Tempus (31 page)

“I used to wonder that, but he’ll let me do it at the store.  It’s hard even there, but he tries not to let me see.”  He was getting better about it, too.  I think.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mom?”

“Car accident.  It was really a truck, one of those big u-hauls.  I was twelve and it was the last week before Christmas break.  There was some huge Estate auction up north and she talked my dad into letting her go instead of him, because of the
afore mentioned
reasons.  Dad stayed here with me.”

“How did it happen, icy roads?”  He asked.

“That was the cause, but it wasn’t my mom’s fault.  I didn’t know what happened until I saw it on the news. 
Long story
.”  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell it, but he waited to see if I would.

“Umm.  The night it happened, I was here with my dad.  My mom called on her cell phone from the road—you know what?  I just now realized why my dad never got me a cell phone before, not that I
drive
—anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yeah, my mom called and the roads were getting icy.  It was after dark.  She told him she was going to stop at the next town and get a room.  She was supposed to call when she got there, but she never called.”

He was watching me thoughtfully, and nodded in understanding.

“My dad didn’t worry for a little while.  He let me stay up late, and we waited for a long time.  I do remember him calling several places, though, and asking if my mom was there.  He kept getting voicemail when he tried her phone.  I know he was starting to get panicky after a few hours.”

“He went next door and woke up the Watsons, and they came over here to stay with me.  He was afraid she broke down on the side of the road, her phone died, and she was freezing to death. 
So
, they came over here and my dad went looking for her.  I fell asleep on the sofa.”

I sipped my lemonade.  I hadn’t thought about that night in a long time.  He knew that wasn’t the end of the story, so he waited patiently until I was ready to continue.  That almost made it harder. 

“The next morning I smelled pancakes.  I jumped up and ran in here to the kitchen.  I thought it was my mom, but it was Mrs. Watson—she was the one playing the piano next door—and she was at the stove, cooking and crying.  A few minutes later, my Aunt Louise came in the front door, and
she
was crying.  Then my dad came in and I saw his face.”  My voice cracked, and Gabriel reached across the table and took my hand.

For some reason, it was extremely comforting.  I closed my eyes, and felt like I was getting strength, straight from the tips of his fingers.  It was the strangest sensation—it almost made me forget what I was talking about. 
Almost
.

I took a deep, ragged breath, and opened my eyes.  I didn’t let go of his hand, though.  I needed to hold it.  “I didn’t even ask what had happened—I already knew.  But some little part of me thought, if nobody said it, it couldn’t be true.  My dad tried to talk to me, but I ran away to my room.  It was on the second floor then, not the third.  The third floor was Mom’s ‘sanctuary.’  That’s what she called it.”  I smiled sadly.  “Now it’s
my
sanctuary.”

“Anyway, my dad sent my Aunt to talk to me, but I wouldn’t listen to her either.  I buried my head under a pillow and prayed that God would take me, too, but he just left me there in my bed, all alone.”  Gabriel squeezed my hand.

“The day of the funeral, I wanted to see Mom.  I had to know if it was really her.  I kept expecting her to come home, even though I knew she wouldn’t, she couldn’t.  They told me I couldn’t see her—the accident was bad—so I asked Dad for a lock of her hair.”

“The one in the box?”  He asked.

“Yes.  Dad couldn’t do it, though.  He had the funeral director do it.  I just wanted something that belonged to my mom, that had been a
part
of her, you know?”

“I do.”  He whispered.

“A few days later I was watching TV.  The news came on, and the lead story was about a driver being charged with ‘intoxicated man-slaughter.’  They showed a picture of the man.  He had been the cause of a huge pile-up on the interstate.  There was only one fatality.  My mom.”

I took a deep breath, then continued.  “I found out a year later that he had made bond the next day, and never showed back up for court.  He skipped out.  I don’t think he’s ever been caught.  He’s out there running around somewhere living it up, and my mom is
dead
.”

  Tears spilled down my cheeks, silently.  “She was
crushed
.  That big truck she was driving, and she was
crushed
.  There were little cars, and vans, all piled up, but everyone else survived.  Her, in that big damn truck...”  That’s when the sobs tore loose.

Gabriel was up and around the table, an arm around me, before I even realized he was moving.  I hadn’t cried over my mom since her funeral.  My dad was so distraught afterwards that I didn’t let myself cry. 

I buried my face in Gabriel’s shoulder and let it all out.  I missed her so much, and life was so unfair.  He put his arms around me, lowered himself to the floor, and pulled me with him, onto his lap.  That’s what my father should have done, what I’d
wanted
him to do, but he couldn’t.  I wasn’t mad at him for it; I just wished he could have been stronger then.

I cried for what seemed like forever, until there were no tears left.  I wiped at my face and the tears stung my hands.  I needed to blow my nose.  I was sniffling, trying to regain composure.  “You probably think I’m a lunatic, acting like this in front of a total stranger.”  I was trying to sound lighter, but I just sounded nasally, because my nose was full of crap.

“I’ll not take offense to that, since you’ve other things on your mind, but I beg to differ.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not a ‘total stranger,’ I’m the rescuer of distressed damsels, and the sender of thoughtful flowers,
remember
?”  He pushed a strand of hair off my wet cheek.

“Yes,
now
I remember you.”

He looked thoughtfully at my face, the ghost of smile hinting around the corner of his eyes and lips, “If only.”  He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.

He felt so familiar.  My dreams must have been more realistic than I thought.  I needed to blow my nose, but I didn’t want to stand up yet.  I wished that I could smell.

I closed my eyes and leaned back a little, relaxing.  I felt like I was supposed to be here, just like this, only not yet, or already.  I couldn’t make sense of it.  If my nose would stop, I could just sit here forever.

