Wish Upon a Star (18 page)

Gloria sat beside me and put her sunglasses on. She
remained silent.

"I'm assuming you know Annie left yesterday." She nodded.
"Then I'll assume you also know what Miranda and I discussed last
night."

"No."

I looked at her. "What do you mean, no? If you didn't talk to
Miranda, then how do you know?"

She shook her head and turned her gaze toward me. "Annie
paid me a little visit before she left. The poor girl was a complete
wreck, carrying on and on about how you didn't love her anymore
since she had cancer."

"I never—"

"Let me finish, please. We had a long chat, but despite my
best efforts, I couldn't get her to change her plans and stay. That
young lady can be pretty bull-headed when she wants." Gloria
chuckled, but given the circumstances, I failed to see the humor.

"Why don't you give me your version of events."

"Okay." I slipped off the tailgate and recounted what had
happened. I did my best to keep it objective and not get angry. When
there was no more to be told, I shrugged and put my hands in my
pockets.

"Uh huh, I had a feeling there was more to the story than you
getting cold feet all of a sudden. Here's what I know. Despite her
running off like this, she loves you more than you can imagine. When
I was over at your place to visit, practically all she did was go on and
on about you."

My cheeks got warm. I kicked a few pebbles across the
parking lot. "If that's the case, then why'd she get so mad? She knows
how I feel about her. It was just a suggestion, for God's sake."

"In the interest of full disclosure, I am now switching from
what I know to what I think. You were there for her at the lowest
point in her career. This is a different low point for her. If she thinks
you're rejecting her, that's going to be a tough blow, so she chose to
retreat to someplace safe to regroup. The next move is up to
you."

"Then I'll just go see her. Talk to her face to face. If she
doesn't want to postpone the wedding, that's fine." I started pacing
back and forth. "I can head out in the next day or so. Would you mind
looking after the place while I'm gone, since I don't know how
long—"

"Hold on young man. Let's not go off half-cocked. There's
something else in play we need to discuss."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

Gloria went around to the driver's door of the truck. "Come
on. I need to run an errand and you can help me."

With my head down to hide a grumble, I climbed in. Despite
the fact that I'd ridden Gloria's truck dozens, if not hundreds, of
times, I couldn't get comfortable. My constant fidgeting finally caught
her attention. She arched an eyebrow at me when we were stopped
at a traffic light.

"Sorry G. I need to make this right. I need to go out there,
like now, and apologize or whatever. I can't just let her go, not like
this."

Without warning, Gloria cut into a parking lot, practically
sending me shoulder-first into the passenger door. We came to a
stop and she shut the engine off.

"You can let her go like this, and you must. Because that is
your problem. You can't let go."

"Oh come on. What, did Annie put you up to this? She
accused me of the very same thing a few months ago."

"And she was right."

I huffed and reached for the door handle. "I don't need this
right now, G."

"Yes you do, young man. If you want a future with that girl,
you need to listen to what I have to say and take it to heart."

"Seriously? Aren't we being a little over-dramatic
here?"

With a wave, Gloria ignored my jab. "You've never forgiven
yourself for being out of town when your father died. Don't try to
deny it. In my line of work, I know these things. That's why you
stayed home with your mother."

Heat was beginning to simmer in my gut at Gloria's
assertions. "I stayed home with Mom to help take care of her. I was
trying to do the right thing."

"And nobody else in the world could have done what you
did. My Lord, E.J., Audrey and I discussed this very topic on more
than one occasion. Yes, you were trying to do the right thing, but part
of it was because you couldn't live with the guilt of not being there
for Francis when you think you should have. Your mother knew
it."

"Then why didn't she say anything?"

Gloria ran her finger along the curve of the steering wheel.
"Because she felt you needed to work through those issues yourself.
She knew you wouldn't listen to her, thanks to that Irish
stubbornness."

Despite my anger and frustration with Gloria's words, I
couldn't help but chuckle a little. "Mom always said that's why I was
a good bike rider. I was so darn stubborn, I wouldn't quit. Even times
I probably should have."

