The Memory Thief (23 page)

There are about a thousand things I need to do—laundry, for one; pay bills, for another—but instead I just lie there and watch J. C. sleep. After a while I slip out from underneath his arm and sit next to him, looking down at his face. His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and he needs to shave. He sleeps sprawled out, one arm flung above his head, like he's been dropped from a great height and has landed on my bed.

After a while he mutters something, too low for me to hear. Then he says it again, sounding agitated. I make out, “Watch it,” and then, “Damn it, Roma.” There's more mumbling, and then he says, “Try harder.” His eyes snap open and he stares straight ahead, but I don't think he's seeing this room.

I take his hand and hold it, like he did for me last night. “It's okay,” I say. “Go back to sleep.” I smooth his hair away from his face. He's sweating.

He grips my hand, so hard it hurts, and then he blinks once, twice. He takes a deep shuddering breath, and his eyes shut. He is asleep again. His fingers loosen, and I slide my hand free. About fifteen minutes later he starts mumbling again, louder and louder. He says, “Look out!” and his hands come up in front of him, as if he's trying to ward something off. His eyes fix on me, and I tell him again that it's okay. “I'm here,” I say, like he said to me the night before. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” And this time when his eyes close, they stay that way.

He sleeps for a long time, long enough that Gabe wakes up. “Is Uncle J. C. still here?” he asks when I come to get him.

“Yes,” I say. “He's sleeping.”

“Like me?”

“Yep.”

“Where is he sleeping?” It's a reasonable question, but it sends guilt shooting through me.

“In my bed,” I say.

“Can I see him?”

I start to say no, but then change my mind. “You know what? Would you mind if I set you up with a movie on my laptop, in there? I could give you some headphones so the movie wouldn't be loud, and we could sit with him.”

“Sure,” Gabe says. “What movie? Can I pick?”

“Go ahead,” I tell him, and he runs into the living room, trailing his blue blanket behind him. He settles on an Aladdin DVD, and together we tiptoe back into my room, laptop in hand. Gabe climbs up on the bed and I place the laptop next to him. We plug in the headphones and he puts his finger over his lips. I smile at him and we are conspirators.

“Mommy?” he whispers.

“What, Gabriel?”

“Can I have some chocolate milk? In a cup with a top, so I don't spill?”

“Sure.” I walk back to the kitchen to get it, stopping to grab something from the bookshelf on the way—Marisa de los Santos's
Belong to Me.
I haven't been able to concentrate on reading anything lately, but I don't think I can stomach watching Aladdin again. And if I'm going to sit next to my son and a sleeping J. C., in the bed where we had sex last night, when the sheets still haven't been changed, I'm going to damn well need a distraction.

It's another forty-five minutes or so before J. C. stirs. This time when he opens his eyes, they're tired but clear. “Hi,” he says, looking over at me and Gabe.

Gabe takes off his headphones. “You woke up!” he says. “We've been waiting and waiting. You were pretty sleepy, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess I was.” He reaches out and tousles Gabe's hair. “Whatcha watching, buddy?”

“Aladdin. Mommy said I could watch it in here, if I was really quiet, so I have her headphones on. See?” He holds them up for J. C.'s inspection.

“Cool deal.”

“I took a nap, too. But I woke up before you did. Mommy gave me chocolate milk. Do you want some?”

“No thanks,” J. C. says. “But thank you for the offer.”

“You're welcome,” Gabe says with gravity, putting the headphones back on just in time for Aladdin to kiss Princess Jasmine.

J. C. sits up and looks over Gabe's head at me. “You stayed.”

“I told you I would.”

“What time is it?” He stretches, and the muscles in his arms flex.

“Six-thirty. I thought you deserved some extra rest. Beth won't care if we're a little late.”

“I can't believe I slept.”

“You woke up a couple times. Don't you remember?”

He shakes his head. “Did I say anything to you?”

“Not to me, directly. But you were talking in your sleep, about the accident I think.”

“Oh God. What did I say?”

“Not much,” I say, striving for nonchalance. The last thing I want is to make him feel bad. “Just—you told someone to watch it, and to try harder. I think you said, ‘Look out,' too. Oh, and then you swore at Roma a little bit.”

“I'm sure he deserved it,” J. C. says. “I'm sorry, Maddie. I'm sure you don't want to listen to a freaking reenactment of what happened out there. It can't be pleasant.”

“It's not your fault,” I say. “Give yourself a break. What could you have done?”

“I could have listened to you, all those times you told us not to go. I could have taken you seriously. And what do I do instead? Go up on that bastard and get A. J. killed, and then come home and make you sit next to me so I can get some sleep, like a damn baby.” His voice is heavy with self-disgust.

