Reverb (24 page)

I glare at her. “You shouldn’t be.” She stays fixed on me, waiting, and I want to hate her right then, but I can’t. I give her Cameron, start clearing the dishes from the table. Feel them watching me, finally I turn on her. “Whatever you see when you look at me is an illusion. I killed a man ‘Lisabeth. What you said last night is right. I’m not nothing without music. I’m a killer. Look at me.
See me
.” Her clear hazel eyes become clouded with my confession, and I feel her withdraw. And it feels like she’s knifed me.

“It was self-defense.” She whispers. “Tell me it was self-defense and I’ll believe you.”

I hesitate. “It’s complicated.”

“No. It’s not.” Her eyes are liquid amber. “I see you, James. And I know it was self-defense.” She stares at me with certainty.

I’m instantly humbled, sated. Sigh. “Thank you.” I want to kiss her right then, imagine reaching for her, drawing her in, but I don’t. I wait for her to probe further, but she just stands there with Cameron on her hip fixed on me. His little legs wrap around her waist; he holds onto her neck, their soft faces right next to each other, and I’m momentarily awestruck by their radiant beauty.

“I don’t need to know what happened,” she says, her eyes still fixed on mine. “But you’re going to need to talk about it—put it out in front of you to move past it. You know that, don’t you?”

I hesitate to proclaim my ignorance then shrug.

“Well, just to let you know, I’m here, and available.” She flashes a shy smile.

I smile. Nod.

Cameron yanks at her sparkling diamond stud, and she yelps and grabs his hand from her ear. “Ouch! Stop that! Let go.” Elisabeth holds his hand. Cameron pouts but she sticks his knuckles in her mouth and sucks on his small hand with a big, wet kiss. His ear-to-ear grin is infectious. “I’m going to change him. Be right back.”

I finish putting the dishes in the sink and wash them. I’d confessed. She knows now. Beyond her initial confusion, there was no fear in her eyes or change in her demeanor when I told her what I’d done. She exonerated me. Absolved me. Saved me.

Elisabeth comes back in the kitchen without Cameron, her cottony dress flowing with her graceful movement revealing her soft, sensual curves. She stands next to me, picks up the dishtowel and starts drying the dishes. “Cam decided he’d rather play with Thomas than be with us.” She falls silent, but I feel her curiosity—her unspoken questions between us.

Regardless of what she said, I know she wants details of what happened. I would. Trust is a thin line, and borders belief without the knowledge to make your own assessment. I’m gonna have to cop to, I know. But the twisted ugliness of it is in such sharp contrast to the present, that for right now, I’ll dare to rely on her faith in me.

The sun streams through the kitchen windows. Turquoise to twilight Mediterranean sparkles lazily beyond the shoreline and out to horizon, promising a spectacular day, which beckons.

“Thanks for breakfast. Delicious as always.” It’s my usual cue I’m leaving. Done it every morning for months now. But I don’t want to leave today. I feel safe here, privileged to be with them. Alone in my house reading, or blowing one more morning playing Tavli will not do. “Ever been up to Sidari?”

“No. Why?” Her shy smile reappears.

“Want to go? It’s only about an hour away, and I hear the tide pools up there are spectacular.”

Her smile broadens and she nods, and the room fills with her lightness, displacing the darkness within.

Chapter Nine

First really hot day since I’ve been here hints at the coming heat of summer. I take the top off the Jeep, go into Agios Gordios, get a baby seat for Cameron and secure it in the center of the backseat while Elisabeth gets him, and his many accoutrements ready for the short trip.

Cameron laughs for the first fifteen minutes straight, with the wind blowing all around him, raises his little arms up in the air and lets the wind sway them about. His unadulterated joy is infectious and spreads to me and Elisabeth, and we laugh along with him, and then together at the duration of his amusement.

The roads are narrow and winding. I take them slowly and with care. We get to Sidari in the early afternoon, stop in town for some bread, cheese and fruit, and bring it out to the sandstone cliffs overlooking the crystal sea where we lunch. After eating, we scurry down to explore the sandy cove inlets created from the eroding hills. The water is shallow and warm, perfect for Cameron to wade in and be amazed by the small fish swimming around his feet.

The three of us play for an hour or so, then find an isolated cove and set the blanket on the warm sand near the base of the hills so Cameron can take his afternoon nap. He’s asleep within moments of breastfeeding, his little head falling back away from Elisabeth’s breast, his mouth still in the motion of suckling even in sleep. She covers herself quickly, then lays Cam between us in the baby carrier and loops her arm through one of the straps. Finally, she lays beside her son and snuggles her body next to his, spooning him.

“I love the way he feels. Love how his warm little body fits perfectly along mine. I love the way he smells.” She presses her nose into the base of Cameron’s neck and inhales his scent. “I feel so unbelievably lucky to have him.”

I lay on my side, lean on my elbow and look at them. Cam’s curled into her, his pouty lips slightly parted, his fine hair just over the top of his brow, his full face peaceful in blissful sleep. His tiny hand grips his mama’s finger. Elisabeth’s cheek rests on the top of his head. Soft wisps of his hair brush her naturally ruby lips. She’s exquisite. Her sheer cottony dress and the maroon leotard she wears under it reveals her curvaceous form. Her hair is loose, cascades around her shoulders in soft waves. Her hazel eyes against her suntanned skin.

