I’ll Become the Sea (8 page)

Tucking a bobby pin into her hair and slipping on her heels, Jane turned away from the mirror. The careful makeup she’d applied could only do so much to hide her swollen eyes. She’d managed to find a black skirt and a cardigan that draped over her sling. She was hot from the shower and her head ached, but at least the pain was duller today.

It would be at least a half hour until David arrived to take her to the funeral. The apartment felt empty without him.

Over the weekend he’d showered in her bathroom and laundered his clothes piecemeal in her washing machine. He’d gone home this morning to get his suit and to shave. He’d let his beard grow in. It was reddish and brought out the blue in his eyes.

Tucking a wad of tissues into her sleeve in memory of her grandmother’s lifelong habit, she sat in the chair by the door and waited for David.

Beside her, the telephone rang.

All weekend she had avoided Ben’s calls. She didn’t want to speak to him and knew she had to.

She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Jane, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I was worried.”

Feeling the way her heart flipped over, she knew why she hadn’t answered his calls. She had wanted him to worry, had even hoped he might book a flight and come home. She was an idiot.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you in pain?”

“I was. The first few days.”

“Was anybody with you? Did Sarah come down?”

“She’s in Chicago for work.”

“So you were alone?”

“No, I wasn’t alone. David stayed with me.”

“David.”

“Yes.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Yes, it was.”

He was silent for a moment. The question she didn’t ask hung in the empty air between them.

“You know why I didn’t come back, right? I’m totally swamped here. I can’t leave everyone in the lurch.”

“Not everyone. Just me.” She hadn’t intended to say it.

“Look, I’m sorry. I have responsibilities here. I can’t just abandon everything every time you…every time you have a crisis.” He blew out a breath “This past year, it’s one thing after another. First your grandmother. Then your dad’s parole. Now this. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened at that school. It just never…it never stops, Jane.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have anything left.”

A strange quiet came over her. She watched herself speaking as if she were sitting in a chair across the room. It was a conversation they had tried to never have. It was a relief to finally be having it.

“Are you saying I’ve asked too much of you?”

“Yeah, I guess that is what I’m saying. Look, one of the things I always admired about you was your independence. When we first met, I saw how much you had accomplished on your own, and that floored me. I didn’t expect that it would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“God, I don’t know. Like this. Like you wanting to spend so much time together, and wanting to move in together, and wanting to get married.”

“You don’t want to get married?”

“I didn’t say that. But I mean, rushing it like we’re doing.”

“We’ve been together six years, Ben. Normal people get married after that amount of time.”

“Normal people. What is that? We don’t have to be like everyone else, do we?”

“No, but…”

“I just need some time to do my work here. I need you to respect that. I’ve been there for you through all kinds of things this past year, and now I just need to focus on this film without you giving me a guilt trip about it.”

“A guilt trip? I haven’t said anything to you.”

“Oh, come on. Every time I talk to you, you give me attitude.”

“I just need you in my life. I need to know I can talk to you sometimes, that you’ll be there.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t need me so much.”

Outside, David’s truck pulled up to the curb. “I have to go.”

“Jane.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go. David is here. He’s taking me to the funeral.”

“What funeral?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Goodbye Ben.”

She hung up the phone.

He wore a black suit, crisp and surprisingly tailored for a man who usually dressed in faded pants and T-shirts. He hesitated at the curb, looking up against the morning sunlight and seeing her at the door.

He took the steps one at a time. She remembered the way he felt sitting next to her on the sofa, watching their third Netflix movie of the day. The way his bare feet looked on the coffee table, large and athletic. Her absurd urge to take them in her hands. He’d heated some chicken soup for her from the cupboard, arranging it on a tray.

She was losing her grip, she could feel it. The ground underneath her was shifting and breaking away. She knew that soon, very soon, she’d be left with nothing to stand on, nothing to keep her from falling.

He reached for her and she clasped his arm, whispered hello. They walked down to the car together.

At the funeral home, friends and family huddled around photographs of Mrs. Johnson in her younger days. Standing in a white dress and matching hat in front of a church, her husband beside her in a tux, on their wedding day. Holding one of her babies in an old armchair, beaming up at the camera. Crowded with her children and grandchildren around a picnic table at a family reunion. There was Raymond, on her lap, eating ice cream from a dish and grinning, a dripping spoon in his hand.

Jane felt the hush of voices around her and breathed in the floral, carpeted scent of the rooms. She only knew Raymond here and she hadn’t seen him yet. David stood beside her, studying the pictures, hands clasped behind his back. They waited for the moment when the inner room would open, when they would be invited to view the body.

