1929 (34 page)

Claire sat by Arianna, putting finishing
touches on a long, last strand of garland. She had spent hours
wiring together scrap tree branches that Aryl had brought home,
tying in red bows that she had made from the ribbons of one of her
dresses. She had draped a length of it over the fireplace mantel,
the cracked living room window, and the doorway to the kitchen. She
had set candles around, and Ava was amazed at how such small
touches could improve the look of the place. The radio played
Christmas carols in the background and the mood, despite their
subdued celebration, was contented. A light snow fell outside, and
Aryl had saved extra firewood for a roaring fire.

Arianna remained quiet; she had been for much
of the last week. Caleb had been watching her closely, waiting for
a complete breakdown, but it hadn’t come. She remained calm and
lost in her thoughts.

“Hot buttered rum, anyone?” Aryl asked,
making good use of his last bottle of rum for the holidays. Caleb
was the first to jump up.

“Right here.” He held a mug out to Aryl, who
led him a few steps away from the others, so they could talk
privately. He talked as he poured.

“What do you make of Jon lately?” Aryl asked,
holding up the card before tucking it into his back pocket.

“Maybe he’s finally coming around.” Caleb
shrugged. “Dealing with what happened last fall, or it could be the
Christmas season, or maybe he knows what we’ve been planning, so
he’s excited? He did come up on us a few times while we were
talking things through.”

“Maybe . . .” Aryl shrugged. “There’s
something else, though. I know getting jumped by those guys kind of
messed him up, but you know what he asked me the other day?”

“What?” Caleb asked, sipping his drink.

“He asked me, if anything ever happened to
him, would I take care of Ava. Like a sister, you know. Kinda
caught me off guard. I mean, those guys did a number on him, but he
was nowhere near dying.”

Caleb looked at him with one eyebrow raised.
“He asked me the same thing a couple days ago. Made me promise that
I would and promise again that I wouldn’t say anything about his
asking.”

Aryl leaned back on the counter with crossed
arms, thinking.

“What time should we leave here in order to
be on time? It’s a bit of a walk, and Maura will skin us alive if
we miss her son’s choir performance,” Claire called from across the
room. Aryl barely heard her as he pulled out the Christmas card,
turned it over slowly, and opened it. It wasn’t a Christmas card,
but a folded piece of paper; on it only two sentences.

‘Don’t let Ava come home after midnight mass.
I’m sorry.’

“Keep everyone here,” Aryl ordered, ran out
the door and down the staircase to Jonathan’s door.

∞∞∞

“Jon!” He yanked on the doorknob and burst
through the door. He checked the living room, then ducked his head
into the bedroom, but saw no sign of Jonathan. He threw open the
bathroom door, and his face went white with the scene laid out
before him. He leaned on the door handle to steady himself.

Jonathan didn’t look up, didn’t even flinch
when the door slammed into the wall behind it.

“Put it down, Jon.” It was all he could think
of to say, his voice shaking slightly. Jonathan didn’t acknowledge
him, his eyes fixed on the straight razor pressed into his left
wrist. “Jon, don’t do this . . . give me the razor,” Aryl said
softly, taking a cautious step away from the threshold. Jonathan’s
set expression was that of an already dead man. His only response
was to press the blade slightly harder into his wrist, causing the
skin to puff up on each side of the blade and a small drop of blood
appeared. Aryl’s eyes darted frantically as he tried to think of
anything he could say that would prevent Jonathan from pulling the
blade sharply to the right.

“Go away, Aryl,” Jonathan whispered, his eyes
still fixed. Aryl took another small step forward.

“I’m not leaving, Jon. Now give me the
razor.” Aryl saw Jonathan tense and his fingers gripped the handle
of the blade until his knuckles turned white. Aryl’s mind raced.
“Jon!” he yelled. “If you do this–” He paused briefly and tried to
keep control of his voice. “If you do this, I swear to God Himself,
I will take Ava and personally deliver her to Victor.” Jon’s dead
eyes flickered.

“You promised you’d take care of her.”

