Remember The Moon (26 page)

“I think you should just move on,” Kristie said abruptly. “What? Why? There’s obviously a deep love there. Don’t you think that’s worth checking out?” Molly said.

Kristie reached over and took a square of dark chocolate from the plate and bit into a corner. “Not really. From what you’ve told me about Marcus, I’m not sure I like him.” She savored another bite of the chocolate and then popped the rest of the piece into her mouth.

“Why’s that?” Molly asked, still holding Maya's hand, but her look challenging.

“Why would you want to have a relationship with someone who would start an affair with a married woman, even if that woman was you?” Kristie said. Everyone sat in shocked silence.

“That’s something to consider,” Maya said quietly. “I think I need to remain single for a while. I need to figure all of this out.”

“That’s not fair, Kristie,” Chelsea said. “Maya was in love with this man once.”

“I’m just saying, you might want to step back and question his integrity a little. Just trying to be the voice of reason here,” Kristie said.

“No, I’m glad you’re saying this, Kristie. You’re right. I really do need to think about this carefully. My history with Marcus complicates things and it’s difficult to see things clearly.”

“But Maya, there’s really only one question here,” Chelsea persisted. Everyone looked at her. “Do you love him?”

Maya closed her eyes in thought. She took a deep breath and then opened them again. The setting sun lit her from behind, casting her features in shadow.

“If I’m totally honest with myself, then I think the answer is yes. I do love him. I always have.”

“OK then. How often does one person fall in love in a lifetime? Not that many, right?”

“I always thought it was only once, but now I’m not so sure,” Maya said.

“I just don’t think you can walk away from this. Why would you deprive yourself of love?” Molly talked quickly now, excited by the idea of romance.

“But the guy has no morals,” Kristie interjected.

“Perhaps it seems that way simply because he loves her and always has,” Molly countered.

“So what are you going to do, Maya?” Chelsea asked.

“I honestly don’t know. But probably nothing. If it’s meant to be, then I guess I’ll let the Universe make it happen.”

You know what that means, don’t you?
Ben asked me. My confusion must have been evident.
You’re up to bat, Mr. Universe
.

What if I’m with Kristie? What if he’s a total schmo?
I countered.

Is he?
Charlie asked.

I wished I had the ability to lie, but when you can only communicate with thought, the little white lie becomes a lost skill.
No. I do believe Marcus really is in love with Maya.

Welcome to death, kid
, Declan teased.

A few weeks later, I watched Maya in the sunroom picking up the broken easel, pushing the brushes back into their jars, and arranging her paints on the table. She stretched a new canvas and with a thick brush swashed it with Gesso, readying it for her next masterpiece.

D
ear Jay,

I had a dream last night that my wedding ring, that thick gold band that you slipped onto my left hand all thoSe yearS ago, had been grotesquely mangled, aS though someone had taken huge steel cutters to it. The gold all torn up and sharp.

I don’t have many dreams about you. At the beginning I used to dream about you, but could never See your face. Your face waS always hidden by a hat, or by the fact that I am riding behind you on the back of a motorcycle and can only feel your shoulders, but not See your eyes. Lately in my dreams about you, I’m angry at you because you keep telling me you are leaving me, that you want a divorce. After two and half years of mourning, I feel aS if I am mourning a new sort of loss. I wake up with that anguished, angry, heartsick feeling, Something I imagine people go through when their spouse leaveS them. But it also feels like good pain, that last scratch that removes the scab revealing the tender pink skin underneath. The scar is tender and fragile, but in no danger of bursting open. It tellS me I am ready to jump back into the fray and risk new scars.

I can’t help be struck by the thought that my mind iS helping me divorce you. Or are you the one doing this? Deep down, it feels like I need to ‘divorce’ you in order to truly get beyond my grief and open up to whatever might be next. Perhaps too, it’s what your ghost needs to do in order to untether yourself from my grip.

The only thing I changed about our bedroom after Jay died was our bed. The sprawling king size, I decided, even before his death, was too big. “A marriage wrecker,” I used to insist. We held hands across its expanse as we fell asleep, but we both depended on the gap for a good night’s sleep. Any closer to Jay and I would awaken to the wind tunnel of his heavy breathing in my face. The new Queen-sized pillow top that I purchased at Macy’s replaced a ten-year-old two-piece IKEA wonder we had bought as newlyweds.

