When I See You (19 page)

"I think he's all right, now. His mother said he's going to a special school where they teach blind people how to get along in the world."

"How do they do that?" Max asks.

Why did I bring this up? The questions are endless now. Max rushes over to the computer and is asking me how to spell Braille as soon as I begin describing how blind people read.

"B-R-A-I-L-L-E," I answer.

Within thirty minutes, we are engulfed in everything to do with learning Braille, and I have already promised Max that we will stop by the library tomorrow to pick out more books on the subject and to see if we can get our own book in Braille. It takes another fifteen minutes to get him into his pajamas and into bed for the night. His excitement about seeing Brock and learning Braille makes it almost impossible to get him settled down.

Finally, out of pure exhaustion, he closes his eyes and falls asleep. I sit with him a little longer, stroking his hair. He insists on wearing it in a crew-cut style just like his dad. I sweep my hand across his blond head and feel the familiar boar bristle brush. The action stirs to life this incredible grief deep inside. I'm transported back, remembering the last time I touched Ethan's hair like this. I close my eyes and allow the memory to take me to him. I'm startled awake by the sudden movement of Max's right arm flopping onto my chest. I check the clock and calculate I've dozed off for a good hour.

Weary from these unsettling dreams of Ethan, I get up and find my way back to the living room and sink into one of the chairs there. I have just begun to unwind in the absolute solitude, when the phone rings. My heart rate speeds up as soon as I see the area code for Texas. What is wrong with me?

His voice is the same, but his southern drawl is more pronounced. I imagine being around his family makes it more prominent. I tease him about it during the first few minutes of conversation.

"So, I hear you're coming to Texas," Brock says haltingly.

"Well, that's the plan. We'll fly in Friday. Max. Ashleigh. Me. You and I can finally go over the paperwork for the estate. Max needs to visit his grandparents. They haven't seen him since last Christmas." I swallow hard and feel the pulse at my neck beat uncontrollably. "Do you mind us staying with you at the ranch? I guess we could stay at the Holloways, but since they still refer to me as the girl from L.A., you'd really be helping me out." I sigh and start to fidget, somewhat disconcerted by his long silence.

"You can stay with us," he finally says. "My parents would love to have you."

"Your parents."

"Me. Them. We'd love to have you stay. You. Max. Ashleigh." He sighs. "I'm living with my parents," he says in a conciliatory tone.

I almost laugh, but realize he must be sensitive about that and catch myself in time.

"We're not putting you out, are we?"

"No. It's just things are different." He seems to hesitate. I remain silent, intent on hearing what he has to say. "They really referred to you as 'the girl from L.A.?'" he asks, sounding puzzled.

"Yes. I told you this already." I find myself smiling. "I don't know. I married their only child, their only son. My parents were the essence of Hollywood. I guess that's a lot to handle. Our elopement to Vegas probably didn't help. My getting pregnant right away probably didn't endear them to me, either. A lot of things."

I'm telling him too much, exposing my long-held resentment and hurt feelings about the treatment of me by my in-laws to this almost stranger. I just need to stop talking.

"Yeah, but you're so great," he says slowly. "I''m sorry they treated you that way."

"Still do," I say softly. I hear him gasp, and I rush on. "Look, the last six months have been a kind of personal hell for me, on so many levels. But now? I''m trying to get my life in order. I
need
to get my life in order. I guess that starts with Austin. The Holloways. The estate. And, you." I take an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. I blamed you for everything. I shouldn't have done that. I just hope you'll accept my apology now. I'm so sorry, Brock."

My throat gets tight. Tears well up. There's a long silence. I finally hear him sigh.

"Don't worry about me," he says. "I just want you to know that I will
never
call you 'the girl from L.A.'"

I start to laugh, and so does he. It breaks up the seriousness of the moment.

"Well, thank you for that," I say. "I should have met you sooner, and then, you could have vouched for me to the Holloways. Maybe, everything would have been different."

Our conversation seems to have reached this strange crossroads. It's as if Ethan is right there on the phone listening in. Brock seems as uncomfortable as I suddenly feel. I can hear his unsteady breathing on the other end of the line. I shiver as this weird sense of Déjà vu comes over me. I half-smile, remembering how silent he could be, at times, when he was here.

"No need to apologize. I know how hard it's been for you," he says gently. "I think I know how you feel. I miss him, too. It's weird. One day, I'll be fine, and the next, I'm remembering something he would have said or would have done. I can't shake the incredible sadness. I mean, the blindness practically engulfs me, making it hard to even breathe, but missing Ethan is so much worse."

I'm stunned by what he's just said. Somehow, I know he's just told me more than he's told anyone else. I can feel it.

"You're probably the only person on earth who understands. I mean, you spent more time with him than I did, and you're combating blindness, too." I close my eyes, imagining the darkness that Brock must combat every day. Tears prick my eyelids as I think of Ethan.

"It's not so bad," he says.

"Liar."

"It's made me more self aware," he says with a slight laugh.

"Well, there's that."

My mind races as I search for a less sensitive topic.

"I made the mistake of telling Max about your parents' ranch, and well, I hope you have at least one horse."

"We have several. Cattle, too."

"Great. I'll tell you what; I'm going to let you explain cattle to him. I tried, but started laughing too hard when he said, ''What's a cattle, Mommy?'"

"Sounds like he's doing all right," Brock says.

"Yeah, he's holding his own. I think he still thinks Ethan will just show up one day."