I glance over at Gabe to make sure he's still ensconced in the movie before I reply. He's busy watching Jafar toss Aladdin into the ocean; headphones cover his ears and he's paying no attention to us whatsoever. He hasn't heard a word we've said, which is a good thing. Under normal circumstances, J. C. wouldn't swear in front of Gabe—much less twice in one sentence and three times in one day, if you count his Lady Macbeth impersonation—and he definitely knows better than to talk about the accident like this.

I can't bring myself to chastise J. C., though, because when I turn back to him, he's regarding Gabe too, his eyes suspiciously shiny. I don't think I can take seeing him break down. One of us has to be on solid emotional ground, and at the moment, I guess that person is me.

“J.C,” I say, but he doesn't reply or shift his gaze from Gabe. I try again: “Give yourself a break. You're not a murderer, for God's sake. You almost died yourself.” I shake his knee, trying to get him to listen. “You've been there for me every second since you got home, including last night, after I had that horrible nightmare. And I slept better than I had since … since you called me from the satellite phone, because you were here. So … what goes around comes around.”

He looks at me closely, and then his face breaks into a reluctant smile. “We're a messed-up pair, you know that?”

I smile back at him. “At least we have each other.”

“Oh, yeah. Because that's not messed up at all, in and of itself. But this is most definitely not the time to talk about that.” He stretches again, yawns, and pulls the headphones off Gabe's ears. “Hey, man. You ready for a party?”

Gabe considers. “Is it bad to go to a party, when Daddy is in heaven?”

I have to hand it to J. C. He swallows hard, but then he says, “I don't think so, little man. Not this kind of party. It's a welcome home for me and Jesse and Roma, for coming back from the mountain.”

“And for trying to save my daddy?”

J. C.'s hand tightens on the fitted sheet so hard it pulls loose from the mattress, but there's no hint of tension in his voice when he answers Gabe. “Yeah,” he says. “That too.”

Gabe absorbs this. “Okay,” he says. “Can I bring my Star Wars guys?”

“Sure you can. Come on, I'll help you pack them up.” He picks Gabe up and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and they disappear down the hallway, leaving me with rumpled sheets, the laptop, which is still playing Aladdin, an empty sippy cup, and a very muddy state of mind.

It's seven thirty by the time we get to the bar, and the party's in full swing. Beth is the first person we see, and from the looks of it, she's already had a fair amount to drink. She grins at the three of us like it's Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa all rolled into one. “Well, hey!” she says. “We were beginning to wonder when you were going to get here.”

“Sorry,” J. C. says. “I fell asleep.”

“No big deal. You're here now. Come in, come in.” She steps aside, stumbles, and catches herself on a table in the nick of time. J. C.'s lips twitch.

Gabe tugs on her sleeve. “Are there any other kids here?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says. “There's a whole room set up just for you guys, with hot dogs and burgers and everything. I can show you, if you want.”

“Can I go, Mommy?” Gabe asks.

“Sure,” I say, and he reaches for her hand. They wander away together, into the crowd.

J. C. and I stand there for a moment, nonplussed. Then he starts laughing. “She's totally wasted,” he says.

“No kidding,” I say, just as we're accosted by Nathan, all six-foot-three, skinny red-headed inches of him. He's got a shot glass in one hand, and he downs the contents before he speaks.

“What's up, home chicken?” he says to J. C. “Hey, Maddie. How you doing?” He puts an arm around each of us, and I flinch. He smells like he's been rolling in a vat of marijuana.

“We're okay,” J. C. says, raising his voice over the noise in the bar. “Damn, boy, what've you been smoking?”

“Roma's got some kind bud, if you're in the mood. He's out back.” He winks at J. C., who says, “Fanfuckingtastic. Why am I not surprised?”

I am mildly annoyed by this development. “I thought this was supposed to be a kid-friendly deal,” I say to both of them.

“It is,” Nathan says. “The kids are in that little side room. Aspen got Lego Batman for his Wii and they've got it hooked up in there. Patty's girls are here, and Aspen of course, and a bunch of other kids. Gabe'll have plenty of things to do far away from us sinners.”

Aspen Sutherland is eight, and both his parents guide for Over the Top. Aspen himself climbs, and snowboards, and mountain bikes. Gabriel idolizes him. If he's here, that will make Gabe's night.

“You mind if I borrow him for a sec?” Nathan says, and it takes me a moment to realize he's talking to me. After all, it's not like J. C. is mine to lend. Finally I say, “Of course.” J. C. mouths, “I'll be right back,” as Nathan pulls him in the direction of the bar.