"You needed to learn to forgive yourself. She firmly believed
that you needed to come to accept that you were blameless in your
father's death on your own timetable. You still do."

I frowned. "Fine, whatever. But what's that got to do with
Annie?"

"She's a strong, independent woman and because of that,
you need to let her have her independence. Not for good. But before
you see her again, somehow you need to let your father, and your
mother and Evan go, once and for all. I'm certain once you make your
peace with them, you'll be ready to ask her to come back."

"So what the hell—sorry, heck— am I supposed to do to make
this peace?"

Gloria patted my shoulder. "I wish I could tell you, but that's
something you have to figure out on your own."

"Great. And how long is this supposed to take?"

Gloria restarted the engine. "As long as you need."

We drove back to the Co-op in silence. Gloria was graciously
letting me get my head around what she'd just dumped on me. When
we pulled into her parking spot, she looked at me. And waited.

"I'll try G. I have no idea how I'm going to do this, but I
promise I'll try." When she nodded, I went on. "Anything else you can
tell me?"

"The poor girl can't be expected to face that surgery on her
own. She needs you." Gloria got out of the truck and walked toward
the Co-op's entrance. When the front door closed behind her, the
eerie similarity between the scene that had just played out before me
and the scene I'd dreamt when I'd been in Las Vegas with Annie sent
shivers down my spine.

On my ride home from the Co-op, I tried to sort through all
the advice I'd been given over the last day or so.
Maybe I should
call Paul and Dave and let them add their two cents worth
. Nah,
why give them the chance to add to the What's Wrong with E.J.
McCarty campaign.

I was almost home when a burst of inspiration, or maybe
desperation, hit me. Annie loved the Art Center grounds. She'd told
me once that between the flowers, the view of the river and the
outdoor artwork, it had become one of her favorite places in the
world. She'd go there when she wanted to be alone. Sometimes she
wrote, sometimes she took a book. On the occasions she went
empty-handed, I figured it was to just think.

One time she joked that the grounds were the closest thing
she'd found to her hot tub at the Villa for meditating.

With no real plan in mind, I coasted up to the Art Center
building and leaned my bike against the stone wall. A few cars were
spaced around the parking lot, but other than that, the place exuded
serenity. I strolled along the footpath for a while, stopping to admire
each piece of artwork. The bronze piece with the giant head always
creeped me out, but I loved the curly silver sculpture with the
built-in seat.

Eventually, I made my way to the deck that overlooked the
river. Annie and I had sat here side-by-side not so long ago. Had it
really only been a few months? God, at times it felt like her chemo
treatments had taken years.

I leaned on the rail and stared at the river. The water moved
like it had all the time in the world, which I guess was probably true.
There was no rush, no boiling rapids, just an easy, gliding pace
onward, ever onward.

A tree branch floated by, bobbing ever so slightly in the
current.
It sure managed to let go
. I chuckled at the thought as
the river curved and the branch disappeared from my sight.

Could it be that easy for me? Just snap my fingers like the
branch likely snapped off from its tree, and let go of the past, once
and for all?

No.

If it was that simple, I was pretty sure I'd have done that
already. Like, especially after the showdown with Annie over Mom's
car. A plan was beginning to form, though. With a tap, tap, tap on the
wood railing for good luck, I bade the river farewell and marched
back to my bike.

It was time, once and for all, to deal with the boxes of family
records that had been shoved in the spare bedroom closet when I'd
moved into the condo. I'd been avoiding them like a sprinter
avoiding an hour-long climb. It appeared I couldn't continue that
way.

Pedaling just fast enough to stay upright the rest of the way
home, I came up with a plan. I'd go through the boxes, starting with
the oldest one first. Items that were irreplaceable, like pictures,
would go in one stack to be saved. Virtually everything else,
including the documents from Mom and Dad's estate, would go into
another stack to be recycled or pitched. I wouldn't dodge the issue
by just tossing everything. I'd force myself to take a look at every last
scrap of paper.