The new bed had a plush, mushroom-colored velvet headboard and footboard. I bought a down-filled duvet, with a subtle blue striped cover in soft jersey. Down had made Jay sneeze, and so I had resigned myself to synthetic during our marriage. I replaced the pillows with down as well.

Today I decided it was time to clean out Jay’s side of the closet. His closet remained untouched and still smelled faintly of mothballs. His dress shirts hung at attention, stiff from all the starch he insisted the dry cleaners use. Thousands of dollars worth of gray and navy wool suits, tailored to fit his broad shoulders, their cuffs turned perfectly, looked forlorn and seemed embarrassed by their slip in stature. Jay’s shoes were still lined up neatly under the suits, a little dusty now. The black Brogues and the caramel-colored horsehides had me remembering the little pony jig he used to do when he put them on, making me laugh. And then there was the black body bag holding Jay’s tux. He had spent a fortune on it, for a black tie event put on by the New York office. He rationalized that it would be a good investment, that he would need it again someday. I shoved it to the side so I could get at the wire mesh drawers that held his undershirts, boxers, and socks. I began stuffing them into a garbage bag, trying not to see what I was putting in, so I could avoid emotion.

I pulled a sweater off the shelf and remembered him wearing it that day we worked in the garden, him raking, me weeding, each content to work silently near the other. I refolded it and added it to the top of the pile inside the garbage bag. With each sweater and shirt came another memory – a vacation in Mexico, skiing at Whistler, him asleep on the couch with a book abandoned on his flannel-covered chest. The tears came, but I worked despite them, folding more clothes, flicking open another garbage bag. Maybe I would have a yard sale, but then I imagined watching strangers walk away with one of his suits or pairs of shoes and shuddered. Perhaps I should save some of this stuff for Calder, but these things would likely be out of fashion long before they would fit him. I decided the only thing I would save for Calder was the tuxedo.

I tied the tops of the bags and dragged them down the stairs. When I got them to the back door, I bent down to pick one up, hugging it to my chest, puffing with effort as I lugged it to the car and pushed it into the trunk where it looked like a disposed body in a bad late-night crime movie.

Later I swept the closet and hung up a few of my long, rarely worn dresses, which looked lonely and out of place in the big empty space. I walked past the dresser on my way to putting the broom back and stood staring at our wedding photo. We looked so happy, frozen in a long-ago kiss. I touched Jay’s face behind the glass and then opened a drawer and lay the frame on the bottom under my socks.

I think I need to let you go now, Jay. And perhaps you too are hanging on a little too tightly to me. I’m not sure. I hope you can forgive me. I always loved you. I always will. I hope you know that.

All my love, M.

M
arcus shuffled around his apartment, absently opening the fridge and closing it, flipping through channels in the living room, sitting on the bed and running his hand through his hair. Jericho watched quietly from his chair, head on paws on the armrest, but eyes following Marcus everywhere. Only when Marcus disappeared into another room did Jericho close his eyes. In the bedroom, Marcus abruptly pulled a leather satchel out from under the bed and began to fill it with a change of clothes. He grabbed a toothbrush from the bathroom and then sat on the bed again.

What am I doing?

You need to see her, Marcus. You’re doing the right thing.

This is crazy!

You’re still in love with Maya.

She’s not in love with me.

You’re meant to be in each other’s lives.

Is she in love with me?

“Jericho, I think I’m going starkers.” Jericho perked his ears up at his name and slid off the chair to amble his way into the bedroom, where he placed his big square head onto Marcus’s lap. Marc patted him behind the ears until Jericho turned toward me and cocked his head. “Are you seeing ghosts again, Jer? Haha. Jay, is that you, creeping out my dog?”

Yup.

Jericho whined. Marcus turned his head abruptly toward the dog.

“Whoa.” Marcus scratched the dog behind his ears and looked around, as if trying to determine where I stood. “You must be pissed at me.”

I’m over it.

Jericho whined again. Marcus looked at him pointedly.

“Shit, dog. That’s weird.” Jericho just looked back at Marcus. “Are you talking to a ghost, boy?”

Jericho whined a third time.

“This is crazy. Jay, is that you, man?”

Yup

Whine.

“Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I hope you can forgive me.”

I think I do.

Jericho pawed the floor, sniffing around.

“OK. Well, the thing is, I think I’m in love with her.”

Yes.

“Are you cool with that?”

I’m cool.

Jericho barked.