“If it were an accident, Jon. But if you do
it yourself? Forget it. I can’t deal with Ava grieving a husband
who took his own life. Especially after watching you do it.” He
hesitated as Jon looked down at the blade and began to breathe
deeper and harder.

“You already promised,” he growled, eyes
fixed on the task he had decided upon.

“I lied,” Aryl said flatly. Jonathan shook
his head tightly in denial.

“Caleb will do it,” he whispered.

“Caleb’s got his baby to worry about now. And
it’s just a matter of time before Claire comes to me with the same
news. We have to take care of our own first, Jon.” Jonathan was
quiet for a moment before he looked up at Aryl.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, Aryl,” he said
pitifully.

“I could say the same thing to you.”

Jonathan lowered his head, his face slowly
fracturing into a thousand, painful pieces and started to shake.
His grip was loose on the straight razor, and Aryl took two quick
steps and grabbed it out from under his fingers. He let out a heavy
sigh of relief, folded the razor, and put it in his pocket with a
shaking hand. Jonathan covered his head with his arms as whimpers
and grunts turned to loud, uneven sobs. His guttural cries were
heartbreaking to Aryl as he collapsed on the bathroom floor. He
bent his knees and held his own head.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when
he caught a glimpse of Caleb standing at the bathroom door, looking
worried and confused. Aryl made a few motions and expressions that
Caleb understood. He was to take the others and go on ahead without
them. He turned to leave but looked back at Jonathan anxiously.
Again, without words, Aryl told him it would be all right.

A long time passed before Jonathan’s sobs
started to quiet, and he wiped at his face, keeping his head down,
not wanting Aryl to witness any more of his breakdown than he
already had.

“Jesus Christ, Jon, it's Christmas Eve,” Aryl
finally said quietly. “You were really going to do this . . . on
Christmas Eve?” he said in disbelief, staring at the side of
Jonathan’s head with betrayal on his face. Jonathan sniffled,
cleared his throat, and wiped his face on his sleeve.

“I just can’t do it anymore, Aryl.”

“Yes, you can, Jon. You have to. Every day we
all wake up and struggle to put one foot in front of the other with
no promise that at the end of the day, life will be any better. But
you get up anyway. You keep breathing and hold on to faith that
somehow, someday things are going to change for the better.
Probably when we least expect it.”

“That’s a problem, then,” Jonathan said, with
a ragged sigh, “because I don’t have any faith that anything is
going to change. I can’t see how.” He shrugged and slowly moved his
head helplessly. “Every time I find the strength to stand up,” he
said through clenched teeth, “I get knocked back down again.” He
looked at Aryl, confounded. “I don’t understand. But I can’t get up
again, Aryl, not when I know exactly what’s going to happen. It’s
just a matter of time,” he finished, leaning his head against the
wall beside the tub. Aryl thought for a moment, poignantly, about
his friend. He had always been the one in charge; the organized,
fearless leader of the group. He had been powerful, successful, and
confident. Now he sat hopeless in a bathtub ready to end it
all.

“What about Ava? How the hell do you think
this would affect her?” Aryl asked. Jonathan shrugged.

“She’d get over it. I’m not the man I used to
be. She said so herself, I’m just a shell. You and Caleb would care
for her until she met someone. She’d forget all about me.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever been more wrong
about anything in your life,” Aryl scoffed. “This would destroy
her, Jon. She’d always blame herself, maybe even follow you.”
Jonathan’s head turned toward Aryl, absorbing the possibility he’d
never considered. Aryl fed into it. “I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, Jon, but she’s been pretty low herself lately. She has no
real family, barely clings to shreds of hope, all of which revolve
around you. So, how long do you think it would be before she
climbed into this bathtub herself?”

Jonathan’s mouth was gaping slightly and his
eyes fearful.

“She wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“What would stop her? What would she have to
live for without you?” His head fell back, and he stared at the
ceiling in defeat.

“She’s never going to believe me about Elyse.
Or forgive me. She’s still going to leave.”

“You have to make her believe you, Jon. And
with enough devotion, she will forgive you, and she won’t
leave.”

“You think she won’t?” Jon asked meekly.

