rock (21 page)

lazurite

Dad stays at Lila’s side reading to her, playing games, watching movies, and taking naps with his fingers entwined with hers. As the weeks pass into months, he wells up with tears every time he walks into their room. He sleeps less and takes daily shots of port in his study.

I take over the rocking chair at her bedside, giving Dad the time he needs to pull himself together. I understand though. Lila has lost so much weight, and her gaunt face is lined with pain that her meds can’t entirely take away. She tries to eat for us but she doesn’t want to. She only wants to sleep.

And then a surge of energy overcomes her.

This morning she decided she needed to vacuum the carpets.

A strange beacon of hope coiled itself tightly in my gut. Could the doctors have gotten it all wrong?

I feel Dad’s hysterical laughter and see his hand searching for hers at the dining table as they share a yogurt.

Then she curls up in bed like she does every normal day.

Dad hasn’t left his study since.

“It’s hard for him to see me like this,” Lila says.

“And it’s not hard for me?”

She pokes her tongue out. “I’m the witch that stole your father. Think of this as payback.”

I sober. “No, Lila. A long time ago I was angry but it’s been a long while now that I”—
love you
—“have come to like you a fair bit.”

She laughs but it comes with a wince.

I rock in the chair as we listen to Jace’s hectic music leaking through the walls. Three, four, five songs pass before Lila speaks again. When she does, it’s hushed.

“What’s the matter, Cooper?”

I meet her concerned blue gaze, which is so much like Jace’s it makes me tremble. “Nothing.”

She shakes her head and stares up at the lampshade, spinning from the vibrations of his music. “You wear your emotions on your sleeve. You’ve been sad ever since Jace came home.”

I let out a rough laugh. “You think Jace is the one making me sad?”

“Yes. I think it’s my boy that touches your heart the most.”

The music seems to swell, seems to fill the room and turn my skin to shivers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a dying woman. I have no time for lies.”

I shut my eyes and a tear escapes. My throat feels like it’s been scratched with a thousand toothpicks.

Lila continues, “You used to be so close. Right from the beginning, you and my son sparked.” My breath shudders. Lila’s voice softens. “He used to look at you like you held the answers to all life’s mysteries. When you were doing dishes, he’d sit at the table longer just to watch you. When you were at your mum’s, I’d find him curled in your bed holding one of your stones.”

“He did that?”

“Yes.”

This conversation feels like a confession. I’m afraid of what she might say, yet it’s exactly what I long to know the most. When she doesn’t say anything for a long time, I clutch the arms of the rocking chair and ask, “Is Dad Jace’s father too?”

Stunned silence.

Lila gasps out something akin to a laugh. “Of course not!”

But she took too long to answer. I don’t believe her. But she has no time for lies, right?

We look at each other for a long time, but she’s guarding her secrets well.

“Hypothetically,” I say during the silent moment in the music. “If he were Jace’s real dad, would you tell them?”

Again, she waits too long to answer. “Of course. They’d want to know.”

“Would they?”

She smiles.

The music vibrates through the floor with a violently hopeful beat, then tinkers to something soft and sorrowful.

“Do me a favor?” Lila asks. “Tell him to play something jolly.”

“We all grieve in our own way. This is his love song to you. It wouldn’t feel right asking him to stop.”

Tears streak down her temples and over her ears. She struggles to sit up. I plump a pillow behind her, and she grabs my wrist, rubbing her thumb over my skin. “I love you, Cooper. I know you have a mum but I have one secret to share with you.”

“What’s that?” I ask, kissing her forehead.

“You are mine as well.” She lets go of me. “Don’t tell him to stop but don’t let him play my song too long. There are others he should be playing.”

quartzite

Mum asks me to drive her, two casseroles and a coconut cake to Dad’s.

I pull up outside the house. Sunlight reflects off the windows and bounces onto the neglected lawn, making it eerily bright. The straight lines and glass have dated over the years. What once screamed
We’re better than you
now whispers
Things change.

And haven’t they?

Mum stares out the passenger window. The light mirrors her freckled face and grim smile.

“You don’t have to go in,” I say, rubbing my thumbs over the steering wheel.

“I want to.” She glances down at the cake on her lap. White and square with a glassy luster like she dunked it in fine grains of sugar. It looks solid, like it might score a seven on the Mohs scale. A chunk of quartzite can withstand all pressure.

Mum sighs. “I just need to pray.”

“You don’t believe in God.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“What are you praying for?” Nothing can be done.
Please don’t make me hope.

“For forgiveness.”

I drop my hands. Before I can ask, she speaks. “All those years ago when it didn’t work out with your dad and I?”

“When he left?”

“Yes. No, before that. During our arrangement.” Her breath hitches. “I wished something bad would happen to her. I didn’t mean it, not really. But now I’m sorry I ever thought that.”

Annie and I did the same thing.

I open our seatbelts and take the casseroles and quartzite coconut cake while she climbs out of the car. My belly is twisting at the sympathy I see in Mum’s tight smile. “Let’s go see your father.”