Brock sighs. I silently chastise myself for initiating this part of the conversation about Ethan again.

"So, how are you really doing, Brock? Like I said earlier, I'm so sorry for the way I treated you at the funeral and all the unreturned phones calls and emails. I had no idea that you were—"

"Blind? Come on, Jordan, you can say the word," Brock says softly. "It's not going to break me. It might not be permanent. I have dedicated doctors working on it around the clock."

"Oh. Great. That's great news. I'm glad. And, your family's there. Your mom sounds wonderful, just like you described her when you were here."

I brush at a tear and cannot begin to fathom why I'm crying. I cover the receiver, so he won't know.

"Everything okay?" Brock asks.

I don't answer right away. "Fine. Everything's fine."

"So, about the Lazy J—"

"Brock, would you mind if we just talk about it when we get there? Well, it's late here, and I'm really tired."

"Sure. Sorry to have called you so late." He sounds irritated that I've cut him off.

I feel guilty for doing so, but my own emotions are getting the best of me. "I'm glad you called," I say.

"I'm glad you answered."

"I'll email you the final itinerary."

"Sure. Great. Take care."

"You too, Brock."

I manage to hang up the receiver before these mournful sobs overtake me. I cannot explain my sadness, but there is something—something in Brock's voice. Loss. There's so much loss between us. Me with Ethan; him with Ethan and his sight.

All these months, I've battled the grief, but, tonight, I can't find my way out of it. After turning out all the lights and sitting in the darkness for close to an hour, I finally stumble to bed. I'm grateful Ashleigh isn't here to witness this. She's busy celebrating Michael's last night in town before he leaves for London.

I stumble in the dark to bed, lie down in the blackness with my eyes wide open, and think of Brock Wainwright.

We share loss. This incredible loss. His and mine.

And, it must be a loss so deep, a canyon so wide, we may never cross it to one another. Where we used to have Ethan between us, there is now, nothing but the loss of him within us both that we must inevitably share.

≈ ≈

"You want to tell me what's going on?" Ashleigh asks the next morning.

She looks officially tumbled and still wears the clothes she wore the night before. I absently sip my coffee and stare at the clock and silently note that it's almost ten, making it nearly noon in Texas.

Why, oh, why am I thinking about Texas?

"Nothing's going on," I say.

"Uh-huh. Sure." She stands there with her hands on her hips as if I'm one of her wayward students. "Are you
packed
?"

"No."

"Are you going to be? The plane leaves in four hours. We should actually be thinking about leaving for the airport."

"I was going to call a cab," I say, staring at my fingernails, while making no other outward sign at getting ready.
I should have gotten a manicure instead of the bikini wax.

Undone. I sit, half-dressed, on a kitchen chair, while Ashleigh leans against the counter, sips at her coffee and watches me. Eventually, she makes her way to the master bedroom. I cringe.

My bedroom is in complete shambles. I hear Ashleigh gasp when she must see it. With growing trepidation, I get up from the chair and make my way down the hall.

Here's what I know so far about today. I don't have anything to wear in Texas. I should have gotten a manicure instead of the bikini wax. I came to these conclusions about an hour ago.

And now? I don't even want to go. I can't explain it to myself, so I'm definitely unable to explain it to Ashleigh.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on? Or, do you just want me to guess?" Ashleigh calls out from the closet.

I hesitate at the bedroom doorway. "Nothing's going on."

"Like hell!"

I wanly watch as she pulls a bunch of clothes from my closet and throws them on the bed. I'm too helpless and too distraught over everything to begin to even articulate my problem. She stops and looks at me.

"What?"

"You're scared." She nods as if she's just discovered a new wonder drug. "That's it. You're scared."

Scared of what?" I ask with disdain. "I'm a
mother
of a four-year-old. His birthday is in ten days, you know." Ashleigh just nods. "We're doing a shark theme. I'm a
widow
. Exactly what do I have to be afraid of?"

"We don't have to go," she says in her best teacher voice.

"Okay, let's
not go
."

"Okay, we're not going," she says.

Helpless. Undone. I watch her shove a variety of my clothes and hers into the open suitcase on the bed. I don't say a word the entire time.

Within the hour, we're packed and loading ourselves into the waiting taxi and on the way to the airport, Ashleigh looks over at me.

"You want to tell me what that was all about back there?"

She points her finger in the direction of the Pacific Coast Highway and home. I shake my head side-to-side.

"I should have gotten a manicure, but no, I went for the bikini wax because they had a special."

"Holy shit!" She gets this supreme satisfied smile.

At the airport, she gives me the once-over and seems to approve of my white blouse and skinny black jeans that she helped me with, two hours earlier. "You look amazing," she says. "I
mean
it. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful."

I pull at the blouse, suddenly self-conscious, but try to smile.

"Thanks."

"I
mean
it; you look incredible."

"Who paid you to say such nice things to me?"

"The manicurist where I get my nails done," she says, bestowing me with a sly smile.

We both laugh.

*≈*≈*

Part Two—Give In To Me

"I've never been wonderful or hopeful a single day of my entire adult life. Never the entire day, anyway. And, you
know
this about me, better than anyone else."

Jordan Holloway

Chapter 12. The space between

Brock

Anxiety, trepidation, and this inexplicable anticipation overtake me. I see nothing, but blackness. My heart pounds at this bizarre rapid pace, while we wait at baggage claim. Me, unseeing. My sister, Diana, beside me, grasps my arm, being my eyes.