The Gift (16 page)

As Ruth opened the door to go back inside, music rushed out, along with a burst of warm air. Then the door closed again, but he felt a presence behind him. She hadn’t gone inside. She hadn’t left him.

“I’m sorry about everything I’ve ever done. I want to fix it all,” he said with exhaustion. “I’m tired now. I want to fix it. I want everyone to know that I’m sorry. I’d do anything for them to know that and to believe me. Please help me fix it,” he repeated.

Had Lou turned around then he would have seen that his wife had indeed left him, that she’d rushed off inside to once again cry her tears of frustration for a man who had convinced her only hours previously that he had changed. It was Gabe who had stepped out onto the balcony when Ruth had rushed off, and it was Gabe who’d just heard Lou’s confessions.

Gabe knew that Lou Suffern was exhausted. Lou had spent so many years moving so quickly through the minutes, hours, and days that he’d stopped noticing life. The looks, gestures, and emotions of other people had long stopped being important or visible to him. Passion had driven him at first, and then, while on his way to the somewhere he wanted to be, he’d left it behind. He’d moved too fast, he’d taken no pause for breath; his rhythm was too quick, his heart could barely keep up.

As Lou breathed in the cold December air and lifted his face up to the sky, to feel—and appreciate—the icy droplets of rain that started to fall onto his skin, he knew that his soul was coming to get him.

He could feel it.

A
T NINE A.M. ON
S
ATURDAY
, the day after his father’s seventieth birthday party, Lou Suffern sat out in his backyard and lifted his face and closed his eyes to the morning sun. He’d clambered over the fence that separated their one-acre landscaped garden—where pathways and pebbles, garden beds and giant pots were neatly organized—from the rugged and wild terrain that lay beyond human meddling. Splashes of yellow gorse were everywhere, as though somebody in Dalkey had taken a paintball gun and fired carelessly in the direction of the northside headland. Lou and Ruth’s house sat at the very top of the summit, their back garden looking out to the north with vast views of Howth village below, the harbor, and out farther again to Ireland’s Eye.

Lou sat on a rock and breathed in the fresh air. His numb nose dribbled, his cheeks were frozen stiff, and his ears ached from the nip in the wind. His fingers had turned a purplish blue, as though they were being strangled at the knuckles—not good weather for vital parts,
but ideal weather for sailing. Unlike the carefully maintained gardens of his and his neighbors’ houses, the wild and rugged gorse had been even more lovingly left to grow as it wanted. It had roamed the mountainside and stamped its authority firmly around the headland. The land here was hilly and uneven; it rose and fell without warning, apologized for nothing, and offered no assistance to trekkers. It was the student in the last row in class, quiet but suggestive, sitting back to view the traps it had laid. Despite Howth’s wild streak in the mountains and the hustle and bustle of the fishing village, the town itself always had a sense of calm. It had a patient, grandparental feel about it: lighthouses that guided inhabitants of the waters safely to shore; cliffs that stood like a line of impenetrable Spartans with heaving chests, fierce against the elements. There was the pier that acted as a mediator between land and sea and dutifully ferried people out as far as humanly possible; the martello tower that stood like a lone aging soldier who refused to leave his zone long after the trouble had ended. Despite the constant gust that attacked the headland, the town was steady and stubborn.

Lou wasn’t alone this morning as he pondered his life looking out at all this. Beside him sat himself. They were dressed differently: one ready for sailing with his brother, the other for ice-skating with the family. They stared out to sea, both watching the shimmer of the sun on the horizon, looking like a giant silver dime that had been dropped in for luck and now glimmered under the
waves. They’d been sitting there for a while, not saying anything, merely comfortable with their own company.

Lou on the mossy grass looked at Lou on the rock, and smiled. “You know how happy I am right now? I’m beside myself.” He chuckled.

Lou, sitting on the rock, fought his smile. “The more I hear myself joke, the more I realize I’m not funny.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Lou pulled a long strand of wild grass from the ground and rolled it around in his purple fingers. “But I also notice what a handsome bastard I am.”

They both laughed.

“You talk over people a lot, though,” Lou on the rock said, having witnessed his other self in conversation.

“I noticed that. I really should—”

“And you don’t really listen,” he added. “And your stories are always too long. People don’t seem to be as interested as you think,” he said. “You don’t ask people about what they’re doing. You should start doing that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lou on the grass said, unimpressed.

“I am.”

They sat in silence again because Lou Suffern had recently learned that a lot could come from silence and from being still. A gull swooped and squawked nearby, eyed them suspiciously, and then flew off.

