Fire & Water (43 page)

“You’re not responsible for the actions of others, child. Is your daughter safe now?”

Had I mentioned that my child’s gender? “I’m doing everything I can to take care of her now.”

“Good. And what of your husband?”

“He’s in agony. Tortured by his condition.” I paused to search for the words. “He almost died once by his own hand, but I rescued him. An act I now regret. It’s my fault that he’s still dangerous to our child and that he continues to suffer. I don’t really pray, Father, but I’ve
wished
a thousand times that he would die.”

“Wishing is the doubter’s name for prayer. God hears them both. Your prayer comes not from malice for your husband, but from a desire to end his pain and the danger he poses. It is also your own pain that you wish end.” Silence buzzed in my ears.

A picture of Burt popped into my mind. “My husband and I have been apart for some time, Father. And I recently… well, I recently tried to… I didn’t, but I almost—”

“You were unfaithful?”

That word,
unfaithful
,
swirled around my mind like a cyclone. “No, not technically. I would have been, but the other man stopped it.”

“You know this man well?”

I nodded.

“Then perhaps you chose him because you knew he would have the strength to resist temptation.”

“That’s pretty generous, Father.”

“God’s love is generous, and more understanding than you might imagine, my child. You love your husband?”

I nodded.

“Loving him is an expression of the promise you made in your vows of marriage. Pray not for the death of your husband, but for clarity. Without God, we are left with only our intellect to determine our path. Intellect is a dull knife when cutting through the grisly matters of living this complicated life. God sees you. His guidance will come.”

Father Sean moved his hand in the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Go and sin no more. Bless you, child.”

* * *

Ryan began to talk a little, and, as recommended by Dr. Gross, she returned to school. I returned to short days at the hospital and brought her to daily sessions with Dr. Gross.

Just as Dr. Gross had predicted, the scenes in the sand tray began to morph. Figurines once buried began to interact on the sand’s surface. The tray began to blossom with plant life, and some of the more threatening figures began to be excluded. Soon Ryan abandoned the burial rituals in favor of domestic scenes with furniture and gardens. Still, the figure of the wizard lurked in the corner, though sometimes his back was turned.

One day during our fifth week in Dr. Gross’s office, Ryan stopped her play with the figurines. She looked up at me with a strength of presence that I had not seen in weeks.

“Mommy?”

The sound of her voice, calm and steady, startled me. “Wh-what, honey?”

“I want to go back to our house.”

I looked up at Dr. Gross, whose only change of expression was her lifted eyebrows. Her kind eyes encouraged me.

“To Granddad’s?”

“No, Mommy. To
our
house. I know Daddy can’t live with us anymore because he’s too sick. But I think we should go home for just a little while. You and me. In
our
house. To say good-bye to it.”

I searched Dr. Gross’s face for how I should respond, but just as she had with Ryan, she offered me no answers, letting me find my own. “You know we can only stay there for another week or so. Then the people that bought it will move in.”

“Daddy won’t be there, will he?” Fear edged her question.

“No. He won’t be there anymore.” I looked up at Rachel Gross, whose focus remained on Ryan.

“Then I want to go. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Okay, honey. We’ll go home, then.”

* * *

Even in the brittle days of December the bougainvillea vines blossomed magenta against the creamy stucco of our Sea Cliff house. The exquisite house had become haunted for me, but for Ryan it meant familiarity. It meant Jake, and she needed to say good-bye.

After Ryan went to bed, each night for the next week, I wrapped glasses in tissue and sorted through books and the general flotsam of the years we’d been a family. I packed up all of Jake’s clothing and the supplies from his studio, though I had no idea if he’d even care about any of it. Movers would arrive soon to cart things to a storage unit I’d rented for him. I had mailed him a key so that he could retrieve his belongings whenever he wanted them without coming to the house. I cared nothing about the house or its contents—only about Ryan.

