean?”

“I've already lost my mother, my father, my husband. If … if … Rae will die one day. And I'll have to go through that all over again.”

Something in his expression shifts, and he pulls me against his chest. His arms embrace me, comfort me. “You can't push yourself away from everyone just so you never have to let go again.”

I give in to the need to hold and be held. I wrap my arms around his body, and we stand that way for a long while. Finally, I look up at him. “You think I'm crazy, right?”

He touches my face, smooths away my tears with his thumb. “No, I don't. I've felt those same feelings, too. When Gwen left, I was angry, resentful. When she died, all those emotions turned to blame. I never wanted to care about anyone, never wanted to risk loving someone … never wanted to be left like that again. But a funny thing about having a kid … that kid needs love and opens the heart.”

“But,” I venture, “you've never dated much since Gwen. Aren't you open to those possibilities? I mean, a child doesn't fulfill …”

“I know.”

His eyes darken with understanding and sympathy. Then his gaze drops to my mouth. My insides plunge to dark, unknown territory. Then he dips his head lower, breathes once, twice. My pulse pounds in my throat, my temples. I swallow hard.

Part of me wants to say, “Don't.” But I'm transfixed, not knowing what to do, how to respond, experiencing familiar feelings that transcend time and age and new ones I've never imagined. My mistake comes when my gaze drops to his mouth, out of curiosity and trepidation. But he takes it as an invitation.

His lips touch mine, testing at first. Automatically, I close my eyes. To block him out? Or to absorb his strength? I'm not sure. His mouth is warm, his lips surprisingly soft. I think of kissing Stu the last time, his cracked lips cool to the touch.

I lean into Ben, suddenly needing him, his aliveness. He eases away from me slightly, repositions us, then slants his mouth more fully over mine. His tongue touches the seam of my lips, teases and tempts me. Startled by the need welling up inside me, I push against his shoulders, step back.

He releases me. “I'm not going to apologize.” His voice sounds tight. “So sue me.”

Uneasy, I laugh. “I won't. But …” Uncertain, I don't know what to say. “Ben, I, um …”

“We should head back to Dallas tomorrow.” His tone remains flat.

I nod, at a loss for words. My emotions jumble and tumble inside me. “Okay.”

He turns away, stops and looks me in the eye again. “What if I accepted this grandbaby, loved it, cradled it, and
then Ivy decided a few months down the road to give it up for adoption? I'd be crushed. Devastated. Hey, I'm already wondering if I should get it a baseball cap or one of those pink frilly dresses.”

My heart goes out to him. I know how helpless he must feel, the same way I felt when I looked at Stu, wanting to help, knowing I couldn't heal him.

“I'd have to let it go, right? Should I push away the joy of holding a newborn baby? Should I reject the baby before I can feel any loss?”

I want to say it isn't the same. But in many ways I know he's right.

“Look, Claudia, it comes down to this: Are you going to reject Rae because one day she's going to die? Are you going to refuse to ever love someone—maybe me—because one day I'll die? Sure, you'll keep from being hurt. You won't feel any pain. But you won't feel anything else either. No joy. No love. That, to me, is a wasted life.”

“But you …” I accuse. “Don't point fingers at me. You haven't dated. You haven't loved anyone else … not since Gwen left. And that's been—”

“You're wrong. I've loved
you
, Claudia.” His voice wraps my name in thick emotion. His words are as big and bold as the Elvis bust, undeniable, unavoidable, unmistakable. With that he turns and walks out of the hotel room.

* * *

“WHERE'S MY DAD?” Ivy asks sometime later when it's getting close to dinnertime.

Since Ben's so-called declaration, I've been sitting in
the darkening room, getting my bearings on life. When Ivy came out of her room, her door banged back against the wall, startling me.

The noise unearthed Rae from her room. “Everything all right?”

Unsure whom to address, and still in shock over the weekend's many
24
-like revelations, I say, “I don't know.”

Rae comes fully out of her room and flips on a table lamp. “What's happened? What's wrong?”

“My dad! Where'd he go? He never goes anywhere without telling me.”

“I'm sure he's okay.” I shrug, unable and unwilling to explain. “Everything is f—” I stop myself from saying
fine
. It doesn't fit. “Everything's okay,” I correct. “And your dad … well, I don't know where he is. He's around, I'm sure. Couldn't go far without keys.” I glance at the Cadillac's keys on the glass coffee table. “Did you call his cell phone?”