Wherever You Go (27 page)

Mona gave me an extralong hug at the door. "Holly, you and your family are delightful. You're welcome here anytime. And it's a shame your mom had to leave so early. Will you tell her I'd like to take her to lunch sometime?"

"Sure," I said.

Mona pulled back from the embrace, leaving me covered in her fruity, floral perfume. She wasn't exactly what I thought she'd be. From Jason's descriptions, I had had my doubts, but she was nice.

"Aldo, it was so good to meet you," Mona said.

He gave her a genuine smile, and I felt like the night had been a success. Except for the outbursts at the pool, Grandpa Aldo had seemed to enjoy himself. He was alert and active and into the whole luau thing. Once, he'd mentioned my grandma and Mom had started crying, and then suddenly she'd announced it was time for her to split to work. Grandpa, though, wasn't crying. He was smiling, remembering, talking a little about Grandma and their trip. And then, seeming tired, he wound down into his normal shell, staring out at the night, toward the backyard, which was filling with moonlight and an evening breeze.

Once out of the giant house, Jason packed us into his Audi and we wove our way down the hill toward home. At the glass door of our apartment building, I told Lena to take Grandpa inside and I stood there, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting the night to end just yet.

"Thanks. I can't believe you did all that—cooking and setting it all up."

"I've been meaning to have a luau for a while," he said. "There just aren't enough luaus in Seattle."

I laughed at the mock-serious expression on his face. "Well, it was awesome."

"Yeah, it was." Jason's brown eyes shone in the dim light. "Holly, you know, I meant what I said, on the swing earlier."

"Which part?" I said.

"All of it." He leaned in to kiss me, and it occurred to me that all of this could be real. That whatever bad things had happened before maybe had to happen to bring us to this point. That the pain of losing Rob had forced us to change even though we didn't want to, but that the change was good. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe just having Jason's arms around me felt so good, so different, that it overtook whatever I'd felt before.

I exhaled and held him tighter. Now that I had him—that he had me—I didn't want to let him go.

"I know you're scared," he said. "And that's okay. The way I feel about you isn't going to change, and it's not going away."

"Okay," I murmured.

"No. Do you believe me? Look at me."

I forced my eyes up, searching his for truth. "I believe you."

"Good. I want this to be a beginning," he said, his face relaxing into a smile.

"Yeah," I said. "We can start right here. Just the two of us. Finally."

"The rest of the world doesn't matterdoeit. May," he said with a smile.

"Well, it kind of does for me."

"Yeah, I mean, family and stuff matters—but everyone else and what they think, I don't want you to worry about any of that. What we have is you and me." Jason kissed me again, opening my lips with his tongue like he was savoring more sweet tropical frui
t.

I shivered all the way down to my toes. I couldn't remember a kiss like that ever.

He pulled back, watching my eyes. "I could get carried away," he said. "You just make me want to kiss you everywhere, and in every way."

My stomach did a flip-flop. I hugged him again and breathed in the smell of his soap, his skin underneath. I wanted to remember this smell later, because I knew I'd be thinking about him all night.

"I'd better get inside," I said.

"See you tomorrow?"

I smiled. "Don't know if I can, but I want to."

Then I went inside, and he stood there, watching me through the glass until I stepped onto the elevator and his face disappeared through the crack of the sliding door. I leaned back against the wall of the elevator and knew—really knew—that I was falling for Jason.

I couldn't find any other words for the way I felt.

"That you, honey?" Jason's mom was still slurping from her hollowed-out coconut. She waved her hand toward him and leaned back in the lounge chair. She'd turned off the pool lights, but the solar tiki torches still lit up the back patio and yard.

"Uh ... yeah, it's me." Jason cut himself another piece of coconut cream pie and joined her outside. He settled back into the lounger, stretching out his feet, settling the plate of dessert on his stomach.

"You are quite the entertainer," Mona said with a giggle, carefully placing her coconut drink on the table between them.

Jason leaned over and grabbed the coconut. "What's in here, rum?"

"I can have a grown-up drink now that your friends are gone," she said.

Jason took a sip. "There's no piña colada in here, just booze."

"Here, please." Mona held out her hand, and Jason gave her back the coconut. She took a long sip and then said, "Ah, what a night! Wasn't it so nice to have people over?"

"Yeah," Jason said. "It was really nice of you to help me." He took a bite of the pie. It really was great—twenty times better than anything he could have attempted. Besides, it had been enough work to slow-cook thew rom you pork and do the other prep for the luau.

"Before you were born, we used to have great parties," Mona continued. "Your dad liked to cook out. Of course it was mostly steaks, but it was a lot of fun—especially when we'd just moved into this house. Everything was new, top of the line." Her voice sounded wistful, far away.

Jason set his fork down on the plate, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "You should have people over again. What's stopping you?"

Mona shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I should. It's just awkward with everything going on with your dad right now."

"But when the divorce is final," Jason said in a soft voice, "maybe you should."

"I'm not going to celebrate that," she said, throwing Jason a look.

"C'mon, I don't mean it's something to celebrate, just that you could do what you want to do. You shouldn't care what anyone thinks."

"Maybe." She leaned her head back, gazing up at the stars overhead. "I have to say, I liked her a lot. Actually, when I watched you and Holly together, I almost felt a little jealous."

"What?"

She rolled her head sideways, and Jason could see little tears in the corners of her eyes. "I saw you and Holly so happy, and I remembered what it was like to be completely, madly in love with someone. I said to myself, I want
that
."

"But you had that with Dad, didn't you?"