The doors parted and Jane and David joined the line moving toward the coffin. Raymond’s grandmother never wore makeup, yet here she was powdered, hair sprayed, hands folded in white gloves over her motionless ribcage. It helped, Jane guessed, to show you that the person you loved was gone. When you could see so clearly that she wasn’t there inside that body anymore.

Jane knelt before the casket, making the sign of the cross, and said a prayer.

Making room for David after her, she moved to the side of the room. Raymond was there, sitting in the rows of chairs before the casket. A young woman beside him had her arm around his shoulders and was whispering in his ear. He looked at Jane. His eyes were red and swollen; she could see it across the room. She smiled at him, watched the lady next to him nod and give him a gentle push out of his seat.

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She just looked at him, into his aching eyes. And when he stepped inside her outstretched arm, she held him, her hand against his small back, his forehead leaning against her good shoulder.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you meant to.”

His usually cheerful face was strained and set. “I didn’t mean to. But I’m still sorry.” His lips began to tremble.

“She loved you, Raymond.”

Tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks. He swiped at them with the back of his hand.

“She loved you more than anything, and she was so proud of you.”

“She told me not to fight.” His voice broke. He looked down at the floor.

“Yes. That’s true. She didn’t want you to get hurt.” Jane reached out to take his hand, to hold it in hers. “But she believed in you, Raymond. She knew what a good boy you are, and what a good man you are going to become. She knew it. And every day you just keep on proving her right.”

He looked up into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, honey.”

She wrapped her good arm around him, holding him close and then releasing him.

David stepped forward. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Mr. Casey.”

David hugged him, bringing Raymond’s head to his chest and patting his shoulder. It was awkward and loving in the way that men had between them and Jane looked away, offering them what little privacy she could in the close room.

She reached for the tissues in her sleeve and handed one to Raymond, using another to wipe her eyes. Raymond asked if they’d like to meet his auntie. He led them over to the chairs lined up in front of the casket.

In the middle of the second row waited the young woman Raymond had been seated with earlier. She looked to be in her early twenties. She wore a conservative gray suit, her hair neatly braided and pulled back with a black band at her collar. She stood when they approached, reaching out her hand.

“I’m Suzanne—Raymond’s aunt. You must be Ms. Elliott.”

Jane took her hand. It was small and dry, her handshake firm.

“Hello. Call me Jane. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She held the woman’s gaze for a moment, then turned to David. “You remember David Casey?”

“David, thank you for coming.”

They sat down on the cheaply upholstered chairs.

“Raymond,” Suzanne said. “Would you mind going to get me some water? I think there’s a fountain with some cups down the end of the hall.”

“Sure.”

Suzanne waited as he inched through the guests and out the door. “Raymond’s mother…” Her voice was low. She looked first at Jane and then at David. “She passed some years ago, when Raymond was little. Cancer.” She swallowed.

“It broke Mom’s heart, the way Rosie went. She never got over it. She said we owed it to Rosie to raise Raymond right, so something good could come of her life. She was Mom’s first child. Mom loved her with a passion, and loved Ray as soon as he came into our family.

“I’m the only other daughter. The boys, they all moved out, they have their families. Mom had a heart condition. Raymond didn’t know about that. She didn’t want him to. She made me promise that if anything ever happened to her, I’d take Raymond. I signed a paper. I’m glad I signed it. That child is mine, and I want you to know I’m going to take good care of him. I know he needs help. I know he hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Jane shook her head. “No. Don’t you worry about that.”

Suzanne smiled. “You’re a nice lady, Ms. Elliott. My family and I, we’re grateful to you and Mr. Casey, for all you’ve done for Raymond.” She looked at both of them, nodding her head. “I’m taking him with me to Florida.”

Jane bit her lip.

“I’m about finished with my nursing degree. Ready to start a residency this fall. I’m going to get Raymond into school down there, a nice school, and I’ll get him some counseling too. I know he needs it. We’ll go together. I’m going to do right by him. I love him. I want you to know that.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I can see it.” She put her hand on the other woman’s hand. “I knew Mrs. Johnson was a great woman. I see she raised a lovely daughter too. I’m sure she was very proud of you.”

Suzanne’s eyes filled and she looked away. “Thank you.”

Raymond appeared at the door, bearing three cups of water, wending his way through the crowd to get to them. He handed them each a cup.

“Thanks, Raymond.” David laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“We’ll be seeing you before you fly home?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Suzanne said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Jane leaned down to kiss her cheek, then turned to Raymond, kissing his temple and running a hand over his face. “Bye, my friend. We’ll see you soon.”