“Don’t stare at me like that. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Sorry. It’s just…you’re stunning. A Rubens masterpiece— ‘Mother with Child.’”

“First, Rubens is not a compliment. Rubin, and his fat women.”

“Voluptuous. Not fat.” My eyes keep drifting to her ample cleavage.

“Whatever. Besides, look who’s talking. It’s ninety degrees out here and you’re wearing a long sleeve shirt. I’m not the only one with body image issues.”

“I’ll stop if you will.”

“What?”

“Hiding. Take off your dress.”

Her eyes narrow but there’s humor in them. She sits up and very slowly begins unbuttoning the tiny row of beads down the middle of her dress. With each button the smile on her face broadens. “Come on, James. It’s your challenge. Are you going to pick up the gauntlet?”

I sit up and start unbuttoning my shirt. No one around. She’s already seen my wrists and had her say about them, but my heart beats hard, reverberates in my throat. I want to stop the game, but I keep unbuttoning. Because she is. I can tell she’s feeling the same way I am. Her eyes dart to the edges of our inlet checking for intruders.

When our clothing is unbuttoned all the way we both freeze, and then smile. Her eyes are fixed on mine—we’re connected, inside each other’s heads. Feel her trepidation, know she feels mine.

“All the way.” She leans over Cameron and unbuttons my shirtsleeves. When they’re loose, I let her pull my sleeves off me. The shirt falls off of my shoulders. I cross my arms over my chest and tuck my hand against my sides, hiding my scars.

“No. Let me see.”             

“No. Not until you finish. Dress off.”

She slides her dress off of her shoulders and lets it fall to her waist, the skin tight, spaghetti-strapped leotard essentially exposing her form. She doesn’t look away. She holds my stare, her eyes pleading with me to stay with hers and not scan her body. So I don’t. We keep our eyes locked on each other even while she reaches for my wrists, pulls my hands from my sides and turns them upward. I look down at the jagged red lines extending down the middle of my forearms.
There was so much blood.
Lunch rises in my throat.

“Talk to me. Don’t let it swallow you up.
Tell me
.” She whispers.

“I couldn’t feel it,” I hear myself say. “I couldn’t feel anything by that point. Used a broken shower tile—took six months to scratch it out with my fingernail. Blood was everywhere, instantly, the water splattered it. I didn’t make a sound. Stood there and let the water run down my arms and watched my blood go down the drain. It turned the water red, the tiles red, gathered in the grout as it ran down the walls. But it was like watching it on TV because I couldn’t feel it. There was no pain. Don’t even remember thinking anything, except that I didn’t want the orderly to wake before the blood loss killed me. I have no clue how long I stood there blanked out like that before I passed out.”

She runs her fingers lightly over my forearm. “Feel this?”

The scar’s numb, but around it tingles, touches pain as she strokes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She smiles, and then releases my hands. Elisabeth lies back down, flat on her back and closes her eyes. After a moment I do, too, and we both fall asleep until Cameron wakes us, crying to be fed an hour or so later.

I put back on my shirt, button only my shirtsleeves then lay on the blanket and watch her son suckle her. First thing she does after breastfeeding is put on her dress. I smile, shake my head knowingly.

She catches it. “Stop mocking me.”

“I’m not. I’m empathizing.”

She glances at me with her soft smile. “Then stop staring.”

“Sorry. You’re really quite alluring under your rather loose wardrobe.”

I can tell she’s taken aback. She looks away, out to the sea, but she’s smiling. Cameron starts toddling towards the water’s edge. She follows him down, and I do, too, and we play in the tide pools for another hour or so, and then head for home.

We stop in Ermones for supper. The small tourist town is virtually empty. Still off-season, though in just weeks from now it’s sure to be packed here. The sun is setting over the spectacular beach of golden sand. We sit on the patio of Café Odysseus, and watch the sunset after finishing the best grilled snapper I’ve ever tasted. We linger over our Espresso, mostly quiet, occasionally laughing at Cameron’s antics chasing and roaring at the seagulls until he’s finally worn out. He crawls onto me and grips my shirt firmly, sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks contentedly.

Feels fantastic—warm, connected, valued the way Cameron nestles his sun-drenched body into me; his soft, fine mass of hair a pillow under my chin. Elisabeth
is
unbelievably lucky
.
I nuzzle my nose into Cameron’s hair and breathe him in as she had done. Clean. Fresh. New. I feel her watching and look at her. I smile. So does she. And the three of us are one. Connected. And I am complete.

I have to have more...