We walk up the path bridging the grassy moat, each of us holding a lukewarm casserole in our trembling grasp.

As I fish for my keys, I cradle the casserole under one arm. I’m unlocking the door but it opens before I finish. Dad is staring at Mum.

“Hello, David.”

“Marie. It’s been a long time.” He runs a hand through his hair and steps back to let us in.

Mum steps inside. “Too long.”

Dad can’t seem to stop nodding.

“Pass me the food, Mum.”

She blinks. “Cake is for now. You can freeze the casseroles for up to four months.”

I’m moving toward the kitchen when Mum’s heels clack over the floor. She mutters, “I am so sorry. You are both in my prayers.”

Dad gives a soft laugh, “You don’t believe in God.”

The house groans as I step into the dining room.
Things change.

Mum’s voice trails behind me, soft and comforting. “Like father, like son.”

soapstone

“Hop in.”

I lean over the passenger seat and open the door. Clutching a bunch of mail, Jace stares at me through the open passenger window.

I’d just come home from university and driven up the driveway. When I saw him, I had to get him in the car. “Come on.”

He pulls the door open and slides in, gently tossing the mail on the dashboard. I rest a hand on the back of his seat and reverse swiftly out of the driveway.

He focuses on the view of the city as we wind down the hill toward the beach.

“Paua Shell Bay?” he asks, shuffling through the mail—again.

“Just like we used to.”

More shuffling. “Fish and chips?”

“Are you hungry?”

His breath comes out heavier than the last ones. “You have no idea how hungry I am.”

I go a touch heavy on the brakes and we jerk forward, belts tightening. “Sorry.” His expression is unreadable. Unreadable, but tired. “I’m hungry too.”

His gaze slips to my mouth but he quickly looks out the passenger window.

We park at the bay. We stuff the fish and chips under our parkas, zipped only halfway. We toe off our shoes and leave them at the car.

Salty breezes whip our hair and seagulls squawk overhead, flying over the low tide for anything to scavenge. Our feet sink into wet sand as we walk along the edges of the tide. Every few steps, the cool ocean bites our ankles. Jace is staring toward the horizon and the dark clouds drifting toward us.

The promise of rain is in the air but neither of us hurry. So what if we get wet?
We’re not made of sugar
, Lila would say.

My fingers are greasy from the chips but the salt is delicious and I lick it off my thumb and forefinger.

I’ve finished my scoop but I could eat another. “Jace?”

He turns toward me, weary, as if he’s not ready to talk yet.

I step closer, locking our gazes and feeling the warmth tingle between us. I dunk my hand down his jacket into his scoop of chips and pinch a handful.

“Hey!” he says with a relieved chuckle. “You had yours.”

“Yeah, but I’m
really
hungry.”

He sucks in a gulp of air just as a few drops of rain hit my nose and cheek. “Cooper—”

A loud squawk.

A seagull swoops down and boldly perches on Jace’s forearm, ducking his head into the chips. Jace stands there, shocked, staring at me as if begging me to get rid of it.

I laugh so hard that my vision blurs, and my attempts to shoo the bird are shoddy at best. The rumbling thunder finally sends the seagull on his way and turns the smattering of raindrops into a torrent.

Rain drenches our hair and slips down our necks and under our shirts. It soaks through our clothes but we just stand here and let it.

I can’t stop laughing, pointing at him, the bird, his face. “The seagull’s hungry too!”

Water splashes into my open mouth and it tastes fresh, revitalizing. Just like the smile quirking at Jace’s lips.

lodestone

My spiral-bound master’s dissertation stares at me from the passenger seat of my car, the plastic cover winking at me in the autumn afternoon light.

“I’ll read it,”
Dad said.
“So long as you dedicate it to me.”

I undo my belt and open the door. Breezes ruffle the pages, flicking them open to the title page. I pull it onto my lap, and fold it back one more page. It’s not dedicated to Dad but I think he’ll be more pleased this way.

My dissertation is not a rock. It will not last forever, protecting her name and memory, but it is one of the stepping stones of my life, and I want her to know . . . want her to know . . .

I clutch the work to my chest and jump out of the car.

The distant sounds of laughter startle me, and I follow them over the moat to the back yard.

Dad has a soccer ball aimed at Ernie, who raises his hands to protect his face. “I haven’t done anything to your daughter!” he screams. “I swear she’s still a virgin. Now stop trying to kill me with the round, padded object. I don’t deserve to be taken this way.”

Dad laughs. “Open your eyes, doofus. I’m kicking it to you, not at you.”

Ernie reluctantly pulls his hands from his face and stares suspiciously at Dad.

I hover in the shadows at the edge of the house.

It’s been a long time since Dad has laughed. I miss it. Miss the way he jerks his head back slightly and squishes his nose, lines deepening around his eyes. Like Ernie, he’s wearing training pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Unlike Ernie’s, Dad’s shirt is rated PG.

Dad finally kicks the ball. Ernie steps out of the way instead of stopping it with his foot and it rolls to the house.