He nodded, turning to shake David’s hand one last time.

When they moved through the door, David took Jane’s arm. She leaned into him, walking down the steps with him beside her.

It was hot in the apartment, the air stuffy and close. She took off her sweater and tossed it on the counter. Grabbing some grapes from the refrigerator and a bag of almonds from the cabinet, she set them in bowls and carried them one-handed out to the living room.

David leaned back on the couch, eyes closed. His suit jacket lay draped over the side of a chair. He looked tired. He’d been with her three days now.

She should send him home soon, back to his own place to rest before the work week began. To do his laundry or sit around in his underwear or whatever it was he did when he wasn’t with her. When he wasn’t lying on her couch looking like something she’d dreamed up from a romance novel.

“David.”

He opened his eyes, grinned at her. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. His eyes in the bright afternoon light were a deep, piercing blue. She lowered her gaze, stepping forward, and placed the food on the coffee table.

“I put on some tea.”

“Thanks. This looks great.”

She sat down on the floor in front of the table, reaching for a grape. “Thank you for going with me today.”

“I’m glad we were there together. It’s hard being in a place like that alone.”

She nodded, watching him. “Do you remember your dad’s funeral?”

“Yeah.”

She imagined him hearing the news, having to process the fact that he’d never see his father’s face again. “You were so young.”

“Yeah.” A flicker of old grief deepened the lines of his face. “I was very young.”

“What was he like?”

“Oh, you know. Real involved with the union. Played ball with me on the weekends.”

She leaned against the table, propping her chin on her hand.

“I guess I don’t remember him that well. That bothers me. I know he was a good man, a good father. I know I loved him. But I try to remember what he looked like, what his hands felt like, and I can’t.

“He wore this cologne, though. Don’t laugh—it was Brut. I go to the drugstore sometimes and smell it in the aisle, and boom. There he is. I smell that smell and I remember him hugging me.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Tilting her head, she smiled. “And your mom?”

He breathed in. “She really…fell apart after he died. Me and my little sister, we kind of had to fend for ourselves for a while. She drank. A lot. For about a year.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. She got sober. Well, then she drank again. And then got sober again. And eventually it stuck. She still goes to meetings. She had us all go, when we were old enough, to Al-Anon. I still drop in on one now and then.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Have you gone too?”

“Yes, thank God.”

The kettle whistled in the kitchen.

“Be right back.”

When she returned, David was standing, looking out into the trees beside her house. “I hope you don’t mind I opened the window.”

“No. It’s hot in here.”

He turned and met her eyes as she stood in the doorway. The tide of his gaze crashed over her.

She set down the hot mugs and folded herself into the corner of the couch, tucking her legs underneath her, favoring her arm in its stiff cast. Her hands were shaking. She reached for her tea, blowing against the steam.

“Jane.”

She looked up. The force of him took the breath from her body. No, she thought. Not now.

He moved toward her, taking the cup and placing it on the table. Sitting beside her on the couch, he reached for her hand. “What are we doing here?”

She looked away. She wasn’t ready.

He turned her hand over in his. His fingertips trailed the inside of her wrist, his thumb finding the pulse point there. Tracing it, stroking it. She felt the current speed through her, felt her own intake of breath.

“David.”

She wanted to throw herself against him, into his lap, to take his face in her hands and kiss him, to feel him drive himself against her and into her. The fierce need shot through her, overtaking her before she could think. Before she could stop herself, restrain herself. The way she’d been doing, all these weeks.

He held her wrist in his hand. Her fingers turned and closed around him. He reached for her face, brushing back her hair, and she sank into his touch, breathing against the palm of his hand. For a moment they stayed like that, perfectly still.

She couldn’t make herself look at him. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop this. And she had to stop it.

She pulled his hand away as gently as she could manage. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

He tightened his hold on her, gripping her. But after a moment he nodded. “I know you can’t. I know that.” He eased himself back, letting go of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing you’ve done except be a good friend to me. A wonderful friend. I shouldn’t have…”

“What? Led me on? Don’t even say it.”

“It’s not funny.” She bit back a laugh.

He covered his face with his hands, chuckling, rubbing his palm over the faint shadow of beard. The gesture made her legs weak.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Neither did I.”

They looked at each other, late afternoon sun shining in from the window and onto the fabric of their funeral clothes. Across the couch Jane reached one last time for his hand. They held each other like that, separate, for a long moment, until David rose at last to go.

“Goodnight, Jane.”

“Goodnight. Thank you. For everything.”

He stepped out into the dusk alone.