I insist on the terms of the original agreement when Elisabeth extends her lease through the summer. She insists on continuing to pay rent, though it seems gratuitous since I’m practically living with them. I stay later and later every day. After dinner, and a book before bedtime for Cameron, Elisabeth and I settle on the patio and talk into the night. We talk about nothing—abstractions of belief, politics, morality, reality, world affairs, books, art. We talk about everything—her childhood in the Valley, the only kid of ‘two upper, middle-class Jewish intellectuals’; her years with Jack, her fears without him. We swap L.A. stories, from Zuma to Laguna Beach. She knows The Wedge off Newport from her short-lived surfer days. I tell her about road trips with rock bands, what it feels like creating music—how the notes resonate through my fingers right into the pleasure centers of my brain, even confess my misconception when first learning to play with Mike. I share tales of growing up with my parents in Boston. I leave Edward out, don’t refer to him, or Ian, ever. Sometimes, we just sit and watch the stars, and don’t talk at all. Every morning upon waking, I look forward to seeing them. Every night after climbing the hill to my house, I miss them.

I start playing the guitar at night, often well into the early morning hours. Music helps kill the aloneness that looms without Elisabeth or Cameron. Get past the initial wave of pain with practice and become more fluid with scales. By the end of summer I’m actually starting to improvise. Still don’t feel ready for an audience, and refuse to play for, or even practice in front of them, and by her grace, Liz doesn’t push it. She does nudge every so often, though.

Cool evening in late summer. We’re walking back from supper at an open café where a bouzouki player squared off with an acoustic guitarist in an impromptu jam session. I carry Cameron, asleep in a blanket we’ve devised as a makeshift carrier. Elisabeth walks beside me. Her expression is placid; her face awash with moonlight. Her backdrop is the velvet sky scattered with a billion sparkling diamonds that reflected in the glassy sea.

“Musicians were great tonight, don’t ya think? That last piece, they were strumming so fast their hands were one big blur. Really amazing they could hold that tight rhythm together for so long, almost as long as you do sometimes when your practicing at night.” She doesn’t look at me, but I catch a glimpse of her smile.

Sudden, absurd trepidation of lascivious invasion. “How do you know I practice at night?”

She hesitates. “I can hear you playing when your back door is open. And you’ve had it open all summer, except the last week or so, since it’s been getting cool in the evenings. I sit on the porch and listen until around midnight. How late do you play?”

“I usually quit about an hour or two after that. I had no idea you can hear me.” I fiddle with Cameron, adjust my body so his face isn’t smothered in the cloth, then stroke his fine hair back, let it run through my fingers, then do it again.

“You play beautifully, James.” She looks at me. “Even with just scales you play melodically, rhythmically. Every time I hear you play, you're faster, smoother, sharper. It is quite obvious that you are still a gifted musician.”

“Thank you.”

She shakes her head and looks away. “I didn’t really mean it as a compliment. Honestly, I’m more afraid than thrilled by your recent awakening.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Losing you.”

I stop walking. “You won’t.” She stops and turns back to face me. She stares at me, into me, and I touch her fear. “I love our days—the three of us together. I love our nights—just you and me. But silence is death to me when I’m alone, Liz. I’ve been playing at night to kill the void that comes without you.”

A wide smile of pure delight spreads across her face, and lights up her eyes that are fixed on mine. I pull her in then, gather her face in my hands and kiss her. Passionately, sexually. She surrenders to my kiss and returns it. Her lips are soft, warm; her mouth open, inviting. She’s sucks me in slowly, her tongue gently caressing mine. I slide my hand through her silky hair and around the back of her neck. Then her hand’s on my face, and her touch ignites me, excites. I want her to swallow me up. Want to be inside her. Connected. Her breasts brush against my chest as she pulls back slightly for breath, tantalizing. She lets her lips linger on mine, until Cameron squirms between us.

We separate and both look down at him, smack foreheads, laugh. Elisabeth strokes her son’s head, then strokes my cheek. I take her hand, kiss her palm. A moment’s pause and she pulls her hand away from my lips but keeps her fingers laced in mine and gently guides me forward as she resumes walking again.

We’re hand-in-hand until we get back to her house. I put Cameron in his crib. Elisabeth makes some sweet Tunisian tea, and we go out to the patio, under the blanket of stars enjoying the last of the mild summer nights. I sit on the bench that runs along the back of the house under the kitchen window per usual. But instead of the lounge chair, Elisabeth sits next to me, brings her feet onto the bench and leans back against me, cradling her sippy cup mug in both hands. She stares up at the stars.

“Look there. Wow.” She says it with childlike amazement. Like Cameron. Same delivery. “You can see the Milky Way perfectly. That’s so beautiful.”

“It is.” The stars of the Milky Way are so dense it looks like a white dust cloud arcing across the night sky. The moon’s setting, allowing individual stars to twinkle and dance so brightly their single images are mirrored in the flat sea, making the water sparkle. We sit and watch the light show, her body warming mine, silently absorbing the scene and committing it to sweet memory.

“You know, I’ve been angry at Jack for the longest time—years before he died.” She pauses to sip her tea. “Thought about leaving him a thousand times. We talked about breaking up a good amount, too. I was always wanting more of him than he was willing to give me. At least, that’s how I saw it.” She’s going round about to what she really wants to say, and I feel her hesitation. “But lately, it’s been dawning on me that my anger may have been...well, misplaced.”