“This is nuts! C’mon, Jericho. I need a coffee or something to wake up.” Marcus and the dog walked into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. I needed to get his attention somehow. I wanted him to follow through on his plan to visit Maya, but he needed an excuse to see her. I concentrated on the painting above the couch until it swung slightly off kilter. Marc walked into the living room with his coffee cup, about to sit down on the couch when he noticed the skewed painting. He reached over, about to straighten it, but then stopped. He stared at it a long time.

Suddenly, he stepped onto the couch, lifted the painting, and leaned it against a wall. In the storage locker in the basement of the condo, he rummaged around until he found the wooden crate that the painting had been shipped in, hauled it up in the elevator, and slid the painting inside.

“Tomorrow, Jericho, we’ll go experience our fate, whatever that may be.” He grabbed the leash from the hook near the door, clipped it to Jericho’s collar, and they headed out for their nightly walk under a late September harvest moon.

Maya and I drifted together across an ether sky, bright in its blackness, like India ink splashed across a light box. The light became blinding and then dimmed until we were inside some sort of cavern. There was a familiar sound of water plinking on stone, with a rush of waves off to the left. As my vision cleared, I saw that we were inside the very same grotto in Italy that Maya and I swam into all those years ago. The water lapped clear and blue on either side of us, and the stalactites were just as menacing as I remembered them. Tiny flecks of gold twinkled from above.

Where are we, Jay?

Do you remember our swim into the grotto that day?

Maya took in her surroundings, a look of awe on her face.
Why are we here? And why do I hear singing?

I’m not sure, but I think it’s because I have to go now.

The tunnels we had seen that day, branching off from the main chamber, were now pulsing with lights of varying colors, beckoning me.

Where will you go?

I don’t know, Maya.

Will I see you again?

I don’t think you need me anymore.

I need you. Can’t I come with you?

Calder needs you. Marcus needs you too.
The tugging of the tunnel became more insistent. I heard the singing grow louder from within and my father and Alice waited for me just inside the entrance.

Do you want to go, Jay?

Yes, and I want you to live.

You want me to be with Marcus? After everything that happened?

Marcus was always meant to be in your life, Maya, just as I was.

So you’re going to be OK, if Marcus and I...

Yes, Maya, as long as that is what you want. Things are unfolding as they should. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.

I have no other choice but to trust you, Jay.

You always have a choice, Maya.

I suppose I do. You look so happy, Jay. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.

Yes. I think I finally understand that I need to go.

Go where?

I need to let go of my life as Jay. Let go of you and of Calder. I know it’s all going to be OK.

Water rushed into the grotto.

What do we do now?

I guess we just have to leap. Like we did that day in the grotto.

Jump as the wave recedes, and then swim like crazy back to the rock.

Maya set her gaze at the water washing around her feet.

Ready?
The wave began to move out of the grotto. Maya nodded.

I love you, Jay.

I will always love you, Maya.

We stood together in the threshold of light looking into the swirling eddies. I smiled at her and she smiled back at me.

Now!

Re-emerging into blinding sunshine, I saw Maya already scrambling back onto the rock, but no matter how hard I swam, I could not reach her. Instead, I stopped swimming and found myself floating toward the sound of singing, which became louder as I drew near the tunnel entrance where my father and Alice still waited.

I turned to see Maya one last time. She lay on the rock in the red underwear bikini looking as beautiful as I remembered her, but this time, instead of lying in bright sunlight, the bluish tone of a full moon illuminated her pale skin. We waved a final farewell before I drifted back inside the grotto. The gold flecks on the ceiling were so similar to the cat’s eyes that Maya had shown me on the streets of Pompeii all those years ago, leading me precisely, I realized, in the direction I was always meant to go.

Marcus and Jericho sat in the front seats of his gleaming red MG, watching Maya's front door. He’d called Patty that morning to get Maya's address.

Calder came out onto the porch carrying a skateboard and wearing a helmet. His collar bone had healed and he became more cautious about riding. He hadn’t gone to the school to watch the high school kids speed down the ramp in months. This was the first time he’d taken out the skateboard in several weeks.

“I guess this is it, Jer.” Marcus opened the car door and waited as Jericho leapt over the console and out onto the sidewalk. The dog dashed up the steps and onto the porch, letting out one large bark. Calder turned as Jericho jumped up to put his paws on Calder's chest and lick his face. Calder laughed and then saw Marcus coming up the steps behind Jericho.

“Marc!” Calder pushed Jericho down and stepped forward to hug Marcus around his hips. I felt a pang of regret. Or maybe it was envy. Had Calder ever greeted me so enthusiastically?

“Hi, bud.”