“He’s off to tell his mates about us,” Lou on the rock said.

“Let’s not take whatever they say to heart; they all look the same to me,” the other Lou said.

They both laughed again.

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at my own jokes.” Lou on the grass rubbed his eyes. “Embarrassing.”

“What’s going on here, do you think?” Lou asked seriously, perched on his rock.

“If you don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Yes, but if I have theories, well, then, so do you.”

They looked at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

Lou chose his words wisely, letting them roll around his mouth before saying, “I think we should keep those theories to ourselves, don’t you? It is what it is. Let’s keep it at that.”

“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” Lou on the grass said.

“Did you just hear what I said?” he said angrily. “I said don’t talk about it.”

“Lou!” Ruth was calling them from the garden, and it broke the spell between them.

“Coming!” he yelled, peeping his head above the fence. He saw Bud, new to his feet, escaping to freedom through the kitchen door, racing around the grass unevenly, like a chick that had prematurely hatched from an egg, its legs alone breaking free. He shuffled along after a ball, trying to catch it but mistakenly kicking it with his running feet each time he got near. Finally learning, he stopped running before reaching down to the ball, and instead slowly sneaked up behind it, as though it was going to take off again by itself. He lifted
a foot. Not used to having to balance on one leg, he fell backward onto the grass, safely landing on his padded behind. Lucy ran outside in her hat and scarf and helped to pull him up.

“She’s so like Ruth.” He heard a voice near his ear say before realizing the other Lou had joined him.

“I know. See the way she makes that face.” They watched Lucy scolding Bud for being careless. They both laughed.

Bud screeched at Lucy’s attempt to take him by the hand and lead him back into the house. He pulled away and threw his hand up in the air in a mini-tantrum, then chose to waddle to the house by himself.

“And who does
he
remind you of?” Lou said.

“Okay, we’d better get moving,” he said, ignoring himself. “You walk down to the harbor, and I’ll drive Ruth and the kids into town. Make sure you’re there on time, okay? I practically had to bribe Quentin into saying yes about helping him today.”

“Of course I’ll be there. Don’t you break a leg.”

“Don’t you drown.”

“We’ll enjoy the day.” Lou reached out and shook hands with himself. Their handshake turned into an embrace, and Lou stood on the mountainside giving himself the biggest and warmest hug he’d received in a very long time.

L
OU ARRIVED DOWN AT THE
harbor two hours before the race. He hadn’t raced for so many years, he wanted to
get reaccustomed to the talk, get a feel for being on a boat again. He also needed to build up a relationship with the rest of the team: communication was key, and he didn’t want to let anybody down. Most of all, he didn’t want to let Quentin down. He found the beautiful
Alexandra
, the forty-foot sailboat Quentin had bought five years ago and had since spent every spare penny and every free moment on. Already on board, Quentin and five others were in a tight group, going over the course and their tactics.

Lou did the math. There were supposed to be only six on the boat; Lou joining them made seven.

“Hi, there,” he said, approaching the boat.

“Lou!” Quentin looked up in surprise, and Lou realized why there were already six people. Quentin hadn’t trusted him to show up.

“Not late, am I? You did say nine thirty.” He tried to hide his disappointment.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Quentin said, “Absolutely, I just, eh…” He turned around to the other men waiting and watching. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. Guys, this is my brother, Lou.”

Surprise flitted across a few faces.

“We didn’t know you had a brother,” one of them said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “I’m Geoff, welcome. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s been a while”—Lou looked over at Quentin—“but Quentin and I were sent on enough sailing courses over the years, it’d be hard for us ever to forget. It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

They all laughed and welcomed him aboard.

“So where do you want me?” Lou asked.

“Are you really okay to do this?” Quentin asked him quietly, away from the others.

“Of course.” Lou tried not to be offended. “Same positions as we used to?”

“Foredeck man?” Quentin asked.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lou said, saluting him.

Quentin laughed and turned back to the rest of the crew. “Okay, boys, I want us all working in harmony. Remember, let’s talk to each other; I want information flowing up and down the boat at all times. If you haven’t done what you should have done, then shout, we all need to know exactly what’s going on. If we win, I’ll buy the first round.”

They all cheered.

“Right, Lou”—he looked at his brother and winked—“I know you’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Lou knew better than to correct him.

“Finally you get your opportunity to see what
Alexandra
’s made of.”

Lou punched his brother playfully on the shoulder.