If I did one box per day, that would take about a week. The
thought of spending that length of time in relationship limbo made
me want to puke, but it had to be done.

With my emotional bank account at zero, I inhaled a plate of
pasta and went to bed. I put my phone on the night stand just in case
there was a call or text. By the time I fell asleep after tossing and
turning for a couple of hours, there hadn't been so much as a
low-battery chirp from the stupid thing.

The steady rain that moved in while I was asleep made
avoiding the task before me that much more difficult. With no
legitimate reason to delay, I trudged to the closet and carried the
boxes, two at a time, into the living room. After four trips, I was done.
Seven boxes of McCarty family "memorabilia" and one box from
Evan's parents that I hadn't had the guts to open.

If everyone was right, and it all went back to some
suppressed guilt about Dad, I needed to start there. I opened the box
labeled "Dad-Legal" and peered in. A flood of memories rushed over
me as my fingers ran over the file folders and legal-sized envelopes. I
took out one of the envelopes and dumped its contents on the coffee
table. It was a mish-mash of Dad's things from his desk at work.
Among them were an anniversary card he never got to send to Mom
and two tickets to an Indianapolis Indians baseball game he never
had the chance to attend.

After pulling out a couple of pictures, I slid the rest of the
documents, including the card and tickets, into a recycle box. The
whoosh of the papers as they landed in their new home hurt my ears
and I couldn't escape a nagging feeling that I was betraying my
father's memory by saying goodbye to the records.

But these paper documents weren't the most important
thing in my life. Annie, my North Star, was.

I sat up a little straighter and took out a file folder stuffed
with documents related to Dad's passing. Given his position with his
law firm and the fact that he'd died at the office, an autopsy had been
conducted. I'd known he'd died from a stroke and had been gone by
the time somebody had found him. Studying the documents in the
folder, I learned a lot more. It was a medical report that was the most
illuminating.

According to the autopsy, Dad had suffered a massive brain
bleed and had died almost instantaneously. He hadn't suffered.

I stared out the window as I came to grips with the
revelation. I could have been in the room next door and wouldn't
have been able to help him. The fact that I'd been twelve hours away
at a race in New York hadn't mattered a bit.

A handful of times, Mom had tried to talk to me about the
circumstances of Dad's death. Thinking about it now, every time
she'd brought it up, I'd gotten angry and stomped off. Eventually,
she'd given up.

Guess I should have listened.

I set the doctor's report aside and dumped the rest of the file
in the recycle bin. By early afternoon, I'd made it to the end of the
first box. With a growing sense of pride, I flipped through my "keep"
stack. It was about two fingers high. Giving myself a mental knuckle
bump, I threw on a jacket and took a damp walk to get a late
lunch.

After a swing by the record store, I called Miranda to tell her
what I was doing.

"Oh, E.J. that's so great. Audrey forbade me from saying
anything to you, but she told me one time about how you'd, in her
words, chosen to take on all this guilt about your father's passing. I
think she referred to it as the 'Irish Guilt Complex' or something like
that."

I laughed. "Yeah, she always razzed me growing up that if
there was anything to feel guilty about, I volunteered, even if it had
nothing to do with me."

We chatted a bit more before I couldn't hold back any more.
"Any word from her?"

There was silence on the line for a moment. "Don't worry
about Annie. Focus on what you're doing. She's probably spending
every minute she can in her hot tub."

We said our goodbyes with a promise to keep each other
posted if there was any word from my North Star. Emotionally wiped
out from dealing with box one, I made an early night of it, with a
pledge to hit box two right after breakfast. Despite my certainty that
the next move was up to me, I put my phone on the night stand
before turning out the light.

A routine soon developed in which I'd get up, have breakfast
and then work my way through a box. Some were easier to get
through than others. One had contained a bunch of Dad's business
records that I had absolutely no use for. The entire box went into the
growing recycle mound.