“You’re smiling.”  His voice was close to my ear.

“Am I?”  I had to be dreaming.  I sniffled.  Couldn’t be, my nose wouldn’t be stopped up.

“I’ll get you something for your nose.”  He said, releasing me slightly.

“No, not yet.  I’m still recharging.”  What?  Why did I say that?

“Yes, Ma’am.”  He closed his arms back around me.

“Why does it feel like I
know
you, like from somewhere else?”  I asked.  I was thinking it, but wasn’t sure I’d asked until he answered.

“Hmm.  Some religions believe in reincarnation.”  He offered.

“Maybe something like that, but not exactly.  Is it just me?”

“No, not at all.”

“What do you mean?”  I opened my eyes and looked into his deep blue ones.  They were beautiful.

“Do you believe in fate?”  It sounded like his voice echoed.

I wondered if I’d heard right.  “Ask that again.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

I must be losing my mind.  “I don’t know.  Yes, and no, I guess.  But you didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not just you.”  His eyes were probing.  “I remember
you
, every day.”

“You mean you
think
of me?”

“Yes.”  The room was humming.  “It’s why I’m here.  Why I will
always
be here.”

My body felt electrified.  I could imagine lightning dancing on my skin.  My breathing was heavy and I felt a little dizzy.  I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, it was too stopped up.

“
No
.  Not
now
.”  He said, and I had no idea what he meant.

Gabriel scooted me off his lap and got to his feet, reaching down for my hand.  I let him pull me to my feet.  “I can’t breathe.”  I said.

He looked around the room, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and shoved them toward me.  I ripped one off and looked at him.

“I know,
turn around
.  I’ll still be able to hear you, you know.”

How did he know I was going to say that?  I blew and honked and cleared my nose.  I took a few sniffs.  I could smell him, in a good way, and I was glad.

“I need to get home before my father calls wondering where I’ve gotten off to.”  He said.  “I went for a jog, and I should have already returned by now.”

“What did you mean by ‘no, not now’?”  And why was he in such a hurry to leave now?

“I don’t know.”  He turned his back.

“You didn’t tell me about
your
mother.”  I was trying to get him to stay, just a little longer.  “I told you all about mine.  Slobbered on your shoulder, even.”

He took a deep breath and turned back around, a look of concern in his eyes.  He glanced around the room as if he were making sure we were alone.  It was strange.

“I could tell you tomorrow evening, after work, if you’d like.”  He looked like he was bracing himself for something.  He was stiff, and holding his breath.

“I, um, have plans all day.”

His breath rushed out and his shoulders slumped slightly.  “I understand.  Maybe another time, then.”

“
Sunday
!”  I shouted.  God, I sounded desperate or something.  “I mean, Sunday is good.  The store is closed.  I start school Monday so I’ll be pretty busy next week.” 
Way to sound like a kid.
  “
Senior
year.” 

“Sunday?  Sunday would be perfect.  May I have your phone number?  I will call you.”

“Umm, don’t laugh.”  I pulled out my phone.  “I don’t even know my own number.”  I started looking at my phone, trying to figure out where to find it.  It had to be in there somewhere.

“Here” He said, holding out his hand. 

I gave him my phone.  He dialed a number, and his pocket rang.  He hung up, did something on my phone, and handed it back.  “Now you have
my
number.  I programmed it in.”

He pulled out his own, and I assumed he was saving my number.  “There.  Speed dial number one.”  His eyes twinkled when he smiled a real smile.  “I need to go.”

“Okay.  You’ll call me Sunday?”

“Promise.”

“Thank you.  For
everything
.”  I looked down at my feet.

He closed the distance between us, took my hand, and kissed the back of it, sending a chill up my arm.  The air crackled.  “Sunday.”  He whispered, then turned, and was out the door.

If there were any way to get there without killing myself, I would have run to a front window and watched him go.  I paced in the kitchen a few seconds, debating whether I should just step out on the porch and pretend I was going to the swing. 
Too obvious
.  I squeezed my hands together; I had forgotten they hurt until then.

I lurched for the kitchen door, jerked it open, and rushed out onto the porch.  I didn’t see him anywhere, so I ran to the end of my driveway.  I just wanted to see him one more time. 
Just one
.  I looked left and right, as far as I could see, and the sidewalks were empty.

Time discovers truth.

—Seneca

I trudged up the stairs with no destination in mind.  I was thinking about Gabriel, and thinking about my mom.  It had felt good to cry, to let some of the pain out.  I had pushed it so far down for so long.

I headed for the library.  The lamp was still on and the roll top was left open.  I started to close it when I caught sight of the cigar box, pushed way back under the shelves.  Mom’s old pictures.

I always thought it was odd that she kept them in that cigar box.  She told me once that Grandpa had given it to her, but Grandpa didn’t smoke.  I never thought about it until now.

I slid the box out and sat down in the swivel chair.  I opened the lid and lifted out the stack of pictures.  The oldest ones were on the top, black and white and slightly fuzzy.  I thumbed through the faces of unknown relatives and then lifted them out of the way.

Beneath those were pictures from my mom’s early childhood, faded and off-colored.  Her with a cake on her third birthday.  Her playing on an old metal slide, hair flying back.  Her in a sandbox with a spoon.

One by one, I thumbed through.  She looked so much like me, or rather, I looked so much like her, we could have been twins.  Picture after picture of only her, all very young.  Where were my Grandparents?

There was a photo album downstairs full of photos of her
and
my grandparents.  None of them showed her as young as she was in these, though.  I found one of her seated at a piano, an old pump organ.  I flipped the picture over.  On the back, in beautiful handwriting, were the words:
Analise, Age 2