Finally, with one empty box remaining in the foyer, I found myself alone in the kitchen while Ryan slept upstairs. Moonlight afforded a perfect view of the towers of the Golden Gate, strong and powerful against the night sky.

I opened the drawer of the sideboard beside the kitchen table and removed the mahogany silverware box. I examined its sickening contents—syringes, rubber tubing, a blackened spoon, and several plastic bags with traces of white powder. Just as Father Sean had foretold, clarity came to me. Now, sitting at the breakfast nook with Jake’s belongings stacked in the foyer, I steeled myself for what I knew I must do.

I picked up a parcel, wrapped neatly in brown paper. I opened the lid of the mahogany box and tucked the parcel inside. Resting my palm on top of the box until my heartbeat slowed, I closed the lid. I then packed it into one of Jake’s cartons of clothing. With a thick black marker I labeled the box J
AKE’S
C
LOTHES
. Then I added the words M
AHOGANY
S
ILVER
B
OX
to guide Jake specifically to the box and its contents. I sealed the box with layers of tape, assuring myself that I’d have to work hard to change my mind and open it again.

I turned off the kitchen light and lingered there in front of the window. It had been weeks since I’d had a drink, and in that instant I knew I was completely sober and clear-thinking for the first time in a very long time. I wasn’t drunk on scotch or inebriated by guilt, or worry, or fury, or fear. Passion and love were no longer my intoxicants. Work was no longer my anesthesia. Secrecy could alter my thinking no more.

Fully conscious, energy coursing through my veins, I pulled away from the window and climbed the stairs. I sat in the dark at the edge of Ryan’s bed, simply watching my baby sleep.

Jake-in-the-Box

When I was three, Tully gave me a jack-in-the-box. A tinny version of “Pop Goes the Weasel” plunked as I turned the toy’s crank. My family hovered, awaiting the moment of my delighted surprise. When the lid popped open and out came the clown, I screamed and burst into tears. Tully cranked it again, thinking that because I knew what to expect I’d enjoy it, but I was terrified every time anyone brought it near me. Tully felt so badly that he made great theater of throwing the toy into the dumpster behind the bar and covering it with garbage.

In the weeks of waiting for Jake to reemerge from the hospital I often thought about that jack-in-the-box. It was not the atonal music or the pop of the lid that frightened me. It was the anticipation—the pluck of every note, each turn of the crank, bracing myself for the shock of it.

It was a wintry weeknight a week before Christmas. We’d returned from New York ten weeks before, and Jake had been in the hospital in Vermont ever since. Ryan was just beginning to resemble her old self again.

The pub was filled with regulars. Dumpling and Sausage, Dad’s fattest cats ever, sashayed across the bar, one following the other. Holiday lights hung outside and the pub was trimmed with red poinsettias. Outside, the night roared with wind and driving rain. As new customers entered, an icy gust blasted into the bar, inciting a chorus of, “Close that door!” Nat King Cole sang of chestnuts and Christmas cards. Aromas of cinnamon and apple rose from the Crock-Pot where mulled cider brewed.

My dad greeted me as soon as I came in from the hospital, his face creased with worry. “Burt called this afternoon. He tried to reach you at the hospital.”

“I’ve been in surgery all day.”

“Jake discharged himself last night.”

My knees weakened under my weight.

“Chin up, love.” I could see that he was tempering his own fears to calm me. “We’re all in this together now. You and Ryan are safe and sound. Go have a look at the decorating your daughter has done, why don’t you, Kitten?”

I worked my way to the storage room to find Alice and Ryan unpacking the last of the holiday boxes. Just as I had when I was small, Ryan stood on the balcony of the storage loft, a bird’s perch that afforded a full view of the entire bar. She wore a Santa hat and a garland necklace.

Just as I’d wiggled my way past the boxes to help Alice, another chorus of “Close the door!”
rose from the crowd.