“Is this your dog?”

“Yup. That’s Jericho.” As the dog licked Calder's face, Calder turned his head away and scrunched up his face. “I think he likes you,” Marcus said, laughing.

“He’s awesome. I wish we had a dog.” Jericho now sat beside Calder and panted as Calder stroked his ears.

“Yeah. He’s a good pup.”

“How come you’re here?”

“I came to give your mom a present.”

“A present? Did you bring me a present too?”

“What, are you kidding? Does Jericho here not qualify?”

“Oh, well. Yeah. I guess. I’ll go get Mom. She’s painting.” Calder opened the door and yelled, “Moooommmm!

Marc’s here!” Calder had not stepped more than a foot inside the door.

Marcus smiled. “Dude, I could have done that!” he said. For good measure, Calder called once more. “Mooooommmmm!”

“Coming!” A faint voice came from the back of the house. “She’s coming.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Well, I’m going over to Owen’s. We’re going to the park to skateboard.”

“Have fun. Say hi to Owen for me.”

“K!” Calder leapt down the porch steps onto the sidewalk, throwing his board to the pavement as he did a running step onto it and sped off. Marcus stood on the porch, the door wide open, as Jericho sat obediently at his feet. Maya came from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a rag. When she looked up and saw Marcus, she stopped. A blush crept up her neck from under her crumpled grey t-shirt.

“Hi,” she said, barely audible.

“Hello, Maya.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Marcus seemed to be at a loss for words. He looked down and saw Jericho sitting obediently beside him, as if Jericho knew it was his job to be polite.

“Uh...I wanted you to meet Jericho,” Marcus said, patting the top of the dog’s head.

“Hello, Jericho.” Maya smirked. “You came all this way to introduce me to your dog?”

“Well...” Jericho took the opportunity of Marcus’s hesitation to bound into the house, almost knocking Maya over. “Whoa! Jericho, get back here!” Marcus hesitated at the door.

“I guess you’d better come in.” Maya stepped back so Marcus could get past her.

“Yeah, OK.” Marcus walked in and squeezed past Maya, his hand accidentally brushing her waist, creating an awkward closeness between them. Their auras merged into a molten light and they both hesitated in the moment before Marcus took another step inside.

“Jericho!” The dog bounded into the kitchen, sniffing around under the kitchen table. “Jeez, Jericho. That wasn’t very polite of you.”

“It’s fine,” Maya said. “I was about to make myself a pot of tea. Do you want some?”

“Yeah, OK, sure. That would be great.”

“You still drink it black?” Maya asked, looking back at him as she filled the kettle with water and flipped the switch. Marcus nodded. “Electric kettle. Nice,” he noted.

“You know me and my tea...” Maya said.

“Yeah. I do.”

Maya turned around and watched as Jericho sniffed his way around the kitchen and adjoining dining room. Marcus pulled one of the rustic wooden stools up to the cool, gray soapstone counter and sat. He looked around at the white walls, tiled with a variety of brightly colored, framed artwork. An open shelf above the sink contained a display of ornate cobalt blue glass jars and bottles. A couple of Calder's paintings were taped to the fridge. A vase of wilting pink tulips sat forlornly in the kitchen window that looked out onto a side garden.

“This is a great house, Maya. Really homey. Very you.”

“Thanks. It’s kind of a mess at the moment. I wasn’t really expecting company.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I wanted to surprise you. I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” Marcus stood up abruptly and dashed out the door, Jericho bounding after him. They came back a few minutes later, Marc carrying the large, long, flat wooden box that had been poking out of the back seat of the car.

Marcus placed the box on the island as Maya shoved a butter dish and a loaf of bread out of the way.

“What’s this?”

“I bought this not too long ago, but I think it really belongs to you.”

“OK...” Maya said as she began to slide the painting out from the crate. It faced down, and as she pulled it out, she recognized her own signature and the gallery’s insignia glued to the back.

“What the...?” Maya said as she turned the painting over and saw the crow.

“
You
bought this? I was so mad at Amalie for selling it, since it was not for sale. But she sold it to you? I don’t understand,” Maya said, looking confused.

“I bought it through Amalie’s assistant. I guess neither of us knew it wasn’t for sale. Honestly. I never would have bought it if I’d known.”

“But Amalie told me she had no record of who had bought it... My God. This is astonishing. What made you buy this one in particular?”

“I’m not really sure,” Marcus said. “I liked the crow, I guess.”

“And why bring the painting back to me now?”