I glance around the crowded room—lots of faces I recognize, plus some I don't. There's a long table with platters of food—the hamburgers and hot dogs Beth mentioned, plus wings, veggies and dip, and what looks like cheese sticks. Beyond that is the small dance floor, and I can see Roma doing his best to cozy up to a pretty girl in a low-cut shirt. Good luck, Roma.

I spy Patty, and have started to make my way over to her when someone grabs me in a big hug. “Maddie!” a woman's voice says, next to my ear. The scent of patchouli overwhelms me, and I pull away to see Sarah, a friend of Aidan and J. C.'s from way back. “I am so sorry,” she says, taking my hand in hers and peering into my eyes. Sarah is all red hair and swishy skirts and amber jewelry, and she is very New Age. I shudder to think what she might say to me next—something about Aidan's eternal soul, or my aura. Whatever it is, I am ill-prepared to handle it.

“Thank you,” I say, looking around for an excuse, any excuse whatsoever, to extricate my hand from hers.

“I can't believe it,” she says, her eyes downcast now. “It's hard to imagine all of that energy, gone to a different plane. My prayers are with you.”

I am torn between bursting into laughter and saying something truly cutting. Luckily, the cavalry arrives in the form of Patty, who puts her arm around my shoulders. “Excuse us,” she says to Sarah. “I need to talk to Maddie about something.” And she guides me through the crowd, toward the food, without waiting for Sarah's reply.

“Thanks,” I say to her.

Patty tucks her short brown hair behind her ears. “Don't worry about it. After Jim died, people used to say the most awkward things to me. It was horrible. The look you had on your face—it was how I used to remember feeling inside. I figured I'd better save you before Sarah what's-her-name lost a limb.” We share a smile, and then she asks, “How are you holding up?”

“Okay, considering. It hits me at the oddest times. I'm so used to him being gone, on some crazy trip or whatever, that this just seems like—normal, somehow. But then I have to remind myself that he's never coming home.”

“I get it,” she says, and I know she does. “I'd go along for days, being fine, and then I'd see, or hear, or even just smell something that reminded me of Jim, and I'd go all to pieces.”

“You know, on some level I've been preparing for this to happen for years. But now that it has, I don't know how I'm supposed to feel.”

She takes this in. “You feel how you feel,” she says. “You've got to go through it, is the thing. I kept trying to go around it, or under or over or whatever. Then I'd wake up every morning, and there it would be, staring me in the face: Jim is dead. It got so I had to repeat it to myself everywhere, in the shower, in the car, wherever no one could hear me. I had to say it over and over so I would believe it with my heart, not just my head.”

“Do you still miss Jim?” It's a personal question, and she and I have never really been on that type of footing, but I ask it anyhow.

“Every day,” she says simply. “I miss him every day. But Maddie, maybe it won't be as bad for you. Jim and I were together since high school. He was the first guy I ever got serious about. When he died, it was like he took part of me with him. At least you had a whole life before Aidan came into it. And you'll have a life again. You will be okay,” she says, squeezing my shoulders.

“That's what J. C. says,” I tell her. “But he's a wreck himself, so half the time I think he's just saying things to try to make me feel better.”

“He's a good guy. After Jim died, he looked after us, made sure the house was in good shape, the car ran, all the stuff Jim used to deal with. Usually he wouldn't even tell me about it. I'd just come out and the walk would be shoveled, or there'd be chains on the tires. And he always picks up little things for the girls' birthdays, even still. Jim respected him, which carries a lot of weight with me.”

“Yeah, he's been a rock,” I say, since she seems to be waiting for a response. “He's been looking out for me ever since he got back. I don't know what I would've done without him.”

She gives me a sharp look. “It's a wonder some lucky girl hasn't snapped him right up.”

Uh-oh. I like Patty, but she's not known for her discretion. “Yes, it is,” I say, with what feels like the world's most fake smile. “But I bet the right one will come along someday soon. He deserves it.”

She opens her mouth to say something in reply, but before she can get a word out, Beth climbs up on a chair right next to us and starts clapping her hands over her head to get everyone's attention. “People!” she yells. “People, listen up!”

“Oh no,” I say. “What is she doing?”

“God only knows,” Patty says, regarding Beth like she's a car wreck in progress.

Someone turns the dance music off, and into the ensuing quiet, Beth says, “As most of you know, this celebration is a welcome home for the search and rescue team that made it back from Mount McKinley. We're so lucky to have Jesse, Roma and J. C. safely home. Even though A. J. can't be with us tonight, he loved a good party, like J. C. said … and I'm sure he's with us in spirit. To A. J.,” she says, raising her beer in a toast.