My blood turned to ice when I looked over and saw Ryan’s frozen face. She stared, transfixed, at the front of the bar. As I scrambled through the clutter, I watched Ryan thaw. Her brow crinkled and she tipped her head to one side, as if evaluating what she saw. Just as I neared her, I could almost see an electrical charge pulse through her, reanimating her muscles and limbs. “Daddy!” Ryan’s shrill scream sliced the room.

Ryan ran, her lean body weaving around the pool table and the sagging sofas, past the dart game and the clusters of patrons, past the jukebox, until she launched herself at Jake in a desperate embrace. He pulled off her Santa hat and showered her with kisses.

Every muscle in my body prepared to protect my daughter, ready kick and punch until Jake lay motionless at my feet. When I reached them, Jake gazed at me in silence through the veil of Ryan’s curls.

“I missed you so much,” he said. He spoke to both of us.

Jake wore new glasses and his face was freshly shaved. The shoulders of his jacket were soaked and his hair hung in ringlets, glistening with rainwater. He’d gained some weight, and his face bore the boyish softness it had when we’d first met.

Gone was the wild, fire-flecked look of threat I’d seen as he’d boarded the helicopter. In seconds, Tully, Alice, and Dad surrounded Jake. My motley army of defenders. Dad stepped up to Jake and with a firm grab of his forearm pulled Jake aside. Jake towered over my father, but he leaned down to listen as he spoke. Jake nodded and Dad released his grip, patted him on the back, and stepped aside. Jake returned to Ryan.

Alice reached for Ryan’s hand and smoothly pulled her from Jake’s side. I exhaled. Alice’s eyes were kind, but her lips were set in a straight, bothered line. “Come now, sweetheart. Let’s let your daddy get out of that wet coat and go fetch him something to drink.” Alice then reached Jake and embraced him and kissed his cheek. “What’ll it be, Jake? Hot cider is good on a cold, wet day.”

Jake stammered. “Sounds great, Alice. Thank you.”

“I’ll get it,” Ryan chirped. “Go sit at the family table and I’ll bring it. Just like a real waitress.” Ryan scurried off to the end of the bar, where Dr. Schwartz sat nursing a brandy. He offered a reassuring pat to her head.

The rest of us stood, not quite knowing what to do. Finally, Tully extended his hand to Jake. “Good to see you.”

Soon, it was only I who had said nothing. Jake turned to me. “You look wonderful, Kat.”

I broke my gaze from his as if it was a solar eclipse I’d already looked at for too long. Jake, Ryan, and I sat in the family booth where Ryan chattered, regaling Jake with all of her pent-up stories of schoolmates, teachers, the tricks Welby could do. Her smile was overstretched, her voice extra exuberant. I tugged at small hangnails with my front teeth until all my fingertips smarted. Jake listened while Ryan’s words twirled around us. The others left us alone at the table, but my father peered at us. Tully paced the room like a nervous guard dog. Alice popped over repeatedly under the guise of offering food and beverage.

“Plenty of fish and chips, Jake. And a good lamb stew. Can I fix you a plate?”

“No. Thanks, Alice. I’m good.”

In a few minutes she’d be back, refilling Jake’s cider or warming my coffee.

The evening wore on. Ryan’s chatter was a whirlwind, a vast contrast to the wordless child of a few weeks before. Anxiety was a near-visible glow emanating from her. Her superficial babbling was a performance she was delivering for an audience of one. With her every word, I felt her longing. She was searching for the daddy she’d been missing—finding him here, now, in this familiar place, so different from the terrifying figure he’d been when she’d seen him last. She needed to face this wizard as she had in so many trays of sand. She needed to recognize that her loving daddy and the frightening wizard were co-inhabitants of the same form.

Jake sat calmly, listening, with creases at the corners of his eyes. His squint gave him the appearance of looking past Ryan’s performance, trying to see the happy and confident daughter he knew.

Time was a concertina, expanding and collapsing all at once. I looked at my watch. “Ryan, it’s nearly midnight. You’ve got school tomorrow.”