“I got it,” Ernie says, jogging over to pick it up.

“It’s a lost cause, Dad.” I follow Annie’s voice to the other side of the lawn, where she’s spraying the garden.

“I heard that,” Ernie says, positioning the ball at his feet and taking a few steps backward. “All right, David, here’s a taste of your own medicine.”

He puts energy into his kicks and swings his arms like a pro, except his foot catches the ball at the wrong angle. The ball smacks Annie in the back of the head.

A horrified gasp. Ernie races over to Annie, who has dropped her hose and is glaring. “Okay, kill me now with the round, padded object,” Ernie says.

Dad drops to the grass. His laugh bellows out of him so hard, he’s holding his ribs. “You okay, Annie?” he manages between bouts.

Annie is okay, just a little miffed—and confused which of the two idiots to scowl at. Soon, however, even her narrowed eyes are twinkling and she’s chuckling along with them.

Ernie hugs her tightly, rubbing her back, working his fingers up to the nape of her neck. “Sorry,” he says and kisses her. “For me, soccer is a spectator sport.”

She grins and looks over at Dad, who’s consumed with hysteria and sprawled out on the grass. She frowns and bites her lip.

I push away from the side of the house and walk over to him. His laugh is still pulling at his body but the sounds have broken and are silent. He stares past me at the sunset streaking the sky orange, red, and pink.

I lie next to him, hugging my dissertation. Annie and Ernie join us until we are one big compass. Dad, north. Me, east. Annie, south. Ernie, west. Breezes stir, and it’s like we are lying on lodestones, a natural magnetic iron ore that makes the needle spin wildly, jerking back and forth, and none of us know which direction it will land.

When Dad sniffs, I shuffle closer. We’ll figure out where to go from here. I know we will be okay. “She loves Tui, remember?”

His sob returns to a laugh. “She loves you, eh?”

We lie like this until I glance toward the house and catch Jace leaning with his elbows on the side of the balcony, looking down at us. He’s too far away for me to guess what he’s thinking.

He’s too far away. He should be here too.

Still holding my dissertation, I sit up slowly. The back of my shirt is damp from the cool grass.

“How about I race out with Annie and grab us some take out?” Ernie says.

Dad starts to protest that Lila won’t be able to join in—but then he nods. “Yeah. That’d be great.” He spots what I’m holding and points. “What’s this?”

I pass it to him. “My dissertation.”

He flips through the hundred and fifty pages, and then shakes his head. “You get your brains from your mum. This looks impressive.” He flips to the dedication page. He swallows then claps the dissertation shut and hands it back to me, cupping the back of my neck and leading me inside the house. “I’m proud of you, Cooper.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m going to run up and show Lila.”

“Do that.”

No music greets me when I run upstairs, and a quick peek at the balcony reveals Jace has left. I want to find him first to show him my work; I want to be near him for a few moments but he’s not in his room, either, so I head to Lila’s.

I stop right outside Lila’s door when I hear Jace speaking in her room.

“I mean, I don’t know—” I sneak a look through the open door. Pillows prop Lila up and she’s rubbing the bluestone necklace as if it were rosary beads.

Jace sits forward on the rocking chair, hands clasped and resting at her side. He stares at the stone too.

“It’s okay, Jace.”

“No, it’s not. You’re meant to be here.”

I flatten my back against the hall wall, then slide down until I’m sitting. I thumb the pages of my dissertation as I eavesdrop.

“I can’t keep having this conversation,” she says quietly. “It takes too much energy. All I want is for you to be happy. Can you do that? Can you be brave for me?”

A long pause.

“You’re right, Mum. I’m sorry.” He plants a quick kiss on her. “I want that too.”

“Tell me more about your travels. What was the stupidest thing you did?”

“Cheers, Mum.”

She chuckles. “Come on, then, spit it out.”

“I could never figure out the underground toll gates so I kept banging into them rather than through them. Looked like a right idiot.”

“Bet you did.”

A laugh.

“I also left my luggage in a bus in Edinburgh and spent the next two days tracking it down.”

“That sucks.”

“But I had to find it because I had valuables in there.”

“Anything else? Come on, something embarrassing!”

“You’re cruel.”

“My job.”

“Fine. I almost got robbed in Rome. Some guy had my backpack and was heading out of the train. I grabbed my suitcase and started running after him, yelling for him to give it back. Well, it turned out I was wearing my backpack.”

Another soft laugh.

“In my defense, I was jetlagged as hell.”

“That has to be the stupidest thing,” she says.

Pause. “It’s not though.”

“What was then?”

The rocking chair creaks and thumps against the wall.

“It’s okay,” Lila says. “You don’t have to tell me everything. What was the best part of your trip?”

“Finding this,” he says, followed by a rustle of movement.

Lila whispers so it’s hard to catch. “Beautiful. Where did you find it?”

Jace whispers too softly for me to make out.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Yeah, Jace. I’d love that. So long as it has a happily ever after.”