“Jon. It looks like you’re going to have to
get out of that bathtub and put one foot in front of the other just
like the rest of us.” Jonathan didn’t move. “We’ll help you,
Jon.”

Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve leaned on you
two enough,” he said.

“Nonsense. We’re friends, Jon. Practically
family.” He paused looking for the right words. “I wouldn’t have
Claire if it weren’t for you. You know her parents would have never
allowed the marriage if it weren’t for joining your firm.”

“Sure,” Jon said sarcastically. “And look
what joining my firm got you.”

“That’s the point. It got me Claire. I don’t
care how it ended as long as it ended with her. And look at Caleb.
You know as well as I do that if life had continued unaltered,
Arianna would have gotten more and more out of control. She would
have put off starting a family, probably indefinitely, so the
parties could continue. Caleb would have only been able to put up
with that for so long. I know it’s only been a week since she’s
known, but there’s a change in her, Jon. A visible change. And I
have never seen Caleb this happy. Not happy like with money and
power and security, not happy like when we would win over a key
client. But deep down to his very soul happy.” Jonathan shook his
head in amazement.

“How the hell do you do that, Aryl?”

“Do what?” he asked as he stretched his legs
to stand.

“I see destroyed lives, and you see a baby
that otherwise wouldn’t have been born. I curse this building when
the heat goes out, and you pitch a tent in the living room with
Claire and pretend you’re camping . . . I just don’t see things the
way you do.”

“You never started looking, Jon. But for now,
you don’t have to. Right now, just keep breathing. That’s all I’m
asking.” He reached a hand out to help pull him up from the bathtub
and then stepped aside to let Jonathan move to the sink. He leaned
on it for a moment, took a deep breath, and bent to wash his face.
His left wrist was red and swollen along the line where the blade
had pressed and he was sure it would scar. He washed a few drops of
dried blood away. He felt guilt wash over him, like he had
committed some horrendous felony.

“Please don’t tell, Ava,” he asked quietly,
looking over but not meeting Aryl's eyes.

“I won’t,” Aryl promised. “Keep your sleeves
down and no one will notice.” Jon nodded numbly. “I’ll be right
back. There’s something I want to show you.” He slowly raised his
head to face his reflection after Aryl left.

He didn’t recognize the man who stared back
at him.

Aryl returned a short time later with his
coat and gloves. “Get your coat. We’re going for a walk.”

A light snow fell as they briskly walked in
silence.

∞∞∞

“Here it is.” Aryl stopped suddenly and
turned toward a dilapidated, brick building.

“Here what is?”

Aryl pointed to the building. “A way out,” he
said, starting to brim with excitement. “Caleb and I have been
working on this for a few weeks. We were going to wait to tell you
until tomorrow, sort of a Christmas present. You don’t have to do
anything but say yes. We’ve already got everything worked out.”

“Say yes to what?” Jon asked warily.

“The owner of this building needs to sell.
He’s too old to take care of it anymore.”

“Doesn’t look like he took care of it in the
first place,” Jonathan said, looking over the ragged building.

“Anyway,” Aryl continued, “he offered to sell
it to us on time. We assume the loan, and give him a kickback of
ten percent of the total monthly rents, so that he maintains a
small income. If he outright sells, with the value of real estate
being so little, he’ll owe money.” Aryl was excited now and talking
fast. “If we each take an apartment, that will leave nine to rent,
plus the two ground floor shops once we get them fixed up. We live
rent free, and after the mortgage is paid plus the kickback to the
owner, we save the profit, plus what we make at the shipping yard.
We save everything and do it again. There’s got to be more deals
out there like this, until we have enough rentals that we don’t
have to work at the yard anymore. It’ll take time, but it can be
done,” he finished proudly.

“Renters,” Jonathan said flatly. “We can’t
pay a mortgage without renters.”

“There are already four long-term renters
that have agreed to stay if we fix things up. And as for the rest,
we steal them right out from under Victor. Caleb has already talked
to several people in our building, and even if we didn’t undercut
Victor’s prices, they agreed to move. But if we do cut rent even a
few dollars, we’d have people lined up to save some money, and we’d
always be full.” Jonathan took a minute to roll all of this around
in his mind.