R
UTH PUSHED
B
UD’S BUGGY THROUGH
Fusilier’s Arch and they entered St. Stephen’s Green, a park right in the center of Dublin city An ice rink had been set up in the grounds, attracting shoppers and people from
all around the country to join in the unique experience. Passing the duck-filled lake and walking over O’Connell Bridge, they soon entered a wonderland. A Christmas market had been set up, lavishly decorated and looking as if it had come straight out of a Christmas movie. Stalls selling hot chocolate with marshmallows, mince pies, and fruitcakes lined the paths and the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and marzipan wafted into the air. Each stall owner was dressed as an elf, and while Christmas tunes blared out of huge speakers, wind machines blew fake snow through the air.

Santa’s Igloo was the center of attention, a long line forming outside, while elves dressed in green suits and pointy shoes did their best to entertain the waiting masses. Giant red-and-white-striped candy canes formed an archway into the igloo, while bubbles blew from the chimney top and floated up into the sky. On a patch of grass off to the side a group of children—umpired by an elf—played tug-of-war with an oversized Christmas cracker. Next to all this a Christmas tree twenty feet tall had been erected and decorated with oversized baubles and tinsel. Hanging from the branches were giant balloons, at which a line of children—but more daddies—threw acorns in an attempt to burst the balloons and release the gifts inside. A red-faced elf ran around collecting gifts from the ground, while his accomplice filled more balloons and passed them to another teammate to hang on the branches. There was no whistling while they worked.

Bud’s chubby little forefinger pointed in every direction as something new caught his eye. Lucy, usually chatty, had suddenly gone very quiet, taking in the sights. She was dressed in a bright red double-breasted coat that went to her knees, with oversized black buttons and a black fur collar, and cream tights and shiny black shoes. She held on to Bud’s buggy with one hand and floated along beside them all, drifting away in a heaven of her own. Every now and then she’d see something and look up to Lou and Ruth with the biggest smile on her face. Nobody said anything. They didn’t need to. They all knew.

Farther away from the Christmas market they found the ice rink, which was swarmed by hundreds of people young and old, the line snaking alongside the rink providing an audience for all those who crashed and fell on the ice.

“Why don’t you all go and watch the show?” Lou said, pointing to the mini-pantomime that was being performed in the bandstand next to the rink. Dozens of children sat on deck chairs, entranced by the magical world before them. “I’ll get in line for us.”

It was a generous gesture and a selfish one both at the same time, for Lou Suffern couldn’t possibly change overnight. He had made the attempt to spend the day with his family, but already his BlackBerry was burning a hole in his pocket, and he needed time to check it before he quite simply exploded.

“Okay, thanks,” Ruth said, pushing Bud over to join Lou in the line. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

“What are you doing?” Lou asked.

“Going to watch the show.”

“Aren’t you taking him?”

“No.
He
is asleep. He’ll be fine with you.”

Then she headed off hand in hand with a skipping Lucy, while Lou looked at Bud with mild panic, full of prayer for him not to wake. He had one eye on his BlackBerry, the other on Bud, and a third eye he’d never known he had on the group of teenagers in front of them, who had suddenly started shouting and jumping around as their hormones got the better of them, each screech from their mouths and jerk of their gawky movements a threat to his sleeping child. He suddenly became aware of the level of “Jingle Bells” being blasted through the rink’s speakers, of the feedback that sounded like a five-car pileup, when a voice cut in to announce a separated family member who was waiting by the Elf Center. He was aware of every single sound, every squeal of a child on the ice, every shout as their fathers fell on their asses, everything. On high alert, as though waiting for somebody to attack at any moment, the BlackBerry and its flashing red light went back in his pocket. People ahead of him moved up, and he ever so slowly pushed the buggy up the line.

In front of him, a greasy-haired adolescent who was telling a story to his friends through the use of serious explosion sounds and the occasional epileptic-fit movements caught Lou’s eye because of his dangerous proximity. Sure enough, the boy, getting to the climax of the story, leapt back and landed against the buggy.

“Sorry,” the boy said, turning around and rubbing his arm, which he’d bumped. “Sorry, mister, is he okay?”

Lou nodded. Swallowed. He wanted to reach out and throttle the child, wanted to find the boy’s parents so that he could tell them about teaching their son the art of storytelling without grand gestures and spittle-flying explosions. He peeped in at Bud. The monster had been woken. Bud’s eyes, glassy and tired, and not yet ready to come out of hibernation, opened slowly. They looked left, they looked right, and all around, while Lou held his breath. He and Bud looked at each other for a tense second, and then, deciding he didn’t like the horrified expression on his father’s face, Bud spat out his pacifier and began screaming. Scream. Ing.