Mona set her drink on the table again and crossed her arms against her chest. "Yes, I had that with Dad. It just all went away over time. You grow up, and the world starts crushing in on you. All the responsibilities, all the things you're supposed to be for each other. After a while, you forget what brought you together, what it was like to fall in love with each other." She smiled sadly. "Well, maybe you don't forget what it was like, but you don't feel that way anymore. I'm not sure where love goes, but it goes away."

"I'm sorry, Mom." Jason reached out and took his mom's hand.

"No being sorry," she said, her smile a little forced. "I think I'm going to choose to be inspired. Yes, you and Holly inspired me. Maybe it's time to look forward to what's coming next, you know?"

"Okay." Jason squeezed her hand and then let it go. As weird as it was to be talking about love stuff with his mom, he was enjoying himself. Enjoying hanging out with her for a change.

"I haven't seen you this happy in ... well, ever. Not even with Faith. Oh, the way you look at her."

"Well, this is different."

"I'll say. Holly's like a breath of fresh air. She does a lot for her family. She's got some he'th="5%">

But Jason knew what she meant. He'd always known that about Holly.

"You only knew her because of Rob?" Mona said, taking the last sip of her drink.

"Yeah, but she was a lot different back then—kind of bubbly, brighter," Jason said. "She loved him."

"Of course. You loved Rob, too."

"No, I mean, she
loved
him. It's been hard to get close to her," Jason said in a quiet voice.

"She lost the boy she loved, but that doesn't mean she won't love again, that she doesn't love you," Mona said. "You can remember someone you loved and still love someone new."

"But then it goes away," Jason said, repeating his mother's words.

She held up a hand. "So, maybe it doesn't go away, exactly. Maybe it's all around you, waiting to show itself again. Maybe
we
go away from
it
."

Jason shoved a bite of pie crust into his mouth and stared out at the dark waters of the pool.
Love is different. Love moves and changes. Love is all around
. It sounded like some kind of pop song, but maybe his mom knew a little about it.

"Last bite?" his mom said, reaching for his fork.

"Sure," he said.

She scooped the last bit of coconut into her mouth and smiled. It was too big a bite for her. The filling was all over her face. "You're going to be fine," she said when she'd wiped her mouth. "Just go where love goes."

Jason nodded and reached for the dishes. "You're turning into a talk-show host."

Mona laughed. "Maybe in my next life. You know what I mean, though. Right?"

"Yeah," he said. He moved back toward the house, the taste of coconut cream pie in his mouth and Holly on his mind. The worst thing ever had brought them together, but he wasn't letting the love he was feeling get away. And he wasn't letting her go.

***

Holly has the most beatific smile on her face. A smile that belongs in a painting of an angel, a saint, someone full of the divine. She's nestled in her covers, staring at the corner of the room where you're hanging out. You know she can't see you, but maybe she senses you're watching over her—or that you're restless as hell.

But mostly what you get from Holly is the way she's radiating happiness. Looking at the curve of her lips, the soft slope of her nose, her peacefully closed eyelids, you don't think you've ever seen her this at peace, this content.

<" wr nose, hfont face="times new roman">You think back to just a few weeks ago, when Holly was scribbling furiously in her journal—writing down all the things about you that she wanted to remember, the things she wanted to keep alive. It seems like all of that passion for you is gone. All of it washed away in this tidal wave of love you see rushing in toward her shore.

"It's okay," you tell yourself. "It's not the same as when we were together, but it's gonna be fine." Maybe this comforting thought is left over from the stuff you heard during family therapy earlier—maybe it's a lie you're telling yourself. Wherever the thought comes from, you accept it, welcome it, wrap it around yourself like a warm winter scarf.

"Roberto," you hear. "You're killing me with this stuff."

You close your eyes and you're in the bathroom with Aldo. He's standing in front of the mirror, rubbing a washcloth over his face.

"Shouldn't you be in bed? Holly is..."

"I got up. I couldn't sleep. I heard some ghost rambling around in the next room," he says with a laugh.

"I wasn't rambling. I was loitering."

Aldo smirks. "Funny, kid."

"Hang up the washcloth," you remind Aldo. "Your hook's the one with the big A above it."

"Thanks." Aldo completes the task.

"That's pretty cool that Holly marked things around the place for you."

"Yes. She's doing everything she can."

"Even throwing the luau," you murmur.

"That was Jason. You know that," Aldo chides. He shuffles out of the bathroom.

"Lights."

"Yeah, I was getting to that," says Aldo as he reaches back for the switch. "Anything else I should remember?"

"Nah."

Aldo moves into the living room and picks up the TV remote. You notice there is a big button with a green arrow marking the power switch. He gives it a click, and an old black-and-white movie comes to life. "This okay?"

"What? We're gonna watch TV?" you ask.

"What else is there to do? I ask, you don't tell me. You prattle on, but don't tell me the good stuff. You keep haunting me nonetheless. We're in a rut."

"We're not in a rut," you say, taking a seat on the couch as Aldo sinks into the recliner.

"Hell," Aldo says, "what do I know about all this afterlife stuff, anyway? I must not y? " you say,be very good if you're still hanging around."

"No. You've been great."

"If my job is to help you move to the other side, or whatever, then maybe we need to get on with it," Aldo says. "I don't know if you've noticed that I'm not doing quite so well talking anymore. You had this idea that I could help you get a message out to Holly, remember?"

"That was your idea," you say, but Aldo's words sink in. If he's getting worse, his ability to communicate, to tell anyone whatever it is you've been left here to say, is only going to get weaker. The possibility that you'd be stuck here forever—that you'd never move on—is real.