There's a chorus of “To A. J.” and “Here, here.” I look around at everyone's faces—people who have climbed with Aidan and partied with him, people we have known for years—and his absence hits me harder than ever. Missing him isn't a specific feeling, one I can slide in and out of like happiness. It's something I feel in every part of me, centered in my heart and sinking to my stomach, spreading outward to my arms and legs, my fingers and toes. It fills my throat when I try to speak, it clouds my eyes. I feel like it will always be there, like the way your back's never quite right after you throw it out; some days it's so bad you can hardly move, and others it's just in the background, giving you a warning twinge if you pick up something too heavy or make a sudden lunge for a dropped piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” I say to Patty, and I weave through the crowd and onto the street with no particular direction in mind. I just know that I have to get away. Patty doesn't follow me, for which I am grateful.

I stand outside the bar, practicing my yoga breathing and working on being honest with myself. I don't like what I see. No matter what Aidan told me he wanted, how can I justify turning to J. C. for comfort? What does it mean that being with him feels so natural, so easy? And how can I even be thinking about something like this, with Aidan's body still unrecovered and less than a month passed since the accident?

I am lost in this sticky moral thicket, feeling sick to my stomach, when the door opens and closes behind me. “Hey,” J. C. says. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking,” I say, giving him a small smile. He isn't fooled.

“Don't let Beth get to you. She means well,” he says, coming to stand next to me.

“She didn't, not really. It was just … a lot, all of a sudden. I needed air.”

“You want to go home?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I'm just taking a break. But I should probably check on Gabe.”

“He's playing Batman. He couldn't be happier. I went to see him before I came out here.”

He is such a gentle guy, such a good guy. “I don't deserve you,” I say.

“What? That's bullshit, Maddie. Come on.”

“I don't. Why aren't you with someone, J. C.? Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Feels like we've been having this conversation for years,” he says. “And you know why. You know better than anyone. What would be the point? I'd just be thinking about you. You think I haven't tried? You think I like feeling this way?”

“No,” I say. “I know you don't.” And it's the truth.

“Besides,” he says, “even if it doesn't go any further, even if it doesn't last, I feel like I am with someone. I'm with you. And you know how that feels? It feels like coming home, like I'm where I'm supposed to be. If I ever find that with someone else, you'll be the first to know.”

“Oh, J. C.,” I say, and my voice is sad.

“Come inside.” He takes my hand. “Dance with me.”

“You think that's such a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“You know why not,” I say, echoing his own words.

His hand stiffens in mine, and I look over at him. His expression is troubled. “I'm not stupid,” he says. “I'm not going to do anything that embarrasses you, or me either for that matter. What do you think, I'm gonna undress you right in the middle of the Walrus? I know how to behave. I just want to be close to you, is all.” He turns to face me, taking my other hand in his.

We're still standing there, looking at each other, when the door opens and Beth comes outside. Even in the half-light, I can see the surprise that comes over her face, followed by what I would swear is jealousy. It dawns on me that she used to have a crush on J. C., which I can't remember whether he ever returned.

Apparently it's still very much alive, because when she speaks, her tone is as bitchy as it gets. Her eyes go from J. C.'s face to mine, then linger on our joined hands. “Excuse me,” she says. “I didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“You're not interrupting—” I start to say, disengaging my hands from his, but she has already shut the door and gone back inside.

I look to J. C. for support, but he's eyeing me with a blend of disappointment and resignation. “I'm not ashamed,” he says, his voice low. “I think it's a beautiful thing.”

I want to tell him that I'm not ashamed, either, that Beth just took me off guard. I also want to tell him that all she saw were two good friends holding hands, two good friends who made a mistake. I want to tell him that he shouldn't hurt himself by believing that we're together, not even for a little while, but then I think about the fact that telling him that will hurt him just as badly as his illusion of couplehood. In the end, the words pile up in my throat and nothing comes out.

J. C.'s eyebrows lower, his jaw tightens, and finally he says, “I'll be inside if you need me.” He walks away, closing the door behind him a little more forcefully than necessary, and I stand there, wondering how many more ways it's possible for me to screw up. Maybe I should start spanking Gabriel, or drowning puppies, or eating bacon sandwiches in a synagogue on Yom Kippur. Or maybe I should just figure out how not to hurt J. C. any worse than I already have. Maybe I should fix this, no matter how much I need him. Maybe I should let him go.